Dinosaurs’ Breakfast Special
Urns of slime
and reptiles’ heads,
giants’ feet
and mouldy breads.
Icy hearts
and mountain eggs,
a ton of tongues
and turtle-legs.
Frogs and beetles
chewed to gristle,
old pine cones
and spicy thistle.
Snake-flesh paste
and baby whales,
slowly simmering
heads and tails.
Blackfish eyes
and stingray skin
mixed and mixed
till slimy thin.
All gulped down
with spidery glue
which sleepy dinosaurs
forget to chew. . .
©Katherine Gallagher
Twiggy
Stick insects are so very thin
Yet still insist on shedding skin
And even when they grow much bigger
Will maintain their sylph-like figure.
Butterfly
Soft as a dew drop
It lands
Dancing lightly
Upon pansy and petunia
Coloured wings flash and flutter
Delicate in the sunlight
Still for a moment
Then off again
Flitting from flower to flower
Sipping sweet nectar
Heralding Spring
Butterfly!
Haystack
Look! Rats and the children run out from
their hiding places in the haystack to
dance in front of us in a merry line?
Who else do you think hides here?
Do you have a memory of haystacks or
artist’s haystacks?
(Perceval’s Angel)
Tumble down the Haystack
dreaming columns of Greece.
Tumble down the Haystack
with childhood farming friends.
Tumble down the Haystack
to horses and the cows.
Now,
climb up that artist’s Haystack
and tumble down again.
June Perkins
Impropagation
A crack in the concrete is all it takes
for a small seed to lodge and germinate.
Its roots exude acid dissolving cement.
And so it has grown where it wasn’t meant.
Ignored by pedestrians tramping through
with sunlight and water it proudly grew.
And look at it now. Majestic and high.
Being kissed and blessed by a butterfly!
Inspired by the Artwork Living Freedomby Sharon Davson www.davsonarts.com
BUTTERFLY MOTHER
Dancing the tune of the breeze
She lifts her coat sleeves –
And freezes as if in prayer
To breed in the shady leaves;
Green confetti in air.
On the rib-case underneath –
A waxy seam of leaf,
Tiny eggs, colour of cream
Are stuck with butterfly paste.
Blue lady lifts as a dream,
Leaving them, to hatch or waste.
Who knows where she goes
Blue butterfly mother?
© Dianne Bates
Food art
This mashed potato sculpture
is a splendid work of art,
the best I’ve ever seen, I’d have to say
and every slice of carrot,
carved to look just like a heart,
you’ve set out in a most creative way.
The broccoli looks pretty
cut in perfect little flowers.
I love the way the peas spell out my name
and I know that you’ve been working
on this masterpiece for hours,
but I’m sorry, every night I feel the same.
It doesn’t really matter
what you do to all this food,
what handiwork you serve me up for tea.
I may seem quite ungrateful
and perhaps a little rude,
but, they still all taste like vegetables to me!
Jenny Erlanger
Sweet Dreams
Starry night, a quarter moon.
Owls and frogs recite a tune.
Listen, listen…
What do they say?
Sweet dreams, sweet dreams…
Sweet dreams they pray.
By Louise McCarthy
April Fool
I’m looking for Spring
as so many do
for blossom and bulbs
shy violets hold dew
What greets me is change
Winds, rain and shine
It’s now Autumn here
but there’s no call to pine
There are strawberry guavas,
feijoas and pears
very few flowers
but no one much cares
We’d rather our garden
is brimming with fruit
There’ll be time in September
For Flora’s fair loot
Virginia Lowe
Australian Children’s Poetry 