Sometimes when you’re out of sorts
and wound up like a spring
or plagued with nasty, angry thoughts
it really helps to sing.
Sing out loud, you can’t go wrong,
sing anything you choose.
There’s nothing like a happy song
to chase away the blues.
They must be all around me —
the lost things,
My best pencil, my first doll,
a single sock,
the locket Mum gave me
for my seventh birthday,
the one I promised to never lose.
They lurk in dusky corners,
and grooves and places
I can’t begin to think of
Loving their freedom
Camouflaging their grins
Watching me as I search everywhere —
But where they are
Those clever, clever, lost things
Forever playing hide
While I play seek.
If I lie still
So still and true
No wriggle
No rustle
I
Can
Just
About
Hear
The
Hum and roar
And rise and
Fall and crash
And surge of
The gushing
Rushing
Urgent sucking
Retreating and
Lunging
That never stops
Bound to its constant action
Slave-like
Yet lording over
Its often
Ignorant subjects
And dreamy admirers
This sea will be heard
And I will listen.
One little raindrop
Arrives on my nose
Dangles a moment
Then splashes my toes
Slides down my pinkie
Lands on the grass
Washes a blade so
It glimmers like glass
One little raindrop
Joins with its mates
A cackling creek
That skitters and skates
On through the forests
And meadows it snakes
Merges with rivers
That pour into lakes
One little raindrop
Drawn out to sea
Plays with the dolphins
A long way from me
Out comes the sunshine
Blazing and high
Hauls up that raindrop
Far into the sky
One little raindrop
Now it’s a cloud
Here is the thunder
Looming and loud
Quick! Run for shelter
Before the storm blows
As one little raindrop
Arrives on my nose
I’m one for the window
and two for the door.
I’m three for the ceiling
and four for the floor.
I’m five for the morning
and six for the night.
I’m seven for the stairs
and eight for the light.
I’m nine for a story
and ten for my bed.
Now I’m off for a dream
to hold in my head.
(Published in Toothpaste Trouble (ed. Nick Toczek, Macmillan, 2002)
Katherine says: Going to bed isn’t always a happy time but it can be made fun with ‘ a one-step-at-a-time’ count-up. Your Poetry Prompt #23 reminded me of this situation.
My teacher says I have to
read
Books! I hate them.
They’re boring. They are
not as exciting as thinking about
what you’d do if you were caught
in a storm, on a boat
In the middle of the bay,
with your dad injured,
and you’ve had to sail by yourself
and your mum’s worried sick
about where you both might be
when the police launch arrives
and has to winch you across
cas the water’s so rough
that you vomit all over the
rescuer, who tells you not to
apologise.
No, books are not as exciting as
seeing your mum waiting on the shore
crying,
when she finds you’re both ok.
Actually, you know what?
I reckon I could write a book about that.
I’d read it, wouldn’t you?
At night if feel anxious and my heart begins to race,
if all I want to do is weep or yell
I look outside my bedroom at that diamond-studded space,
and wait for it to cast its magic spell.
I feel the tension easing, all the pressure start to lift
and let my thinking go without a fight.
A magnet way above me sets my frazzled mind adrift
and draws it gently up into the night.
In weightless bliss I flitter with the wings of fantasy
past planets, moons and stars that no one knows.
In breathless awe I float within my private galaxy.
I’m free at last from all those earthly woes.
My mind is now uncluttered and as peaceful as can be.
It’s lost, for now, that pressing sense of gloom.
Before I even know it, it has floated back to me
from somewhere worlds and worlds beyond my room.
The magic moment passes and I’m really glad to say
I feel a little fluttering of hope.
Although I know my problems haven’t really gone away
I thank the sky for helping me to cope.
A witch flew through my window! I saw her on her broom.
One starry night, down moonbeams bright, she rode into my room!
I cried out to my mother. “A witch came in!” I screamed.
She softly said: “No, no, my dear, believe you me, there’s no witch here.
It’s just something you dreamed.”
I wanted to believe her. I’d had a nasty fright.
I said: “Please lock the window, Mum, or I won’t sleep tonight.”
Once Mum had turned the window key she tucked me back in bed.
“No need for you to worry then, no witch can frighten you again,”
My mother calmly said.
When Mum had left and dimmed the lights, I tried to close my eyes,
But found I still felt wide awake, though that was no surprise.
Quite suddenly I heard a noise! A scratching mouse or rat?
Then, while I lay there quiet and still – a dark shape on the window sill!
The witch’s jet black cat!
Monty says: The black cat, moon and starry night turned my thoughts to witches and their significance for children. The open window provided a point of entry for the narrative and the focus then became developing a suitable rhyming scheme to carry the narrative to its conclusion.
It came without a warning
just before the dawning;
we found ourselves surrounded,
hunted down and hounded,
by a vile and vicious circle
with malevolent designs.
We were mystified and curious.
Why was this shape so furious?
and though we were confounded
we knew that we were grounded,
trapped by a selfish circle
in its πr 2 confines.
This painful circumscription
was dire beyond description.
It was injury compounded
with insolence unbounded.
We had to teach this circle
the harshness of its crimes.
We explained that such division
was a mean and cruel decision
and keeping us impounded
was evil and unfounded.
The ideal perfect circle
has no real borderlines.
I tiptoed to the window –
suddenly I could see
the stars come marching,
blinking at me.
When I woke next morning
they had gone away,
and the dark had unwrapped
a brand new day.
(From Somewhere in the Sky, Nelson Blackie,1996)
Katherine says: When I saw your cat, moon and window full of stars for Poetry Prompt #22, I was reminded of my poem ‘Night’ and watching the stars make their slow entrance, then exit.
Australian Children’s Poetry 