Long Sprat Poems
Long Sprat Poems. Below are the most popular long Sprat by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Sprat poems by poem length and keyword.
Jack, Jack, Jack and jack, what about me, my name is Jill
I’m only mentioned once, when we climbed up the hill ,
Then Jack fell, and broke his crown, I was filled with dread,
So tumbled after him, but he had gone to bed,
To bandage his head.
Jack Sprat and his wife, one ate no fat and the other no lean,
So hence left their platter void of food and always clean,
So, I suggested to his wife to keep slim, to do some running
Down the street, to lose the weight
She ate.
And Jack Horner who only sat in a corner, I felt that was cruel,
Told him to tell his teacher that he would quit school,
He was never again, to be made a fool.
As for Jack be nimble, I mentioned that as he was always quick,
I would nurse him if he broke his ankle jumping over the candle wick,
So now I no longer feel a little jealous, as I have taken Charles's tip,
I tried to help the first Jack, but did get involved with the other three,
I now feel good, my name is Jill and I hope you agree.
Now give me a giggle,
Hey diddle diddle
Competition entry:Jill Nursery Rhyme Poetry Concert
Sponsor:Charles Messina
Date; 03/11/2024
Did you read about me going up a hill,
that was with Jack not with Bill.
Guess you know my drill,
"Jack and Jill" sure had a big thrill.
My dear friend "Little Jack Horner,"
loved sitting in the corner.
I wanted to be outside but he was a mourner,
he would also read about being a foreigner.
"Jack Be Nimble" was sure quick,
our fun neighbor was never sick.
Pretty candles he did pick,
jumping high over the lit wick.
"Jack Sprat" and his wife,
she carried a big knife.
He had no fat in his life,
she had only lean with strife.
Hope you have enjoyed reading about me,
I am Jill and I want to be set free.
Yes, on that hill I hurt my knee,
that fall made me pee.
Timothy Dimwit
Timothy Dimwit would not go to school
And all of his mates considered that cool
But Timothy Dimwit was never in school
And as a result he knew nothing at all
Timothy Dimwit couldn't spell bat
He couldn't spell dog and he couldn't spell cat
He couldn't spell cod and he couldn't spell sprat
He did once spell hat, he was quite proud of that
Timothy Dimwit could not kick a ball
Because he decided, there must be a tool
Or some kind of whistle through which he could call
To cause it to rise up and bounce off a wall
Timothy Dimwit thought chips grew on trees
That candyfloss simply blew in on a breeze
And honey he wouldn't have guessed came from bees
But meatballs, he thought, could give cows trembly knees
Timothy didn't know Francais was French
That there was a kind of a fish called a Tench
Or that in the park, there's a seat called a bench
And Americans all call a spanner a wrench
So, I hope that you don't think that I'm preaching at all
With good education, you're nobody's fool
But Timothy Dimwit did not go to school
And as a result, he knew nothing at all.
A spider drank cider and was legless at breakfast
Now this placid arachnid with a shoddy wee body
Asked weevils so evil if they each had a needle
Could they just for a joke smoke while they poked
At erudite mites with myopic eyesight
And bedridden black beetles who bawled noon and night
At bow legged bees who could bumble and fumble
With wasps that were dishy but got into a tizzy
Watching high jumping fleas pee in the sea
Beside conniving cockroaches who approached in stagecoaches
Near trails of pale snails drinking buckets of ale
Sold by charming blow flies wearing spotted bow ties
In a dark damp old cellar with an ant storyteller
Whose sight had declined until he was blind
Who made up strange tales of fat whales with sharp nails
That fed on a diet of cat, sprat and rat
Carrying small bugs who never gave hugs
To horn-tailed yellow midges wearing red tartan breeches
And whopper leafhoppers sucking monster gobstoppers
So the spider could laugh like a three legged giraffe
And begin to grin at the insects chagrin
Jack sprat grew more fat.
His wife became more thin.
His staple led to less of her,
and hers, to more of him.
He tasted what she used to love
and desired a richer plate.
The more he took from her sweet fork,
the less his woman ate.
See them now walk hand in hand;
and neither plump nor lean.
A happy balance has been reached
yet still the platter’s clean.
Equal wear upon their bed,
upon the stair and everywhere.
Opposites attract to make
a different kind of ‘share’.
Familiar now has bred content;
a healthy middle found.
If they could do it perhaps we all
could find some common ground.
It was way after eight, at the Cat in the Hat.
The whole plaice was swimming, quoth the mackrel to sprat.
Though the milk was upset, she still stifled her cry,
So sorry i spilt you, mumbled poor humble pie.
My joints are the bees knees, squealed the honey roast ham,
And the apple agreed, she was better than spam.
Then red herring denied, he had something to hide,
Like a small Bombay duck, is a fish that is dried.
While tasty choux pastry, bared her soul to an eel,
The mock turtle announced, i believe i am veal.
And the ice cube was crushed, as she played fast and loose,
For an orange refused, to be part of fruit juice.
As warm rhubarb crumble, melts in custards embrace,
The sour gooseberry tart, wails she's taking my place
Then a voice in my head, spoke it's all fantasy.
Your table awaits you, said the waitress to me.
I glanced at the menu, it was all a la carte.
I said, bring me everything, but let's start with that tart.
For P.D's "Going Haiku Crazy" Contest
How Many?
going to St. Ives
met folks on that smelly bus
more than I could count
Just Sleep Walking?
Wee Willy Winky
caught outside a boy’s window
in a night garment
Got Wool?
naked in the lane
three bags-full of wool sheared off
baa baa black sheep fleeced
She Didn’t Know What to Do!
Kids’ cries from inside -
outside an old woman’s shoe
child welfare people
Clean Your Plate!
Licking their plates clean
Jack Sprat and wife do their part. . .
kids starve in China
The Treacherous Hill
pail of spilled water
Jill’s body sprawled over Jack’s
one big bloody mess
What a Ding Dong
good deed for the day
boy scout Tommy Stout by well. . .
scratches on his arm
Not Even a Bone
old Mother Hubbard
Social Security cut
dog needs a new home
Yellow Georgie
victims of Porgie
confront him in the playground
his true color shows
The Original Blonde
Bo peep loses sheep
birth of a new tradition. . .
blonde jokes being told
The Schemer
some spilled curds and whey
spider near a fallen chair
supping happily
Making the Best. . .
Humpty takes a spill
the whole army can’t fix him
omelets for lunch
Baby Catches On
the church and steeple
and now you show me people?
those are just fingers!
They Say He Couldn’t Keep Her!
gossip in the town
pumpkin shell big as a house. .
where is Peter’s wife?
Bye, Hushed Baby
the sound of wind’s rush
baby’s cries abruptly hushed
broken branch on ground
*I'm choosing this series of haiku for several reasons.
First, it's the only post I made named "Twisted" so it
is an obvious choice. Second, I do have other poems
I consider a bit twisted, but, I simply cannot
remember the titles of some of these really old poems
to look for them. Finally, this series was inspired by
a long ago contest of PD's in which I got the idea
to take nursery rhymes and twist them, and so
I'm reviving this series which can no longer be
viewed by anybody here unless it's in a contest!
Are you searching for a dragon, oh wee one on the sand,
In amidst those grainy details that sparkle in your hand -
A small monster there that wriggles, a minnow or a sprat?
Such amazing worlds to conquer, beneath your tiny hat ...
Ply the river's raging waters with your finger's little tip,
As heaven's tears wash grains of sand with each small, dewy drip.
Oh, how I long to join you in those ventures you pursue,
But it's too small and I too old ... to see that land with you.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Free Verse Or Rhyme Poetry In Its Beauty" Poetry Contest, Eve Roper, Judge & Sponsor.
Hickory Dickory Dock, the mouse,
Ran up the clock,
But the crooked little man
In his crooked little house,
Who caught this crooked mouse
After Humpty Dumpty's fall,
Could not prevent the coming
Down of baby, cradle and all!
Now old Mother Hubbard,
Checked her bare cupboard
And found Jack and Jill,
Who lived just up the hill,
She wrapped poor Jack’s head
In vinegar and brown paper!
Guy Fawkes scandalous caper,
Was renown, he met the Duke of York,
Who to Fawkes, seemed quite a dork,
For the Duke took all his men up,
Then down, and up and again down,
He did not want to break his crown!
At that moment a Ladybird,
Whose house was on fire and
Her children gone, flew to the house,
That Jack built, and sat on the maidens
Lap all forlorn,
In the early morn,
But the maiden had gone to bed with John
Who still had his trousers on!
Both had a ball, and sang
A song of Sixpence,
But in their defence
They were hiding from Guy Fawkes
And his gunpowder plot,
In bed, thought of it naught!
Suddenly through their bed
Ran three blind mice for their life
And a farmers wife,
Who was cutting their tails with a knife!
Imagine three little kittens,
Who had lost their mittens
But could have no pie,
When they saw the blind mice,
Pie was history, as once,
Twice and thrice,
They caught the blind mice!
Meanwhile Polly had put the kettle on
So that all the mourners for Cock Robin,
Could all have a cup of tea,
It was the fly with his little eye,
Who first saw him die.
However, through all of this,
Little Jack Horner
Who sat in his corner
Heard Tom, Tom the Pipers son,
And though related none
Visited the Queen of hearts,
Who gave them some tarts!
Night time was nigh
And way up in the sky,
Was a twinkling star,
That Jack Sprat spotted from afar,
And so did old King Cole,
But at the same time heard the bell toll,
For poor cock robin,
So he started sobbing,
But soon cheered up when
He saw a fine lady upon a white horse,
Riding to Banbury Cross!
Wee Willie Winkie, asked for a ride
Through the town,
Still in his nightgown!
But when he saw the cow jump
Over the moon,
And the dish,
Run away with the spoon,
He rubbed his eyes and said what a fiddle,
Hey diddle diddle!
William Spencer Montague Sprat
(why on earth they called him that)
lived a life of luxury
suited to autocracy.
T'was true that Lady Sprat his mum
with a true Lord had had her fun
and bore a son of noble blood
as any Lord and Lady should.
But alas our Lady Sprat
had acted like a little prat
for she was not betrothed to he
that boosted up her family tree.
This Lord was married to another
(chosen by his own sweet mother)
and though his Lady had fair grace
she couldn't keep his randy pace.
So poor young William S M Sprat
was not pure blood and more than that,
the Lord he thought was his dear dad
didn't know that he'd been had.
But Lady Sprat, she knew her game
and even gave her son that name
although it made him sound a prat
it gave him heritage of Sprat.
So if your name puts you to shame
although your parents are to blame
don't be a prat, just bear the pain
remember Sprat and don't complain!
Ivor G Davies