What Am I? by James Aitchison

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Am I a cathedral —

or something finer?

Maybe a palace,

or an ocean liner?

Am I a museum,

studded with gold?

A famous art gallery

with pictures old?

The fact is, I’m nothing

much of a sensation.

I’m just the local

railway station!

(Teacher’s note: Kecskemet —pronounced KETCH-kem-ayt — is the eighth largest city in Hungary. It is located at the north of the Hungarian South Great Plain. In January, temperatures drop below zero; in July they average 22 degrees Celsius. The famous composer Zoltan Kodaly was born here. In the years under Communist rule, many public places such as railway stations were decorated to inspire awe and express the power of the State.)

May Prompt – Rainy Days and Mondays. . .

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We’ve had SO much rain around the country lately that I thought it might be good to write about what you do, see, feel and think about on those rainy days. Do you jump in puddles, wait for rainbows, catch the river rising, surf the waves after the storm, listen to the sound of rain on your tin roof, or do you sit quietly watching the drops running down a window pane?

Send your rainy day poems to ozchildrenspoetry@gmail.com

Photo by Atahan Demir from Pexels.

Mother’s Days by P.J.Rodriguez

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Why do mothers have one date
on which we choose to celebrate
the love we feel for all they share;
for all their work; how much they care?

Throughout the year – on other days –
must we store our pride and praise?
Should we save our hugs and thanks
in special Honour Mother banks?

Are we meant to leave love locked
inside a vault, our feelings blocked,
until that Thanks Mum! payday nears,
rewarding Mother’s sweat and tears?

Mothers toil, protect, and nourish,
every day, to help us flourish.
Spoil your mum on Mother’s Day …
and All Year Round, in every way.

Archer by Toni Newell

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Archer is not an angel
But he is my pride and joy
He’s not always obedient
But loves to play with a toy.

It doesn’t matter what it is
As long as it is thrown
As he just loves to catch it
On his very own.

He can chase it endlessly
Even when he’s puffed
But he won’t give up easily
Until he’s totally stuffed.

Archer is not an angel
But he is an angel to me
He represents all that’s good
Innocence and humility.

Umbrella by Marcus Ten Low

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i have such a big umbrella,
but i’m such a little fella.

i look a treat with my galoshes,
a splish and splash and silly sploshes,

shielded from so many showers,
walking among rain-speckled flowers,

and now the wind blows through my hair,
blowing my brolly when i’m unaware

and turning it inside-out!
god of the skies, oh what a clout!

my poor brolly rolls end on end
that i’m sooooo wet…condemned!

o silly golly gosh, you brolly!
how you make me mad and yet…so jolly!…

Secret Steps by James Aitchison

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I wonder where they come from,

I wonder where they go,

I wonder who might use them,

as they hurry to and fro.

Is a ghost abroad at night?

Does it haunt this secret place?

I can hear its shuffling feet,

but I cannot see its face!

So ancient are these steps,

So stony cold and bare,

In the heart of old Vienna,

By a bleak and wintry square. 

The Brussel Sprout by Jeanie Axton

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I do not like Brussel sprouts

No no, not at all

One there sitting on my plate

Was it ready for a brawl?

My plan of thoughtful attack

Let it go straight down my snout

Swallow that green ball whole

Yes, Ive worked it out 

But Alas, this did not occur

putting me in quite a state

Coughing hard it flew right out

Landing on my sisters plate

My sister she was horrified

Mum was raving mad

I sat and widely grinned

Announcing “ Sorry, Mum my bad!” 

Not one has passed my lips since then

Those green and slimy sprouts

From that day until presently 

Im happy to do without

Kata Tjuta (‘many heads’) by James Aitchison

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These giant domes of rock

rise from the desert plain;

a rusting of iron oxide

gives them a reddish stain.

Six hundred million years ago 

they were thrust up to the sky.

With many heads a-dreaming,

their legends will not die.

Teacher’s note: Kata Tjuta, which means “many heads” in the local Aboriginal language, is located 25 km from Uluru. Like Uluru, it is considered sacred to the Aboriginal people of Australia, and the mythology of the site is not disclosed to outsiders.  The highest peak (at left) was named Mount Olga by explorer Ernest Giles in 1872.

I See The Old Men March (on Anzac Day) by James Aitchison

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I see the old men march,

who survived the times of war,

beneath their proud-held banners

from so many different corps.

I see bright companionship

shining in their eyes;

they’re marching to remember

those who fell and could not rise.

We salute them once again

and pray that never more

young men will have to go

a-marching into war.

Photo by Pixabay

What Can You Do? by Graham Seal

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What about recycling?

That’s something you can do

to save the planet every day 

and save some money, too.

You could take up gardening

and grow veggies in the yard,

or start a steamy compost heap,

it isn’t very hard.

Maybe you could buy less stuff,

not use so much plastic,

and more refillable containers

would be just fantastic.

However you go about it,

whatever you might do,

please just do something,

because it’s up to me and you.

Photo by Vlada Karpovich