Have you ever heard a kangaroo
Go ah-choo, ah-choo, ah-choo?
Have you ever seen a koala
Wearing a balaclava?
Cold kookaburras like to laugh,
But have you ever seen one wearing a scarf?
Owls make hoots
But don’t wear boots,
And as for wombats,
They don’t need hats.
So how come you and I will sneeze,
In the midst of winter’s icy freeze?
Outside my window
Black cockatoos
Walk on the grass
searching for bugs and worms after the rain.
Outside my window
currawongs hover, seeking space between cockatoos,
hungry for bugs and worms after the rain.
Outside my window
plovers land and take off again.
Too many others searching for bugs and worms after the rain.
No room for eggs here.
Outside my window, magpies chase away the larger birds.
They won the yard today.
(In response to prompt #2 What’s Outside Your Window?)
As this is Jacinta’s first contribution to Australian Children’s Poetry we thought you’d like to know a little bit about her:
I’m a writer living in the bush in southern Tasmania with my black pug, Bellatrix. When I’m not writing I look out my window to Kunanyi, Mount Wellington, and watch the many birds foraging in the trees and on the grass. I write for children and hope to publish picture books.
As a sleepy Moon yawns, “Good morning, Sun”,
The rising Sun whispers. “Good night, dear Moon”.
And Sally laughs, it seems such fun,
When Daddy sings his favourite tune
To Sally, she is Daddy’s daughter,
Watching clouds seek out the deep blue sea,
to gather drinking water.
And all of this in the month of June,
As I stare up high at their red balloon.
Before a gentle breeze sends them on their way
To a timeless land, where dreams do play.
And when I wake from my dreamland rest,
My pillow reveals, a hollow nest . . .
where thoughts and dreams did interplay
Once night had found out where I did lay,
Until daybreak. As slowly, gently, each one is brushed away
Like cobwebs. Finite particles . . .
Fragments, from life’s infinite array.
Then throughout the day my mind is soothed,
as other memories come and go.
Of my little Sally, playing, only eight years old,
Too young to see, to young to know
Why her daddy would be gone to war,
Not with the armed forces, but to fight the law.
To provide a new life, for them all to share,
In a land where people really care.
For Sally plays in the dust and rubble, of the Arab sand,
Bombed daily, and in constant trouble,
as others fight for their land.
As her mother tends to her mental pain.
And her brothers and sisters cry out,
for these acts are insane.
Knowing Daddy promised a new life, away from it all.
She said she imagines me, speaking at the foreign podium,
Standing firm, proud and telling them all,
That his Sally is watching them,
to make their judicial call.
To let our family live, with hope, and peace.
And to make the constant mental anguish cease.
(In response to World Refugee Day prompt #3)
“how do you write a poem?”
the youngster cries.
“i hear with my ears,
and see with my eyes–
i pick a thing, a seed,
to softly blow, and blow,
and blow into a dangly,
loopy bubble…
seeing how it stirs,
or bulges,
and how my mind believes,
reflects, indulges
in its pause; and does it
look for trouble?
quicken the heart?
or make one feel so smart?
all these things a poem is,
once nothing, into synthesis.
you have a go now!
and let me know!”
I’m on the Harry Potter train,
in the highlands bold and bleak,
racing through a Scottish glen,
where mist clings to every peak.
The soul of Scotland calls to me
whichever way I look,
from wind-rushed heather on the hill
to every stony brook.
Teacher’s note: The Jacobite steam train, used as the Hogworts Express in the Harry Potter movies, runs between Fort William and Mallaig. This 84-mile round trip is regarded as one of the world’s epic rail journeys.
Half asleep I pulled up my blind
and saw two men from Mars!
They were in the garden, watching me,
too big for any vase.
With special alien fingers
and huge galactic eyes,
no wonder my friend Philip said
they’d come down from the skies.
How can one describe them?
Thousands of little bays.
We’re on the Royal Mail boat.
It only runs two days.
Little coves with just one house,
they must love this isolation.
The boat drops in to leave them goods,
like a train at every station.
Rugged hills with ferns to cover,
I wonder how folk live.
Plenty of fish and wildlife
They’re hardy to survive.
This way of life is not for me,
I cannot live on just beauty,
without the comforts of my place.
I need to see a friendly face.
(In response to prompt #2 What’s Outside Your Window?)
We turned a corner and there he was,
towering in the air,
a gorgeous dog with enormous eyes
and wheat dust in his hair.
He didn’t bark, he didn’t move,
he gazed out from the wall,
beside his master, for all time,
the biggest dog of all.
Teacher’s note: This silo art is at Nullawil, Victoria, so named because the local indigenous word “nulla” is a killing stick while “willock” means a galah. Both items appear on the medal attached to the dog’s collar.
I sat and watched the night steal in,
across the barren plain,
where a bowl of salt and water
will seize the sky again.
The fire of day lies frozen
in water still and wide,
and the lake will paint the sky
and the two will scarce divide.
Teacher’s note: Lake Tyrrell, a vast salt lake, is located near Sea Lake in northern Victoria.
We’re marooned in a caravan
and the rain is pouring down.
It’s pounding on the roof top,
a relentless, driving sound.
There’s a moat forming around us
and the ducks are moving in.
We could be here for days and days.
It could be sink or swim.
But inside the caravan,
It’s cosy, warm and bright.
We’ll dream of sun and sea and waves
While it buckets down all night.
(In response to prompt Winter Waves)
Australian Children’s Poetry 