Suspiciously busy at work today (have they found me out?), so I’m expanding my blogging repertoire into poetry. Oh yes. Amateur poets. What most people *love* to spend their time reading. As small mercies go, you’ll be glad to hear it’s not in iambic pentameter.
This was written some months back to try and get my rather messy four year old to tidy his room. It didn’t work. It just made him scared of monsters (and bizarrely skeletons who are not mentioned). I’ll blame Scooby Doo for the skeletons.
THE RUBBISH MONSTER (by DPRW aged 4yrs 4mths)
My Mum does not believe me – she says he’s in my head,
But a monster lives in my bedroom, just beneath my bed.
I can’t put my toes down on the floor as he might spot my feet,
And for a hungry monster, they’d make a tasty treat.
He’s always been inside my room, as far as I have known,
And although I’ve got lots bigger, I don’t think he has grown.
His eyes are big, his nose quite fluffy and his body looks a mess,
And although he’s never touched me, he scares me, I confess.
He eats my socks for breakfast and my rubbish for his tea,
And what if he got hungry, would he start to munch on me?
Sometimes when I’m feeling brave, I’ll kneel down on the floor,
I’ll poke a stick beneath the bed and hide behind the door.
I’ve never seen the monster move, but I know he sneaks around,
Where else would all my things go when I throw them on ground?
“There is no monster”, says my Dad getting really cross,
I don’t know why he gets angry, his stuff does not get lost.
One day, my Mum, her face went red, she looked like she might explode,
“Your room looks like a rubbish dump, old food and mess and clothes,
There’s sticky sweets on the floor and hard bits on the rug,
And I think I saw things crawling, ERGH! YUK! ARGH! there’s bugs!”.
My parents then decided that it was time to mend my ways,
I need to keep my room all neat and sweep it every day!
I thought they were being picky, but I was out of luck,
They said that if I disobeyed my bike would be locked up.
But do you know the funny thing since my room has been all clean?
There has been no sign of the pest, no monster to be seen.
I check quite often to make extra sure, but of this there is no doubt,
There’s nothing at all beneath my bed, the monster has moved out.
So next time your mother asks you nicely to tidy up your room,
I’d quickly get the bin bags out and start reaching for the broom.
Monsters must begin to grow from rubbish on the floor,
And as soon as you get rid of it, the monsters are no more.
But do I miss the monster that once lived inside my head?
Sometimes I do, I must admit, but prefer my cleaner bed.
But most of all it’s lovely to know my toes won’t be a feast,
For a big eyed, fluffy, messy thing, the rubbish monster beast.