Two little seeds
In one big pot.
I tend your needs,
And water at lot.
I wait and watch.
I’m happy to spy
Two little shoots
Emerge, by and by
A leaf or two,
And now there’s three!
It doesn’t take long
Before you’re up to my knee.
Standing up tall
You reach for the sun.
Large leaves spreading,
Two grow together as one.
Like twins you stand
Now past my waist.
You look so grand,
As you grow with haste.
Buds are forming,
I’m excited to see!
I wonder how big
Your faces will be.
Curious clothes
Cygnet’s singlets
are very white;
when they shrink
they’re very tight.
Do spiders were suspenders?
I think they really do.
They’re made of red elastic
in sizes 1 and 2.
I’m a green frog, serene frog,
A seldom ever seen frog,
Lolling on a lily pad and lazing in the shade.
For you see, I’ve found the knack
Of lying comfy on my back
And although you’ll think me slack,
I’ve got it made!
All is sweet now, complete now,
It’s time to rest my feet now,
Loving life on lily pads without a single care.
Ripples massage as I lie,
Looking blankly at the sky.
Who’s as lucky as am I
Found anywhere?
Something’s shifting! Oh, I’m drifting!
Now my lily pad is lifting!
It’s a duck that thinks I’m something nice to eat!
There’s no time to count to five,
I must leave and take a dive,
Since I’d like to stay alive
Complete with feet.
First, we hear on the horizon a low storm forming
– thunder rumble, roll and groan.
Lightning flashes inside fat storm clouds
– kssss, psssh, pppfffkkk, crack, sprack!
The wind starts whistling through the windows
– moaning oooooh oooooh OOOOOOH.
A wall of rain comes drumming, humming
– beating, tapping, pounding, lashing.
Tornado siren screams its warning
– wailing its deep screech of fear.
The twister yeets and hurls sharp objects
– hurtling, piercing, stabbing, wounding.
Missiles fire in all directions
– shooting, shelling, crashing, dashing.
Its funnel vacuums up the buildings
– whooshing, swooshing, sucking.
Playing with power lines like guitar strings
– twanging, plucking, snapping.
The noise is deafening
– thrashing, battering, skreeeeeeking.
Like fingernails on blackboards scratching
– like scraping sounds of forks on plates.
And just as suddenly, it vanishes
– debris is settling in the brush.
An eeriness descends, is it over?
– am I safe to go outside?
Huddled in the shelter listening
to the breathing and the pounding of our hearts.
The creak of the door as the shelter opens
– we witness silence, stillness, dread.
Artistic Creation
A box of coloured pencils,
Or watercolour paint,
Place together with a child,
There’ll be no complaint.
May get a little messy,
When creating at a table,
But art will be produced,
As much as they are as able.
Little need for guidance,
As imaginations flow,
Paint or pencil are applied,
And then there is the show.
A sharing of the art created,
By young and loving hands,
A glimpse into the future,
Of potential artists stands.
Obi-Wan is quiet and measured.
He fights with considerable skill.
Once Anakin’s friend and later his foe,
He shows a true Jedi’s will.
Jabba the Hut is a toady slug
Who rules with a slimy fist.
But Princess Leia brings him down
With a flick of her powerful wrist.
Yoda very powerful is,
and small and wise and green.
Though old, he is fast and agile
When battling Palpatine.
Darth Maul’s head is patterned and horned.
His double lightsaber burns red.
He is a great Sith warrior
who survives when he should be dead.
C-3PO always steals the show
With his fluster and comical yelp.
He’s useful and loyal, though not very brave,
He’s a droid who is programmed to help.
Jango Fett is a bounty hunter
Who battled with Obi-Wan.
An army was formed of his clones,
One of which he kept as a son.
Chewbacca is hairy and vocal,
A wookie, a pilot, a friend.
Saved from a muddy dungeon,
He’ll follow Han Solo to the end.
Darth Vader, a black-clad villain,
who went by another name,
Uses the force for evil
And wants Luke to do the same.
Rey is a Jakku scavenger
who finds she is something more.
Her courage and skill in fighting
take her far in the galactic war.
There is something we should treasure,
Worth much more than we can measure.
We can’t earn it, still less steal it.
It’s a gift and we will feel it.
Even when we’re far away
It stays with us every day.
Gift so unlike any other:
Yes, the love of our own mother!
I knew I shouldn’t
But resist I couldn’t
And now with the bloat
It’s my lot to float.
So let this be a lesson to you –
One fly for dessert, never two!
My Mum
My mum is the best,
She cooks my favourite meals,
She gives me lots of hugs,
For her I’d do cartwheels.
She does all my washing,
And all my ironing too,
Drives me to footy training,
There’s little I need to do.
She often takes me shopping,
For cloths and shoes and stuff,
I’ve never heard her complain,
Even when things get tough.
She’s a very special person,
Unselfish, loving and kind,
I’m so lucky she’s my mum,
I love her with all my heart and mind.
Australian Children’s Poetry 