Frog Frenzy
One night, I opened the back door,
And a small brown frog appeared.
This hadn't happened to me before,
And I did think it was pretty weird!
Maybe because it was really dark,
He just jumped towards the light?
It's certainly something I'll never forget,
As it really was the strangest sight!
Jumping into our dining room,
Was a move, which was pretty bold.
At one point, he jumped on my bare foot:
He felt all wet and slimy and very cold.
We chased him round for quite a while;
The whole situation was quite a hoot.
The poor thing must have been so scared,
But I did think he was rather cute!
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Marking Time
I realise that walking down the street isn't a race,
But, compared to you, I have a much quicker pace.
Against me, it's like you have committed a crime,
When I am trapped behind you, semi marking time.
Please can you not stop in front of me, and then turn;
It really is very annoying, as you, one day, may learn.
I'd appreciate it if you moved to the side of the street,
If you are not actually intending to move your two feet.
When stopping in the middle of a pavement, you may find,
Looks of annoyance on the faces of those people behind.
I've had an amazing idea for a really good invention:
Human indicators, so that I can predict your intentions!
My hopes of a speedy journey, have often been dashed,
When into slow walking tourists, I have almost crashed.
To me, it seems like everyone moves so incredibly slow;
Come on, you guys! Move those feet! GO! GO! GO!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Spring: New Beginnings
I have always loved the heralding of spring,
When the spell of youth is cast upon everything.
Gardens everywhere awaken from their sleep,
As the sun, from behind the clouds, does peep.
Leafy green shoots begin to sprout.
Flowers begin to pop their heads out.
Yellow daffodils stand proud and tall,
But, sadly, are gone in no time at all.
The sweet smell of blossom on the trees,
Wafts down from above on the gentle breeze.
Buttercups and daises are abundant everywhere
And the buzz of flying insects fills the warm air.
The season heralds a bright new dawn.
Baby birds and animals are being born.
The days are beginning to get progressively longer
And the sun's rays are beginning to shine stronger.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Battling The Builders
I have to admit that the Great Crested Newt
Is not that good looking and isn't too cute.
But when plans were unveiled for hundreds of homes
To be built on land where the said newts roamed,
Many local residents protested ‘This isn't right! '
And, against the builders, they began a long fight.
The newts lived in a meadow, next to a big pond:
To relocate them all, would have been so wrong.
Pound signs were what the builders were seeing,
But the Planning Committee considered the newts' well-being;
Of destroying the newts' habitat, they weren't big fans,
And so they rejected the building firm's plans.
The Great Crested Newts may be fairly small,
But they battled the builders, who towered so tall.
The newts and local residents won the day,
And they sent the team of builders on their way.
Now the threat of relocation is over and gone,
With their lives, the Great Crested Newts can carry on.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Ladybirds
If, upon you, a ladybird, lightly, lands,
Don't just brush it off with your hands.
Chances are, that its visit will be short,
Once it realises it is at the wrong port.
For the ladybird, we seem to have a soft spot,
But for worrying wasps, we certainly have not.
Ladybirds often feature in stories for the young,
And, as a result, their praises are frequently sung.
To ladybirds, we have quite an attraction,
But wasps do not evoke the same reaction.
Dressed in its shiny shell of bright, rich red,
The ladybird possesses a tiny, tickling tread.
Upon seeing a ladybird, a wish, you should make,
Then your wish will be granted, in the bug's wake.
If you kill one, then, for you, life will be really bad;
Misfortune will come your way, and make you sad.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Hot Coffee, Warm Smiles
We walked along many London streets;
We stopped at a pub for something to eat.
We walked around for miles and miles;
We saw a sign: ‘hot coffee, warm smiles.'
I stopped to listen to a brass band play:
My friend didn't realise and walked away.
It was in Oxford Street, that I lost my friend,
But we were happily reunited in the end.
Dark chocolate with chilli, by me, was savoured;
I bought a festive latte: gingerbread flavoured.
At festive shop windows, we stopped and stared;
We lost ourselves in the middle of Mayfair.
At the Christmas lights, we both loved to look;
I bought myself some Christmas themed books.
We battled our way through the dense crowds;
The noise from the traffic was extremely loud.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Three's A Crowd
We are sat in a pub, eating our lunch,
When, from inside of me, I have a hunch,
That three of us are sat at the table there,
Despite there being only two occupied chairs.
My companion is busy texting on their phone,
So I carry on, as if I was sitting on my own.
Occasionally, I'm given a degree of attention,
But it is glancing, and way too brief to mention.
I am feeling annoyed and pretty put out:
That they have noticed, I very much doubt.
In their messaging, they are so wrapped up;
So much so, that I really hate to interrupt!
With my companion, I was hoping to nice chat,
But that idea now seems to have fallen a bit flat.
Being ignored is something which I really hate;
For them to finish their message, I sit and wait.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Playing In The Snow
Watching snowflakes silently falling,
Children find extremely enthralling.
They stand with mouths open in awe,
As, though the air, snowflakes soar.
When children first see snow outside,
Their excitement, they just cannot hide.
Through the air, the snowflakes swirl,
Delighting every little boy and girl.
They put on their coats and their scarves,
And the air is filled with joyous laughs.
Their pink, rosy cheeks are all aglow,
As they fashion men made of snow.
They love the way that the snow glints,
And love making trails of fresh footprints.
Despite snow being so wet and cold,
Handfuls of it, they just love to hold.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Daffy Duck
A daffy duck stood in the middle of the road.
She wasn't in a rush, so her time she took.
The approaching lorry driver wasn't happy,
And his angry fist at her he shook!
She soon became the main attraction.
People tried chasing her out of the way.
Soon, she was back on the pavement,
And was now safe and well again. Yay!
But people were walking towards her,
And, of the crowds, she was very scared,
So she ran back into the road again,
And at her, the next approaching driver glared!
She ran around in a blind panic,
Not knowing which way to go.
In and out of the road she ran,
Dashing this way and that, to and fro.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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Blackberry Picking
I have fond memories of going blackberrying
On Sundays, with my Dad, when I was a child.
Situated on the very outskirts of our little town,
The lane was long and winding, lonely and wild.
We worked our way along the prickly hedgerows,
Plucking perfect fruit from amongst the brambles,
But the berries, which were over ripe or under ripe,
Were left behind by us, during our country rambles.
We picked plenty of plump, juicy berries,
And popped them all in to our plastic pot.
Dad seemed to know the very best time to go,
So we always returned home with quite a lot.
Along the way, we spotted spiders in their webs;
Of spiders, I have always been a little scared.
So any fruit which was located round about,
Was more than welcome to stay right there!
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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