Spring in the Arctic
came two weeks early
and Barnacle geese
No more stopping
for rests on their journey.
Three thousand k’s
is a humungous hop.
They cruise at the speed
we’d drive through town
with short bursts of
ninety-five k’s or so.
Marathon flyers
in feathers and down,
with climate changed seasons
just watch them go!
Spring Clean
How long since I tidied here?
I guess it’s been awhile.
I’ll take it one bit at a time
And start here with this pile.
When did I collect these shells?
Or that stick? Or those rocks?
It must have been at least a year
Since I last saw those socks.
Something’s growing under here!
And wait… Is that thing moving?
I’ve been here for an hour
And this mess is not improving.
What could smell so awful?
And why is that thing green?
Life’s mysteries unravel
When it’s time for a Spring Clean.
Spring Whether
The weather in Springtime is very uncertain.
It can’t decide whether it’s hot or it’s cold.
It doesn’t know whether to pour or to sprinkle
or whether to simply keep raindrops on hold.
The weather in Springtime is quite indecisive,
and that’s why you’ll find in a week, or a day,
it’ll rain and be sunny and cold and too hot.
We never know whether we’ll go out to play!
This poem was first published in The Caterpillar, Issue 20, Spring 2018. (As this is an Irish publication, their Spring edition was published in March.)
The poem also appears on my website, http://kristinmartin.net
kristin@kristinmartin.net
Fields of Spring
A wilderness of tea-trees
In our paddock playground
One free day in the midst of childhood
A day filled with everything
We are wild things,
Charging, ducking, hiding,
Flies swamping our sweaty faces
A dove, startled, flies up and
Petals fall like a sprinkle of rain
As we play
Cowboys and Indians
With imaginary guns
Bang! Bang! You’re dead!
Falling to the ground face-up
Wisps of clouds slide above
As if breathing in and out.
A spring in your step
Boing boing,
Spring’s in the air!
Boing boing,
Spring’s ev’rywhere!
Blossoms spring out,
Boing boing!
Bulbs are in bloom,
Boing boing!
Winter has gone,
boing boing —
It’s spring, it’s spring,
boing BOING!
Mr Snufflesworse’s sniffles
Mr Snufflesworse
is in a bad way.
He caught a cold
the other day.
Despite taking pills,
it won’t go away!
When he blows his nose
the bed rocks and shakes.
Boogers come out
as long as snakes,
and when he sneezes,
the whole street awakes.
His sinuses are
chock-a-block with muck —
there’s enough snot
to fill a truck.
And here comes more phlegm —
Yuck yuck yuck yuck YUCK!
If you ever have the pleasure
To uncover buried treasure,
Then I hope that you will keep my needs in mind.
Since I’m just a poor old poet
And I don’t care if you know it,
Just as long as you are generous and kind.
Though my poems can be funny
They don’t earn me lots of money,
So I’ll thank you for whatever you can spare.
Or instead just take a look
At “The Mystery Box”, my book,
For it may be you will find some treasure there.
An oak tree needs its acorns to
be planted in the forest soil.
But all it does is drop them on
the ground where they could quickly spoil.
An acorn is the oak tree’s fruit
containing seed and fatty food,
a kind of nut that bugs can drill
to lay their eggs where they can brood.
But once that acorn nut is used
by moths to make their baby’s home
the seed inside that acorn can
no longer live and can’t be grown.
Now squirrels are most passionate
about these tasty acorn nuts.
They eat them in large quantities
with cheeks so full they’re fit to bust!
They pick the perfect acorns last
and hide them in the forest soil,
returning in the winter-time
to dig them up and eat a meal.
But squirrels sometimes make mistakes,
forgetting where they buried some,
and so those planted acorns get
to grow as oak trees in the sun.
from “The Science Rhymes Book”
Sally’s Treasure
Sally McPhee’s a collector of keys.
She keeps them concealed in a drawer.
Some she has found just lying around.
But several she stole from next door.
She has keys that fit windows
and keys for the shed.
She’s got keys for a diary
she hasn’t yet read.
She has keys for a money box
owned by her brother.
And keys for the Volvo,
She has keys for a tool box,
her father’s great treasure.
To see him in search mode
gives Sally such pleasure.
She has keys that are ancient
and keys that are new.
Well, people are careless,
that’s Miss Sally’s view.
Sally McPhee’s a collector of keys.
She keeps them concealed in a drawer.
Her intention is clear.
That year after year,
she’s going to collect hundreds more.
Teacher Notes: by Jeanie Axton
What are the keys to engage children with poetry?
Check out this site especially the “Ten Top Tips to Engage Kids with Poetry”
https://www.thebookchook.com/2014/04/ten-top-tips-to-engage-kids-with-poetry.html
There is even a link to The Australian Children’s Poetry website.
Australian Children’s Poetry 