Author Archives: australianchildrenspoetry

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Tea

by Nadine Cranenburgh

Tea for two can be so very nice
when conversation flows with warmth and ease
steep the stories slowly in the pot
and pour them, hot and sweetened to your taste

When conversation flows with warmth and ease
time trickles by in gentle lapping waves
so you can pour and taste the sweet bouquet
of friendship worn silk-smooth by passing years

Time trickles, by and by, in gentle waves
friends come and go, the world’s still not that small
their passing worn silk-smooth by absent years
shared stories mothballed up for rainy days

When friends come to see me, time gets whirled
right back to the last time we shared a pot
Moths can’t eat our stories after all –
tea for two can be so very nice

Nadine says: This is in response to the ‘T’ prompt on Australian Children’s Poetry. I am at my mum’s place, catching up and drinking tea, so the phrase ‘tea for two’ popped into my head. I’m writing a poem a day as part of the Month of Poetry in January, so thought I ‘d have a go at a new form of poem. A couple of google searches later, I found the pantoum – which has repeated lines, that can be tweaked for subtle shifts in meaning. I’ve also played with words that sound alike but mean different things. Here’s what I ended up with.

Poem of the Day

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A Secret Space

by Di Bates

 

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.

  • Submitted in response to 2016 Poetry Prompt #1

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The Keyhole

by Walter de Jong

 

Our cave we called the Keyhole,

we’d climb up there to see

the ferry carrying families

that drove out to the beach.

I’d sit there and imagine

floods rising high back then

to carve for us this keyhole

then rejoin the world again.

That door opened secretly

to millennia before

the cars, the ferry, boats and planes,

schools and rules and laws

And now…The ferry’s gone, and rust has taken

cars and boats and planes.

While I move on the Keyhole stays,

the secret place remains.

 

  • Submitted in response to 2016 Poetry Prompt #1

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Arrivals and departures

by Jenny Erlanger

 

You’ll soon be walking through that door.

I can’t stay still a moment more.

I’m racing up and down the floor.

Can’t wait to say hello!

 

I’m here again with teary eyes

as everybody hugs and cries.

The air is filled with sad goodbyes.

Can’t stand to see you go!

 

 

 

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Supersnail

by Monty Edwards

 

I may not have a backbone,

But I’m brave as brave can be.

Just take time to observe me,

Then I’m sure you will agree.

My enemies are giants tall

And armed with hoes and spades!

They stomp around my picnic spots

And hurl their flashing blades!

 

Yet these will not deter me,

Since it’s clear that I must eat

The greens left lying in my path:

How beautifully sweet!

I bravely dodge the missiles

And the bomb-like boots from heights.

Such perils do not kill desire

To scoff down such delights!

 

When climbing I am carefree:

Though high may be the wall,

I cling to ledges upside down

And never fear to fall.

So do not doubt my courage.

Admire my spiral shell!

Call me “a mighty mollusc”

And “Supersnail” as well!

  • Submitted in response to Words+Pictures #5

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Pigeon-Watch

by Katherine Gallagher

 

The pigeon struts

along the ledge:

he never gets

too near the edge.

  • Published in The King’s Pyjamas, Belitha, (ed. Pie Corbett) 2001

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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CAR SICK

By Di Bates

Green
Our fast green car
Green world
Stomach churning
Head spinning
Spinning
The world turning
Upside down
Downside up
Around and around
Wheels rolling
Streets passing
Blurred buildings
Blurred faces
Blur blur blur
Ur…
Dad, stop!
I’m going to throw …

Too late.

 

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Santa’s New Clothes

By Teena Raffa-Mulligan

 

Santa had a problem for his suit no longer fit.

It was snug around the tummy. When he sat, his trousers split.

One bight and early morning, Mrs Santa said:

“My dear, I must tell you something that I read.

I love you roly-poly, I love you as you are,

but if you took a health test you wouldn’t get a star.

It’s really most important to have a healthy heart

and if you want a long life, it’s not too late to start.”

Santa called in at the health club—the trainer checked him out.

She said: “We’ll plan a program that will work without a doubt.”

She booked him in for workouts three times every week,

then talked about his diet and told him what to eat.

He ate lots of fruit and vegies, chose grilled instead of fried

for every single main meal, with salads on the side.

He said no to morning tea cakes and had carrot sticks instead.

Whenever offered sweet treats, he firmly shook his head.

Santa also started walking quite early in the day

and soon those extra kilos began to melt away.

He said: “I feel fantastic, this year will be a breeze.

I’ll deliver all those presents without the slightest wheeze.

I won’t get stuck in chimneys or struggle up steep stairs

or stop to have a rest whenever I see chairs.”

Then on Christmas Eve, a problem as Santa dressed to leave.

His suit no longer fit him except for length of sleeve.

His top was loose and baggy where tight it was before,

and when he pulled his trousers up, they slid down to the floor.

He looked at Mrs Santa. “Whatever will we do?

Perhaps some safety pins? Could you sew a seam or two?

We need a quick solution for I really ought to go.

The children are all waiting and I can’t be late, you know.”

Mrs Santa nodded and tried to hide a smile.

“Thank goodness it’s late shopping. This will only take a while.”

So that’s why this year Santa won’t be wearing his red suit.

He’s got a brand new outfit. Mrs Santa thinks it’s cute.

It’s a bright red fleecy tracksuit for warmth in North Pole cold,

and a pair of sporty sneakers replacing boots of old.

For his head a woolly beanie instead of pom pom cap.

So if one Christmas evening you should glimpse a bearded chap

who looks a lot like Santa except he’s fit and trim,

don’t think that you’re mistaken, for yes, you’re right, it’s him!

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Gargoyle Guile

Kate O’Neil

 

Like it or not

I am glued to this spot,

left in the lurch

on a perilous perch

exposed to all weathers,

bird-bombs and feathers,

no shelter at night,

a face like a fright,

with a monstrous chin

and a phony grin

that’s just an excuse,

a ridiculous ruse

for making a drain

to spew out the rain

away from the wall

of this cold stone hall.

Day in and day out

I do nothing but spout

the run-off and grime

and the muck and the slime

from up on this roof –

I feel such a goof.

In fact, I’m offended

at being wrong-ended

with backward digestion –

so here’s a suggestion:

if means could be found

to turn me around

I could hide my face

from the human race

and I wouldn’t need words –

I’d behave like the birds

and the message I’d send

would be through my rear end.

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Favourites

by Jenny Erlanger

 

You might like the Crunchie, an excellent pick,

this miniature, choc-coated honeycomb brick

or what about something the colour of cream?

If that’s sounding tempting, then try out the Dream.

There’s Dairy Milk, Picnic and Mint Bubbly too,

all of them sitting here waiting for you.

If fruit mixed with coconut’s what you like best

the Cherry Ripe option is what I’d suggest.

There’s smooth Caramello and crumbling Flake.

It’s not such an easy decision to make.

This might be the last time we’re offered such treats.

You’d better choose wisely from all of these sweets.

But just let me warn you, we don’t want a fight.

So stay right away from that Turkish Delight!