
“I form letters” by Julie Cahill
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We’re 10cc’s of water and
although the Earth’s our base
we recently went travelling
up there – in outer space.
An astronaut had drunk us
just before his rocket ride.
And so we were the stowaways
that hid in his insides.
Meeting different molecules
we made a lot of friends.
With some we only mingled
while with others we held hands.
While staying in the astronaut
we all kept nice and warm
and floated round inside him and
explored his body’s form.
Eventually he moved us out.
So off we raced in glee.
With other friends I think we were
all classified as pee.
We found ourselves inside a box
with membrane walls all new.
Its holes were just the perfect size
for water to get through.
We said goodbye to all our friends
as they were far too fat
to wriggle through those membrane walls
and join us for a chat.
Now squeaky clean we hung around
inside some holding pen.
Until we found ourselves inside
the astronaut again!

Harriet Heaven-Sent of Eastern Australia,
Packed her bags with her paraphernalia.
She waved farewell as she boarded the bus,
While friends and relatives made quite a fuss.
She had made them proud. It was such a surprise,
The day that Harriet won the grand prize.
Harriet Heaven-Sent, a writer of stanza,
An artist, a wordsmith had won the bonanza!
Harriet Heaven-Sent had written a ode.
She’d won a year’s residency at “The Farmyard.”
The retreat that inspires the most beautiful writing,
A remote island paradise – so rare; so exciting…
And after a year of running the farm,
Where each dawn the rooster crowed with alarm,
And the sheep followed close and the goats liked to munch,
On Harriet’s washing, for dinner and lunch.
Where the donkey would bray when Harriet wrote,
He-haw! Hee-haw! Not a melodic note.
And as for the harmony, the horses and cows –
Succeeded in raising Harriet’s brows.
Well the list did go on, but there was no escape,
As a burly great bull was parked at the gate!
So Harriet Heaven-Sent stayed for the year.
After which time she changed her career.
Yes, Harriet Heaven-Sent – was returned to her home,
She was air-lifted out – the writer of poems.
And to the dismay of all whom she knew,
Became a farmer! – Yes this is true.
So each year a chopper drops in a bard
A writer of stanza, to work“The Farmyard.”
And no one knows why but each year’s the same,
The bard returns home with a whole different aim.

Our Council gives us three bins,
Each has a special calling,
The red top is for general waste,
And the yellow for recycling.
And then we have the green bin,
That recycles plants and trees,
Egg shells and food scraps,
Organic waste and leaves.
The green bin is my favourite,
Because it’s nature’s gold,
Mulched and used as compost,
Its benefits unfold.
In the fortnight that it’s waiting,
For collection to take place,
In warmer months the process starts,
At a faster pace.
Lift the lid and feel and smell,
The heat as it meets the air,
And you will know that your green waste,
Won’t be going to waste elsewhere.

She spins her intricate web
Perfectly positioned between bending branches.
Invisible to unsuspecting insects, she waits.
Dinner is served.
Effort rewarded, hunger satisfied, she rests.
Rain lashes branches. She begins again.

Boing-boing,
I am, I am,
Boing-boing,
Spring lamb!
Boing-boing,
I’m lamb not ram,
Boing-boing,
Spring Lamb!
Boing-boing,
I’m lamb not ham,
Boing-boing,
Spring lamb!
Boing-boing,
At any price,
Boing-boing,
Lamb’s nice!

Flying Tale
The most favorite pet we ever had
was little ‘Peanut,’ named by Dad
The tiny fit upon my hand
soon sprung out
like a rubber band
When laying, he was Peanut Paste
fortunately without the taste
When chasing ‘Fly,’
our other dog
t’was left behind at every log
We watched Fly in the longest grass
grass that bent
while Peanut chased his . . . tail 😁

This one is a skipping rhyme or chant to celebrate the fruits and flowers of a Sydney spring.
Lilli pilli, loquat, cumquat tree
What shall we have for afternoon tea?
Wattle in the garden, jasmine on the breeze
Lilli pilli, loquat, cumquat please!

