Honeycomb Home
Roses are red, red abuzz
With bees buzzing buzzes.
Violets are truly blue!
If Peace was made of honey
We’d each have a piece
Of harmony, both me and you.
When I send peaceful words
They don’t harm or disturb
I write, yet I’m not alone.
Being born to a chalice, a buzz
Belies my writing palace,
Buzzing busily on my throne.
I consider wise words
Of kindness – with mad verbs,
REMEMBERING
Shadow horde
past and gone.
Distant voices
whisper from poppy-fields,
red tide claiming the sky.
Why? They invite
answers. We have none.
Marching onwards
blinded by tears.
In a Distant Land.
With a new born baby in her arms,
In a distant land men took up arms,
The mother sang a lullaby,
In a distant land a soldier cried,
In its mother’s arms the baby snuggled,
In a distant land the soldier struggled,
But his fight was lost –
And the soldier:
Comrade;
Father;
Son,
Deprived of life, slumped by his gun.
Wherever there is a Shrine
Wherever there is a shrine, there will be a remembrance
In the church graveyard, the town square
On a street corner, in a garden or under a paddock gum
Whether ten thousand attend or only one
Look out for the ghosts of the names engraved
They will gather again as they gathered once
Fathers, brothers and sons
The living and the dead united
Families and communities rejoined
In that hour of darkness before dawn
As the night begins to blend with the day
The spirits in our hearts and our imaginations take form
They touch us with a breath
That we know them once again
Let the sun’s first light dry your eyes
Return to your life with your heart uplifted
For their spirit has touched your soul
And yours has touched theirs
In a way that can only be experienced
Not pondered or understood
By your mere presence and by theirs
Lives cut short will live on
For they will not be forgotten
Sneaking down to Grandma’s room
What did I discover?
A row of smiling rabbits
Wrapped in dazzling colours
I did a little dance
And whispered out Yippee,
Knowing that these Easter gifts
Were waiting there for me
Easter
I cross the road to Molly’s farm.
There is a sign nailed to a post:
Eggs for sale.
I buy a dozen.
I hear a rooster crow.
On the way home I trip and fall.
One egg is cracked and broken,
The others are saved.
On Sunday we celebrate Easter;
Soft boiled eggs for breakfast.
I see the Easter bunny has visited too!
Dark chocolate is my passion.
Life is good.
CHOC-A-LOT
Flavour number 1
I have a confession. I am a confirmed chocaholic! This is how it all started…
The Chocolate Box J.R.Poulter 08
They all look so pretty
In glittery foil
What a terrible pity
To open and spoil….
Mmmmm
You have one of these,
I’ll have one of those.
It’s all over my fingers.
There’s some on your nose!
I think I’ll have pink!
Did you want that one too?
That’s okay, I’ll tell you what,
We’ll chop it in two!
Pick it up and lick it up,
Runny strawberry filling!
Quick, quick, quick as sticks!
It’s oozing out and spilling….
Now it’s gone just everywhere!
What are we to do!
Come on Goggles in you come,
You’ve cleaning up to do!
[Goggles is a male mini poodle.]
I was young and innocent then…only 4 years old…that was so long ago…
I have to say my aunt DID NOT HELP. She has the disease too. I think it must be genetic.
Flavour Number 2.
Beware my Aunt! I’ve made a sign
To warn off friend and stranger,
“Committed Chocaholic!
Your chockies are IN DANGER!”
Whenever I hear her coming
I hide my chocolate bars,
The Milk Ways and Crumbles,
Snickers, Picnics, and the Mars.
I’ve buried them in casseroles
And bags of brussel sprouts,
But her nose is like a bloodhound’s
She always sniffs them out!
I hid them down the backyard
Amidst the potted flowers.
Ants found them before Aunty,
De-anting took us hours!
I hid them in a secret spot,
The best place I could find.
Trouble is I can’t remember where,
And that I really mind!
Now Aunt’s come here to help me
Find out just where they are.
Her payment for detective work?
Of course, a chocolate bar!
I guess eating chocolate’s better
When you don’t eat it alone.
Chocolate Hunts ARE fun with Aunty
But I wish she’d bring her own!
How was a kid to cope? My life crawled along from craving to staving, a path littered with chocky wrappers. It was hopeless. I think my aunt must have sensed how desperate I was. I think she tried to help. I hope she tried to help. Maybe what she did was well meant but….I don’t like to think about that……
This is what happened.
Flavour Number 3.
HOW I WAS SAVED FROM CHOCAHOLISM!
Aunty’s got a chocolate box.
She said,”Have one or two.”
I had one wrapped in bright red foil,
And then a flowery blue.
I sucked them – oh, so slowly –
They were so VERY nice!
I thought, would Aunty REALLY mind
If I had a couple – twice?
They were the most delicious things
That I had EVER had!
Surely, if I had – just – two more
Aunt could not call me bad?
Oh, SCRUMPTIOUS! YUMPTIOUS! There were more
That I just HAD to taste!
Why – if I left them sitting there
They MUST all go to waste!
The box was looking emptyish.
The last ones left looked lonely.
I thought that it would be QUITE wrong
To leave a couple only!
And so I ate the last ones too,
But, very strange to tell,
They didn’t taste just quite so good,
And – I didn’t feel so well – .
My tummy looked about to pop!
My throat felt – kind of queer -.
My tummy started woooobelling –
I held onto the chair!
Then as I looked at the chocolate box
And wondered would I be whacked,
I remembered every gluttinous glob
And the box got its contents back -!!
BLARRRRUGH!
Now I wont touch a chocolate,
Not a bar, a block, a bite!
I will not even look at it!
Well, – at least I wont – tonight –
But, hey, You know what, I think? I DON’T WANT to be cured!
Cause….
Flavour Number 4.
Lots and Lots of Choc-a-Lot!
I like a lick of choc-a-lot!
I like it rich and thick,
I like it in bright wrappers
In balls or cubes or sticks!
I like it milk,
I like it dark!
Its smooth as silk…
It gives me spark!
I like it icky sticky
When it melts ‘n runs ‘n goos…
I like the yummy gummy ones,
The chewier, the oohier,
With toffee on the ooze!
I like the snap and brittle ones,
I like the smudgey fudge,
The mallows and the jelloes –
And NO, I ‘m not a pudge!
I’m far too busy hiding
My store of choc delights
And trying to run from everyone
Who wants to take a bite!
Australian Children’s Poetry 