When will water this way come
and fill this ancient creek?
There’s been no rain hereabouts
for many a long, long week.
When drought breaks the creek will rush,
a torrent raging by,
but for now it’s turned to dust —
no clouds have blessed the sky.
While in the east, it’s flooding,
and towns and farms are lost.
Can these extremes of climate stop,
or has a line been crossed?
Dry creek bed, Flinders Ranges. Photo by Ginette Pestana
“C’mon little Davo, the ball’s bounced and there’s no more waiting.”
I climb on the couch as my Dad begins explaining,
“Essendon, little Davo, is the team that we’ll be barracking.
You’ll see running and jumping and kicking and handballing.”
“Aha,” grins Dad – “Can you believe it’s now raining.”
The game goes on and no-one’s complaining.
It’s fun as I watch their clothes become muddy with staining.
“C’mon umpire, that’s holding the ball,” says Dad exclaiming.
“Pass the ball son, you’re not out there training.”
I think about telling Dad they can’t hear but decide it’s simpler refraining.
The Bombers scored a goal and now there’s ten minutes remaining.
Dad jumps out of his chair and screams, “That’s amazing!”
Dad’s so excited ‘cause now his team’s gaining.
The player looks high at the posts and kicks while aiming.
The Bombers have won and the crowd is dancing and waving.
My Dad thinks he’s there and is clapping and raving.
I look from my Dad to the screen and wonder which is more entertaining.
Photo by Linda Davidson
The march began with just one child
who yearned to live in peace.
Then came their friends and their friends too –
calling for wars to cease.
Join the children in their march
from whatever land you come.
March. March. March for peace!
March to the beating drum.
It all began with just one child.
Now watch the numbers grow.
Children want to live in peace.
They won’t stop until it’s so.
Join the children in their march
from whatever land you come.
March. March. March for peace!
March to the beating drum.
‘We don’t want to live in fear
of soldiers with tanks or a gun.
We want to see a clear blue sky.
We want to play in the sun.’
So join the children in their march
from whatever land you come.
March. March. March for peace!
March to the beating drum.
March, march, march for peace!
March to the beating drum!
Illustrations by Helen Nieuwendijk
Old kangaroos with worn-down teeth
cannot get any nutrition.
They sense they will die, so their final hours
are driven by intuition.
Their know hollow trees
are their best safe havens,
to save their eyes
being pecked out by ravens.
The lucky roos will die in peace,
sheltered inside a tree,
beyond the reach of enemies
who would feast on them with glee.
Such is life in the bush —
relentless, wild and cruel,
a never-ending circle
of life, death and renewal.
The Cazneaux tree, Flinders Ranges, Australia. Photo by Ginette Pestana
A girl named Amelia Hicks,
Went to Discount Day at the flicks.
She sat right through Jaws,
Halloween and Star Wars
For a cost of Sixteen Sixty-six.
Image from Pexels by GEORGE DESIPRIS
May the twelfth is Limerick Day,
So I thought I’d better just say,
Limericks are fun,
Have a go at one,
Grab your pen without delay!
Image from Pexels by picjumbo.com
It hardly rains
but when it pours
on sleepy desert ground
the speedy changes
to the land
will certainly astound.
A dried-up creek
now overflows
expanding to a lake.
And dormant life-forms
eggs and seeds
immediately awake.
The dry red dirt
transforms into
a carpet made of flowers.
And tiny creatures
start to hatch
within a few short hours.
With decorations
all in place
the waterbirds arrive.
Providing
lots of music.
Now the party’s come alive!
First Published in CSIRO’s Scientriffic #66 2009
Just imagine if this was where
your school concert took place!
With lots of gold everywhere,
you’d be in a magic space.
Picture yourself up on the stage —
what would you dance or sing?
With mums and dads in every box,
the applause would really ring.
Photo of Teatro de Fenice (Venice Opera house) Italy, by Ginette Pestana
(written in the style of a Sestina)
It no longer exists, the thylacine,
though dog-like creature calls,
stripes flick through bush.
Tracking wallaby by scent,
tail extended behind,
the animal is rarely seen.
Overlooking lightly-wooded scene,
rounded ears pricked, is it a thylacine?
Struck by its kangaroo behind,
many rush to phones, make calls.
Yet few rangers are sent
to check sightings in the bush.
Walkers hike in lonely bush,
dangers not often seen.
But is smell of musk scent
a sign of the thylacine?
Researchers follow up calls,
hoping to sight a striped behind
If they come up behind
a strange wolf in the bush
giving coughing barks or yipping calls,
is it an illusion they’ve seen,
because extinct is the thylacine?
Still they cannot let go of the scent.
Tasmanian trappers noted musk scent
when they followed behind
extended heel tracks of a thylacine.
Where’s proof it exists in the bush?
Do hundreds mistake what they’ve seen?
When others laugh, few make calls.
ARFRA* records all calls,
hurries to chase up a scent,
wants hard proof of what’s been seen.
One day they hope to sneak up behind
the strange creature frequenting the bush
to identify without doubt the thylacine.
In time, with calls, a brown striped behind,
peculiar scent in the bush,
proof will be seen of the extinct thylacine.
Image from Digital Classroom.
Note: *Australian Rare Fauna Research Association, website
https://www.facebook.com/AUSRFRA/.
A sestina consists of six stanzas, of six lines each, and a
concluding tercet. The end word of each line of the first stanza is
repeated in succeeding stanzas and tercet in a strict order.
This is the medal for mums.
For conspicuous bravery
in the face of children.
For selfless service
to every nation.
For unnumbered lifetimes
of sacrifice.
But most of all,
for love.
For ever.
Photo from Pexels by Daria Obymaha
Australian Children’s Poetry 