BUTTERFLY MOTHER
Dancing the tune of the breeze
She lifts her coat sleeves –
And freezes as if in prayer
To breed in the shady leaves;
Green confetti in air.
On the rib-case underneath –
A waxy seam of leaf,
Tiny eggs, colour of cream
Are stuck with butterfly paste.
Blue lady lifts as a dream,
Leaving them, to hatch or waste.
Who knows where she goes
Blue butterfly mother?
© Dianne Bates
Food art
This mashed potato sculpture
is a splendid work of art,
the best I’ve ever seen, I’d have to say
and every slice of carrot,
carved to look just like a heart,
you’ve set out in a most creative way.
The broccoli looks pretty
cut in perfect little flowers.
I love the way the peas spell out my name
and I know that you’ve been working
on this masterpiece for hours,
but I’m sorry, every night I feel the same.
It doesn’t really matter
what you do to all this food,
what handiwork you serve me up for tea.
I may seem quite ungrateful
and perhaps a little rude,
but, they still all taste like vegetables to me!
Jenny Erlanger
Sweet Dreams
Starry night, a quarter moon.
Owls and frogs recite a tune.
Listen, listen…
What do they say?
Sweet dreams, sweet dreams…
Sweet dreams they pray.
By Louise McCarthy
April Fool
I’m looking for Spring
as so many do
for blossom and bulbs
shy violets hold dew
What greets me is change
Winds, rain and shine
It’s now Autumn here
but there’s no call to pine
There are strawberry guavas,
feijoas and pears
very few flowers
but no one much cares
We’d rather our garden
is brimming with fruit
There’ll be time in September
For Flora’s fair loot
Virginia Lowe
A moorhen busies herself,
rocks this way and that
on a wave-washed nest.
Swans float in late afternoon chill,
shadows lengthen,
chestnut buds swell.
Forsythia trembles the breeze –
pastel-green willows barely move
dipping branch-tips into the lake.
Every year I wait for this –
first flowers, trees leafing
on sculpted branches,
reflecting in the water
their steadfast
cascades of green.
©Katherine Gallagher
From the blue spring sky
hard hail and soft pink petals
falling together
Spring morning –
overnight the wind has picked
the last camellia
Spring in the Arctic
came two weeks early
and Barnacle geese
No more stopping
for rests on their journey.
Three thousand k’s
is a humungous hop.
They cruise at the speed
we’d drive through town
with short bursts of
ninety-five k’s or so.
Marathon flyers
in feathers and down,
with climate changed seasons
just watch them go!
Spring Clean
How long since I tidied here?
I guess it’s been awhile.
I’ll take it one bit at a time
And start here with this pile.
When did I collect these shells?
Or that stick? Or those rocks?
It must have been at least a year
Since I last saw those socks.
Something’s growing under here!
And wait… Is that thing moving?
I’ve been here for an hour
And this mess is not improving.
What could smell so awful?
And why is that thing green?
Life’s mysteries unravel
When it’s time for a Spring Clean.
Spring Whether
The weather in Springtime is very uncertain.
It can’t decide whether it’s hot or it’s cold.
It doesn’t know whether to pour or to sprinkle
or whether to simply keep raindrops on hold.
The weather in Springtime is quite indecisive,
and that’s why you’ll find in a week, or a day,
it’ll rain and be sunny and cold and too hot.
We never know whether we’ll go out to play!
This poem was first published in The Caterpillar, Issue 20, Spring 2018. (As this is an Irish publication, their Spring edition was published in March.)
The poem also appears on my website, http://kristinmartin.net
kristin@kristinmartin.net
Australian Children’s Poetry 