Number 136, Danger Mouse

I've finally prepared something for the publishers; they are getting about a dozen stories, some of which I have illustrated, some not.  I spoke to them to make sure.  I'm excited but nervous, but it will be good to get the package off in the post tomorrow, and see what happens next.  I really hope they turn something into a book, find me a good illustrator, get a partnership thing going.  There's loads more in me, and I'd like nothing more than to sit and write all day instead of driving the truck.  Also, its a job that can be done anywhere, so we could move to somewhere a bit warmer in the winter!  I'm dreaming. Stop counting chickens!

Here's a new one:

Danger Mouse

We seldom travel very far,

In our old and scruffy car,

But Rufus Four Legs loves to sleep,

On the back seat of the Jeep.

Sleep is maybe not quite right,

As he sees everything in sight;

I think he closes just one eye,

So that nothing much slips by.

A horse, a walker with a dog,

Even in the thickest fog;

He’ll spot them when they’re miles away,

And tell them off in his own way.

He barks and nips the window pane,

Time and time and time again.

First we worried, then we laughed,

When we realised he’s daft.

The same thing happens in the house,

It started watching Danger Mouse;

He snaps at creatures on TV,

Animals that he can see.

People do not make him bite,

But any furry creature might;

Best of all is You’ve Been Framed,

By which you know he can’t be blamed.

After all, it’s full of pets,

The craziest that real life gets,

Rufus thinks they’re really fun,

And licks the screen with every one.

He snaps and barks and curls his lip,

And gives a disapproving nip,

But bumps his face into the glass,

When on the other side they pass.

But he doesn’t seem to know,

They can’t see him even though,

His face is but an inch away,

And he can’t get them come what may.

Rufus may be pretty smart,

And he has a big warm heart,

But some things he’ll never know,

And of course we tell him so.

Rufus you are just a mutt,

You might think you’re clever but,

Leave the television be,

It wasn’t made for dogs you see.

We know there’s no cat inside,

No mice or parrots in there hide,

Ignore the pictures, they can’t feel

Your teeth or tongue ‘cos they’re not real!

© Stephen Saunders

Number 135, My Fat Chook

My Fat Chook.

Higgeldy Piggeldy my fat hen,

She lays eggs for me, and then

Every night I shut the box,

To keep her from the hungry fox.

Though the fence electric be,

It doesn’t seem to deter he.

Maybe he’s become immune;

I’ll have to make it stronger soon.

Higgeldy Piggeldy my fat hen,

Is one of several in the pen;

When it’s dark she makes her nest,

And settles down with all the rest,

But later on when things are quiet,

The fox turns up to cause a riot.

By then, of course, the door is shut,

And all are safe inside their hut.

Nonetheless the chickens fear,

The sounds of scratching that they hear,

And in the morning when it’s light,

The tell tale signs are there alright,

The damage caused by claws and jaws,

Where foxy tried to force the doors.

Higgeldy Piggeldy my fat chook,

Shut her eyes and didn’t look,

When through the little window he,

Tried to get a view of she.

Poor chickens didn’t sleep that much,

Terrified within their hutch,

But in the morning all was well;

Another dozen eggs to sell.

You can’t blame the fox I s’pose,

Seeing chickens just like those;

Bored with rabbits, bored with mice,

Any chicken would look nice.

Pity foxy won’t agree,

To take the bus and leave them be.

Move on to another village,
Other chicken runs to pillage.
Better still perhaps he'll learn,
How some money he could earn,

Then instead of chicken-killing,
He could spend a well earned shilling,
Buying food down at the shops,

So all that scary business stops.
Higgledy Piggeldy my fat hen
Might just sleep much better then.

© Stephen Saunders. 2013.

Number 134, The Bus

The Bus.

When Rufus travels on the bus,
He likes to sit in front of us;
This is so he gets to see,
Where it’s taking you and me.
He knows which way it ought to go,
And watches to make sure it’s so;
But this is something he can do,
Only when he has a view.
He often can’t see out at all,
On account of being small.
Rufus says it isn’t fair,
If people who are fat are there,
Blocking children’s windows who
Have a right to see out too.
It isn’t only people that,
Come on board with too much fat;
Sometimes it’s not that at all,
Some passengers are much too tall.

Rufus Two Legs wants to grow,
He told me so, that’s how I know,
But as he’s only six years old,
And has to do what he is told,
He’ll have to bide his time and wait,
To see what height will be his fate;
If one day he bangs his head,
If his feet stick out of bed,
Like his dad who’s six foot four,
And has to duck through every door,
Who’s big enough to block the light,
With his width as well as height.

Rufus may be in a hurry,
But he doesn’t need to worry;
He’s a solid little guy,
Anything he wants to try
In good time he always does;
One day he might drive the bus!

© Stephen Saunders.

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