Ms Cheryl Diane Parkinson

Writer


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The Old Wily Wood

Would you take a walk through the Old Wily Wood?

Where the Ambergris Grimm is up to no good?

Would you take a stroll through the deep if you could?

Knobbly limbs lobes, probes, trunks awkwardly stood.

 

The moon riding high casting an eerie glow,

Distorting the shadows that flick two and fro,

Stretching and haunting  nooks, crooks and low,

Ghostly shadows in the brush, eyes red a-glow.

 

A quiver, a shiver, shudders up your spine,

A soft moaning wind, whines round through the pines,

Shadows n’ figures, glide and entwine,

The trees, reaching branches, snag, scrape: so malign.

 

Flaunting the haunting, the wood loses your steps,

Stumbling and fumbling through the darkness and wet,

The rain in cahoots, drizzles cold wet and frets,

As the wind whips up the pace; your fate is set.

 

Leaves floating free tumble and cover your tracks,

Whispers and flutters round your ears, face and back,

Changing, evolving the wood stops your backtrack,

The  wily wood’s laughter, rings live through the black.

 

Would you take a walk through the Old Wiley Wood?

Heart hammers in fear, could you burn firewood?

Knowing the trunks and branches where they stood,

Could rip up their roots, move, betraying deadwood.

 

Would you take a walk through the dead of the night?

Shadows seeping, creeping and curling in sight,

The moon riding high, lonely, pale and in fright

The freaky whispers; pluming breath, fragile-white.

 

Rough knobbly fingers rip and tear at your hair,

Not for the faint hearted, so better beware!

Red eyes in the undergrowth, tread with a care!

Moaning winds, yawning mouths, beware the beast’s lair!

 

Would you take a walk through the Old Wiley Wood?

Knowing that the trees there were up to no good?

Would you take a stroll through the dark if you could?

Knobbly limbs, lobes, probes, trunks awkwardly stood.

 

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Penelope Parker, the prickly girl from Peckham, meets the Precocious Pangaloo from Puddelonia.

 

Puddelonia: a place that none do speak,

Where persons were not permitted to peek,

For people were thought of as pernicious punks,

Polluting, profaning, poisonous skunks!

 

Peculiar Puddelonians were pint-sized; petite,

So small they could slip in the pleats of the streets,

Puddles of Peckham lay wet on the floor,

battered by rain as it splattered and poured.

 

Swelling the dwelling; the puddles of Peckham,

You’d think the out-pouring of raindrops would wet ‘em!

Puddelonians loved the rain to come through,

Cos spectacular Puddelonia, grew and then grew.

 

The more it poured and pelted of rain,

The brighter and sunnier Puddelonia became.

And, in private spectral presence, there lived,

A Pangaloo of Puddelonia! And his name was Viv.

 

He shimmered and shone; the Puddelonians pride,

And he peppered and sprayed so well that they cried!

He showered with pinks and purples and blues,

A rainbow of colour from this Pangaloo!

 

Now back to a perverse and prickly imp,

Who was rude and cheeky as a cheeky little chimp!

Penelope Parker was a prickly pear,

A proper madam she did appear.

 

In private she liked to pick her nose,

Her Papa would encourage a tissue to dispose,

The repulsive green pulp she’d pop in her mouth,

Promptly chewed it and then sent it down south!

 

The people of Peckham who saw such a sight,

Would wrinkle their nose, spin round or turn right.

But prickly Penelope with her bandy legs,

Defended her choice to recycle her dregs!

 

Yelling and screaming! Such a horrible girl!

And yet her father thought her a pearl.

He spoiled her, his precious Penelope pansy,

She’d pout and preen, and he’d melt like warm candy.

 

One day Penelope flopped in a strop,

Cos’ the peltering rain just would not stop!

People of Peckham donned waterproof hats,

While Penelope Parker was being a brat!

 

“Daddy make the sun shine! I want to play out!”

She screamed and she yelled with a frown on her mouth.

Puddles formed perfectly in the pouring rain,

But prickly Penelope thought it all a pain.

 

Papa insisted on her pink wellie boots,

But she picked up the remote and turned him on mute!

Pouncing and pounding out of the door,

Dressed in pale pantaloons, sun hat, and more.

 

Her weakling papa, just like that, let her go!

Cos he couldn’t bring himself to say “no.”

She skipped and jumped in her pretty plimsolls,

Expecting the sun to do what it was told.

 

Her papa had told it to shine out today.

Cos Penelope Parker was ready to play…

On seeing the rain was still wet as it poured,

Penelope Parker screamed and she bawled!

 

Her pigtails were sodden and stuck to her face,

She screamed and cried “I hate this place!”

The Pangaloo from Puddelonia heard her cry,

And decided he wanted to find out why…

 

A Panagloo is magical, that is for sure.

It’s linage unique; a thoroughbred pure!

And as weird as it seems, this one thing is true,

The Pangagloo’s secret’s in the gangaloo!

 

What’s gangaloo? I hear you enquire

It’s magic that shimmers and quivers like fire…

It’s properties a mystery, none can tell,

Where in Puddelonia the creature does dwell.

 

Penelope Parker piqued his interest,

He thought her a porker, for her tales never rests!

And when she strolled past Puddelonia’s puddle,

He befuddled her huddle sending her in a muddle.

 

Whiz! Pop! Kazoom! Magic! Just like that!

Penelope Parker fell and shrunk with a splat!

She shot down in size so fast she could see,

That she was as tiny, as tiny as an ant on a tree!

 

Looking for blame, she’s bound to rebuke!

But a wobbly stomach made her puke and puke…

The precocious Pangaloo looked down his nose,

At Penelope Parker’s twos and her throws…

 

He thought her a pampered and spoilt princess,

Who’s terrible tantrums caused a mess.

For her puking and puking caused such a stink!

That no-one cared if her plimsolls were pink!

 

Surely no-one would miss such a horrible child!

If she disappeared no report would ever be filed…

So the magical marvellous being went active,

His shimmering coat became radioactive!

 

It shimmered and shone, pinks and blues,

The Pangaloo’s fur as it went gangaloo.

And Penelope Parker who picked her nose,

Turned into a… what do you suppose?

 

The purpling palette of colours for sure,

Turned Penelope Parker into a panda with paws!

Then sent her promptly to puddle filled Peckham,

Where she went post-haste to her papa: Graham.

 

Who screamed in panic, and pined for his princess,

He prayed and prayed to see her yellowish tress,

He even missed her wails and moans,

And annoying complaints in grey monotone.

 

Her whining and pining and her ’get it now!’

Even when he was dumbfounded as to how.

She was his girl, his baby, his love,

The precious one sent to him from above.

 

And so, screwing his courage he went a searching

For the one who’d done the treacherous transferring.

The magical Pangaloo felt his cry,

And whizzed him to Puddelonia to hear his ‘why’?

 

On reaching there, what he saw made him stare,

It was the Pangaloo’s mate, the fair Pangelaire.

And just like him her magic was wild,

And her interest piqued by a naughty child.

 

‘What have you done to my girl you monster!’

The Pangelaire’s temper grew hotter and hotter.

For where the Pangaloo was lovely and calm.

The Pangelaire was much more likely to do harm!

 

She bared her teeth and roared so loud!

Her shimmery coat was now a storm cloud!

What once was bright yellow and pink,

Was now getting darker and full of black ink.

 

Puddelonians sensed danger and ran for cover,

And at a safe distance, they liked to hover.

For nothing creates such a scare,

As a Pangelaire who’s fur goes gangalaire!

 

Her normally bright coat went black as thunder!

From her face disappeared all her innocent wonder…

As she listened to him scream and shout and yell,

She could see the traits Penelope developed so well.

 

The Pangaloo watched as she shimmered with rage,

Which he thought was justified so did not assuage.

His partner, he loved her sense of justice;

Where he was soft, she was more like Augustus

 

Severe when angered, and swift with judgement,

But quick to cool when the reason was spent.

But here and now, was Penelope’s dad,

Causing a scene and behaving so bad!

 

The Pangalaire’s fur: a shocking gangalaire!

All of the Puddelonians could see and could hear!

The whizzing and popping and screeching noise

As she grew and grew to an unbelievable size.

 

A massive thunder cloud searing with light!

Like a great ball of darkness, anger and fright.

Any idiot would have apologised, run if they could,

But Penelope’s dad went on cussing where he stood.

 

Furious she flashed and out shot the light!

A massive bolt that gave the watchers a fright!

It struck him hard between the eyes on his face,

Causing him to collapse, right there in that space.

 

And then she performed her master stroke,

She changed his make-up, (and this is no joke)

‘A matching pair!’ she said with such glee

And she turned the man into a panda: a ‘He’

 

The ‘he’ matched the ‘she’ that was Penelope Parker.

A punishment for the pair, like a permanent marker.

And to top it all, she transported them with magic,

Straight to a zoo to make it more tragic.

 

And that’s what happened to Penelope Parker

Who’s future now is sombre and much darker

than it was before when she was a girl.

And life like a flower, would curl and unfurl.

 

So let that be a lesson to the human child,

There’s consequences attached to growing up wild,

Never defy your parents so true,

Allow them with wisdom, to look after you.

 

Never shout, demand, or curl up your fists

Throw tantrums, scream loud and have hissy fits,

For you never can tell if magic is nearby

If a Pangelaire is aware of your terrible cry.

 

Never swear, or demand, or be a spoilt brat.

Never wear in winter, a cool summer hat.

For no one likes a moany old bat,

Who has no respect for others and that.

 

No one likes a kid who’s a raving nut.

No one likes a kid who behaves like a mutt.

So never wear in the winter a cool summer hat,

If you have any designs on staying a brat.

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The Biscuit Munchin’ Monster

The Biscuit Munchin Monster #2The biscuit munchin monster #1

A biscuit munchin’ monster’s lair,

Is something that’s extremely rare,

Like ghosts, spooks, and alien beings,

No-one can prove that they’ve been seen.

But little Amelia, she knew better,

She knew monsters to the letter,

She knew monsters old and new,

For, she felt, she’d met a few.

She knew the monster under the bed,

Who, with a glare, could strike you dead,

Took careful handling on her part,

Like avoiding being alone in the dark.

And then the monster in the Wily Woods,

Who Amelia knew was up to no good,

Waiting for her to take the short cut,

Which all sounds fine, except for the but.

In the Woods lived a monstrous rat,

Now, who on earth could have guessed that?

But Amelia avoided at all costs,

The evil rat that wants her lost.

The biscuit monster she’d never seen,

But always knew where he’d been,

He’d leave a trail of biscuit crumbs,

On the table tidied up by mum.

On the floor and round the corner,

He would never be a biscuit mourner!

Out the door and down the lane,

Crumbs all scattered round the drain.

Now Amelia was a brave little soul,

The super sleuth was her role,

She’d follow clues where they’d lead,

For she knew he’d need a feed.

The monster needs to store his hoard,

For his rumbly belly wasn’t ignored

With no teeth to gnash on his stash,

The crumbly biscuits were for his cache.

Amelia was good and wise and true,

But even she never really knew,

Where he kept his monstrous feed,

After he did his terrible deed.

Each time she’d follow the biscuit trail,

Each time she’d disappointedly, fail,

To find the monster and his lair,

And recover the biscuits he had there.

For what she didn’t know was this,

She never, ever seemed to miss,

She’d find him each and every time,

But never catch him in the crime.

For he would vanish, up in smoke,

And cover his lair with an invisible cloak,

To hide each time that she was near,

For she was the one he would fear.

He couldn’t lose his staple meal,

An empty tummy did not appeal,

For mother was a fabulous cook,

She’d bake biscuits by the book.

And every Friday without fail,

A batch’d be cooling: the Holy Grail,

The biscuit monster’d guiltily steal,

The whole hot batch for his meal!

And Amelia would, sadly, get the blame,

And every Friday it was the same,

And she would put a stop to it,

As soon as she could find the git!

Alas, alack, that’d never be,

For he absolutely loved his tea,

And what goes nicely with his crumbs?

Some hot Earl Grey, in his tum!

And so each week she did her best,

Without stopping, without rest,

She’d try to find where he lived,

So she could take back, not give.

But to find a biscuit monster’s lair,

Is something that’s extremely rare,

Like ghosts, spooks, and alien beings,

None could prove that they’d been seen.


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The Girl Who Ate A Cloud…

the girl who at a cloud 1                                             the girl who ate a cloud 2 The red lights flashed 12.45am on the dash board of the car. It was dark. Mum was whizzing down the country lanes, trying to get home as soon as she possibly could. They were all tired. Amelia lay in her car seat – mouth hanging open, tongue lolling to one side like a dog. Jordon had his seat reclined as his snores filled the rushing quiet of the outside world in the car. Jessica was always the last to fall asleep. Mum called her a night owl. That always reminded her of an owl with headlights for eyes, light beams cutting their way through the darkness. It always seemed like a funny saying to her. Mum’s eyes were like headlights too. They remained fixed, never changing, on the running black road through the windscreen as black trees, bushes and sky seemed to rush by. Jessica grew tired. As she lay in her car seat and relaxed, her eyes grew heavy. She peered out of the window. Tiny blazing stars winked at her in the black through the distance. She imagined one suddenly falling out of the dark sky, tumbling, tumbling, tumbling towards the earth. Once hitting the ground, it would bounce harmlessly like a rubber ball but shatter, scattering splinters of tiny diamonds in all directions, shining through the black. And, she’d catch a stray one that would fly in her direction, and clasp it tightly in the palm of her hands. Its aggressive spale would glitter and shine as if desperate to burst out, lighting up her hands like a beacon as she kept it prisoner in her fingers. Mum sped on through the night. As Jessica relaxed into her chair, the thick mist gathered around the car as they raced on. Someone, she couldn’t quite remember who, told her that fog was just low flying clouds. Low flying clouds? She had never thought of clouds flying before… as if they had little wings that carried their fluffy bodies higher and higher in the sky. Perhaps they only flew low once they had eaten too much dinner – what did clouds eat anyway? Relaxing into her seat even further, she imagined that in their car, they were actually quite still and it was the world rushing past her window in such a hurry. Where might the trees be going? Perhaps they were running away from something, rather than to something. In her mind, she imagined them hitching up their bark like skirts, revealing skinny, spindly wood legs with roots as toes, sprinting along beside her car, and disrupted soil from their feet flying and tumbling in their wake. The fog thickened. Her window was cracked open. She thought of stretching out her hand and rolling the glass down further so she could touch the flying clouds. In a moment of inspiration, she pressed the button which controlled the window, and it rolled down. In floated a pale pink fluffy cloud, as if to say hello. It looked just like candy floss! And before she knew it, she couldn’t help herself, she took a bite! Well…. It wasn’t like what she was expecting. It was light, fluffy, and creamy and fizzed on her tongue. The shocked cloud drifted promptly out of the window. It looked very cross. It looked at her as if to say, ‘Well! That’s a fine thing to do when you first meet someone! Didn’t your mother teach you any manners!?’ But by then, Jessica couldn’t pay much attention to it because her tummy really, really hurt. It was like a million snakes were squirming around in her belly! It was like an elephant was tickling her insides with its long, rough trunk! It was like a big, clumsy tortoise was working its way down, down, down in her stomach. Trampling and rolling around. Forcing its way through tubes that were just too small for it! She groaned, and regretted eating such a big chunk of the cloud. Her hands found her tummy to comfort herself, only to find that it felt different! It was skinny! Like a tube! She looked down and was completely taken aback to see that she had a snout at the end of her face! She wanted to scream, but no noise came out! Her nose was long like a crocodile’s but multi-coloured, and she immediately knew that it was the cloud! The cloud had done this to her… perhaps it was magic, or perhaps all clouds did this to you. After all, how many girls have eaten a cloud before? Surely she must be the first. Examining her body, she saw that she was thin like a snake: skinny, boneless and long. Her feet were scaled with claws where her toes used to be, and her back itched. She turned to see what was irritating her back and was greeted by the most beautiful rainbow wings she had ever seen! Her heart leapt in joy and her body twitched in excitement. The window rolled further down, and before she knew it, she’d slipped out of the window! And just like a gravity defying cloud, she drifted out of the car and flew out into the cool night. Her wings snapped and flapped open like an umbrella as she undulated in the air like a water snake. The car below chugged along the black winding road; fog lights blaring though the clouds while Jessica snaked higher and higher and higher into the pink fluff. She opened her jaws and took chunks out of more unsuspecting clouds as she soared by, and giggled as they fizzed on her tongue. As she flew higher, the world below became more and more distant and the world ahead seemed as if a different planet.  Soon screams and shouts could be heard through the thick clouds, so she flew closer to investigate. Her ears pricked up as she heard yells of ‘Star bow! Star bow! Move it quickly before they get away! Look alive son! Look alive!” And through the pink fluff slowly emerged an enormous war ship with a pirates flag flying high! And as she looked, she saw another ship, slightly smaller seeming to be trying to run away from the pirate ship. Arrows flew in the air. “Fire!” was yelled as cannons flew through the clouds and disappeared into fluff. Jessica heard the crashing of wood and splinters as she knew that it made contact. Her attention was interrupted as someone shouted, “Dragon! Dragon!” For a moment, her heart stopped as she halted in the sky and all were silent. It was as if everything stood still. The silence before the storm. The still was finally broken by another voice shouting, “It’s a fire breathing dragon! Run for your lives!” Fear momentarily gripped her heart before she chuckled, unafraid, for she realised that SHE was the fire-breathing dragon! To test her fire, she thought of the burning furnaces within her stomach. She imagined it full of white-hot coal, and as she did so, puffs of pink smoke came through the tunnels of her nose and she knew she was ready. “Dragon! Dragon!” the pirate screamed at the top of his lungs as a volley of arrows whizzed past her ears. Jessica’s shoulder suddenly exploded with pain. It was as if her whole shoulder burst into flames and was burning ferociously. An ear-splitting roar filled the air and echoed through the misty clouds. Her jaws snapped wildly in anger when she saw an arrow sticking out of her right shoulder, before she responded by blowing blisteringly hot breath all over the pirate ship! She blew and blew and blew! Her mouth was like a hydrant but instead of water shooting it, it was roasting hot flames! In less than a minute the whole ship and all its pirates were burnt to a crisp! Jessica regarded the charred mess in surprise at her own anger and strength – but, after all… she was a fire-breathing dragon. She turned to the other ship and was greeted with whoops and cheers of approval. She smiled, but to them it looked as though she was merely showing all her gloriously white sharp teeth… to which they smiled back nervously. “Thank you so much Great Dragon!” One of the passengers yelled up at her. Apparently, she saved them from being robbed by the notorious pirates that regularly roamed these parts of the skies. It was soon made clear that the person shouting to her, was in fact, a prince! (of course) and he was very thankful to Jessica for saving them and their royal treasure. “Such a feat such as this one deserves a worthy reward!” he said. And from below the decks, the Prince brought out the most shiny, glittery sparkly diamond Jessica had ever seen in her life! Jessica was so grateful, she was actually at a loss for words (which to those who know Jessica, was extremely rare.) But he wasn’t finished. He offered her a job – Protector Of the Most Royal Family and all their treasures. What an honour! Jessica was overwhelmed with gratitude, and was terribly sad that she had to decline. “After all,” she said, “I’m only 10 and I really ought to be getting back home… well to my car anyway.” Naturally the prince was very disappointed, but said he understood. So with that, Jessica said her goodbyes to the Prince and his crew and snaked her way downwards, through the pink fluffy clouds towards the car that her mum was driving. It was easy to spot from so high up. Her mother, eyes still fixed in the road, was concentrating as she drove down country lanes and trees ran past with their skirts hitched up. Jessica was beginning to feel very sleepy herself now after all her adventures, and so she slid in through the open window, snaked herself onto her car seat and closed her eyes. And, as she fell asleep finally, the corners of her mouth twitched in a smile as she thought of her mothers’ reaction when they finally reached home. She would park the car in their driveway, crunch on the gravel path to the back car door, open it quietly only to find a snoozing multi-coloured dragon with magnificent wings, snoring where she left her daughter Jessica! Now what would she say to that!? J


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Barnaby’s Beard

Barnaby's Beard

Of course, it was fashion y’see,

To have a beard as long as can be,

And Barnaby was a usual lad,

Who thought to himself, ‘I’ll do that.’

So he threw his blades, razors and things

Promptly into the bathroom bin!

Eager not to be a failure,

He binned all shaving paraphernalia.

All such things, now a cardinal sin,

As his ‘growing a beard’ phase was to begin.

His jels, smells, potions and things,

‘All belonged to his past,’ according to him.

After a day or two, he was in for a shock,

And was warned, through laughter, others might mock.

But adamant Barnaby said he’d not care,

That the joy of his beard, with the world he’d share!

Now Barnaby’s hair was silky and soft,

Rich and mysterious with jels held aloft.

Dark and lustrous, sexy and suave,

A sexier image… he thought he’d carve…

But the hair on his chin was different y’see,

You’d have to see it to truly believe,

Thick dark hair, lovely on his head,

Who’d ever guess his beard would grow red!

That’s what I said! His beard was red!

Not on his head, but his beard was red!

This wasn’t what one would expect,

Unless of course someone laid a hex!

Now Barnaby wasn’t the wimpy kind,

Nor the kind that comments would mind,

He wore his beard with a ‘dignant pride,

Even when it grew round to his behind!

But he’d admit, he would address,

The issue of his state of dress,

For those with red hair also know,

Not all colours in your closet go.

So he would mostly just wear green,

For that was the colour to be seen,

And still his beard, it grew and grew,

The length so long, he’d rival few.

It grew to his knees, then his feet,

It grew to the pavement and down the street.

It grew so long that none could afford

To challenge him to the book of re-cords.

T’was soon the longest in the world,

Some bits were straight and some were curled.

He’d roll it in a giant red ball,

And use a hair band to hold it all.

His fame, it grew throughout the land,

As the man with the beard, so red and grand.

The phrase, ‘Merlin’s beard’ was no more,

As ‘Barnaby’s beard’ was used more and more…

For who could miss the river of red,

As it flowed down the street in the wake of his head.

Which, ironically, grew round and bald,

As his chin sprouted cherry hair two-fold.

So next time you see a river of hair,

You know that Barnaby’s somewhere near.

Be careful, don’t step on his frizzy mass,

With no hair on his head, it’s all he has.

Gone were his lovely locs of black,

Only sometimes did he wish for it back.

Most of the time he’ll gladly tell friends,

That his ‘growing a beard’ phase would never, ever end.

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