Hoo hoo hoo, and he haw hay
laughed the Kooka on his way.
After him the magpies chased
winging past in reckless haste.
What was it that the Kooka heard
to cause the magpies get so stirred?
An ornithologist rushed to meet
a magpie walking on two sore feet.
‘I’m scared to fly,’ the magpie wailed
‘They laughed at me because I failed.’
He then limped on, a bird unique,
an unhappy agoraphobic freak.
If you want to be happy
As happy can be,
Try not to keep asking
“What’s in it for me?”
Enjoy what you have,
(Perhaps quite a lot)
And give far less thought
To what you have not.
Be happy you live,
Be happy you grow,
Be happy you learn
What many don’t know,
Be happy to help
A person in need,
Be happy you’re loved.
That’s happy indeed!
Monty says: Like adults, children can look for happiness in the wrong places and become disappointed and disillusioned with life. My aim in the poem was to offer a simple recipe for a different outcome.
Santa had a problem—his special suit no longer fit.
It was snug around the tummy. When he sat, his trousers split.
One bight and early morning, Mrs Santa said:
“Dear, I must tell you something that I read.
I love you roly-poly, I love you as you are,
but if you took a health test you wouldn’t get a star.
It’s really most important to have a healthy heart
and if you want a long life, it’s not too late to start.”
Santa called in at the health club—the trainer checked him out.
She said: “We’ll plan a program that’ll work without a doubt.”
She booked him in for workouts three times every week,
then talked about his diet and told him what to eat.
He ate lots of fruit and vegies, chose grilled instead of fried
for every single main meal, with salads on the side.
He said no to morning tea cakes and had carrot sticks instead.
Whenever offered sweet treats, he firmly shook his head.
Santa also started walking quite early in the day
and soon those extra kilos began to melt away.
He said: “I feel fantastic, this year will be a breeze.
I’ll deliver all those presents without the slightest wheeze.
I won’t get stuck in chimneys or struggle up steep stairs
or stop to have a rest whenever I see chairs.”
Then on Christmas Eve, a problem as Santa dressed to leave.
His suit no longer fit him except for length of sleeve.
His top was loose and baggy where tight it was before,
and when he pulled his trousers up, they slid down to the floor.
He looked at Mrs Santa. “Whatever will we do?
Perhaps some safety pins? Could you sew a seam or two?
We need a quick solution for I really ought to go.
The children are all waiting and I can’t be late, you know.”
Mrs Santa nodded and tried to hide a smile.
“Thank goodness it’s late shopping. This will only take a while.”
So that’s why this year Santa won’t be wearing his red suit.
He’s got a brand new outfit. Mrs Santa thinks it’s cute.
It’s a bright red fleecy tracksuit for warmth in North Pole cold,
and a pair of sporty sneakers replacing boots of old.
For his head a woolly beanie instead of pom pom cap.
So if one Christmas evening you should glimpse a bearded chap
who looks a lot like Santa except he’s fit and trim,
don’t think that you’re mistaken, for yes, you’re right, it’s him!
On the first day of Christmas
My doggie brought to me
Last year’s Christmas stocking
In the bottom was a pea
On the second day of Christmas
My doggie brought to me
A chewed up Christmas decoration
For our brand new tree
On the third day of Christmas
My doggie brought to me
A dug up bone from last year
And dumped it by my knee
On the fourth day of Christmas
My doggie brought to me
An old Santa hat
Found under the old settee
On the fifth day of Christmas
My doggie brought to me
A bit of Christmas cake
To go with my cup of tea
On the sixth day of Christmas
My doggie brought to me
A striped candy cane
Stolen from the tree
On the seventh day of Christmas
My doggie brought to me
A string of Christmas lights
He thought needed to be freed
On the eighth day of Christmas
My doggy brought to me
A potato from the vegie patch
One less for Christmas tea
On the ninth day of Christmas
My doggy brought to me
A freshly baked mince pie
And eyes that pleaded “feed me”
On the tenth day of Christmas
My doggy brought to me
An old nativity book
Pages ripped out for me to see
On the eleventh day of Christmas
My doggy brought to me
Santa’s special cookies
Left out for Santa’s feed
On the twelfth day of Christmas
My doggie brought to me
A heart of Christmas cheer
Which was really all I need
Fly to the moon and share with me
Your dreams and angel dust
We’ll touch the stars and fill the air
With sparkles light and such.
Fly to the moon, look down and see
Blue oceans surge and swell
The fish will dance in moonglow,
Salty secrets yet to tell.
Fly to the moon and watch the earth
From way up high above
Turning ever turning
All magnificence and love.
Sparkle, sparkle, heav’nly gem,
Lead the wise to Bethlehem.
For their journey from afar,
You will be their guiding star.
Lead them onward to the west:
So they may be truly blessed,
As they offer gifts they bring
To the newborn infant King.
Star of hope: from heav’n a sign,
Lead them to the Child divine!
Monty says: I’d been trying on and off to produce a new Christmas poem since the “star” prompt (#35). Along came #49 “Christmas” and suddenly time was running out, but at last #50 “Sparkle” (cf.”twinkle”) got me going, with the above result.
Right across from my house is a garden sublime,
where it looks like it’s Christmas there all of the time.
There are several old pine trees all bushy and green,
with the largest brown pine cones that you’ve ever seen.
There’s a seat on the lawn that just looks like a sleigh,
simply waiting for reindeer to pull it away.
There are statues of angels turned up to the sky,
sculptured wings all out ready to fly, oh so high.
And then peeking round flowers quite pleased with themselves
are some colourful gnomes that could pass for the elves.
Now this garden belongs to a fellow called Dawes,
who looks very much like, the real Santa Claus.
He is jolly and round, with a beard snowy white
and he works in his workshop late into the night.
Each December he puts on a Christmas display,
that brings people to visit from far and away.
On the pine trees are baubles and lights that all shine.
There is tinsel, and snowflakes and gold stars divine.
Harnessed up to the sleigh stands a proud reindeer team,
with big Rudolph out front – his red nose all a-gleam.
All the angels now stand singing carols and hymns,
while the elves wear red hats each with festive white trims.
Now lean over close and I’ll whisper to you
a secret that’s known but to only a few.
A tale so amazing you may not believe
that magic takes place there on each Christmas Eve.
When darkness has fallen and shadows are deep,
the elves and the reindeer awake from their sleep.
All the angels fly over the sleigh sprinkling gold
and transform the old seat to a sight to behold.
A sack is now filled to the brim with bright toys,
for kind little girls and good little boys.
Mister Dawes dressed in red, then strides out to his sleigh,
quickly takes up the reins and flies quietly away.
It is just as the sun starts to rise Christmas morn,
that the reindeer fly quietly back onto the lawn.
In the instant they land things are back how they were,
All except for old Dawes, who is still dressed in fur.
As he’s done every year for a very long while,
He now looks to my window and gives me a smile.
I then nod and I wave as I sit there relieved,
again pleased that in magic, I’ve always believed.
Caroline said: This poem was inspired by the garden of my mum’s friend Sue – she loves Christmas and each year, when I was a child, we’d visit her in the lead up to Christmas Day. Her house and garden were always full of beautiful decorations and it seemed a totally magical place – as close to the real Santa’s house and garden as you could get.
Last night I saw something that
I’d never seen before.
This something that I’d never seen
was right outside my door.
It made me gasp aloud with shock
the moment that I saw it.
The something was so big and red
I couldn’t dare ignore it.
I quickly jumped out of my bed,
tip-toed across the floor.
I had to know about this thing
I hadn’t seen before.
As soon as I crept close to it
my heart began to race.
I saw the thing was not a thing
because it had a face!
My body shook from head to toe,
my mind was full of fear.
There was someone that I’d never seen
and he was very near.
I stared in shock at his red coat,
his boots of blackest black.
I saw the pompom on his hat,
the bulging big red sack.
And then I had to laugh out loud.
You know why, I’m sure.
That someone was not scary at all.
It was Santa that I saw.
Cautiously, creeping down the stairs,
carefully avoiding the creaks,
we stop
and take each other’s hand.
At the bottom we tiptoe,
trembling,
towards the door.
Almost afraid to breathe
we slowly, gently, push it open.
Beneath the twinkling lights
sit the gifts.
‘He’s been,’ we whisper
‘He’s been.’
(Published 2014 by Celapene Press, Short and Twisted and Thynks Publications Bards at Blidworth and Beyond Anthology)
Australian Children’s Poetry 