Hello dear Goose, it’s time for tea
So please come over and sit with me
I have some cakes and a sticky bun
I think that we shall have some fun
Buster goat has brought some bread
And although he carried it on his head
With strawberry jam and Vegemite
I’m sure that it will taste alright
Thank you Duck, it does look sweet
I’m glad he didn’t use his feet!
Oh look dear Goose, the Man in the Moon
Do you think that we can go there soon?
Of course Duck dear, we both shall fly
Out of the night, into the sky
Just close your eyes and rest your head
And tuck your feet up in the bed
For when you dream the moon you’ll see
And the Man within shall give you tea!
Oh look dear Goose, it is the sun
Is he smiling down on everyone?
Or is his radiance just for me
For I am a good little duck you see?
Of course Duck dear, he shines for you
And all the other creatures too
He gives us light and makes us warm
And dries us out after a storm
Oh dear Goose, how very clever
I hope the sun shall shine forever!
The sea gulls are in from the beaches,
Wheeling above the roof tops —
(Kiirr, kiirr, skreeik!
Such lovely voices they have) — or
On the grass in the park,
Like a flock of well-behaved cockies;
A brightly white grazing bird mass.
The gulls are in from the beaches.
Soon we’ll have some proper inclement weather;
Skies of storm-cloud, wind and rain howling, and
Perhaps if we are good,
LIGHTNING!
Enjoyable, memorable, coming with thunder,
Blustering unchallenged to skies east in elsewhere.
Soon it will be back to ordinary,
Water retreating to safety ‘neath lush green grass,
Or spread all wet and puddly on asphalt.
(What a way to go!)
Weather must be really bad to be really good.
I hate cold wet miserable gray glum old days to gloom, and
I hate mud, but
Squiddily, iddily, uddily, squd
Sometimes there are no times like those spent in mud,
But you need a steam-cleaning to be human again,
And a steam-cleaning’s fun;
So bring on the rain!
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.
The tortoise has a solid shell
And this protects it very well.
If frightened and it wants to hide
It tucks its head and legs inside.
Although its movement’s rather slow
It still gets where it wants to go.
Despite its most ungainly gait
You’d never say it’s running late!
Books and pens and scratching chalk
Gotta think but you’d better not talk
Stop that running. Can’t you walk?
You must obey the rules.
Rewrite this page – and keep it neat.
Please don’t fidget with your feet.
Please sit properly on your seat.
Don’t you know the rules?
Perhaps you did not hear me mention
that you have to pay attention?
If you don’t you’ll score detention
writing out the rules.
Writing rules? I’d like that gig.
Creative writing’s what I dig.
Woo hoo! Stand back for something big
when I write the rules.
Jumping, biting, annoying,
Sneaky little flea.
Scritch, scratch, scritch,
I have a terrible itch.
How do I ditch this itch?
A flea on board,
Becomes a terrible game.
Flea twister is no fun,
Trying to find the little biter.
Take off your clothes,
And jump into the sea,
Swim, dive, and float,
Surf a few waves.
No more itch,
Wash those clothes,
Peace at last,
No more sneaky little flea.
The photo man’s getting quite hot in the face,
he really is looking a mess.
He’s spent a whole hour trying to get us in place
but he hasn’t had any success.
Annabelle’s tripped over Christopher’s chair
and Bethany’s started to bleat
’Cause Ben spat his chewing gum into her hair
after stomping on both of her feet.
Emma keeps poking her tongue out at Rose,
Alison’s taking a nap.
The girls in the front are adjusting their bows
and won’t keep their hands in their lap.
Tom’s spilled the drink he’s been secretly slurping
all over the back of my neck
and someone above me keeps farting and burping.
The photo man’s looking a wreck!
He’s glaring at me and I wish I could hide,
he’s just about out of his mind.
But it’s hard to keep both of my hands by my side
when I’m poked in the ribs from behind.
We’ve finally stopped all the wriggles and squeals
but I’m not sure the photo’s still on
’cause the photo man’s suddenly turned on his heels
And he’s packed up the camera and gone.
Slithering, whispering
A snake came to class
Brightly glittering
Its scales like glass
Short, thick body
Banded with grey
Wiggling lure tail
Tempting for prey.
Terrible, horrible
It gave us a turn
But Mrs MacWinkle
Said, ‘It may wish to learn.’
Snake failed English
Again and again;
Snakes are not built
For holding a pen.
Snake could not learn
To decipher a map,
Of history and science
It knew not a scrap.
But to our surprise
That snake was able
To complete with a snap
The seven times table.
At sums and fractions
It couldn’t be greater:
Its mind was just like
The best calculator.
When we realised the truth
We could hardly be gladder:
Mathematics comes easy
When you are an adder.
Dear Mr. Smith and Mrs. Smith,
I’m writing you this letter
because your son’s behaviour
isn’t getting any better.
His writing is untidy and
his spelling is a worry.
He’s often late and consequently,
always in a hurry.
His recent science project
nearly caused a school disaster.
The explosion covered twenty boys
in clouds of ceiling plaster.
He’s been with us for twenty years,
or is it twenty two?
Dear Mr. Smith and Mrs. Smith,
just what are we to do?
He’s untidy and he’s silly
and he always acts the fool,
but still the students say he’s
the best teacher in our school.
Australian Children’s Poetry 