Poem of the Day

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Bullies

 

With the eye in the back of his head

he sees them coming —

 

eight-year-old breakers,

baby-hard, baby-soft.

 

Their space-machine, so elegant

could swallow him,

 

drown him once and for all

in a dish of air.

 

No use trying to rewrite the law:

they are the masters —

 

skills bred in the bone.

He freezes —

 

they expect it,

though a voice inside him squeaks

 

I … Words cut his tongue,

weigh in his mind like a bruise.

© Katherine Gallagher

(Published in Them and Us (The Bodley Head, 1993) and Ramshackle Rainbow (Macmillan Children’s books, 2001)

Katherine Gallagher is a widely-published Australian poet resident in London. She writes for children and adults and has poems in many children’s anthologies. About Bullies, she says, ‘I wrote this poem in response to bullying that I witnessed in a local primary school. Bullying is tragic and a big social problem; children become increasingly insecure and afraid. Sadly, they often don’t tell anyone, even parents and teachers, and this misery can affect them for the rest of their lives’. 

Poetry in the Classroom

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Today’s blog is aimed at teachers of primary and secondary students; it offers ways in which you might like to use this blog site or otherwise employ poetry in your classroom.

  • Research and find poems from poets listed in the A to Z of Australian children’s poetry and then give a class presentation
  • Check out at least one of the poetry website links on the blog site and tell the class what they found
  • Enter poems they have written into children’s competitions listed on the site
  • Write an email – or a letter – to one of the poets listed on the blog site
  • Write a poem and submit it to the site as the Poem of the Day
  • Invite a poet – or a community leader – to visit your school to read and/or recite poems at your school assembly.
  • Ask every child in your class to find a poem they love and create a class poetry anthology
  • Organise a poetry read based on poems collected for the anthology
  • Write a class acrostic poem using the teacher’s surname
  • Talk about free verse and read a verse novel to your class
  • Make a collection of poems displayed on the site (from the A to Z of poets) and from the Poem of the Day
  • Display a Poem of the Day written by a student on the class noticeboard
  • Find and share silly, short poems written by Anonymous
  • For a class assembly item, have the class present poetry connected by a theme (for example: family, food, games)
  • For a fun activity in class, have students talk to one another in rhyming couplets for a limited period
  • Raid home, public and school libraries for poetry collections and anthologies; when it’s time for DEAR, have students read from one of the books
  • After DEAR, each child share a poem they really liked
  • Memorise and recite poems found on the Australian children’s poetry blog site
  • Have class work together to write an article about poetry in their class and submit it to the blog site
  • Have students find children’s poetry websites and blogs not listed on the blog site and submit them as links

     

 

Feel free to send in information about how you employ poetry in your classroom if you’re a teacher. Or if you are a student, send in your thoughts, too! Send to dibates@outlook.com

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Poem of the Day

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Hot Summer Day

 

The seashells I’ve collected stink,

not one of them is pretty.

My cordial’s too warm to drink,

my sandwiches are gritty.

 

I’d build a fortress on the shore

but no one here will help.

I won’t go swimming any more

with jelly fish and kelp.

 

My face is hot, it’s getting pink.

I’ll turn into a peach.

I hate to grizzle, but I think

it’s time to leave the beach!

 

© Jenny Erlanger

Although I have many positive memories of the many Christmases I spent as a child on the Mornington Peninsula, eating sandwiches on the beach in the middle of summer, with no shade in sight, was not one of them. This poem comes from my volume of children’s poetry, Giggles and Niggles (Haddington Press, 2007)

Poem of the Day

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The Back of Beyond

 

“We’re going on a holiday.

We’re packing bags and GOING AWAY!

‘Away from it all’ in a camper-van.”

That’s how Dad announced his plan.

 

“Away from it all! Far out!” I said.

But Dad just grinned and raised his head

and muttered “Yes! exactly so.

The Back of Beyond is where we’ll go.”

 

“How long does it take to get to Beyond?”

I asked, but when he didn’t respond

I asked if there’d be other stops

along the way. Would there be shops

 

to buy some food? And would there be

interesting things to do and see?

“Away from it all!” How could Dad

think that was fun? Had he gone mad?

 

‘Beyond’ was not on any map.

Was this plan some kind of trap?

I told him: “Dad, I want to know

About this trip, or I won’t go.”

 

He promised lots to see and do:

A locust plague in Bugaboo

Kangaroo pies in Pinnaroo

Dingoes howling in Orrorooooooooooo….

 

DAD! What are you trying to do?

Names like that just can’t be true—

You’ve made them up, haven’t you.

I’m staying here in Woolloomooloo!

 

© Kate O’Neil   http://www.kateoneil.com.au

 

The above poem was placed second in the 2011 Toolangi CJ Dennis competition

Poem of the Day

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Bullies

 

With the eye in the back of his head

he sees them coming —

 

eight-year-old breakers,

baby-hard, baby-soft.

 

Their space-machine, so elegant

could swallow him,

 

drown him once and for all

in a dish of air.

 

No use trying to rewrite the law:

they are the masters —

 

skills bred in the bone.

He freezes —

 

they expect it,

though a voice inside him squeaks

 

I … Words cut his tongue,

weigh in his mind like a bruise.

© Katherine Gallagher

(Published in Them and Us (The Bodley Head, 1993) and Ramshackle Rainbow (Macmillan Children’s books, 2001)

Katherine Gallagher is a widely-published Australian poet resident in London. She writes for children and adults and has poems in many children’s anthologies. About Bullies, she says, ‘I wrote this poem in response to bullying that I witnessed in a local primary school. Bullying is tragic and a big social problem; children become increasingly insecure and afraid. Sadly, they often don’t tell anyone, even parents and teachers, and this misery can affect them for the rest of their lives’. 

Poem of the Day

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SCARED!

 

by Edel Wignell

 

One day the numerals were playing in the park;

They all seemed friendly, the game was a lark.

But six was scared, kept glancing around –

Ready to dash away with a bound.

The leader called them to stand in a row,

But six hung back, refusing to go.

‘I’m scared of seven at the top of the line.’

So why was six scared? Because seven ate nine.

© The Australian Society of Authors

 

Poem of the Day

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Blue Cheese and Honey

 

There lived a horse who liked blue cheese

Served on a plate upon his knees

And every day the meal he ate

was cheese he ‘d placed upon his plate.

 

While out one day he found some honey

and poured it all – so sweet and runny-

upon the cheese upon the plate

set on his knees and so he ate

But the honey he had taken

Could have been a BIG mistake!

 

Bees flying in a frenzied state

Made a beeline for his plate

The horse ran off and left the honey –

upon the cheese – all sweet and runny

 

Thousands landed on his cheese

consuming honey as they pleased

Till gorging on and sated soon

they droned off in the afternoon

 

The horse returned and placed the plate

upon his knees and he was pleased

to realise-at least the bees

had left his Blue Cheese – which he ate.!

 

So if you choose to eat blue cheese

served on a plate upon your knees

avoid the thought of honey dressing.

Blue cheese – alone -is quite impressing!

 

© 2013 Jill Carter-Hansen, jill@visionaryimages.com.au

MOBILE  0412 181101  

WEB   www.scbwi.org/Memberprofile.aspx?u=2971391104689993

 

 

 

Poem of the Day

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At the Park

 

Great sticks in hand

we marched along

in lines as straight as roads

heading to the forest

where trees stand tall in rows

 

A sudden halt

I ground my stick

look back way o’er my shoulder

he follows,  s l o w

stick trailing now

behind my little brother

 

Come on!” I cry

to speed him up

one last green stretch to cover

not knowing what the forest holds

it’s best we stayed together

 

He caught up fast

stick raised up now

and pointed like a sword

quietly we crept along

eyes peeled as we moved forward

 

tip-toe

 

tip-toe

 

tip-toe

 

tip 

 

We stop again

feet poised and still

and listen to the breeze

it brings the sounds of something

that lives within these trees

 

We feel it getting closer

hot breath and heavy steps

sniffing those who trespass

growling

then he leapt!

 

The fury of the dragon

was felt in flames of red

firing from his toothy mouth

smoke swirling round his head

 

We squeal as terror finds us

deep in this tree-lined forest

swords waving ‘round

as high-pitched cries

and beating wings surround us

 

Running hard

we stumble t’wards

the lit end of the path

an exit from the danger

a dragon’s angry wrath

 

Feet flying now

we cross the grass

and flop onto the mat

relieved, and breathing hard

we laugh … should we go back?

 

© Kristina Hoy

 

About the poet

Previously a full-time high school Science teacher, I now spend most of my time with my two young children. My poems are usually based on nature, written with the intent to encourage kids to explore, learn and connect with the outside world.

 

Contact Details:

km.hoy01@gmail.com

www.sandcastlesandskies.blogspot.com.au

 

 

 

 

Poem of the Day

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Naked Nonsense: Guundie’s Ridiculous Rhymes

The Big Release

 

Today will be full moon.

I feel a little jumpy,

eat candy with a spoon.

My pet is also grumpy –

the fickle armadillo.

He hums a ghastly tune

and rips my finest pillow.

I feed him a chocolate prune,

dress him in his favourite coat,

tie him to a hot balloon

and set him free to float.

 

Soon he’ll land, will run and roam

and I’m glad he left my home!

 

© Guundie Kuchling

Poem of the Day

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Rhyming Curse

I think my problem’s getting worse.

My every thought is thought in verse.

This habit’s now become a curse.

It happens all the time.

 

Each word inside me rattles round.

It plays with pattern, rhythm, sound

and won’t come out until it’s found

a perfect one to rhyme.

 

I wish I knew the way to mend

this most excruciating trend.

Just when will this affliction end?

What happens if it grows?

 

It’s shown no signs of stopping yet.

If I go on like this I bet

my brain will very soon forget

the way to think in prose.

 

© Jenny Erlanger