FAMILY POEMS

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The Race

By Jonathan Sellars

 

When my brother declared, “I’m faster than you,”

I cried, “That’s a lie!”

Even though it was true.

 

We agreed on a race,

We agreed on a prize,

First round the track won an ice cream surprise.

 

He laughed at the start line, “Prepare for defeat.”

But I had a plan,

And the plan was to cheat.

 

For hidden away,

Deep down in my pocket,

Was a ‘Keep-Out-Of-Reach-DANGER-Ultra-Fast’ rocket.

 

My brother said, “Go,” and like that he ran off,

So I turned on the rocket which…

Gave out a cough.

 

“This rocket is rubbish,” I started to fume,

But then it went fizz,

And then it went BOOM.

 

I shot off the line,

I shot into the lead,

I shot past the finish at eye-popping speed.

 

I hollered and whooped

Because I’d won the race,

Then the rocket took off and I shot into space.

 

And I’m sure I’ll be eating my ice cream prize soon,

Just as soon as I find a way back from the moon.

Aunt Ali’s Alligator

 By Jonathan Sellars

 

Aunt Ali had an alligator,

Until the alligator ate her.

Aunt Ali lived with Auntie Prue,

So the alligator ate her too.

The gator then went roaming free

On an auntie-eating spree.

It gobbled up my Auntie Jo,

My Auntie Bess, and Auntie Bo.

In fact, in that aunt-eating spate,

Of my nine aunties, it ate eight.

 

My final aunt was Great Aunt Rita,

And off the gator went to eat her.

A big mistake!

For Great Aunt Rita

Is an alligator eater

Who’s called The Reptile Terminator,

And she ate that auntie-eating gator.

A Whodunit

By Jonathan Sellars

 

The crack in the window,

The dent in the wall,

The sign saying ‘Golf Course’ that’s up in the hall,

The mud on the ceiling,

The paint on the floor,

The hole for a train that’s been cut in the door.

The puddle of porridge,

The tower of flour,

The fish in the bath,

The cat in the shower,

Those plugs in that jar,

That jam in those sockets,

These half-eaten cakes sticking out my pockets,

I think I should say,

I think you should know,

That I have absolutely no idea who’s responsible.

The World’s Worst Toys

By Jonathan Sellars

 

I’m not allowed to paint them,

Or to strap them to my bike,

Or to fire them like a rocket,

Or to call them what I like.

 

I’m not allowed to sit on them,

Or drop them on the floor,

Or to use them as a goal post,

Or to stuff them in a drawer.

 

I’m not allowed to swap them,

Or to stick them to the wall,

Or to bury them in sandpits,

Or to treat them like a ball.

 

And they can’t be turned off

When they’re making too much noise.

My two little sisters

Are the world’s worst toys!!

Creative Differences

By Jonathan Sellars

I really love being creative,

I really love drawing a lot,

And I really love drawing all over the house

With all of the pens that I’ve got.

 

But my dad’s so much of a meanie,

And my dad’s so much of a bore,

That my dad’s decided to write down a list

Of places he says I can’t draw,

 

No drawing’s allowed on the sofa

No drawing’s allowed on the wall,

No drawing’s allowed on the doors or the floor

Or the spanking new rug in the hall,

In fact, there’s no drawing on ANYTHING,

Be it cabinet, cupboard, or shelf.

 

And not only that, he’s also declared

That I can’t even draw on myself!

 

But though my dad thinks he’s so clever

And though my dad thinks he’s so smart,

I know my dad isn’t clever enough

To stop me from doing my art.

 

Because whether it’s under the doormat,

Or inside some dust covered books,

I draw now instead in the hundreds of places

I know that my dad never looks,

 

I draw in the sleeves of my jumpers,

I draw on the soles of my feet,

I draw on the bottoms of plant pots and bins,

And the leftover food we don’t eat,

 

I draw on the back of framed pictures,

I draw down the side of my bed,

And sometimes I even, when he’s asleep,

Draw on the top of Dad’s head.

 

And so I’m still being creative,

And so I’m still drawing lots too,

And so I’m still drawing all over the house,

All while my dad has no clue.