Boing-boing,
I am, I am,
Boing-boing,
Spring lamb!
Boing-boing,
I’m lamb not ram,
Boing-boing,
Spring Lamb!
Boing-boing,
I’m lamb not ham,
Boing-boing,
Spring lamb!
Boing-boing,
At any price,
Boing-boing,
Lamb’s nice!
Flying Tale
The most favorite pet we ever had
was little ‘Peanut,’ named by Dad
The tiny fit upon my hand
soon sprung out
like a rubber band
When laying, he was Peanut Paste
fortunately without the taste
When chasing ‘Fly,’
our other dog
t’was left behind at every log
We watched Fly in the longest grass
grass that bent
while Peanut chased his . . . tail 😁
This one is a skipping rhyme or chant to celebrate the fruits and flowers of a Sydney spring.
Lilli pilli, loquat, cumquat tree
What shall we have for afternoon tea?
Wattle in the garden, jasmine on the breeze
Lilli pilli, loquat, cumquat please!
blazing wattle –
the splendour
of yellow
a ladybird
on the mock-orange
finds the sun
in the distance
the stillness
of trees leafing
It started out as a seed,
And slowly put down roots.
Then struggled to reach the top,
By sending up a shoot.
It pushed its head above the ground,
And then it grew more leaves,
Produced a lot of flowers,
Which attracted many bees.
It grew to become a plant,
Bearing fruit which housed the seeds,
And thus, the cycle continues,
But what precedes?
Did the seed come before the plant?
Or the plant before the seed?
It’s a question that’s been asked before,
And will be asked again, indeed.
A large cardboard box is reluctant to budge
till an ugly brown bag comes and gives it a nudge.
A pusher is passing in clear plastic wrap
and a grey bag’s just finished its twentieth lap.
I’ve stood here for ages, I’m tired of the sound
of the carousel creaking around and around
There’s no sign at all of my shiny red bag
with its polka-dot ribbon and bright purple tag.
I watch as the cases are jostled and swayed,
as they each play their part in this clumsy parade.
They’re all in a higgledy-piggledy row
but there isn’t a bag with a polka-dot bow.
A flurry of limbs marks the start of a race
as the lucky ones capture their runaway case.
Around goes a rucksack, a crate and some skis
but, of course, I’ve no interest in any of these
I’m just on the lookout for one glossy bag
with a polka-dot ribbon and bright purple tag.
The crowd’s disappearing, they’re all moving on
and that rotating jumble of luggage has gone.
The carousel slows and I utter a shout
as the very last suitcase comes barreling out.
I cannot believe it, what wondrous relief
after sixty full minutes of nerve-wracking grief!
It’s finally made it, my special red bag
with its polka-dot ribbon and bright purple tag.
I cling to its handle, I cuddle my case
as the universe settles once more into place.
The Garden Within
There is a garden in my heart
where beauty grows in fits and starts.
Where smiles are petals from the flowers
bestowed by others from their bowers.
Nutritious hope reaps seeds to feed
my spirit for its every need.
With gratitude I’ll reach my goal
and touch the island of my soul.
SPUD
After days of
rain and flood
it’s hard work
spading spuds
in mud –
clods and sods
flung with a thud.
Dug up only
one dud spud.
Australian Children’s Poetry 