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“Ants in my pants” by Jenny Erlanger

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Ants in my pants

 

There’s a bee in my bonnet,

I know I’ll be stung

but I can’t yell for help

’cause the cat’s got my tongue.

I’ve got rocks in my head,

my heart’s on my sleeve,

the frog in my throat

is refusing to leave

and I’m not really sure

what is going to become

of the butterflies fluttering

round in my tum.

To think that I nearly

forgot to include

that my leg is being pulled

and my ear is being chewed!

My patience with you

is just ready to crack.

I lent you a hand

and it hasn’t come back!

So sorry for making

a big song and dance

but there’s more on my mind

than the ants in my pants!

Jenny Erlanger

 

“Worm-Farm Blues” by Kate O’Neil

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WORM-FARM BLUES

                              

It’s a no-good life livin’ in this worm-farm—

It’s no life a worm would choose.

We’re writhin’ around, tangled and mangled

Topsied and turvied and confused. 

There’s too darn many in this worm-farm

We’ve all got the worm-farm blues.

We loop to and fro 

with nowhere to go

singin’ the worm-farm blues:

 

Chorus:              

We’ve a dream in our head

Of a vegetable bed.

We know it’s not far away.

With room to roam

And plenty of loam.

But we’ll never see that day.

Oh Blues! It’s blues all the way! 

There’s nowhere to go in this chock-a-block worm-farm—

No place where we can snooze.

We twist and we twine, huddled and muddled,

contorted and thwarted and abused.

And all of us here in this worm-farm

are sufferin’ the worm-farm blues.

We’re just ravellin’

Can’t do travellin’

We just sing the worm-farm blues.

 

Is there anybody there listenin’ to this worm-farm?

Anyone to hear our views?

We tumble in a jumble, pulsing and convulsing.

We’re rumpled and crumpled and bruised.

We‘re goin’ on strike in this worm-farm:

There’ll be no more worm-farm poos!

We hate this scramblin’

We wanna be ramblin’

away from the worm-farm blues.

©  Kate O’Neil

Haiku by Tristan Barclay

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soccer pitch

the border collie running

in circles

 

(Tristan won an international children’s haiku competition in 2018)

 

Warm and Fluffy by Celia Berrell

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The animals have hairy fur.

The birds have got their feathers.

These keep their bodies warm enough

throughout the chilly weather.

 

The fibres in those fluffy coats

criss-cross to form some air-holes

that can’t escape or waft away

because of all the hair-folds.

 

Their skin gives off some body-warmth.

Just like a radiator.

Their fluffy coats help keep that heat

as thermal insulators.

 

The warm air’s trapped inside the fur

to shield them from the outside.

The way that blankets on a bed

are cosy on the inside.

 

But if that fluffy coat gets wet

those air-holes fill with water.

Their body’s warmth escapes as that

wet coat’s a heat conductor.

 

The soggy fur clings to their skin.

No longer insulated.

And water makes their body cold

as it’s evaporated.

 

Any fluffy animal will

shake that water well away.

So if your puppy’s had a swim …

Watch-out for all that water spray!

 

 

Rippling Gravity by Celia Berrell

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A tranquil pond that’s glassy smooth

has surface tensioned skin un-grooved.

No creases spoil its surface layer

when peace and stillness fill the air.

 

Then one disturbance, pebble’s plop

an insect’s hop or stray raindrop,

creates a pattern we’ve just traced

to forces found in outer space.

 

Rippled wrinkles, round ornate

make circled waves that radiate

while rising, falling with the force

of gravity, which holds their course.

 

Space-time’s fabric will behave

in similar ways through gravity waves.

This rippled force from far beyond

makes patterns like our little pond.

 

 

I Wish … by Louise McCarthy

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Oh goose you fly so very high,

I wish that I could too.

Up up, up up, into the sky,

There’s nothing I can do.

 

I stand here wishing I’d grow wings,

I never hope for other things.

I dream at night that I’ve gained height,

And the earth is almost out of sight.

 

But here I am, stuck on the ground,

Never to be seen or found,

Up there with you oh goose,

For I am just a humble moose.

 

Oh moose as I look down below,

I notice you especially.

You graze the grass, you sip the lake,

You wander so majestically.

 

Your antlers have such symmetry,

They make a stunning crown.

Your fur hide, is a royal robe,

Magnificent though brown.

 

And since you simply cannot fly;

You’re never going to fledge,

I’ve bought a gift – an airline ticket,

With a dozen golden eggs.

 

So dream your dreams,

You never know just what you will achieve.

Many things are possible,

So long as you believe.

 

 

Louise McCarthy

A Secret Space by Dianne Bates

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There was shelter –

An upturned water tank

With an entrance hole —

My secret space

In the brittle summer bush

Where I’d hide,

Dark and bruised and splintered.

 

In those childhood days

I was an outlaw of sorts,

Travelling alone,

Not fitting anywhere,

Listening to cicadas throbbing

With song,

Beyond words,

Wanting nothing

But the arc of my mother’s arms

 

 

Dianne Bates

Position available

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Are you a children’s poet with a passion for sharing poetry and promoting Australian children’s poets and their work?

An enthusiastic volunteer is needed to take over the administration of this popular blog.

After working on Australian Children’s Poetry for two and a half years, I feel the time has come to step aside and hand over to someone new because I have a number of writing projects that will be demanding more of my attention over coming months. It’s been such an enjoyable experience being involved in the site and connecting with so many wonderful children’s poets. Your generosity in sharing your work with others for the Poem of the Day posts has been overwhelming and it’s always exciting to see what new poems have turned up in my in box in response to the weekly Poetry Prompts, which are fun to create.

Basically the administrator’s role involves receiving poems by email and posting the Poem of the Day to the blog, approving (or trashing spam) comments, updating the A-Z of Australian children’s poets as required and sharing information about competitions and articles about Australian children’s poetry.

If you’re interested in taking on this voluntary role, please contact me at teenawriter@gmail.com or Dianne Bates at dibates@outlook.com

Teena

Poems of the Day

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Poetry Prompt #19 attracted a swag of wonderful Acrostic poems. I hope you enjoy this selection as much as I did.

River

River, river, I don’t know

River, river, where you flow

Your course varies north to south

Where’s your source?  Where’s your mouth?

You’re a winding watery snake!

(Now read it again, starting from the bottom)

James Aitchison

 

The River Goes to Sleep

Ripples leave their

Imprints on a soft and sandy rise,

Vines are dipping fingers while the

Evening winks her eyes;

Resting crimson ribbons round the river’s dusty sides.

Alys Jackson

 

RIVER

 

Running to school one cold wet day

Into dreams of escape and running away

Visiting islands full of sea and sun

Enjoying swimming and lots of fun

Returned to reality dark and grey.

 

Required homework not done yet

Idiot me never a teacher’s pet

Very hard to get past this disaster

Explaining why I can’t work faster

Rewriting forever the homework set.

Margaret Pearce

 

Acrostic River

Resting river, a rill rocks our raft

Icy depths of ink immersing ivy

Vacillation, veering with veritable vigour,

Exploration of each elemental eddy is exciting

Run raft run, rejoicing round the rapids

Virginia Lowe

 

 

 

Poem of the Day

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What is Red?

 

I strolled in the woods,

Wearing a red hood.

Looking cool in the neighbourhood.

 

 

I knock, knocked at Granny’s door.

I heard a terrible snore.

Just like a dinosaur roar.

 

Poor granny lay dead still.

Given a sleeping pill.

I’m no dill.

 

 

My eyes could see

You were dressed to trick me.

I pretended all was as it should be.

 

 

In the big four-poster bed you lay,

Hoping I would play.

But this was my day to make you pay.

 

 

All was not what it seemed.

Your sharp teeth gleamed.

Showing you for who you are was my dream.

 

 

A mean cold stare,

Laid you bare.

Come closer you dared.

 

I had to be brave

To save poor granny from the grave.

Coming your way was a shock wave.

 

 

I may be sweet and dressed in red

But you should be filled with dread.

That isn’t Granny in the sickbed.

 

 

I asked the secret code word of you

You looked blue

You had no clue.

 

 

Three letters please

Don’t be a tease.

I can see you freeze

 

 

Tell me now

Stop wrinkling your brow

On your nose ‘kapow!’

 

The code word is red.

Your face is red.

You run with dread.

 

Sharing is caring

Your red face is laid bare

For now there is no one you can scare.

 

Karen Hendriks