The Stray, Christmas morning by JR Poulter

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Teacher Notes:

English writing skills

Write a short description of what you would feel if you woke Christmas morning to not one present. Compare this to finding your Christmas wish granted had been granted.

 

Drawing and emotional intelligence

Draw a four frame comic showing the changes a thoughtful gift can make to a sad person’s facial expression.

 

Team work:

List ways the class could work together to make a difference in the lives of less fortunate folk this Christmas. With your teacher’s guidance, implement one of your class’s projects.

Sequencing:

Make a photo diary of how you all worked to achieve your outcome as a class.

 

Pic and poem and teacher notes by J.R.Poulter

The Visit by Pat Simmons

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Cautiously, creeping down the stairs,

carefully avoiding the creaks,

we stop

and take each other’s hand.

At the bottom we tiptoe,

trembling,

towards the door.

Almost afraid to breath

we slowly, gently, push it open.

Beneath the twinkling lights

sit the gifts.

‘He’s been,’ we whisper

‘He’s been.’

 

(Published 2014 by Celapene Press, Short and Twisted and Thynks Publications Bards at Blidworth and Beyond Anthology of Poems)

Compound Interest by Alan J Wright

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Compound Interest

 

You are the jingle in my bells

The tick in my tock

The flash in my light

The spring in my time

The whirl in my wind

The tell in my tale

You are the ever in my lasting

The ginger in my bread

The life in my boat

It has to be said

This Season

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THIS SEASON                    

 

The moon tonight is a marble,

perfect and white.

See it there

above the rows of trees

bare-limbed and angular

lifting hands

as if in prayer

in the valley

that continues forever.

 

Comes dawn and warmth for

the slumbering bed of seeds

laid in rows like soldiers,

mute, and obedient to the seasons.

 

Comes a drizzle of rain

and baby fingers unfold,

reach for the yellow hot goodness

of sun.

 

Comes the gardener

Who tends the struggling army

defends it against the enemy,

the battalions of flying and crawling insects

and the dryness of earth;

She sprays, hoes,

waits for the hostage stems to unfurl,

to stretch, to uncurl.

 

Comes the leaves,

the unfolding flowers, and then…

ah yes,

the plant ripe with fruit,

the scent of Eden in the air!

 

© Dianne Bates

Polliwogs and pobblebonks by Jenny Erlanger

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I could be quite mistaken

but I’m feeling pretty sure

that polliwog’s a word

you’ve never come across before.

And pobblebonk’s another,

with a funny kind of sound,

a word I’m also certain

you have never seen around.

They’re not a type of candy

or variety of fish.

They’re not exotic items

in some oriental dish.

They don’t have beaks or feathers

and they’re not a breed of dog.

A polliwog’s a tadpole

and a pobblebonk’s a frog.

Poem of the Day

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Interrogation time

 

How will you travel, on foot or by train?

What if it’s cold, if it threatens to rain?

When are we likely to see you again?

Do you know when you’re going to be back?

 

I think that the tram and the bus would be good.

I’ll pack an umbrella and coat with a hood.

I’d give you a date if I thought that I could

but it might be a year down the track.

 

Won’t you be lonely with nowhere to stay?

When are you leaving, what time of the day?

Why are you planning on moving away?

Is everything really that bad?

 

I’m taking my toys. I’ll have plenty to do.

I’m banking on leaving the house around two.

And now that you ask, I’m escaping from you!

Your questions are driving me mad!

Jenny Erlanger
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #18

 

 

 

 

 

Spreading the word

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ABC Local radio – a greatly under-utilised resource?

by Stephen Whiteside

I was very excited when my collection of rhyming verse/bush poetry for children, The Billy That Died With Its Boots On and Other Australian Verse was published by Walker Books in May last year. Walker did a beautiful job of putting the book together, and I felt confident that it would do well.

However, I was a little disappointed with what I felt was a lack of publicity. I made my own efforts, and did manage to secure an interview on ABC Local radio in Melbourne (774) on a Monday afternoon during the school holidays, but that was about it.

Then, when the book won a Golden Gumleaf for Book of the Year at the Australian Bush Laureate Awards during the Tamworth Country Music Festival in January this year, I realised I had the ‘hook’ I needed. It was particularly gratifying – and of interest to the media – that a book for children had won an award that is ostensibly an award for books for adults.

I decided to target ABC Local radio once again and, again, my home town, Melbourne came through. I secured an interview with Libby Gorr on a Sunday morning. However, I had no success with the other capital cities.

It then occurred to me that my natural constituency, given that the book was ‘bush verse’, was probably rural and regional Australia. With this in mind, I began to approach some of the smaller ABC Local radio stations. I quickly struck gold.

As a general rule, responses fell into one of three categories.

  1. The presenter loved bush poetry, and pounced on the opportunity to interview. (This happened a couple of times.)
  1. The station had no interest in the book unless I was visiting their town, which I wasn’t. (This also happened quite a few times.)
  1. The station was interested in the book, but needed some local connection with the book to justify an interview. This also happened on quite a number of occasions, and was where the challenge began.

I secured a state-wide interview in Ballarat by explaining the history of my various ancestors in rural Victoria. I secured an interview in south west Queensland by discussing the influence of Banjo Paterson on my work. (Paterson wrote Waltzing Matilda in this part of Australia.) I secured a couple of interviews in South Australia by discussing the influence of CJ Dennis on my work. (Dennis was born in South Australia, and lived there as a child and young adult.) I have secured an interview in Albany, Western Australia, by explaining that there are poems about whales in the book. (We will do the interview as soon as the whales arrive!) I have also secured an interview in Tamworth, because that is where I won the award.

I should add that all of these interviews (13 now in total) have been conducted without my leaving Melbourne. A few have been live, but most were pre-recorded. Most have been conducted on my mobile phone. I attended the ABC Soutbank Studios for the interview with Libby Gorr.

Of particular interest was the Ballarat interview, where I was placed in a ‘Tardis’ in Southbank. These are highly sophisticated studios that allow the interviewee to sound as though they are in the same studio as the interviewer, even though they may be many miles away.

My favourite interviews have been with the smallest stations in far off corners of this huge continent. The interviewers tend to be more passionate, the interviews longer, and the questions more interesting.

Do any of these interviews sell books? I don’t know, and I probably never will. I cannot see how they could do any harm, however, and they are great fun. Of course, the number of people listening to these programmes is likely to be less than with the large metropolitan stations, but there is nothing to be done about that.

My own feeling is that these smaller rural and regional ABC Local radio stations are a highly valuable and probably greatly under-utilised resource for authors trying to sell their books.

Poem of the Day

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Cat Hair in My Underwear

by Nadine Cranenburgh

 

My kitties are expert at sleeping

To warm places they’re always creeping

Like the soft, cozy nests

Of undies and vests

That we leave on the couch for safe keeping

Poem of the Day

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The House that Never Sleeps

 

Our house is a blinking one,

A winking, ever-thinking one,

At night when all the work is done,

Our house is standing by.

 

The laptop light is pulsing white

In case it’s needed in the night

To play a game or book a flight,

It’s always standing by.

 

The bright light on the video

Is glowing green, all set to go,

In case we want to watch a show,

It’s always standing by.

 

The red lights on the Xbox E,

The microwave, the smart TV,

All stab the dark impatiently,

Forever standing by.

 

Our house is ready all night long

To heat some food or play a song,

Till all the fossil fuels are gone,

Our house is standing by.

 

© Jill McDougall

 

Poem of the Day

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Harvey’s Escape

Based on the reported escape of a bouncing, squat, Staffordshire bull-terrier

by trampolining over the back fence of his yard.

(‘Odd Spot’, The Age, Melbourne, 16 June 2008)

 

Harvey liked to jump and bounce upon the trampoline

With frisky owners, little Bob, and teenage girl, Noreen.

He jumped and bounced, and bounced and jumped, steadily getting weary-er,

‘Come on, boy! Keep it up! Jumping’ll make you merrier!’

Exhausting Harvey, the bouncing, squat, Staffordshire bull-terrier.

 

Next day their mother called as they merrily bounced on the trampoline,

‘Come on kids! Come and say “Hello” to your Aunt Doreen!’

While Harvey bounced alone, his eyes were staring – getting bleary-er,

The day was hot, the sun so fiercely shining – becoming glary-er,

Blinding Harvey, the bouncing, squat Staffordshire bull-terrier.

 

Mum came out. ‘Get off, Harvey! Get off the trampoline!

The kids have gone with Aunt Doreen – please don’t make a scene.

Jump down! Rest! Good dog, Harvey! Now you’re looking cheerier.’

She went inside. Then, sitting there, soon the fencing barrier

Inspired Harvey, the bouncing, squat, Staffordshire bull-terrier.

 

‘Escape, escape!’ The dog jumped back and bounced on the trampoline.

‘I’ve thought of a marvellous way to fly and escape from this prison scene.’

He left the yard, propelled on high by a bounce upon his derriere,

Over the fence he flew, then tumbled, falling through the wisteria –

Freedom for Harvey, the bouncing, squat, Staffordshire bull-terrier.

 

Across a park and into a forest, goodbye to the trampoline.

Two people appeared, offering choice and both were smiling and keen.

‘Come with me, pick berries for market – I am the local berrier.’

‘Come with me, ride on the ferry – I am the local ferrier.’

‘Alternate days!’ barked Harvey, the bouncing, squat, Staffordshire bull-terrier.

 

 

By Edel Wignell