When kids hear the ice cream van
tinkling through the streets,
they know that Mr Whippy
is bringing frozen treats.
When parents hear the music,
they know they’ll have to pay,
they’d rather Mr Whippy
did not come every day!

Time’s a kind of mystery,
not made of anything.
We treat it like a measurement.
A time-line piece of string.
But NOW-time can be different,
depending where things are.
We look back over many years
when gazing at a star.
The speed time passes, tick & tock
depends on where things go.
If gravity’s extremely strong
that tick & tock go slow.
Since Einstein showed us Spacetime,
THEN & THERE were surely wed.
And WHEN & WHERE got married too …
and share a Spacetime bed!

The Australian Children’s Poetry website is looking for a new administrator to manage and maintain this wonderful site. ACP promotes poetry for children, has almost 900 subscribers, and has been showcasing Australian poets and quality poetry since 2014. The site uses the WordPress. com platform and the domain name is managed through GoDaddy.
If you are interested and would like to know more please contact Kerry Gittins at ozchildrenspoetry@gmail.com

If you’re a fish and you get sick,
who do you go and see?
The Doctopus will help you —
he’s your undersea GP.
He’s qualified to treat
watery infections,
and because he has eight hands,
he’ll give you eight injections.
From sore sardines and sneezing sharks
to tonsil-troubled tuna,
the Doctopus will fix you —
you’ll feel much better sooner.

Photo from Stockcake
The mighty ramparts rise above the plain,
where once the plains were sea.
And you might think how harsh it looks,
yet beautiful it seems to me.
A world of red soil, stone and silence,
of ancient legends told ’round fires,
of peace and fascination
to my tired city eyes.

Flinders Ranges, South Australia. Photo by Ginette Pestana
When will water this way come
and fill this ancient creek?
There’s been no rain hereabouts
for many a long, long week.
When drought breaks the creek will rush,
a torrent raging by,
but for now it’s turned to dust —
no clouds have blessed the sky.
While in the east, it’s flooding,
and towns and farms are lost.
Can these extremes of climate stop,
or has a line been crossed?

Dry creek bed, Flinders Ranges. Photo by Ginette Pestana
“C’mon little Davo, the ball’s bounced and there’s no more waiting.”
I climb on the couch as my Dad begins explaining,
“Essendon, little Davo, is the team that we’ll be barracking.
You’ll see running and jumping and kicking and handballing.”
“Aha,” grins Dad – “Can you believe it’s now raining.”
The game goes on and no-one’s complaining.
It’s fun as I watch their clothes become muddy with staining.
“C’mon umpire, that’s holding the ball,” says Dad exclaiming.
“Pass the ball son, you’re not out there training.”
I think about telling Dad they can’t hear but decide it’s simpler refraining.
The Bombers scored a goal and now there’s ten minutes remaining.
Dad jumps out of his chair and screams, “That’s amazing!”
Dad’s so excited ‘cause now his team’s gaining.
The player looks high at the posts and kicks while aiming.
The Bombers have won and the crowd is dancing and waving.
My Dad thinks he’s there and is clapping and raving.
I look from my Dad to the screen and wonder which is more entertaining.

Photo by Linda Davidson
The march began with just one child
who yearned to live in peace.
Then came their friends and their friends too –
calling for wars to cease.
Join the children in their march
from whatever land you come.
March. March. March for peace!
March to the beating drum.
It all began with just one child.
Now watch the numbers grow.
Children want to live in peace.
They won’t stop until it’s so.
Join the children in their march
from whatever land you come.
March. March. March for peace!
March to the beating drum.
‘We don’t want to live in fear
of soldiers with tanks or a gun.
We want to see a clear blue sky.
We want to play in the sun.’
So join the children in their march
from whatever land you come.
March. March. March for peace!
March to the beating drum.
March, march, march for peace!
March to the beating drum!


Illustrations by Helen Nieuwendijk
Old kangaroos with worn-down teeth
cannot get any nutrition.
They sense they will die, so their final hours
are driven by intuition.
Their know hollow trees
are their best safe havens,
to save their eyes
being pecked out by ravens.
The lucky roos will die in peace,
sheltered inside a tree,
beyond the reach of enemies
who would feast on them with glee.
Such is life in the bush —
relentless, wild and cruel,
a never-ending circle
of life, death and renewal.

The Cazneaux tree, Flinders Ranges, Australia. Photo by Ginette Pestana
A girl named Amelia Hicks,
Went to Discount Day at the flicks.
She sat right through Jaws,
Halloween and Star Wars
For a cost of Sixteen Sixty-six.

Image from Pexels by GEORGE DESIPRIS