I poked a purple platypus
So playfully I prodded
It peered out of a pumpkin patch
it winked at me and nodded
The platypus was at a loss
no reason was there known
why he was in a pumpkin patch
and not his river home
I gently pushed him in a box
this muddled monotreme
and set him free to swim again
down at our local stream
A little bit of litter
loitered there upon the sand.
A green and glassy bottle
with no label showing brand.
I wonder if it floated here
from some far distant land,
with a message at its core for me to read,
sent by a sailor stranded and in need.
A little weathered letter
written by the sailor’s hand,
send here across the seven seas
on waves the wind had fanned.
Is this the destination
that the messenger had planned?
Alas, I find the note has since been freed,
and now the bottle’s stranded too, indeed.
My mind is muddled, I feel befuddled,
bewildered and confused.
I think the space inside my brain
has been completely used.
There’s no room left for algebra,
or history or dates,
So I’ll be marching out of school,
please open up the gates.
What’s that you say? You’ll ring my mum?
You’ll call my dad as well?
Well, silly me, there seems to be
some room left in there still.
I guess I’ll stay and learn some more
until the final bell.
Morning comes in through my window
making shadows on my wall
I can see the roses waving
I can hear the magpies call
In the street the dogs are barking
busy people start their day
I stay wrapped within my doona
till it’s time for me to play
Morning comes in through my window
beams of sunlight make me smile
Mummy’s calling me to breakfast
‘In a while, Mum. In a while’
Then I smell the crispy bacon,
maple syrup, pancakes, more.
Morning comes in through my window,
I go racing out the door.
A wiggle, a wobble
a scramble, a stumble
a nibble, a gnaw and a nip
a puddle of dribble
a bowl full of kibble
a trip and a slide and a slip
a tail that’s a’wagging
a small bottom dragging
a’scrapin’, a’scratchin’ and flinchin’
the tiniest paws
on the slipperiest floors
a pup on the tiles in the kitchen.
Ker-plop
ker-plop
Will it never stop?
That dripping tap
keeps dripping
dripping
dripping
ker-plop
ker-plop
plip-plop
plip-plop
I hear every single drop.
That leaking tap
keeps nipping
nipping
nipping at my brain
while water keeps on dripping
dripping
dripping
down the drain
ker-plop
ker-plop
please someone make it stop.
That leaking tap
ker-plop
ker-plop
Is driving me insane.
Allan Cropper
These circles give me headaches
and here’s the reason why,
I’m fine with sums and minuses
but though I always try
This symbol keeps on bugging me
I thought that I would cry
The day my teacher tried to teach me pi
This squiggly little symbol
keeps on doing in my head
Looks nothing like a number but
more like a tiny shed
I’m feeling pretty hungry so
give me pie charts instead
My teacher keeps on trying to teach me pi
The inside of a circle is
pi r squared I’m told
And 2 pi r the measurement
the distance round a hole
This never ending talk of pi
just drives me up the wall
My teacher won’t stop trying to teach me pi
A quadratic equation can
At worse make me irate
Serve me long division, and
I’ll start to salivate
Pi will always be the thing
I dearly love to hate
My teacher won’t stop trying to teach me pi.
Allan Cropper
I was sad.
I shed a single tear.
It lay before me but for a moment.
A warming sun and a drying wind beckoned it skyward
to join a million other teardrops in a cloud.
A million teardrops fell to earth,
and like a million teardrop broom
they swept away the fear and gloom,
and I was happy.
Allan Cropper
The Darling of the Darling Downs
Lady Flo, the wife of Joh
The darling of the Darling Downs
Her recipe for pumpkin scones
Was shared across Australian towns
The farmers in the pumpkin patch
And those who baked and kneaded dough
Were all prepared to cook a batch
And give the pumpkin scones a go
Australia loved the pumpkin scone
and Flo became a household name.
It wasn’t due to husband Joh,
That Lady Flo had found her fame.
In meeting halls and country fairs
The pumpkin scones still do the rounds
So take a bow, dear Lady Flo
The darling of the Darling Downs.
Allan Cropper
There’s a booger in my hanky, it’s been there for half an hour
It is fresh and it is green, but it tastes a little sour
I will hide it in my sock drawer if I ever take a shower
I wonder if my mother’s gonna mind
There’s a booger in my hanky and it’s been there all the day
It is icky and it’s sticky and it’s looking pretty grey
I think I’ll try to train it, and teach it how to stay
I wonder if my mother’s gonna mind
There’s a booger in my hanky and it’s been in there all week
It is probably worth a lot ’cause it’s almost an antique
If you really want to see it I can give you a quick peak
I wonder if my mother’s gonna mind
There’s a booger in my hanky, now it’s been in there a year
It’s as solid as a rock and it’s looking pretty clear
That the booger is a goner, but don’t you shed a tear
There’s plenty of other boogers I can find
I wonder if my mother’s gonna mind?
Allan Cropper
Australian Children’s Poetry 