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]]> <![CDATA[Halloween Party]]> "Halloween Party"

By Joanne David

Artwork by Matthew Shires
© 2007 Joanne David, all rights reserved. 

Gather 'round children and I’ll tell you a tale,
Of goblins and ghosts; of shrieks and wails
It happened on Halloween, as these things do,
For that’s when they come out … yes, you know who!

Our story begins with fun and good times,
Trick or treat antics, games and rhymes
But when the party is over and it’s time to go,
Well, the streets are dark … yes, ever so

Just two costumed figures, a ghost and a witch,
Running towards home, til one gets a stitch
“Wait Tyler wait, I can’t run anymore!
Can we rest just here, beside this door?”

He won’t leave her behind, and so they settle,
To catch their breath and stop wheezing like kettles

Soon they feel better and make ready to leave …
But Wait! What’s that! Do you hear, do you believe!
Scared as they were, they just had to look,
Behind the door … which fell open like a book

 Creeeek went the door to reveal an amazing sight
The room was alive with ghosts in flight,
And witches zoomed by on brooms of straw, why the children’s mouths dropped open with what they saw!

It was a party for sure, the fun was in full swing,
But this was no fancy dress … this was the real thing
For real they were, you could tell at a glance,
So the children decided … this was their chance!

They joined in the fun, hitched rides on brooms,
Swung from chandeliers, played hide-and-seek in tombs
Their cackles top notch, their boos scary too,
Why, not one witch or ghost said “Who are you?”

It was the best night either of them ever could have had,
Their new friends were fun … not one of them bad

So, children or spooks, ghost, witch or cat,
It doesn’t matter which, and this is a fact
On Halloween, fun is what matters the most,
If you don’t believe me, just ask any old ghost!




 

]]> <![CDATA[Mouse in the House]]> "Mouse in the House"

By Teena Raffa-Mulligan

Artwork by Kevin Scott Collier, Author and Illustrator
© 2007 Teena Raffa-Mulligan, all rights reserved. 

"There's a mouse in our house,” said old Farmer Fife.
“Well, a cat will fix that,” said his good lady wife.

But the cat clawed and spat at the dog – how fur flew.

Fife yelled “Out!” What a shout, that house trembled, it’s true.

Next a trap it went snap but Mouse, she ran free.

Then a man in a van tried his luck for a fee.

Mouse hid ‘neath a lid till the danger was past.

Hunger gnawed - soon Fife snored - time Mouse broke her long fast.

Out she crept while they slept and feasted her fill.

“It’s a pest not our guest!” Fife vowed, “Catch her I will.”

They tried brooms and loud booms, every potion and powder.

But Mouse she stayed, on she played, and her gnawing grew louder.

‘Twas not food but a brood in her round little tum.

They were born in the morn and the one had become

Nine, no less, and oh yes, Wife and Fife were distraught.

Those lodgers, smart dodgers just wouldn’t be caught.

In a trice those fine mice multiplied to three score

until Fife and his wife could not take any more.

Yes, they fled, out they sped, left their house to the mice

who skittered and tittered and sighed, “This is nice.”







]]> <![CDATA[The Lion in the Living Room]]> "The Lion in the Living Room"

By Kelly Christiansen

Artwork by Kevin Scott Collier, Author and Illustrator
© 2007 Kelly Christiansen, all rights reserved. 

There's a Lion in the living room,
A Leopard on the floor,
A Cheetah in my easy chair,
I hear more at the door!

An Elephant with great big tusks
Is charging up my walk.
A Monkey's on the curtain rod
and overhead... a Hawk.

Six Kangaroos are hopping
In a line from room to room.
Seven Squirrels and a Wallaby,
Around the house they zoom.

A Rhino's in the bathtub
A Hippo's in the sink
A herd of half-trained Muskrats
are raising up a stink.

There are Bats up in the belfry,
Silly Cows who like to moo.
My bed is full of Puppies,
This place is like a Zoo!






 

]]> <![CDATA[Oobly Goobly]]> "Oobly Goobly"

By Helen Miles

Artwork by Kevin Scott Collier, Author and Illustrator
© 2007 Helen Miles, all rights reserved. 

Oobly goobly gobbly goo,
Mouse fell in a pot of stew.
Beady eyes round with fright,
Blowing bubbles, what a sight!

Struggling in a mix of brown,
Crying out, his head went down.
Gulp and swallow, yucky taste!
Not a minute more to waste.

He spat out onions, peas and meat
And quickly kicked his tiny feet,
Curled his tail and made wish
So he might flee this deadly dish.

A tingle in his back soon grew,
He sprouted wings and up he flew
Through the brown and sticky mess
In a stewy dinner dress!

He sucked in air and shook about,
And gave his gooey ear a clout.
Out popped a pea and gravy too,
“Now I know what I should do!” 

“I’ll make the most of these new wings,
I’ve never had such speedy things.”
He burped a bubble, and up he went,
Though his tail was slightly bent.

He shouted loud without a care,
“I’m a flying mouse with speed to spare!”
He zoomed along and startled all
Gurgling out his midnight call.

A flying mouse the moon did spy
Dripping brown as he went by.
He splattered everything in sight,
Twirling ‘round with all his might.

The moon and stars he speckled brown,
It’s just as well the Sun was down!
A passing witch let out a groan
“Hey you!  This is a go-slow zone.”

The wish wore out, his wings did splutter,
“I’m in trouble now!” he did utter.
Dropping fast, spinning ‘round,
“Help!” he squeaked, earthward bound.

He made it home and tumbled in,
And slid along the rubbish bin
Then when his wings had disappeared,
He felt sort of strange - really weird!

For where they’d grown, now sprouted fins,
Just in case he slipped back in
And floundered in that dreadful brew,
Oobly goobly gobbly goo!





 

]]> <![CDATA[Quackers in Bed]]> "Quackers in Bed"

By Hilary Daninhirsch

Artwork by Kevin Scott Collier, Author and Illustrator
© 2007 Hilary Daninhirsch, all rights reserved. 

My name is Quackers. My bedtime is eight o’clock, but with a trick or two, I usually do not get to sleep until about nine o’clock, a whole hour past my bedtime.

Here’s how I do it:

First, Mama or Papa tells me that it is time to start getting ready for bed.  I ask if it is bath night. If it is not bath night, I beg for a bath until my feathers are unruffled. If it is bath night, I pretend I don’t want a bath. If I do get a bath, I flap and splash and splutter around, playing submarine and mermaid, and I won’t get out until Mama or Papa drains all the water out of the tub.

After I’m out of the tub and dried off, it’s time to pick out pajamas. I always want to wear the pajamas that are in the laundry hamper, but Mama tells me I have to choose another pair.

I try on three or four pairs until I finally decide. If it’s summer, I like warm fleecy pajamas with feet, but if it’s a cold winter’s night, then short pajamas it is!

Then it’s my favorite part of the evening: snack time!

I ask Mama to name every snack in the house. Then I ask her to repeat it. Then I take a look myself, first in the refrigerator, then in the pantry, then the pantry again, then the refrigerator. Finally, I decide: "snack quackers," I say. (I always end up choosing these as my bedtime snack: Mama tries not to laugh, but this makes her quack up).

While I’m slowly crunching, Mama asks if I would like to read a few books. I always say "yes." I am four, so I am allowed four books each night. I choose books about little ducks like me, the longer the better. I tell Mama that "when I’m ten, I will get to read ten books each night," but she says that it doesn’t work that way.

After our stories, Papa carries me upstairs on piggyback to the bathroom, where I am supposed to brush and floss my teeth. Every night, I play hide and seek with the toothbrush. It often takes at least five minutes for them to find it. They’re not quacking up at this point.

By this time, it’s really getting late. Mama says, “Don’t dawdle - waddle!”

So, I climb under my duckie quilt and snuggle down in my goosefeather pillow. I squirm and squeal and kick and quack until everything is just right.

After quacks and kisses, Mama and Papa turn out the light and say "good night."

I usually wait about five seconds, just long enough for them to close my door and waddle toward the stairs. Sometimes I even wait until they are all the way downstairs.

Then I call them back with a loud quack.

"What’s all the racket my little Quackers?" Mama yells from downstairs.

I quack back even louder.

"Quiet and quit quacking, I’m coming!" she says.

The reason I call her is because I’m not tucked in.

Or because my room’s too bright.

Or too dark.

Or because I left my stuffed duck downstairs on the couch.

Or because I hear a buzzing noise.

Or there are scary shapes in the shadows.

Or I’m thirsty.

Or I’m hungry.

Or I have a quick but important question (like how many quarters are in a hundred dollars).

Well, maybe the real reason I call Mama back with a quack is that I just want to see her face one last time before I close my eyes.

Mama gives me a squeeze, a kiss, and a quack.

Then I fall asleep.



THE END


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For inquiries, e-mail Hilary Daninhirsch



]]> <![CDATA[Bug Ballyhoo]]> "Bug Ballyhoo"

By Corinne Fenton

Artwork by Kevin Scott Collier, Author and Illustrator
© 2007 Corinne Fenton, all rights reserved. 

I snuggled down into my bed.
‘Goodnight, sleep tight,’ my mum said.
Then just as Mum turned out my light,
I heard a sound in the summer night.


I listened hard and again heard the sound -
I’m sure it was coming from under the ground.
I peeped out the window - it didn’t seem right . . .
Then I saw an incredible sight!


The bugs were having a concert, it seemed.
From a shiny-leafed bush, a tiny light beamed.
And on centre stage, while an insect band played,
A cockroach sang and the audience swayed.


The crickets joined in with a jump and a prance
And wiggled about in a strange little dance.
They swung to the left, they swung to the right,
They whirled and twirled in the magical night.


They did the rock, they did the roll,
Flinging and spinning out of control.
They twisted, they shook, they leapt in the air,
They flew and they flounced with spectacular flair.


Oh – footsteps outside! Somebody’s coming!
The crickets stopped still and the band stopped thrumming.
The concert over, I snuggled in bed
With crickets dancing in my head.


THE END


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For inquiries, e-mail Corinne Fenton


 

]]> <![CDATA[Andy, the Forgetful Elephant]]> "Andy, the Forgetful Elephant"

By John Tyrrell

Artwork by Kevin Scott Collier, Author and Illustrator
© 2007 John Tyrrell, all rights reserved. 

Andy is like all the other elephants in his neighbourherd.
He likes to eat.
He likes to paddle.
And he just loves mud-wrestling.
But Andy is a little bit different.
Actually Andy is a big bit different.
Andy is the only elephant in his herd who forgets.
 
He forgets to bring home his school-books.
He forgets to brush behind his ears.
And his mum is always on his back to clean his tusks.
 
Some days he forgets to put on his sunscreen.
Other days he forgets to scrub between his toes.
On Monday, he put his swimming goggles on the wrong way and got really sore eyes.
He has even forgotten his own name.
 
Andy and his elephant friends have plenty of things to remember to do.
They have to go out and find their food.
They have to watch out for one other.
And to compete in the Elephant Olympics, they have to be on time for their volleyball training.
 
It’s a big job remembering to remember.
But that is what an elephant is supposed to do.
Except poor Andy.
 
Nobody knows how Andy become so forgetful.
It might have been on Tuesday when he was doing his silly head stands.
Or Wednesday when he fell out of his bunk.
Andy says it’s because his brain was learning too much at school.
 
Whatever the reason, it is driving Andy’s family and friends bananas!
 
On Thursday he forgot to wake up his brother Alan to go hunting.
On Friday he forgot to make the masks for Auntie Elly’s party.
Andy’s mother was wild.
“You would forget your trunk if it wasn’t stuck on,” she told him.
 
His friends tried their best to help him remember.
Eloise gave him a diary.
Eleanor tied a knot in his hankie.
They even spent their pocket money to buy him an alarm clock.
 
In desperation, his father called in the Elephant Man.
“Memory problem for an elephant?” said the Elephant Man. “Sorry. No can do.”
The problem was too big even for him.
 
In the afternoon Andy had a big think.
He was sure there was something he had forgotten, but what was it?
Was it someone’s birthday?
Did he do all of his homework?
 
He sighed. There was something he had to remember... if only he could remember.
Had he rinsed out his trunk?
Was his comb in his pouch?
Did he remember to put on his pest screen?
 
That was it! He forgot to put on his pest screen.
 
Just then a mosquito buzzed in his direction.
Andy saw the mosquito coming and he shook his head but the insect landed on his ear.
This made Andy fume.
He swished his big trunk at the little insect.  Whooosh.
Then he did it again. Whooosh. Whooosh.
And again. Whooosh. Whooosh. Whooosh.
 
Andy’s trunk twirled wildly in the air. Thwack.
Oh, oh. Andy missed the mosquito, but struck his own head.
“Ouch, that hurt,” he bellowed, as he tumbled off his log.
 
Big heavy Andy felt very light-headed.
He saw stars … but the sun was shining brightly.
His head was whizzing inside … but his body was perfectly still.
 
Andy picked himself up and started to walk.
But he swayed this way and that - all over the track.
He looked like an elephant who had drunk too much water.
 
Suddenly he stopped.
Ping! A light went on in Andy’s brain.
“It’s volleyball training time!” he cried. “I knew there was something I had to remember.”
 
Andy was so excited.
He set off quickly humming songs he thought he’d forgotten.
He felt so happy and so alive.
 
The other elephants could see him coming and started to cheer.
The ground shook under them as they stomped with glee.
“Hoorah, hoorah!” they roared. “Andy has remembered our game!”
 
Today, Andy remembers every little thing.
And his mum is so proud of him.
He even does her shopping list.


THE END


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For inquiries, e-mail John Tyrrell



]]> <![CDATA[Koala and Teddy]]> "Koala and Teddy"

By Lucy Grace

Artwork by Kevin Scott Collier, Author and Illustrator
© 2007 Lucy Grace, all rights reserved. 

Teddy Bear's favourite place was sitting in the big wicker chair next to the  window.  Each day he would gaze out at the garden, watching the birds pecking at the food on the bird table or searching for insects in the  flower beds and lawn.

At night he would snuggle down into the feather filled cushions in the chair and sleep soundly until morning.

But one morning he woke up and found someone next to him.  Huddled up to Teddy’s fat tummy was a tiny grey and white Koala bear.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” growled Teddy, his black nose wrinkling in disgust at the new bear sharing his seat.

“I’m cold” wailed the Koala, but Teddy wasn’t at all sympathetic and asked the Koala where he had come from.

“I’m a present – from Australia – for the girl who lives here.  Her friend  brought me with him last night, we came on a big aeroplane.”

This didn’t impress Teddy at all.  The girl in the house didn’t need another bear.  “Jemma won’t like you” he snarled, “I’m her favourite, been with her  since the day she was born.”

The poor Koala bear began to cry, he was feeling tired and shivery and now  he was worried about what would happen to him if Jemma didn’t want him.  Maybe he would be put in the bottom of the toy box and forgotten about. 

Or worse still, hidden away in the back of the toy cupboard where it would be dark and gloomy.

“I don’t think I like it here” muttered Koala, trying hard to convince himself and protect his hurt feelings in case Jemma didn’t want him.

“It’s too cold for me,” he went on, “In Australia it was hot and sunny when we left”.

“Stop moaning” scolded Teddy, “it’s cold today because it snowed last night."

Then feeling a bit sorry for the Koala, for he was only a very young bear, he put a furry arm around him and gave him a big bear hug.

“Do you really think Jemma won’t like me?” asked Koala, “Well, maybe she will” grunted Teddy “but don’t expect her to play with you much.  She thinks she’s too big now to play with toys.  I spend all my time  sitting here.”

This puzzled Koala.  In Australia he had been in the toyshop window with lots of other bears and all the children who came in loved playing with them.  He looked at Teddy and noticed in places his fur was a bit worn and flattened as though he had been cuddled a lot, whereas his own fur was still nice and fluffy.  So why wouldn’t the girl who lived here want to play with him he wondered, he was a lot smaller than Teddy and not nearly as old, surely she would like him? Oh dear, what kind of a home had he come to with a child who believed she was too big to play with toys.

Just then the door opened and a very pretty girl walked in carrying a bundle of something.  She walked across to the chair by the window and her gaze fell upon the Koala.

“Oh my word! You’re beautiful” she exclaimed, then pulling back the blanket from the bundle she was carrying she placed the Kaola gently next to the baby that was snuggled up there.

“See, told you she was too big for cuddly toys, didn’t I” smiled the old Teddy, “but I forgot to tell you she has a  baby of her own now and you will be with him from the start just as I was with his mum.”

Koala wasn’t listening, he was fast asleep curled up beside his new owner, nice and warm and happy that someone was going to love him after all.


THE END


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For inquiries, e-mail Lucy Grace






]]> <![CDATA[Simon snd the Turkey]]> "Simon and the Turkey"

By Maggie Stevens

Artwork by Kevin Scott Collier, Author and Illustrator
© 2007  Maggie Stevens, all rights reserved. 

One day Simon Split was wandering in a nearby cornfield when he heard a strange noise, one he had never heard before.  It was indescribable, at least to an old mule.  He stopped munching on the corn and listened. All was quitet so Simon had another ear of mule corn; it seemed to have a little more “umph” to it than people corn. Then he heard it again and again.

Simon tried to walk easy, to slip–up on this thing, whatever it was.  With Simon’s four feet it was hard to slip up on much of anything, but he kept on playing a cat and mouse game in between the rows of corn and finally he could contain himself no longer he just had to let out a famous Simon Split hee haw.  

It was so loud the corn even seemed to stand up straighter, and with that a huge wild turkey jumped out three rows down, and almost scared the old mule plum out of his mule skin.  Simon didn’t stop running till he reached the Ferguson Farm.

All was well through the night and into the next morning. Simon had hay and some of Mrs. Lula’s left over honey biscuits for breakfast, and decided to have a nap before he went out to view the world. 
Even though Simon had a mule brain, he had what people of that day called people smarts.  Grandpa Hampton Ferguson could look straight into the old mule’s eyes and tell him something and he seemed to understand.  Folks around the Ferguson farm knew Simon and put up with him a bit more than they normally would. They knew he was no ordinary mule.

Simon napped for a while, but as he began to wake up he started thinking about the wild turkey and how scared he had been the day before. He decided that he couldn’t let something that small scare him so bad without going back at least one more time to check it out.

Simon jumped to his four mule feet and off he went, hee hawing all the way. Simon thought he could sing, but it just came out as hee haw’s.  When he got to the cornfield where he had last seen the turkey he was totally surprised to find the big bird sitting there on a fence post just waiting for him.

The turkey was bigger than Simon thought she was.  The old mule decided to try the friendly approach first.  He moseyed over to the fence post and hee-hawed in his sexiest voice so he would not scare this old bird. “Hee haw he said and the turkey, in the same friendly voice said, “gobble.”  They hee hawed and gobbled for a while and finally Thomesa Turkey flew over and landed on Simon's back.

The old mule couldn’t come that far without an ear of mule corn.  He threw one to the ground for the turkey and he got his belly full and with Thomesa Turkey on his back they headed for the Ferguson farm. Grandpa Hampton and Mrs. Lula happened to be in the barnyard when the unlikely pair came up. “Well,” said Grandpa, “looks like this old mule might have brought us Thanksgiving Dinner.” 

The turkey “gobbled." Simon hee-hawed a defiant "NO." The turkey was nowhere near as smart as the mule, but she seemed to know her life was at risk. After all, Thanksgiving was only a month away and they both had heard about these big dinners.

As this story draws to a close, I can only tell you what I think might have happened.  Simon in all probability took the turkey bird back to the neighbor's corn field and hid her out until he was sure Mr. Hampton Ferguson had bought a turkey bird and Mrs. Lula had prepared the big Thanksgiving feast for the family.

THE END



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Read the Article on Maggie in Main Street Newspapers
For inquiries, e-mail Maggie Stevens






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