Mary had a little dog
It’s fur was short and spiky
He bought himself some running shoes
Two Adidas, two Nike.
The two he wore on forward paws
Ran fast and kept on going
For hours on end they’d charge ahead
And never seem like slowing.
The two he placed behind would race
Much slower by a mile
And they’d pretend their chase to end
Applying brakes a while.
This caused the pup while growing up
To shape his body slimmer
Much longer than it should have been
Quite different but much trimmer.
He knew his future then was in
A coursing kind of habit.
He’d challenge greyhounds at their game
Of racing after rabbit.
They used all four legs pumping fast,
Hearts pounding, like in fright
With ears laid back and tail out straight
They’d contest every night.
Our long dog on the other hand
Enjoyed participitation
His fore legs would set off a-pace
While rears stayed at their station.
This way he never tired out
And always beat the hounds
His reputation spread afar
Past greyhound racing grounds.
Ray Martin got to hear of him.
One evening on the telly
He interviewed our dog that had
Elastic for a belly.
This feature made the viewers cry
In sheer exasperation
For no dog in it’s wildest brag
Should show that to the nation.
They telephoned in millions
Saying “That was wrong, by crikey!”
And they SMS’d the network
“Don’t buy Adidas or Nike”.
So that's why Mary's dog now wears
No shoes without complaining.
In fact he's bought some RayBans
'Cos he's into PI training.
Copyright © Graham Pettigrove 2005
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HICKORY DICKORY DOCK
Hickory Dickory Dahlia
That rodent is in for a failure
If it runs on my face
My big hand will chase
And sever its wee genitalia.
Copyright © Graham Pettigrove 2005
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SING A SONG FOR SIXPENCE
Sing a song for sixpence
It’s never been so cheap
But sixpence doesn't buy much
Just three bars and a peep
Now if the purse is opened
And shillings start to ring
You’ll get your music in a rush
For money is the thing.
Copyright © Graham Pettigrove 2005
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DING DONG BELL
Ding, dong, bell,
Battlers in the well.
Who put them down?
Those who wear a crown.
Australia’s no exception here,
When Aussie battlers show no fear,
And hopes and aspirations heighten,
Work place laws begin to tighten.
Oil moguls share the blame,
Media magnates sell their game.
Global emporers wielding power,
Causing governments to cower.
This issue doesn’t ever pass,
Transparent as it is, like glass.
The problem rests with innate greed,
Controlling others is the creed.
Ding, dong, bell,
Battlers in the well.
Who keeps them down?
Those who wear a crown.
Copyright © Graham Pettigrove 2005
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HEY DIDDLE DIDDLE
Hey diddle diddle, preposterous riddle,
It means nothing more that it rhymes.
It’s told to the young who are right in the middle
Of finding their way in our times.
Around age eighty-nine it’s considered just fine,
To invent our own concept of real.
In those years there is little that’s hamper by rhyme,
'Cos most do, think and say what they feel.
But children need guidance while working things out
And it seems quite unfair to confuse
With cows jumping moons, or dishes and spoons,
Or fiddling cats who amuse.
But perhaps the importance of chanting a verse
Is in bonding through feigned conversation.
For in growing up surely there’s nothing much worse
Than enforced, empty, sound deprivation.
At the earliest age the words never matter,
It’s through sing-a-long voice and inflection,
Lovingly burbling the idlest of chatter,
That mums and dads make the connection.
That’s right, it’s later that we should take care,
Through pre-schooling years, the worst season.
Reciting rhymes then is no bonding affair,
For their meaning goes way beyond reason.
Then questions will flow and nobody knows
How to answer with logic and trust.
"How do reindeers fly?" "Did the maid lose her nose?"
These are too hard, but answer we must.
Three concepts must grow in the mind of the child
Imagining, making and fun.
Encourage those often and let them grow wild
Enriching each daughter and son.
With those three in place a preposterous riddle
Can present new ideas if you wish.
Cows can jump moons and cats can play fiddle
And a spoon can elope with a dish
Copyright © Graham Pettigrove 2005
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HUMPTY DUMPTY
Humpty Dumpty had practiced his fall.
He didn’t break anything - nothing at all.
The headlines proclaimed him forever destroyed
That injured his pride. He was deeply annoyed.
Ovine fragility caused him concern,
So he’d muscled up big on steroid lucerne.
He rehearsed his legendary tumble, he did,
And charged an admission fee, twenty-five quid.
He had a new wall built full three meters high,
Then climbed to the top and gave a huge sigh.
After sitting a while he toppled right over,
And landed feet first in a soft bed of clover.
But shrewdly he buckled in two for the crowd,
Feigning catastrophe, crying out loud,
“Get me an egg doctor, or better still three
Of the wisest of men from the king’s cavalry”.
The audience, stunned by Humpty’s wild cry
Just sat there dumbfounded, all hollow and dry.
But in a flash, one, the youngest of all
Dashed past Humpty’s body to answer the call.
Soon all the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Were there to put Humpty together again.
They umm-ed and they ahh-ed and each pulled at his beard,
For none had before seen a sight quite as weird.
Then one, who had passed a photography course,
Grabbed a camera from inside the pack on his horse
And photographed Humpty in muscle bound pain
Then galloped away to make capital gain.
The rest then declared Humpty couldn’t be mended,
And rode to their stables their day having ended.
The CNN broadcast of news the next day,
Showed the picture and said Humpty had passed away.
We know that’s not true but one issue does please,
Now Humpty cannot charge exorbitant fees
To watch as he tumbles from walls to the ground.
But he’ll find another scam, that I’ll be bound.
Copyright © Graham Pettigrove 2005
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TWINKLE TWINKLE
Twinkle twinkle little star,
Oh - what a silly goose you are.
For centuries you’ve shone your light,
Looking diamond-like each night.
It’s time you took some well-earned rest.
I urge you – do what you do best,
But learn to twinkle in the day,
Then give this night shift thing away.
Copyright © Graham Pettigrove 2005
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JACK AND JILL
Jack and Jill, naive in the extreme,
Decided to buy and sell shares,
Believing the prize from a stock exchange scheme
Always profits the dealer who dares.
They unloaded their car, best decision of many,
It had cost them a mint to repair.
Now they walked everywhere and saved every penny,
Never paying a cent for a fare.
Next their boat, caravan, preserved fruit in a jar,
And the TV from under the stairs,
Could all be turned over to cash, la-dee-dah,
To buy mountains of company shares.
HIH they were told would stay safer than gold.
OneTel is another good bet.
“Overseas the big cash is on ENRON, be bold,
Buy up fast, don’t get nervous just yet.”
Heeding brokers’ advice, they invested a slice
Of the funds in the bank saved by both.
Their future looked set, for they’d bought at a price,
That left plenty of room for quick growth.
Like many poor battlers our pair were robbed blind,
By corporate fraud and raw greed.
No money was left, not a cent could they find,
Their budgie and dog had no feed.
Entrepreneurial Jack and strict discipline Jill
With their finances stuck on rock bottom,
Began preparations to market their hill,
An idea they had almost forgotten.
With their plan set in place and thirst lining his face
Jack walked to the top to get water.
Jill usually came but this day with some grace,
She declined in the way her mum taught her.
Instead, she set off with a shovel and pick
To the side of the hill that was rocky,
Where she dug a big hole and found bones long and thick,
Of two dinosaurs, Tall Tim and Blocky.
The grave she had found was six million years old.
It contained some unique information,
That realigned tales that had always been told,
Regarding the birth of this nation.
Visitors travelled from countries afar,
To examine the dinosaur frames.
They all took away souvenirs in a jar,
Made in towns with the foreignest names.
Not satisfied Jack, who had broken his head
In a fall down the hill, as you know,
Soon attended to something a visitor said,
“A food outlet would help sell this show”.
Café J and J opened up in a trice,
“Will you take chips with that?” was their caper.
“Please choose your own garnish, vinegar or spice
And we’ll wrap the lot up in brown paper”.
Their venture succeeded so well that it grew
From a store to a chain nation wide.
Their company colours were yellow and blue
Their initials stood proudly outside.
KFC, McDonalds, Red Rooster and more
Joined up to give JJ the squeeze.
Bill Gates intervened to settle the war
By bringing the offence to it’s knees.
Protecting the underdog, that was his game
Then he proffered advice on the side.
“Remember your roots, be proud of your name,
Life’s purpose should not be denied.”
And so ends our tale of two kids with a dream
Who decided to pedal their wares,
Believing the prize from a stock exchange scheme
Always profits the dealer who dares.
Copyright © Graham Pettigrove 2005
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LITTLE BOY BLUE
Little Boy Blue, don’t dress like you do,
With your bare skin exposed to the cold.
You’re mum said you must wear a singlet each day
If you want to reach twenty years old.
Little Boy Red you’ll finish up dead
If your skin is exposed to the heat.
Your mum said you must wear a hat every day,
And some sandals protecting your feet.
Little Boy Green you’ll catch something obscene
If your bum is exposed to the light.
Your mum said you must wear clean jocks every day.
Just make sure that they’re not over-tight.
Little Boy Yellow you’re looking quite sallow
Caused by something you’ve done I suppose.
Your mum said you shouldn’t play rugby you know,
‘Cos it’s bad for your ears and your nose.
Little Boy White you’re not looking alright.
What have you been doing my lad?
Your mum said don’t swim in the sea late at night.
If that’s what you’ve done she’ll be sad.
Little Boy Brown, you’re face wears a frown.
You seem guilty as sin I decree.
Your mum said stand tall and only look down,
Too check where you're aiming your pee.
Little Boy Black you’ll be sad down the track,
If you choose to deny this advice.
Your mum said don’t play with the girls all the time,
Play with boys, they’re not sugar and spice.
Little Boy Grey go find your own way,
There’s no safe haven, hide-out or cloister.
Though your mum said she’d stay home for you every day
Get out, for the world is your oyster.
Copyright © Graham Pettigrove 2005
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TO MARKET TO MARKET
To market to market to buy happiness.
Possessions do count. They signal success.
To market to market to buy a big car.
What model? It matters whoever you are.
To market to market to by a big house.
Location? No better in town, this is grouse!
To market to market to buy a big boat.
What speed can it reach? And next does it float?
To market to market to buy more bling-bling.
It must be the best, I’ll afford anything.
To market to market to buy happiness.
It’s cheaper this week. On special I guess.
Copyright © Graham Pettigrove 2005
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LITTLE MISS MUFFETT
Little Miss Muffet’s strong penchant for whey,
With curds floating round in the dish,
Did significant good to her health one could say,
But nought to fulfil her life’s wish.
She was born Daisy May, a fine name for a cow,
And she wanted it changed from that day.
But no one would listen not then and not now,
D.M.Muffet it seemed she would stay.
Firmly determined to alter that curse,
She researched the law to discover,
If wed she’d attract a new name, nothing worse,
Than the one she’d been called by her mother.
“Daisy May do you take this handsome young man
As your husband today and thereafter?”
“Yes please”, she replied, as just newly weds can,
Then the guests joined in gales of laughter.
D.M. couldn’t see the cause of their glee
Long study had left her brain addled.
She was quite unaware that all there could see,
Up Proverbial Creek she had paddled.
It seemed rather odd to our girl who had done
Many hours scanning books bound in leather.
If the truth was revealed by a guest, anyone
Could have knocked the girl down with a feather.
They surely all knew her last chance had been spent
On a plan hailed decidedly clever.
But the boy she had wed was of German descent,
And his name was Karl Yurgen de Hepha.
In her haste to develop a plan to resolve
Her life’s wish of changing her name.
She’d only read last chapter clues to evolve
A good way to succeed at her game.
Short-circuiting process like that is insane,
It leads to the depths of despair.
The annulment was settled quite soon without shame,
And young Karl said, “This just isn’t fair”.
That’s when the poor lass took to whey we believe,
On small tuffets of grass she ate curds.
She sat down for hours finding new ways to grieve,
Using arachnephobian words.
One more thing has altered since that fateful day,
It’s remained so from that time to this.
Our girl will not answer when called “Daisy May”,
But she smiles if you say “Little Miss”.
Copyright © Graham Pettigrove 2005
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SEE SAW MAJORIE DAW
See-Saw, Marjory Daw,
I’m Jack and I’m courting disaster.
If I jump off my end when it reaches the ground,
Young Marj will descend even faster.
She’ll break her patella and dislocate hips,
Her telescoped spine will confuse.
She’ll look a bit shorter than she was before ,
And wider by far to amuse.
My plan isn’t bad ‘cos we’re looking for work.
I’ve got a big tent and a trailer.
I’ll make a sign, large, saying, “Come see my Marj,
She’s a blob! Money back if I fail ya”.
A circus will buy us, a feature we’ll be,
In provincial towns right round Australia.
There’ll not be a sight you more wanted to see
Than Fat Marj and her paraphernalia.
With the money we’ll make I’ll buy a big house,
I’ll film my Marj doing the chores.
She’ll like my idea, she’ll reckon it’s grouse,
So long as I widen the doors.
We’ll sell DVDs, grow as rich as two fleas
On a horse that’s retired to stand.
My Marj will be known as “The Blob with the Home
Built by Jack, the Best Man in the Land”.
But wait, there’s more…
Jack’s dream ended quickly for Marj was no dunce.
With her ESP tuned to high key,
She predicted the fate that her see-sawing mate,
Had devised and thought, “Never – not me”.
Next moment – surprise! Jack saw in her eyes
A gleam of divine satisfaction.
She’d found she weighed more (he not being a Daw),
And stayed down with him up needing traction.
Marj extended her legs and her seat rose a-way,
But her feet remained steady and fast.
When she slammed her weight down, a look of dismay,
Showed on Jack’s face as he whistled past.
The moral is clear, grab each chance by the ear,
When you’re working things out with your mate.
Share the same cup through each down and each up,
And don’t worry who carries most weight.
Copyright © Graham Pettigrove 2005
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THREE BLIND MICE
Three blind mice.
I’ve seen them once or twice.
See how they run.
I’ve watched them, aren’t they fun?
You said they ran after the farmer’s wife.
What you didn’t know is that they ended her life
By making her fall on her carving knife
The blade she had used once before when in strife
Bravo little tailless rodents. It’s nice
To see three purposeful sight-challenged mice
Avenged.
Copyright © Graham Pettigrove 2005
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TWEEDLE DUM AND TWEEDLE DEE
(Aussie politics at the turn of the century)
Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee
Rose up to rule Australia
Prime Minister and Treasuree
They never thought of failure
One cunning trickster full of guile
One cynic less than wise
Whose feigned and superscillious smile
Is little but disguise.
In truth the tiny team of two
Is more a one man band
Where team-mates are told what to do
And initiative is banned.
Deciding to increase its size
The trickster chose one more
Gruff and callous won the prize
To qualify the law.
A pipe-line to all other lands
Was next to join the crew
A puppet tied at feet and hands
Reciting “No can do”.
When immigration had its turn
The trickster changed the gender
Annointing one to bash and burn
A female fender bender.
This team of five might look quite slick
But really it’s a shocker
Do as I say or get the flick
Is painted on each locker
Who put it there is kept unknown
But Tweedle-dum calls loudly
My government is not a clone
I’m here to rule you proudly.
I alone possess the views
That underpin this nation
And I’ll decide how best to use
My God inspired station.
We’re left with what we don’t deserve
Democracy turned sour
If God throws Tweedle-dum a curve
We’re done for in an hour.
Copyright © Graham Pettigrove 2005
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