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Shadow Party

By Sioban Timmer

 

People think that shadows pass

With sunset’s fading light

But that’s when shadows party-

When the daytime turns to night

 

We assume our fellow shadows

Are always waiting for our call

But when you close your eyes at night

They are not there at all

 

In sunshine they just copy

(Which can really be a bore)

But free to roam within dark

They dance and fly and soar

 

The darkness makes it possible

For them to leave your side

And when our shadows get the chance

They wander far and wide

 

So every night while you’re in bed

And sleep is close to hand

Dream about your shadow

Dancing free across the land.

  • Submitted in response to Words+Pictures #3 poetry challenge. my kids
  • ‘Land’

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Who Is Outside?

by Jodie Davidson

 

I see you through the glass

I can’t hear any sound

Your feathers are multicoloured

You start to move around

 

You have funny extra toes

At the end of pointy feet

Lifting quickly up and down

To a very peculiar beat

 

When you begin to flap

Those spindly looking wings

Your beak opens and shuts

And your feathers start to swing

 

I wait for you to rise

Up high into the air

But you stay flat on the ground

And all I can do is stare

 

I ease a little closer

And softly I hear you tweet

A pretty little tune

To match your dancing feet

 

I open my small eyes wide

And take another step

I stretch my short neck forward

Then all of a sudden… ‘WACK’

 

That stupid piece of glass

That separates you from me

I’m going back to my home

I’ll watch you from my tree

 

  • This poem was highly commended in the 12th Kathleen Julia Bates Memorial Writing Competition.

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Winner of the 12th Kathleen Julia Bates Memorial Writing Competition

 

Yuval says

by Elizabeth Honey

 

A walnut is the brain of a tiny ancient dinosaur,

protected by two wooden boats

joined together after the War of the Squirrels

says Yuval.

 

Almonds are wooden teeth from the mask of Hadro Gull,

too hideous to look upon,

but if you did look upon it and did not die

then your hair would fall out and you’d be petrified granite

in just one second.

 

Pecans? says Yuval.

When the Holy Priestess of Darmon rode the waves

there were pecants, but pecants are well nigh impossible

and no matter how she tended them they up and died,

so nobody bothers growing them now,

in fact there are only three pecants in the world

 

Pistachios from the Veiled North are holy fruit,

symbolised in the royal court by the tongues of old cockatoos

which is why they are favoured by monkeys and kings

and jugglers who toss them in that tired old hawker’s disappearing trick

You know the one?

 

And now the toughest nut of all, from Macadamia,

the ancient Chinese-checker nut, sent by junk to Uku Haadeer

where stern crackers in puffy white shower-caps and blue aprons

perched in rows at wind-powered machines with red wheels

and cracked each nut one-by-one and dropped them in a cup – Ding!

 

But you can’t crack me, I say, and I leap. Oww!

Nut find nut, says Yuval.

 

Judge’s Comment

“This poem immediately engages the reader: Who is Yuval? Why should we listen to what Yuval says? The strong first line opens to a story and following stanzas introduce new stories, each connected but very different. While the reader engages with the strong imagery, they are also eavesdropping on the conversation between the teller and the listener. Language is simple but each word works hard to scaffold imagining. At the end there’s a twist that brings lightness and tongue-in-cheek humour. The poem is cohesive and creates rich images. Well done.” Competition Judge Claire Saxby

 

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Doorway to Destiny

By Lynelle Kendall

 

Castle door. Gaping

like a wound in a

jigsawed

stone wall.

 

Yawning black, back, back

Into the depthless dark.

 

Stand on the threshold.

A feeling of falling,

Or something ghostly

Calling, calling.

 

Shudder to think

What peril awaits

For those who

Enter here.

 

 

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Counting down

by Nadine Cranenburgh

 

Five minutes left –

not much longer to wait

When the bell goes

I’ll zoom right through the gate

 

Left at the rose bush,

scream down Breakneck Hill,

bump through the creek bed

right up to Pa’s mill

 

Spokes spitting gravel

I’ll skid to a halt

my bike left to rest

like a sweat-lathered colt

 

Scrubbed up and changed

then I’m right for a snack –

left-over shepherd’s pie,

sigh and lean back

 

“Wake up right now!”

teacher’s voice breaks my spell.

Four minutes left…

I can’t wait for the bell

 

 

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Behind the door

by Jenny Erlanger

 

I know it sounds a bit absurd

but you should hear what I have heard

about the things that have occurred

inside that stony tomb.

 

There’s talk of heaps of human bones,

of eerie grunts and squeals and moans,

of blood that oozes from the stones

and ghosts that haunt each room.

 

They say the spiders down the halls

are all the size of bowling balls

and prone to jumping off the walls

and landing in your hair

 

Of course, I don’t know this for sure.

It’s time for someone to explore

what really lies beyond that door.

Please enter… if you dare.

 

  • Submitted in response to Words+Pictures #2 poetry challenge

ENTER

 

Photo: Neil Mulligan

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Back Soon!

By Louise Molloy

He stands before the dragon
And sidles closer still,
No fiery breath nor fury greets him,
But eyes half-shut
And scales dull grey,

The dragon lets its tongue loll
And splutters loudly, ENTER!
He climbs each quiver
Of its quivering tongue
And peers into its dark, dark mouth,

WHAT BEASTIES LURK THAT KILL MY FLAME?
He peers down its dark, dark throat,
“I’ll need my weapons to cure your ill.”
NO VEGETABLES!
“No worries, I’ll be back soon.”

 

  • Inspired by Words+Pictures #2 poetry challenge. Louise said she took poetic licence and ‘The castle with its steps, dark door and hooded window turned into a sick dragon for me’.

    Photo: Neil Mulligan

    Photo: Neil Mulligan

ENTER

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MEET PI

by Allan Cropper

 

These circles give me headaches

and here’s the reason why,

I’m fine with sums and minuses

but though I always try

This symbol keeps on bugging me

I thought that I would cry

The day my teacher tried to teach me pi

 

This squiggly little symbol

keeps on doing in my head

Looks nothing like a number but

more like a tiny shed

I’m feeling pretty hungry so

give me pie charts instead

My teacher keeps on trying to teach me pi

 

The inside of a circle is

pi r squared I’m told

And 2 pi r the measurement

the distance round a hole

This never ending talk of pi

just drives me up the wall

My teacher won’t stop trying to teach me pi

 

A quadratic equation can

At worse make me irate

Serve me long division, and

I’ll start to salivate

Pi will always be the thing

I dearly love to hate

My teacher won’t stop trying to teach me pi

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Robyn Youl submitted this response to my recent Words+Pictures poetry challenge…

 

Walk

 

Sneakers

are for fun

for

after school stuff.

 

Heavy

cloddy

black school shoes

lace up cocoons

walk.

 

Your feet

come out

to stretch your legs

and fly.

 

Sneakers

are not made

to walk

they’re made to run.

 

 

 Sneakers

 

Sneaker shod

I walk

I run

to the shops,

to my friends

to Little Aths

.. and at the end

of the day

home to Mum.

 

Are Refugee Kids

Sneaker shod

when

they walk

they run

from

the bombs

the bad men

with guns?

 

Are Refugee kids

Sneaker shod

when

they walk

they run

from

home

family and friends

into the unknown?

 

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Choosing Shoes

by Pat Simmons

 

Gum boots when it’s raining

Sports shoes when I’m training

Sparkly shoes for dancing

Riding boots for prancing

Sandals for a summer’s day

High heeled shoes for dress up play

Then sadly comes that time of year

When Mum says, ‘Let’s go shopping dear.

Your feet keep growing, time to choose

A nice new pair of (yuk!) School Shoes.’

 

  • Submitted in response to Words+Pictures poetry challenge

sneakersWALK