This Season by Dianne Bates

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THIS SEASON                    

 

The moon tonight is a marble,

perfect and white.

See it there

above the rows of trees

bare-limbed and angular

lifting hands

as if in prayer

in the valley

that continues forever.

 

Comes dawn and warmth for

the slumbering bed of seeds

laid in rows like soldiers,

mute, and obedient to the seasons.

 

Comes a drizzle of rain

and baby fingers unfold,

reach for the yellow hot goodness

of sun.

 

Comes the gardener

Who tends the struggling army

defends it against the enemy,

the battalions of flying and crawling insects

and the dryness of earth;

She sprays, hoes,

waits for the hostage stems to unfurl,

to stretch, to uncurl.

 

Comes the leaves,

the unfolding flowers, and then…

ah yes,

the plant ripe with fruit,

the scent of Eden in the air!

 

© Dianne Bates

Warm and Fluffy by Celia Berrell

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The animals have hairy fur.

The birds have got their feathers.

These keep their bodies warm enough

throughout the chilly weather.

 

The fibres in those fluffy coats

criss-cross to form some air-holes

that can’t escape or waft away

because of all the hair-folds.

 

Their skin gives off some body-warmth.

Just like a radiator.

Their fluffy coats help keep that heat

as thermal insulators.

 

The warm air’s trapped inside the fur

to shield them from the outside.

The way that blankets on a bed

are cosy on the inside.

 

But if that fluffy coat gets wet

those air-holes fill with water.

Their body’s warmth escapes as that

wet coat’s a heat conductor.

 

The soggy fur clings to their skin.

No longer insulated.

And water makes their body cold

as it’s evaporated.

 

Any fluffy animal will

shake that water well away.

So if your puppy’s had a swim …

Watch-out for all that water spray!

 

 

A Goat Afloat by Pat Simmons

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A Goat Afloat

I wear a silver collar, I’m a rather special goat.

Hooves firmly planted on the ground, but once I was afloat.

‘A goat afloat?’ I hear you say.

It’s true. Ask Captain Cook.

Twice I’ve sailed around the world.

I’d like to write a book

 

Called

Memoirs of my life at sea

Jottings by a goat

The good the bad the ugly facts

Of life upon a boat.

 

Well, all right, ships,

Let’s get it right

Named

Dolphin and Endeavour

And with respect, I must say this,

I really hope I never set hoof again on either one.

Three years was long enough.

Giving milk for all that time quite frankly dears was tough.

 

Smelly sheep and smelly hens, smelly cattle too,

Smelly cats and smelly dogs

And very smelly crew.

Snow and storms and slippery decks, fresh grass in short supply.

No other goats for company to help the time pass by.

 

But now I’m home and quite well known

(My story’s in the press)

Enjoying my retirement, free from stormy seas and stress.

 

I wear a silver collar, I’m a rather special goat.

Hooves firmly planted on the ground, but once I was afloat.

 

 

 

 

 

Feathers Fur or Fins by Robyn Youl

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Vertebrates are covered

In spikes, feathers and scales

Most mammals wear fur

Skin covers humans and whales

 

With skeletons covered

In scaled skins.

Fish breathe under water

And glide with their fins.

 

With skeleton covered

In thick armored plates

Eyes and nose above water

The crocodile waits

 

With skeleton covered

In skin soft and cool

Tadpoles become frogs

In creek, river and pool.

 

With hollow skeletons

And fragile feather

Birds swoop and soar

In flocks together

 

With skeletons covered

In thick fur or fine hair

Bats, seals and elephants

Share earth water and air

 

Pigeon Grey by Kylie Covark

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Way down passed our shed,

Where the realm of humans ends,

‘Mongst the mottled bottle brushes

Live a hundred feathered friends.

 

And ninety-nine of those

Cavort and romp and play,

And the only one left out

Is poor old Pigeon Grey.

 

The magpies are quite striking

And the honey-eaters fair,

The rosellas are spectacular;

It’s tricky not to stare.

 

They gather in the bird bath

Where they primp and preen all day,

But when Pigeon tries to join them

They squawk, “Ew! Get away!”

 

 

 

And Pigeon Grey sighs deeply

Then he sits off on his own,

He watches on with envy

Wishing he was not alone.

 

If only they would speak to him

Those other birds would find

That Pigeon Grey is funny.

He is clever. He is kind.

 

But they all look down their beaks

At his feathers drab and grey,

And then rather than converse with him

They just squawk “Get away!”

 

Then one day there is twittering,

The garden is in shock.

Pigeon Grey has made a friend;

The new bird on the block.

 

And the whispers are quite snippy,

“That new bird she must be dull.

Perhaps another pigeon

Or an imbecilic gull!”

 

But the honey-eater sees her

And she has to look once more.

This new bird is not dull at all.

This bird is not a bore.

 

Her feathers start as brightest blue,

Then yellow, red, and green.

If the garden was a monarchy

Then she would be its queen.

 

There’s a hustle then to meet her,

A bustle and a fuss.

“You don’t have to sit with Pigeon Grey,

Come here and sit with us!”

 

But the lorikeet shakes her head,

“I’d rather stay right here.

The world seems so much shinier

When Pigeon Grey is near.”

 

The other birds they bristle,

“It simply can’t be true.

He is drab and dreary,

He’s not half as bright as you.”

The lorikeet looks surprised,

“You don’t know him at all.

Pigeon Grey is marvellous,

He’s famed beyond your wall.

 

“Have you not heard his music,

As he wakes the morning sun?

If you’ve spent the afternoon with him

Has it not been loads of fun?

 

“Have you seen him cheer a baby bird

As it first takes to the skies?

Have you heard him tell a funny tale

With laughter in his eyes?

 

“Have you come to him with worries

And been sure he’d listen well?

Have you taken on the sage advice

That he will freely tell?”

 

“If you’ve ever asked him for his help

Did he make you wait?

I’m sure that you must know the truth.

Pigeon Grey is great!”

 

Pigeon Grey is humbled

But as he looks around,

His neighbours will not meet his eyes;

They all stare at the ground.

 

But then a tiny bird agrees,

“Yes, Pigeon Grey’s the best!

He taught me to be brave

When I was scared to leave the nest.”

 

And others pipe up too

With their tales that spring to mind.

Indeed, each bird does seem to know

That Pigeon Grey is kind.

 

Way down passed our shed,

Where the realm of humans ends,

‘Mongst the mottled bottle brushes

Live a hundred feathered friends.

 

And each one of those hundred

Cavort and romp and play,

But the one they all love best of all

Is dear old Pigeon Grey.

Birds of a Feather by Jackie Hosking

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There’s a paddling of ducklings in my lake
And a purr of pussycats half awake

There’s a trembling of finches on my lawn
And a purr of pussycats stretch and yawn

There’s a troubling of hummingbirds in my blossom
And a purr of pussycats playing possum

There’s a pitying of turtledoves cooing to their mate
And a purr of pussycats rubbing on the gate

There’s a quarrel of sparrows busy with their fight
And a purr of pussycats keeping out of sight

There’s a peep of chickens and a bevy of quails
And a purr of pussycats wagging their tails

But then, in the sky, is a murder of crows
And a prickle of pussycats hide in the rose

Do you know what I am? by Tabitha Page

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Click, clack, click, clack

No, I’m not a knick-knack

Do you know what I am?

Can you do what I can?

 

Crash, clang, bang, bash

Eyes flash the cymbals smash

Put me down, see me go

Watch me give a tuneful show

 

Walking, marching, shuffling too

Do you need another clue?

 

Wind me up and I will roam

Romping, plodding through your home.

In a fancy stripy jacket,

Making such an awesome racket.

 

A very long and curly tail

Swirling like a garden snail

Brown and fluffy, squashed flat nose

Arms and legs and curly toes.

 

Do you know what I am?

Can you do what I can?

 

I am of course a children’s toy,

A lovable pal for girl or boy.

A wind-up monkey with a hat

To chase away that sneaky cat!

 

 

 

The Dreamers by Monty Edwards

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Once a waddling goose and gander

On a search for something grander

Left their farmyard to meander

Down a stream.

Now the goose was named Cassandra

And the gander, Alexander,

With a new home by the water

As their dream.

 

They had found the farmyard boring

With the crows’ incessant cawing

And the sleepy dogs all snoring

Through the day.

While the river looked appealing

And it gave the pair a feeling

In their new home by the water

They would stay.

 

But the farmer had been boasting

Of the geese he planned on roasting

At a dinner he was hosting

For his friend.

So he searched in haste to catch them

And he speedily despatched them.

Thus the dreamers by the river

Met their end.

 

Fire by Jill McDougal

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Old Kangaroo and his mate Cockatoo

were travelling south

where the icy winds blew.

As night came around,

they found some flat ground

in the shade of a cave

where the river gums grew.

 

“It’s freezing down here,”

grumbled Old Kangaroo.

“But I’ll make a good fire

to warm us right through.

I’ve never seen trees

As enormous as these,

I’m sure I can find us a big log or two.”

 

So into the bush

Hopped Old Kangaroo,

Straight to the place

Where the biggest trees grew.

He was back in a while

With a humungous pile,

“This is great,” said his mate, “cos I’m shivering too.”

 

Then Old Kangaroo and his mate Cockatoo

fetched small sticks and big sticks

and old sticks and new.

They even took leaves

from the bushes and trees.

“This will soon warm our bones,” laughed the triumphant two.

 

As the fire came alive,

the old fellows threw

more branches, more logs,

and a giant tree or two.

Way up on high

they could see the sparks fly.

“I’m feeling much warmer,” said Old Kangaroo.

 

Then down from the ranges,

a little breeze blew,

and it whistled and whined

through the trees as it grew.

Soon everywhere

in the hot smoky air,

sparks from the roaring fire floated and flew.

 

“Now I’m … ouch! … much too hot,

complained Old Kangaroo,

“Well my feathers are melting,”

cried poor Cockatoo.

And as a fresh breeze

carried sparks to the trees,

the two silly friends were beginning to stew.

 

“Bushfire!” At last cried one of the two,

“Everything’s burning!

What are we to do?”

But try as they might,

it was too late to fight,

for feathers and fur were burning up too.

 

Yes, feathers and fur were burning up too –

Nothing was saved

as the fire roared through.

All the birds and the bees,

all the bushes and trees,

all the creatures that lived there,

had perished there too.

 

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

 

Many years later, a young kangaroo,

was travelling south

with his mate Cockatoo.

They stopped at the scene

where the fire had been,

and decided to camp

where the river gums grew.

 

“I’m shaking with cold,”

said one of the two.

“Let’s have a fire

to warm us right through.

I’ll get some sticks,

and a few little bits.

We don’t need too much –

just a small fire will do.”

 

 

“The Fur-O-Saurus” by Jaz Stutley

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The Fur-O-Saurus moved in one day

And I’m sad to say that it’s here to stay.

It raids the cupboards and fridge for food;

When you’re not looking, it’s up to no good.

Fur-O-Saurus; Fur-O-Saurus;

Its eyes and teeth are quite enormous.

Fur-O-Saurus; Fur-O-Saurus:

A cat or a dog; or is it a walrus?

 

The Fur-O-Saurus sleeps on my bed.

I have suggested the roof instead.

Rodents don’t interest it at all –

“A rat – what’s that? A mouse? Too small!”

Fur-O-Saurus; Fur-O-Saurus;

Its eyes and teeth are quite enormous.

Fur-O-Saurus; Fur-O-Saurus;

If there was a tune, this would be a chorus.

 

The Fur-O-Saurus is not polite.

It lazes all day and yowls all night.

It’s large and lumpy and striped and strange;

It has fleas and flies and mumps and mange.

Fur-O-Saurus; Fur-O-Saurus;

Its eyes and teeth are quite enormous.

Fur-O-Saurus; Fur-O-Saurus;

In a certain light, it is weirdly gorgeous.

 

I tried to donate it to the zoo:

“A Fur-O-Saurus – it’s old but new.”

But sad to say, they turned it down;

I’ll wait till the circus comes to town.

Fur-O-Saurus; Fur-O-Saurus;

Its eyes and teeth are quite enormous.

Fur-O-Saurus; Fur-O-Saurus;

What a spectacular performance!