Honeycomb Home
Roses are red, red abuzz
With bees buzzing buzzes.
Violets are truly blue!
If Peace was made of honey
We’d each have a piece
Of harmony, both me and you.
When I send peaceful words
They don’t harm or disturb
I write, yet I’m not alone.
Being born to a chalice, a buzz
Belies my writing palace,
Buzzing busily on my throne.
I consider wise words
Of kindness – with mad verbs,
My honey, my peace flies home.
REMEMBERING
Shadow horde
past and gone.
Distant voices
whisper from poppyfields,
red tide claiming the sky.
Why? They invite
answers. We have none.
Marching onwards
blinded by tears.
In a Distant Land.
With a new born baby in her arms,
In a distant land men took up arms,
The mother sang a lullaby,
In a distant land a soldier cried,
In its mother’s arms the baby snuggled,
In a distant land the soldier struggled,
But his fight was lost –
And the soldier:
Comrade;
Father;
Son,
Deprived of life, slumped by his gun.
Wherever there is a Shrine
Wherever there is a shrine, there will be a remembrance
In the church graveyard, the town square
On a street corner, in a garden or under a paddock gum
Whether ten thousand attend or only one
Look out for the ghosts of the names engraved
They will gather again as they gathered once
Fathers, brothers and sons
The living and the dead united
Families and communities rejoined
In that hour of darkness before dawn
As the night begins to blend with the day
The spirits in our hearts and our imaginations take form
They touch us with a breath
That we know them once again
Let the sun’s first light dry your eyes
Return to your life with your heart uplifted
For their spirit has touched your soul
And yours has touched theirs
In a way that can only be experienced
Not pondered or understood
By your mere presence and by theirs
Lives cut short will live on
For they will not be forgotten
Sneaking down to Grandma’s room
What did I discover?
A row of smiling rabbits
Wrapped in dazzling colours
I did a little dance
And whispered out Yippee,
Knowing that these Easter gifts
Were waiting there for me
Easter
I cross the road to Molly’s farm.
There is a sign nailed to a post:
Eggs for sale.
I buy a dozen.
I hear a rooster crow.
On the way home I trip and fall.
One egg is cracked and broken,
The others are saved.
On Sunday we celebrate Easter;
Soft boiled eggs for breakfast.
I see the Easter bunny has visited too!
Dark chocolate is my passion.
Life is good.
Australian Children’s Poetry 