Image compiled by Celia Berrell & Pixabay
Cautiously, creeping down the stairs,
carefully avoiding the creaks,
we stop and take each others hand.
At the bottom we tiptoe, trembling,
towards the door.
Almost afraid to breathe
we slowly, gently, push it open.
Beneath the twinkling lights sit the gifts.
‘He’s been!’ we whisper. ‘He’s been!’
Blobs of jellyfish dot the sea shore
Why are they there? I’m not sure.
Their gooey bodies spoil the view
Interrupting the spotless blue.
They are in the way of my feet too!
Original artwork by Gemma Creegan
The start of Summer for me
Means tea under the Jacaranda tree.
Sitting on a carpet of purple flowers
I can read and dream for hours.
The birds tweet from on high
As I wave the blossoms goodbye.
The months become colder
I will turn a few months older.
Soon another year will go
Again, the Jacaranda will grow.
Original artwork by Gemma Creegan
You say I haven’t listened
to a word you’ve said today
or to anything you’ve told me in the week.
But I think, in my defence,
that it is pretty fair to say
when I’m in the mood to listen, you don’t speak.
An emu family crossed the road
not a single care in sight,
unconcerned about all the cars
and what could possibly be strife.
Halfway across all traffic stilled
the mob stopped and looked around
“Whats is all the fuss about?
We are on our way, Homeward bound!”
I saw a curious clock
built into a wall.
It made me very curious
seeing such a clock at all.
Now, I don’t know
what’s behind it,
and I don’t know
how they wind it!
I know it’s been up there
for many, many years,
And when I heard it chime,
it was music to my ears.
Teacher’s note: Discuss the adjective “curious” with students. It can mean (1) eager to know or learn something, as well as (2) strange or unusual.
We’ll run down swiftly to the beach
and jump into the sea,
where rolling waves will cool us down —
we’ll stay till half past three!
But when it’s time to pack and go,
you’ll hear us groaning then —
climbing up all those steps
will make us hot again!
I stare into the hollows
of his smiling, bony face
and I wonder how he looked
with all his other bits in place.
Was he beautiful or ugly?
Was he fat or was he lean?
Was he just a little weakling?
Was he built like a machine?
Did he have the smooth complexion
that belongs to movie stars?
Was his face a mass of pimples
or of scary-looking scars?
The skeleton says nothing
but I’m judging from his grin
that he’s rather glad he’s free
from all that muscle, flesh and skin.
A small object of fate
Sits on a leaf of green dew
Hidden in his smallness.
Little red and black creature
Crawling along endless stems
Paths that lead overboard
Crossing over lines with tiny feet
Pattering towards safety.
In a safe blanket of grass and daisies
Hunting for a crumb of food
Or a bed untrodden by feet.
Illustration by Gemma Creegan
Australian Children’s Poetry 