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The New Ssstudent

 

Slithering, whispering

A snake came to class

Brightly glittering

Its scales like glass

 

Short, thick body

Banded with grey

Wiggling lure tail

Tempting for prey.

 

Terrible, horrible

It gave us a turn

But Mrs MacWinkle

Said, ‘It may wish to learn.’

 

Snake failed English

Again and again;

Snakes are not built

For holding a pen.

 

Snake could not learn

To decipher a map,

Of history and science

It knew not a scrap.

 

But to our surprise

That snake was able

To complete with a snap

The seven times table.

 

At sums and fractions

It couldn’t be greater:

Its mind was just like

The best calculator.

 

When we realised the truth

We could hardly be gladder:

Mathematics comes easy

When you are an adder.

Jessica Nelson
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #4

poetry-prompt-4

 

 

 

 

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A Letter from the Principal

Dear Mr. Smith and Mrs. Smith,

I’m writing you this letter

because your son’s behaviour

isn’t getting any better.

 

His writing is untidy and

his spelling is a worry.

He’s often late and consequently,

always in a hurry.

 

His recent science project

nearly caused a school disaster.

The explosion covered twenty boys

in clouds of ceiling plaster.

 

He’s been with us for twenty years,

or is it twenty two?

Dear Mr. Smith and Mrs. Smith,

just what are we to do?

 

He’s untidy and he’s silly

and he always acts the fool,

but still the students say he’s

the best teacher in our school.

Pat Simmons
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #4

poetry-prompt-4

Poem of the Day

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First Day

 

Are you ready for a big tomorrow

listening, leap frogging,

growing learning’s wings?

 

Are you ready for a big tomorrow

singing, seeking friends,  perhaps

learning not to cling?

 

Will you notice as

your tomorrows become todays

patterned by

the daily school bell rings?

 

Will you find each day might

have a surprise

like a snake catcher visiting with

super thin snake skin?

 

Are you ready for a big tomorrow

As your school journey begins?

 

June Perkins

Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #4

poetry-prompt-4

 

June said: With ‘First Day’ I started with the idea of a ‘big tomorrow’, and thought about yesterday, today, tomorrow, routines and surprises.

I also remembered a time when my son had a snake catcher visit his school and so the poem was born.

 

 

 

 

 

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Australia Day Fireworks

 

Explosions of colour burst out of blackness

In spattered circles of red and green

On the dark canvas of the heavens

 

Rockets streak skyward

Sending showers of silver stars

Above upturned faces

 

Children gaze open-mouthed

In awe and amazement

At the pyro technicians’ art.

 

Monty Edwards\
  • Submitted in response to 2016 Poetry Prompt #25

Poetry Prompt #25

Monty says: The explosions of bungers, jumping jacks and the humble Tom Thumb on “cracker night” in my childhood came immediately to mind with the prompt. Today’s fireworks are even more spectacular.

 

 

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Advance Australia (un)Fair

 

I think it’s time our anthem changed,

there’s something very wrong.

That third verse must be rearranged.

to validate the song.

 

“For those who’ve come across the seas”,

we can’t fulfill their prayer.

I’m really sorry, refugees.

We have no “plains to share”.

Jenny Erlanger

 

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Forty all

 

This is the tale of a horrid blister,

caused directly by my sister.

 

I borrowed her shoes for a tennis twosome,

and soon my heel became very gruesome.

 

First it rubbed pink, and then bright red,

and as I played, it bled and bled.

 

There were pools of blood all over the place

Some of it splashed as far as my face.

 

I used plenty of bandaids, criss and cross,

and kept on playing, splish and splosh.

 

I slid and slithered around that court,

never was a game so wetly fought.

 

But in all that blood, I lost the ball,

so the game was ended, forty all.

 

My blistered heel was a dreadful pain,

but sister said it was a bloody good game.

 

Margaret Pearce

 

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MEET THE HOPPERS

We live up on the hillside,

And our burrows dot the grass,

Where we play and romp and sleep,

And just watch the clouds float past.

 

Although it gets chaotic,

We can still have heaps of fun,
‘cause my family’s really large,
And I love them, every one.

There’s …

Auntie Flo whose strawberry RED,
And Uncle Bob who’s ocean  BLUE,
They’ve two little PURPLE bunnies,
My cousins one and two.

Auntie June is butter YELLOW,
Fire engine RED is Uncle Clive,
Their three little ones are ORANGE,
Cousins three, four and five.

Old Uncle Jock is deep sky BLUE,
Lemon YELLOW is Aunt Devine,
Lime GREEN are my other cousins,
Six, seven, eight and nine.

Dear Uncle George is WHITE as snow,
And BLACK as night is Auntie May,
Cousins ten to fourteen turned out,
Five different shades of GREY.

Then cousin Joy is tree-frog GREEN,
Her partner Pete is ruby RED,
They have six BROWN bouncing bunnies,
All tucked up tight in bed.

My Mum and Dad are both pure WHITE,
And I could never really see,
How I turned out like I did,
With COLOURED spots all over me.

I guess I have a bit of all,
My large family mixed in me,
But I’m happy, it’s who I am,
How I turned out to be.

love SPRINKLES

Sandra Hopf
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #3

poetry-prompt-3

Sandra said: I love writing in a quirky, fun style, but with still a lesson hidden in there. Most of my work tends to be rhyme as I simply can’t help myself!

 

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Flame Trees

 

Come November

the flame trees

begin to wear their fire.

Over there a winking ember

peeps cautiously

from a green crown,

hinting at Christmas

and stirring nervous thoughts

of fire in green places,

 

while nearby, an extrovert,

naked through winter,

makes a spectacle of herself

in the full flare

of a brand new red dress.

 

How do I look?

she asks seductively,

 

and even the old Jacarandas

in their cool quenching blue

offer nothing but

compliments.

©  Kate O’Neil
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #3

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Moonwatch

We’re studying the moon –

drawing it, remembering all the moons

we’ve ever seen.

 

Just now, through the window,

there’s a daylight-moon looking fragile,

egg-shell soft, pale white.

 

I’ve no plans to go up there

whizzing through the  blue,

landing on the pearly moon.

 

But I can’t stop thinking

about a blood-orange full moon

I saw inching up

 

into the summery sky.

It moved so slowly,

became a golden balloon

 

that never hurried.

I wanted to follow it,

catch it. But I never did.

 

© Katherine Gallagher

 

(Published in Read Me, (Macmillan, 2009, ed. Gaby Morgan)

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #3

poetry-prompt-3

 

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Billy Bonder and the Beautiful Belly Button Bubbles

 

Billy Bonder often pondered

While sitting naval gazing

Just what it was about belly buttons

He found totally amazing

 

The button turned nothing on or off

It seemed to have no use

Perhaps he thought its purpose was

To stop his bum from coming loose

 

So finally he thought it time

To try and make a start

And find some useful purpose

For this lazy body part

 

It was all that Billy thought about

‘til it gave him tummy trouble

And then one day by accident

His belly button blew a bubble

 

The pity was for all concerned

That it seemed that at the start

The only way to blow a belly bubble

Was to counter balance with a fart

 

But Billy took the time to practice

Even Mum was tickled pink

When he blew beautiful belly bubbles

Without the noise or awful stink

 

With his special new found skill

Billy Bonder shot to fame

The beautiful belly button bubbles

Meant everybody knew his name

 

While it was an innovation

And quite startling and new

Billy realised he would be old news

In just a week (or maybe two)

 

And he was right, it wasn’t long

Before someone had him beat

Jenny Jones from Jonbley Junction

Could knit jumpers with her feet

 

So while the button did him proud

And brought Billy fleeting fame

His belly button could now retire

And start collecting lint again

Sioban Timmer
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #2

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