The Illusive Toy
Whirr, whirr, bang, bang,
What a noise you make,
Spinning, spinning, all around,
I’m scared you might break.
You have a captive audience,
All mesmerised by you,
Darting here and darting there,
But seldom in our view.
You appear to be mysterious,
We don’t know what you are,
You dash in and out so quickly,
We only see you from afar.
My mind’s so undecided,
Is it just technology?
For I have no clue what it is,
Or what it’s meant to be.
Satin Bower Birds arrive in south eastern Victoria at the beginning of Autumn. They are attractive birds with brown and green feathers and a pattern like fish scales on their breast. The male bird, however, is a shiny, satin like blue-black. The male is very elusive, seen only occasionally flitting through the under storey. He spends the entire winter building and decorating his bower with found, or stolen, blue or shiny objects.
In the Autumn they arrive,
Resplendent in browns and green
But the elusive male will shyly hide
In his shining blue sateen.
A secretive bird, he’ll spend the hours
Titivating the bridal bower
With treasures stolen – or maybe found –
He’ll decorate the ground around.
When the bower – having reached perfection,
Is to the females satisfaction
They will all depart –
Leaving the bower to fall apart.
When the days shorten and the fogs roll in,
The birds will return and begin again.
It’s a tall sailing-ship on the ocean,
Still, anchored, waiting – not to be broken –
Or smashed on rocks – run aground.
A grey shape, visible in the fog – no sound.
Or, imaginably, if I listen closely – beyond the hush –
Seawater claps the vessel’s hull and waves swoosh on the shore.
Sensible sea captain, dutiful crew, waits – no rush…
The sun is sinking, a gull calls, and the reef makes no score.
Explorers or pirates? We’ll see…
I write in my log book – a note to me –
“Tomorrow – build lighthouse for sea dogs.”
But in the morning there is no sea, no ship, and no fog.
I used to throw a Frisbee,
But it would never come back,
Billy Joe would make it worse,
The Frisbee he’d hijack.
One day I saw a programme,
About Aborigines,
There it was, the boomerang,
Thrown with so much ease.
The magic of the boomerang,
When thrown it comes back,
Saving time and energy,
Searching down some track.
It took a little time to learn,
But I’ve got it in the bag,
My boomerang is kind to me,
It returns, I shouldn’t brag.
Imagining a TARDIS by Celia Berrell
(Time And Relative Dimension In Space)
What a wonderful toy is the TARDIS.
Doctor Who’s little blue
police box.
It’s bigger inside.
So much stuff it can hide,
from a skate-park to
clean pairs of socks.
Owning a magical TARDIS,
do you think it’s a
secret we’d keep?
Or would that depend
on inviting some friends …
and whether we’d need any sleep?
With a stay-or-go-anywhere TARDIS,
there are infinite things
we could do.
It has so much appeal,
for a toy that’s not real …
let’s imagine instead that it’s true!
The physics of Doctor Who’s awesome time-travelling ship aren’t exactly science fiction: https://www.businessinsider.com.au/physics-of-the-doctor-who-tardis-box-2015-6?r=US&IR=T
“Mysterious Visitor”
Windows frame a world of white
Everything erased from sight
Where are flowers, birds and trees?
Lost among the misty seas
Wispy waves drown out all sound
Silence shrouds the cloudy ground
Claws of cold try to get in
Goosebumps prickle on my skin
What’s that scary shape I spy?
Creeping close, a real bad guy
Frosty fingers haze their face
My poor heart begins to race
Then a sly grin carves the gloom
Quickly, I run from the room
Feeling brave, no need to hide
Open up the front door wide
‘Gran! That must have been a slog
Walking through this horrid fog.’
Australian Children’s Poetry 