Category Archives: Poem of the Day

T for Tree by Virginia Lowe

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T for Tree

 

Straight trunk

Typical tree

Outstretched arms

Thick canopy

Leaves trap the sun

brilliant green

Dark brown trunk

A child’s drawing

 

Burnished silver

Polished gum

Dead, but shining

in the morning sun

Froth of regrowth

at its roots

Towers a silver

toasting fork

Branches curve tortuous

weaving and gliding

starting way up

the tall straight trunk

the architecture

fully exposed.

 

Architecture exposed,

even living.

Dull eucalypt green

Narrow leaves

loosely bunched

hang down to escape

the sun’s rays

Trunk bright pink-gold

Burnished by

morning sun

 

Huge animals

that hopped

Egg-laying mammals

with duck bills

The first Europeans

couldn’t believe

their own eyes

Painted what

they longed to see

Dark trunk

outstretched branches

thick canopy

typical (Northern) tree

starting with T.

 

Virginia Lowe

Virginia says: I spent the first weeks of January in the mountains, Falls Creek (about 40 friends took over a ski lodge). Falls Creek was in the middle of a bushfire about 12 years ago, and is surrounded by bleached white dead trees – sad, but beautiful – and regrowing. I had several phrases in my mind, and the letter T sparked off contemplation about the comparison between Northern and Southern Hemisphere trees, and reactions to them.  It is my usual blank verse, short lines, with some half rhymes thrown in.

 

 

School Holidays by Myra King

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School holidays

 

Get outside and play you kids,

my mother said one day,

go climb a tree, or fly a kite,

just get outside and play.

 

But the tree is small,

the kite is broke,

it’s been raining here all day.

We have to stay inside today,

it’s far too wet to play.

 

We’ll have a look, the oldest said,

and find a middle ground.

We’ll channel surf the TV now

and see what can be found.

 

A show on rocks and mountain tops,

fresh air, and stuff like that

and here is one of flies in flight

and how to clip a cat.

 

Us younger ones are crying out

how boring are all those!

The oldest one just winks at Mum

and gets out raincoat clothes.

 Myra King

Myra says: Thinking about kids on school holidays and Mum wanting some peace and quiet. My sister was 10 years older than me and wise beyond her years.

 

Eyesore-osaurs by Bill Condon

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EYESORE-OSAURS

 

 I’ve studied all the dinosaurs

That history’s unravelled,

And found a few new species

On the many roads I’ve travelled.

 

There’s the arrogant Ignore-osaur

That walks with head on high.

It does not even deign to look

As it trundles by.

 

The Badbreath-osaur has germs galore

And needs to brush its teeth.

The Crook-osaur is, for sure,

A crafty little thief.

 

The Bore-osaur is tedious,

The Brag-osaur’s a pain.

If nothing else, Umbrella-saurs,

Are handy in the rain.

 

I quite admire the Stutter-saur

It tries with all its might,

To master elocution,

But it never gets it right.

 

My favourite though,

I have to say, is bits of this and that.

Part brontosaur, part stegosaur,

Part giant pussycat.

 

I call it Jigsaw-osaur,

Its wonder never ceases.

I have a skeleton of one,

Though I’m missing vital pieces …

 

Bill Condon

Under the Stairs by Lynelle Kendall

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Under the Stairs

 

In my very big house

There’s a very small room

That’s just the right size for me

 

It’s under the stairs

It’s got pillows for chairs

And a torch so my teddies can see

 

There we read and we play

And tell stories all day

You see, we don’t need too much space

 

It’s all that I need

And I’m happy indeed

When I’ve crawled into my secret place.

 

Lynelle Kendall

 

T is for Trouble by Monty Edwards

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T is for TROUBLE

 

T’s always starting Trouble as we very clearly see,

In Trains it must sit at the front, as selfish as can be,

Then when it comes to Taking Turns, of course it must be first,

As Time and Time again, in this, it really is the worst.

 

Its influence is very bad, of that there is no doubt,

For when there’s work for it to do we find it backing ouT.

A man named Ben was joined by T and instantly was BenT,

So gained a reputation that was never his intent!

 

Now people sometimes tell you, you should “mind your Ps and Qs”,

But when it comes to letters there’s another that I’d choose.

Its awfully bad behaviour’s bound to lead you into error,

So I’d advise: “Beware of T!” It truly is a Terror.

Monty Edwards

Monty says: My basic idea for the poem was to work with the actual letter T: its position in words and how it could be taken from or added to words to change them into new words. Although I could find lots of examples, for me it proved difficult to shape these into any sort of coherent narrative that could be taken literally, and also had a consistent rhyming scheme (which was my goal). I nearly gave up, but I found giving the letter T a personality helped focus my effort and gave the poem unity.

Fields of Summer by Dianne Bates

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Fields of Summer

 

Peakhurst

A wilderness of T-trees

In our paddock playground

One free day in the midst of childhood

A day filled with everything

 

We are wild things,

Charging, ducking, hiding,

Flies swamping our sweaty faces

 

A dove, startled, flies up and

Petals fall like a sprinkle of rain

As we play

A game of cowboys and Indians

With imaginary guns

Bang! Bang! You’re dead!

 

Falling to the ground face-up

Wisps of clouds slide above

As if breathing in and out.

Dianne Bates

Dianne says: The letter T reminded me of tea-tree bushes that as children my brother, sister and I played among. We didn’t get much time to play as we were forever working on the farm (pigs, goats and poultry).

Discovery by Pat Simmons

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Discovery

 

Our feet make a crackling

crunching sound

as we walk.

We stop

and

crouching down,

discover another world.

A world of mini workers

caring for our environment.

Beetles breakfasting,

Meandering munching millipedes,

Snails, showing off their spirals,

Earthworms turning the soil.

 

Lives under leaf litter

A secret space.

 

Pat Simmons

Pat says: Ever since I was a child I’ve loved mini beasts (some would call them creepy crawlies). During my career in children’s services as a child care educator, teacher and trainer I delighted in sharing my passion with children by taking my ‘minibeast family’ to child care centres.
As a writer, they still inspire me and, yes, I still have a collection of critters including stick insects and rain forest snails.

Tea by Nadine Cranenburgh

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Tea

Tea for two can be so very nice
when conversation flows with warmth and ease
steep the stories slowly in the pot
and pour them, hot and sweetened to your taste

When conversation flows with warmth and ease
time trickles by in gentle lapping waves
so you can pour and taste the sweet bouquet
of friendship worn silk-smooth bypassing years

Time trickles, by and by, in gentle waves
friends come and go, the world’s still not that small
their passing worn silk-smooth by absent years
shared stories mothballed up for rainy days

When friends come to see me, time gets whirled
right back to the last time we shared a pot
Moths can’t eat our stories after all –
tea for two can be so very nice.

by Nadine Cranenburgh

Nadine says: This is in response to the ‘T’ prompt on Australian Children’s Poetry. I am at my mum’s place, catching up and drinking tea, so the phrase ‘tea for two’ popped into my head. I’m writing a poem a day as part of the Month of Poetry in January, so thought I ‘d have a go at a new form of poem. A couple of google searches later, I found the pantoum – which has repeated lines, that can be tweaked for subtle shifts in meaning. I’ve also played with words that sound alike but mean different things. Here’s what I ended up with.

A Secret Space by Di Bates

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A Secret Space

 

There was shelter –

An upturned water tank

With an entrance hole —

My secret space

In the brittle summer bush

Where I’d hide,

Dark and bruised and splintered.

 

In those childhood days

I was an outlaw of sorts,

Travelling alone,

Not fitting anywhere,

Listening to cicadas throbbing

With song,

Beyond words,

Wanting nothing

But the arc of my mother’s arms.

Dianne Bates

The Keyhole by Walter de Jong

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The Keyhole

 

Our cave we called the Keyhole,

we’d climb up there to see

the ferry carrying families

that drove out to the beach.

I’d sit there and imagine

floods rising high back then

to carve for us this keyhole

then rejoin the world again.

That door opened secretly

to millennia before

the cars, the ferry, boats and planes,

schools and rules and laws

And now…The ferry’s gone, and rust has taken

cars and boats and planes.

While I move on the Keyhole stays,

the secret place remains.

 Walter de Jong