by Marsala Strachan
I am frightening.
I can be made from lightning.
One small spark brought me awake.
I am winding like a big red snake.
I am like a blood red wall.
I am the beast that ate it all.
My flames flickered, I crept.
I snickered and then … I leapt.
I am roaring.
Catching every bird that is soaring.
Leave a door open long enough
and an earwig will enter. The kitchen
is the most popular to travel in.
Among insects a decision is made
(those of different species)
not to touch or pass by in the hallway.
An ant and earwig might come together
and part, safe in the knowledge
that when one leaves another arrives.
It’s the past meeting the future
simultaneously.
Whichever direction an earwig goes,
it will be one fast step
from the swish of a dog’s tail,
or the pounce of a cat’s paw.
Outdoors, earwigs forage in drains, leaf litter.
They love the chemistry of winter air,
the heavy crash of rain, a blue sky when it stops.
Sometimes you find an earwig sleeping between
the sheets of the morning newspaper,
although a quick flap or roll
over discarded scraps
can be fatal.
Soap-fish, soap-fish, slipping through my fingers,
Soap-dish, soap-dish, sailing like a boat.
Toothbrush, toothbrush, turning into long-ship,
Hairbrush, hairbrush, learning how to float.
Look! One hand’s a submarine,
The other a breaching whale,
My toes are pointed coral rocks,
There’s the splash of a dolphin’s tail!
My bath’s become an ocean,
And I’m the sailor bold
Who roams the wild blue yonder–
Until the water gets cold!
Mum said I shouldn’t worry
that I didn’t need the doc,
that I’d clear away the cobwebs
with a walk around the block
So I went and fetched my sneakers
and I did what I was told.
I grabbed my woollen beanie
and I stepped out in the cold.
The walk was quite refreshing.
quite a joy, I’d have to say
but it didn’t help at all
to make the cobwebs go away.
It might have been less trouble
if I’d gone into my room
and poked into the corners
of my ceiling with a broom.
Forest wakes,
Brand new day.
Mother stretching,
Orang-utans play.
Little-ones rolling,
Little-ones tumbling.
Little-ones swinging,
Little-ones fumbling.
A sudden rumbling,
Looks of worry.
Engines roaring,
Little-ones scurry.
Forest falling,
Can’t find cover.
Little-ones scampering,
Can’t find Mother.
Engines blaring,
Forest bare.
Trees smouldering,
Nothing there.
Engines ceasing,
Mother enraged.
Trucks retreating,
Little-one’s caged.
Sun setting,
Forest dying.
Earth shattering,
Orang-utan crying.
It was a new school, I was the young fool
It wasn’t long till I saw you
I made my mind up not to waste any time
till I first knocked on your door
You had a style, you had your smile
I wasn’t sure I had the nerve
I had a friend with me for moral support
When I first knocked on your door
I won’t forget that moment;
waiting for you to appear.
A look of pleasant surprise and…
then you asked me in.
Oh yeah!
That was the first time, but not the last time
That I was seen at your place
My parents ask me why I’m never at home
Since I first knocked on your door.
ENTER
Photo: Neil Mulligan
We blow them in streams
across the yard,
some small and marble-sized,
others as big as baseballs.
Every bubble iridescent,
a perfect world of its own,
mirroring grass, sky,
occasionally our faces.
Bubbles glinting with sunlight
swirl skyward or
float to the ground.
Each one
a little miracle
before it pops.
People think that shadows pass
With sunset’s fading light
But that’s when shadows party-
When the daytime turns to night
We assume our fellow shadows
Are always waiting for our call
But when you close your eyes at night
They are not there at all
In sunshine they just copy
(Which can really be a bore)
But free to roam within dark
They dance and fly and soar
The darkness makes it possible
For them to leave your side
And when our shadows get the chance
They wander far and wide
So every night while you’re in bed
And sleep is close to hand
Dream about your shadow
Dancing free across the land.
by Jodie Davidson
I see you through the glass
I can’t hear any sound
Your feathers are multicoloured
You start to move around
You have funny extra toes
At the end of pointy feet
Lifting quickly up and down
To a very peculiar beat
When you begin to flap
Those spindly looking wings
Your beak opens and shuts
And your feathers start to swing
I wait for you to rise
Up high into the air
But you stay flat on the ground
And all I can do is stare
I ease a little closer
And softly I hear you tweet
A pretty little tune
To match your dancing feet
I open my small eyes wide
And take another step
I stretch my short neck forward
Then all of a sudden… ‘WACK’
That stupid piece of glass
That separates you from me
I’m going back to my home
I’ll watch you from my tree
A walnut is the brain of a tiny ancient dinosaur,
protected by two wooden boats
joined together after the War of the Squirrels
says Yuval.
Almonds are wooden teeth from the mask of Hadro Gull,
too hideous to look upon,
but if you did look upon it and did not die
then your hair would fall out and you’d be petrified granite
in just one second.
Pecans? says Yuval.
When the Holy Priestess of Darmon rode the waves
there were pecants, but pecants are well nigh impossible
and no matter how she tended them they up and died,
so nobody bothers growing them now,
in fact there are only three pecants in the world
Pistachios from the Veiled North are holy fruit,
symbolised in the royal court by the tongues of old cockatoos
which is why they are favoured by monkeys and kings
and jugglers who toss them in that tired old hawker’s disappearing trick
You know the one?
And now the toughest nut of all, from Macadamia,
the ancient Chinese-checker nut, sent by junk to Uku Haadeer
where stern crackers in puffy white shower-caps and blue aprons
perched in rows at wind-powered machines with red wheels
and cracked each nut one-by-one and dropped them in a cup – Ding!
But you can’t crack me, I say, and I leap. Oww!
Nut find nut, says Yuval.
Judge’s Comment
“This poem immediately engages the reader: Who is Yuval? Why should we listen to what Yuval says? The strong first line opens to a story and following stanzas introduce new stories, each connected but very different. While the reader engages with the strong imagery, they are also eavesdropping on the conversation between the teller and the listener. Language is simple but each word works hard to scaffold imagining. At the end there’s a twist that brings lightness and tongue-in-cheek humour. The poem is cohesive and creates rich images. Well done.” Competition Judge Claire Saxby
Australian Children’s Poetry 