Author Archives: australianchildrenspoetry

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The seagull squawks speaks

by Jane Williams

 

Hey you!

You’re looking at me like

you’ve got something to say –

Well OK then

I’m up for a chat,

a chitter, a chatter,

a yabber, a yak,

a tittle-tattle

jibber-jabber,

a yammering yap.

I’m open to suggestion

on topics for discussion

Let’s communicate, confabulate,

wag the chin and chew the fat.

Let’s prattle and babble,

let’s talk, talk, talk!

But first you’ve got to learn

how to screech, how to squawk –

so stretch out your neck,

now open your beak …

wait … what’s that?

You don’t have a beak?

Beg pardon, my mistake

for presuming you could speak!

Poem of the Day

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The Darling of the Darling Downs

by Allan Cropper

Lady Flo, the wife of Joh

The darling of the Darling Downs

Her recipe for pumpkin scones

Was shared across Australian towns

The farmers in the pumpkin patch

And those who baked and kneaded dough

Were all prepared to cook a batch

And give the pumpkin scones a go

Australia loved the pumpkin scone

and Flo became a household name.

It wasn’t due to husband Joh,

That Lady Flo had found her fame.

In meeting halls and country fairs

The pumpkin scones still do the rounds

So take a bow, dear Lady Flo

The darling of the Darling Downs.

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Kitchen help

by Jenny Erlanger

 

There’s beetroot on the ceiling,

down the walls and on the floor.

The dressing’s leaving patterns

that I’ve never seen before.

The nuts and pomegranate

fly like bullets through the air.

I’m stepping over mushrooms

and there’s lettuce in my hair.

My mother’s looking angry,

I’m in trouble, I can tell.

She said to toss the salad

and I’ve tossed it pretty well.

 

 

 

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Class Rules

 By Kate O’Neil

 

In my Australian school

in the days of Empire,

we dipped our nibbed pens

in ink that was royal blue,

and, by decree,

in ink of

no other colour.

Not the blue of the sea

which girt us

nor of the arching sky

in our land of the free.

Australians were loyal

and True Blue

was royal.

 

Britannia ruled the waves

and Britannia ruled

the ink.

 

Margins however,

were to be ruled

(exactly one inch,

giving no quarter)

in erasable pencil.

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Zoe’s Zoo

By Pat Simmons

 

Small jars, tall jars, boxes too,

Zoe needs them for her zoo.

 

In the garden, in the sun

is where she finds Exhibit One.

A caterpillar munching leaves,

Zoe stoops, rolls up her sleeves

and carefully with finger tips

(just in case this critter nips)

places it inside a jar.

Pops on the lid.

He won’t get far.

 

Crouching in a damp dark spot,

armed with just a yogurt pot

she spots a tell-tale silver trail.

Exhibit Two, a friendly snail.

 

With trusty trowel she fills a jar

then doesn’t have to dig too far

before she spots a sudden squirm.

Exhibit Three, a wriggling worm.

 

Exhibit Four sits in a box,

wearing gloves and scarf and socks.

His cage says, ‘Dangerous Beware.

Please Don’t Feed This Teddy Bear.’

 

A tiny cubby made from sticks

houses numbers Five and Six.

A beetle and a millipede

curled up like a shiny bead.

 

Exhibit Seven’s tied to a tree.

He’s rather dangerous you see.

A dinosaur might stomp around

and squish those caged upon the ground.

 

She needs to find Exhibit Eight

who’s sitting calmly on the gate.

Zoe has to pull and tug

to capture this majestic slug.

 

Now who will be the final two

to join the gang at Zoe’s Zoo?

She has to build a great big pen

to house Exhibits Nine and Ten.

 

Her work is done.

She gives a shout.

‘Mum and Daddy, please come out.’

 

‘Gotcha!’

 

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THE CARETAKERS

by Anne Bell

I went to the house,looking for a man to build a fence

knowing nothing of him,except that people said

he built good fences.

His garden warmed July’s cold hills,

but there was nobody there,

save a peacock,a scarecrow and a fine, grey mare.

I found nobody to build my fence,

but I think I’d like a man

who left his home to the care

of a peacock,a scarecrow and a fine, grey mare.

 

First published in The School Magazine.

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Blown Away

by Nadine Cranenburgh

 

I’ll tell you where I’ve been

I don’t think you’ll believe it

It started with a leaf

And me running to retrieve it

 

It fluttered through the rain

And over lots of puddles

So when I caught it up

I was soaked and in a muddle

 

It settled down at last

Upon a rotten jetty

I reached for it with hands

That were colder than a Yeti’s

 

That leaf was almost mine

I stretched out with a sigh

But then it blew away

To a dingy tied nearby

 

A sudden gale-force gust

Sent us sailing through the ocean

I clung on like a limpet

Feeling seasick from the motion

 

The wind dropped, I was lost

With no clue of north or south

Right then the leaf bobbed gently

Through a great whale’s gaping mouth

 

Surprisingly I followed

What else was there to do?

But leaves give whales an itchy throat

So skywards we both flew

 

I splashed into the sea

And heard a rotor spinning

A helicopter scooped

Another ride beginning!

 

I madly treaded water

Determined not to drown

We flew above a fire

And the helo tipped us down

 

I landed fairly softly

Upon a smoky shore

Close by the burned-out jetty

Where the dingy was before

 

A seagull grabbed the leaf

Flapped through the ashes squawking

My leaf was gone for good

So back home I started walking

 

That’s why I’m late for tea

It’s true, just like I said

What’s this, a leafy salad?

I might just go to bed.

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Pirate plight

by Jenny Erlanger

 

Though pirates get by

with a patch on one eye

their lives out at sea can be grim.

No wonder they’re mean,

all the pirates I’ve seen

have clearly been missing a limb.

I now understand

all those hooks for a hand,

the clumping around on a peg.

To fit out their ships

for those plundering trips

must cost them an arm and a leg!

 

 

 

 

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Bookworld

By Teena Raffa-Mulligan

 

Tell me a tale of treasure untold,

buccaneers’ bounty, jewels and gold.

Spin me a yarn of a hazardous quest,

until it is ended the hero won’t rest.

 

Share stories of dragon, damsel and knight,

princesses rescued from a grave plight;

of monsters, aliens, mystery and magic,

adventurous, exciting, funny or tragic.

 

Whisk me to markets jostled by crowds.

Trek me up mountains shrouded in clouds.

Spin me through space at heart-stopping speed.

Chase me through tunnels –where do they lead?

 

Sail me across oceans so vast and deep,

I cannot help wonder what secrets they keep.

Lead me to forests where birds nest on high –

Wind through the trees is a whispering sigh.

 

Such silence and splendour fills me with awe,

inspires me to whisper, please show me more

of far distant places where I’ve not yet been.

Draw open the curtains upon the next scene.

 

As I travel abroad without leaving home,

I’m scientist, pirate, astronaut, gnome,

crook, cop or detective solving a crime,

anyone, anywhere, freefalling in time.

 

Thrill me, delight me, chill me, excite me,

amaze me, intrigue me, above all invite me

to enter a world where anything goes,

created for me in wonderful prose.

 

Words are my passport, ideas the key

To unlock my fancy and let it roam free.

I turn the first page to open the door

into magical Bookworld, its realms to explore.

* This poem appears in Charms, Volume Three, edited by Sally Odgers. Charms is a collection of stories, poems and illustrations by a range of contributors. It is also a fantasy novel in three volumes. For more information about this and other Prints Charming projects visit www.printscharmingbooks.com

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A Shelter

Neridah McMullin

 

I put off going to bed,

The cloud cover,

Keeps the heat in…

And the stillness

Is oppressive.

 

Robins, wrens, honey eaters,

Panted the day away,

In shaded canopy,

Their beaks open.

Too hot to complain.

 

I open up the house,

All the doors; windows.

Something might wander in…

But hopefully,

It will wander out.

 

Thrown wide,

It’s no longer a house.

It’s a shelter,

A secret place.

A bed in the forest.

 

Under the sheets,

I listen to the night’s music.

Muted waves break,

Crickets click, ruffled feathers soften.

And at last, the birds are asleep.