Children go through a very long phase where they love all things poo, bum, wee, farts, snot, ear wax – get the picture. My kids love Paul Cookson’s book Disgusting Poems for the same reason.
I thought I’d start writing some poetry for kids, so here goes.
Enter at Own Risk
Messy’s what I really like
and messy’s what I’ve got.
Mum would like it pristine clean
she’d spoil my favourite spot.
My books don’t really need a shelf
there’s plenty of room on the floor.
They’re better than a carpet
they can also block the door.
Why want them in order
of size, shape and subject matter.
I can see the covers better
when they’re laid out flat and splattered.
The best thing about a messy room
is the places you’ve got to hide
crusty undies and broken cups
and something else that died.
There’s yucky stuff that could be food
befitting an alien snack.
Who would have thought that yellow
banana skins go such a shade of black.
I draw many lovely pictures
leaving paper everywhere
and when the wind blows through the room
they float throughout the air.
Stuffed toys and pillows fluff about
wherever they want to go.
I can’t control their movements
this is not the army you know.
Super balls and marbles
roll around without a care
only causing serious injury
when you enter unaware.
My room is like a mixing bowl
for smells that shock the nose.
I’m warning new arrivals
it reeks of rotten toes.
But my nose has grown accustomed
to the lack of fragrant air.
To me it is quite comforting
only causes Mum despair.
So if you wish to visit me
and enter my abode
you do so at your own risk
something might just explode.