Stars in Jars (11 page)

If only I had a brother

or a sister, but no,

guillemot policy is one child only.

Dad says when we land

we will swim to Norway.

That's two hundred miles away!

What does he think I am –

a cruise ship?

Everyone is jumping now,

I'm the only one left,

I don't want to stay here by myself.

Maybe I'll take a tiny step

towards the edge.

That's not too bad.

I'll take another.

Perhaps if I close my eyes

and wait for a breeze?

Oh well, here goes,

North Sea here I

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a bouquet of pheasants

was given to

a charm of finches

a wisp of snipe

spooled over

a ballet of swans

a rafter of turkeys

bumped into

a herd of wrens

a paddling of ducks

was drowned by

a descent of woodpeckers

a deceit of lapwings

recognized

an unkindness of ravens

a siege of herons

superseded

a dread of terns

a vein of goldfinches

was sold in

a bazaar of guillemots

a convocation of eagles

winked at

a stare of owls

for Celia

I'm a solar-powered fairy,

I'm dependent on the light,

if the sun is shining daily,

then I twinkle in the night.

If the day is dull and dreary,

my wings flop all about,

my smile turns down,

I lose my crown,

my head is full of doubt.

A sunny day in winter

is when I'm at my best,

I soak up the rays

and think of ways

of filling you with zest.

I flutter through the evergreens,

spread sparkle on your lawn,

I'm in each dewdrop shining

on the blades of grass at dawn.

I scintillate the snow

which lies outside your door,

I light your way,

lift up your day – hey-hey!

Then I pirouette, and fly away.

I blew up my balloon with helium

and let go of the string.

It flew above my garden,

bob-bobbing in the wind.

It flew above the houses,

above a chimney pot,

it flew along with seagulls

till it was a tiny dot.

It cleared the misty mountains,

dissolved into a cloud,

“Come back, my bouncy Teddy,

Come back,” I cried out loud.

But Teddy's gone forever,

away over the sea.

Now I know that I can cry,

but he won't come back to me.

Magnolia buds stand proud of their stems

like the tips of cats' tails,

crocus close their cups.

A papaya sun pushes down on the roofs,

the moon is half a melting pancake.

I'm on holiday in my bathroom,

the sun is streaming in,

the air lock in the water pipes

makes an awful din.

I'm lying in hot water

with ice cream down my chin,

racing my clockwork terrapins –

I know which one will win.

Mum's making tuna sandwiches

with bread cut really thin,

she hands them on a plastic plate

with a cheeky seaside grin.

It's better than Ibiza,

no queuing for check-in,

just lie back in my steamy pool,

rivers in my skin.

This beach has blonde sand sieved as fine as flour,

pebbles in sixteen shades of blue,

smooth black rock which shines with every tide.

Lines of limpets shelter in the cracks,

a pool appears with waving crabs and swaying weed.