Hoo hoo hoo, and he haw hay
laughed the Kooka on his way.
After him the Magpies chased
winging past in reckless haste.
What was it that the Kooka heard
to cause the Magpies get so stirred?
An ornithologist rushed to meet
a Magpie walking on two sore feet.
‘I’m scared to fly,’ the Magpie wailed
‘They laughed at me because I failed.’
He then limped on, a bird unique,
an unhappy agoraphobic freak.
oooOooo
Once I was a little kid
just like you.
I had to write a poem
but didn’t know what to do
I sat at a desk
with a well full of ink
I dipped a pen in
and wrote what I think
was my best
But my best needed work
so I sat down to think;
scratched out some words
with my pen and ink
Another word didn’t sound
all that good
so I crossed it right out
and put one that would
I did this a few times
then read words aloud
and played with the rhythms
and played with the sound
I’d written a poem
that made sense when read
that rhymed pretty well
and it came from my head
I’m a grown-up now,
and I’ve written lots,
but some words I write
don’t quite fit the box
Still I rewrite the verse
or the phrase or whole poem
It’s what writers do
before they get known.
There’s nothing wrong
with not getting it right,
just as long as you make sure
to sit down and write.
I call him the swanning cat
Cos he swans around, in and then stares at the door
Always on the wrong side
Lost in contemplation
Lingering on the brink
He’s a ginger pain
Itching to keep me awake
Most certainly knows my bedtime
Teases me by implication
Has to go out…just for a pee
Eager to return
Swanning back in
When I yell for him
After waiting awake for far too long
Now, I ask you, is that nice?
No!
In and out and forth and back, and mew and stare at the door
Notwithstanding whisker-wipes and such
Great. He’s a swanning
Cat
Action must be
Taken if I’m ever to get any sleep.
Like microscopic armies
battling germy foes
a microbe war is raging
inside our snotty nose.
Staphylococcus aureus
can make us very ill.
Resistant to most medicines
it’s difficult to kill.
But scientists who study snot
have seen these bad germs die
when a different bacteria
is plentiful nearby.
They plan to use this winning germ
to make antibiotics.
Such science research might be called
exotic snot biotics!
I have a fish in my room made of metal,
(the fish, that is, not my room). The fish is
green and bold, with a mouth shaped like a kettle.
Why not a flower with a nice rosy petal?
I’m a Pisces; my fish is auspicious.
I’m sitting in the shade of the mango tree.
It’s a white-hot day but it doesn’t bother me
’cause it’s cool in the shade of the mango tree
eating mango.
The round ripe fruits of the mango tree
glow like sunsets all around me
and a warm rich perfume dizzies me
from the mango.
So there isn’t any place I’d rather be
than the dark green shade of the mango tree
with golden mangoes tempting me
on the mango.
We pinch a tea towel for a sail,
And to the deck the ladder scale.
With any luck we’ll spy a whale
From the Good Ship Gumtree.
We climb the rigging till we stop;
Reach the crow’s nest up tiptop,
Then down upon the floor we flop,
On the Good Ship Gumtree.
No crows upon this ship today,
But cockies screech and fly away.
And sailing onwards, branches sway
On the Good Ship Gumtree.
The horizon is a sea of green:
The biggest waves you’ve ever seen.
Only the breeze knows where we’ve been
On the Good Ship Gumtree.
Ahoy, ahoy, what’s that ahead?
A school of fish – a flock instead?
Parrotfish of blue and red
Around the Good Ship Gumtree.
And when sunset floods the sky
We head to port and dock nearby.
“Was it fun?” asks Mum. “Aye, aye,
We sailed the Good Ship Gumtree.”
For Natalie
Christmas is my favourite time,
the best part of the year,
it’s when we get to celebrate,
our hearts so full of cheer.
I love Christmas stories,
I love Christmas songs,
I love Carols in the Park
where we can sing along.
I love the Christmas table
with its cloth of red and gold,
crackers, candles, fresh pine trees
from deep forests of old.
I love to wrap the presents,
put one beneath the wishing tree,
I love decorations and all the lights
sparkling down on me.
I love the magic of Christmas Eve,
leaving Santa his milk and mince pies,
some carrots for his reindeer
who soar down from the skies.
On Christmas morning I awake
to think of the baby come from above,
remembering why we do it all
because of love, love, love.
Rain Dear
In Australia, when it’s Christmas hot,
A farmer’s keen for a little drop
of rain from heaven, upon his roof,
of Santa’s gifts, he looks for proof
Then drumming starts above; he hears
his wife call out “It’s rain dear!”
Walter de Jong
A Christmas Poem
Christmas time, oh Christmas, Time of sentiment so nice.
Christmas time, ah, Family time, With poems by Helen Steiner Rice.
Christmas comes but once a year On the 25th of December,
And makes the rest of the year, With its sorrows and joys,
That much sweeter to remember.
Bridh Hancock
Australian Children’s Poetry 