This week I've been working on a submission of children's poetry for an anthology for a publisher (in the usual way of things I can't say who, what or when yet). I'd forgotten how much I enjoy doing these odd little bits and bobs. I liked writing to a strict brief too.
Back in the day I did pretty well with small, funny poems in competitions, anthologies and magazines but recent years have all been about books and how long they take and how intense they can be with all the editing etc.
So poetry is fun for me. Here are a few I wrote that didn't make the cut for one reason or another:
When Alex fell into the water,
he made such an awful fuss,
that Benjamin threw him in again,
and delighted the rest of us.
A yellow caterpillar,
who called herself Pricilla,
was slow and dull and really rather plain.
One day she fell asleep,
in a little silken heap,
sleeping soundly wrapped against the sun and rain.
When at last she did awake,
she thought there must be some mistake.
I don't remember having these bright things.
But she gave a little flutter,
and a squeal of joy did utter,
when the sun dried out her lovely scarlet wings.
When up thousands of feet,
in an aeroplane seat,
folk below look like ants in a mound.
Whoops! Silly me.
How daft I can be.
They ARE ants, we're still on the ground.
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