Number 133. Roll on Spring!

Roll on Spring!

Bowley Farm is in the mud,

If not on a hill it’d be in a flood,

The place dates back six hundred years,

And all that time it’s been up to it’s ears!

Ten horses live in the field nearby,

And these days they’re the reason why;

A tractor comes up every day,

To care for them and bring them hay.

The ruts across the grass are deep,

Into which the water seeps,

And where in spring the grass is found,

It’s mud from tractors turning round.

The track is bumpy, rough and long;

To say it’s dire would not be wrong.

Very rarely it improves,

And not because of horses hooves.

And now with cars and trucks and bikes,

Tractor traffic and the likes,

The only way you will find us,

Is definitely not by bus!

The over hanging trees are low,

And not much gets here in the snow;

We simply have to hunker down,

Until the snow turns back to brown.

Brown it is until the spring,

When green replaces everything,

Then for seven months or so,

I have too much grass to mow.

And for at least a little while,

Our car can make the final mile;

No longer do we have to wear,

Wellies to get out of here!

The sun comes out, it’s warm again,

A month or two without much rain;

March and April, May as well,

Then it all turns back to…. well…

Summer for the past few years,

Brought little in the way of cheers;

A deluge from the start until,

Autumn settled on our hill.

There’s something in the air up here,

Would I want to change? No fear!

Though it rains and snows and hails,

It’s beautiful between the gales.

And sitting snug and warm indoors,

Watching Rufus clean his paws,

I really couldn’t care a bit;

Life is what you make of it!

© Stephen Saunders

Number 132. Plane Daft!

Plane Daft!

Rufus Four Legs’ got bad habits;

Chasing cats and chasing rabbits,

Up the stairs and down their holes,

And stealing titbits from their bowls.

Every time a bird flies by,

Rufus rushes off to try,

And grab them, though he never could…

He perseveres as if he would!

He’ll never catch the other things,

That hover by, or fly with wings;

But that won’t stop him trying to,

Catch a helicopter too!

Every time a plane flies past,

Off he rushes very fast,

And try as hard as Rufus will,

Every plane escapes him still!

But never mind, it does him good,

Just as walking with us would;

Any time he hears a plane,

It exercises him again!

© Stephen Saunders

© Stephen Saunders

Number 131, In the Corner.

In the Corner

In the field next door to us,

Arrived a herd of cows;

Rufus thought he’d make a fuss,

That none of us allows.

It isn’t that he does them harm,

Barking through the gate,

But sneaking up causes alarm,

And then they get irate.

Every now and then they get,

A nasty shock or two;

When accidentally they let

Their guard down, he goes BOO!

We try to tell him not to go,

But he just thinks its fun,

To race around the paddock so

The cows begin to run.

One of these days he’ll get a shock,

When they have had enough;

They’ll gather and together block,

Rufus and call his bluff.

Cornered he might come unstuck;

Cows can be big and scary,

A Rufus run right out of luck,

Might find it rather hairy!

Instead of barking off his head,

He’ll cower on the floor;

Squeaking like a mouse instead,

And frighten them no more!

And if he’s still a stupid mutt,

And harries them again,

He’s going to get a hefty butt,

That makes him feel some pain!

 

© Stephen Saunders

Hugh Bennewitz has responded to a request I made to a number of Art Colleges and Universities in the US to collaborate on my rhymes and illustrate them.  Hugh indicated a preference for this story of Rufus being cornered by the cows, and I am looking forward to seeing his visual interpretations with a view to creating an illustrated and potentially interactive Apple i-book. Watch this space! You can see more of his work at the link below.

Stephen-

Your listing is very entertaining. (Others on the site could take a lesson.) that particular site is also for alumni of the college. I attended from 1978 to '82 and had Mary GranPre as a fellow student in some illustration classes. She of the US version of the Harry Potter book covers and chapter headers. I taught her every thing she knows. (sarcasm)

Anyhow, I would be interested in talking further about your very fun sounding book projects and share your opinions about the value of a good illustrator to compliment quality writing.

I am currently working on my own illustrated young readers book and have done some published covers and interior illos in the past.

Here are a few samples of various styles of my work. You can see more at :

www.hughbennewitz.com

Number 130. Land's End to John O'Groats

Land’s End to John O’Groats.

I have only once been seen,

In all my life in Aberdeen.

Glasgow I have been to twice,

And found it surprisingly nice!

I’ve only rarely ventured forth,

And gone a little further north,

But one day I would like to go,

From John O’Groats to Plymouth Hoe.

I know Land’s End is where it should,

Really finish, but I would

Prefer to catch the train from there,

And get myself back up to Ayr.

From there I could see Inverness,

But now I think so less and less;

As what perhaps might be the best,

Is concentrate on going west.

I heard a story once in which,

A chap got married in Norwich.

People there did not know why,

The pair moved off to Hay on Wye.

My dad got into quite a mess,

In quicksand once when in Skegness,

And I’d not give a bag of beans,

To go again to Milton Keynes.

Despite the fame of Manchester,

The place I really can’t remember,

And though it makes me feel a fool;

Neither can I Liverpool!

Edinburgh is somewhere that,

Once or twice I’ve hung my hat,

But when all is said and done,

I’m safer staying near London.

And though it could supply my needs,

It’s much too far to go to Leeds,

London actually is nearer,

But in most respects much dearer.

Would I be maligning Hull,

If I said that it was dull?

Sheffield, Bradford, Pontefract;

I’ve avoided, that’s a fact!

But I really love the Dales,

Even more than I love Wales,

And Whitby, Scarborough on the coast,

Have beaches I like more than most!

Someone once tried to enlighten,

Me by raving about Brighton,

While someone else told me I ought,

To go and see about Bridport.

Once when Bristol was my heading,

Mistakenly I stopped in Reading.

At first I thought that it was Slough,

My Sat-Nav got confused somehow.

To be fair I was unsure,

If it was even the M4;

Motorways all look the same,

Especially in the wilds near Thame.

Imagine how I felt in Ware;

I’d no idea and couldn’t care,

All I knew was I was lost,

And all night long in bed I tossed!

I jumped out early from my bed,

And made my way to Maidenhead,

But lunchtime, by the time I’d eaten,

I was on my way to Eton.

But all the time I really knew,

That only one small town would do;

I knew that nothing much could match it,

And so I settled down in Datchett!

© Stephen Saunders

Number 129. Rufus Two Legs Shows Concern.

Rufus Two Legs Shows Concern.

Rufus said that he was sad,

That people like his great grand-dad,

Got old and died and disappeared,

And it was something that he feared,

Might happen to me, “Don’t you know..”

“Then how would I get to and fro”

“From school each day? ‘Cos you’re quite old!”

I really felt that I’d been told,

And said I thought his mum and dad,

Were young enough, which made him glad.

But it was nice of him to say,

He cared about me in that way.

And though he isn’t quite yet six,

He thought he really ought to fix,

A back up plan to get to school,

And organize a new car pool;

Just in case one morning I'd,

Decided not to come, but died!

© Stephen Saunders  

Number 128. Pong!

Pong!

Every now and then we get,

The smell of something very wet.

It comes into the living room,

As musty as an ancient tomb;

A mouldy, almost rancid smell,

And pungent, like manure as well.

And though it reeks, as I have said;

A smell you wouldn’t want in bed,

Or anywhere too close to hand,

You’d ask someone to have it banned,

If it was possible to do,

It isn’t quite as bad as poo…

The smell is mostly like a bog,

Since what it is, is soggy dog!

© Stephen Saunders 

Number 127, Rocky.

Rocky.

Rufus isn’t all that keen,

On Rocky, seeing how he’s been

And torn a chunk of Rufus out,

In a nasty fighting bout.

Rufus went to say hello,

But Rocky dived in just below

His throat, and grabbed a bite of skin,

That opened up some bits within

Poor Rufus, leaving him in need

Of surgery, to stop the bleed-

ing, and it seemed to guarantee,

The vet a pretty hefty fee!

Rocky’s not a name that you,

Would normally be giving to

A poodle, or a soppy mutt,

That’s fluffy, soft and cuddly, but

You’d give it to a dog that’s tough;

One that’s hard as nails and gruff,

Like Rocky Marciano, who

You wouldn’t want to do to you

Fierce or friendly- anything

He’s used to doing in the ring!

Rocky, Tyson, Stalin, Mao,

These names associate somehow

With personalities or breeds, 

And if you look along their leads,

Somewhere at the other end,

Is a nasty dog’s best friend!

He wouldn’t hurt a fly they say,
In their idiotic way;
You can see they just adore,
Their pit bull like a Labrador!
Though we can see it all the while,
These owners all are in denial.
Rocky’s owner doesn’t see,
Just how scary he can be,
And you know I have to tell
Rocky’s a Black Lab as well!

 

© Stephen Saunders