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EVENING IN BERKELEY

by Anne Bell

Late sunlight tight-ropes across roof-tops

and maple trees finger a no-colour sky,

searching for not-yet stars;

on the side-walks

ginkos let fall their memories of summer

for the wind to riffle through,

and the scent of pancakes and coffee and chilli con carne

comes hurrying down the street.

Somewhere, out of sight,

a saxophone stands on tip-toe for a note  –

and the thought of tomorrow sings in my heart.

A version of this poem was first published in “The Voice” (NSW Speech and Drama Assoc.)

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House of germs

by Jenny Erlanger

 

Dad’s got a fever, he’s dripping with sweat.

Mum’s got a virus, the worst you can get.

Buster keeps coughing, we’re calling the vet.

And I’m stuck in the house for the day!

 

My brother’s come down with the nastiest flu,

my sister’s been chucking for hours in the loo.

the cat has been constantly vomiting too.

Could you please come around for a play?

 This poem was originally published in “Giggles and Niggles” (Haddington Press, 2007)

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A Snake Swallowed Poor Henry

By Mike Lucas

 

A snake swallowed poor Henry on his visit to the zoo.

A snake swallowed poor Henry and I know this to be true,

For he disappeared the moment that his classmates turned their backs,

And the snake grew fat and lumpy half a moment after that.

 

A snake swallowed poor Henry as he licked at his ice-cream.

A snake swallowed poor Henry, though we didn’t hear him scream.

All we heard was slither, slither and a satisfying hiss

And the snake grew fat and lumpy half a moment after this.

 

A snake swallowed poor Henry on our zoo visiting day.

A snake swallowed poor Henry while he looked the other way.

Someone shouted, ‘Look up in the sky! A flying alligator!’

And the snake grew fat and lumpy just a half a moment later.

 

A snake swallowed poor Henry but nobody found out why.

A snake swallowed poor Henry as he stared up at the sky.

All they saw was one boy gone and one long, fat and lumpy creature

And a smear of chocolate ice-cream on the lips of me, their teacher.

 

 

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The Rainbow Fairies

By Bridh Hancock

 

As I thought that I should die from

Eating what ain’t food for me,

I thought I saw, out through the window,

A rainbow there for me to see.

 

Now, rainbows bless, with mystic colours,

Evening skies quite magically;

Arching all the way up and over

From here to there — where that may be.

 

But this was quite another rainbow

Beckoning me to come outside.

How it sparkled in sequined splendor!

I saw Fairies down it slide.

 

Then they flew up, vanishing skyward —

This as only Fairies might. —

Oh, such beauty! — razzling! dazzling! —

Extra-squisite! What a sight!

 

The rainbow plonked down in our garden,

Out the back and down the yard,

Awesoming the veggie-patch

Of radish, cabbage (Yuck!) and chard.

 

I, alone in all the world,

Stopped to stare where, in the mud,

This singularly special, riveting rainbow

Quite transformed our humble spud.

 

Fairies in twenty different colours

There did spin and dance and sing,

And, having caught my startled attention,

Pointed with finger, toe, and wing

 

To where grew artichokes, Brussels sprouts,

Caulis and (Blagh! No-thanks!) Broad beans,

Then shouted with the voice of parents,

“Do as you’re told and eat your greens!

Yes, all your veggies and greens!”

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Cat Hair in My Underwear

by Nadine Cranenburgh

 

My kitties are expert at sleeping

To warm places they’re always creeping

Like the soft, cozy nests

Of undies and vests

That we leave on the couch for safe keeping

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Praying Mantis

by Helen Hagemann

From inside the house
the praying mantis looks like

a caught twig, a small gesture
of wood rocking on wire.

Up close, it draws you in and
outdoors, its pencil-spine a cloudy

grey. Grey as the litany of squares
she hugs. The most interesting thing

is the way she carries her colours
to meld or disappear into fabric,

cottage wall, or branch. Tomorrow
she may be yellow, pink, or green

depending on the plot-size of garden
or unattended window, the parallel

lines of wire-mesh giving just the
slightest hint of stick, of leaf.

 

 

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THINGS THAT GO POP

by Allan Cropper

 

Balloons make the loudest pop

They pop so loud that people stop

POP!

 

Bubbles make the softest pop

Hardly worth the trouble

pop!

 

But bubble wrap is clearly tops

When it comes to making pops

It goes on like it never stops

pop pop pop pop pop pop pop

pop pop pop pop pop pop pop!

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The Penguisaur

by Stephen Whiteside 

 

The penguisaur lived long ago, but only way down south.

It had long rows of ugly teeth arranged within its mouth.

It lived in crowds upon the ice, and swam for food each day,

And when it dived it threw behind a mighty spume of spray.

 

It waddled when it walked because its legs were short and stumpy.

It looked quite cute, but don’t be fooled. Its mood was often grumpy.

It liked to feed on killer whales, and humpback whales as well,

And wayward tortoises, because they have a crunchy shell.

 

It specially liked to guzzle blood that flowed from meat fresh killed,

And grew extremely angry if too much of it was spilled.

It opened wide its vicious teeth, and gave a mighty roar,

While blood formed clots upon the feathers of the penguisaur

 

Its snowy chest was fast defaced by blood and gore and guts.

Mark my word – it was a fearsome beast, no ifs or buts.

When chewing gobs of whale, a crazed look came into its eye.

Its feathers were ten metres long, yet still it couldn’t fly.

 

Half of it was dinosaur, and half was flightless bird,

But of it, in the text books, you will never read a word.

That’s because its fossiled forms are trapped beneath the ice,

And searching for such evidence is never very nice.

 

Maybe somewhere out among the broad Antarctic chill,

A penguisaur, snap frozen and intact, is lying still.

Perhaps one day a scientist will thaw its body out,

And it will grab him in its jaw, and shake him inside out!

 

 ©   Stephen Whiteside  

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Nora

 By Anna Jacobson

I found her at school one day, hidden

under one of the classrooms. I climbed

in after her and she let me stroke

her fur. I carried her into the light

and her shadow stretched

across the grass.

 

Her owners were relieved.

She’d been missing three weeks.

They came to pick her up

and as I let her go, I imagined a cat

of my own. A cat called Nora.

 

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Lost

by Jenny Erlanger

 

The water beneath us is surging,

the thunder’s creating a din.

and swiftly a sense is emerging

of just what a pickle I’m in.

All hope of a rescue is shrinking,

I’m such a long way from the shore.

I’m trapped on a ship that is sinking

and teeming with pirates galore,

with villains who thirst for a killing,

who’d slice you apart with a hook.

I’m finding this ever so thrilling!

I love getting lost in a book.