I Discovered a Hole in My Jammies
Listen to Niamh's poem read by Rose
('Magical Token' and 'Bell Ding' via Audio Micro license)
I discovered a hole in my jammies
the break in the stitching was new,
not nearly as big as my hand in a fist
but my pinky fit all the way through.
I thought I’d forget all about it
as it wasn’t an interesting find,
but it stayed in my head for the rest of the day
and tiny things flooded my mind.
That night I dreamt about ladybird spots
spaghetti hoops, raindrops and pips,
and marbles and keyholes, a blueberry slice
forget-me-nots, chocolate chips.
Next evening the hole in my jammies
had grown at the underarm seam,
in the dinosaur pattern, a much bigger gap
where the T-Rex’s head should have been.
That night my dreams were of butterfly spots
and frisbee hoops, puddles and grapes,
and tennis balls, portholes, a pineapple slice
and sunflowers, chocolate cakes.
Next evening the hole was biggest of all
and I wondered what Mommy would say,
in fact, I mistakenly put my head through
when I changed at the end of the day.
That night I dreamt of a cavernous cave
and I floated right in unafraid,
and opened my eyes in a slumbering world
where lullabies constantly played.
Everyone travelled on hovercraft beds
and we all wore our jammies to school,
and Teacher allowed us to drift off to sleep
as she read from the story-time stool.
At breaktime, we glided around the school yard
with the sun setting low overhead,
and the clouds were all made up of cuddly toys
and miles of unravelling thread.
And later, we floated on top of our desks
in the yellowy light of the dawn,
and instead of a bell at the end of the class
the intercom sounded a yawn.
I felt so at peace in my slumbering world
and in it I wished I could stay,
but I woke with a start at the ringing alarm
to the hustle and bustle of day.
The following night I went up to my room
and I pulled back the sheets on my bed,
but my jammies had gone, and there in the folds
was a pair of new jammies instead.
My Mommy had gotten them ready for me
they were new, neatly folded, and small,
I stretched and I yawned and I slipped into bed
and I dreamt about nothing at all.
the break in the stitching was new,
not nearly as big as my hand in a fist
but my pinky fit all the way through.
I thought I’d forget all about it
as it wasn’t an interesting find,
but it stayed in my head for the rest of the day
and tiny things flooded my mind.
That night I dreamt about ladybird spots
spaghetti hoops, raindrops and pips,
and marbles and keyholes, a blueberry slice
forget-me-nots, chocolate chips.
Next evening the hole in my jammies
had grown at the underarm seam,
in the dinosaur pattern, a much bigger gap
where the T-Rex’s head should have been.
That night my dreams were of butterfly spots
and frisbee hoops, puddles and grapes,
and tennis balls, portholes, a pineapple slice
and sunflowers, chocolate cakes.
Next evening the hole was biggest of all
and I wondered what Mommy would say,
in fact, I mistakenly put my head through
when I changed at the end of the day.
That night I dreamt of a cavernous cave
and I floated right in unafraid,
and opened my eyes in a slumbering world
where lullabies constantly played.
Everyone travelled on hovercraft beds
and we all wore our jammies to school,
and Teacher allowed us to drift off to sleep
as she read from the story-time stool.
At breaktime, we glided around the school yard
with the sun setting low overhead,
and the clouds were all made up of cuddly toys
and miles of unravelling thread.
And later, we floated on top of our desks
in the yellowy light of the dawn,
and instead of a bell at the end of the class
the intercom sounded a yawn.
I felt so at peace in my slumbering world
and in it I wished I could stay,
but I woke with a start at the ringing alarm
to the hustle and bustle of day.
The following night I went up to my room
and I pulled back the sheets on my bed,
but my jammies had gone, and there in the folds
was a pair of new jammies instead.
My Mommy had gotten them ready for me
they were new, neatly folded, and small,
I stretched and I yawned and I slipped into bed
and I dreamt about nothing at all.
This poem is copyright (©) Niamh Savage 2024
About the Writer
Niamh Savage
Niamh writes poetry and rhyming stories for children, and likes to record them too. Her work has been published in The Caterpillar magazine. She is from Dublin, and works for Ireland's public service broadcaster, RTÉ, as a television broadcast co-ordinator. She has worked extensively in children's programmes over the years.
