Rice Creepies

Back away with your Coco Plops
Jog on with your Wee-Weetos
I want me some Rice Creepies

Begone with your Sugar Guffs
On your bike with your Corn Fakes
I want me some Rice Creepies

Please leave with your Dreaded Wheat
Get out of town with your Unspecial K
I want me some Rice Creepies

Just give me that sneaky Snap
Just give me that cheeky Crackle
Just give me that peeping Pop

Just give me that peculiar three
Because I want me some Rice Creepies

© Carl Burkitt 2019

We Don’t Lick Ladybirds

We don’t lick ladybirds,
that’s not what we do.
We giggle at them lots,
smile at their spots
and count their wings, one-two.

We don’t lick ladybirds,
that’s not what we do.
We hold them in our palms,
see if they have legs or arms
and wonder from where they flew.

We don’t lick ladybirds,
that’s not what we do.
We sing songs about them,
write poems about them,
then you lick them anyway
cos you’re only 2.

© Carl Burkitt 2019

Peter the Rude Christmas Pudding

Peter was not a very nice Christmas pudding.

Throughout Christmas morning he was rude to all of his friends in the kitchen.

He laughed as Charles, Chester, Charlotte and Carly the carrots were sliced and diced and skinned and thinned.

He chuckled childishly as Sally, Sean, Susan, Sid, Simon and Samantha the sprouts were forked and sheared and frazzled and shrivelled.

He shouted “see ya later, tater!” as Peter, Paul, Penny, Patrick and Pippa the potatoes were prodded and peeled and boiled and burnt.

He cackled with delight as Terry the turkey was roughed and stuffed and cooked and cut.

And he giggled with glee as Gwyneth the gravy was mixed and whisked with piping hot water and thrown over all of the food.

Once all of the food was placed on plates and taken through to the humans in the dining room, Peter’s eyes went wide with excitement.

“I wouldn’t get too excited,” warned Wendy the wine. “It’ll be your turn ne-”

“Sssssh!” said Peter. “I want to hear them get gobbled!”

Wendy tutted and watched Peter dance about to the sound of their friends being eaten.

“Right then,” said the mother human, carrying the now empty plates to the kitchen. “Time to prepare the pudding for when our dinner’s gone down!”

Peter looked at Wendy. “What…what’s for pudding?” he gulped before the mother human scooped him up, slammed him in a pan and then shoved him on the hob to be steamed for two hours!

Peter began to sweat in the heat and worried about his future.

Before he knew it, he was spluttering and spitting as funny smelling liquid was poured all over him.

He looked at Wendy with tears in his eyes and then the mother human lit a match and set Peter on fire!

Once the flames had fizzled away, Peter was chopped in to lots and lots of slices and given to every human.

The father human had the biggest slice and started chewing him up with his munching molars.

Peter began to scream as he slid through the father’s mouth and down his throat.

“Help me Wendy!” he squealed and then PLOP; he landed in the father human’s belly.

It was a dark and strange place, the father human’s belly. It growled and moaned and wobbled and bobbled.

Peter didn’t like it.

He just sat in a particularly smelly corner and cried and cried. He thought about how he didn’t like to be alone and wished he could see his friends again.

All of a sudden he heard a cough from the other side of the belly and then a soft voice said: “Peter, is that you?”

Peter stayed quiet, scared of what creature may be inside the scary place.

And then a different voice said: “Peter, it’s us!”

To Peter’s delight he realised the voices were coming from pieces of all of his friends!

There was chunks of Charles, Chester, Charlotte and Carly the carrots, sections of Sally, Sean, Susan, Sid, Simon and Samantha the sprouts, parts of Peter, Paul, Penny, Patrick and Pippa the potatoes, thin bits of Terry the turkey and globs of Gwyneth the gravy.

Each one ran over to Peter and gave him a humongous hug. “It’s so good to see you!” said Penny the potato.

“Yeah, we missed you,” smiled Gwyneth the gravy.

Peter wiped a tear from his eye. “But, I was so mean to you,” he said.

“You’re part of the family,” said Terry the turkey. “And Christmas is all about being with the ones you love.”

Peter smiled and told his friends he was sorry and that he loved them so much.

Then all of a sudden Wendy the wine came sloshing down and splashed all over them!

They laughed as they heard the father human burp and then spent the rest of Christmas day being best friends again.

© Carl Burkitt 2013

Cheerful Charlie and the sad, lonely orange

Cheerful Charlie’s tummy started to rumble and grumble.

“Oh, mummy!” said Charlie. “I have a grumpy tummy!”

Charlie’s mummy was busy reading. “Why not cheer it up with a juicy piece of fruit?” she said.

“Great idea!” yelled Charlie as he skipped into the dining room, towards the dining table.

Sat on top of the table was a great big, blue fruit bowl, filled with bananas, grapes, apples and pears.

Charlie jumped onto a chair to take a look at the fruit, but as he leant in towards the bowl he heard what sounded like crying.

“Mummy!” said Charlie. “Is that you crying?”

“Crying?” said Charlie’s mummy. “Nope, I’m just reading my book.”

‘Hmm,’ thought Charlie. ‘Who’s that crying?’

“Daddy!” yelled Charlie. “Is that you crying?”

“Crying?” whistled Charlie’s daddy from the kitchen. “Nope, I’m just making my lunch for work tomorrow.”

‘Hmm,’ thought Charlie. ‘Who’s that crying?’

Charlie looked at Barney the dog’s bed. Barney was all tucked up, snoring his doggy head off and spraying drool around each time he breathed out.

‘Hmm,’ thought Charlie. ‘It’s not Barney. Who on Earth is that crying?!’

Charlie suddenly heard a loud “Psssssttt!” He looked around the room, confused, unsure where it was coming from.

“Psssssttt!” came again. It was coming from the fruit bowl!

Charlie looked down to see a banana with two eyes, looking at him.

“Psssssttt!” The banana hissed. “It’s that smelly orange that’s crying.”

Charlie looked beyond the banana, beyond the grapes, beyond the apples and beyond the pears to see a sad, lonely orange hiding with tears running down his face.

“Oh dear, what’s wrong Mr Orange?” Charlie asked.

The orange sniffed very loudly and cried: “All of my orange friends have been eaten, the bananas keep calling me names, the apples are ignoring me and the pears keep laughing at me. I’m just a sad, lonely orange.”

The orange started to scream in sadness. “Waaaa!”

“There there, Mr Orange. Don’t be sad.” said Charlie as he picked it up. “You have lots of reasons to be cheerful.”

“Oh, yeah?” sniffed the orange. “Like what?”

“Well,” said Charlie. “You’re nice and big – much bigger than all of the fruit in this bowl. You’re a bright and shiny colour that makes you stand out from the crowd. You have a unique name, because no other words rhyme with ‘orange’. You’re full of vitamin C, which helps keep humans healthy and strong. You have a sweet and luscious smell that fills a room and you are just the juiciest, scrummiest, yummiest, tastiest fruit in the whole wide world!”

The orange smiled a big smile, wiped away his tears and thanked Charlie for his kind words.

Charlie’s tummy rumbled and grumbled as he remembered why he skipped into the dining room.

“In fact,” said Charlie, as he licked his lips. “You’re perfect…”

The orange looked down at the ground and sighed. “OK Charlie,” it said. “You can eat me.”

And with that, Charlie ripped the skin off the orange. He ripped it so fast juice began shooting around the room. He tore two pieces at a time, shoved them in his mouth and scrunched and crunched them into delicious mush before swallowing them.

The bananas, the grapes, the apples and the pears watched in stunned silence as Charlie gobbled every single piece of the orange in a matter of seconds and threw the skin into the bin.

Charlie burped.

“Charlie!” yelled his mummy. “What do you say?!”

“Sorry mummy. But I just had the juiciest, scrummiest, yummiest, tastiest orange in the whole wide world!”


© Carl Burkitt 2013

Little hero

(A poem for my poorly nephew)

Tonsillitis is not very nice,
In fact, Uncle Carl’s had it once or twice:

It hurt my throat and I couldn’t really eat,
And I felt so tired, from my head to my feet.

I cried and moaned and hugged my mummy,
And wished for crisps and sweets in my tummy.

Although all I could do was eat boring soup,
And stay inside like a chicken in a coop.

I kept on feeling sorry for myself,
You see, I’m not very good when I’m in bad health.

But a little bird tells me, my ace nephew,
That tonsillitis has not beaten you.

I hear you’ve been as strong as a bear,
Sat on the sofa in your underwear.

Yes you’ve been ill but moaned you have not,
What a little hero your mum and dad have got.

So when I’m next sick
And there’s no get well soon instruction manual,
I’ll just try my best
To be as brave as Daniel.

© Carl Burkitt 2013

Poems for Daniel

There is a young boy called Daniel
Who looks like a cocker spaniel
His ears are floppy
His bottom is ploppy
And his feet are furry an’ all

Daniel has a friend called Ellie
Who only has one wellie
When there is a flood
With water and mud
She has to stay in and watch telly

Daniel has a nice friendly Mummy
Whose cakes are always so scrummy
You must grab one quick
Before mum has her pick
And she puts them all inside her tummy!

Daniel has a mighty strong Daddy
Who’s bigger than any big baddie
But tickle his feet
Or don’t give him a treat
And he might have a really big paddy!

Daniel has a beautiful, fun Nana
Who is kind with a nice polite manner
She isn’t a fool
But she hasn’t a tool
She doesn’t even own her own spanner!

Daniel has a funny old Pops
Who buys jelly babies from shops
He likes a good snooze
Whilst watching the news
And spills gravy down all of his tops

Daniel has a sweet uncle Andrew
Whose head doesn’t need lots of shampoo
He’s losing his hair
But he doesn’t care
And he’s happy right the way through

Daniel has an Auntie called Nat
Who can put her hair in a plait
If she gets dizzy
Her hair goes frizzy
So she hides it with a great big hat

Daniel has an uncle called Carl
With a smile and rarely a snarl
He’s a big tall giraffe
With a funny old laugh
And invents words like piggledydarl

© Carl Burkitt 2012