[Corneac]

Fergus was a wayward child,
Unruly, the opposite of mild,
Discourteous to dinner guests,
A cheater on his science tests,

He tripped his Father down the stairs,
Mother's toothbrush, coated in hairs,
Despite this boys angelic mug,
He was a devil, an evil thug,

But these were not the worst of it,
I give a disgusted shudder, as I admit,
Not only unbecoming of a gentlemen,
But horrid, vile, a mighty sin,

As the family sat down for dinner,
He showed he was a wicked sinner,
When eating pie, soup, roast pork,
He refused to use a knife and fork!

His filthy mitts attacked the plate,
Reduced his Mum to such a state,
His cutlery sat untouched, idly by,
His manners left high and dry,

Shock, confusion, fear and fury,
He would need to face the jury!
A horrid lack of eating conduct,
His bum would need a reconstruct,

Despite the best efforts of his family,
He persisted, that Fergus Bramley!
They tried force, bribery, hypnotism,
They even considered child prison,

'Twas there all along, under their noses,
Such a simple solution, no harm it poses,
While sinful Fergie slept in his bed,
No they did not kill him, but instead,

While their son was in a peaceful doze,
They found some scissors, before he rose,
They found his wrists, sharpened the tip,
They cut off his hands, snip, snip, snip!

Little boy Bramley has learnt his lesson,
Despite his arms, now a shade of cresson,
He is now lovely and polite at eating time,
So we are now spared from his crime,

So boys' ands girls, please take heed,
Don't follow his example, the insipid weed,
Always use your manners at the table,
If you want your limbs attached and able,

[Lubesh]

Ha that was gruesome and well held...move over RDahl

[Corneac]

Not quite but thanks lubesh...'preciate it

[in_absentia]

This poem had me grinning because it brought back memories of the stories I read as a kid. I enjoyed the rhythm but here and there certain lines just felt "off" for lack of a better word.

Not only unbecoming of a gentlemen,
But horrid, vile, a mighty sin, amen,

I think in this example, you could end the second line with "sin" and keep the rhythm and the rhyme. The rhyme itself wouldn't be perfect like the others, but I think the rhythm would help carry the reader through the line better.

When eating pie, soup, roast pork,
He refused to use a knife and fork!

Here, the first line could use an extra syllable to keep with the flow. The word "or" would seem to fit nicely in between soup and roast.

edit: I just re-read your poem, and this line didn't bother me like it did the first time... perhaps I just needed to get used to it to "get" it.

I'm pretty sure those were the only two things that took me out of what is an otherwise excellent children's poem.

p.s. I hope I'm not crossing any lines with my suggestions (I'm still getting used to the forums ).

[Corneac]

Nah, you weren't crossing the line, and i appreciate your comments. I fixed up the first thing you suggested, thanks for that it's better now. But I'm kind of happy with the the line

When eating pie, soup, roast pork,
He refused to use a knife and fork!

I really appreciate your feedback, and i'm glad you enjoyed it!

[xtremelady]

Just wanted to say, I loved the visual imagery here. Couldn't resist a smile from beginning to end :-}Great stuff!

[in_absentia]

Cool, I wasn't sure how kind people took to specific changes but I'm happy that one of them worked out.

Reading it again, I certainly agree about keeping the lines: When eating pie, soup, roast pork,/
He refused to use a knife and fork! like they are.

I must have had a brain fart or something last night

[Corneac]

Thanks mate, I appreciate your comments. You too xtremelady, thanks..

[DarkPower]

hahaha thats horrible. and i love it, going to make sure to save that for my children to read

[Corneac]

Thanks DP...lol

[ManthaStoirmeil]

So, this is a whole set you're working up? It's such a great tradition, this cautionary poetry for kids, and it used to be much more seriously intended (you might want to google on the "struwel-peter" poetry of 19th century Germany, in translation. It's really ghastly!) Shel Silverstein has one in "Where The Sidewalk Ends", about "Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout who would not take the garbage out" -- you can guess what her horrible end was. These pieces of yours are a really worth addition to the genre of "repulsive cautionary verse.".

[Corneac]

Yeah...thanks Mantha. I grew up reading Edwards Gorey's take on the genre espeially. It's more of a hobby of mine...thier actually quite enjoyable to write...lol

[Phonoho]

You are a devilish one when it comes to childrens' literature, which leads me to suspect that your parents loved you all the more for it. How do they feel about your writing? Do you share it with them? If so, have they encouraged or otherwise affected your writing in any definable way?
You have posted many pieces here which I have not commented on, and there is a reason for this. I know how you feel about my work and I am deeply grateful, for it is your commenting, more than my ability, that has made my work shine in a way that it never has before. There are others here, and they will be identified shortly. But you validate me. Do you understand that?
Ok, we just had a party here and I have been drinking White Russians. I'd better shut up before I really make a fool of myself.

[Corneac]

Thanks Phonoho...that means a lot to me mate.

Interesting question, yes my family know I write. They've never read any of it, they've never really expressed an interest and I have never offered. That's the way I like it. They have encouraged, I guess by reading to me form a young age and invoking a love of the written word within me.

Hmmm...just curious what is the reason you haven't commented on some of my work? You aid there is a reason, didn't elaborate. I'm avidly curious. I'm glad you find my comments encouraging...I find you do the same for me. My work has improved much on this site...

Enjoy those White Russians mate..

[Phonoho]

My mother is an unpublished writer. Mostly a blend of sci-fi and romance. Remember Doc Savage? She still has manuscripts stored away somewhere, which I need to make copies of. She used to read outloud to me, my brother and sisters, on long summer days when it was too hot to play outside. Even my treehouse, high up in the lush canopy of a huge Sweetgum, was no comfort from the blistering Texas heat. I can still recall the sound of her tan, portable Royal typewriter, clacking away while I was off in the kitchen making one of my famous Dagwood sandwiches and stealing her tea. Whenever she was reading or typing we dared not make a sound, in fear of interupting her method and spoiling the moment. I withhold comment out of respect for your Craft.

[Corneac]

I withhold comment out of respect for your Craft.

You can't say that! ...you've made me all paranoid.

Yes I have many fond memories of my mother reading to my sisters and brothers and me...

[ManthaStoirmeil]

Originally Posted by Corneac

You can't say that! ...you've made me all paranoid.

Yes I have many fond memories of my mother reading to my sisters and brothers and me...

It makes a huge difference to a kid, to be talked to and read to (and maybe sung to, as well). My earliest language memory is my father reading the old English poem "Who Killed Cock Robin?" to me, when I was younger than three. "I, said the sparrow,with my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin!"