Soul Alley
Boots in
the sky
Free footing it
High over
the wires
Ballet pumps
let loose
Shoes on
the sky way
Sneakers
scuffing cloud
Canvas loafers
floating
Kid shoes
lost…
Barefoot
at a cost.
Category Archives: Poem of the Day
Nomad by Katherine Gallagher
Leave a commentNomad
A blousy tent
on a slow-go trail
A leathery balloon
swaying jungle-free
A sail-eared face
playing cascades
A house on stilts
trimming waves of air
© Katherine Gallagher
Published in A Trunkful of Elephants, ed. Judith Nicholls, Methuen Children’s Books, 1994
Ten Tarantulas by Lynelle Kendall
Leave a commentTen Tarantulas
There are ten tarantulas
That live in a terrarium
Their names all start with ‘T’
There’s Tina, Tony and Tom Thumb.
Ted and Tilly (they’re the twins)
Then Terrance and Tryphena
To top it off there’s Tiffany
And Trix (our ballerina).
Finally there’s Tucker. He’s
The tenth “T’ in the group
Of hairy scary spiders
What a terrifying troupe!
Lynelle Kendall
Butterfly Mother by Dianne Bates
Leave a commentBUTTERFLY MOTHER
Dancing the tune of the breeze
She lifts her coat sleeves –
And freezes as if in prayer
To breed in the shady leaves;
Green confetti in air.
On the rib-case underneath –
A waxy seam of leaf,
Tiny eggs, colour of cream
Are stuck with butterfly paste.
Blue lady lifts as a dream,
Leaving them, to hatch or waste.
Who knows where she goes
Blue butterfly mother?
© Dianne Bates
Seeking Stardom by Monty Edwards
Leave a commentSeeking Stardom
There was a young man who once bought a guitar.
His goal was to strut on the stage as a star,
But when plucking a string,
It just broke with a “ping”,
So he gave up and didn’t get far.
Another young man bought a fine tennis racquet.
He dreamt of success that would make him a packet.
But his strokes were all wrong:
Balls he hit went too long.
When he saw any ball he’d just whack it!
A third wanted fame with a bat, playing cricket.
He went for a six, but fell onto his wicket!
“Owzat!?” came the shout.
Then the umpire cried: “Out!”
So, for fame then, the bat was no ticket.
Monty Edwards
Monty says: For would-be stars, the right equipment is only one ingredient for success.
Clown Stuff by Katherine Gallagher
Leave a commentClown Stuff
“Put that cauliflower in the colander,
not on your head, you fool!
It’s no time now for climbing the ladder
to the loft. Come on down
or you’ll be late for Clown-School.”
© Katherine Gallagher
Icon Mystery by Meg Mackey
Leave a commentI am geometrically perfect
I am several hues of blue
I quiver on a perfect arc
My ovals three times two.
But wait, there is another
Oval, perched out on a limb
Is it meant to be my head
On a body oh, so slim?
My head, if that is what it is
Is a different bluish blue
Am I really me, have I fluttered have I danced
Or am I but an icon, something digitally enhanced?
Meg Mackey
White Button, Red Button by Lynelle Kendall
Leave a commentWhite Button, Red Button
If everything is going well,
And you can say, “I’m feeling swell!”
Then press the button on your right.
It’s cool and calm and painted white.
But if your life is in a mess,
The red button’s the one to press.
Sound the alarm, in just a tick,
We’ll all join in and “PANIC!”
Lynelle Kendall
The Corkscrew by Jenny Erlanger
Leave a commentThe Corkscrew
Rattle, rattle, off we go.
At last we start the ride
and even now my stomach’s jumping
up and down inside.
Clackety – clack, we’re climbing up,
right up into the sky.
We’re at the top, I’m shaking now,
I know I’m going to die!
I grab the sides and close my eyes,
I’m really scared to death.
I scream, I yell the whole way down
till I run out of breath.
My eyes are sore, my mouth is dry,
my stomach leaps and churns.
My head is knocked from side to side
with all the twists and turns.
And all my little inside bits
are tangled like spaghetti.
I’m prickling almost everywhere,
my hands are cold and sweaty.
The carriage stops, and out I hop
and maybe I’m insane …
But I can’t wait to join the line
and do that ride again!
Jenny Erlanger
First published in “Giggles and Niggles” (Haddington Press, 2007)
Jenny said: This poem was inspired by the memory of my son’s reaction to his first roller coaster experience. Having just told me that he’d felt like he was going to die, he begged me to let him have another ride.
Refugee Girl in the Playground by Duncan Richardson
Leave a commentRefugee Girl In the Playground
Watching you
I see a pale string
drifting out the door
stretching back
to where your parents died
in a faraway war.
In class you hold books
as if they were gold
squeal with delight
when the computer comes on
and now you smile
clap your hands
your voice tap-dances with English
making it hum
in mysterious ways.
You eat your lunch slowly
every bite precious
eyes scanning faces
looking for a smile
a spark of welcome
making the day
learning so much
teaching too.
Duncan Richardson
Refugee Girl in the Playground by Duncan Richardson placed third in the 13th Kathleen Julia Bates Memorial Writing Competition.
Australian Children’s Poetry 