The Desert Dogs of Tjuntjuntjara by Stewart Ennis

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A Tjuntjuntjara desert dog

Is howling at the moon.

Just one at first, then more join in

This ancient howling growling tune.

               [Don’t ask me why.

               It’s the just their way.

               They’ve done it every single day

               Since dogs began!]

And very soon, and very soon, 

The entire yip-yap yelping mob, 

Yes, the whole red-dirt platoon

Of Tjuntjuntjara desert dogs

Is howling at the moon.

Image by Stewart Ennis. Used with permission.

Stewart Ennis is from Bridge of Weir, Scotland. Since the 1980s he’s worked in Scottish theatre as writer, deviser, performer and occasional photographer. He was creative writing tutor in Scottish prisons and editor of Causeway/Cabhsair magazine of new Irish & Scottish writing. His plays, poems, stories and photographs have appeared on a number of stages, pages and platforms. A debut novel Blessed Assurance was published in 2020. Recent work includes writing the children’s film animation Yoyo & The Little Auk for Royal Scottish National Orchestra. He’s currently at Curtin University for the second year of an Aberdeen-Curtin Alliance scholarship PhD in creative writing. He recently some time in wonderful Tjuntjuntjara documenting the Spinifex artists at work and play.

Jumping Into Spring by Marque Dobrow

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Upon arrival of September
There’s one thing I do remember:
Winter’s gone and spring is here
Bringing warmth back to the year.
Giving us more outdoor fun,
Extra time beneath the sun.
Walking barefoot on the grass,
Sipping fruit juice from a glass.
Football finals if you’re keen;
Horses racing on the green.
Pack your coats and gloves away,
Birds within your backyard play.
Birthing time for kangaroos,
Platypus and wombats too.
Blossoms grow with colours fair,
Pollen floating through the air.
Of spring I’m a great believer,
So why now must I have hay fever?
How can I smell a lovely rose
When suffering from an itchy nose?
I long to feel the evening breeze
Without an urge to cough and sneeze.
But let me cast those thoughts asunder;
Spring should be a time of wonder.
So sit beneath a shady tree,
Go watch the surfers at the sea.
I love the springtime sunset skies,
Albeit seen through teary eyes.

Polish Spring by James Aitchison

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In a Polish village,

opening to the sun,

I found all these flowers

when spring had well begun.

What a splash of colour,

I was lucky to be there,

where ancient wooden houses

huddled round the square.

A Chat With An Orangutan: an experimental poem by James Aitchison

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“Hello, kid,” the orangutan said.
“You look very familiar.”

“That’s because,” the young boy said,
“We’re both very similar.”

“But I don’t live in a house, boy,”
The wise orangutan said.

“It doesn’t matter,” the young boy said,
“Where you lay your head…

“The fact is, you and I are friends
“From way back deep in time.”

“If that is so,” the orangutan said,
“Put your hand in mine.”

Teacher’s note: In Bahasa (Indonesian and Malay languages), orang means “man” or “person”, while utan means “jungle”. Thus, the orangutan is a man of the forest. Many experts now believe that the orangutan — not the chimpanzee — is closest to humans in traits and characteristics.

The Mutt Hutt by Jeanie Axton

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A custom cut from nose to butt

is what the “Mutt Hutt” does

Snipping, styling the latest trends

and shaving through the fuzz

In through the in door

disarrayed and dirty as can be

Out through the out door

transformed to a beauty queen

Daffodil by Jacinta Lou

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Pushing up through cold earth.

Determined. Never failing.

The green leaves set the stage.

Presenting – the grand unveiling.

Blushing petals open shyly,

Revealing more to the sun.

Frilly ruff thrown back in triumph.

Yellow face. Spring’s begun.

Wagtails 1 2 3 by Graham Seal

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One willie wagtail sang a sweet song,

he was joined by another 

before very long.

Two willie wagtails built a snug nest

with feathers and flowers 

and leaves softly pressed.

Three willie wagtails perched in a tree,

mummy and daddy 

and baby makes three.

Spring by Toni Newell

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The temperature is rising
There’s music in the air
From birds singing loudly
Their mating calls do fair.

Bare trees now blossom
As bulbs come back to life
The sweet call of Spring
The drake looks for his wife.

Colours surrounds us
On breeze a sweet scent rides
It’s full of new beginnings
It’s Spring where hope resides.

Big Bird Emu by Celia Berrell

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Big Bird Emu cannot fly.
Got long legs and big brown eyes;
slender neck and smiley beak;
stringy feathers, mega feet.
Big Bird Emu sits on nest.
Eight whole weeks, no food no rest;
nearly faint from heat and thirst;
wants those chicks to hatch out first.
Shading babies, outstretched wings,
eating grass and insect things.
Eighteen months ‘til they’re full-grown,
big enough, safe on their own.
Big Bird Emu dedicated.
Caring love for little babies.
Get too close might make him mad,
‘cos he’s their Big Bird Emu DAD!


https://kids.britannica.com/kids/article/emu/390741
https://www.bushheritage.org.au/species/emu

My Hidden House by James Aitchison

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I have a hidden house

in a garden full of flowers,

and I love to sit in silence

and gaze at it for hours.

The little house was built

in the Gold Rush so I’m told,

but for me it is a treasure

worth more than any gold.

Teacher’s note: This miner’s cottage, built in 1860, is typical of many homes built in the 
Ballarat, Creswick and Clunes district during the Victorian Gold Rush.