Author Archives: ozchildrenspoetry

From My Boat Window by Helen Evans

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How can one describe them?

Thousands of little bays.

We’re on the Royal Mail boat.

It only runs two days.

Little coves with just one house,

they must love this isolation.

The boat drops in to leave them goods,

like a train at every station.

Rugged hills with ferns to cover,

I wonder how folk live.

Plenty of fish and wildlife

They’re hardy to survive.

This way of life is not for me,

I cannot live on just beauty,

without the comforts of my place.

I need to see a friendly face.

(In response to prompt #2 What’s Outside Your Window?)

Everyone’s Waving In Winter by James Aitchison

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A polar bear waved to me

and called a loud “hello”,

as he floated past eating fish

on a jolly big ice floe.

Penguins flapped their flippers,

a humpback slapped its tail,

and I waved back with all my might

as onward I did sail…

In response to the Winter Waves prompt

The Biggest Dog in the World by James Aitchison

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We turned a corner and there he was,

towering in the air,

a gorgeous dog with enormous eyes

and wheat dust in his hair.

He didn’t bark, he didn’t move,

he gazed out from the wall, 

beside his master, for all time,

the biggest dog of all.

Teacher’s note: This silo art is at Nullawil, Victoria, so named because the local indigenous word “nulla” is a killing stick while “willock” means a galah.  Both items appear on the medal attached to the dog’s collar.

The Lake That Paints The Sky by James Aitchison

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I sat and watched the night steal in,

across the barren plain,

where a bowl of salt and water 

will seize the sky again.

The fire of day lies frozen

in water still and wide,

and the lake will paint the sky

and the two will scarce divide.

Teacher’s note: Lake Tyrrell, a vast salt lake, is located near Sea Lake in northern Victoria.

Caravan Winter Waves by Pauline Cleary

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We’re marooned in a caravan
and the rain is pouring down.
It’s pounding on the roof top,
a relentless, driving sound.

There’s a moat forming around us
and the ducks are moving in.
We could be here for days and days.
It could be sink or swim.

But inside the caravan,
It’s cosy, warm and bright.
We’ll dream of sun and sea and waves
While it buckets down all night.

(In response to prompt Winter Waves)

A Brisk Poem by Bill Condon

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We’ve heard of Jack Frost, but is he alone?

Is there a Jacky? Is there a Joan?

Is Mrs Frost grim with a heart that is steely?

Or Jack’s tender side – more touchy-feely?

When he looks in the mirror and thinks he is cool,

does she send him to SpecSavers and call him a fool?

Does Jack have a temper? Prone to cold snaps?

Or misunderstood, the nicest of chaps?

(In response to Winter Waves prompt)

Winter Waves by Meg Mackey

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Winter waves,

it’s icy fingers in gusting winds and shimmering rain.

It twists and hurtles,

comes splashing,

returning again and again

to direct its deliberate blast northwards

without any pause.

That cold intention tho,

is lost on our warm and tropical shores.

(In response to Winter Waves prompt)

Winter Sea by Monty Edwards

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The sea can tell stories with never a word,

Yet when winter comes they are frequently heard.

Such stories will speak of both weather and wind

As dark clouds and dark seas say:

“Sun, you have sinned!”

“So retire in disgrace,

While our veil hides your face.

For this day or brief hour,

You are under our power!”

(In response to the Winter Waves prompt)

Fly-Away Winter by Celia Berrell

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The Arctic Tern
spends half a year
up in the Northern
Hemisphere.
But when the Summer’
almost gone
and cooler Autumn
comes along
this sea-bird’s instinct’s
very strong
and sends them South
in one big throng.
From North Pole
to Antarctica
they travel sixteen
thousand k’s
in order to
avoid the cold
and stay beneath
Sun’s warmer rays.
So do Terns learn
to turn like this
or is it simply
hit and miss?
No, no. The Terns
turn all together.
‘Cos one good turn
deserves another!

Find out more about the Arctic Tern here

Winter Sea by Julie Cahill

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The sea where we live reflects winter sky

It’s beauty abounds but we don’t question why

We just build it up with our ‘oohs’ and our ‘ahhs’

We write out our feelings sitting warm in our cars

We don’t critisize as we watch the waves soar

We don’t harshly judge or give each wave a score

The beauty you see is untamed, therefore true

And we don’t mind it’s colour as green, black, or blue.

In response to Winter Waves prompt