In County Down,
there’s no brighter green,
and the peaks and valleys
are a sight to be seen.
‘Tis old Ireland they sing of
when bleak winter falls,
and by firesides the heart of
Ireland still calls.
And when storms the crags
of the mountains have crossed,
they tell of great battles
forgotten or lost.
Close your eyes and picture a dog:
A Maltese terrier crossed with a poodle.
She’s a lovely dog is Izzy,
And she’s proud to be a moodle.
Moodles have oodles of energy,
And they’re always very busy.
They run in circles everywhere
And never ever get dizzy —
(CRASH)
— like Izzy!
My favourite colour is purple.
My favourite food is cheese.
I’m very fond of Saturdays
when I can do whatever I please.
My favourite season is Autumn
When the leaves are red and brown
I like to cycle up steep hills
and glide the same way down
My favourite animal is zebra.
I love those crazy stripes.
Magpie is my favourite bird
dressed in black and white.
My favourite place is the seaside,
the waves, the sand, the spray.
I swim and surf and jump the waves
and play around all day.
But last, not least, I have to say
are the ones I can’t do without –
my family, friends, my little dog
are my favourites without a doubt.
It’s morning in the valley,
the air is crisp and sweet,
the irrigation’s on
before the noonday heat.
The cows are grazing quietly
the day’s work has begun,
across Australian farms
a living must be won.
Teacher’s note: This morning scene was captured at Moyhu in Victoria’s King Valley.
The fighting is over.
Put down your gun.
Then look around you.
Tell me – who’s won?
The cities are flattened,
wreckage glints in the sun.
Look all around here.
Which side has won?
The soldiers go home.
They follow the sun.
They look all around.
Has anyone won?
They fought for their countries,
every daughter and son.
When we have peace;
the war will be won.
In response to November prompt Remembrance Day.
We remember the fallen,
Those left behind.
We honour their service,
And why they died.
They paid with their lives,
So we could have more.
They fought and they died
In the War to End Wars.
Lest we forget.
In response to November prompt Remembrance Day.
We have covered him with real flowers
and taken him from country to country.
It’s always the same journey –
people standing in the streets
silently saluting
as we carry him by.
And our hands tremble
under his weight,
our eyes are shocked
by the riddle of tongues
presenting the same paradox
in every country –
the whole human voice as background
shrilled to fever
about keeping the guns at bay.
In response to November prompt Remembrance Day
For five years across the fields
Brutal shells crashed down.
Destruction claimed a savage cost
In every ruined town.
Lethal waves of metal rained,
Stole eight million men.
And when the guns fell silent
They said, “No war again!”
But the hearts of men are dark,
War runs through their veins.
It seems that peace is fragile
Compared with wartime’s aims.
In response to November prompt Remembrance Day
Teacher’s note: When the First World War ended on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day, 1918, everyone called it “the war to end all wars”. Using this poem, students can discuss why wars break out and how we can avoid them in future.
How can those poppies
with flimsy-thin petals
blaze in bright red?
The answer’s now settled.
With three layers of cells
for light to shine through,
the mid-layer is colourless,
leaving just two.
Their red-pigment cells
are packed in a muddle,
shaped like the pieces in
jig-saw puzzles.
With red hues so dense
and gaps in odd ways,
those bobbing field poppies
can dazzle our gaze.
In response to November prompt Remembrance Day
Inspired by https://www.zmescience.com/science/poppy-color-petal-structure-2463625341/
‘How poppy petals create striking colors despite being thinner than your skin’
They’d hoped he’d be back for Christmas –
the lights shining down on him, the tree
somehow shielding off the horror. A break.
The family hadn’t seen him as a soldier,
in his uniform, among harvested paddocks,
the dried stubble that pricked your legs.
Arriving home, he said Merry Christmas,
hugged people and slapped them on the back.
Wandered about the place, eyes crinkled
with strain, lines dug
into his forehead. So young, he seemed
to be either laughing or very sad
as though, in between,
there was nothing.
In response to November prompt Remembrance Day.
Australian Children’s Poetry 