Stephen Whiteside has been writing rhyming verse for over thirty years, and has written about 2,000 poems. He writes for both adults and children.

Many of his poems have been published in magazines or anthologies, both in Australia and overseas, or won awards.

Walker Books Australia released a collection of his poetry for children in May 2014, entitled The Billy That Died with its Boots On, and other Australian Verse. Whiteside has also self-published several poetry collections for adults.

Whiteside is a great admirer of the Australian poet C. J. Dennis, and is closely involved with the organisation of the annual “Toolangi C. J. Dennis Poetry Festival”, held on the site of Dennis’ home, in Toolangi, in October every year.

Whiteside is a medical practitioner, and works as a GP in Melbourne.

His web-site can be found here:

http://www.stephenwhiteside.com.au

THE BIRD BATH

I’m just a humble bird bath. I have no tap or drain.

I only ever fill up if we have a fall of rain.

I never have a bar of soap, or bottle of shampoo,

Or sachet of those clever salts that soak you through and through.

I’m never cleaned. I’m never scrubbed. There’s lichen on my lip.

I’m gritty and I’m earthy. I provide a proper grip,

And those that use my services don’t mind that I am old,

Though my water might be cloudy, and its temp’rature quite cold.

They leap. They splash. They frolic, throwing spumes high in the air.

They play with great abandon, like they’ve not a single care.

They use me as a wash tub, yes, but choose to drink as well

Of my cool, refreshing water. They are happy, I can tell.

I’m just a simple bird bath, standing silent in the yard;

Abandoned, half forgotten, but I do not find life hard.

I’m frequently replenished by refreshing falls of rain,

And all my good friends visit me…again…again…again.

© Stephen Whiteside   11.09.2012

THE LAST PIECE OF CAKE

Dad looked very fondly at the last piece of cake.

It was fluffy. It was creamy. It was sweet.

He moved to wolf it down.

Then he faltered with a frown.

He’d leave it there for someone else to eat.

Mummy gazed with pleasure at the last piece of cake.

It was fluffy. It was creamy. It was sweet.

Eating cake’s her favourite sport,

But she had a second thought.

She’d leave it there for someone else to eat.

Michael’s tummy rumbled at the last piece of cake.

It was fluffy. It was creamy. It was sweet.

He could scoff it in a trice,

But he thought that he’d be nice.

He’d leave it there for someone else to eat.

Jenny started drooling at the last piece of cake.

It was fluffy. It was creamy. It was sweet.

For her mouth, it was the cure,

But she thought she’d be mature.

She’d leave it there for someone else to eat.

Mummy glared frustrated at the last piece of cake.

It was dry, and hardened like a lump of wood.

Though such waste seemed like a sin,

She felt it must go in the bin

…and the ants agreed it tasted rather good!

© Stephen Whiteside   17.03.10