Burnt
We’ve seen what a vengeful old planet can do
when it chooses to mount an attack.
The sky is no longer a pure sheet of blue
but a vile, toxic blanket of black.
These raging infernos have beggared belief
as they’ve flaunted their merciless force
and all round the world we’re united in grief
over trauma they’ve wrought in their course.
We mourn for the people who’ve already died
for the lives ripped apart at the seams,
for all the communities sadly denied
any chance of fulfilling their dreams.
The loss of our livestock and wildlife as well
has created a harrowing void
and as for the creatures surviving this hell,
their homes in the bush are destroyed.
It’s ever so hard to express the despair
that engulfs us right down to the core.
But we Aussies are tough and, as one, we’ll prepare
for whatever may next lie in store.
AN AUSSIE BUSH SUMMER
Golden dust veils the scalding sunset,
And eucalyptus leaves droop weary.
Heat strangles each breeze at birth,
And all the bush is quiet and eerie.
A lonely road wanders lost between
the fences; some cattle, black and still.
Lost interest in the grass —
And waiting for that dry creek to fill.
Nightfall claims the leavings of the day,
And branches reach out long and shady.
The country’s parched and breathless,
Till once more, spring steps like a lady.
Red Admiral
In mid-January a Red Admiral butterfly
flew in front of the Lygon Street bus,
past crowds of summer shoppers
and the searing sun.
Dust was rising, mixed with smoke.
I wondered what would happen to the butterfly
as it flapped and flapped around curves of air.
Butterflies are not confident
in the way a bus is confident,
and Lygon Street was no place for a Red Admiral –
all that summer traffic and not a stinging nettle in sight.
At the Dinosaur Picnic
Dandy dinosaurs dancing
Dreamy dinosaurs drinking
Dexterous dinosaurs dinking
Dainty dinosaurs dazzling
Devilish dinosaurs diving
Dozy dinosaurs dallying
Delicate dinosaurs dawdling
Book spell or how books keep me happy during the holidays
My room is always lined with books
full of adventures, animals and strange characters.
Books, they’re my friends, hiding in nooks,
giving me surprises
Before I know it, I’m caught just fine,
in the mysteries of a book.
Prickly bindi-eyes sting my feet
when on the summer grass I walk.
In everyone’s backyard I’ll meet
Prickly bindi-eyes!
And even when tip-toed I stalk,
hoping their menace I can cheat,
I fail — and you can hear my squawk!
Bindi-eyes love the summer heat,
And I — I’d need eyes like a hawk
To avoid them in ev’ry street —
Prickly bindi-eyes!
Blue Tongue Tales
In a warm suburban garden the blue tongue lizards meet
to talk about the goings on up and down the street.
Other creatures listen, green tree frogs and snails.
Possums peek between the leaves to hear the blue tongue tales.
What about young Billy Blue Tongue? They say he’s running wild.
He won’t go hunting with his Dad. He is a lazy child.
He sneaks up to the humans’ house at number forty-four
and eats the cat’s food from its dish – yes right outside their door.
‘My Tim hangs out at thirty-seven,’ Mrs. Tree Frog said,
‘they play loud music which he loves. He just won’t come to bed.
He hip hops up and down their path, the silly little joker.
The problem is he wants to be a rapper, not a croaker.’
By now a crowd has gathered to join in the conversation.
‘Without a doubt our children are the Urban Generation,’
sighs Mrs. Barbara Bandicoot whose wayward daughter, Lou
has dug a deep and messy hole at number twenty-two.
In a warm suburban garden the blue tongue lizards meet
to talk about the goings on up and down the street.
Other creatures listen, green tree frogs and snails.
Possums peek between the leaves to hear the blue tongue tales.
The Sloth is Happy
How happy is the sloth:
There is not a soul so idle.
To see him casually hang from branch
You’d think him suicidal.
How peaceful is the sloth,
His manner so content.
One tree remains his lifelong home;
For which he pays no rent.
How joyous is the sloth,
For he doesn’t have a job.
Within one tree he sleeps and eats;
The social life he snob.
The sloth remains my friend and pal,
A delightful, harmless mammal.
He has no need for a turtle’s shell,
Or the long legs of a camel.
Forever walking upside down
My sloth, you look exquisite.
If of your tree you ever tire,
I hope you’ll come and visit.
If you go to the Milk Bar today,
You might find something in your way.
With chocolate topping in your eyes
You’re bound to get a big surprise.
Whipped cream dripping from your fingers,
Something in there lurks and lingers.
You’d better take your dad and mum,
Because you’re far too little
To handle the walnut brittle.
It’s going to get in through your ears.
It’s going to open up your fears.
When you’re hiding under the bed,
You’ll feel the pain inside your head.
The cavities will bring you down,
Because you’re far too little
To handle the walnut brittle.
Now quickly lock your bedroom door.
Your teeth will drop out on the floor.
You’ll feel the pain from all the honey;
You can’t afford it: got no money.
Take my advice and stay at home,
Because you’re far too little
To handle the walnut brittle.
Australian Children’s Poetry 