Dr Seuss said it all:
‘A person’s a person,
no matter how small’.
Let’s say the same for a village:
It isn’t the size that matters,
but how many hearts
call it home.
VILLAGE by Graham Seal
Image from Pixabay
Butterflies all flutter by,
On soft and gentle breeze.
They float like clouds in deep blue sky,
Like leaves falling from trees.
If I could be a butterfly,
Up high within the air,
What could I see on land below?
How would I feel up there?
Would I wave “Hi” to all the birds,
As they fly on their way?
Would I hear what the wind whispers,
To trees that bend and sway?
Would I see all the animals,
On farms and roaming free?
Would I see fish, or whales even,
In lakes, rivers and sea?
Would I look down and see myself,
With smile upon my face,
And know my dreams can take me there,
To every happy place?
Take Me There by Rod Loader
Artwork: YOU ARE HERE by Hayley Gillespie
I am a white chihuahua,
I’m very, very new,
I’ll make you laugh — ha ha ha,
at all the things I do.
Sniffing empty shoes,
trying to bite a chair,
barking at the front door
when nobody is there.
My ears are quite unique,
as you can plainly see,
my eyes are both enormous,
as soulful as can be.
I’m always very hungry,
for food I’ll always scrounge,
but when I’m very good,
I can get up on the lounge!
Button, born 20 October 2025.
Photo by Philip Webster
Tumberlina has ten toes,
stumble-bumble, up she goes!
Her weeny foot slips on a stair
and now her toes are in the air.
Giggle-wiggle, with a hop
she’s off again to reach the top.
Photo from Pixabay
Bright white cotton for its feathers,
Beak hooked from grey-black twine,
Whitish stitches for its eye-rings,
Dark glossy beads for eyes.
A strong yarn for its feet and claws,
Its crest, a yellow fleece —
A sulphur-crested cockatoo!
I hope it doesn’t screech!
Image by ChatGPT on reading Linda’s poem
When I have nothing else to do,
I look up at the sky.
There’s always something happening,
as clouds go rolling by.
I like to watch the colours change,
there’s always something new;
and after it rains I might see
a beautiful rainbow or two.
I think I’ll become a pilot —
how good does that sound?
Then I could be up in the sky
instead of on the ground!
Wattle Glen sky. Photo by Philip Webster
I’m off to the land of Teeny Tiny,
that’s where I’ll go today.
I’m the size of a sweet pea
and I’ll adventure far away.
Flying on my butterfly –
I’ve named her Charlotte Rose.
We’ll visit the land of mermaids –
ladies with no toes.
Flying low across the sea,
I spy them on some rocks.
Gracefully singing and combing their hair,
wearing bikini tops.
Their tails are sparkling
in the sun,
As they smile and
ask us to join their fun.
We fly down and land
on an outstretched arm,
as they all gather around
to tell us a yarn
of days gone by
with fishermen and boats.
How they saved men’s lives
and kept ships afloat.
We listened intently,
Charlotte and I,
Then thanked them,
saying, “It’s time to fly.”
Their graceful hands
wave us goodbye
As we fly up high
into the sky.
And head towards home,
to my garden with flowers.
To dream some more
and adventure for hours.
Artwork: YOU ARE HERE by Hayley Gillespie
It’s back-to-school time! We hope you connect with some fabulous friends in FEEL-GOOD FEBRUARY.
Send your poetic inspirations to Linda Davidson at:
Date prompts include:
Picture Prompt:
Artwork: YOU ARE HERE by Hayley Gillespie
The farmer’s made a start;
he’s loading bales of hay.
His dog is watching on
as sunrise greets the day.
It’s been a busy week,
with little time for sleep
and Geordie’s bred to work,
rounding up the sheep.
Together they set out,
across a paddock green;
a flock of sheep to shear,
way off and still unseen.
Geordie‘s sent to search;
he’ll bring them through the gate
and down toward the shed
where sharpened shears await!
The farmer knows his dog
and thinks he’s pretty good.
He trained him from a pup
to work just like he should.
A distant view reveals,
a swirling swarm of wool;
a fleece on every back
will keep the cutters full.
Geordie’s calm and quiet;
he sweeps from side to side.
Such a willing worker,
delights the farmer’s pride.
The mob’s in and job’s done,
he gives a little praise
with voice and gentle smile;
there’s kindness in his ways.
They go from dawn to dusk,
both farmer and his dog.
Geordie’s by his side
through heat or winter’s fog.
Shearing, lambing, drenching;
the seasons have no end.
He couldn’t be without
his faithful canine friend.
Dream on Geordie Junior;
you’re only eight weeks old!
Best to stay and play for now,
before you join the fold.
There’s time for you to grow,
so have a little sleep.
Your turn will surely come
rounding up the sheep.
Image from Pixabay
Like skeletons on their way home,
Waving their hands in the air,
The trees at dusk look alive
And I wonder what secrets they’d share.
What troubles disturbed their peace?
What have they witnessed this day?
What birds graced their branches,
What kangaroos passed this way?
Soon they will fade into night,
Another day will be done.
And the bush will sleep until morning
And the blazing of the sun.
Dusk in the bush. Photo by Ginette Pestana
Australian Children’s Poetry 