From the author:

From the Author:

I will not introduce myself.
I will not ask "How do?"
I will not wave, I will not bow,
Or shake a hand with you.

For I am not polite, my friend;
I have no social grace.
Like you, I have no manners,
And I never learned my place.

Instead I'll write a poem
And I'll put myself in verse,
And if you like the sound of me,
Well, THEN we might converse.

So read a line or two of me,
Or don't, if it's a chore,
But since you've read fifteen of me
I bet you'll read one more.


Click here to contact the author
(...or don't...he doesn't really trust emails from children. They can be sticky).

Thursday 13 December 2012

There are Zombies in the Schoolyard


There are zombies in the schoolyard;
There are zombies in the park.
There are zombies in the daylight;
There are zombies in the dark.

There are zombies in the boulevards
And zombies in the lanes.
The zombies limping through the school
Have eaten all the brains.

There are zombies in the barber shop
And zombies at the gym.
The butcher is a zombie now;
He's selling human limbs.

There are zombies in the shopping mall
And zombies in the road.
The zombies in the restaurants
Eat waiter a la mode.

There are zombies in the garden;
There are zombies on the lawn.
There are zombies in the houses,
And the neighbours are all gone.

There are zombies at the chimneys;
There are zombies climbing walls:
The zombie Mrs. Rosencrantz
Gets deader when she falls.

There are zombies in the basement;
There are zombies on the roof.
My sister is a zombie now;
She's still a smelly goof.

There are zombies in the attic
And underneath the floor.
My zombie-dad is growling,
But not about my chores!

There are zombies in the hallway,
And zombies at my door.
I don't think I'll be writing
About zombies anymore...