The Koala and the Crocodile

Ko-Ko Koala was a spoilt little brat.

He wouldn’t eat vegies in case he got fat.

‘Brussel sprouts and cabbage belong in the bin,

Lemonade and fudge keeps me nice and thin.’

‘Sad,’ said his friends in tones of sorrow.

‘Our little Koala will end up rather hollow.’

‘Hardly,’ snorted Ko Ko, in tones very rude,

‘Where-ever I roam I eat take-away food.’

‘Chicken and chips and hamburgers fried,

And chocolate donuts with cream inside

Taste much better for a Koala about town

Bush food is stodgy,’ he said with a frown.

His friends all got very very cross,

Bush food is filling but isn’t very posh.

Then along came a crocodile

Jaws wide open in a hungry smile.

The little Koala was suddenly left,

Nobody liked the company he kept.

Ko Ko ordered it to go far away,

But the crocodile was there to stay.

‘Bags of chips and popcorn for tea,

Plenty to eat if you dine with me.

If only you would climb down nearer,

Our friendship could be so much dearer.’

Ko Ko settled up the tree to wait,

He wouldn’t fall for such tempting bait.

The days went by, he got thin and wan,

Dreaming of take away meals long gone.

Ko Ko Koala stayed high off the ground,

Ate lots of gum leaves and grew very round.

The crocodile waited his eyes full of greed,

And renewed his invite to come and feed.

‘I’ve cheese and onion on hamburgers fried,

I promise they’ll keep you well satisfied.

There’s pineapple on pav with cream between,

And ice creams with flavours you’ve never seen.’

‘A diet of ice cream and potato chips fried,

Will give me tummy ache,’ our Ko Ko replied.

The crocodile sighed and lost his smile,

And decided to slink off home for a while.

And this is why the crocodile’s tears of grief

Are at the Koala’s love for the Eucalytus leaf.

And for take away food Ko Ko will never roam.

He finds plenty to eat in his tree top home.

© Margaret Pearce,

The Scary Boy

Professor Pamela McGurk

was famed for Scientific Work.

It was she who proved beyond a doubt,

false teeth look better in, than out.

She also used her science skills

to prove that ducks, don’t pay their bills.

As well she made a baked bean car . . .

with the help of wind, it travelled far.

But the thing that gave her greatest joy

was a machine she called, The Scary Boy.

It was shiny and silver and covered in spots.

It was built entirely of pans and pots.

It had eyes and a nose and a mouth and hands,

and a motor that ran, on old rubber bands.

It was tall and purry and furry and fat.

It had ears that flapped, like the wings of a bat.

It had buttons and switches and gadgets and plugs –

and the floor was a carpet – of Ladybird Bugs.

It was big, it was bold, it was brash, it was new.

And the whole world wondered, ‘What does it do?’

She flicked it on and what did it do?

Nothing at all, except go . . .

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

© Bill Condon

The Giant Hat

Wacko Jack from Ballarat

Built the most enormous hat,

Made of canvas with a great big brim,

Three storeys tall with a velvet trim.

Some dogs howled, while babies cried

When they saw Jack’s hat he wore with pride,

Old ladies gulped while others grinned,

Until one day a howling wind

Saw Jack take off, up he went,

Sailing high like a flying tent,

He yelled out loud with a face so grim,

“Next time I’ll make a smaller brim.”

That same night when it was late,

A UFO spotted above Bass Straight,

But it was only Jack still holding on

To the flying hat that’d gone so wrong.

© John Williams

Dog life

They hurtle off towards the beach

to yap at gulls beyond their reach,

with noses raised to catch a whiff

of new, exciting things to sniff.

Their focus locked on sea and sand,

their thoughts deliciously unplanned,

these wet and shaggy kindred souls

are jumping waves and digging holes.

If only they could teach me how

to revel in the here and now,

to halt my thoughts before they stray

to all that lurks beyond today,

the back to school, the daily slog.

If only I’d been born a dog!

© Jenny Erlanger

       Doctor!

‘Doctor, doctor, doctor,

I feel awfully like a goat.’

The doctor said, ‘Let’s see,’

As he put on his coat.

He tapped my head and, startled,

Said, ‘Two horns are hid!

How long have they been there?’

‘Since I was a kid.’

(Illus. Doctor peering at small horns among the hair on the head.)

‘Doctor, doctor, doctor,

I feel dreadfully like a cat.’

‘Hop up on the chair

And we’ll have a little chat.’

‘I’m not allowed to climb

On table, chair or couch.’

‘I heard a “Mia-ow”, I’m sure!’

‘All I said was “Ouch!”‘

(Illus. Doctor pressing tongue down and peering at the throat.)

By Edel Wignell

© The Australian Society of Authors

Australia

An island continent down under too grand to just ignore,

A land of coastal water where sandy beaches line the shore,

Rugged range and dusty plain colliding with each other,

A land of inspiring contrast nature took its time to cover.

Green canopy of Kurrajong Tree provide jackaroos with their shade,

As they do battle with the outback where the stockmen’s legends made,

The cattle and the sheep will graze where the soil meets their needs,

But crippling droughts can catch them out as farmers plant their seeds.

Orchardists with their crops of fruit look skyward for a drink,

While sugar-cane on coastal plain provides our sweetest link,

Golden corn and ears of wheat dance round in yellow field,

The farmer working dawn to dusk to reap his vital yield.

Fire and flood can cause such havoc; there’s a harshness in our land,

But strength of character carries us through and neighbours lend a hand,

Koalas eat their gum leaves, kangaroos shy from where they’ve been,

Kookaburras laugh their loudest as platypus dips into the stream.

Gallipoli and Anzacs create fervour in our mind,

These brave young hearts that gave their lives, too many left behind,

Sydney Harbour Bridge and Opera House, Uluru and Barrier Reef,

All provide us with our identity, our icons and belief.

© John Williams

The Cleaner

Our past washed away,

Our history is being dismissed

My background is being wiped off

Their life, gone.

The past is bleeding across,

A clean and white new slate.

The strands that drip down

Show those who still remember.

They remember our history with pride not displeasure,

They remember even after it being wiped clean

They remember everything,

Their life without dictation.

© Jemma Gray

Note: This poem won the junior secondary division prize of the 2014 Dorothea McKellar national poetry award

A Letter to the bombers

By Frog Printz

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

Laughter that trembles your ears

A blast we’re having, hoorah! Hoorah!

and fly for seventy years

Higher and higher we don’t know where

or when or if we’ll ever get there

a grand festival awaits our arrive

greater than any we’d known when alive

Music and dancing and clouds in the air

friends and girls with colourful hair

Our Father will greet us with a heavenly grin

proud that we served our life for Him

But then we land with an almighty thud

our bones aching and covered in mud

a familiar sound we raise our eyes up

a laughing Satan is clutching his gut

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

Travelled so far but here you are

What joy, such fun, a grand parade!

Happy this devilish heart you’ve made

Tricked you were with great success

to do as I had fared

I tempted you in my prettiest dress

and brought you to my lair

None are the clouds, the dances and song

none are the friends and girls

now we see we’ve been fools all along

and sadness we’ve left in the world.

© Lloyd Riman

Old Mates

I have a rambunctious cairn terrier,

Who is an obsessive bone-burier,

He buried the cat,

But she boomeranged back,

He’s never seen anything scarier.

Big Baz has a bossy blue heeler,

Who trained Baz to fetch and to feed her,

He thinks it so beaut,

In the back of her ute,

He even rolls over to please her.

Wayne has a pernickety poodle,

Pink bows tied atop her pert noodle,

On four legs she prances,

On two legs she dances,

For dinner she eats apple strudel.

Trev has a gold Labrador-oh,

So fat yet he always wants more-oh,

He chewed up Trev’s couch,

Down to splinters – ouch! OUCH!

Then flopped himself right through the floor-oh.

Old Pat has a spotty Dalmatian,

Who, wanting to change his location,

Squeezed through the gate,

Found a cute little mate,

And had a most pleasant vacation.

Young Ron has a daft border collie,

Who thinks herding sheep most unjolly,

He acts like a clown,

Juggles balls up and down,

While rolling along on a trolley.

Wayne’s shed’s where we all meet on Fridays,

A beer and a barbie there always,

Makes the tails wag,

As we gobble a snag,

And yarn about life in the old days.

Glenys Eskdale

http://glenyseskdale.wordpress.com/

Waiting for a Feast

The seal is ready

To plunge and grip its prey;

Waits for a penguin to emerge,

But it dives deep

And escapes in the surge.

The spider squats

In a web – sticky and strong;

Waits patiently for a bee,

But it darts aside,

Zooms, and is free.

The python is poised,

Ready to loop its coils;

Waits for a grazing deer,

But it leaps away

In a dash of fear.

By Edel Wignell

© The Australian Society of Authors