Creating Poetry
Some wear their heart on their sleeve,
Whilst others invest in words,
Sometimes in the form of poetry,
Allowing themselves to be heard.
Taking the opportunity,
To sift through muddled thoughts,
Seeking a type of clarity,
Words on a page that are caught.
Then harnessing the words,
Forming some sort of order,
Making sense of them all,
Before gluing them together.
And, when it is finished,
Words cast in cement,
Sentiment and message delivered,
Produce a passage that’s relevant.
Hidden Writing
Some write with pleasure since young,
Some find writing homework a chore.
Some don’t write much at all
Or, write later in life when they’re bored.
Writing is a hidden gift for some,
Late bloomers are like a late flowering flower
Some are just blooming late,
having doubts from the start until,
they finish with flourishing power.
A recent rain
to quench and share.
A cloudless night
to cool the air.
The slightest breeze
to chill on cue
the grass and leaves.
Here comes the dew.
The stage is set
for dawn’s sensation.
Jewel-studded
condensation.
Blanket-strewn
on grassy stems
are rainbow-sparkling
water gems.
first published in CSIRO’s Scientriffic magazine No 85, July 2013
The pen flew up in the air
A pencil followed next
the stapler did a little jig
across the writing desk
The ruler stomped his wooden feet
A window opened wide
Then all the pretty writing paper
rose up and blew outside
The writer sat and pondered
What will I write of next?
With all this chaos going on
here on my writing desk
Brain Fight
I need to write a poem but I don’t know what to write.
I want to write a poem but my brain’s put up a fight.
I wonder if I trick it – if I lure it somewhere good –
It’ll let me write my poem. Boy, I really wish it would!
If I make a cosy spot for it with lots to keep it busy,
I can grab my pen and paper, and then write until I’m dizzy. But…
My brain is much too clever. It sees right through my plan.
It says ‘A poem’s good, it’s true, but let’s go visit Gran!’
And I say ‘Good idea!’ And I’m heading out the door
When I realise that old brain of mine has tricked me like before.
So I go inside and sit back down and try to start again.But…
This brain of mine, this bane of mine, jacks up with all the strain.
It says ‘Not now, not here!’ It says ‘Not there, not then!’
It says ‘But you’ve got other jobs more pressing. Let’s do them!’
But I say, ‘Come on Brain Box. The other things can wait.
They’re little things, they’re easy things… A poem’s something great.’
Again my brain’s protesting: ‘A poem takes too long!
It’s tricky with that rhyme and stuff. I’ll get the rhythm wrong!’
And now we’re on to something: my brain is filled with fear.
So I coax it very gently and I tell it that I’m here.
I tell it that together we can get this poem done,
That even though it seems quite hard it might, in fact, be fun.
But still it kicks and screams a bit, and finds one more excuse.
So I chase it, and I pounce on it! Who let this brain run loose?!
And then at last I realise that this brain is mine to tame.
It’s mine to take control of. I can stop its silly game. So…
I shock it into action. Yes! I take it by surprise.
And here, before its noticed, is my poem!
That’s my prize.
Writing
Writing represents to me
Reflections on paper,
Inspirations shared,
Tremendous satisfaction,
Intersecting thoughts,
Noting concepts with order,
Giving form to random ideas
I’m honing my craft, I’m writing new words,
Creating a poem the world hasn’t heard.
Astutely I’m thinking and taking my time
Concluding each stanza with eloquent rhyme.
I’m making a statement, declaring my voice,
Concocting a piece that will help me rejoice.
Proudly I write down these words with my pen
So that many may read them again and again.
I’m hopeful I’ll gain your attention today
As my thoughts are released in a whimsical way.
It won’t take me long to state my desire
My wrist is in motion, my dreams won’t expire.
In the morning I woke with fresh sounds in my ears
And needed to mould every noise I could hear.
Acutely aware of a wont to succeed,
Into the paper my ink had to bleed.
Each day is a chance to do something unique;
To rearrange letters and let your mind speak.
There’s nothing within here I need to defend,
With relief and contentment I welcome the end.
Australian Children’s Poetry 