Tree-School

I spend all of the school day

Just waiting for the bell

But still there’s no time for me –

I’ve got homework as well!

I’d rather be out climbing

Or riding on my bike

I’d like to tell the teacher

To go and take a hike:

She could use the exercise

Without a shadow of a doubt,

Sitting at a desk all day

Has made her kind of stout.

If she moved about a bit

She’d have a healthy heart,

Fresh air and some exercise

Would make her very smart.-

I’m sure she’d come to realize

How good outdoors can be

Perhaps then we’d have lessons

Sitting in a tree.

© Debra Tidball

Gecko

I see you

frozen

on my bedroom wall,

doing your best

to pretend

you’re not there at all.

It’s okay;

you can stay.

Sally Murphy

Dog Walk/Talk

When I took Minnie for a walk,

All she wanted to do was talk.

Yap, yap, yap,

And chat, chat, chat.

Did you hear about this?

Did you hear about that?

Did you hear about Chris?

Don’t you think Paul’s fat?

And this is this,

And that is that.

Poor old Chris,

And Paul doesn’t like Pat.

And isn’t Mrs Bellows wearing a silly hat?

And what was that rat-a-tat-tat?

Minnie, Minnie, please stop right now,

You could talk the ears of a stone deaf cow.

Come on, Minnie, its silence I crave,

Your chat-chat-chat will put me in my grave.

So I ask you on my bended knees,

“Please, please, please, please, please, please.

Walk, just walk; walk, walk, walk,

And stop that talk talk-talk-talk-talk!”

Walk you say? Swell hey-hey-hey!

Walking’s fine but it’s not my way.

I like to talk, that’s what mouths are for,

I wonder what’s the cricket score?

I wonder if the Moon’s made of cheese?

Listen to that cat snort and sneeze.

Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk.

Talk and talk and talk; squawk, squawk.

Sigh.

© David Rish

A Young Magpie on the Breaking Drought

What is this silver falling from the sky,

that beads slim branches, streaks the garden wall;

that drums my dusty feathers as I fly;

that, never seen before, holds me in thrall?

I see slick foliage shine as if with dew

when touched by this world-washing, magic thing

that brings the snails and worms exploring, too;

that bids me tip my head right back and sing!

© Carolyn Eldridge-Alfonzetti

(First published by The School Magazine – Touchdown, No 2 – March 2008

Acknowledgement requested if published elsewhere)

A mouse in the house

“There’s a mouse in our house,” said old Farmer Fife.

“Well, a cat will fix that,” said his good lady wife.

But the cat clawed and spat at the dog – how fur flew.

Fife yelled “Out!” What a shout, that house trembled, it’s true.

Next a trap it went snap but Mouse, she ran free.

Then a man in a van tried his luck for a fee.

Mouse hid ‘neath a lid till the danger was past.

Hunger gnawed – soon Fife snored – time Mouse broke her long fast.

Out she crept while they slept and feasted her fill

“It’s a pest not our guest!” Fife vowed, “Catch her I will.”

They tried brooms and loud booms, every potion and powder.

But Mouse she stayed, on she played, and her gnawing grew louder.

‘Twas not food but a brood in her round little tum.

They were born in the morn and the one had become

Nine, no less, and oh yes, Wife and Fife were distraught.

Those lodgers, smart dodgers just wouldn’t be caught.

In a trice those fine mice multiplied to three score

until Fife and his wife could not take any more.

Yes, they fled, out they sped, left their house to the mice

who skittered and tittered and sighed, “This is nice.”

© Teena Raffa-Mulligan

A dragonfly

rests motionless on my finger

as I gently unravel

the spider’s silk

that is caught

around its wings and thorax.

It seems weightless,

with its dark, slender body,

and six fragile legs on my skin.

I unwrap each strand

until the dragonfly is free,

yet it doesn’t move.

We become a stillness

that dissolves into the morning

until    suddenly    it shimmers away

on brilliant wings

transparent into the blue.

© Vanessa Proctor

‘Dragonfly’ was published in ‘Quadrant’ Vol 57. No 1-2 2013 and has been accepted for publication by ‘The School Magazine’.

Rescue

He’s funny looking.

He isn’t a puppy.

I say to Mum

He has sad eyes.

Dad says

Maybe we can make those sad eyes happy.

I say to Dad

He’s skinny.

Mum says

Maybe we can make him fatter.

Does he do tricks?

Maybe you could teach him some.

But I don’t know him

And he doesn’t know me.

So many dogs.

So much noise.

We walk up and down

Looking at the dogs.

So many dogs

But we come back to him.

He looks at me.

I look at him.

He doesn’t bark.

He just looks.

Hopefully.

They open his cage.

He just looks

Then he licks my hand.

This is the one I say.

This is the one he says.

Pat Simmons © 2015

Family drive

Every day from start to end

she drives my mother round the bend.

I kid you not, and that’s not all.

She drives my father up the wall.

So if you meet her, just beware.

She’s sure to drive you to despair.

My little sister’s only five

but, clearly, old enough to drive!

© Jenny Erlanger

Unputdownable

I got a book for Christmas, and I couldn’t put it down,

But it wasn’t by a writer of spectacular renown.

The plot was never gripping, and the characters weren’t great.

The illustrations, truth be told, were rather second rate.

I didn’t like the paper, and the binding looked quite cheap,

Yet still this book prevented me from drifting into sleep.

So why did I not put it down? This little puzzle still lingers.

It’s very simple, really. I had glue upon my fingers!

© Stephen Whiteside   10.01.2015

Tasty Moon

In Heaven’s oven

the moon is a chunky pie

sugar-coated and crusty,

as plump as a donut,

as dimpled as a dumpling —

Good enough to eat.

Dianne Bates