New sights

I like to see a thing I know

Has not been seen before;

That’s why I cut my apple through

To look into the core.

It’s nice to think, though many an eye

Has seen the ruddy skin,

Mine is the very first to spy

The five brown pips within.


I’d like to be a teabag

I’d like to be a teabag

And stay at home all day-

And talk to other teabags

In a teabag sort of way…

I’d love to be a teabag

And lie in a little box-

And never have to wash my face

Or change my dirty socks…

I’d like to be a teabag,

An Earl Grey one perhaps,

And doze all day and lie around

With Earl Grey kind of chaps.

I wouldn’t have to do a thing,

No homework, jobs or chores-

Comfy in a caddy

Of teabags and their snores.

I wouldn’t have to do exams,

I needn’t tidy rooms,

Or sweep the floor, or feed the cat,

Or wash up all the spoons.

I wouldn’t have to do a thing,

A life of bliss – you see….

Except that once in all my life

I’d make a cup of tea!

(Peter Dixon)

The parent

Children aren’t happy with nothing to ignore,

And that’s what parents were invented for!

(Ogden Nash)

Pennies from heaven!

I put 10p in my piggy bank to save for a rainy day.

It rained the very next morning!

Three cheers, hip hip hooray!

(Spike Millegan)

Cat Purring



Four furry paws




Flower stems




(Keith Bosley)

Song of the seashore

The soft waves lisp,

On the stone-spangled shore,

Shining and shimmering,

Murmuring: "More….

More music, please…."

And the stones sigh and ride

And whisper their songs

To the incoming tide.

(Daphne Lister)

Bird sips water


Sips water

Drips music

Throwing back its head

Throw back your head

Turn the rain

Into a song

And you will fly

(Keith Bosley)

Sunday Fathers

I used to notice them,

One of the Sunday sights:

Fathers visiting their children

And walking them in parks

Or sitting over milkshakes,

Making careful conversation.


I saw a pair on Sunday

Looking into a shop window,

I thought. But the boy’s eyes

Were curtained with tears

And the father’s arms were shut

Out by more than a week.


Now I try not to see them:

Such a shadow on the sun’s day.

(Michael Harrison)

A person has lived through an experience of peculiar severity:

If she be all tenderness, she will die.

If she survive, the tenderness will either be

Crushed out of her, or –

And the outward semblance is the same –

Crushed so deeply into her

That it can never show itself more.


The rubber plant speaks

Mostly they ignore me

The white plants who walk.

Or bring me water in their leaves.

I wonder how they feed?

With their stubby roots?

And is there green beneath their skins?

Sometimes they talk to me,

But never listen.

They do not recognise my voice.

No one hears. No one hears.

No, not even him,

The little orange plant that swims.

(Jan Dean)

-what’s the matter up there?

-we’re playing soldiers!

-but soldiers don’t make that kind of noise!

-we’re playing that kind of soldiers that makes that kind of noise!

(Carl Sandberg)

My sister Laura

My sister Laura’s bigger than me

And lifts me up quite easily.

I can’t lift her, I’ve tried and tried;

She must have something heavy inside!

(Spike Millegan)

Only my opinion

Is the caterpillar ticklish?

Well, it’s always my belief

That he giggles as he wiggles

Across a hairy leaf.

(Monica Shannon)

Gaelic Blessing

Deep peace of the running wave to you.

Deep peace of the flowing air to you.

Deep peace of the quiet air to you.

Deep peace of the shining stars to you.

Deep peace of the Son of Peace to you.


The white man drew a small circle in the sand

And told the red man:

"This is, what the Indian knows", and drawing a big circle around

The small one,

"This is, what the white man knows".

The Indian took the stick

And swept an immense ring round both circles:

"This is, where the white man and the red man know nothing".

(Carl Sandberg)

Kostenlose Homepage von Beepworld
Verantwortlich für den Inhalt dieser Seite ist ausschließlich der
Autor dieser Homepage, kontaktierbar über dieses Formular!