The knitters’ club
Eight year olds
With needles in hand
Wool under arms
A little craft band
Sit in a circle
At lunch break
On the oval
Life is great
This craft of old
It will never die
With these mini grannies
Knitting on high
Category Archives: Australian children’s poetry
’Wish for wings’ by Stephanie Boase
Leave a commentWish for wings
Oh, little bird
Sitting in the tree,
Why do you sit there
Looking at me?
The sun is shining
The air is clear.
Is that another bird’s
Song you hear?
You cock your head
And listen with care.
Then flutter away,
Soft wings, on air.
I wish that I
had wings like you
To glide on the breeze
Through the sky so blue
’Family photo’ by Stephanie Boase
Leave a commentFamily photo
Brush your teeth
Comb your hair
Dress up smart
To look the part
Gather together
Re-arrange
Bunch up tight
Now, move apart
Pick up the children
Brush off the dirt
Everyone still…
This won’t hurt.
Oh no,
Here comes a sneeze!
Look at the camera
‘Smiling please.’
Camera
Flash
Toilet dash
‘Dinner time!’
Adults chime.
Just one more
CLICK
“That’s a take!”
All the children celebrate.
Lolly bribes have worked a treat.
Now,
Let’s all go out to eat!
Spotlight on Stephanie Boase
Leave a commentAbout Stephanie:
Stephanie is head of special education at her school. She is currently on LSL and enjoying writing poetry.
Possums in the Vegie Patch
Possums in the vegie patch!
Stealing radishes at night.
Pulling off the leaves
Munching with all their might.
They didn’t like the basil much
But picked a leaf or two,
Nibbled juicy lettuce leaves,
Then found the radishes to chew.
They must have sent a message out
For friends to come around
And share the tasty radishes
They’d fortunately found.
A radish-feasting possum party
Held at this address!
You’d think they’d clean up afterwards
And not leave such a mess!
‘Pots and Pans’ by Louise McCarthy
Leave a commentPots and Pans
In the oldest part of Bygone Town,
You’ll find the restaurant “Pots and Pans.”
It says on the sign above the door:
“Established 1654.”
Staff and owners you won’t see,
And that’s the strangest mystery,
At the restaurant namely: “Pots and Pans”
A business that three centuries spans.
Pots and pans,
Pans and pots,
Lots of pans,
And lots of pots.
Bubbling, boiling,
Bristling, broiling,
Frying, cooking,
Sizzling hot.
Pressures building,
Lids are lifting,
Steam escaping to the air.
Fragrant, fruity, aromatic.
Tempting and inviting.
Knives and forks,
Spoons and splayds,
Saucers, plates and bowls.
Cups and glasses, tall carafes-
Upon oak tables fall.
Flickering flames from candle glow
Casting light on bluestone walls,
Show portraits of the owners gone –
Overseeing work goes on.
Kettle whistles loud and frantic:
Restaurant’s open!
Come on in!
Come on in everyone!
Come and get it! Dinner’s done!
Soups and pies,
Casseroles,
Puddings, flans and that’s not all.
Tea and coffee,
Milk and honey.
The cost is just one crown in money.
Concealed by masks and hooded cloaks
Are ghosts that keep the past awake –
Serving food to present folks
Of whom they won’t forsake.
A warm and homely atmosphere,
Engaging conversations,
Happy, merry, full of cheer;
These – the magic incantations.
“Pots and Pans”- three centuries old.
No – the owners never sold.
It is a favourite haunt of mine
A charming place – where I love to dine.
‘Don’t forget to visit’ by Louise McCarthy
Leave a commentDon’t Forget To Visit
I live at “Rose Cottage”, just up the road,
Then round the corner – there is no postcode.
It’s a little bit ramshackle – it has quite a slant.
Before the next storm I must fix it I chant.
But first I will start with a sign for the gate –
All shiny and new – I won’t hesitate.
Then when that’s up I’ll begin on the cottage,
And my home will be sound when I’m in my dotage.
And I’ll know it by name and I’ll speak of it fondly…
You’ll know where to visit – there’s a sign on the gate…
“Rose Cottage”
Spotlight on Louise McCarthy
Leave a commentAbout Louise:
“It is wonderful to have a creative writing assignment to look forward to every week. I thoroughly enjoy writing poetry in my spare time. I find inspiration in every day. But it is the weekly poetry prompt that motivates me to write one poem weekly”
Louise McCarthy.
Counting Sheep
In the wee small hours I awoke from my dreams,
The bleating of sheep was the reason it seems,
They were outside my window making a racket,
So I rolled out of bed and put on my jacket.
I spoke to the flock assembled outside.
I said “Look I’m really most dreadfully tired.”
But they still remained bothered – so I counted each ewe,
Plus the rams and the lambs – one hundred and two.
“I see what you mean.” I remarked to the flock.
“One lamb is missing.” – I glanced at the clock.
“It is well after midnight – it should be in bed.”
So for hours I looked. Then I looked in the shed.
And there on a sofa all cosy and snug,
Lay the little lost lamb under a rug,
Just where I’d left it twelve hours ago –
I’d spun it a yarn about sheep in the meadow.
‘Moon in the daytime’ by Kylie Covark
Leave a commentMoon in the Daytime
Oh moon, dear moon, it’s nearly noon,
I hope you disappear real soon.
It’s not that I don’t like your face,
But you should be some other place.
You’re really messing with my head,
Perhaps I’ll just go back to bed
‘The ostrich and the elephant’ by Kylie Covark
Leave a commentThe Ostrich and the Elephant
Since once upon a time, or perhaps even before,
The Ostrich and the Elephant had always been at war.
Whenever there was any fruit that children couldn’t reach,
The Elephant would use his trunk to pick a piece for each.
But Ostrich told them not to use that unhygienic hose.
“Oh! Don’t eat that! It has been picked by someone else’s nose!
My neck is long and agile, and so I will fetch your fruit.
You children shouldn’t socialise with such an oafish brute.”
In Madame Panther’s Day School, which was of highest repute,
The children studied hard to find the cause of this dispute.
But no one had the answer as to what had caused the feud.
Or could explain why two fine chaps would be so very rude.
Wise Queen Nefertiti – the very first zebra to reign –
Called a special meeting for the leaders of the plain.
“We must act,” the Queen began, “this nonsense has to end.
A golden chest for anyone who changes foe to friend.”
The animals all spoke at once: “It simply can’t be done.
That golden prize is priceless, but that price is too hard won.”
Then a silent, sleepy sloth opened up one eye,
“Tell those two that I would like a pillow from the sky.”
“Who is this clown?” The Lion roared, “he only thinks of sleep!”
But Nefertiti turned to him and urged the Sloth to speak.
“The Ostrich and the Elephant are stubborn, tough, and proud.
So, let us send them on a quest to pluck me down a cloud.
Of course, they can’t complete the task. I don’t care what they bring.
To weave a web of friendship, it’s the journey that’s the thing.”
Nefertiti thought awhile then she nodded her assent.
She wrote down the instructions and the royal decree was sent.
Two cheetah cubs then took the scrolls as fast as they could run.
They scorched across savannah sands beneath the midday sun.
The Ostrich grabbed a fishing net. The Elephant, a jar.
They planned to climb a mountain, though it did look kind of far.
They collected their provisions and started on their way,
They walked and talked and talked and walked throughout a night and day.
When they came upon the summit the whole world was in view.
Below them stretched out everything. But here it was just two.
And with sudden intuition, perhaps some magic too,
The Ostrich and the Elephant knew what they had to do.
The secret of their sorcery the world will never know,
But they came back arm in arm with a fluffy cloud in tow.
They went to Nefertiti and they both politely bowed,
Then presented to the Sloth his new pillow made of cloud.
The Sloth could not stop smiling; sleep was his greatest pleasure.
He told the Queen she could keep the gold chest full of treasure.
The unexpected afternoon had left the Queen quite stunned.
But she declared the gold would make a brand-new friendship fund.
“To foster fragile friendships,” was the fund’s stated intent;
The Ostrich and the Elephant would choose how it was spent.
And so once upon a time they invited every beast
To the most majestic party; the Ostri-phanto Feast!
Spotlight on Kylie Covark
Leave a commentAbout Kylie:
Poetry puts a happy hum in my heart. My plan for 2018 is to encourage as many people as I can to find the poetry in their lives. I will continue sharing poetry for children here, and for their mums and dads on my social media accounts @picklesandpords. Thanks for reading!
A Perfect Place to Sleep
Regarding you with such disdain
From on his throne
Of throw rugs that are
His alone,
He wonders if you’ll
Dare suggest
He moves an inch so
You can rest.
He shows a claw
Of warning;
This is his spot
Until morning.
He is comfy and
What’s more
There is room there
On the floor.
You sigh and moan
A bit
Then reluctantly
You sit,
And perhaps you’re
Going mad
But the floor is
Not so bad.
You might even
Take a nap.
But what’s this?
He’s in your lap.
He purrs. Pleased
With his leap.
What a perfect
Place to sleep.
Australian Children’s Poetry 