This baby orangutan may look shocked, but that's only because he's just realised how much he likes John Rice's wonderful poems for children!
You don’t look good in red. You don’t look good in blue. I suppose you’ll simply have to hope that poetry sees you through.
You are one of the most unfortunate people in the entire world. You were born with a silver spoon… in your eye. You have a tiny third ear on the back of your head that you haven’t discovered yet, but even that won’t help you prepare for the people who are constantly creeping up behind you with frying pans.

Yes, life has been pretty terrible, hasn’t it? Your teachers all think your name is Wilfred Brummelhott, and so do your parents. Your cat would rather spend time in his litter box than sit on your lap. And when you sneeze, people don’t say “Bless You!” but “Go away please Wilfred”.

Luckily you are the finest poet in the entire country, and with your almost superhuman command of the English language, and every other one, come to think of it, you are a born leader – destined to walk tall among your peers, occasionally balancing your orange juice on their heads. Your skill with words would be legendary, your metaphors admired for centuries, your similes bringing smiles to these Isles.

Rotten luck though – your voice is so awful, so terribly reedy and wet, that people stuff hankies in their ears whenever you open your mouth.

Better luck next time round – maybe as a dung beetle?

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Random Poetry!

  • Poetry is John Rice's gift to children everywhere. If they like poems. If they like stories, he does that too - he's a great storyteller. But if they want a Nintendo, they need to look elsewhere.

    Bearing A Grudge



    Now I don’t bear a grudge against old Bobby Budge

          but he didn’t play fair and he cheated.

    And although I’m a sport from the King’s own court,

          my revenge will be overheated.


    By the hem of his coat may he fall from his boat

         and get eaten by forty fishes.

    May he take a new job to make a few bob

         and end up washing the dishes.


    May he fall downstairs and be eaten by bears

          when he wakes on Friday morning.

    Let him slip on an eel, become a crocodile’s meal

          without a word of warning.


    When on the coach to Crail may the handbrake fail

          and the bus car spill over the cliff.

    May an angry old goat eat his brand new coat

          and his toes turn terribly stiff.


    May his bed become boggy and his carpets all soggy

          when a flood pours over his floor.

    May he never be warm and a hurricane storm

          blow a tree right through his door.


    By the sole of his shoe may a huge kangaroo

          chase him miles across the outback.

    May a bat bite his toes and a rat steal his nose

          and never ever give his snout back.


    May every bad goblin from here to old Dublin

          plague him in sleep or awake.

    May he work in all weathers, be tickled by feathers

          and have his eyeballs baked in a cake.


    May a ghost from a grave give his head a close shave

          and throw all his hair in the ocean.

    And may an old banshee from the town of Dundee

          feed him a poisonous potion.


    May a troop of red ants creep into his pants

          and cause him to scream and scratch.

    May a firework rocket go off in his pocket

          next time he lights a match.


    May he shake and shiver when he falls in the river,

          and let a crab swim into his mouth.

    May he plunge in a pool on his way home from school

          and the current carry him south.



    John Rice


    The author encourages parents, teachers and librarians to read the poems to children and young people. However, the poems are copyright John Rice 2014 and cannot be reproduced without the express permission of the author.