A monster lives in my Christmas tree;
he shakes the branches at half-past three.
The tinsel swings from side to side,
the decorations slip and slide,
Jingle-dingle! Jingle-dingle!
Tinkly dingles intermingle.
Even if I stand up on a chair,
I can’t see him — but I know he’s there!
Then I gave him a monstrous cake,
and now he’s got a tummy ache.
There’s no more monster in my tree
so Santa Claus can come to me!
James Aitchison
It’s great for mind and soul, they say
but look how scratched my nose is!
I came away so sore that day
I stopped to smell the roses.
Jenny Erlanger
Let’s hope this won’t come as a shock
but Earth’s not made of solid rock.
Instead it’s like those fancy chocs
you sometimes get inside a box.
The centre’s dense and very hot.
And hard just like a hazelnut.
It’s mostly made from iron ore.
We label it the Inner Core.
The Outer Core’s a liquid goo
like runny toffee soft to chew.
The iron’s melted here as well
but wouldn’t taste of caramel.
The Mantle is a bit bizarre.
A kind of squishy-tough nougat.
It’s sometimes liquid sometimes not.
We call it semi-solid rock.
And finally the chocolate coating.
Thin and crisp and kind of floating.
Made from rocky plates that thrust
some bumps upon our choccy’s Crust.
Although our World’s too big to eat
and wouldn’t taste much like a sweet
a nutty chocolate compares
with eating through Earth’s many layers.
I’m writing a Christmas story.
It feels like Winter snow.
I’d better get a move on;
Just six more sleeps to go.
I’m writing a Christmas story.
It sounds like Ho Ho Ho.
I’d better get my skates on;
Just five more sleeps to go.
I’m writing a Christmas story.
It smells like cookie dough.
I’d better get a roll on;
Just four more sleeps to go.
I’m writing a Christmas story,
But it’s not the one I know.
I’d better pull the reins in
With three more sleeps to go.
I’m writing a Christmas story.
It smells like fresh mango,
I’d better take it easy;
Still two more sleeps to go.
I’m writing a Christmas story.
It sounds like the sea’s flow,
It’s time to take a rest now;
Just one more sleep to go.
I’m writing a Christmas story.
It feels like Summer’s glow.
And today I’ll live that story;
A Christmas of my own.
By Kylie Covark
Christmas Confusion.
Exhausted I was – one Christmas Eve,
After putting out presents for Santa – Indeed!
I sat on the sofa and ate Santa’s supper.
Instead of the milk – I had a hot cuppa.
I started to doze, I started to dream.
I dreamt I was flying as one of a team.
It was cold; it was freezing; my nose – it was red!
Then someone roared “Rudolf!” And I turned my head.
“To the top of the porch…”
“Yes I know how it goes.”
And instinctively up off the ground I arose.
Dashing here, there and yonder,
With no time to ponder.
Delivering presents all made by the elves.
And when the night ended,
And at last we descended;
I wearily lay down to rest on the hay.
I started to doze, I started to dream.
Then someone yelled “Dad! Where have you been?
Santa’s left presents! Mum’s set the table…
Why are you out here asleep in the stable?”
Cautiously, creeping down the stairs,
carefully avoiding the creaks,
we stop
and take each other’s hand.
At the bottom we tiptoe,
trembling,
towards the door.
Almost afraid to breath
we slowly, gently, push it open.
Beneath the twinkling lights
sit the gifts.
‘He’s been,’ we whisper
‘He’s been.’
(Published 2014 by Celapene Press, Short and Twisted and Thynks Publications Bards at Blidworth and Beyond Anthology of Poems)
LETTER “C”
C them there on windows,
C them there in stores,
C them up all over,
C them now because…
C is for Christmas cards!
Christmas cards with holly,
Cards with silver bells,
Cards with laughing Santas,
Cards that wish you well.
Christmas cards with angels,
Cards with trees and snow,
Cards with candles burning,
Cards that gleam and glow.
Christmas cards with reindeers,
Leaping through the sky,
Up there on the mantel —
Christmas Day is nigh!
Christmas cards with sparkle,
Heartfelt cards so true;
Why can’t all that goodwill
Last the whole year through?
James Aitchison
Compound Interest
You are the jingle in my bells
The tick in my tock
The flash in my light
The spring in my time
The whirl in my wind
The tell in my tale
You are the ever in my lasting
The ginger in my bread
The life in my boat
It has to be said
Casanova caterpillar
Had a bold ambition,
He wouldn’t be a butterfly
(Though that was the tradition).
He’d seen the others growing wings
And didn’t fancy that,
Instead he’d shed some letters
And turn into a cat.
Cousin Costa chaffed him.
“It cannot be”, he said,
“Come on Casanova,
You’ve really lost your head.”
“I can! I can! I can!”
Casanova cried.
He could do most anything
If he only tried.
And when it was the moment
To weave his own cocoon,
Casanova said “Farewell,
I’ll be a real cat soon.”
And so with bated breath,
(It really was a thriller),
He wished away the e and r
And the entire pillar.
And then oh joy of joys
The time came to be free,
And life was so much lighter,
As just a C-A-T.
By Kylie Covark
Lee and Jazz
On the grass
Ukulele in hand
Learning fast
Tune in the air
Jazz’s ears prick
She starts to sing
Learning real quick
Songs in the garden
Float down the street
A boy and his dog
Sounding so sweet
A bond forged in music
A love made to last
The sounds of friendship
In music is cast
Jeanie Axton
Australian Children’s Poetry 