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Praying Mantis

by Helen Hagemann

From inside the house
the praying mantis looks like

a caught twig, a small gesture
of wood rocking on wire.

Up close, it draws you in and
outdoors, its pencil-spine a cloudy

grey. Grey as the litany of squares
she hugs. The most interesting thing

is the way she carries her colours
to meld or disappear into fabric,

cottage wall, or branch. Tomorrow
she may be yellow, pink, or green

depending on the plot-size of garden
or unattended window, the parallel

lines of wire-mesh giving just the
slightest hint of stick, of leaf.

 

 

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THINGS THAT GO POP

by Allan Cropper

 

Balloons make the loudest pop

They pop so loud that people stop

POP!

 

Bubbles make the softest pop

Hardly worth the trouble

pop!

 

But bubble wrap is clearly tops

When it comes to making pops

It goes on like it never stops

pop pop pop pop pop pop pop

pop pop pop pop pop pop pop!

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The Penguisaur

by Stephen Whiteside 

 

The penguisaur lived long ago, but only way down south.

It had long rows of ugly teeth arranged within its mouth.

It lived in crowds upon the ice, and swam for food each day,

And when it dived it threw behind a mighty spume of spray.

 

It waddled when it walked because its legs were short and stumpy.

It looked quite cute, but don’t be fooled. Its mood was often grumpy.

It liked to feed on killer whales, and humpback whales as well,

And wayward tortoises, because they have a crunchy shell.

 

It specially liked to guzzle blood that flowed from meat fresh killed,

And grew extremely angry if too much of it was spilled.

It opened wide its vicious teeth, and gave a mighty roar,

While blood formed clots upon the feathers of the penguisaur

 

Its snowy chest was fast defaced by blood and gore and guts.

Mark my word – it was a fearsome beast, no ifs or buts.

When chewing gobs of whale, a crazed look came into its eye.

Its feathers were ten metres long, yet still it couldn’t fly.

 

Half of it was dinosaur, and half was flightless bird,

But of it, in the text books, you will never read a word.

That’s because its fossiled forms are trapped beneath the ice,

And searching for such evidence is never very nice.

 

Maybe somewhere out among the broad Antarctic chill,

A penguisaur, snap frozen and intact, is lying still.

Perhaps one day a scientist will thaw its body out,

And it will grab him in its jaw, and shake him inside out!

 

 ©   Stephen Whiteside  

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Nora

 By Anna Jacobson

I found her at school one day, hidden

under one of the classrooms. I climbed

in after her and she let me stroke

her fur. I carried her into the light

and her shadow stretched

across the grass.

 

Her owners were relieved.

She’d been missing three weeks.

They came to pick her up

and as I let her go, I imagined a cat

of my own. A cat called Nora.

 

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Lost

by Jenny Erlanger

 

The water beneath us is surging,

the thunder’s creating a din.

and swiftly a sense is emerging

of just what a pickle I’m in.

All hope of a rescue is shrinking,

I’m such a long way from the shore.

I’m trapped on a ship that is sinking

and teeming with pirates galore,

with villains who thirst for a killing,

who’d slice you apart with a hook.

I’m finding this ever so thrilling!

I love getting lost in a book.

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Birthday Eve

by Nadine Cranenburgh

 

My presents are boxed up all brightly

I’m not sleepy, not even slightly

When I hear my dad snore

I’ll unwrap three or four

Then wrap them back up again tightly

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Waiting…

By Angelique  Brandt (14)

Waiting is the hardest part
Wondering if it’s going to start
Wondering what will be
Wondering if he will be there for me
Sleepless nights
Have to hold on tight
Don’t know what is going to happen
Hope it will be alright
The road to the hospital is long
But you have to stay strong
Seeing him lying there
Everything seems bare
Then everything is okay
And I can breathe again
And the weight is off my shoulders
And the sun is shining again
And he is there for me
Like he said he would be.

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How to Recognise a Poem (Your Own)

By Liana Joy Christensen 

 

You know

when you walk on a bush track at noon

the birds are hushed by heat

but down near your feet leaves rustle

and you smile to yourself

because another creature is near

it’s like that

 

You know

when you feel grumpy for days

nothing’s right and you don’t know why

then it shifts and fat drops of rain

kiss the dust on the pavement

the air is alive with possibilities

just before the water roars down

it’s like that

 

You know

when you get an ear worm

three or more words together

that tease you so much

you can’t get them out of your head

Sometimes it lasts for years

it’s like that

 

You know

when you ride barefoot in winter

and your feet slip off the pedals

and you stub your toes

the pain takes your breath away

it’s like that

 

You know

when your old best friend tells

their new best friend

your deepest, secret shame

and now everyone knows

Then, a universe away,

the cold coal of rage

becomes a diamond rhyme

it’s like that

 

You know

when you wake up from a dream

so luminous you rush to catch it

and though it slips through your net of words

the moth dust left behind on the mesh

glows softly for years to come

it’s like that

 

You know it’s like that

You know it’s like that

You know it’s like that

don’t you?

(Originally published in the US by Cicada, Vol 14, no 3, 2011 and later republished in Fremantle Press Performance Poets, 2013)

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BING BANG WALLOPY BOOM

by Allan Cropper

 

Bing bang wallopy boom

The marching band came in my room

Round and round and round my bed

Pounding pounding in my head

Bing bang wallopy boom

The marching band marched out my room

I never heard another peep

I closed my eyes and fell asleep

 

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The Trouble with Rain

By Nadine Cranenburgh

 

At Gran’s I have an awesome time

but when it rains and pours

I’d love to go and splash outside

and Gran keeps me indoors

 

‘Some kinds of rain don’t bother me’

says Grandma when I mope

‘Not every downpour spoils my day

umbrellas help me cope’

 

‘But there’s one kind of rain I hate

when I’ve forgot my ’brolly

and if get caught out in it

it makes me mad, by golly’

 

‘Gran, what’s this rain that gets your goat

and makes your humour fail

could it be the driving drops

that come before the hail?’

 

‘No that’s not it, I don’t mind those’

Gran answers with a frown

‘I don’t mind hail or sleet or snow

they never get me down’

 

‘So what?’ I ask, ‘What rain is this

that makes your undies twist?’

‘You really want to know?’ asks Gran

‘I’ll tell, since you insist’

 

‘The rain I hate and deeply loathe

is drizzle, feather-light

It soaks me so, I’ll catch my death

don’t laugh dear, I just might!’

 

‘But Gran,’ I say, ‘it’s drizzling now

please come outside with me

Put on your gumboots, coat and hat

we’ll have a ball, you’ll see!’

 

I splished and sploshed and mucked about

Gran laughed and joined in too

Then Gran said, ‘Well, that wasn’t bad’

and I said,

‘AR

-TI

-SHOO!’