Apparently parrots, in parrot-like fashion,
repeat every word that you say,
but mocking birds shockingly mock with a passion,
a sarcastic mimic at play.
A lyre bird lies, and then tries to deny it,
hiding the truth from us all.
The crow lets us know he has nowhere to go,
by the long lazy tone of his call.
But the old kookaburra, such a cunning fella’,
don’t speak much, won’t sing us a song.
He just sees the humour in watching us humans,
and laughs at us all the day long.
My brain must have some spaces
Where secrets can be stored
And though I keep them hidden there
They cannot be ignored.
I think about them often,
Though no one else may know.
They come with me when I leave home,
No matter where I go.
I sometimes have to let them out –
They can be hard to store,
But when one secret is revealed
There soon may follow more.
To share them brings me great relief,
Since truth is hard to hide.
How special is a trusted friend
In whom we can confide!
Monty Edwards
A tranquil pond that’s glassy smooth
has surface tensioned skin un-grooved.
No creases spoil its surface layer
when peace and stillness fill the air.
Then one disturbance, pebble’s plop
an insect’s hop or stray raindrop,
creates a pattern we’ve just traced
to forces found in outer space.
Rippled wrinkles, round ornate
make circled waves that radiate
while rising, falling with the force
of gravity, which holds their course.
Space-time’s fabric will behave
in similar ways through gravity waves.
This rippled force from far beyond
makes patterns like our little pond.
Eight year olds
With needles in hand
Wool under arms
A little craft band
Sit in a circle
At lunch break
On the oval
Life is great
This craft of old
Will never die
With these mini grannies
Knitting on high
Jeanie Axton
Oh goose you fly so very high,
I wish that I could too.
Up up, up up, into the sky,
There’s nothing I can do.
I stand here wishing I’d grow wings,
I never hope for other things.
I dream at night that I’ve gained height,
And the earth is almost out of sight.
But here I am, stuck on the ground,
Never to be seen or found,
Up there with you oh goose,
For I am just a humble moose.
Oh moose as I look down below,
I notice you especially.
You graze the grass, you sip the lake,
You wander so majestically.
Your antlers have such symmetry,
They make a stunning crown.
Your fur hide, is a royal robe,
Magnificent though brown.
And since you simply cannot fly;
You’re never going to fledge,
I’ve bought a gift – an airline ticket,
With a dozen golden eggs.
So dream your dreams,
You never know just what you will achieve.
Many things are possible,
So long as you believe.
Louise McCarthy
There was shelter –
An upturned water tank
With an entrance hole —
My secret space
In the brittle summer bush
Where I’d hide,
Dark and bruised and splintered.
In those childhood days
I was an outlaw of sorts,
Travelling alone,
Not fitting anywhere,
Listening to cicadas throbbing
With song,
Beyond words,
Wanting nothing
But the arc of my mother’s arms
Dianne Bates
I’m standing proudly centre stage,
I grab the microphone.
The love from all those avid fans
rains down on me alone.
I launch into my favourite song,
I belt out the refrain.
The crowds are screaming out for more.
I take the mike again.
I’m really pumped, I raise the pitch,
I give it all I’ve got.
I’ve never known such warm applause,
I’m feeling pretty hot
until my mother calls my name
and interrupts my song:
“Your sister needs the bathroom now.
You’ve been there way too long!”
He’s washing the windows across the road,
The Window Man in his yellow hat
He bends down low and he rubs the glass
With a sponge the shade of a ginger cat.
His hand goes round and round and round,
Then his head comes up to the middle bit
As he rubs away at a grubby patch
And helps it along with a lick of spit.
When he grips the sponge the corner points
Like a single ginger-pussy’s ear.
His long rag looks like a pussy’s tail,
But I don’t know what that’s doing here.
The sky grows dark, and a thunder clap
That makes me jump, sends him to the porch.
The clouds are so dark I can hardly see –
I wonder, won’t he need a torch?
The rain teems down, and the thunder booms.
He leans out to see if the clouds will break
As hail rattles down on his yellow hat –
And he drops his sponge, for goodness sake!
Their dog slinks in to avoid the hail
And seizes the sponge, then dodges round,
Growling and chewing. The Man yells, ‘Hoy!’
And it drops it out in the pouring rain.
Now the sponge has legs, but it’s lost its tail,
And its head is a funny sort of shape,
But the Window Man leaps off the porch
To grab it — in case it decides to escape?
He squeezes the rain out and growls at the dog,
Who shrinks in the corner, her head on her paws,
While the Window Man drips. He could do with a squeeze!
But he’s got to get on with his windows and doors.
He ties up the sponge on the end of a stick
But there isn’t much left of its middle to rub,
For its legs wave about, and the stick scrapes along,
There just isn’t enough of the sponge left to scrub.
The top of the door glass is streaky all over.
He’s making it worse – what a silly chump.
Now his polishing rag is chewed up in the corner!
… the dog gives a yelp when the stick hits her rump.
As she leaps down the steps and gets lost round the corner
The Window Man’s rump hits the mat with a bump.
His angry roar lost in the roar of the thunder,
He rubs at his forehead. Ouch, what a lump!
I cannot imagine whatever he’ll do –
But all my own window’s covered with breath.
This cushion’s foam! So I grab my coat
And run to make up for his sponge’s death …
What would you think of a mum who ran
To save her cushion from the Window Man?
Hey diddle duddle
Astronauts in a muddle
Double helpings of trouble were spooned
The martian men laughed
As they dropped their space daks
and confused passing spaceships they mooned
Charlie McCarthy ate lentils and beans
and barbeque onions as well
Folk started running when they saw Charlie coming
’cause he came with a terrible smell.
Charlie McCarthy was partial to farting
he farted whenever he walked.
The Mayor of the city said ‘It’s just such a pity
but his butt hole should really be corked.’
He called the town doctor, who was a proct-
ologist, told him seal Charlie’s bum,
‘Just fashion a plug that will fit nice and snug,
using rubber and plastic and gum.’
The doc corked up Charles, but then came the loud growls,
from deep within Charlie’s behind.
Doc said, quite abrupt ‘If you’re going to erupt,
dear Lord, Charlie boy, please be kind.’
Then the doctor, he saw, Charlie’s puckered back door,
quite suddenly open and close.
It blinked, then it winked, then the sphincter that stinked,
spat the plug out at the doctor’s nose.
Well, then came a roar, like no other before,
as fart after fart filled the room.
Charlie lit a match, and the town was dispatched
with one massive explosion…KA-BOOM!!!
Australian Children’s Poetry 