Castle door. Gaping
like a wound in a
jigsawed
stone wall.
Yawning black, back, back
Into the depthless dark.
Stand on the threshold.
A feeling of falling,
Or something ghostly
Calling, calling.
Shudder to think
What peril awaits
For those who
Enter here.
Five minutes left –
not much longer to wait
When the bell goes
I’ll zoom right through the gate
Left at the rose bush,
scream down Breakneck Hill,
bump through the creek bed
right up to Pa’s mill
Spokes spitting gravel
I’ll skid to a halt
my bike left to rest
like a sweat-lathered colt
Scrubbed up and changed
then I’m right for a snack –
left-over shepherd’s pie,
sigh and lean back
“Wake up right now!”
teacher’s voice breaks my spell.
Four minutes left…
I can’t wait for the bell
I know it sounds a bit absurd
but you should hear what I have heard
about the things that have occurred
inside that stony tomb.
There’s talk of heaps of human bones,
of eerie grunts and squeals and moans,
of blood that oozes from the stones
and ghosts that haunt each room.
They say the spiders down the halls
are all the size of bowling balls
and prone to jumping off the walls
and landing in your hair
Of course, I don’t know this for sure.
It’s time for someone to explore
what really lies beyond that door.
Please enter… if you dare.
ENTER
He stands before the dragon
And sidles closer still,
No fiery breath nor fury greets him,
But eyes half-shut
And scales dull grey,
The dragon lets its tongue loll
And splutters loudly, ENTER!
He climbs each quiver
Of its quivering tongue
And peers into its dark, dark mouth,
WHAT BEASTIES LURK THAT KILL MY FLAME?
He peers down its dark, dark throat,
“I’ll need my weapons to cure your ill.”
NO VEGETABLES!
“No worries, I’ll be back soon.”
Photo: Neil Mulligan
ENTER
These circles give me headaches
and here’s the reason why,
I’m fine with sums and minuses
but though I always try
This symbol keeps on bugging me
I thought that I would cry
The day my teacher tried to teach me pi
This squiggly little symbol
keeps on doing in my head
Looks nothing like a number but
more like a tiny shed
I’m feeling pretty hungry so
give me pie charts instead
My teacher keeps on trying to teach me pi
The inside of a circle is
pi r squared I’m told
And 2 pi r the measurement
the distance round a hole
This never ending talk of pi
just drives me up the wall
My teacher won’t stop trying to teach me pi
A quadratic equation can
At worse make me irate
Serve me long division, and
I’ll start to salivate
Pi will always be the thing
I dearly love to hate
My teacher won’t stop trying to teach me pi
Robyn Youl submitted this response to my recent Words+Pictures poetry challenge…
Walk
Sneakers
are for fun
for
after school stuff.
Heavy
cloddy
black school shoes
lace up cocoons
walk.
Your feet
come out
to stretch your legs
and fly.
Sneakers
are not made
to walk
they’re made to run.
Sneakers
Sneaker shod
I walk
I run
to the shops,
to my friends
to Little Aths
.. and at the end
of the day
home to Mum.
Are Refugee Kids
Sneaker shod
when
they walk
they run
from
the bombs
the bad men
with guns?
Are Refugee kids
Sneaker shod
when
they walk
they run
from
home
family and friends
into the unknown?
Gum boots when it’s raining
Sports shoes when I’m training
Sparkly shoes for dancing
Riding boots for prancing
Sandals for a summer’s day
High heeled shoes for dress up play
Then sadly comes that time of year
When Mum says, ‘Let’s go shopping dear.
Your feet keep growing, time to choose
A nice new pair of (yuk!) School Shoes.’
WALK
He lies on the beach
blue shorts, red tee.
Runners on his feet
Not asleep
though he looks it
He won’t be walking
any more
Only three years old
he doesn’t know he’s gone viral
Too late for him
but not to help the world
find some kindness.
WALK
My kite’s caught in a tree.
I don’t think that I’ll be getting it down.
If I climbed up and my foot slipped
I could hurt myself when I hit the ground.
It cost a pretty penny. It was worth it all I guess
because the time when it was flying is the time I call ‘best’
My kite’s caught in the tree.
You can watch it now as it flaps in the wind.
So it’s more or less like a flag these days
of a country where I once was king.
It cost a pretty penny. It was worth it all I guess
because the time when it was flying is the time I call ‘best’
I can see it in my mind as it was lifted to the sky.
I could feel it pull away as it started on its rise.
My kite’s caught in a tree
but one day I think that I might get it back.
And it might be faded and it may be torn
but I’m pretty sure I’ll be right with that.
It cost a pretty penny. It was worth it all I guess
because the time when it was flying is the time I call ‘best’
I’m a biker. I’m a hiker
and I love acrylic lycra.
I’m specific that acrylic
is the lycra that I like
for especially when biking
it is greatly to my liking
to be free to frisk and frolic
when I reach somewhere idyllic
and I get down from my bike.
And lycra that’s acrylic,
when the heat is diabolic,
just wicks away the wet
so there’s never trickling sweat
to upset the mood euphoric
when I reach a place bucolic
on a long laborious hike.
… or a day-trip on my bike.
That’s why acrylic lycra’s what I like.
Australian Children’s Poetry 