Tag Archives: Australian poets

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

Chocolate Box Planet by Celia Berrell

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Let’s hope this won’t come as a shock

but Earth’s not made of solid rock.

Instead it’s like those fancy chocs

you sometimes get inside a box.

 

The centre’s dense and very hot.

And hard just like a hazelnut.

It’s mostly made from iron ore.

We label it the Inner Core.

 

The Outer Core’s a liquid goo

like runny toffee soft to chew.

The iron’s melted here as well

but wouldn’t taste of caramel.

 

The Mantle is a bit bizarre.

A kind of squishy-tough nougat.

It’s sometimes liquid sometimes not.

We call it semi-solid rock.

 

And finally the chocolate coating.

Thin and crisp and kind of floating.

Made from rocky plates that thrust

some bumps upon our choccy’s Crust.

 

Although our World’s too big to eat

and wouldn’t taste much like a sweet

a nutty chocolate compares

with eating through Earth’s many layers.

 

My Christmas Story by Kylie Covark

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I’m writing a Christmas story.

It feels like Winter snow.

I’d better get a move on;

Just six more sleeps to go.

 

I’m writing a Christmas story.

It sounds like Ho Ho Ho.

I’d better get my skates on;

Just five more sleeps to go.

 

I’m writing a Christmas story.

It smells like cookie dough.

I’d better get a roll on;

Just four more sleeps to go.

 

I’m writing a Christmas story,

But it’s not the one I know.

I’d better pull the reins in

With three more sleeps to go.

 

I’m writing a Christmas story.

It smells like fresh mango,

I’d better take it easy;

Still two more sleeps to go.

 

I’m writing a Christmas story.

It sounds like the sea’s flow,

It’s time to take a rest now;

Just one more sleep to go.

 

I’m writing a Christmas story.

It feels like Summer’s glow.

And today I’ll live that story;

A Christmas of my own.

 

By Kylie Covark

 

Letter “C” by James Aitchison

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LETTER “C”

 

C them there on windows,

C them there in stores,

C them up all over,

C them now because…

 

 

C is for Christmas cards!

 

 

Christmas cards with holly,

Cards with silver bells,

Cards with laughing Santas,

Cards that wish you well.

 

Christmas cards with angels,

Cards with trees and snow,

Cards with candles burning,

Cards that gleam and glow.

 

Christmas cards with reindeers,

Leaping through the sky,

Up there on the mantel —

Christmas Day is nigh!

 

Christmas cards with sparkle,

Heartfelt cards so true;

Why can’t all that goodwill

Last the whole year through?

 

 

James Aitchison

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

A Fluffy Thermometer by Celia Berrell

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 There’s plenty of ways

to tell if the day is

too hot or cold

without being told.

 

You could try and catch

a fluffy pet cat

then watch and observe

to see how it’s curved.

 

When days are too hot

it’s likely as not

that cat’s all sprawled-out

in some shaded spot.

 

When researchers test

what temperature’s best

for comfort of cats

they find out these facts.

 

Those felines agree

that eighteen degrees

is purr-fectly warm

for cat’s furry form.

 

Then when it’s too cold

those pussycats fold

up cosy and still

to keep out the chill.

 

 

A Goat Afloat by Pat Simmons

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A Goat Afloat

I wear a silver collar, I’m a rather special goat.

Hooves firmly planted on the ground, but once I was afloat.

‘A goat afloat?’ I hear you say.

It’s true. Ask Captain Cook.

Twice I’ve sailed around the world.

I’d like to write a book

 

Called

Memoirs of my life at sea

Jottings by a goat

The good the bad the ugly facts

Of life upon a boat.

 

Well, all right, ships,

Let’s get it right

Named

Dolphin and Endeavour

And with respect, I must say this,

I really hope I never set hoof again on either one.

Three years was long enough.

Giving milk for all that time quite frankly dears was tough.

 

Smelly sheep and smelly hens, smelly cattle too,

Smelly cats and smelly dogs

And very smelly crew.

Snow and storms and slippery decks, fresh grass in short supply.

No other goats for company to help the time pass by.

 

But now I’m home and quite well known

(My story’s in the press)

Enjoying my retirement, free from stormy seas and stress.

 

I wear a silver collar, I’m a rather special goat.

Hooves firmly planted on the ground, but once I was afloat.

 

 

 

 

 

Feathers Fur or Fins by Robyn Youl

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Vertebrates are covered

In spikes, feathers and scales

Most mammals wear fur

Skin covers humans and whales

 

With skeletons covered

In scaled skins.

Fish breathe under water

And glide with their fins.

 

With skeleton covered

In thick armored plates

Eyes and nose above water

The crocodile waits

 

With skeleton covered

In skin soft and cool

Tadpoles become frogs

In creek, river and pool.

 

With hollow skeletons

And fragile feather

Birds swoop and soar

In flocks together

 

With skeletons covered

In thick fur or fine hair

Bats, seals and elephants

Share earth water and air

 

Pigeon Grey by Kylie Covark

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Way down passed our shed,

Where the realm of humans ends,

‘Mongst the mottled bottle brushes

Live a hundred feathered friends.

 

And ninety-nine of those

Cavort and romp and play,

And the only one left out

Is poor old Pigeon Grey.

 

The magpies are quite striking

And the honey-eaters fair,

The rosellas are spectacular;

It’s tricky not to stare.

 

They gather in the bird bath

Where they primp and preen all day,

But when Pigeon tries to join them

They squawk, “Ew! Get away!”

 

 

 

And Pigeon Grey sighs deeply

Then he sits off on his own,

He watches on with envy

Wishing he was not alone.

 

If only they would speak to him

Those other birds would find

That Pigeon Grey is funny.

He is clever. He is kind.

 

But they all look down their beaks

At his feathers drab and grey,

And then rather than converse with him

They just squawk “Get away!”

 

Then one day there is twittering,

The garden is in shock.

Pigeon Grey has made a friend;

The new bird on the block.

 

And the whispers are quite snippy,

“That new bird she must be dull.

Perhaps another pigeon

Or an imbecilic gull!”

 

But the honey-eater sees her

And she has to look once more.

This new bird is not dull at all.

This bird is not a bore.

 

Her feathers start as brightest blue,

Then yellow, red, and green.

If the garden was a monarchy

Then she would be its queen.

 

There’s a hustle then to meet her,

A bustle and a fuss.

“You don’t have to sit with Pigeon Grey,

Come here and sit with us!”

 

But the lorikeet shakes her head,

“I’d rather stay right here.

The world seems so much shinier

When Pigeon Grey is near.”

 

The other birds they bristle,

“It simply can’t be true.

He is drab and dreary,

He’s not half as bright as you.”

The lorikeet looks surprised,

“You don’t know him at all.

Pigeon Grey is marvellous,

He’s famed beyond your wall.

 

“Have you not heard his music,

As he wakes the morning sun?

If you’ve spent the afternoon with him

Has it not been loads of fun?

 

“Have you seen him cheer a baby bird

As it first takes to the skies?

Have you heard him tell a funny tale

With laughter in his eyes?

 

“Have you come to him with worries

And been sure he’d listen well?

Have you taken on the sage advice

That he will freely tell?”

 

“If you’ve ever asked him for his help

Did he make you wait?

I’m sure that you must know the truth.

Pigeon Grey is great!”

 

Pigeon Grey is humbled

But as he looks around,

His neighbours will not meet his eyes;

They all stare at the ground.

 

But then a tiny bird agrees,

“Yes, Pigeon Grey’s the best!

He taught me to be brave

When I was scared to leave the nest.”

 

And others pipe up too

With their tales that spring to mind.

Indeed, each bird does seem to know

That Pigeon Grey is kind.

 

Way down passed our shed,

Where the realm of humans ends,

‘Mongst the mottled bottle brushes

Live a hundred feathered friends.

 

And each one of those hundred

Cavort and romp and play,

But the one they all love best of all

Is dear old Pigeon Grey.

Poem of the Day

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About Elephants

 

An elephant has a very long nose

That’s sometimes used like a powerful hose

And once that trunk has been exerted,

Anyone close may well be squirted.

 

Note this elementary fact:

Eggshells won’t remain intact

If an elephant’s massive legs

Place his feet on a poor bird’s eggs.

 

It’s OK if you feel hesitant

Every time you’re near an elephant.

Watch that trunk – you could be washed!

Mind those feet – you may be squashed!

 

Monty Edwards

Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #26

Monty says: “I didn’t get far with rhymes for the key words, but eventually was able to compose a couple of verses which included all the words and then added a final verse to tie it all together.”