Windy Night

I can hear the wind howling                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   like an angry dog.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        I can hear the door creaking                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  like a calling frog.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           Windows shake,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        dry branches rake                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                across the flapping shutters.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  The air is moving, swirling, crying,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   whistling through the gutters.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 In my bed                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       I lift my head                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             and sing like the wind all around me:                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           “Hello, halloo, what a hullaballoo!”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         If you can rage                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         then I will, too—                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           I dance like the wind all around me.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              “Hello, halloo, what a hullaballoo!”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  I sing like the wind all around me.

© Julie Thorndyke

Dad and Me

Last night I dreamt that the rain was coming,

It hung in the air; then I heard it drumming,

Skittering across the paddock nearby,

Black clouds marching across the sky,

The drought had ended; now we were free,

And we stood at the window — Dad and me,

Tasting the promise of a new beginning,

Feeling good — watching and grinning.

Our land had a million mouths to fill,

Each craze of cracks led down the hill

To a shallow crater — once a pond,

That now was full and flowing on, beyond,

Into creeks and rivers and out to sea,

But that didn’t matter to Dad and me,

We just prayed that the rain would not stop,

Till our dams were filled, right to the top!

When I awoke, it was a scorching morning,

Closing my eyes, I sat up, yawning,

In thrall of my dream, it seemed to me,

That all would be as I wished it to be,

Green upon green with raindrop splashes,

But my world was still brown – ashes to ashes,

I pulled on my clothes, there was no hurry,

I hid my hurt so that Dad would not worry.

We mended the fences, Dad and me,

They stretched as far as we both could see,

Where stock once grazed, but not for years,

And I confessed to Dad my secret fears –

We were out of luck and the farm was dying,

So I asked him why we kept on trying,

“Son,” he said, “Let me tell you somethin’,

Last night I dreamt that the rain was comin’”.

© Irene Buckler

At the zoo

There are lots of good things you can do at the zoo
When you get to the front of the queue at the zoo,
And lots of things you can see too at the zoo
When you’ve managed to work your way through at the zoo.

You can look at the wild kangaroo at the zoo
And the owls that go tahwit-tahwoo at the zoo
And the monkeys that go oo-oo-oo at the zoo,
But there aren’t any cows that go moo at the zoo.

There are llamas that come from Peru at the zoo.
There are Wildebeast known as gnu at the zoo,
But I think it is very untrue at the zoo
That you’ll find a horse in a canoe at the zoo.

The animals don’t use shampoo at the zoo
And the animals don’t eat fondue at the zoo
And the animals don’t do kung fu at the zoo,
But they can cause a hullabaloo at the zoo.

You can watch what the animals chew at the zoo:
They eat grass; they eat meat and bamboo at the zoo.
You can wait till they go to the loo at the zoo
And then watch it come out in their poo at the zoo.

When you’ve seen all there is you can view at the zoo
You had better not stay overdue at the zoo,
Or they might get a beast that is new at the zoo
In a cage – and that beast will be you at the zoo!

© Mike Lucas

Shakespeare’s
Shop 3
7 Gawler Street
Port Noarlunga
SA 5167

Phone/Fax: (0061) 8 8382 3343

http://www.shakespearesbooks.com.au

Jenolan Caves — Australia’s Underground Fairyland

The Grand Arch holds you spellbound, when first you come to look,
At the wonders of Jenolan, indeed it’s nature’s nook,
Glistening stalactites and stalagmites among beautiful canopies,
Are just below the surface of mountains dressed in trees.

Nature’s gallery of beauty is on display in limestone caves,
Twisting shawls of calcite in majestic rolling waves,
Massive growths contrast with clusters of fragile crystalline,
White, yellow, orange and reddish-brown, oh how the colours shine.

The drip-stones in the River Cave, especially the Minaret,
Show creams and whites of great delight formed by the wet,
The Giant Shawl in Mon Meg’s Chamber is tinted brownish-red,
A beautiful sheet illuminated, fit for any royal bed.

You cross two arched bridges to the Skeleton Cave display,
Aboriginal bones lay scattered by a stream that found its way,
Past the Pillar of Hercules, Jenolan’ s tallest stalagmite,
And the crystalline Bath of Venus backed by straws so very white.

Oh thank you to McKeown for the stock he stole that day,
For his catching by James Whalan led us all to this display,
Jenolan we are awed, by your caverns magically transformed,
Into an exquisite fairyland so beautifully adorned.

© John Williams

Bad Sport

In the hush of night
with the door shut tight,
the toilet bowl goes bowling.
The toilet seat grows big flat feet,
and takes itself a’strolling.

But the toilet roll is a sorry soul
which sometimes goes berserk,
when it can’t cavort in toilet sport,
because of paper work.

© Bill Condon
Bill Condon has published several collections of poems including That Smell is My Brother, Rock and Roll Elephants and Don’t Throw Rocks at Chicken Pox. Bill’s latest book is a junior novel, The Simple Things (Allen & Unwin, 2014)

No such thing

No such thing as monsters

I’m absolutely sure

As is Mrs Werewolf

Who rents the house next door

No such thing as monsters

A scientific fact

I have it writ in blood

Sincerely signed Count Drac

No such thing as monsters

My sources can’t be wrong

I heard it from a friend

Of a friend of King Kong

No such thing as monsters

The neighbours all agree

Dr Jeckle, Mr Hyde,

The Frankensteins and me

No such thing as monsters

And really I should know

Mummy unwrapped herself

Just now to tell me so!

© Jane Williams

Jane Williams is a writer based in Tasmania. Her most recent book is Days Like These – New and Selected Poems. Samples from her books can be found at www.janewilliams.wordpress.com

Hourglass

The beach has changed this year

tall dunes have washed away—

our rock pools dry and bare

… so fall the sands of time.

The surf club walls have lurched

foundations sink and warp

each window pane has cracked

to admit the sands of time.

The jetty timbers creak

and splinter with the tide

with every passing week

sink deep in sands of time.

The camping ground has closed

bright sign has fallen low

weeds thrive where children played

… so fall the sands of time.

© Julie Thorndyke

Blue Mountains Gully

Yellow crops of sandstone,

Jagged mountain peak,

Red display of waratahs,

A meandering bush creek.

White display of flannel flowers,

Bottle brush with orange cones,

Beautiful fronds of tree ferns,

Blue gums with crafted tones.

A frolicking roll of mountain mist,

An ancient windswept cave,

Green moss upon the velvet rocks,

Falling gum leaf gives a wave.

The tinkling sound of bellbirds

Run echoes round the stream,

A yellow-tailed cockatoo

Circles back to where it’s been.

The buzzing of a bush-bee

Comes from near a fallen log,

A croaking sound pervading

It’s a golden striped tree frog.

This bush display persistent,

Wallaby nibbles grass nearby,

A lyre bird shyly into view,

Kookaburras sit in branches high.

The melodic sounds continue,

Chirping birds with coloured plume,

Gorge of coolness calling,

Mountain gully, nature’s loom.

© John Williams

I Need To Walk

I need to walk each morning

because there’s a horse that waits for me to rubs its nose,

though whether I stay five minutes or an hour,

I can never rub away its loneliness.

I need to walk

so I can talk to a white dog that prowls in endless circles,

forever haunted by a chain,

that cuts us both.

© Bill Condon

Bill’s latest book is the junior novel The Simple Things, published by Allen & Unwin in March, 2014.

The following poems were written by elderly patients in a Melbourne nursing home. Initials have been used to protect patient confidentiality. Prompts, which led to the formulation of the poems, are provided. Thanks to Robin Youl for this contribution.

Rusty
Rusty.

Big Ears
Small little feet.

I brush his long hair.

He licks my hand.
He loves me
Just me.
Nobody else
Just me.

S @ Grant Lodge. [Prompt: Nursing, brushing Papillon PAT dog]

My Rainbow

My Rainbow
a road.

There is no beginning
Because
You start
In the middle
Of
A Rainbow Road
If you want.

All colours
Are beautiful
I love them
Every one.

Walk on any colour.
Walk on all the colours
If you want.

A Rainbow Road
Leads to
A Blue Mist
Which surrounds you.
If you want.

V @ Grant Lodge [Prompt: V’s Painting of a Rainbow]

The Face.

I look up.
Just above me
That face.

Suspended, staring
Again.

Nothing
Passes between us.
I remain silent.
Perhaps she wishes to speak.
I do not know.

G @ Grant Lodge [Prompt: Recurring vision of this face]

Note: S passed away last year. To the end, Rusty was a welcome guest beside her on her Princess Chair. PAT dogs find dying patients very stressful – but are a wonderful source of comfort.