Category Archives: Poem of the Day

Happy Autumn Mother’s Day

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Autumn Fun.

Gradually the seasons change.

It is now autumn.

We may not choose to keep summer a little longer,

Nor stop winter from bringing its chill.

So now as our land turns away from the sun,

We suddenly remember that autumn is fun!

Hurry and harvest.

Preserve all your crops.

Natter and Knit more jumpers and socks.

Crochet a poncho, a knee rug or two.

Don’t forget firewood and clean out the flue.

Gather together, come one and all.

We’ll do all this work while the autumn leaves fall.

And then in the winter our rest – we’ll have earned.

Glad that the autumn is each year returned.

By Louise McCarthy

Beckoning Autumn

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Beckoning Autumn

Come burnt orange

golden yellow and burnished red

leaves.

Bring us

relief from heat waves

and air conditioners.

Remember my light red jumper

and favourite boots

They’re out once more.

Loosen your leaves

to reveal sculptural trees

on the hillsides.

Let the fading days of summer

whisper listening to autumn jazz

with a milo.

By June Perkins

 

An Invitation Poem

Poetry Idea

This poetry idea is based on ideas in Barbara Esbensen’s book A Celebration of Bees: Helping Children Write Poetry

You write a poem like this when you want something to happen, like a season, event or a birthday party.

 

Autumn Leaves

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Autumn Leaves
Ruby red and scarlet
leaves fly, scatter, crunch
Cold air whirls, lifts –
orange flurries skip and flutter.
Rapt by the dance
swayed by its flow,
I embrace this autumn show
knowing that soon
winter will come.
Alix Phelan © July, 2016

Last Leaves, Taken with Teacher Notes

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Autumn

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Autumn

The heat of summer bleeds

from the trees.

Golden sunrises.

Orange afternoons.

Fiery sunsets.

Summer writes itself

on the trees,

Then tumbles onto the grass,

Tossed by the wind,

Claimed by the long, long winter.

 

James Aitchison

Hoisted

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Hoisted

 

A wonderful contraption,

it’s the very best of toys,

a funfair installation

but without the added noise.

I grab the bar above me

and I launch straight off the chair.

I sway my legs a little

till I’m whizzing through the air,

I’m gripping really tightly

as I whirl above the ground.

I swing in giant circles,

spinning round and round and round.

I’d love to play for longer

but it’s time to end the fun.

My carousel is needed

now the load of washing’s done.

Jenny Erlanger

Baggy Pants

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Baggy Pants  

(an environmental baddy)

Flapping in a sunny breeze

while snagged upon some road-side trees

those plastic carry-bags can trick us

looking like some witches knickers.

 

Light and strong they fly away

like parachutes on windy days

to reach the sea and float as if

they’re some weird kind of jellyfish.

 

They’re made from poly-ethylene.

Environmentally NOT green!

Their hydrogen and carbon chains

aren’t broken down by sun or rains.

 

Thin and tough they bend and flop.

Ideal for using when we shop.

But eco-systems do not share

our love for witches underwear!

By Celia Berrell

 

After the Rain

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After the Rain

 

Drops of rain fall on my face

wild white flowers, just like lace.

 

Underneath the dripping tree

lizards lurk, their eyes on me.

 

In the puddles, black leaves float

the gum-nut people have lost their boat.

 

As I wander in the bush

everything is green and lush.

 

Julie Thorndyke

 

Mixed Bag

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Mixed Bag

He appeared on the doorstep one day

Both big and small in size

A dog of mixed bag breeds

We decided to call him Heinz

 

For Dad, he’d work all day

Running with the sheep

He asked for little in return

A pat, kind word, a sleep

 

To Mum, he was a protector

Of danger, he had no fear

Any threat around, he’d bark it down

No stranger would dare come near

 

The baby, she had him intrigued

Crawling around the house

Nose to the ground, he followed her round

Like a cat on the trail of a mouse

 

After school, he’d wait at the gate

We’d play till the sun’s last light

Exhausted but happy, inside for tea

He’d sleep by my bed at night

 

To each, he was something different

Loyal, right up to the end

That bitzer, mongrel, mixed up mutt

Worker, protector… best friend.

Jeannie Meekins

Gallipoli with Teacher Notes

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Gallipoli

Say that the word is gall –

cusped, broken on the tongue:

redolent of battles that appal.

Say that the word is gall.

Heroes, ordinary blokes, all

sung for Gaba Tepe, dying young –

Say that the word is gall –

cusped, broken on the tongue.

*The Landing at Anzac Cove, Sunday 25 April, 1915

is also known as the Landing at Gaba Tepe.

Katherine Gallagher

Teacher Notes:

The poem above is a TRIOLET about Anzac and the loss of young life. Secondary school students may like to try this form.

The TRIOLET has eight lines but only two rhymes. The first line is repeated twice and the second once :AbaAabAB,

My poem Gallipoli is a play on words on the word gall and bitterness.

Look online for other examples of a TRIOLET and give it a try.

Enjoy

Katherine Gallagher