The Confessions of Henry Hooter the Third

T
HE
C
ONFESSIONS

O
F

H
ENRY
H
OOTER

T
HE
T
HIRD

POEMS FOR OWLISH CHILDREN

by

Gabriel Rosenstock

Edited by Mícheál Ó hAodha

ORIGINAL WRITING

© 2011 G
ABRIEL
R
OSENSTOCK

E
XPANDED EDITION
2011

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means—graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or information storage and retrieval systems—without the prior written permission of the author.

ISBNs

P
ARENT
: 978-1-908477-95-8

E
Pub: 978-1-908477-96-5

Mobi : 978-1-908477-97-2

Published by O
RIGINAL
W
RITING
L
TD
., Dublin, 2011.

The Confessions Of Henry Hooter The Third

The Vertical–Take–Off Sparrow

Sick Canary

The Corkscrew–Bird

Goose To Greenland Going

Connemara Child

Late Again!

Old Frog

Yakity Yak

The Depths Of Henry Hooter

Waddle

Stick–In–The–Mud–Spud

An Invitation To Discuss Life With An Eel

National Anthem (Nearly) For Nepal

Larry The Locust

To Katawangadoo - And Back!

Gooseberry

Chopped Carrot

What The Weasel Painted

The Asparagus Is Learning French

Hedgy

What Did You Slay?

Polar Bear

Onion

Now It's Snowing

Pre–Marital Tension

Litter–Bug

Sos Lost Whale!

Miss Pear

The Fire–Eating Moth

Late Again! (Yet Again)

Cabbage

Canute

Wuff

Auld Lang Syne

Shady Banana

Sea Bee

Professor X Goes Splat!

The Cautionary Tale Of The Horseradish

Charles The Woodworm

Bully

Harry

Dolly The Donkey Dances, Again

Us Voles

Mule

Henry Hooter Had A Flea

First

The Return of the Dodo

The Duck-Billed Platypus

The Tale of a Rat

Letter from a Mouse

Centipede

Sadly the dawn light seeps from the skies

He closes his eyes

Counts black sheep

Cannot sleep.

“I am tired of being wise …

I'm not wise. It's all lies!

“I am just a foolish bird

My name is Henry Hooter the Third.

“With a name like that I could be clever?

What a hoot (bless my word!) – did you ever?”

He opens his eyes

Thinks: “Me? Wise?”

“I've a big surprise for you all:

I am as wise as a brick wall!”

Now that he's said all he wanted to say

Henry Hooter goes to sleep for the day.

The vertical-take-off sparrow –

A creature that seldom is seen;

Up he goes like an arrow –

They call him “The Flying Machine”.

He whirrs when about to take off –

But how to describe it… that sound!

Say a hundred gnus were to cough

(If a hundred gnus could be found).

My canary is sick

And refuses to sing,

He turns up his nose

At the food I bring

And his eyes grow dim

Grow dim, grow dim

And nobody knows

What's the matter with him.

I wish he could speak …

Can't you open your beak?

Poor little thing! He's far too weak.

The corkscrew-bird has a very funny nose

With which it makes holes in trees,

A funny old nose which it never ever blows

Except when about to sneeze.

The corkscrew–bird is born in mid–June

(And sometimes, too, in May)

Try as it might it can't sing in tune

But it hopes to … one fine day.

The brent goose eyes a passing cloud:

“I'm leaving tomorrow

No cause for sorrow!”

Chill wind cries aloud.

Greenland calls to the brent goose, time to go,

Nothing has changed

Her flight is arranged

No time to lose come hail, come snow.

How I wish she'd take me there

To Greenland through the honking air!

An insect chirps in the meadow

Like a bicycle coming down the road,

I'm not afraid of the bumble bee,

The asses cry with their heavy load.

Mama's shawl is warm,

Father's pants are wide,

If ever I'm in trouble

I know where I can hide.

Uncle is mending a currach,

How I love the smell of the tar!

The lake at the end of the boreen –

Silvery as a star.

I like the cows black as turf,

That stream – no depth at all;

Sheep have dye–marks, blue and red,

Ponies never grow tall.

Lightning flashes daub the sky,

Crow is flying at his level best;

“Caw! What a storm – can hardly fly,

Hardly see … damn, where's my nest?

“What am I doing at this time of night,

Lightning ripping the sky in two;

I'm a fool, you know – head is gone light,

Wife will be mad. What will I do?”

Down in a hole in a bog

Lived an old, old, old, old frog.

He was old, he was cold,

All covered in mould

And breakfasted mostly on fog.

The yak

Carries lots of things

On his back

And as he trundles

He tumbles and mumbles

Singing

“So many bundles!

Alack!”

Henry Hooter has a pain in his head,

“Should I get up, or stay here in bed?

Should I be single, or should I be wed?”

His head feels heavy – heavy as lead.

Henry Hooter has just had a thought,

It flew out his ear and was only half caught:

“All life,” he said, “is with something fraught,

Wisdom's a something … something – something

bought.”

Henry Hooter opened a book,

“What a load of codswollop! Look, just look!”

With laughter and anger his whole frame

shook –

“From start to finish it's gobbledegook!”

Henry Hooter says the world has gone mad:

“Just have a look at it! Terrribly sad!

Everyone asking what's the latest fad –

By heavens, I hope it's not me – egad!”

Henry Hooter nods off to sleep,

Sleeping deeply he lies in a heap,

Deeply sleeping till the first stars peep,

Mumbling sweetly “How come I'm so deep?”

Squids spurt ink

Philosophers think

Psychiatrists shrink

Skunks stink

Owls wink

What's a fink?

Don't know. But flamingos are pink

And lemmings fall over the brink

Into the drink:

Is it some kind of kink?

Don't know. But foxes slink

And a chain is as weak as its strongest link.

Is it wrong to wear mink?

Don't know. But skaters skate in a rink

Glasses clink

Coins chink

Zn stands for zinc

Some girls prink

And as far as I know fish don't blink.

I am a little penguin

And I waddle when I run:

Widdle wuddle waddle –

Gosh, it's so much fun!

I waddle in the morning

When the day begins to break

And I waddle in the night–time

Just to keep myself awake!

My dad's a powerful waddler –

Twice Waddler of the Year,

The judges said he must have had

A fourth or fifth gear!

“That old Spud's a proper stick-in-the-mud,”

Says red–lipped Cherry. “Not talking to him

anymore!”

Spud hears this and is hurt to the core.

Suddenly – thud!

Next thing you know he's lying on the floor.

All the fruit and vegetables gather round to

view the scene.

“Dead or alive?” asks Parsnip. “Hmm … let's

see,” says Garden Pea,

“I wonder … hmm …what do you think Broad

Bean?”

“Nothing serious, just badly shook if you ask

me!”

“Spud! Darling! It's me – Cherry. I'm awfully

sorry! (Can he hear?)

Said awfully sorry! Friends? So silly to fight!”

Spud opens a watery eye: “Forgive you this

time, my dear.”

“Oh, so happy!

Tell me Spud … anything – er –

cooking tonight?”

You think because I'm just an eel

I don't feel?

I feel! As do lizards, newts and rats

And vampire bats!

You think because you see no tears

I've got no hopes, no dreams, no fears?

I fear, I dream, I hope,

My dreams are slippier than soap.

What do you think I'm made of? Jelly?

Oh, what's the point! Go watch telly!