A schoolboy trudged along one day
late for school but on his way.
Dreamily became aware
of the much polluted air.
Rotting slime and yukky sludge
tadpole eggs and oozing mud.
The smell came from a bunyip near
stalking very quietly in the rear.
‘For ages now,’ the bunyip boomed,
‘beneath the mud I’ve been entombed.’
‘Freed at last by recent rains
I’m suffering dreadful hunger pains.’
‘Although against the usual rule,
I’m very fond of boys from school.’
Its jaws opened in a wide green grin,
Drooling at what could be welcomed in.
‘Please dine with me,’ it begged at last,
‘And help me break this dreamtime fast.’
This offer was declined with haste
the schoolboy lacked the time to waste.
Suggested instead some gumtips tender
followed by trees and a broken fender.
The bunyip took obedient heed
and peacefully settled down to feed.
It ate its way through twenty trees
forty cans and eighty bees.
But because it wouldn’t masticate
indigestion was its fate.
It moaned and groaned in dreadful pain
and swore never to eat as much again.
It writhed and rolled and turned bright green
the sorriest bunyip ever seen.
With legitimate excuse for being late,
the schoolboy reached the schoolyard gate.
Arrived in class with pleased relief
but faced his teacher’s disbelief.
‘The bunyip legend needs no mention
fifty lines and another detention.’
But ever after as a definite rule
that schoolboy was in time for school.
And always it was his guilty fear
that something stalking in the rear
Very vengeful and wide awake
suffering dreadful stomach ache
Still hunted for the tender treat
of a tardy schoolboy ripe to eat.
All traffic jams jump questions.
No one can lose a dog in a hurry.
Therefore every day has a shape.
All fires have a starting-point.
There is only one sky.
Therefore clouds like to move a lot.
All squares have four corners.
Fish rarely swim in circles.
Therefore the ocean may look flat.
Katherine said: Silly Shifts is a response to randomness – good old fun.
Bluster . . .
The sun is warm, the fish are biting
Snapper, squid and shoals of whiting
Ice-cream jingles sound inviting –
Summer’s on its way.
The breeze is up, the current’s running
Tourists bare their legs for sunning
Seagulls stealing chips are cunning –
Summer’s on its way.
The sky is bright, the waves are rolling
Zinc-nosed lifeguards are patrolling
Cricket-crazy kids are bowling –
Summer’s here – let’s play!
Sometimes in the sunshine,
Sometimes in the shade;
Hiking through a forest,
Marching on parade;
Sometimes seeking shelter,
When the sun is hot;
Sometimes craving sunshine,
When the weather’s not.
Sometimes we are wanting
Warmth upon our skin;
Other times we’re wearing
What can keep warmth in.
When the weather changes,
We start changing too.
So it seems the weather
Tells us what to do!
Monty says: Thinking about sunshine, I began reflecting on how our varied experience of it constantly affects us. Using brief couplets seemed to underline the changeable nature of the weather and our response to it.
Here come the Martians, green as peas
as my spacecraft lands in thick brown seas.
They swamp my ship like some disease
so I zap myself to the broccoli trees.
As I grab my fork-shaped Ultra-Stun,
the Martians squeak (in Martian) “Run!”
They hide beneath a buttered bun
but I take them prisoner one by one.
I’m having super-cosmic fun
when Humanoid Robot XP One
drones: Earth to Mars – this is your mum
do NOT play with your dinner son!
Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #45
(after Charles Causley)
I am the song that lifts the sky
I am the earth that flames the fire
I am the cloud that calls the flood
I am the stream that draws the sun
I am the tide that drinks the moon
I am the air that sings the leaf
I am the bird that stirs the branch
I am the tale that flies the word
I am the note that spreads the song
Katherine said: Charles Causley, the Cornish poet, was a wonderful children’s poet. His poem (that inspired my poem) is full of music.
I hope Mum’s packed a donut
in my play lunch for today,
I feel like something sugary and sweet.
A piece of carrot cake
would go down well, I have to say,
or chocolate cake, an even better treat!
Or even cubes of tasty cheese
with slices of kabana.
Let’s see what yummy snack my Mum has made…
One crummy little biscuit
and an overripe banana?
Would anybody like to do a trade?
Jenny said: Reading the latest “food” prompt poem, “Lunchboxing” reminded me of a poem I wrote several years ago along the same theme. I thought I’d share it with others who remember being disappointed with the offerings put in their lunch box.
I’m sure that I can eat an orange egg.
You do not have to plead. You needn’t beg.
I do not think that I have ever tried
An orange that’s been boiled, poached or fried.
Nor have I yet consumed an egg that’s raw,
Been neatly peeled, and sliced up into four.
An orange placed on toasted sourdough
Is not a taste sensation that I know.
I haven’t eaten egg as marmalade.
I’m not convinced that it would make the grade.
I know! I’ll mix the two into a goop,
And eat them as an eggy, orange soup!
I say to my mirror: “Well, how do I look?”
The mirror replies: “You use your two eyes.”
“No, you don’t understand! Tell me how I appear.”
“You come through the door and then you are here.”
“But mirror of mine, tell me what you reflect.”
“Whatever’s in front of me, as you’d expect.”
“So, mirror of mine, have you no more to say?”
“Only: ‘Why stand and stare? There’s a party today!'”
Monty says: The desire to look good for a special occasion is common to children and adults alike. In this, the mirror is an indispensable tool, but we still have to make the judgments ourselves.
Australian Children’s Poetry 