by Michael Skywood Clifford

Now Henry the pussy
He prowls in the night
He wanders the land
In orange moonlight

He tramples the streets
and creeps in the gutters
He never gets lost
(His feet were once buttered)

Despite all the distance
The hours sniffing sheds
the insects, the false trails
Where mouse smells have led

It’s when Henry returns
Sometime around dawn
That he makes me so mad
That he makes me so drawn

That he’s had time outside
Doesn’t mean a paw
He’s held it and boiled it
To wee on my floor

By Michael Skywood Clifford 1977

Archie the Penguin
Marched from the Artic
Became a rich bedouin
And tanned on his feathers
He hated the icycles
And the weather of polar bears
So decided to bicycle
Across the Sahara

This sun tanned and feather friend
Pedalled and pedalled
And pedalled and pedalled
And pedalled and pedalled
And pedalled and pedalled
Until he saw sea.
The people were waiting
Some celebrating
They pinned him with medals
And gave him fresh tea.
There were people abounding
To put their arms around him
“Oh what a brown skin
How brave can you be?”

Archie the Penguin
Was happy in Cairo
By road or by rail
He travelled no more;
He put up his flippers
And slippered,
By the light of the stars,
Described what really happened
In his memoirs.

by Michael Skywood Clifford 1978

Larry the lizard is coming to tea
“Oh what fun!” I shouted with glee
But frowns appeared on Aunt Connie’s face
“Oh not him for tea! What a disgrace!”

Now when Larry the lizard comes to tea
The vanishing food is a wonder to see:
He bolts down his custard
He stuffs down a cake
licks cream from his fingers
And troughs the milk shake

Larry the lizard had been once before
He was everso bold when asking for more
He showed us his manners leaving crumbs on the floor
Then Aunt Connie snapped she could take it no more.

She grabbed at his tail and swung him around
But he kept stuffing triffle as the table passed round
Aunt Connie was so angry she showed him the door
Oh crumbs! Larry the lizard is still coming at four
;
“Now Aunt Connie,” I said, “I’ve a wonderful plan.
I’ll cook young Larry a boiled egg flan.
There wouldn’t be crumbs
There wouldn’t be dirt
And then there’ll be no need to change your skirt.”

At quarter past four the door bell was heard
But inside the house not a single soul stirred
Old Aunt Connie said she didn’t give a fig
She’d always feed lizards but never feed pigs