Anzac Day
In two thousand and twenty,
We will celebrate,
Anzac Day a different way,
And we can all participate.
We won’t be going to the shrineBut, in the morning at 5.55,
We’ll observe a minute’s silence,
At the very end of our drive.
We can all stand as a nation,
Honour those who fought the war,
Whilst fighting our own battle,
Against this virus so obscure.
Wheels Song
I don’t know why I’ve got feet
when I could have had wheels,
for wheels go so much faster.
Imagine me flying down our street
not in my trainers or boots
but on wheels, with my ghetto-blaster.
Imagine people turning to stare
and all telling me to slow down
before I caused a disaster.
Imagine me gliding off into space
with a quick little nod to the Moon,
then simply going straight past her. . .
©Katherine Gallagher
The both of us, behind the door,
Me in my room, you in yours.
Firmer grows our friendship true
As from my bed I wave to you.
You see me from across the fence:
Our isolation consequence.
“Lockdown” is the word we hear,
Yet in your face I see no fear.
I’m looking forward to the day
When once again we both will play
Underneath the Southern sky,
No longer needing to ask why.
Staying safe with family,
Behind the doors it’s you and me.
And when tomorrow seems so long,
Your smile once more will keep me strong.
The sunlight glints across the grass
Touched by frost to a white old age
Of sober tints that will not last.
Soon the mist and shadows will slowly fade
And winter’s cloak will drop again
For one last glimpse of summer’s glory
At the beginning of an autumn morning.
©
Margaret Pearce
Tick goes the clock and then it tocks,
My feet are warm in fluffy bed socks.
Slippered feet whisper across the floor
There’s a soft click as mum opens the door.
I roll myself over and wake in a wink
As teddy gives me a one eyed blink
I know that the best is yet to come –
The smell of toast and a rumble in my ‘tum.’
Steaming bowls of porridge will be ready to eat
Oh! I do hope I won’t have to find Grannies’ teeth!
My Hero
My hero is a gentleman.
Named Jimmy Arkell,
Who recently turned 98,
Has many a story to tell.
He was a country boy to start,
And moved into the city,
Where he gave away his heart,
To a girl who was so pretty.
He has survived two wars,
Widowed and lives alone,
Around the corner from a school,
From his very home.
He walks past nearly every day,
The kids all know his name,
They say, “Hello Jimmy”,
And he greets them just the same.
He’s truly an inspiration,
And he still drives his car,
He is vibrant and full of life,
He is a shining star.
Should I ever reach that age,
I wish that I could be,
Half the person that he is,
It’s what I wish for me.
Mal Kennington Malone
Mal Kennington Malone
wasn’t good at games.
His classmates always laughed
and called him names:
dumb-chum, drophead,
you silly billy shark –
biggest flapfingers
in Bladestone Park.
I think I’ll try running –
I know I’m not bad.
I could really show ‘em,
he told his Dad.
He trained and trained
around an old dirt track;
he trained every day,
ran to school and back.
He trained and trained
and ran like a hare,
even trained when it rained,
racing everywhere.
When sportsday came,
he was first off the mark,
became the fastest winner
in Bladestone Park.
©Katherine Gallagher
Australian Children’s Poetry 