A collection of creative, crafted by Daniel Sauva.
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A Grimbo’s Tale

Put your feet up, grab a cuppa, nestle in a nook – here’s a chapter of my book, come in and take a look …

Here’s the first chapter of my rhyming children’s book. It’s at the publisher’s right now, so who knows! Rhyming children’s books are generally a no-no for publishers, but on the positive side it revolves around drug addiction – the perfect bedtime story.

 

Chapter 1 – Hey Goob

 

Goob was a useless grimbo, always plonked in the same old spot,
He picked his nose with his grubby toes and belched an awful lot.

His horns were blunt and stumpy, he chewed his bristly tail,
He rolled about on his mucky snout, and chomped his gruesome nails.

His belly gurgled constantly, his grimace filled with dribble,
His posture was preposterous, all porky in the middle.

All day he lay there grunting, collecting belly fluff,
You could have made a woolly hat, there was so much of the stuff.

You see grimbos were an oddity, monstrous monstrosities,
Wobbly anomalies, all cumbersome and slobbery.

But Goob was quite the character, a grimbo to excess,
His laziness was unexcelled and he left a stinky mess.

He wallowed in the wasteland and slumped in bubbling bogs,
Mistaken for a steaming log by mobs of cross-eyed frogs.

They called the mire Grumble Woods, where monsters misbehaved,
And chomped away on nasty snacks that left them in a daze.

And Goob was no exception, he loved a little nibble,
Of creepy crawlies from the dirt that made his noggin fizzle.

He had a taste for wobble bugs, icky grubs with gristly guts,
Squirmy slugs with prickly tufts, like chewing on a bristly brush.

The insides were sublimely slimy, squirts of goopy fun,
They tasted just like mustard mixed with Marmite on his tongue.

But as the slop dripped down his chin, reality disappeared,
Cos wobble bugs had side effects that made the world go weird.

His eyeballs started spiraling, his thoughts went loop the loop,
Trees clicked their twiggy fingers and swayed from root to root.

A snail with a wonky top hat drummed the shell upon his back,
While a worm with a spinning bow tie, felt the vibe and began to clap.

A lizard grabbed some broccoli and poked holes through the shoots,
Hollowed out the stem and then, played it like a flute.

A mosquito grabbed her pointy friends and told them all one thing:
“Just buzz, don’t bite, tonight’s the night, we gather round and sing”.

The rhythm was a funky pink, the bass was vibrant blue,
It sounded great in Goob’s big head, he loved the purple hue.

But notes began to crackle, and spluttered murky brown,
Cos what goes up goes upside down and turns into a frown.

Daddy long legs wearing hoodies dropped from tangled webs,
And blew on broken saxophones that blurted rusty red.

Tarantulas with battle scars strapped grapes to all their feet,
And boxed Goob on his eardrums to a black and yellow beat.

Colours splattered thick and fast, booming as they popped,
Too dizzy, such a fizzy blast, if only it would stop.

He plugged his ears with muddy clumps, and stuffed in both big toes,
Then passed out like a woozy lump, dribbling on his nose.



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