Sprat Poems

FOUR JACKS AND A JILL

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

A Jill Nursery Rhyme

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.

The Landlord Calls

There’s a tabby ally cat
And a very scabby rat
And a vampire bat
And a very hungry gnat
And a horrid little brat
And they lived in a flat
Where a man in a hat
Saw a stain on the mat
It’s an awful splat
Like a small cow pat
So we need to chat 
Because where we’re at
And from where I’m sat
There’s some tit for tat
Like a democrat
Or a diplomat
With a caveat
To avoid a spat 
Re your habitat
There’s a well known stat
When a pike meets sprat
That the sprat says drat
Can I pay for that
And with cash begat…
Secretariat

No Time For a Nursery Rhyme

Mary had a little lamp,
Its bulb would nightly glow.
It cast a white, but gentle light,
So her pimples wouldn't show.

Little Jack Horner tried to warn her,
But she told him to go away.
Left feeling glum, he drank some rum;
And passed out in the hay.

Little Bo Peep pretended to sleep,
As she cuddled up right beside him.
When he awoke, neither one spoke;
And she soon decided to ride him.

The Farmer in the Dell, knowing well,
What they both were in there doing.
Called out to his wife, to bring him a knife;
And stabbed them while they were screwing.

Jack Sprat, on the jury sat,
His wife held photos of the scene.
The Farmer did it, Judge had to admit it,
Then passed a sentence that wasn't lean.

So Mary brought her little lamp,
On the day of the execution.
She thought inside, while the Farmer fried,
Better pimples than electrocution.

Meat Club

Not the protein, dear Rico, the fat!
There’ll be no more wheat grass for Jack Sprat.
That unhappy vegan
Has gone Chrissy Teigen,
Is now off clubbing seals with a bat.


H/T to Wickless in Seattle by Rico Leffanta

It Was a Good Morning Until

It was a good morning until Jack and Jill went up the hill.
It was a good morning until we got the call that Humpty Dumpty sat upon the wall.
It was a good morning until Little Bo Beep has lost her sheep.
It was a good morning until in the town we heard that London Bridge is falling down.
It was a good morning until we heard, hey diddle diddle the cat and the fiddle.
It was a good morning until Little Ms. Muffet Sat on a tuffet.
It was a good morning until Jack Sprat could eat no fat.
It was a good morning until Peter, Peter pumpkin eater had a wife and could not keep her.
It was a good morning until Hickory Dickory dock the mouse ran up the clock.
It was a good morning until we heard the shout that the itsy-bitsy spider went up the waterspout.
It was a good morning until we heard about five little monkeys jumping on the bed, one fell off and bumped his head.
It was a good morning until in the land Mary had a little lamb.

Wednesday, February 17, 2021.

The Platter Clean

My husband likes to cook and that’s
A lucky thing for me
For I am the recipient
Of his gastronomy.

He hardly tastes what he prepares.
His culinary skills
Are aimed to please my palate;
It’s my belly that he fills.

Like Jack Sprat and his wife, we are,
Without the fat and lean. 
He cooks, I eat, he clears, I wash – 
Our dinnertime routine.

Mortal Kitkat

I do love my cat
She cuddles on my lap
But throws up on my hat
What am I to do with that?
She leaves her fuzz where she sat
Likes to do paw paws for a pat
Waits for me at the door mat
Passes up the best sprat.
Such a fussy one but not a brat
Comes in when called, does not scat
Melts in my arms and chews the fat
She is a definite aristocrat
Sometimes puts up a spat
I always lose in mortal kombat….
Let’s leave it at that

Adventureland

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.

Timothy Dimwit

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.

Mirage

I once read a poem. It’s style was different than mine.  Then I thought.  Won’t it be nice to write about jacarandas & marigolds.  Spices and all that taste nice.  I reasoned.  Won’t my readers love occasionally.   To see a sweet poem with color.  One that is simple.  Without a care in the world.  Skipping along like nobody’s business.  

I thought.  One with no intrigue.  No scratching your head.  To decipher what the hell did he mean.  A poem without pretense.  Not high falluting signifying nothing,  Just words on paper.  Not flat or boring.  One without meaning.  Like Jack Sprat and his wife and the platter.  Or three men in a tub.  Rub a dub dub.

But life won’t let me.  The  daily attack on the senses.  The quest for the legal tender.  Lies, sickness and death.  A mirage like all else.  I used to think I knew it all.  Then one day.  It changed.  Like this poem.  An illusion.  No sweetness.  No color.  The same style.

Caught In the Rhymes

The detective stood at the scene of the crime
 Gathering clues at the base of a wall
 Bits of eggshell were strewn all around
 Where Mr. Dumpty "fell" off the wall

 The week before there was another crime too
 That victim was found in the early morn
 The victim's name, Little Boy Blue
 Found in a field of corn

 Little Jack Horner went into hiding
 He was fearful and distraught
 He thought he would be next,
 A couple weeks later he received a text
 Telling him the killer was caught 

 So he turned on the TV to see the news
 And then he saw the face of the accused
 He was shocked to see that
 the killer was none other than Jack Sprat!
                      -
  6-30-18

Not For Contest Just Inspired By Photo of Julie's Cat Bandit

Fat cat
There he sat
pensive without smile

Fat cat
Got no hat
Wearing not his style

Fat cat
Not Jack Sprat
Thinks eating lean is vile

Fat cat
Ate a bat
Now he's not agile

Fat cat
Ain't passed scat
Probably quite a while

Fat cat 
There he sat
Pensive without smile

Why the Dish Ran Away With the Spoon

Wee Willie Winkie met up with Tom Sprat
To try to find the crooked cat
They employed the help of three blind mice
But then decided that wasn’t nice
So they left the mice with Ol’ King Cole
Who ate curds and whey out of a bowl
That he took from Miss Muffet when she ran away
From the little spider that ruined her day
They went down Drury Lane where they saw the Red Hen
Being questioned by all the Kings Men
About bells and cockles in neat little rows
And who might have taken the emperors clothes
She quickly blamed the Duke of York
Who supposedly took the knife and fork
Just before the cow jumped over the moon
Which is why the dish ran away with the spoon.

Boiled Sprat

A truculent woman named Jools
was discovered cheating at boules
Tossing balls in the air
Jools was heard to declare
oh those rules are just made for fools!

***a little poetic licence as I understand boules is pronounced 'bull'***

06-30-17

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