is no longer a biter, a fighter
a bouncer, a pouncer,
a mouser, a rouser.
Nothing is afraid of this
stay-at-home sleepyhead
furrer, purrer, lap warmer,
cozy cuddler in the corner.
First published in The School Magazine, Countdown, July 2016
With four furry feathered flippers and a sharp and pointy beak
I’m a mixture of a turtle and a bird
I’ve a shell so sleek and shiny and some talons on my feet
But I’d rather be a Birtle than a Turd!
With some prickly tickly whiskers and a web to call my own
I’m a mixture of a spider and a shrew
I’ve a soft and furry tummy and eight legs without a bone
But I’d rather be a Shrider than a Spew!
With the body of a rodent and a long and slimy tail
I’m a mixture of a Gerbil and a worm
I’ve a squirmy wormy belly and my ears are very pale
But I’d rather be a Worbil than a Germ!
With a really bendy body and a home beside the shore
I’m a mixture of a starfish and a mink
I’ve a coat so soft and glossy and five legs that I adore
But I’d rather be a Marfish than a Stink!
With two long and fine antenna and a wavy wagging tail
I’m a mixture of a Beetle and a Mutt
I’ve a mouth of sloppy slobber and six legs that never fail
But I’d rather be a Meetle than a Butt!
With a round and spikey body and a long and bristly beard
I’m a mixture of a blowfish and a goat
I have skin like slimy rubber and a temper to be feared
But I’d rather be a glowfish than a bloat!
With two sharp and pointy pincers and some gorgeous golden down
I’m a mixture of a Yabbie and a duck
I have eyeballs on my feelers and fine feathers on my crown
But I’d rather be a Dabbie than a Yuck!
With a scaly silver tailfin and a noisy croaking song
I’m a mixture of a snapper and a frog
I’ve a sharp and toothy grimace and my legs are long and strong
But I’d rather be a Frapper than a Snog!
With some snipping snapping fingers and a soft and furry coat
I’m a mixture of a lobster and a mouse
I’ve a love of cheesy cheddar and I live beneath a boat
But I’d rather be a Mobster than a Louse!
With a tail so curly wurly and with furry golden fluff
I’m a mixture of a seahorse and a chick
I’m a cheeky chirpy cheeper who is into horsey stuff
But I’d rather be a Cheahorse than a Sick!
When it comes to any creature that is made up on the spot
One you’ve never ever seen or smelt or heard
There are many names to call them that are pretty or are not
Still I’d rather be a Birtle than a Turd!
The buccaneer bragged to the butcher,
“My Kitchen Rules, for sure,
so gimme those guts for me banquet tonight
and a coupla bears and that boar.
I’m goin’ all out on the barbie,
with bacon and bangers to boot,
served up with a broccoli garnish,
and for afters, a basin of fruit.
A good balanced bash for me hearties,
from Yours Truly, the Buccaneer Host,
and if they wake up in the morning,
they can get their own coffee and toast.
Have you ever seen a squirrel? You may think them rather cute,
But they’re certainly not stupid, for they’re really quite astute.
They take notice of the weather when the winter’s on its way
And store all the food that’s needed for each coming frosty day.
For that is when they snuggle in the hollow of a tree,
Or they hide among the bushes where they’re difficult to see.
Every squirrel’s quite a builder when it wants to make a nest
So that as things get much colder there’s a place for warmth and rest.
If you should see a squirrel when you’re at the park to play,
Don’t be too disappointed if the squirrel darts away.
Watch him hurry, scamper, scurry, for you’ll seldom see him walk.
Perhaps he’s just too busy to take time to stop and talk.
Monty says: I enjoy writing poetry for the opportunity it gives to inspire, challenge or entertain people I may never meet personally. I also enjoy attempting to conquer such constraints as form, meter and rhyme by my choice and arrangement of words in order to produce my own unique response to a theme or prompt. For me it is like tackling a complex puzzle for which there may be many possible solutions, but few that are completely satisfying as an offering to potential readers.
We went for a walk,
just Nan, Pop and me,
and found lots of treasure
washed up by the sea.
Nan found a rock crab
alone on the sand.
It tickled and wriggled
around in my hand.
I found a treasure
beneath the sea grass;
a smooth-as-silk
wave-polished piece of green glass.
But Pop said his treasure
was the best you would see:
he crawled under the jetty
and there he found me!
We blow them in streams
across the yard,
some small and marble-sized,
others as big as baseballs.
Every bubble iridescent,
a perfect world of its own,
mirroring grass, sky,
occasionally our faces.
Bubbles glinting with sunlight
swirl skyward or
float to the ground.
Each one
a little miracle
before it pops.
Sudden bursts of gold,
Sweeping colour bold,
By rivers, by roads, in country and town,
In farms and gardens, the wattle’s the crown.
Of the end of the winter, beginning of spring,
The blooming of wattle will sing and sing
Of birds in their nests and the warm days to hand,
For the wattle is blooming across the land.
Bought by a beneficent buccaneer
bunches of broccoli
bound through the air
into a basin of boiling water.
They balanced the content of Vitamin B
in the body of the buccaneer’s
burgeoning daughter.
Alix said: I thought this was a bit of a challenge. At first look, the four “b” words had nothing in common. I decided to look up what vitamins are associated with broccoli, and discovered that Vitamin B was one. Very convenient.
Death on the high seas
Dastardly –that’s me. Buccaneerfrom my headto peg legCutlass poised, victim green withfear of what will comeTime balancedon a honed knife edgedescendinglike rain toa basin. Your end is nighbroccoli, hold still
Nadine said: I had a go at today’s prompt and used it to try out a new form of poem – a shardorma – which has six lines in each verse with the syllable pattern 3/5/3/3/7/5. Then I scribbled down ideas in this pattern until I had something that made sense… I had a sense of victim and murderous buccaneer and went from there.
A basin of broccoli served up for tea
Is not what a young buccaneer wants to see.
His diet should be balanced when pillaging ships,
But he’d much prefer ice cream and lots of hot chips.
Australian Children’s Poetry 