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Poems by Jan Randall

Dinner Lady’s Lot

“I don’t like Brussels sprouts
And I’ve got gravy down my shirt, Miss,
Andy Sue just kicked my leg
And now it really, really hurts, Miss.

Danny’s had a fight with Kate
She pinched the carrots from his plate
And Sally’s just been sick,
I think you’d better come here quick, Miss.

That new boy sitting there, Miss,
Keeps making quite rude noises.
Jenny’s wet her knickers
There’s a puddle on the floor Miss!
Sammy’s flicking peas
And Ben has just pulled Amy’s hair,
Lucy’s spilled her drink
And Jamie’s fallen off his chair.

Jodie’s walloped William
‘Cos he asked her for a kiss.
I thought I’d tell you now
Because you’re looking kind of bored ---- Miss.

The Aliens Are Here

His voice can climb two octaves
In just two seconds flat
When he’s truly in frenzy,
And a human can’t do that!

His ears appear to waggle
And his dancing Adam’s apple
Keeps us mesmerised
When he begins to shout.

One day he’ll zap us
With his space gun,
For I’m sure that he must have one
Hidden in some secret place, no doubt.

So watch your teachers carefully,
Because it seems quite clear
The aliens are with us.
They’re our teachers, and they’re here!


Pardon Me!

Bottom-Puff Prudence they called her.
She made noises that were most out of order.
For she ate beans you see
Every day for her tea,
From January through to December.

The only time Prudence was quiet
Was when she was put on a diet.
But it didn’t last long
And she made such a pong
In the classroom, it caused quite a riot.

“Quickly, open the windows Miss Blane
That girl is at it again.
The parping and popping
Is hardly stopping,
She really is such a pain!”

However could Prudence dare
To bottom-puff everywhere?
Wherever she’d be
Her wind would go free,
And not one little bit did she care.

With a tummy that was so bloated,
Sometimes she even floated.
Bobbing round the room
Like a giant balloon
Up to the ceiling and drifted.

Then emitting a very rude sound
She’d descend gently back to the ground.
This was great fun,
She was second to none,
For her wind she would be renowned.

Then came the very sad day
When her mum threw the baked beans away.
She could eat them no more
Which upset her for sure,
And filled her with great dismay.

But Prudence was quite inventive,
And soon was very elated
To find that fried rice
Brewed up gas in trice
Now she’s no longer feeling deflated.


I’m Not Well!

I have this disease
Called ‘Horrendouskiditis’.
I haven’t got spots
And it isn’t contagious.
But it makes me do things,
Things most outrageous,
Like dropping dead flies in dad’s tea.

It wasn’t my fault
That the new shoes mum bought
I gave to the school’s jumble sale.
Somehow I can’t help it,
This bug makes me do it,
I even shaved Pussykin’s tail!

A whoopee cushion on my teacher’s chair?
If I hadn’t this illness
I just wouldn’t dare.
But I did it.
I had to.
The blast when she sat on it
Blew the curls out of her hair.

Homework? You’re joking!
I really was hoping
That I could achieve this small task.
But no, I attempt it,
The bug says: "Don’t do it".
Well, I tried, so what more can they ask?

Tricky it can be
If while in assembly
I suddenly have an attack.
First start the wriggles
And then come the giggles.
I’m ill, so I can’t hold it back.

My classmates all stare at me,
Some of them snigger.
The grins on their faces grow wider and bigger
Until soon the whole hall
Is resounding with laughter.
The teachers look angry,
As does the headmaster.

It’s said there’s no cure for Horrendouskiditis
This dreadful disease
That makes children obnoxious.
If you think I’m pretending
Why, that’s just preposterous.
You should feel sorry for me!

Ah well, I suppose
I’ll just have to put up with it.
Had it for years
So I’m really quite used to it.
If I WAS cured,
I think I would miss it,
Because when I’m naughty
I have an excuse for it:


Granny’s dunny

It’s at the end of Granny’s garden,
Like a little wooden hut.
The door creaks when it’s opened,
And rattles when it’s shut.

Inside it’s dim and eerie.
There are cobwebs on the walls.
In the daylight I don’t mind it,
But I’m scared when darkness falls.

Every night at bedtime
With Granny’s torch clutched in my hand,
Nervously I creep outside
And by the window stand.

The dunny seems so far away.
Should I walk or shall I run?
Eventually I take off
Like a bullet from a gun.

Sweating now and trembling,
I reach the dunny door.
I go inside and place the torch down
Carefully on the floor.

Sat there on the wooden seat,
Strange noises I can hear.
Scratching, scraping scuttling sounds
That fill me full of fear.

I try my best to whistle,
Which is very hard to do
When my chin is wobbling madly,
And my teeth are chattering too.

Picking up the torch
I open up the door, the scream
As giant moths descend on me,
Attracted by it’s beam.

A crash of thunder sets me running,
Lightning streaks the sky.
I burst into Granny’s kitchen.
At last I’m home and dry!

But my tummy’s sending signals
All the way up to my brain
To tell me I’ve has such a fright,


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