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
‘Pat’s Cafe’’ by Chris Owen
Leave a commentPat’s Café
Have you heard about this restaurant? They call it Pat’s Café,
It’s famous for its specialties like ‘Dungball of the Day’,
The punters flock from far afield to try the bolognaise,
Made from the finest cow manure and slurry mayonnaise.
They do a lovely paddock pie (the critics all agree),
That’s cooked from fresh ingredients they grow organically,
And for the connoisseur there’s much to make them lick their lips,
Like cowpat flavoured fizzy-pop with battered dung and chips,
But the top dish on the menu simply has to be a scoop,
Of dung ice-cream and sprinkles with a giant squirt of poop.
Yes, Pat’s Café gets rave reviews from diners in the know,
There’s nowhere else that dung beetles with taste would rather go.
Chris Owen 2018
‘Autumn Elegy’ by Monty Edwards
Leave a commentAutumn Elegy
Autumn leaves come tumbling down:
Orange, yellow, shades of brown;
Sun-dried, shaken, lost their grip:
Sailing breeze-borne like a ship;
Tossing, tacking, left and right:
Unpredictable their flight;
Watch them wander down the street,
Where in huddled heaps they meet;
Left behind their mother tree:
Weeping still as each floats free.
Monty Edwards
‘Pirate Pussy’ by Ron Marsh
Leave a commentPIRATE PUSSY
There was a pirate pussy cat
Who sailed the Spanish Main,
His ship it wore a pirate flag
In hail,or sun or rain.
And when he caught a galleon
As buccaneers will do,
He took up all the gems and gold
And cast away the crew.
Then when he sailed back into port,
With his ill-gotten prize,
He threw a great big party
with cakes and sweets and pies.
This pirate’s name was Blacky Patch,
He had white feet and tail to match.
He ruled his crew,as hard as nails,
And did not spare the nine ‘o’ tails.
One day the King’s fine sailing ships
Caught up with Blackie Patch.
The fired their guns while on the run,
And Blackie’s were no match.
His ship went down and all were drowned,
The pirates were dispatched.
–
Ron Marsh is 79 years old and has just taken up writing poetry
‘Twelve Thousand CC’s’ by Margaret Pearce
Leave a comment
TWELVE THOUSAND C.C.’S
He was a macho man
With speed man dreams.
He darned his leathers
With barbed wire seams.
He parted his beard
On the outside lane
And cleaned his teeth
With the sprocket chain
He lusted for the bike
Of his speed man dreams.
Double carbarettors
And twelve thousand c.c’s
He’d pay without woe
He needed his butt
On a bike with go
On an engine with gut.
For that ultimate thrill
With death defying skill
Double carbarettors
And twelve thousand c.c.’s
Busted and ageing,
The biker kept raging
The oil kept seeping
And his life blood leaking.
‘I possessed the machine’
Gasped the macho man
‘With the speedy routine.
‘I don’t give a damn
My bike and I
With death defying skill
Will ride hell’s roads
For that ultimate thrill.’
–
Margaret Pearce
‘When the Parrot was Silent’ by J.R. Poulter
Leave a commentWhen the Parrot was Silent. by J.R.Poulter
“Twitter, twitter”, said the birds,
Perched outside upon a ledge,
“The wizard’s conjuring with words,
Some are wise and some absurd.
Tell us parrot what you’ve heard?”
Parrot, on his perch all day,
Hadn’t very much to say
But was noisy anyhow.
Parrot made a frightful row!
Showed off to his birdie friends.
Till the wizard hit wits END!
Parrot through the cage bars peaked,
Saw the wizard’s wand go, “TWEAK!”
Opened wide his beak to SQUAWK,
Found he could no longer talk!
Moral is, when wizards speak,
Wise birds seek but to be taught,
Say not a word unless it’s sought…
‘The knitters’ club’ by Jeanie Axton
Leave a commentThe knitters’ club
Eight year olds
With needles in hand
Wool under arms
A little craft band
Sit in a circle
At lunch break
On the oval
Life is great
This craft of old
It will never die
With these mini grannies
Knitting on high.
’Wish for wings’ by Stephanie Boase
Leave a commentWish for wings
Oh, little bird
Sitting in the tree,
Why do you sit there
Looking at me?
The sun is shining
The air is clear.
Is that another bird’s
Song you hear?
You cock your head
And listen with care.
Then flutter away,
Soft wings, on air.
I wish that I
had wings like you
To glide on the breeze
Through the sky so blue.
Australian Children’s Poetry 