The Bear

Awakened from his sleep

down from the Forest Wilderland

the bear appears

to smell the river.

Upstream he stands – with

water pulsing past his feet,

beneath,

birds, shrieking in spring skies.

Sharp-eyed,

he watches salmon as they leap –

rivulets of hunger in his mouth.

His clasping teeth,

with sharpened claws,

grab the salmon flapping

in their grief.

He bears his prizes to the slippery edge,

skinning flesh

and finally crushing bones.

Turning

towards a warming sun,

he sniffs the air,

remembering then,

his recent sleep

alone.

© Jill Carter-Hansen 2014

P O Box 1381                                                                                                               

 Darlinghurst   NSW 1300                                                                          

 E jill@visonaryimages.com.au

Space Riddle

My face
Is as wide as a mountain.

When I give orders,
I roar in thirty languages
and the stars blink.

I live on thin air
and sleep with my eyes open.

What am I?

Answer: Nobody knows.

© Katherine Gallagher,
E:mail@katherine-gallagher.com

Limerick

The glorious lady Godiva,
Of fame we would never deprive her,
A nude horseback dash
Might seem crude, even brash,
But my gran has done worse for a fiver.

© Doug Macleod

Bad Sport

In the hush of night
with the door shut tight,
the toilet bowl goes bowling.
The toilet seat grows big flat feet,
and takes itself a’strolling.

But the toilet roll is a sorry soul
which sometimes goes berserk,
when it can’t cavort in toilet sport,
because of paper work.

© Bill Condon

Bill Condon has published several collections of poems including That Smell is My Brother, Rock and Roll Elephants and Don’t Throw Rocks at Chicken Pox. Bill’s latest book is a junior novel, The Simple Things (Allen & Unwin, 2014)

Pigeon-Watch

The pigeon struts
along the ledge:
he never gets
too near the edge.

(Published in The King’s Pyjamas, Belitha, (ed. Pie Corbett) 2001)
Katherine Gallagher,
E: mail@katherine-gallagher.com

© Doug Macleod

Cocoon

My sleeping bag is warm and tight.
I’ve wormed my way down deep.
Could someone please turn out the light?
I’m ready now to sleep.

I could be quite a while in here.
Take care of all my things.
I don’t intend to reappear
until I’ve sprouted wings.

© Jenny Erlanger

This poem won first prize in Jackie Hosking’s Rhyming Poetry Spring competition in 2013. Jenny has had ten poems published in “The School Magazine” and another two feature in Hopscotch (Jelli -Beanz Publishing 2007). Jenny’s book of children’s poetry, Giggles and Niggles (Haddington Press 2007) is currently out of print, but anyone interested in purchasing a copy can contact Jenny by email jennyerlanger@optusnet.com.au

Windy Night

I can hear the wind howling                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   like an angry dog.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        I can hear the door creaking                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  like a calling frog.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           Windows shake,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        dry branches rake                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                across the flapping shutters.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  The air is moving, swirling, crying,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   whistling through the gutters.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 In my bed                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       I lift my head                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             and sing like the wind all around me:                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           “Hello, halloo, what a hullaballoo!”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         If you can rage                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         then I will, too—                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           I dance like the wind all around me.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              “Hello, halloo, what a hullaballoo!”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  I sing like the wind all around me.

© Julie Thorndyke

Dad and Me

Last night I dreamt that the rain was coming,

It hung in the air; then I heard it drumming,

Skittering across the paddock nearby,

Black clouds marching across the sky,

The drought had ended; now we were free,

And we stood at the window — Dad and me,

Tasting the promise of a new beginning,

Feeling good — watching and grinning.

Our land had a million mouths to fill,

Each craze of cracks led down the hill

To a shallow crater — once a pond,

That now was full and flowing on, beyond,

Into creeks and rivers and out to sea,

But that didn’t matter to Dad and me,

We just prayed that the rain would not stop,

Till our dams were filled, right to the top!

When I awoke, it was a scorching morning,

Closing my eyes, I sat up, yawning,

In thrall of my dream, it seemed to me,

That all would be as I wished it to be,

Green upon green with raindrop splashes,

But my world was still brown – ashes to ashes,

I pulled on my clothes, there was no hurry,

I hid my hurt so that Dad would not worry.

We mended the fences, Dad and me,

They stretched as far as we both could see,

Where stock once grazed, but not for years,

And I confessed to Dad my secret fears –

We were out of luck and the farm was dying,

So I asked him why we kept on trying,

“Son,” he said, “Let me tell you somethin’,

Last night I dreamt that the rain was comin’”.

© Irene Buckler

At the zoo

There are lots of good things you can do at the zoo
When you get to the front of the queue at the zoo,
And lots of things you can see too at the zoo
When you’ve managed to work your way through at the zoo.

You can look at the wild kangaroo at the zoo
And the owls that go tahwit-tahwoo at the zoo
And the monkeys that go oo-oo-oo at the zoo,
But there aren’t any cows that go moo at the zoo.

There are llamas that come from Peru at the zoo.
There are Wildebeast known as gnu at the zoo,
But I think it is very untrue at the zoo
That you’ll find a horse in a canoe at the zoo.

The animals don’t use shampoo at the zoo
And the animals don’t eat fondue at the zoo
And the animals don’t do kung fu at the zoo,
But they can cause a hullabaloo at the zoo.

You can watch what the animals chew at the zoo:
They eat grass; they eat meat and bamboo at the zoo.
You can wait till they go to the loo at the zoo
And then watch it come out in their poo at the zoo.

When you’ve seen all there is you can view at the zoo
You had better not stay overdue at the zoo,
Or they might get a beast that is new at the zoo
In a cage – and that beast will be you at the zoo!

© Mike Lucas

Shakespeare’s
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7 Gawler Street
Port Noarlunga
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