aamir wrote:Silly Old Baboon by Spike Milligan
There was a baboon
Who one afternoon
Said I think I will fly to the sun
So with great palms
strapped to his arms
he started he takeoff run
Mile after mile
He galloped in style
But never once left the ground
You’re going too slow said a passing crow
Try reaching the speed ofsound
SO
he put on a spurt
My God how it hurt
both the soles of his feet caught on fire
As he went through a stream
There were great clouds of steam
Buthe never got any higher
On and on through the night
both his knees caught alight
clouds of smoke billowed out of his rear!!!
Quick to his aid
Were the fire brigade
They chased him for over a year
Many moons passed by
Did Baboon ever fly
Did he ever get to the sun
I’ve just heard today,
he’s well on his way
He’ll be passing through Acton at one.
PS - well, what do you expect from a baboon
A childhood favourite.

Spike Milligan was a poetic legend even though half the time he didn't use real words! I also used to like Roald Dahl's revolting rhymes when I was a kid!
I've loved poetry since I was a little girl so I'm going to post a couple as it's hard to choose just one. Hope this is ok {thumb2}
My favourite from my childhood!
Choosing Shoes
by Frida Wolfe
New shoes, new shoes,
Red and pink and blue shoes.
Tell me, what would you choose,
If they'd let us buy?
Buckle shoes, bow shoes,
Pretty pointy-toe shoes,
Strappy, cappy low shoes;
Let's have some to try.
Bright shoes, white shoes,
Dandy-dance-by-night shoes,
Perhaps-a-little-tight shoes,
Like some? So would I.
BUT
Flat shoes, fat shoes,
Stump-along-like-that shoes,
Wipe-them-on-the-mat shoes,
That's the sort they'll buy.
And my recent favourite by Pam Ayres....
I'm the dolly on the dustcart,
I can see you're not impressed,
I'm fixed above the driver's cab,
With wire across me chest,
The dustman see, he noticed me,
Going in the grinder,
And he fixed me on the lorry,
I dunno if that was kinder.
This used to be a lovely dress,
In pink and pretty shades,
But it's torn now, being on the cart,
And black as the ace of spades,
There's dirt all round me face,
And all across me rosy cheeks,
Well, I've had me head thrown back,
But we ain't had no rain for weeks.
I used to be a 'Mama' doll,
Tipped forward, I'd say, 'Mum'
But the rain got in me squeaker,
And now I been struck dumb,
I had two lovely blue eyes,
But out in the wind and weather,
One's sunk back in me head like,
And one's gone altogether.
I'm not a soft, flesh coloured dolly,
Modern children like so much,
I'm one of those hard old dollies,
What are very cold to touch,
Modern dolly's underwear,
Leaves me a bit nonplussed,
I haven't got a bra,
But then I haven't got a bust!
But I was happy in that doll's house,
I was happy as a Queen,
I never knew that Tiny Tears,
Was coming on the scene,
I heard of dolls with hair that grew,
And I was quite enthralled,
Until I realised my head
Was hard and pink... and bald.
So I travel with the rubbish,
Out of fashion, out of style,
Out of me environment,
For mile after mile,
No longer prized... dustbinised!
Unfeminine, Untidy,
I'm the dolly on the dustcart,
And there's no collection Friday.