Poetry: If you think entertainment stops at the latest computer game, think again. There's a wonderful world of verse waiting to be discovered, writes Julie O'Callaghan.
Young persons of Ireland, do not judge too harshly those elders who try to write wacky poetry for children. Do not shake your heads and roll your eyes and dismiss them as sad weirdos. Do not abandon them for your Xboxes and PlayStations - watching adults make idiots of themselves may prove to be an invaluable lesson for you in your formative years. It's better to learn early on that grown-ups can be just as silly as the kid sitting next to you in history class making spit-balls. So, are we all ready for a magical mystery tour of new poetry books?
Jack Prelutsky has two nutty collections on offer. A Pizza the Size of the Sun (Collins, £7.99) is our first example of a poet who excels in crazy, mixed-up situations. If upside down and backwards (not to mention gross) is your idea of a good read, you're in luck: "Rat for lunch! Rat for lunch!/ Yum! Delicious! Munch munch munch!/One by one or by the bunch -/Rat, oh rat, oh rat for lunch! . . . For our snack each afternoon,/we chew bits of baked baboon,/curried squirrel, buttered bat,/but for lunch it must be rat." Come to think of it, this would be the ideal party piece for most family get-togethers. Or you could chew over the equally appetising "Eyeballs for sale!/Fresh eyeballs for sale!/Delicious, nutritious,/not moldy or stale./Eyeballs from manticores,/ogres, and elves,/fierce dragon eyeballs/that cook by themselves".
The zanier poems in Prelutsky's second collection, It's Raining Pigs and Noodles (Collins, £7.99), include one about the psychology of being transformed into a carrot ("I've turned into a carrot,/it's baffling and strange. / . . . Last night I was a human,/ with head and hands and feet,/this morning I'm a vegetable/I've rarely cared to eat") and another about the perils of being pointy-headed ("I know I have a pointy head,/and that I'm long and narrow./But still, that archer had no right/to use me as an arrow"). Elsewhere, a bridge built of bananas makes for some slippery humour; but my personal favourite is "I'm Glad I'm not a Firefly": "I'm glad I'm not a firefly,/for I suspect I'd mind/a permanent electric light/attached to my behind".
Wallpapering the Cat by Jan Dean (Macmillan, £3.99) is further evidence that shenanigans - both amusing and outlandish - know no age limit. I am, however, still working out the logistics of 'The Unlucky Baker': "I bake the bread for harvest - /White flour laced with arsenic/So nibbling mice that fringe/The surplices and cassocks die/And desiccate beside the heating ducts./A neat trick taught me by a priest/Who hated cats". Answers on a mass card, please! Dean knows her onions - and her lettuces ("My grandad sings to the lettuces,/Songs for their green hearts,/Watery salad music/For their tender leafy parts"); and as for Grandma - "Grandma is showing the frogs how to fly/ High on the circus trapeze./She swoops to the music of wild violins/Then gracefully hangs by her knees". I'm definitely a fan of 'Too Weird', a poem where things spring out of her TV set and into her room, making for an unusual form of channel-hopping: " . . . And now there is this. This frog./One minute it was in a jungle,/ . . . And then with one determined leap/It was here -/not enjoying the dry woolliness of the rug/ not happy at all". A gal with one odd outlook on life . . .
Taking My Human for a Walk, edited by Roger Stevens (Macmillan, £3.99), is a book of poems spoken by some of the more loudly loquacious members of the pet world. One light-pawed feline is recorded faithfully by Andrea Shavick in her catchy 'The Pussy Cat Hokey Cokey': "You put your right paw in/Your right paw out/In out, in out/Shake it all about/You make some silly noises/'til your human shouts/That's what it's all about/Meow I'm so annoying/Meow I'm so annoying/Meow I'm so annoying/Claws out, back arched/Purr Purr Purr". Prop this anthology open beside your rabbit hutch, fish bowl, bird cage or dog house and listen as your pet barks, chirps or recites along with you.
Magic and mystery are everywhere in Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll, the wackiest elder poet of all. The crazy critters in Joel Stewart's illustrations to a new edition (Walker Books, £15.99) of this nonsense classic galumph colourfully through its pages.
Julie O'Callaghan's poetry collections for children include Taking My Pen For a Walk (Orchard) and Two Barks (Bloodaxe)