NINE RHYMES

A bunch of silly poems from Hobnob Bob to Bruno the Beansprout, written for my young daughters in the late 1990's.

The Digits of Doom There were many horrid stories,

Fuelled by rumours from within.

Of countless awful goings on,

Outside the biscuit tin.

Practised were the Digits of Doom, AKA Fingers of Fate. With rapier-like thrust, They’d have you on a plate.

Ginger was a likeable nut, For whom fate took a soggy twist. Over-dunked and lost at tea, Since when he’s sorely missed.

Hobnob Bob was bashed they said, Into a cheesecake base. His family too had disappeared, Of them there was no trace. Di Gestive was a sucker for cheese,

She went well with most it’s said.

‘Twas in the end her undoing,

Taken with cheddar and a glass of red.

Jaffa the Gaffer, biscuit or cake? A question for our ages. Scoffed still none the wiser, The debate forever rages.

I’ll close with Custard Cream Charlie,

Split in two, unlike his chums. Like them, however, he left his mark,

By way of copious crumbs.

The Sharpening Bluntness bugged Herbert, He'd moan "It comes to us all, I suppose". But he was especially hard, 4H from his top to his toes. Proud of his 4h-ness, Sharp and keen to impress on the page. Responsible for many a fine drawing, But a big-head, and tall for his age.

He knew the indignation of his colleagues, Their B-ness rendered them softer. More vulnerable to the dreaded treatment, By the sharpener they were sought after. Shavings filled the bin 'neath the desk, 'Til now none were Herbert’s. Then mid-scribble time caught up, His line fatter and nervous. The moment he dreaded had finally come, The humiliation of being sharpened and shortened. Excited, the B's lined up to watch, As Herbert looked a lot less important. The Bs had been there before, There was nothing they could say. Herbert was pointless and in need of help, But desperate to run away.

Fearing the worst, In seconds the deed was done. The dust settled as he regained his wits, It had actually been quite good fun.

Not so good he'd rush a repeat, But things could’ve been worse. Shorter but sharper and wiser he felt, And happy here to close this verse.

Vacuumuppence "Help" they cried, "We've had our chips!" The crumbs fled the room. A screeching motor filled the air, Here comes the suck of doom.

Vacuum Val was big and loud, Boasting years of service. Her appetite undiminished, The crumbs were rightly nervous.

But this time things felt different,

As choking on discarded crust,

She cried “I can’t scoff any more", Her bag was fit to bust.

Though full, Val still could not stop, Driven by greed her bag overloaded. Crumbs and dust in a moment were free, As with one last suck it exploded.

Royal Flush

Gav the Lav had seen it all, He'd been around it's true. His lid was always open, To anyone needing the loo.

Of his features Gav would boast, A two-speed flush was best. "Nothing's too much trouble" he'd say, "Take a seat, be my guest".

Proud of his ancestry, Of his Great Grandad (x20) it was heard, He'd reached the heights in toilet history, Being the property of Richard III.

Part of a three-piece bathroom suite, Gav, the bath and the sink. It was all quite harmonious, The lot of them coloured pink.

The loo-brush though, by his side on the floor, Was his closest friend. If ever things got tricky he knew, He'd help him around the bend. Doug the Plug No alarm was needed, Most mornings were the same. Doug roused around eight, Scrubbing of teeth to blame.

It was usually pretty fierce, Creating a lot of froth. Doug would cower, resigned, As clouds fell from above.

But this was as nothing, To what in his memory did stick. A night of overindulgence, And a sink filled with sick.

Too much spent at an off licence, Known as Freddie Barratts. In one dreadful moment, The plughole filled with carrots.

Much prodding of fingers later, After what had been an awful shock. Down swilled what was left of the gloop, As the plughole did finally unblock. But still one action remained, Doug didn't need a speech. To remove the ghastly lingering stench, Required a dose of bleach. The deed was done and all felt fresh, But the grim memory still lingers. Of all the carrots and other stuff, And those probing, prodding fingers.

Assault and Battery "Ouch! What on earth was that?" Yelled Dan on being rudely awoken. "All that swinging and bashing about, My nose is probably broken!"

It came as a great surprise, As these days he thought had long gone. Since Dora had arrived some time ago, With her electronic Ding-Dong. But sadly for Dan that proved not the case, Dora’s battery was completely flat. There wasn’t so much of a "Ding-Dong" As an old-fashioned "Rat-A-Tat-Tat!" It’s true Dan had seen better days, He’d been in decline latterly. Now worse, no thanks to Dora, His nose as flat as her battery.

Dominic the Drainpipe Crash went the thunder, Down came the rain.

Dom renewed his acquaintance, With Walter the Drain. Flo the Flea Flo loved warm weather, Especially very hot. She'd hop around from cat to dog, She hopped around a lot.

Entering here from the left, She exits to the right. Only briefly on the page, Then completely out of sight. Bruno the Beansprout Bruno was a compulsive cheat, He gambled and he lied.

He received precious little sympathy, The day he got stir-fried.