Heroes
Clap, yes clap loudly
For only they know the suffering
Memories etched in time-worn faces
Framed in the windows of the RSL bus.
Clap, clap hard
For the years unlived,
For those left behind.
Clap, don’t stop
For the ones still marching,
Medals hanging heavy on their hearts.
Clap for them
Clap for them all,
For only they know
The silent horror of war.
Mary Serenc
Making Poppies with Pa
I traced the outline:
5 perfect petals
on the shiny red metal sheet.
Pa used the tin snips
snip, snip, snip
to carefully cut around the shape.
Together we hammered the petals up
one at a time.
“It looks like a leaky cup!” I laughed.
Then I sprayed
one puff of black
into the flower’s centre.
Pa attached the wire stem
and handed it to me
like it was a long-stemmed rose.
But when I carried our poppy outside
and proudly placed it in the new-turned dirt
Pa began to cry.
He knelt down so I could hug him tight
then whispered through his tears,
“I hope you never know what war really means.”
Kristin Martin
kristin@kristinmartin.net
MY RACEHORSE
I’d like to own a pacing horse,
Or maybe just a pony.
I’d take it to the racing course,
To join the ceremonies.
He’d always be fed every dawn,
With oats and hay and corn,
A horse would never hungry be,
If it belonged to me.
I could not care, there’s no disgrace,
Should it never win a race,
I’d be so happy just to own,
A racehorse of my very own.
Four Legs
Four legs and a tail –
it could be a dog.
Four legs and a croak?
That’s a frog!
Four legs and a hump –
it must be a camel.
Four legs and fur?
It’s some kind of mammal.
But four legs and a mane –
long legs for trotting,
strong galloping legs,
and a tail for fly swatting?
That’s easy now,
I know it of course!
That four legged friend
is a horse.
MY UNCLE’S HORSE
My uncle had a Clydesdale,
He’d traded for a pup,
He took him down to Flemington,
To run the Melbourne Cup.
The crowd they were all laughing,
And even stewards too,
No one believed as uncle did,
Just what his nag could do.
The horses all were at the gate,
And champing at the bit,
And as the barrier went up,
The field, they had a fit.
They’d never seen a horse like that,
They frolicked on the ground,
No matter what the jockeys did,
No other horse was found
To run against the Clydesdale,
As he went round and round.
So uncle’s horse, he won the race,
And the shiny Melbourne Cup
To the North, was taken up.
The Clydesdale never raced again.
And almost always had for sup.
A manger full of oats and grain.
Girl on a Bolting Horse
The horse’s head forward, not surrendering,
the girl vertical in the stirrups
the black sky gathering steel.
Wind slicing the hair from her face,
the dark curve of herself going faster —
the blur of her brothers, standing transfixed;
she, holding her breath, bone-afraid
and flying . . .
©Katherine Gallagher
(from Circus-Apprentice, Arc Publications, 2006)
Flying Gallop
Before Eadweard Muybridge
came along
most painters painted
their horses wrong.
When galloping, galloping
at great speed,
legs of their steed?
We can hear when they gallop
and gallop at pace
there’s a break in the sound,
like their feet are in space.
So we know from this galloping
galloping sound,
there’s a time when all hooves
are NOT on the ground.
Like a carousel horse
with its legs all-stretched-out,
most artists made horse-legs
the wrong way about.
Then Muybridge’s movie
closed the affair.
Horse-legs are TUCKED
when all in the air.
Perched high on a horse,
we can’t really tell
as it’s hard to see where
a horse’s legs dwell.
And a galloping gallop’s like
flying as well.
So let’s soar on a horse
on a carousel!
Inspired by The Horse in Motion movie by EadweardMuybridge 1878
http://100photos.time.com/photos/eadweard-muybridge-horse-in-motion
Fred, Ted and Ned.
I have a mate whose name is Fred.
“I’d like a verse,” is what he said.
So I sat down with sharpened lead,
and penned some lines that end in ‘ed’.
I wrote about a horse named Ned,
whose owner’s name was Mister Ted.
He built that horse a fancy shed;
He shod him, groomed him, kept him fed.
Ned had a rug of crimson red,
embroidered with a golden thread.
He wore that rug when Mister Ted,
last Sunday rode to church to wed
his girlfriend who had bravely led
an army – she had battle cred!
Then after vows they quickly sped,
along the road in wooden sled.
The sled was pulled, of course, by Ned.
The reins were held by Missus Ted,
while Mister Ted laid out a spread
of cakes and biscuits, jam and bread.
But now this verse must end dear Fred,
I’ve no more ‘eds’ left in my head!
Caroline Tuohey
THE SHARK IN THE PARK
I heard a shark bark
One night in the dark;
It was in the park,
(But just for a lark).
There in the moonlight,
Its teeth pearly white,
It gave me a fright
That terrible night.
Stop making a din!
You’d better come in,
And don’t flap your fin
At my garbage bin.
Australian Children’s Poetry 