Author Archives: australianchildrenspoetry

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Tonight I Will Not Close My Eyes

 

We have monsters in our house.

 

A man came today to spray them away.

I’m sure I heard the monsters laugh.

 

Right now they are feasting on walls and doors.

They’re gnawing and boring under the floors.

 

I am ten and in bed and they’re in my head.

 

Nibbling and wriggling,

ever closer to me.

 

We won’t ever leave while there’s still more to chew.

We’ll eat all the wood and then eat you!

 

Dianne Bates

Poetry Prompt 22Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #22.

Dianne says: When I was a child living in the country, our home was demolished around as we continued to live in it. This is because the house was full of white-ants. I used to lie in bed thinking that the ants would eat me during
the night if I went to sleep. I was probably about 12 at the time. This poem
reflects my anxiety back then

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My  Border Collie’s Folly

 

We have a Border Collie,

he’s a lovely little chap,

his fur is black and fluffy

and he loves to get a pat,

but he never sees the folly

of annoying the neighbour’s cat.

 

He wags his tail with pleasure

when he sees her on the fence,

then leaps beyond all measure,

making Pussy go quite tense,

but he never sees his folly

he hasn’t got much sense!

 

Puss’s  fur extends like arrows,

she hisses and she spits,

but Collie’s eyes just narrow

he imagines her in bits,

but never sees the folly,

of getting her off the fence!

 

The fence is now vibrating

Pussy hangs on like grim death,

Collie’s loudly barking,

I wish he’d take a rest,

 

but suddenly there’s silence

Pussy’s leapt away,

so Collie’s little folly

must wait for another day.

 

Alix Phelan

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Kazakhstan

I think about kids in Kazakhstan

Siberia, Finland, Tajikistan

Of things that I can see and do

Things that those kids never can.

 

Cranking, crashing, curling, waves

Green and glassy gurgling waves

Pounding and pumping

Thumping and dumping

Hammering and hissing hollow caves

 

A monstrous rising swell

Throws barrels straight from hell

To bounce and duck and race

Screaming down the face

To win and ring that bell

 

And when the sea breeze dies

Surfers one by one

Raise their heads and shade their eyes

To watch a golden stairway climb

Up to the setting sun

 

But then I think of a different fate

To see a sparkling crystal tree

To slip and slide and glide and skate

Over an icy moonlit lake

Think how awesome that would be

Joanne Pummer

 

 

 

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Rubik Remembered

 

Once a clever man named Rubik

Made a puzzle that was cubic.

Lots of people went to buy it.

Some just couldn’t wait to try it.

 

All six faces, full of colour,

Made the other toys look duller!

Red and yellow, blue and green,

Orange, white, could all be seen.

 

Every face’s shape was square.

Cubes are like that everywhere.

Length and width and height the same:

Like the dice used in a game.

 

Nine small squares on every face

In each large square had a place.

These could twist in groups of threes

To a different face with ease.

 

Here is what you had to do:

Make one face completely blue,

Or perhaps choose green or red,

Orange, yellow, white, instead.

 

Then the rest, till one by one,

Every single colour done!

Few could do it. Most could not.

I was in that second lot.

 

Monty Edwards

Poetryprompt#21

Monty says: The brightly coloured boxes in prompt 21 reminded me of Rubik’s puzzle, but the content is a better fit with “Shapes” from prompt 3. Prompt3

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Cats – ALWAYS – Sit Up Front!

 

My night sky cat by the window sat

Black coat reflected the moon

His tail swung side to side, as I watched him wide eyed

And stated ‘You belong on the back of a broom!’

 

My night sky cat then turned and spat

And stood tall upon the ledge

For the worst kind of curse, is a cat that is nervous

And my comment had put him on edge

 

My night sky cat resettled and sat

With a satisfied look and a twitch

How dare I assume, that by moon on a broom

He would take the BACKSEAT for a witch!

 

Sioban Timmer
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #22

Poetry Prompt 22

Sioban says: This prompt made me think of magic – how can a black cat and a night sky not make you think of magic?

I tried to mix up the rhythm a little bit to make the poem more interesting and get a more challenging rhyme!

 

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The Poem of Cats

In the land of Catazmia felines abound.

Cats of all colours,

Some skinny, some round.

Some are quite fancy spectacular breeds.

Some used to be Ships’ Cats performing brave deeds.

Some once lived with witches (Familiars by name).

And some, well, they’re ferals – but we cannot blame

Them, it isn’t their fault, they are misunderstood.

As I dream by the window I wish that I could,

Visit Catazmia, just for a day.

To experience fantasy, magic and play.

Pat Simmons

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #22

Poetry Prompt 22

 

 

 

 

Pat says: I’m fascinated by cats and their behaviour and often write about them. I imagine this little cat in the image dreaming about another world.

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 Night Friend

 

He pads down our street

in the dark

when I’m in bed

closes swinging gates

puts away left-out bikes

finds lost cricket balls

checks the street lights are on

and our front door shut tight.

 

In the daytime he rests

inside the big round pipe

with the metal grille

under the road.

 

He’s my quiet, night-time friend.

My Elephant.

 

Except on Wednesdays

when he goes stomping wild

clunking clatter-crashing

grabbing munching tossing

leaving,

all along the street,

knocked-over

lid-swinging

rubbish bins.

Glenys Eskdale
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #22

Poetry Prompt 22

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Sweet Dreams

 

I wish my warm and cosy dreams

would stay inside my head

instead of floating off for good

when I get out of bed.

I’d like to put them in a box,

all those I want to  keep

then choose the one I want at night

before I go to sleep.

 Jenny Erlanger

 

First published as “Dreams” in “Giggles and Niggles” (Haddington Press, 2007)

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #21

Poetryprompt#21

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Rainbow’s End

A snail once heard the story

Which is very often told:

“If you reach a rainbow’s ending,

You will find a pot of gold!”

This idea was most appealing,

(Since the snail was very poor)

And it left him with a feeling

That he couldn’t quite ignore.

 

Every day when it was raining,

But the clouds began to clear,

He would scan the sky for rainbows

In the hope one would appear.

Then at last he thought he saw one

In the garden hothouse glass!

To the spot he slowly hurried

Streaking silver through the grass.

 

But oh, what disappointment,

When he reached that special place!

For of golden coins or treasure,

He discovered not a trace.

As he turned to leave, discouraged,

Something caught his tearful eye

And a potted gold chrysanthemum

Proved the story was no lie.

 

 Monty Edwards

 

 

  •  Poetryprompt20Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #20

Monty says: My thoughts went from the prompt’s golden flower, to a flower pot to hold it and so to the pot of gold. This gave me the rainbow, which with the snail in the picture, provided the story line.

 

 

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The Witch House

 

There’s a witch house in my village

I’ve seen it through the trees

 

It’s drab olive green in colour

And makes me tremble in my knees

 

It has two tall brick chimneys

And a diamond-patterned roof of slate

 

It bothers me so to look at it

On school days I’m often late!

 

I must walk past singing cheerful songs

To keep fears from my head

 

But often at night I remember it

When I’m tucked up safe in bed.

Julie Thorndyke