As light creeps slowly we remember,
Those who fought and risked lives in war.
Now they rest eternally,
We will remember them.
We thank the fallen.
Lest we forget,
ANZAC Day.
They die,
Fell.
Anzac Day by Cody – Townsville Grammar School, North Shore
Image from Vecteezy
Little bees flying around the sky,
Pollinating the cute flowers.
Living the beautiful life,
Flying around the woods.
Peacefully buzzing,
Black and yellow.
Very soft
Insects.
Bee!
Bees by Isabelle – Townsville Grammar School, North Shore
Image from Pixabay
A cold dark abyss
Multiple planets and stars
So much to explore
Space by Madden – Townsville Grammar School, North Shore
Image from Pixabay
A beautiful tale
Hydrangeas and lush forests
Blue and green lakes lie.
Twin Lakes by Class 4L – Townsville Grammar School North Shore
Image from Pexels
Teacher’s note: After reading a folk story about the Twin Lakes in Azores, we composed this poem as a class.
| The Ballad of Molly Malloo: Part 2
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| In Stringybark Downs when there’s dew on the ground,
And the larks and the maggies are singing, When blue skies abound, you can feel all around, That springtime is finally springing.
|
| And the dung beetle knows when the springtime has sprung,
It’s time to head out and go searching for dung, For a soft gooey cowpat, though strange it may seem, To a dung beetle, tastes like a scrumptious ice-cream.
|
| So, this dung beetle flew over valleys and trees,
Till his nose caught the scent of some cows, on the breeze. And where there are cows you will usually find That freshly made cowpats are not far behind.
|
| Quickly, the dung beetle had them in sight,
A couple of heifers, one brown and one white, And he asked in a manner so very polite (For his parents had taught him his wrong from his right),
“Please spare me a cowpat kind ladies. Please spare me a cowpat or two. I’ve just woken up from my slumber, And I need a nice cowpat to chew.”
|
| These cows, you’ll remember them, Jane and Lorraine,
Looked down in disgust and began to complain. “Scuttle off! Get away! You’re cramping our style. You’re simply revolting. You’re filthy! You’re vile! The farmer is coming. We cannot be seen With someone whose habits are quite so obscene.” Oh, crikey! How mean! |
|
Poor dung beetle. Really, what was he to do? Perhaps they were right. Perhaps it was true. His tummy was empty. His hunger pangs grew. So, he slumped by the creek and he sobbed, “Boo-hoo-hoo.”
|
| In Stringybark Downs, there echoed around
The boos and the moos of despair, As fate brought together this cow and this beetle With troubles they needed to share.
And she told how The Show was her one little dream, And he talked about cowpats that taste of ice-cream. She spoke of those heifers that just didn’t care, And he said how those sisters had been so unfair.
|
| Sighed the beetle, “We clear up the dung without fuss.
Imagine the mess if it wasn’t for us.” “I can quite imagine it,” Molly replied, As beautiful notions welled up from inside, Until, in her mind, like a bolt from the blue, A win-win solution just popped into view. “Eureka!” she shouted, “I know what to do!”
|
| “Clear my whole paddock of dung. That’s the plan.
Eat all my cowpats as quick as you can. Don’t dilly, don’t dally,” said Molly, “make haste. The farmer is coming. There’s no time to waste.”
|
| How that dung beetle ate. Oh, he ate himself silly,
Gratefully guzzling dung willy-nilly. He dined upon cowpats like never before, Gorging himself till his tummy grew sore, And full to the brim he could manage no more.
“I’m sorry, I’ve failed,” the dung beetle wailed, “The plan’s come undone and you’re back to square one.” Had the plot been a flop? Had her scheme been in vain? Had Molly’s last hope disappeared down the drain?
To be continued… |
| The Ballad of Molly Malloo: Part 1
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| In Stringybark Downs when the clover is lush,
And the swallow is high on the wing, When the blossom comes out and the bees hum about, You can smell the arrival of spring.
|
| And springtime, as any young heifer would know,
Is time for the Stringybark Downs Country Show, Where they have, for those lucky enough to appear, The chance to be crowned as ‘The Cow of the Year’.
|
| Out in the paddocks the air was abuzz;
A sense of excitement was growing, As word went about that the farmer was out To pick up the cows who were going.
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| “He’s bound to take us,” said a heifer called Jane,
“Our horns are a sight to behold.” “And surely he’ll see,” said her sister, Lorraine, “Our hides fairly shimmer like gold.”
Then a voice ‘cross the way said, “I’d love to go too.” ‘Twas the sweet gentle mooing of Molly Malloo. “But dear Molly,” they giggled, “he’ll never pick you.”
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| “Your horns are all wonky. Your hair is a mess.
You’re wide in the rump, you would have to confess. Your tail is all tatty and as for those thighs, Have you seen your reflection? They’re not the right size. To think you’d be chosen is simply absurd. Just face it,” they teased her, “YOU’RE FROM THE WRONG HERD!” Oh dear. Oh, my word.
|
| Poor Molly Malloo. What was she to do?
Perhaps they were right. Perhaps it was true. She thought of The Show and her misery grew. So, she lay by the creek and she cried, “Moo-hoo-hoo.”
To be continued…
|
The Wedge-tailed Eagle (Aquila audax) is the largest bird of prey in Australia and can be found throughout the country.
Its length is between 81-106 cm with a wing span of up to 232 cm. with a lifespan of up to 40 years,
It has an unmistakable wedge-shaped tail with feathered legs and in maturity has have a dark blackish brown plumage.
It is a carnivore and its diet consists of carrions, rabbits, hares but can also include foxes, feral cats, small kangaroos, possums wombats etc.
The Wedge-tailed Eagle
Graceful wings sore through the sky,
Majestically they fly on high,
Gliding, then they flap again,
Over paddocks of green terrain.
Drifting as they look for prey,
On this warm and sunny day.
Movement spotted on the ground,
Rabbits hopping all around.
The eagle swoops, its talons out,
Plucks a rabbit as it hops about.
Flies back home with all its might,
To enjoy supper that very night.
The phalarope is a small shorebird which belongs to the sandpiper family. They are known for their distinctive nesting behaviour, and their unique feeding technique. The males and females do not fulfil typical gender roles.
The Phalarope
Have you heard of the phalarope bird?
Now I give you my word ~ its name isn’t absurd.
In terms of physique it couldn’t be slimmer
Which helps to make it an excellent swimmer.
Their feathers are most often black, red and white,
Then they’re grey in the winter: what a wondrous sight.
Within the Arctic region they breed
Where you’d think it too cold to perform such a deed.
In the Northern Hemisphere they lay eggs, then later
Spend their winters the other side of the equator.
Female phalaropes will court with their mate
Who in turn builds a nest so he may incubate.
The she-bird is larger in size than her fella,
So if she gained weight, I doubt he would tell her.
But here’s a grand fact that I think is worth hearing:
It’s the male who does the young phalarope-rearing.
And so, as these verses are nearing their end
Please consider the phalarope your friend.
If ever you see one from the ground down below
Keep your eyes gazing skyward and call out “hello”.
The dodo bird was last sited in the mid 1600’s. It did not fly and lived fearless, wandering
In woodlands around the coast of Mauritius. The nicobar pigeon is its closest existing relative. Fruit is thought to have been part of the dodo bird’s diet. Interestingly the digestion of the bird was aided by the use of a gizzard stone. It existed carefree until becoming prey to invasive species and sailors.
From the Nicobar Islands, the Nicobar Pigeon,
Decided to travel – its one great ambition.
The trip was well planned – by no means capricious,
It would meet cousin dodo on the coast of Mauritius.
But the pigeon from Nicobar was not up to date,
About the extinction – the Dodo Birds fate.
Woo-woooo, woo-woo-woe,
Woe-woe, where-where-why,
What-what, what-what, happened,
Where are you dear dodo?
And the Dodo bird made no sound…
My little puppy ‘Billy Joe’,
Had a short nose,
As the weeks went by,
A question arose,
“Was it getting bigger,
As mischief was done,
Did it grow accordingly,
Reflecting all his fun?”
Food stolen from the table,
Accidents inside,
“Was he like Pinocchio,
Whose nose grew when he lied?”
He always looked so innocent,
But I knew it could not be,
The evidence was there,
Right in front of me.
In time his nose grew longer,
More damage I could see,
And then it slowly stopped,
I was happy as can be.
Billy’s nose stopped growing,
The older he became,
He was less destructive,
For it was his age that was to blame.
Australian Children’s Poetry 