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Barefoot

 
Days are longer. Getting warmer.
Sun is higher overhead.
Restless toes begin their twitching.
Barefoot days not far ahead.

At last December comes around.
Summer holidays are here.
That’s when toes come out to play.
That’s the time when feet go bare.

Let’s all run across the grass.
But do look out for bindi eyes.
Ow! Ow! Ouch! They’re everywhere.
Hear our barefoot bindi cries.

Watch us dance the bindi ballet
Quick steps, big steps on our toes.
Hidden prickles keep us leaping
if we step where bindi grows.

Best of all are barefoot beach-days
racing on the summer sand.
Ow! It’s hot! Run to the water.
Run to the edge. Whew! See us stand

doing the barefoot wet-sand wiggle.
See us sink on toes that squirm
down through clouds of sand and shells,
ankles wrapped in swirling foam.

Barefoot days pass far too quickly.
Back-to-school time soon comes round.
But think how much our feet are learning
walking barefoot on the ground.

 
© Kate O’Neil

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The Adventures of Buck the Easter Bilby: Buck Saves Easter

Buck the Bilby, on his way,
Came hopping through the bush one day,
His Easter vest looked oh, so bold,
In dashing green and glistening gold.
On his back, a duffle bag,
Held snacks, supplies and rolled-up swag,
And firm within his tiny clutch,
A basket FULL of eggs and such!
.
Born and raised in Pilbara’s west,
Buck passed the Easter Bilby test,
He’d trained to work in rain and sun,
To make the yearly Queensland run.
He shivered in the autumn breeze,
That rustled the acacia trees,
Then ate some seeds and burrowed deep,
To have his midday bilby sleep.

Buck awoke, refreshed and ready,
Swag rolled up and basket steady,
“Best be off, the sun is low,
Goodbye Pilbara! Off I go!”
He had an extra stop to plan,
Before his Easter run began,
A birthday bash for his best mate,
“No time to waste, I can’t be late”.

So on he hopped, all through the night,
Past the Great Australian Bight,
He kept his bounty, safe and sound,
As he travelled, Queensland bound,
Buck neared the Great Dividing Range,
To find a landscape, new and strange –
The desert plains he’d known since birth,
Replaced by mounds, of rugged earth.

With breaking dawn, he came to reach,
A small, secluded, private beach,
And just beyond, he saw the house,
Of Marty, the marsupial mouse.
Marty knew Buck’s best friend well,
A nifty numbat, known as Nell,
And this year for her special day,
They’d planned a party, by the bay

Marty stepped onto his porch,
To light Buck’s pathway, with a torch,
“Come on in mate, glad you’re here,
This is your busy time of year”.
Buck hopped to Marty, shook his paw,
And left his basket, at the door,
He stepped into a festive mood,
With icy drinks, and scrumptious food!

All of Nell’s good friends were there,
Icing cake, with extra care,
Hanging streamers, playing tunes,
Blowing up big, round balloons.
“This surprise will be the best!”
Said Marty, to his party guests,
“It’s nearly time Buck – watch outside.
Turn out the lights, it’s time to hide!”

And hide they did, all quiet until,
Nell’s footsteps broke the silence still,
“She’s here!” said Buck, “Get ready guys,
When Nell walks in, we’ll yell ‘surprise!’”
“Hello?” called Nell, peaking inside,
“Surprise!” her hidden friends all cried.
The lights came on, her friends appeared,
“Happy Birthday Nell!” they cheered.

Full of joy, Nell clapped her paws,
And danced around the timber floors,
“Thanks so much”, she said to Marty,
“What a perfect birthday party!”
First Nell opened gifts galore,
Then lit a bonfire by the shore,
They all enjoyed their favourite games,
And toasted marshmallows in the flames.

Later, at the party’s end,
Buck went inside with all his friends.
Marty made up extra beds,
To rest their tired and weary heads.
Buck, of course, was feeling worn,
But had to rise, at crack of dawn,
Tomorrow just as he had planned,
He’d drop off eggs, to all Queensland!

When morning light, replaced moonbeams,
The sun stirred Buck, from his sweet dreams,
“It’s Saturday, I must depart,
Today my egg run’s due to start!”
He yawned and stretched his rested legs,
Then hopped outside to fetch his eggs,
His face so sad, he could not mask it,
Buck had lost his Easter basket!

“Wake up, wake up!” the Bilby cried,
“I left my basket, just outside,
Now it’s gone, without a trace”,
He said, as tears ran down his face.
His furry friends came running out,
Responding to the Bilby’s shout,
Nell smiled at Buck, “It’s not the end –
We’ll help you out, ‘cause you’re our friend!”

“You’ll really help me?” questioned Buck,
Who felt a bit down on his luck.
“Of course” said Marty, “and I bet,
This Easter proves the best one yet!”
Just then a voice called from below,
“I saw the thief – a shrewd dingo!”
Buck queried, “Who was that I heard?”
Nell pointed “Look! A ladybird!”

The little bug, said whilst Buck slept,
A stealthy dingo quietly crept,
Up Marty’s stairs on nimble paws,
To snatch the basket in his jaws.
Buck shook his head in disbelief,
Determined now, to catch the thief,
“Let’s go!” he shouted, feeling brave,
“We have to find that dingo’s cave.”

They asked a nearby cockatoo,
To aid them with a birds-eye view,
The helpful bird, flew far and wide,
To find where dingo liked to hide.
They shortly heard his squawking song,
“Go south towards the billabong”,
“Alright” said Buck, “Let’s rock and roll!
We’ll find him at the waterhole.”

The group set off, without a sound,
Hunching low, towards the ground,
They had a clever plan in mind,
That needed all their skills combined.
Buck let his friends each nominate,
A mission to co-ordinate,
They gathered items, for the ploy
With Marty as the team’s decoy.

Prepped and ready, to proceed,
Marty bravely took the lead,
He lined up dingo, dead ahead,
And pelted gumnuts at his head!
The startled dingo soon gave chase,
With stinging welts upon his face,
Marty led him, ‘round a ledge,
Upon a log, and to its edge…

The timber teetered, with their weight,
As dingo moved to take the bait.
“I’ve got you now” he snickered slyly,
“I’m the fastest and most wily”.
Hidden on the ledge above,
Nell gave a pile of rocks a shove,
They landed on their target square,
And flung that dingo out of there!

Free to make the final save,
From deep in the unguarded cave,
Buck scurried through the darkness blind,
To claim what he had come to find.
“Yippee! Yahoo!” soon came the shout,
“I’ve found it, now I’m coming out.”
Buck hopped out proudly, smiling bright,
His paws gripped on his basket tight.

Buck thanked his friends for all their help,
Glanced at the sun, and gave a yelp,
“We’ve been so busy, fighting crime,
I’ve gone and lost track of the time!
How can I make it, all the way,
‘round Queensland after this delay?”
“I know” said Marty, with a laugh,
“Let’s use the old bush telegraph!”

Every creature, great and small,
Rallied to the bilby’s call,
Koalas, magpies, kangaroos,
(A sad and sorry dingo too!)
The sky transformed from blue to red,
“It’s nearly dark” the bilby said,
“Twelve hours ‘til new day is dawning –
Quick! These eggs are due by morning!”

Furry friends and birds of feather,
Buckled down and worked together,
Eggs were hid with total ease,
Under rocks and up in trees.
Just in time the deed was done,
And children woke prepared for fun,
They laughed out loud with smiling faces,
Finding eggs in fun, new places.

Every house for hours after,
Rang with sounds of children’s laughter.
Boys and girls unwrapped their treats,
And gobbled up the chocolate sweets.
Buck had cleaned up dingo’s mess,
Easter was a big success!
But silence filled the bush around,
The animals were sleeping sound.
© R.J. Coco

Poem of the Day

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Pearl
Pearl was a girl
A pearly girl
But not a girly girl
Not a softly softly
Sssssshhhhhh girl
Not a tiptoe
Through the tulips girl

Pearl was a girl
A pearly girl
But not a girly girl
Not a frills and frippery
Flowery girl
Not a powder puff
Perfume pom pom girl

Pearl was a girl
A pearly girl
But not a girly girl
Not a dainty delicate
Dew drop girl
Not a lavender lacy
Look at me me me girl

But a pearl. A pearl of a girl.

© Jane Williams

Poem of the Day

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Barefoot
Days are longer. Getting warmer.
Sun is higher overhead.
Restless toes begin their twitching.
Barefoot days not far ahead.

At last December comes around.
Summer holidays are here.
That’s when toes come out to play.
That’s the time when feet go bare.

Let’s all run across the grass.
But do look out for bindi eyes.
Ow! Ow! Ouch! They’re everywhere.
Hear our barefoot bindi cries.

Watch us dance the bindi ballet
Quick steps, big steps on our toes.
Hidden prickles keep us leaping
if we step where bindi grows.

Best of all are barefoot beach-days
racing on the summer sand.
Ow! It’s hot! Run to the water.
Run to the edge. Whew! See us stand

doing the barefoot wet-sand wiggle.
See us sink on toes that squirm
down through clouds of sand and shells,
ankles wrapped in swirling foam.

Barefoot days pass far too quickly.
Back-to-school time soon comes round.
But think how much our feet are learning
walking barefoot on the ground.
© Kate O’Neil

The Possums of Pittwater by Anne Bell

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The Possums of Pittwater

 

The possums are holding a ball on the roof

the noise they are making is positive proof.

They are dancing the samba (ole and caramba!)

the one-step, the two-step,

the waltz and the you-step,

the quick step, the trick -step,

tarantella and tango,

and just for a lark, the gum-tree fandango

(But never the fox-trot. No. Certainly not.)

 

Line-dancing or ballet, it’s nothing to them

– a possum’s jete is really a gem.

But sometimes I wish, in the midst of their romp

(boogie, mazurka, rock-and-roll, saltbush stomp)

they’d put their boots back in a neat cardboard box

and dance for a while in their sneakers and socks,

 

©Anne Bell

First published the NSW Department of Education School Magazine

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Before you read today’s poem, here’s a change of website address if you want to purchase your copy of Let in the Stars (reviewed in yesterday’s post): it’s www.mcbf.org.uk/books

 

Pearl

Pearl was a girl

A pearly girl

But not a girly girl

Not a softly softly

Sssssshhhhhh girl

Not a tiptoe

Through the tulips girl

 

Pearl was a girl

A pearly girl

But not a girly girl

Not a frills and frippery

Flowery girl

Not a powder puff

Perfume pom pom girl

 

Pearl was a girl

A pearly girl

But not a girly girl

Not a dainty delicate

Dew drop girl

Not a lavender lacy

Look at me me me girl

 

But a pearl. A pearl of a girl.

 

© Jane Williams

Poem of the Day

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THE LIBRARY DOOR

 

The door to the library is a wardrobe door

Opening to Narnia, magic and more.

To Wonderland with Alice, open the gate,

Skip through the Looking Glass – adventures wait.

Thrill to the Hobbit and the wondrous Ring,

Be there to watch the Return of the King.

With Toad of Toad Hall, Ratty and Mole,

Explore green River Banks – a waterside stroll.

The terror of Earthsea, its dragons and wizard,

A shadow-beast, evil, with dangerous vizard.

In the Midnight Garden, when the clock in the hall

Strikes thirteen, a ghost will call.

Behind wood panelling and under your feet

Is the home of the Borrowers whom you’ll meet.

The door to the library is a wardrobe door

Opening to Hogwarts, Harry and more.

 

by Edel Wignell

The Australian Society of Authors ©

 

First published in The Dragoner, No. 2, 2006, Newsletter of the Dromkeen Dragons,

Victoria, Australia

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Princess Shoes

 

“Did you buy my princess shoes?” asks Molly

Every day she wants to know

Since she saw them sparkle

from jewelled heel to toe

 

And every day, Father answers, “No.”

 

“Did you pull some weeds?” asks Father

“Did you sing to Baby Lance?”

Every day he asks her,

“Did you learn your Irish dance?”

 

And every day, Molly says she hasn’t had the chance.

 

“Did you buy my princess shoes?”  asks Molly as before. ”

I pulled some weeds and sang to Lance

Dame Flora’s teaching me the dance…”

 

She demonstrates her moves

 

And Father says, “I do believe…

I might have bought

some princess shoes.”

 

© Sally Odgers

 

 

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Butcher Bird in Drought Time

Three notes he sang,

three lonely limpid notes

to the arid sky;

green as hope they were,

clear  as mountain air

and sweet as water falling.

 

Keep them as a sign

that he will sing again

in other springs

as green as hope,

as clear as mountain air

and sweet as water falling.
© Anne Bell

 

First published NSW Department of Education School magazine

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Born to be a Ratter

 

I was born to be a ratter

I’m a squabble and a scrapper

And the cats are never fatter

When I hassle them about

I’m a snapper and a spatter

While you’re saying, “What’s the matter?”

While I clitter and I clatter

And I yappet in and out

I was born to be a rouser

And a scrapper and carouser

As a cat’s a wishful mouser

So the hunt is in my head

I’m a scrabble what’s-about-a

I’m a bouncer and a scouter

Of your rules I am a flouter

‘Cos you made me pet instead.

 

© Sally Odgers