She twisted into awesome shapes,
her limbs like sticks of foam.
I wish someone had said you’re not
to try this out at home.
I should have stuck to juggling balls
or spinning plates instead.
It’s not much fun when both your legs
are stuck behind your head!
First published as “Circus Act” in The School Magazine (May 2015)
There was once a little cricket,
Who was happy as could be.
He was chirpy before breakfast.
He was chirpy after tea.
He was chirpy when the sun rose
He was chirpy when it set.
When it comes to being chirpy,
No more chirpy could you get!
At one time when he was chirping
As the sun came up at dawn,
He was hopping through the flowers;
He was jumping on the lawn;
But, quite suddenly, a sprinkler
Shot him with a shower of spray
And he didn’t feel like chirping
Till the sprinkler went away.
Now this jolly little cricket
Really loved to have a dance,
He would look around for partners
When he ever had the chance.
They would waltz around the kitchen;
They would jig right down the hall.
Where they really kicked their heels up
Was the weekly cricket ball!
Monty says: Lacking inspiration, I tried imagination and hit on a cricket ball!
Humpty Dumpty
jumped in the sea.
Humpty Dumpty
sank instantly.
All the young mermaids
and their mermen
couldn’t get Humpty
to surface again.
Katherine says: I like the note of panic hinted at in your #26 prompt. It reminded me of my poem ‘’Humpty Dumpty’ which is jokey, a cry for help in a sense, but very tongue-in-cheek. I’ve enjoyed some sessions with children in which we tried to put a new slant on nursery-rhymes.
Wake late
Nothing clean
Wear yesterday’s undies
Crushed uniform
Sister’s socks
She screams at me
Mum screams at me
We scream at one another
We’re running late
Jammed in bumper-to-bumper traffic
Kiss Mum goodbye, no way
Across the empty playground
Running, I drop
The paper Mache dinosaur
That took four hours
Last night
Of hard, hard work
My project
Now it’s crushed, like me
Late for assembly
Everyone stares
Teachers’ eyebrows are raised
And classes haven’t even begun.
Published in Our Home is Girt by Sea
One picnic with my family I would rather now forget,
Since it started with a thunderstorm that left us very wet.
We ran like rabbits to the car and tried to eat our lunch,
But our sandwiches were soggy and our biscuits lacked their crunch.
We aimed to keep the rain out so we wound the windows up,
But that just made them foggy. Then I dropped my half-full cup!
My parents weren’t too pleased with me as anyone could tell
And then the baby filled the car with a most awful smell!
At last we saw the rain had stopped, so quickly we got out.
Mum changed the baby’s nappy. It was then Dad gave a shout.
“Oh no, we’ve run over a nail!” He’d found a tyre was flat.
So we weren’t going anywhere till he had dealt with that.
While Dad was working on the wheel, I got my brand new ball.
I kicked it high into a tree, but it refused to fall!
So then I said: “I’ll climb the tree and shake the football down.”
But Mum said: “You’ll do no such thing” and stopped me with a frown.
I didn’t want to lose the ball, but what would you have done?
It looked as if I’d have to save to buy another one.
Just then a teenage boy came by. He said: “Leave it to me.”
At once he climbed up to the branch and shook the football free!
I tried to catch it as it fell, but Mum caught it instead.
She didn’t catch it in her hands. It landed on her head!
I thought it wasn’t wise to laugh in case she was upset.
She’d told me not to bring the ball. I hoped that she’d forget.
When finally Dad changed the tyre, he said: “It’s time to go.
Those heavy clouds are coming back. The journey will be slow.”
I moaned: “An hour here’s not enough. We need some time to play!”
But Mum declared: “Your Dad is right. Let’s come another day.”
Although this time our picnic didn’t seem much fun at all,
We did arrive home safely and I still had my new ball.
The baby now is chuckling and we’re by the fire and warm.
It still was an adventure, even with the winter storm.
Monty says: Some picnics are memorable for the wrong reasons, but even if not exactly enjoyable they can still supply some interesting and humorous experiences.
Humungous Fungus is among us
And it’s rather smelly.
It slowly creeps between your toes
Then right up to your belly.
It can be blue but when it’s pink
It gives off such an awful stink.
Sometimes it floats down in the breeze
And leaves great blobs on both your knees.
When it sparkles like a fairy
Then you must be very wary.
If it waves its magic wand
You’ll smell like slime from next door’s pond.
Beware if Fungus goes to school
It doesn’t care who looks a fool.
Your teacher might get quite a shock
If Fungus hides inside his sock.
If poor Grandma while she’s sitting
Concentrating on her knitting
Notices a sudden pull
It’s Fungus climbing up her wool.
Even Mum must be quite careful
She might cop a blobby hair full
If she happens to be shopping
Right where Fungus slime is dropping.
Family pets should run and hide
‘Cos Fungus loves to slip and slide
Into kennels, baskets, cages
Sending critters into rages.
But Fungus loathes a water spray
So get yourself one right away
And squirt that fiend with all your might
You’ll be a hero overnight.
Sometimes when you’re out of sorts
and wound up like a spring
or plagued with nasty, angry thoughts
it really helps to sing.
Sing out loud, you can’t go wrong,
sing anything you choose.
There’s nothing like a happy song
to chase away the blues.
They must be all around me —
the lost things,
My best pencil, my first doll,
a single sock,
the locket Mum gave me
for my seventh birthday,
the one I promised to never lose.
They lurk in dusky corners,
and grooves and places
I can’t begin to think of
Loving their freedom
Camouflaging their grins
Watching me as I search everywhere —
But where they are
Those clever, clever, lost things
Forever playing hide
While I play seek.
If I lie still
So still and true
No wriggle
No rustle
I
Can
Just
About
Hear
The
Hum and roar
And rise and
Fall and crash
And surge of
The gushing
Rushing
Urgent sucking
Retreating and
Lunging
That never stops
Bound to its constant action
Slave-like
Yet lording over
Its often
Ignorant subjects
And dreamy admirers
This sea will be heard
And I will listen.
Australian Children’s Poetry 