A queue of curious pelicans
A cue of queueious pelicans
The English language
Never ceases
To amaze
And amuse
Mother counted sixty four
swans and pelicans
on Lake Colac once
when I was a child
in the days
when the lake
was full
before
climate
change
hit.
Virginia says: I wrote this poem for exactly the reasons given in the poem. The memory, and amusement at ‘curious’ and ‘queue’.
Pelicans
by Bridh Hancock
I have often seen these fine big birds,
Above the waves or in the sky,
Lords of the shores and the upper air.
They certainly know their worth, they do,
These fishers who seek a beak-full of fish.
They don’t say much, as I can tell,
But fisher-folk know them very well
As exceedingly skilful and persistent.
Oh yes, they know their worth, alright,
These seekers of stealth with a fondness for fish.
We cannot see or hear them,
yet we know when each arrives.
We love them, hate or fear them
as we stumble through our lives.
They fire away like crazy
somewhere deep inside our brain.
They prod us when we’re lazy,
get us back on track again.
They don’t ask for permission
from the moment that we wake
to set out on their mission
to control the moves we make.
It may not live an hour
as its life is pretty short
but there’s no denying the power
of a solitary thought.
Jenny says: I have always been fascinated by the capacity of a seemingly immaterial thought to create physical or emotional responses in human beings.
Kudos to the queue – not cue
(for that’s a hint or hit for billiard ball)
Kudos to the queue – not coupe
(for that’s a shock surprise for city hall)
Kudos to the queue – not coo
(for that’s what doves and grannies tend to do)
Kudos to the queue – not Que
(For that’s a Tassie river … yes, it’s true!)
Kudos to the queue – you knew
This had to end and now the end is due
But kudos to the queue – a row
Of sailor’s hair or pelicans you know.
Must our poems rhyme
ALL the time?
No. Not so.
Don’t you know
Some verse is free
Like a fish in the sea?
But personally, I prefer my fish
Served on a regular dish
(With chips).
Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #5
Author Comment: The poem is something of a joke at my own expense, since I find it difficult to break the rhyming habit, but sometimes the ideas in a poem refuse to yield to the constraints of rhyme. This is admitted by the final line of the poem.
These three short poems were submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #5.
An arthritic arachnid with eight knobbly knees
Sought medical help for her painful disease.
Her doctor prescribed her with cream to rub in
But the problem was how and just where to begin!
By Nadine Cranenburgh
My old dog Spot
is hard to spot
when hiding in my bed
He’s found a spot
all soft and hot
curled underneath my head
{Nadine says: The aim was to include a word that has multiple meanings.}
Little Jack Horner
Sat in the corner,
Eating his Christmas pie
He ate it all, every crumb.
‘What’s for seconds?’
he asked his mum.
Please tidy your room Tim,
I’ve asked you ten times.
Can’t it wait ‘til tomorrow
I’m solving some crimes?
I’m tired of asking,
Now do as I say.
Two seconds Mum, promise,
I’m still on e-bay.
That’s it Tim, I’ve had it,
I’m coming to look!
Give me a minute Mum
I’m on Facebook.
I’m tired of texting you,
Open this door.
Now I’m doing my homework
Mum, don’t be a bore.
I’m coming in Timmy,
I’ve had quite enough.
I’m opening the door Tim,
I’m tired of your guff.
Good grief, your room’s tidy.
And Tim, you’re not here.
No I’m texting from Tom’s place.
Ha ha mother dear!
He walks the beach
Collecting driftwood
Calm carries on the sea air,
Hunks of timber now distressed.
Turned by the lathing waves of the salted expanse
How enduring they are,
So far from their green beginnings
He inhales and smiles
As the breath escapes he muses
I guess we have a lot in common
He will take them in
Find new life in their random forms
They are a seaside distraction
A salty breeze on city days in his urban garden
Serenity obtained in a memory of beachcombing
Sioban says: I like how this poem has a sense of textures – wood, sand, water and the effect that they have on each other.
Animal Feed Available at Restaurant
MENU
Please note our special of the day:
(eat it here – or take-away)
Rye-grass pellets dipped in swill
lightly fried or from the grill
Perhaps your choice is a la carte:
hay or lucerne, pie or tart.
Bonemeal biscuits served with slops
(fewer calories than chops)
Seasonal silage steamed or fried
sautéed birdseed on the side.
And should you feel inclined to quaff
please place your order at the trough
In between the happy times, I sometimes have sad days.
My tear ducts sweat and my stomach turns. My silver lining fades to grey.
My sister – she throws tantrums. My brother – he slams doors.
The one time I saw Mummy cry, she slinked slowly to the floor.
There are some solemn days when people are sad with you.
Like when I lost my grandma, my grandpa lost her too.
I’m sure the house gets lonely when we’re all asleep.
And on some nights, when the scene’s just right, the neighbour’s puppy weeps.
I know my Dad gets sad sometimes. In fact, he’s sad a lot.
But no matter how glum he seems to be, Daddy says he’s not.
Sometimes he’s blue but peaceful. Some days he’s mad and red.
On other days he’s so far down he can’t get out of bed.
But I know he’ll get better. Mum thinks he will too.
She tells me, “Love, he’ll make it out as long as he has you”.
Soon he will be happy, but, until that time,
I’ll just be glad that his imperfect life is one with mine.
Sadness finds us, day or night, to remind us all to give.
It lets us know that our happy lives are better shared than lived.
Patrick says: I used this as the stimulus for a Social and Emotional Learning discussion with my Year 5s late last year. It was inspired by several conversations I have had with students about mental health – particularly the differences and similarities between emotions and illness.
Australian Children’s Poetry 