Number 106, Sucking His Thumb

Sucking His Thumb!

Rufus Two Legs found a leech,
He and his sister found one each;
Genevieve did not want hers,
It’s not something that she prefers.
But Rufus thought it really fun,
To have them sticking on his thumb!
He ran back home to show his dad,
Not knowing if he had been bad.
Genevieve said he might die,
But Rufus said that was a lie,
They’re only little, just like slugs;
(At risk of death Rufus just shrugs).
I’m not scared I think they’re cute,
And anyway, it’s quite a hoot,
I can feel them sucking me,
It tickles quite a bit, let’s see
What they would feel like on my tum,
At which point he ran into mum!
Oh my Lord what have you there?
Don’t come near me, don’t you dare,
Get those things out of my sight!
And by the way, are you alright?
Course I am, Rufus replied,
If I was hurt I would have cried,
Oh yes, of course, silly me,
His mum relaxed and let him be;
Just don’t go bringing them back in,
Except to put them in the bin!

© Stephen Saunders

Number 105, The Fashion Designer

The Fashion Designer

I know a girl who walks to school each day;

She likes to look for treasure on the way,

But gold and jewels are not the things she seeks,

And things like that she hasn’t found in weeks.

She’s looking for a different kind of thing,

Even though she’d not turn down a ring,

Or diamond necklace if she saw one there,

Or something else of value she could wear!

But as she walks along she keeps an eye,

For signs that animals have been close by;

She looks for special feathers, and for fur

That don’t mean much to us, but do to her.

Like pebbles, sticks and stones and bits of wool,

Seashells, and autumn leaves and things you pull

From out of crevices and hidden cracks,

And poking round abandoned sheds and shacks.

She helps herself to fabrics from the chest,

Her mother said she can have all the rest;

She's seen how clever she has been so far,

And thinks her daughter is a rising star.

She dreams one day when she has left the nest,

And finished college she could be the best;

A great career in fashion could be hers,

A life of glamour, champagne, shows and furs!

She’s clever with a needle and a thread,

And after school when you are off to bed,

She sits up sewing late into the night,

Creating lovely things for sheer delight.

So when you see her come to school with you,

She may be wearing uniform of blue,

But see her on a weekend in the town,

You’d think she was a Princess of the Crown.

While every little detail of her dress,

Has been designed and fashioned to impress;

Close up you realize that it’s been done,

From things that could be found by anyone!

© Stephen Saunders

Number 104, Dock of the Bay.

Dock of the Bay

In a funny kind of way,

I think it’s been an OK day,

Not because of things I’ve done;

In fact I think I have done none.

While my wife shopped at the mall,

I didn’t go to work at all,

I didn’t walk the dog and do

That thing you have to with his poo!

I let him go out on his own,

So he could try to find his bone,

Meanwhile I went back to bed,

And dozed off for a while instead.

I slept quite well which made a change,

It made me think I’ll rearrange,

My bedtime to accommodate,

Getting up a lot more late.

I noticed that the grass was tall,

But I didn’t care at all,

Any other day I know,

I would have given it a mow.

But this time I thought ‘I don't care’

What the lawn looks like back there.

I’d rather lie and read a book;

Give it not a second look.

I didn’t bother getting dressed,

My dressing gown I thought was best,

And though no longer feeling tired,

All day I was thus attired.

The postman brought a bill or two,

Which I ignored and left to do,

Another day... they all could wait;

These are things I really hate.

The telephone rang once or twice,

And though it isn’t very nice,

I left it to the answerphone,

And let them think I’m not at home.

And so I’ve changed my mind about,

The age old saying they always spout;

Never do today what you,

Can put off for a day or two!

© Stephen Saunders

Number 103, Put Your Whip Away

Put Your Whip Away!

Deny it all you might old chap,

No-one here believes your 'rap;

Pride often comes before a fall,

And you have arrogance and gall,

Commensurate with your position,

Given you’re a politician;

A servant to the rest of us,

Get off your high horse, take the bus…

Understand you’re here today,

But by tomorrow gone away!

Learn to be a humble bloke,

You’ll get on better with us folk,

Who put you there, not for your sake,

But in order that you make,

Careful choices for us all,

So that we can all walk tall,

And so that every one of us,

Doesn’t have to make a fuss,

And manage through our daily lives,

To feed our children and our wives,

And sleep securely in our beds,

Without great worries in our heads.

Know that we depend on you,

And other politicians too,

To think like ordinary men,

And mostly think of others when,

In every single thing you do,

You act for others, not just you.

Love your neighbour, be aware,

That for us all your job’s to care,

So when you meet a man in blue,

Whose job is to take care of you;

Show your regard, your gratitude,

There is no reason to be rude.

You are not more vital than,

Any other working man…

One day walking on the street,

You and I might chance to meet,

So while our fortunes flow and ebb,

Don’t go calling me a pleb!

© Stephen Saunders

Number 102, The Picnic

The Picnic

Rufus Two Legs went and sat

Firmly on a big cow pat!

I don’t know why he thought he’d sit,

Right there on the top of it!

He might have listened to his mum,

Who told him where to put his bum,

But Rufus Two Legs thought he must,

And therefore settled on the crust;

Which he slowly sank into,

Squishing quite a bit of poo!

Of course he really didn’t care,

It turns out he was on a dare;

His sister said it would be funny,

And better still if it was runny!

Anyway, he was quite used,

To seeing mummy not amused;

He told her he’d reserved the grass,

For her to put her own fat …!

The Picnic.


One day Rufus Two Legs’ mum suggested they all went for a picnic as it was warm and sunny and they could all do with some fresh air.

‘Fresh Air’, thought Genevieve, Rufus’ bigger sister.  ‘That means a field, on a farm where they have cows, and a lot of bad smells.’

They all piled into the car, taking Dudley with them.  Dudley has four legs, and some quite interesting smells of his own sometimes. ‘Keep your feet off the seats’, said Dad, as he says every time; ‘I’m trying the keep the car clean’.

On the way, in the back of the car, (quietly, so that Mum and Dad couldn’t hear), Genevieve said to Rufus that she had a dare for him.

She didn’t say what it was which made Rufus very inquisitive. 

‘What?’ he demanded.

Genevieve knew that the more she held back the more he would want to know, and several times he asked her what the dare was. 

Just as they were turning off the road into a track that must surely lead to the field they were to picnic in, Genevieve said, ‘I dare you to sit on a cow-pat!’

‘What!’ exclaimed Rufus.

‘Shhh’, said Genevieve, don’t let on, ‘It’s hot and dry and they will all be crusty so you can easily sit on one, but it will be really funny to see Mum’s face.

Rufus got the picture right away, he didn’t need very much persuasion, and being only five it appealed to his sense of mischief perfectly!

Genevieve secretly hoped he’d find one which was still runny underneath, but then she would, wouldn’t she, since she loved to put her brother in the poo!

Mum and Dad laid out the rugs and table cloths on the grass and settled down around them to get the lunch out while Dudley ran off looking for bad smells.

Rufus announced; ‘I’m going to sit right here’, and with everyone’s attention thus towards him, plonked himself down on the top of a magnificent cow-pat.

‘No-ooooooo!’ Shouted Mum and Dad together, but it was too late.  The poo squirted out all round Rufus’ bottom, and some of it went as far the edge of the rug and some on Rufus’s wellies, but amazingly none went on Rufus himself. 

Genevieve grinned with satisfaction.

Rufus did too, but was quickly yanked up into the air by his Dad, who was very big and strong.  He was very cross and laughing at the same time.  Have you ever seen anyone be like that?  It’s really funny, and in a few moments everyone was laughing their heads off!

The crust had held, and Rufus was clean, even his shorts were almost unmarked, so they gathered up the rugs, and moved them to another part of the field where they all had a lovely lunch while Dudley found lots of other cow-pats to enjoy.

On the way back to the car at the end of the afternoon Rufus’ mum stepped in something.  Oh well!

 © Stephen Saunders

Number 101. Learning to Fly.

Learning to Fly.

It matters not how hard I try,

I’ve found I simply cannot fly;

My first attempt was out of bed;

Landing firmly on my head!

In trying to take to the air,

The next attempt was from my chair.

Maybe I was still too small,

As all I really did was fall.

Perhaps I need to wait a bit;

With bigger arms I’d master it.

My mum has said that I’m not meant,

To fly yet, and to be content.

After all, she pointed out,

I’ve not yet learned to walk about,

And when all is said and done,

Before you fly you need to run.

So for the coming week or two,

I’ll practice what I have to do;

Learn to stand up by myself,

And not by holding on the shelf.

Then I’ll make a little dash,

To Mum while trying not to bash,

Myself on things along the way,

And upright do my best to stay.

After this it should be fine,

To tightrope walk the washing line,

Once I’m confident that high,
Then I’m sure that I could fly.

I’ve seen how easy it can be,

The birds all do it, why not me?
I’m very keen to fly the nest,

Just feed me up, I’ll do the rest!

© Stephen Saunders

Number 100. A Hot Summer and a White Christmas.

A Hot Summer and a White Christmas.

Cath and Rob put up their tent,

Stayed a week and then they went.

The sun came out just as they started,

And went back in when they departed.

Every day before they came,

For ages all we had was rain,

And, since they’ve gone home again,

The weather has been just the same.

For seven days we sat outside,

And sometimes in the shade we’d hide;

Now and then it was too hot,

But most days I would say was not.

Very pleasant it would be,

To use the hammock in the tree,

And in the evening barbeque,

And tell some silly stories too!

But now they’ve gone we’re back indoors;

It’s cold, the heating’s on of course.

It’s gloomy, overcast and damp,

No sun now, just electric lamps.

So that was summer, that was all,

And pretty soon the leaves will fall.

The rain will ease in time for frost

Though any chance of sun be lost.

But when we’re faced with winter gales,

We’ll do something that never fails;

At Christmas for a week we’ll go,

And stay with Cath, so it will snow!

© Stephen Saunders

Number 99. Above the waist, below the belt.

Number 99.

Above the waist, below the belt.

First it’s Harry, now it’s Kate,

Poor old Royals, don’t they hate

It when they sunbathe in the nude,

Within the lens range of some dude,

Intent on snapping up a shot,

To sell to someone for a lot!

No matter how they cover it,

There is no way to smother it;

Someone somewhere always will,

Print it like some sad cheap thrill.

The paparazzi seem to get

Away with it again, and yet,

You’d think it an illegal trade;

These saucy pictures that they’ve made.

And if no other law will do,

I am sure that were I to

Train my telescope to peep,

I’d be arrested as a creep,

And charged as I’m escorted from,

The Chateau as a peeping Tom!  

© Stephen Saunders

Number 98, What next?

What next?

The games are over, all is done,
All the medals now are won.
Everybody can relax,
As slowly people turn their backs.

The lime light fades, the athletes learn
To other things the cameras turn,
Their moment in the sun has gone,
And training now goes on and on..

Just like it did so long before,
Day in day out for four years more,
Until in Rio once again,
They’ll have another chance to reign.

But there is no-one who’ll forget,
This summer’s successes I’ll bet...
Even though my wife tells me,
That come tomorrow wait and see...

Anti-climax, nothing left,
Back to work, feeling bereft;
There is nothing we can do,
Our excitement to renew.

Doesn’t matter what they say,
It’s propaganda anyway;
Hyping up the British thing,
Is nothing more than marketing.

There is nothing anyone,
Can do to make it run and run;
Just like every games before,
We’ll all be feeling slightly sore.

Venues crumbling, rarely used,
Dark and grey, the lights all fused,
Buyers absent, nothing doing,
Frustrated investors suing.

No new jobs, degeneration,
Slipping backwards, with the nation
Into yet another session,
Of a treble dip recession.

But with her I disagree,
We argue sometimes, her and me;
And suddenly next thing I hear,
Another lot of British cheer...

No sooner had they all packed up,
A Scottish chap has won a cup;
Andy Murray’s gone and done it;
The US open, now he’s won it.

Sadly though my wife is right,
What I heard the very next night;
England, Scotland, Ulster, Wales,
Football regularly fails!


© Stephen Saunders

Number 97, Mind Your Own Silly Business!

Mind Your Own Silly Business!

“Help me, help me, please!”, cried Emma,
On the horns of a dilemma!

She’d been busy selling whelks,
On the backs of something elks.

But the elks had been aloof,
Since she was trading on the hoof.

She’d tried to get the ears of those
In power, with money on the nose!

But every time she made a bribe,
She upset members of her tribe,

Though as the chooks came home to roost,
Sales of eggs gave her a boost.

Mail order was the way to go,
But whelks, like snails, are very slow.

All in all it was a mess,
And whelks were selling less and less.

Emma knew the time was nigh,
To give a different thing a try.

The time had come for something gnu;
And this is what she’d have to do;

She’d leave and move away out east,
And try her hand at wildebeest.


© Stephen Saunders

Number 96, The Strange Case of Mr Long.

The Strange Case of Mr Long.

Mr Long was very short,
At only five feet small.
One day he was taken short,
And went behind a wall.

Behind the wall was safe he thought,
But he was not at all;
A bulldozer some men had brought,
With a wrecking ball.

The wall was beaten down to nought,
Every brick did fall,
Mr Long was sadly caught;
His trousers down and all.

Mr Long was took to court,
And thereby did he call,
Expert witnesses who fought,
A kind of legal brawl.

It seemed the prosecution sought,
To prove that he did crawl,
Naked through the site they’d bought,
And gave him quite a maul.

But Mr Long knew how he ought,
To get the case to stall
Arguing how he’d been taught,
To go for the long-haul.

The prosecution had been fraught,
And brought with quite some gall;
The judge said this was not a sport,
And Mr Long walked tall!

© Stephen Saunders