It seems to me
that I can see
fingers in the sky.
Cloudy fingers,
each one lingers,
as I’m passing by.
See Salt by James Aitchison
Leave a commentHave you ever seen salt
far from the sea?
Salt that’s still as salty
as salt can ever be?
It’s salt in far Lake Tyrell,
a salty lake, you see,
and tastes even saltier
than salt does from the sea.
Teacher’s note: Lake Tyrrell is a salt-encrusted depression in Victoria’s Mallee district.
“An Acrostic Weekend” & “Don’t Lose Your Thong in Geelong” by Ronan Redmond (age 8)
Leave a commentAN ACROSTIC WEEKEND
Footy is always a very fun sport,
On weekends you always have to be a good sport.
On Sunday, I like to call it a fun day!
Tackling is very dangerous,
Your footy teams have all been to the finals once!
DON’T LOSE YOUR THONG IN GEELONG
There was once a man from Geelong,
Who wore out his size-10 thong.
His feet were bare,
But he didn’t care,
He walked all the way to Hong Kong.
Acrostic & Limerick poems by Ronan Redmond
Foster Boxer by Jeanie Axton
Leave a commentThis poem was inspired by a news story I watched, then researched, about a boxer named Treasure, who became a mum to eight little piglets on a farm in Queensland.
Eight cute little piglets
grunting and squealing today
because a boxer named Treasure
came bounding their way
A stray herself
Treasure played her part
taking the eight little piglets
straight into her heart
She rounded them up
with cuddles and licking
her milk came in
with the suckling and kicking
On a farm with eight kids
and eight piglets in tow
Treasure the Boxer
put on a great show
She now has a family
Treasure loves them to bits
a boxer and eight piglets
the perfect farm fit
Born to Drive by Jenny Erlanger
Leave a commentI tell Mum when to go
and when to stop, at every light.
I tell her she should know
to keep pedestrians in sight.
I say she has to show
she’s turning left or veering right.
I help her with the most important stuff.
Already I’ve begun
to dream of how it’s going to feel
when I become the one
who gets to sit behind the wheel.
I think of all the fun
I’ll have when driving cars for real.
For now, though, back-seat driving is enough.
Outside My Window In Vienna by James Aitchison
Leave a commentA pair of pants blocks my view,
I can’t see down the street,
there’s fresh new snow upon the waist
and every icy pleat.
The lederhosen shop next door
makes leather pants like these,
and they hang a pair made of iron
to dangle in the breeze.
(In response to What’s Outside Your Window prompt #2. Teacher’s note: Lederhosen are short or knee-legth leather breeches often worn in German-speaking regions.)
Sneezin’ Season by James Aitchison
Leave a commentHave you ever heard a kangaroo
Go ah-choo, ah-choo, ah-choo?
Have you ever seen a koala
Wearing a balaclava?
Cold kookaburras like to laugh,
But have you ever seen one wearing a scarf?
Owls make hoots
But don’t wear boots,
And as for wombats,
They don’t need hats.
So how come you and I will sneeze,
In the midst of winter’s icy freeze?
Outside My Window by Jacinta Lou
Leave a commentOutside my window
Black cockatoos
Walk on the grass
searching for bugs and worms after the rain.
Outside my window
currawongs hover, seeking space between cockatoos,
hungry for bugs and worms after the rain.
Outside my window
plovers land and take off again.
Too many others searching for bugs and worms after the rain.
No room for eggs here.
Outside my window, magpies chase away the larger birds.
They won the yard today.
(In response to prompt #2 What’s Outside Your Window?)
As this is Jacinta’s first contribution to Australian Children’s Poetry we thought you’d like to know a little bit about her:
I’m a writer living in the bush in southern Tasmania with my black pug, Bellatrix. When I’m not writing I look out my window to Kunanyi, Mount Wellington, and watch the many birds foraging in the trees and on the grass. I write for children and hope to publish picture books.
Red Balloon by Stefan Nicholson
Leave a commentAs a sleepy Moon yawns, “Good morning, Sun”,
The rising Sun whispers. “Good night, dear Moon”.
And Sally laughs, it seems such fun,
When Daddy sings his favourite tune
To Sally, she is Daddy’s daughter,
Watching clouds seek out the deep blue sea,
to gather drinking water.
And all of this in the month of June,
As I stare up high at their red balloon.
Before a gentle breeze sends them on their way
To a timeless land, where dreams do play.
And when I wake from my dreamland rest,
My pillow reveals, a hollow nest . . .
where thoughts and dreams did interplay
Once night had found out where I did lay,
Until daybreak. As slowly, gently, each one is brushed away
Like cobwebs. Finite particles . . .
Fragments, from life’s infinite array.
Then throughout the day my mind is soothed,
as other memories come and go.
Of my little Sally, playing, only eight years old,
Too young to see, to young to know
Why her daddy would be gone to war,
Not with the armed forces, but to fight the law.
To provide a new life, for them all to share,
In a land where people really care.
For Sally plays in the dust and rubble, of the Arab sand,
Bombed daily, and in constant trouble,
as others fight for their land.
As her mother tends to her mental pain.
And her brothers and sisters cry out,
for these acts are insane.
Knowing Daddy promised a new life, away from it all.
She said she imagines me, speaking at the foreign podium,
Standing firm, proud and telling them all,
That his Sally is watching them,
to make their judicial call.
To let our family live, with hope, and peace.
And to make the constant mental anguish cease.
(In response to World Refugee Day prompt #3)
Bubble Poem by Marcus Ten Low
Leave a comment“how do you write a poem?”
the youngster cries.
“i hear with my ears,
and see with my eyes–
i pick a thing, a seed,
to softly blow, and blow,
and blow into a dangly,
loopy bubble…
seeing how it stirs,
or bulges,
and how my mind believes,
reflects, indulges
in its pause; and does it
look for trouble?
quicken the heart?
or make one feel so smart?
all these things a poem is,
once nothing, into synthesis.
you have a go now!
and let me know!”
Australian Children’s Poetry 