A moorhen busies herself,
rocks this way and that
on a wave-washed nest.
Swans float in late afternoon chill,
shadows lengthen,
chestnut buds swell.
Forsythia trembles the breeze –
pastel-green willows barely move
dipping branch-tips into the lake.
Every year I wait for this –
first flowers, trees leafing
on sculpted branches,
reflecting in the water
their steadfast
cascades of green.
©Katherine Gallagher
From the blue spring sky
hard hail and soft pink petals
falling together
Spring morning –
overnight the wind has picked
the last camellia
Spring in the Arctic
came two weeks early
and Barnacle geese
No more stopping
for rests on their journey.
Three thousand k’s
is a humungous hop.
They cruise at the speed
we’d drive through town
with short bursts of
ninety-five k’s or so.
Marathon flyers
in feathers and down,
with climate changed seasons
just watch them go!
Spring Clean
How long since I tidied here?
I guess it’s been awhile.
I’ll take it one bit at a time
And start here with this pile.
When did I collect these shells?
Or that stick? Or those rocks?
It must have been at least a year
Since I last saw those socks.
Something’s growing under here!
And wait… Is that thing moving?
I’ve been here for an hour
And this mess is not improving.
What could smell so awful?
And why is that thing green?
Life’s mysteries unravel
When it’s time for a Spring Clean.
Spring Whether
The weather in Springtime is very uncertain.
It can’t decide whether it’s hot or it’s cold.
It doesn’t know whether to pour or to sprinkle
or whether to simply keep raindrops on hold.
The weather in Springtime is quite indecisive,
and that’s why you’ll find in a week, or a day,
it’ll rain and be sunny and cold and too hot.
We never know whether we’ll go out to play!
This poem was first published in The Caterpillar, Issue 20, Spring 2018. (As this is an Irish publication, their Spring edition was published in March.)
The poem also appears on my website, http://kristinmartin.net
kristin@kristinmartin.net
Fields of Spring
A wilderness of tea-trees
In our paddock playground
One free day in the midst of childhood
A day filled with everything
We are wild things,
Charging, ducking, hiding,
Flies swamping our sweaty faces
A dove, startled, flies up and
Petals fall like a sprinkle of rain
As we play
Cowboys and Indians
With imaginary guns
Bang! Bang! You’re dead!
Falling to the ground face-up
Wisps of clouds slide above
As if breathing in and out.
A spring in your step
Boing boing,
Spring’s in the air!
Boing boing,
Spring’s ev’rywhere!
Blossoms spring out,
Boing boing!
Bulbs are in bloom,
Boing boing!
Winter has gone,
boing boing —
It’s spring, it’s spring,
boing BOING!
Mr Snufflesworse’s sniffles
Mr Snufflesworse
is in a bad way.
He caught a cold
the other day.
Despite taking pills,
it won’t go away!
When he blows his nose
the bed rocks and shakes.
Boogers come out
as long as snakes,
and when he sneezes,
the whole street awakes.
His sinuses are
chock-a-block with muck —
there’s enough snot
to fill a truck.
And here comes more phlegm —
Yuck yuck yuck yuck YUCK!
If you ever have the pleasure
To uncover buried treasure,
Then I hope that you will keep my needs in mind.
Since I’m just a poor old poet
And I don’t care if you know it,
Just as long as you are generous and kind.
Though my poems can be funny
They don’t earn me lots of money,
So I’ll thank you for whatever you can spare.
Or instead just take a look
At “The Mystery Box”, my book,
For it may be you will find some treasure there.
Australian Children’s Poetry 