The Electricitree

Hello, reader. I am me.

I’m climbing up this mighty tree.

I’ll climb and climb and never stop.

I’ll climb it to the very top.

I’m climbing in the dark of night,

With moon and stars to give me sight,

And when at last I reach the crown,

I’ll turn around and climb back down.

Why, goodness gracious, who are you?

And why are you a brilliant blue?

Colours in the depths of night? Explain yourself! It isn’t right!

I am an electric bird.

It really isn’t so absurd.

What did you expect to see

Inside an electricitree?

Electric birds? Electric trees?

Don’t take me for a moron, please!

Power runs along a wire.

You’re a fibber! You’re a liar!

Hold your horses. Do not scoff.

Watch me turning on and off.

See my colour come and go.

Don’t you like my little show?

By jingoes, I believe you’re right!

You really are a pretty sight.

I’m sorry I was rather short.

Electric birds, eh? Who’d have thought!

Not just birds, but also bees

You’ll find in electricitrees.

Instead of blue, they’re brilliant red.

See them buzzing round your head?

Electric bees I can’t believe.

You must have something up your sleeve!

I’m stung! Oh, I apologise!

The proof is here before my eyes.

It hurts! It hurts! Please help me, please!

I trust in your electric bees!

Please, oh please, remove the sting,

And I’ll believe in anything!

Hold quite still now. Do not move.

Let me settle in my groove.

I’ll take the sting out of your hand,

But listen close, and understand.

When you say they are not real

It hurts them. Think of how you’d feel

If someone said you don’t exist?

You’d roar and shout and shake your fist.

Bees can’t shake their fists, and so,

They do the only thing they know.

They sting. But listen, you’re in luck.

Imagine if they’d run amok

And stung and stung, and stung some more.

Then you would be very sore.

You are in their territory

Inside the electricitree.

Thank you. I am feeling better.

Your advice, right to the letter,

I will follow. There’s no chance…

Hey, something’s climbed inside my pants!

It’s got me laughing like a clown.

I’ll have to pull my trousers down.

There’s yellow dots upon my knees.

Help me! Help me! What are these?

Ah! I see electric ants

Have climbed up high inside your pants

Events like this must always be

Inside an electricitree.

Electric ants? Are you quite mad?

Or do you think a foolish lad

Like me will swallow any stuff

You throw at him? I call your bluff!

Electric birds. Electric bees.

Yes, I believe in all of these.

But now I’m shown electric ants.

Do I believe in them? Fat chance!

Oo! Ow! Oo! Ow! I feel a fire

On my legs, and even higher.

Help me, please, to put it out.

Is this a punishment for doubt?

Of course it is. You’re slow to learn,

And now, alas, your legs must burn,

But here, now, take this little leaf,

And rub it on. You’ll feel relief.

Oh thank you, thank you, little bird.

I promise I will trust your word

From now until eternity.

You’ve been so very good to me.

Electric birds. Electric bees.

Electric ants. Please, no more please.

I couldn’t cope with any more.

My hand still stings. My legs are sore.

Why, we have only just begun!

There’s lots more creatures, lots more fun.

Electric grubs. Electric moths.

We even have electric sloths!

They’re very fast. They love to chase

And jump and skip and leap and race.

Why, if you see a sloth that’s slow,

That means its battery is low.

Now, that’s the end! You’ve very mean

To fool a boy as young and green

As me. I simply can’t believe

Your tale, so I will take my leave.

I’ll leave the electricitree.

My bedroom is the place for me.

I have enjoyed your little show…

Hey, look! I have begun to glow!

Yes, you are young, and you are green.

Why, that’s the nicest shade I’ve seen.

What a treasure! What a joy!

We have our first electric boy!

© Stephen Whiteside   16.07.2013

Santa’s wish list

I’ve never thought it pleasant

asking Santa for a present

even though I’m really longing for a bike.

So while I’m sitting on his knee

and his attention’s all on me

I ask the man what he would really like.

Santa’s taken out a list

just to check that nothing’s missed

and I’m madly writing all his wishes down.

Some snazzy luggage racks

to hold those heavy-duty sacks

he lugs around at night from town to town.

He has now gone on to say

that he would really like a sleigh.

His other one, he says, is getting old.

A turbo-charged two-seater

with a super-duper heater

to protect him from the bitter arctic cold.

Dasher’s girth has lost its casing,

Rudolph’s harness needs replacing

and he says that he had better add as well

That Donner, Comet, Prancer

and some other deer called Dancer

all need a new and flashy-looking bell.

His list just keeps on going,

his demands on me are growing.

This really is becoming quite absurd.

The requests are getting stranger,

now he’s asked me for a manger

that is big enough to feed his treasured herd.

He’s still got several pages,

he’s been going on for ages

and I’m not sure I can get him all this stuff.

He’s talking now of brandy

and some special brand of candy

but I’ve hopped down from his lap. I’ve had enough!

© Jenny Erlanger

Chillytoes

Chilly toes or silly toes?

Have to put on socks

I‘m too idle though the cold bites

Lost the will to move? he mocks

Life is chilly for a silly. Socks are packed away

Yes I have some… Dear-oh-dearie, where (oh where) are they?

Sally O

Humungous Fungus

Humungous Fungus is among us

And it’s rather smelly.

It slowly creeps between your toes

Then right up to your belly.

It can be blue, but when it’s pink

It gives off such an awful stink.

Sometimes it floats down in the breeze

And leaves great blobs on both your knees.

When it sparkles like a fairy

Then you must be very wary.

If it waves its magic wand

You’ll smell like slime from next door’s pond.

Beware if Fungus goes to school.

It doesn’t care who looks a fool.

Your teacher might get quite a shock

If Fungus hides inside his sock.

If poor grandma, while she’s sitting

Concentrating on her knitting

Notices a sudden pull

It’s Fungus climbing up her wool.

Even mum must be quite careful

She might cop a blobby hair full

If she happens to be shopping

Right where Fungus slime is dropping.

Family pets should run and hide

‘Cos Fungus loves to slip and slide

Into kennels, baskets, cages

Sending critters into rages.

But Fungus loathes a water spray

So get yourself one right away.

And squirt that fiend with all your might

You’ll be a hero overnight.

Pat Simmons © 2014

High Achievers

We thought we could. ..

We said we would

go on the climb

to Mount Sublime

and we did it!

Yes! We did it!

We got to the top! We did it!

They said it was impossible.

They said we wouldn’t last.

They said it was a grown-ups’ walk

and grown-ups walk too fast.

They said you must be big and strong—

The path is very steep

and you have to cross some channels where

the water’s very deep.

They said the climb is difficult

and we’re not old enough

to know you just keep going when

the going’s really tough.

They said there could be leeches and

creepy crawly things

and real explorers don’t complain

of scratches, bites and stings.

They thought we wouldn’t make it but

they let us go along

and we showed them, yes we showed them they

were wrong! wrong! wrong!

© Kate O’Neil

The Bear

Awakened from his sleep

down from the Forest Wilderland

the bear appears

to smell the river.

Upstream he stands – with

water pulsing past his feet,

beneath,

birds, shrieking in spring skies.

Sharp-eyed,

he watches salmon as they leap –

rivulets of hunger in his mouth.

His clasping teeth,

with sharpened claws,

grab the salmon flapping

in their grief.

He bears his prizes to the slippery edge,

skinning flesh

and finally crushing bones.

Turning

towards a warming sun,

he sniffs the air,

remembering then,

his recent sleep

alone.

© Jill Carter-Hansen 2014

P O Box 1381                                                                                                               

 Darlinghurst   NSW 1300                                                                          

 E jill@visonaryimages.com.au

Space Riddle

My face
Is as wide as a mountain.

When I give orders,
I roar in thirty languages
and the stars blink.

I live on thin air
and sleep with my eyes open.

What am I?

Answer: Nobody knows.

© Katherine Gallagher,
E:mail@katherine-gallagher.com

Limerick

The glorious lady Godiva,
Of fame we would never deprive her,
A nude horseback dash
Might seem crude, even brash,
But my gran has done worse for a fiver.

© Doug Macleod

Bad Sport

In the hush of night
with the door shut tight,
the toilet bowl goes bowling.
The toilet seat grows big flat feet,
and takes itself a’strolling.

But the toilet roll is a sorry soul
which sometimes goes berserk,
when it can’t cavort in toilet sport,
because of paper work.

© Bill Condon

Bill Condon has published several collections of poems including That Smell is My Brother, Rock and Roll Elephants and Don’t Throw Rocks at Chicken Pox. Bill’s latest book is a junior novel, The Simple Things (Allen & Unwin, 2014)

Pigeon-Watch

The pigeon struts
along the ledge:
he never gets
too near the edge.

(Published in The King’s Pyjamas, Belitha, (ed. Pie Corbett) 2001)
Katherine Gallagher,
E: mail@katherine-gallagher.com