The Lighthouse

Whenever the sun slides beneath the sharp rocks,
Whenever the ocean is blacker than ink,
A man in a tower takes a match from a box,
And lights up the lamp that saves men from the drink.
His lighthouse is higher than anything grows,
The steps they are many and winding and steep,
Alone with his duty the light keeper knows,
The lure of Poseidon, deceptively deep.

The man had a wife who deserted her post,
And from her, a son , who will visit sometimes,
The nights spent with him, the man treasures the most,
As they sit by the fire eating bread, cheese and wines.
One morning his son rowed across to the shore,
But his dad wasn’t there, so he rushed to the house,
Anxious feet took the steps and he flung back the door,
The old man was in bed and he couldn’t be roused.
The doctor was summoned, who nodded his head;
‘To the boat, then the hospital on the mainland!’
Where his father was laid on a crisp, cotton bed,
And the son paced and fretted, and wrung out his hands.
The sunset glowed fire through hospital drapes,
He pulled them aside and gazed through the night,
At the lighthouse they’d left, and his mouth fell agape,
At the tower was darkness where they should be light.

His father had not lit the lamp, it was out,
The sailors had come to depend on its guide,
And fear gripped the son as a horn sounded out;
The hail of a ship rounding on the north side.
He glanced at his father; he was still asleep,
His breathing was laboured, his colour was ash,
But the rocks on the island were jagged and steep,
The son had to leave before all hopes were dashed.

Battling wind that was strong as the devil,
He rowed against waves, high and fiendishly cold,
His heart racing wild, he kept his gaze level,
On the gloom of the lighthouse, his homestead of old.
The ship’s horn blew louder when he became close,
And it fought with the sound of the thundering waves,
Its light in the darkness searched headlands and coves,
But without the lighthouse it could hardly be saved.
He jumped in the sea before he’d reached the shore,
And braved the cold waves to the rocks, dark and slick,
In the lighthouse he took the stairs two, three and more,
Till he reached the top, then struck a match to the wick,
In a moment, the light grew as bright as the day,
He started the workings, the lamp swung around,
He ran to the window and ducked the lamp’s sway,
To see if the mighty ship had run aground.

The beacon threw light with such power and grace,
The captain looked up and knew his course was doomed,
The lighthouse was on the impending rock face,
That his ship was bearing down, they’d be marooned!
He swung the ship’s wheel and the boat rolled to Port,
The crew hung on tight and cried out to the moon,
They’d been years at sea, and great battles they’d fought,
But this was the end; they knew death would come soon.

And just when they thought that their end was marked out,
The ship glanced the rocks with a scrape and a screech,
Like a howl from the gods; and the captain cried out,
‘We are saved!’ and the crew raised a cheer one and each,
From up in the lighthouse the son breathed a sigh
When he saw that the ship was out of the rocks,
Remembering his father he uttered a cry,
And he dashed down the stairs, holding tight the matchbox,

His father stood straight, gazing out at the light,
At the hospital window he had a fine view,
When the flame had fired up he awoke to the night,
And the illness had left him, he felt quite brand-new,
He slipped from the room feeling buoyant and spry,
And met his son just as he came into sight,
Though neither knew how, and neither knew why,
The man’s health was linked to the Lighthouse’s light.
He never forgot to light it again,
But the son was concerned now to leave him alone,
So they still live together, those two lighthouse men,
To keep sailors safe by guiding they home.

My Vampire is Poorly

My vampire is poorly, he has a bad fang
From the pain he sat up in his coffin and bang!
He walloped his head on the lid of his coffin,
Suddenly pain from his toothache was nuffin,
He squealed and he squirmed, he shouted and growled,
He wanted his mummy, he cried and he howled.
Having a vampire that makes so much racket,
Is very annoying, and I couldn’t hack it.

I decided to make a potion for pain,
I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again,
It’s the only way really to calm down my pet,
It starts with some woodlice I caught with a net,
I squashed them right down with the back of a spoon,
Then popped in some hair from a grumpy baboon.
The next part was easy, some fluff from a cloud,
(By this point my vampire was getting quite loud).
I cooked it with spiders’ legs, old eggs and soil,
It smelled something awful but started to boil,
The colour was blue, and then purple and green,
It let out a whistle and lots of black steam,

I tied an old spoon to a long piece of wire,
Stood quite far back and I fed my vampire,
He clutched at his throat and made quite a sound,
His face went quite pink and he fell to the ground,
But then he changed colour to a quite normal white,
He smiled evilly and said he felt all right,
I thought it was best then to leave him alone,
It’s a bit of a risk keeping vampires at home.

The Smyte

High from up in the tangledy tree,

You’ll hear the cry of the Smyte,

You never will see him; he’ll never come down,

From that dizzying, harrowing height.


Some say he’s a leopard with razor sharp teeth,

Some say he’s a tiny fierce bear,

And others; a monkey with stickery hands,

Who climbed up the tree and stuck there.


With a hoot and a whistle, he’ll rustle and leap,

From branch to tangledy branch,

And sometimes whole people will just disappear,

If they chance on the Smyte before lunch.


He’s quick, this leopard, or monkey, or bear,

This parrot, or three legged cat,

If you hear its high shout, you’d better look out,

Or all will be left is your hat.

Two Vampire Bats

Two Vampire Bats


Hanging upside down by their strong , sharp toes,

Two vampire bats in quiet repose,

Dreaming of night, as dark as mud,

And a nice big lunch of bones and blood.


Wake up, wake up, time for flight,

And wings stretch out at break of night.

One bat, two bats fly away,

They’ll hunt you down, you are their prey.


Children’s necks are soft to bite,

Their blood is sweet, they rarely fight,

But you are quick, you won’t be bit,

You’ll conquer them, you’ll use your wit.


Those vampire bats should take more care,

For when they fall into your lair…


One bat, two bats you will beat ‘em,

Before they bite you, you will eat ‘em!


Keep Away, Keep Away from the Woods Tonight.


In the sweet, damp forest,

in the warm dark night,

a girl and her dog,

quite an innocent sight,

you wouldn’t know to see them,

you wouldn’t even guess,

she seems quite normal,

in a lily white dress,

but she holds dark magic,

in the depths of her heart,

the witch and her familiar,

never seen apart.


Keep away, keep away from the woods tonight

The dogs will howl, and the moon shine bright,

keep away, keep away, and guard your soul,

From the lily white girl who’ll never grow old.


The folks have seen them,

for many years,

the lively dog,

with two black ears,

by day they’re gone,

lured by the pull,

of dingy caves,

All damp and dull,

but when the sun,

Falls from the sky,

she weaves her spells,

and casts them high.


Keep away, keep away from the woods tonight

The dogs will howl, and the moon shine bright,

keep away, keep away, and guard your soul,

From the lily white girl who’ll never grow old.

While you sleep

My mum used to sing lullabies at night, and tell me all sorts of things at bedtime to make me feel better. It’s with this in mind I wrote this little rhyme.


There is nothing in the dark except for more dark,

There is nothing to be scared of, or afraid,

There is no one hiding anywhere around you,

In your bed that I have so carefully made.


In your head there are soft dreams that have no edges,

You can sink into them, colourful and light,

You could fly, swim or ride upon a horse there,

The day is nowhere near as much fun as the night.

Hannibal Hamster

Its been a little while, so I thought I’d pop in a poem about a gangster hamster, I’ve never quite trusted them.


Hannibal Hamster


Hannibal hamster was fluffy and round,

He was cuddly, but make no mistake,

He was really a gangster, the worst one around,

And he lived in a hutch by the lake.


The animals all were afraid of this guy,

His expression a permanent sneer,

Although tiny, they really could not explain why,

He would strike them with infinite fear.


His threatening swagger was slow and cock sure,

He knew he did not have to try,

He had studied kung fu with the masters, offshore,

And he knew how to speak and box Thai.


He sharpened his claws to hunt in the night,

His nocturnal mind sharp and lean,

He travelled by plastic ball, lit by moonlight,

He was stealthy and rarely was seen.


He was a lone wolf as he pedalled his wheel,

He kept himself firm, trim and buff,

He had cats for minders and trained them to heel,

With the hamster girls he was hot stuff.


Hannibal hamster was fluffy and round,

He was cuddly, but make no mistake,

He was really a gangster, the best one around,

And he lived in a hutch by the lake.


The Clockwork Mouse

Bits of this have been popping into my head for a few days. I finally pushed them altogether.

The Clockwork Mouse
In a box in the ground, buried very, very deep,
Lies a clockwork mouse in the farthest depths of sleep,
He moves not a muscle, not a whisker or a toe,
And his clockwork key, has wound down long ago.
On a cold wet day, in the graveyard long forgotten,
There’s a man with a spade, found a box that was rotten,
Brought it home for his wife when he found the little mouse,
But she threw it outside and wouldn’t have it in the house.
One day a little boy was kicking stones along the street,
All he had in the world were the shoes upon his feet,
Came across that mouse lying, legs up in the gutter,
Picked it up, brushed it off, and his heart felt a flutter.
‘You’re my mouse,’ he said, and the mouse seemed to agree,
His nose began to twitch, although no one turned the key,
His toes moved a little, and then his clockwork eyes,
Looked up then, and the boy laughed his surprise.
He could hear a tiny whirring, like the turning of small wheels,
The mouse ran up his arm and down his body to his heels,
And they walked the street together, just like equals to the end,
The clockwork mouse who ran on love, the boy who was his friend.
So the boy felt lucky to be chosen from them all,
By the greatest of companions, and he never called him small.

The cow that swapped its moo

Henrietta the cow, thought she knew how,

To moo like the greatest of bovine

but one day she found,

that instead of that sound

she only could manage a low whine


To her great distress, (what a mess, what a mess!),

she actually started to bark.

It was quite a surprise

the voice that gave rise

was the wrong animal in the Ark


she asked the two bears, the ducks and the hares,

‘Oh where is my wonderful mooOO?’

She wanted the proof

By hook or by hoof,

She knew someone took it, but who?


But the horses said ‘neigh!’, in the ordinary way,

the bears growled, and the ducks quacked,

Henrietta was sure

that her moo was no more

she was sad but it seemed like a fact.



She tried with the sheep, who said not a peep,

so afraid were they of her growl,

she asked the giraffe

Who started to laugh

then the stick insects and guineafowl


Henrietta thought hard, had she played her last card?

She kicked thoughtfully at some logs,

she had asked one and all,

short, round and tall,

but why hadn’t she asked the dogs?


She started with poodles, with fur just like noodles,

Jack Russells, all covered with hair,

they all barked and woofed,

Henrietta just huffed,

till she saw one alone by a chair.


He was tiny and squat, and he sat in a pot

that should have been used for small plants

when he opened his snout

A loud ‘mooOOO!’ came out,

Henrietta started to dance.





‘My moo, my moo, it’s coming from you!

I’m so happy that it’s still around.’

The dog quite agreed

he was glad to be freed

from the really quite strange mooing sound


They swapped over quick, it was done in a tick,

then he was a dog, she a cow.

They made all their noises

now they had their voices

she went: ‘MoooOO,’ and he said: ‘bow, wOW!’





Today is Wotnot day.

Today is Wotnot day. Here’s a couple; some instructions on how to draw a man wearing a hat, and a painting of a Glyptodon of course.