Bunfungle

I wrote this for a children's poetry competition. It didn't get very far but another one I already had that I just threw in as an extra entry got on the long list. Just shows that you are not the best judge of what judges think of your work!



Bunfungle

My best friend's called Bunfungle

he lives beneath my bed.

He's got quite a tiny body

but a big and furry head.

He wakes me in the morning

by tickling my right ear.

He sings a happy morning song

'til my yawns all disappear.

He likes to share my breakfast,

he eats some of my toast.

Marmalade's the topping

that he enjoys the most.

He's in the pocket of my coat

when mum takes me to school

and hides inside the locker

at the swimming pool.

'Cos no-one sees Bunfungle,

he'd scare and he'd surprise!

Frighten them with his giant teeth

and his googly yellow eyes.

Bunfungle's better than a dog

he's more fun than a cat.

I like it when he dances

and wears a funny hat.

Bunfungle always keeps me safe

when I go to bed at night.

He scares off all the monsters

and tucks me in all tight.

I know one day Bunfungle

will have to go away,

when I get big like Daddy

he won't come out to play.

He'll still be in my pocket

he'll follow everywhere

I won't see him anymore

but I'll always know he's there.

Tim Fellows 2019

I Wannaby

This is a poem for my grandsons David and Edward and for all my Australian friends, who have had a bad week.

Photo by Glen Fergus (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)]

I Wannaby

I wanna be a wallaby
For if I were a wallaby
I'd lie beneath a leafy tree
I'd be so bouncy and carefree
and be as happy as could be
If I were a wallaby

I wanna be a kangaroo
For if I were a kangaroo
I'd do the stuff marsupials do
in the bush - or in a zoo
Hop around and graze and chew
If I were a kangaroo

I wanna be a grey koala
For if I were a grey koala
I'd welcome you into my parlour
and my Eucalyptus larder
I'd really be a tourist charmer
If I were a grey koala

I wanna be a yellow dingo
For if I were a yellow dingo
I would into your rubbish bin go
I'd only speak in dingo lingo
and have a good old howling sing 
Oh if I were a yellow dingo

I wanna be a Great White shark
For if I were a Great White shark
I'd glide in where the buoys are marked
or sneak into a Water Park
Oh what fun! What a lark!
If I were a Great White Shark

I wanna be a Queensland croc
For if I were a Queensland croc
I'd wait with the patience of a clock
tick tock tick tock tick tick tock
Then I'd give you a horrible shock!
If I were a Queensland croc

I wanna be an Eastern Brown
If I were an Eastern Brown
I'd slither in to your home town
and when the sun was going down
I'd hide inside your dressing gown
If I were an Eastern Brown

I wanna be a redback spider
If I were a redback spider
I'd scuttle in and hide inside a
shoe or glove or somewhere wider
I could wait and then I'd bite yer
If I were a redback spider

But, actually....

I don't wanna be a wallaby
with a joey on my knee
I don't wanna be a horrid shark
or dingo with its warning bark
I don't wanna be a kangaroo
or snake or shark or spider too
I just wanna live in a southern land
where its so easy to get tanned
when I get there I'll try to mail yer
if the animals don't get me - in Australia

Tim Fellows 2018

Butterfly House (for David)

This poem is in the form of a sestina, an obsessive form where the last word of the lines in each 6 line stanza repeat at the end of lines in the next 5 stanzas, except they are in a different place. Then there is a 3 line envoi, which contains the 6 words again.

This is for my grandson David, who loves the Butterfly House at North Anston.

Butterfly House

We watch the flitting blue-winged butterfly
inside the steamy, fecund, glass-walled house
the lazy Cayman and emerald snake
while in his cage the wise and silent owl
watches all the quick, excited children -
What's behind those yellow eyes, we wonder?

The boy, whose bright eyes light up with wonder
points out and reaches for the butterfly
that flutters and spins the heads of children
to probe all nooks and crannies of its house.
Meantime, old Thor – the screeching eagle owl
thinks hard about the green-scaled snake.

The wary children stroke the tiny snake
will they be too scared? We sit and wonder
if they'll prefer to pet the tiny owl
or return to observe the butterfly
who is safely trapped in its humid house
unlike the minds of questioning children

When his slick tongue tastes the tiny children
does the thick bodied, coiled constrictor snake
want to entrap them in his glassy house
and grip and tighten? We can but wonder
as the spotted, transparent butterfly
tries to mimic the graceful, swooping owl

He dreams of his far forest, Thor the Owl
His name is known by all the children
He's not an anonymous butterfly
or deadly like the black-white arrowed snake
although a frightened rabbit would wonder
as it hid in its dark and burrowed house

At last we will leave the Butterfly House
past the cage of the Turkmen Eagle Owl
the place of such beauty, awe and wonder
that so fascinates the smiling children
wave goodbye to the flickery-tongued snake
and, for the final time, the butterfly

Safe in moonlit house the sleeping children
dream of Thor the Owl and slithery snake
and fly in wonder like the butterfly

Tim Fellows 2018

Bedtime Stories (for David)

This was written for my grandson David, born 31-Dec-2014 and published to celebrate his 3rd birthday.

Bedtime Stories

He really likes his post-bath bedtime stories
before he shuts his eyes
My grandson and I, in the big soft bed
His face bright with wonder
as we rediscover the delights
of the tale of the three little pigs
and the Big Bad Wolf
of whom he, at least, does not appear to be afraid.

He really likes the Big Bad Wolf;
He mimes the hurricane destruction
of the inferior domiciles
of the pathetic younger pigs;
the straw and the wood no match
for David's lupine huffing.

He laughs at the wolf's scorched arse
as the eldest pig turns the tables
His brain is alive with words
that dance around the illustrations.

On we move to the three skeletons
whose voices I must mimic, and so does he
Their adventures in the night
(scaring the town)
like an endless loop
but this does not concern David.

He really likes the skeletons;
he appreciates the certainties of their routine
and he predicts the next page
with unerring accuracy;
How weird would it be if, one night,
the skeletons stayed at home?

Finally the fairy who's hard of hearing.
There's a moral to this one
that is presently lost on the boy
but he really likes the rhymes;
carrot,parrot;
mouse,louse;
cat,bat;
Keep with those rhymes son,
keep with the rhythm of words;
Let them seep into your senses
and chant them to Morpheus;
the skeletons, the wolf, the pigs
and the fairy's misheard rhymes.

He really likes this, and so do I.

(c) Tim Fellows 2017


 

The Decoy Bird

This was created in basic narrative form at a storytelling workshop at Towersey Festival led by the brilliant Debs Newbold and refined into a poem later. I've recently been reading Charles Causley and there are some nods to him in here too.

The Decoy Bird

Soldiers were coming - from the West
Nowhere had we to hide
except an oak tree or a ditch
there was no time to decide.
The leafy tree grew high and broad
so we began to climb
when a bird appeared, so very strange,
with plumage so sublime.

It shimmered blue, its crest was green;
night black its pointed beak;
it opened up its golden wings
and then began to speak:
"This tree not safe, come not in here,
your steps you must retrace!"
and so the dank foul smelling trench
became our hiding place.

The soldiers came, their crunching boots
stopped by the old oak tree;
We thought that they must surely find
my cousin Jack and me.
When suddenly a shout rang out
and then a gunshot too;
I saw when glancing at the sky
a flash of glistening blue.

The bird was dead, the soldiers laughed
and carried it away
But what they saw was not so strange
on that enchanted day;
They just saw a plain game bird
not sparkling in the sun
They left our land, we left the dyke
and to our home did run.

Years passed by but I ne'er forgot
the exquisite Decoy Bird
who saved our lives and died for us
yet we never said a word.
And now I'm old, my time is up
I wait to breathe my last
My mind is filled with memories
of my forgotten past...

An image flashed across my sight
from when I was a child
A fallen bird on the garden path -
my tired old face just smiled
I'd put that bird back in its nest
though I could not have seen
Its blackened beak, its aurate wings;
its crest of radiant green

I closed my eyes one final time
one crowning shallow breath
The long hid mystery was now solved
so thus I met with death.
But as my soul rose to the sky
I saw my golden wings
I opened up my jet-dark beak
and I began to sing.

"At last my story can be heard
for I'm the angelic Decoy Bird."

(c) Tim Fellows 2017

The Long-Leggedy Man

The Long-Leggedy Man

There is a man who stands so tall
I don't know how he walks at all

He wears blue clothes and a smart red hat
I don't know how he walks like that

He says hello and lifts his trilby
And says "good day" to the folks of Balby

He has long legs but tiny feet
How he gets around has got me beat!

It would be great to be that high
Up there with the birds that fly

Around your head and your waving flags
As tiny kids run between your legs

Long-leggedy man,  this poem's for you
the one who walks like we can't do

(c) Tim Fellows 2017

The Dog in the Hi-Viz

Written for my mate Dave Elsom's birthday - hope you like it!

This may have happened...

The Dog in the Hi-Viz

The small dog gaily trips along
He wears a tiny Hi-Viz coat
on a daily perambulation where
paths are marked and learned by rote

His Hi-Viz marks him out as special
It makes him bigger than he is
"You can't stop there!", "You can't do that!"
Authority is quite rightly his

He stops for a tiny but perfect poo
Stares at it with admiring eyes
that look accusingly at the man
"Clean it up!" the glance implies

The owner bends with plastic bag
as the officious canine checks his work
The stool is scooped, he seems content
that his so-called master didn't shirk

The lamppost is examined too
Sniff of wet and sensitive nose
Then delicately cocks his leg
in a confident yet careful pose

The world is safer than it was before
the tiny pooch checked out his route
wearing his tiny Hi-Viz vest;
Job done - and he looked so very cute

(c) Tim Fellows 2017