© Doug Macleod
Cocoon
My sleeping bag is warm and tight.
I’ve wormed my way down deep.
Could someone please turn out the light?
I’m ready now to sleep.
I could be quite a while in here.
Take care of all my things.
I don’t intend to reappear
until I’ve sprouted wings.
© Jenny Erlanger
This poem won first prize in Jackie Hosking’s Rhyming Poetry Spring competition in 2013. Jenny has had ten poems published in “The School Magazine” and another two feature in Hopscotch (Jelli -Beanz Publishing 2007). Jenny’s book of children’s poetry, Giggles and Niggles (Haddington Press 2007) is currently out of print, but anyone interested in purchasing a copy can contact Jenny by email jennyerlanger@optusnet.com.au
Windy Night
I can hear the wind howling like an angry dog. I can hear the door creaking like a calling frog. Windows shake, dry branches rake across the flapping shutters. The air is moving, swirling, crying, whistling through the gutters. In my bed I lift my head and sing like the wind all around me: “Hello, halloo, what a hullaballoo!” If you can rage then I will, too— I dance like the wind all around me. “Hello, halloo, what a hullaballoo!” I sing like the wind all around me.
© Julie Thorndyke
Dad and Me
Last night I dreamt that the rain was coming,
It hung in the air; then I heard it drumming,
Skittering across the paddock nearby,
Black clouds marching across the sky,
The drought had ended; now we were free,
And we stood at the window — Dad and me,
Tasting the promise of a new beginning,
Feeling good — watching and grinning.
Our land had a million mouths to fill,
Each craze of cracks led down the hill
To a shallow crater — once a pond,
That now was full and flowing on, beyond,
Into creeks and rivers and out to sea,
But that didn’t matter to Dad and me,
We just prayed that the rain would not stop,
Till our dams were filled, right to the top!
When I awoke, it was a scorching morning,
Closing my eyes, I sat up, yawning,
In thrall of my dream, it seemed to me,
That all would be as I wished it to be,
Green upon green with raindrop splashes,
But my world was still brown – ashes to ashes,
I pulled on my clothes, there was no hurry,
I hid my hurt so that Dad would not worry.
We mended the fences, Dad and me,
They stretched as far as we both could see,
Where stock once grazed, but not for years,
And I confessed to Dad my secret fears –
We were out of luck and the farm was dying,
So I asked him why we kept on trying,
“Son,” he said, “Let me tell you somethin’,
Last night I dreamt that the rain was comin’”.
© Irene Buckler
At the zoo
There are lots of good things you can do at the zoo
When you get to the front of the queue at the zoo,
And lots of things you can see too at the zoo
When you’ve managed to work your way through at the zoo.
You can look at the wild kangaroo at the zoo
And the owls that go tahwit-tahwoo at the zoo
And the monkeys that go oo-oo-oo at the zoo,
But there aren’t any cows that go moo at the zoo.
There are llamas that come from Peru at the zoo.
There are Wildebeast known as gnu at the zoo,
But I think it is very untrue at the zoo
That you’ll find a horse in a canoe at the zoo.
The animals don’t use shampoo at the zoo
And the animals don’t eat fondue at the zoo
And the animals don’t do kung fu at the zoo,
But they can cause a hullabaloo at the zoo.
You can watch what the animals chew at the zoo:
They eat grass; they eat meat and bamboo at the zoo.
You can wait till they go to the loo at the zoo
And then watch it come out in their poo at the zoo.
When you’ve seen all there is you can view at the zoo
You had better not stay overdue at the zoo,
Or they might get a beast that is new at the zoo
In a cage – and that beast will be you at the zoo!
© Mike Lucas
Shakespeare’s
Shop 3
7 Gawler Street
Port Noarlunga
SA 5167
Phone/Fax: (0061) 8 8382 3343
Jenolan Caves — Australia’s Underground Fairyland
The Grand Arch holds you spellbound, when first you come to look,
At the wonders of Jenolan, indeed it’s nature’s nook,
Glistening stalactites and stalagmites among beautiful canopies,
Are just below the surface of mountains dressed in trees.
Nature’s gallery of beauty is on display in limestone caves,
Twisting shawls of calcite in majestic rolling waves,
Massive growths contrast with clusters of fragile crystalline,
White, yellow, orange and reddish-brown, oh how the colours shine.
The drip-stones in the River Cave, especially the Minaret,
Show creams and whites of great delight formed by the wet,
The Giant Shawl in Mon Meg’s Chamber is tinted brownish-red,
A beautiful sheet illuminated, fit for any royal bed.
You cross two arched bridges to the Skeleton Cave display,
Aboriginal bones lay scattered by a stream that found its way,
Past the Pillar of Hercules, Jenolan’ s tallest stalagmite,
And the crystalline Bath of Venus backed by straws so very white.
Oh thank you to McKeown for the stock he stole that day,
For his catching by James Whalan led us all to this display,
Jenolan we are awed, by your caverns magically transformed,
Into an exquisite fairyland so beautifully adorned.
© John Williams
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)
No such thing
No such thing as monsters
I’m absolutely sure
As is Mrs Werewolf
Who rents the house next door
No such thing as monsters
A scientific fact
I have it writ in blood
Sincerely signed Count Drac
No such thing as monsters
My sources can’t be wrong
I heard it from a friend
Of a friend of King Kong
No such thing as monsters
The neighbours all agree
Dr Jeckle, Mr Hyde,
The Frankensteins and me
No such thing as monsters
And really I should know
Mummy unwrapped herself
Just now to tell me so!
© Jane Williams
Jane Williams is a writer based in Tasmania. Her most recent book is Days Like These – New and Selected Poems. Samples from her books can be found at www.janewilliams.wordpress.com
Hourglass
The beach has changed this year
tall dunes have washed away—
our rock pools dry and bare
… so fall the sands of time.
The surf club walls have lurched
foundations sink and warp
each window pane has cracked
to admit the sands of time.
The jetty timbers creak
and splinter with the tide
with every passing week
sink deep in sands of time.
The camping ground has closed
bright sign has fallen low
weeds thrive where children played
… so fall the sands of time.
© Julie Thorndyke
Blue Mountains Gully
Yellow crops of sandstone,
Jagged mountain peak,
Red display of waratahs,
A meandering bush creek.
White display of flannel flowers,
Bottle brush with orange cones,
Beautiful fronds of tree ferns,
Blue gums with crafted tones.
A frolicking roll of mountain mist,
An ancient windswept cave,
Green moss upon the velvet rocks,
Falling gum leaf gives a wave.
The tinkling sound of bellbirds
Run echoes round the stream,
A yellow-tailed cockatoo
Circles back to where it’s been.
The buzzing of a bush-bee
Comes from near a fallen log,
A croaking sound pervading
It’s a golden striped tree frog.
This bush display persistent,
Wallaby nibbles grass nearby,
A lyre bird shyly into view,
Kookaburras sit in branches high.
The melodic sounds continue,
Chirping birds with coloured plume,
Gorge of coolness calling,
Mountain gully, nature’s loom.
© John Williams
Australian Children’s Poetry 