Author Archives: australianchildrenspoetry

Barefoot by Kate O’Neil

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Barefoot
Days are longer. Getting warmer.
Sun is higher overhead.
Restless toes begin their twitching.
Barefoot days not far ahead.

At last December comes around.
Summer holidays are here.
That’s when toes come out to play.
That’s the time when feet go bare.

Let’s all run across the grass.
But do look out for bindi eyes.
Ow! Ow! Ouch! They’re everywhere.
Hear our barefoot bindi cries.

Watch us dance the bindi ballet
Quick steps, big steps on our toes.
Hidden prickles keep us leaping
if we step where bindi grows.

Best of all are barefoot beach-days
racing on the summer sand.
Ow! It’s hot! Run to the water.
Run to the edge. Whew! See us stand

doing the barefoot wet-sand wiggle.
See us sink on toes that squirm
down through clouds of sand and shells,
ankles wrapped in swirling foam.

Barefoot days pass far too quickly.
Back-to-school time soon comes round.
But think how much our feet are learning
walking barefoot on the ground.
© Kate O’Neil

Harvey’s Escape by Edel Wignell

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Harvey’s Escape

Based on the reported escape of a bouncing, squat, Staffordshire bull-terrier by trampolining over the back fence of his yard. (‘Odd Spot’, The Age, Melbourne, 16 June 2008)

 

Harvey liked to jump and bounce upon the trampoline

With frisky owners, little Bob, and teenage girl, Noreen.

He jumped and bounced, and bounced and jumped, steadily getting weary-er,

‘Come on, boy! Keep it up! Jumping’ll make you merrier!’

Exhausting Harvey, the bouncing, squat, Staffordshire bull-terrier.

 

Next day their mother called as they merrily bounced on the trampoline,

‘Come on kids! Come and say “Hello” to your Aunt Doreen!’

While Harvey bounced alone, his eyes were staring – getting bleary-er,

The day was hot, the sun so fiercely shining – becoming glary-er,

Blinding Harvey, the bouncing, squat Staffordshire bull-terrier.

 

Mum came out. ‘Get off, Harvey! Get off the trampoline!

The kids have gone with Aunt Doreen – please don’t make a scene.

Jump down! Rest! Good dog, Harvey! Now you’re looking cheerier.’

She went inside. Then, sitting there, soon the fencing barrier

Inspired Harvey, the bouncing, squat, Staffordshire bull-terrier.

 

‘Escape, escape!’ The dog jumped back and bounced on the trampoline.

‘I’ve thought of a marvellous way to fly and escape from this prison scene.’

He left the yard, propelled on high by a bounce upon his derriere,

Over the fence he flew, then tumbled, falling through the wisteria –

Freedom for Harvey, the bouncing, squat, Staffordshire bull-terrier.

 

Across a park and into a forest, goodbye to the trampoline.

Two people appeared, offering choice and both were smiling and keen.

‘Come with me, pick berries for market – I am the local berrier.’

‘Come with me, ride on the ferry – I am the local ferrier.’

‘Alternate days!’ barked Harvey, the bouncing, squat, Staffordshire bull-terrier.

 

 

By Edel Wignell

 

Double Standards by Jenny Erlanger

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Double standards

 

When I sit down to dinner

There are things I mustn’t do.

There’s a list of rules to follow.

Let me give you just a few.

 

I’m not to gobble quickly,

every mouthful must be chewed.

I can’t talk over others

’cause to interrupt is rude.

My mouth needs to be empty

when I get a chance to talk

My dinner must be tackled

with a proper knife and fork.

And even when I’ve finished

I am forced to sit and wait

till everybody’s eaten

what was put onto their plate.

And that’s just the beginning.

I could rattle off some more…

But for little baby brother

all these rules go out the door!

 

He’s put into his high chair

with his plastic spoon and plate

and you’d not believe the chaos

that he’s able to create.

No sooner is he seated

than his spoon is knocked away,

the plate has been inverted

and his food has hit the tray.

He grabs the mush with fingers,

that he runs straight through his hair

and he saves a bit for missiles

that he launches from his chair.

He wriggles in his harness

as he giggles, burps and squeals.

He loves to get attention

when we’re sitting down to meals.

He downs his final mouthful

then, in keeping with the trend,

prepares the grand finale…

he explodes from either end.

 

My brother’s skills are many

and deserve to be admired

but his manners at the table

leave a lot to be desired!

 

© Jenny Erlanger

 

My Nan Speaks Nanish by Jane Williams

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My Nan speaks Nanish

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Hippo or Hag.

It’s a slippery language I’d love to snag,

a scrumptious secret wild horses can’t drag

but Nan won’t let the cat out of the bag!

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Thai or Turkey.

Spying on the neighbours what does she see?

Pishposh! Codswollop! Fiddle-de-dee!

Wagging tongues are barking up the wrong tree.

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Belgium or Bear.

She’d teach me if she had the time to spare

but it’s half past a freckle, quarter past a hair,

the proof’s in the pudding and hen’s teeth are rare.

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Dog or Derry

wetting her whistle watching the telly,

chewing the fat with great aunty Nelly,

bulging eyes growing bigger than bellies

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Mooney or Manx.

When old photos lull her into a trance

she’s caught and lead in a merry old dance

by teasing bees knees and fancy ants pants.

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Cree or Kipper.

Hob-knobbing in her best bib and tucker.

When she married Pop it was a ripper,

he was the monkey, she the dog’s dinner.

 

My Nan speaks Nanish not Gothic or Goop

sucking on eggs or jumping through hoops.

She calls me little chicken noodle soup.

Possum. Pumpkin. I’m her favourite fruit loop.

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Persian or Pie.

It’s tricky talk that leaves me tongue-tied

But if wishes are fishes, pigs can fly,

my Nan can speak Nanish and so can I!

 

© Jane Williams

The Possums of Pittwater by Anne Bell

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The Possums of Pittwater

 

The possums are holding a ball on the roof

the noise they are making is positive proof.

They are dancing the samba (ole and caramba!)

the one-step, the two-step,

the waltz and the you-step,

the quick step, the trick -step,

tarantella and tango,

and just for a lark, the gum-tree fandango

(But never the fox-trot. No. Certainly not.)

 

Line-dancing or ballet, it’s nothing to them

– a possum’s jete is really a gem.

But sometimes I wish, in the midst of their romp

(boogie, mazurka, rock-and-roll, saltbush stomp)

they’d put their boots back in a neat cardboard box

and dance for a while in their sneakers and socks,

 

©Anne Bell

First published the NSW Department of Education School Magazine

Pearl by Jane Williams

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Pearl

Pearl was a girl

A pearly girl

But not a girly girl

Not a softly softly

Sssssshhhhhh girl

Not a tiptoe

Through the tulips girl

 

Pearl was a girl

A pearly girl

But not a girly girl

Not a frills and frippery

Flowery girl

Not a powder puff

Perfume pom pom girl

 

Pearl was a girl

A pearly girl

But not a girly girl

Not a dainty delicate

Dew drop girl

Not a lavender lacy

Look at me me me girl

 

But a pearl. A pearl of a girl.

 

© Jane Williams

The Library Door by Edel Wignell

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THE LIBRARY DOOR

 

The door to the library is a wardrobe door

Opening to Narnia, magic and more.

To Wonderland with Alice, open the gate,

Skip through the Looking Glass – adventures wait.

Thrill to the Hobbit and the wondrous Ring,

Be there to watch the Return of the King.

With Toad of Toad Hall, Ratty and Mole,

Explore green River Banks – a waterside stroll.

The terror of Earthsea, its dragons and wizard,

A shadow-beast, evil, with dangerous vizard.

In the Midnight Garden, when the clock in the hall

Strikes thirteen, a ghost will call.

Behind wood panelling and under your feet

Is the home of the Borrowers whom you’ll meet.

The door to the library is a wardrobe door

Opening to Hogwarts, Harry and more.

 

by Edel Wignell

The Australian Society of Authors ©

 

First published in The Dragoner, No. 2, 2006, Newsletter of the Dromkeen Dragons,

Victoria, Australia

Princess Shoes by Sally Odgers

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Princess Shoes

 

“Did you buy my princess shoes?” asks Molly

Every day she wants to know

Since she saw them sparkle

from jewelled heel to toe

 

And every day, Father answers, “No.”

 

“Did you pull some weeds?” asks Father

“Did you sing to Baby Lance?”

Every day he asks her,

“Did you learn your Irish dance?”

 

And every day, Molly says she hasn’t had the chance.

 

“Did you buy my princess shoes?”  asks Molly as before. ”

I pulled some weeds and sang to Lance

Dame Flora’s teaching me the dance…”

 

She demonstrates her moves

 

And Father says, “I do believe…

I might have bought

some princess shoes.”

 

© Sally Odgers

 

 

Butcher Bird in Drought Time by Anne Bell

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Butcher Bird in Drought Time

Three notes he sang,

three lonely limpid notes

to the arid sky;

green as hope they were,

clear  as mountain air

and sweet as water falling.

 

Keep them as a sign

that he will sing again

in other springs

as green as hope,

as clear as mountain air

and sweet as water falling.
© Anne Bell

 

First published NSW Department of Education School magazine

Born to be a Ratter by Sally Odgers

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Born to be a Ratter

 

I was born to be a ratter

I’m a squabble and a scrapper

And the cats are never fatter

When I hassle them about

I’m a snapper and a spatter

While you’re saying, “What’s the matter?”

While I clitter and I clatter

And I yappet in and out

I was born to be a rouser

And a scrapper and carouser

As a cat’s a wishful mouser

So the hunt is in my head

I’m a scrabble what’s-about-a

I’m a bouncer and a scouter

Of your rules I am a flouter

‘Cos you made me pet instead.

 

© Sally Odgers