Tag Archives: Australian poets

Poem of the Day

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Behind the door

by Jenny Erlanger

 

I know it sounds a bit absurd

but you should hear what I have heard

about the things that have occurred

inside that stony tomb.

 

There’s talk of heaps of human bones,

of eerie grunts and squeals and moans,

of blood that oozes from the stones

and ghosts that haunt each room.

 

They say the spiders down the halls

are all the size of bowling balls

and prone to jumping off the walls

and landing in your hair

 

Of course, I don’t know this for sure.

It’s time for someone to explore

what really lies beyond that door.

Please enter… if you dare.

 

  • Submitted in response to Words+Pictures #2 poetry challenge

ENTER

 

Photo: Neil Mulligan

Poem of the Day

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Back Soon!

By Louise Molloy

He stands before the dragon
And sidles closer still,
No fiery breath nor fury greets him,
But eyes half-shut
And scales dull grey,

The dragon lets its tongue loll
And splutters loudly, ENTER!
He climbs each quiver
Of its quivering tongue
And peers into its dark, dark mouth,

WHAT BEASTIES LURK THAT KILL MY FLAME?
He peers down its dark, dark throat,
“I’ll need my weapons to cure your ill.”
NO VEGETABLES!
“No worries, I’ll be back soon.”

 

  • Inspired by Words+Pictures #2 poetry challenge. Louise said she took poetic licence and ‘The castle with its steps, dark door and hooded window turned into a sick dragon for me’.

    Photo: Neil Mulligan

    Photo: Neil Mulligan

ENTER

Poem of the Day

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Choosing Shoes

by Pat Simmons

 

Gum boots when it’s raining

Sports shoes when I’m training

Sparkly shoes for dancing

Riding boots for prancing

Sandals for a summer’s day

High heeled shoes for dress up play

Then sadly comes that time of year

When Mum says, ‘Let’s go shopping dear.

Your feet keep growing, time to choose

A nice new pair of (yuk!) School Shoes.’

 

  • Submitted in response to Words+Pictures poetry challenge

sneakersWALK

 

Poem of the Day

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THE CARETAKERS

by Anne Bell

I went to the house,looking for a man to build a fence

knowing nothing of him,except that people said

he built good fences.

His garden warmed July’s cold hills,

but there was nobody there,

save a peacock,a scarecrow and a fine, grey mare.

I found nobody to build my fence,

but I think I’d like a man

who left his home to the care

of a peacock,a scarecrow and a fine, grey mare.

 

First published in The School Magazine.

Poem of the Day

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Blown Away

by Nadine Cranenburgh

 

I’ll tell you where I’ve been

I don’t think you’ll believe it

It started with a leaf

And me running to retrieve it

 

It fluttered through the rain

And over lots of puddles

So when I caught it up

I was soaked and in a muddle

 

It settled down at last

Upon a rotten jetty

I reached for it with hands

That were colder than a Yeti’s

 

That leaf was almost mine

I stretched out with a sigh

But then it blew away

To a dingy tied nearby

 

A sudden gale-force gust

Sent us sailing through the ocean

I clung on like a limpet

Feeling seasick from the motion

 

The wind dropped, I was lost

With no clue of north or south

Right then the leaf bobbed gently

Through a great whale’s gaping mouth

 

Surprisingly I followed

What else was there to do?

But leaves give whales an itchy throat

So skywards we both flew

 

I splashed into the sea

And heard a rotor spinning

A helicopter scooped

Another ride beginning!

 

I madly treaded water

Determined not to drown

We flew above a fire

And the helo tipped us down

 

I landed fairly softly

Upon a smoky shore

Close by the burned-out jetty

Where the dingy was before

 

A seagull grabbed the leaf

Flapped through the ashes squawking

My leaf was gone for good

So back home I started walking

 

That’s why I’m late for tea

It’s true, just like I said

What’s this, a leafy salad?

I might just go to bed.

Poetry pointers #2

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Poet and writer Stephen Whiteside answers some key questions about writing poetry. To find out more about Stephen and his work, visit his website here

 

1. Where do you get ideas?

First you need the right state of mind. The best way to achieve this is to try to find an hour or two when you having nothing to do other than to write a poem. As you unwind, ideas will begin to come. The more relaxed you get, the more ideas will arrive, and the more interesting they will be. I often approach a writing session with an idea for a poem in my mind but find that, after half an hour or so of thinking and pottering, I have a much better idea, and one that is nothing like the idea that I first sat down with.
2. How do you write a poem?
I am a rhyming poet. For me, it is very much a matter of writing a first line that I am happy with. The rest will then start to flow. In addition to writing what I want to say, I also have to be mindful of the rhyming pattern. Will it be a simple ABAB, or am I being more ambitious? How many stresses will there be in each line? Will each line be the same length? How many verses will there be? How long will they be? Will they all be the same length? Will there be a repeating line, or a refrain? Will that also change a little each time, or not? And so on…
3. Who publishes poetry?
This is a very good question. I am not sure I know any more. Yes, I know the publishers who (very occasionally) publish collections, but who publishes individual poems? My own collection, ‘The Billy That Died With Its Boots On and Other Australian Verse, published by Walker Books last year, was built heavily around poems that were published in The School Magazine (NSW), the Pearson magazines in Victoria, and The School Journal (New Zealand). Alas, these latter two no longer exist. So, aside from The School Magazine, who does publish poetry for children?
4. How do I become a children’s poet?
Given the dwindling number of publishers, I suspect that it is becoming harder and harder to become a children’s poet. Then again, of course, this is very much a matter of definition. At what point are you a children’s poet? Have you succeeded if you write a poem for your child, or niece or nephew? Or do you need to have had a poem published to be a children’s poet? Or do you need to have had a collection published? Or do you need to have had multiple collections published before you can say you are truly established as a children’s poet?
The obvious answer is to simply write, but writing without publication becomes demoralising after a while, especially if you’ve been trying hard to have poems published without any success. Peer support is important, but there aren’t really enough children’s poets for them to have their own organisation – at least, not yet. Of course the Australian Children’s Poetry web-site is a great asset, but if you want to meet other children’s poets in the flesh, you are probably going to have to join a group for children’s writers generally – such as SCBWI – or a group for poets who write for adults as well as children, or both.
5. What is your top tip for writers who want to write poetry for children?
There are two key points, I think.
1. Make sure you are always enjoying yourself when you write.
2. Never give up (but this only works if you make sure you are continuing to enjoy yourself).

Poem of the Day

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Cat and bag

by Nadine Cranenburgh

 

It rustles, bustles in the breeze

I’m creeping, peeping round the couch

Nearer, nearer almost there

I pounce, but wait

Now it has me!

Let go, you sack of crinkly skin

Stop chasing me

Please stop

You win!

Poem of the Day

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The Lighthouse

By Neridah McMullan

 

She stands tall,

Faithful,

Stoic and true.

White-washed,

And unwavering.

Carved basalt steps,

A salt encrusted,

Red door,

With a rusty lock.

Up curved, spiral stairs,

A French Fresnal,

Lens flashes,

Guiding ships,

Away from rocks,

And rips.

Bitter maelstrom,

Blustering galeforce.

To the Lighthouse!

The Lighthouse –

If only you knew,

You saved me

And my crew.

Poem of the Day

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I Want to go to School

by Ron Barton

 

A big girl of four and a young boy of two

were walking with their mum and dad through the zoo.

To see all the animals made both children smile

but it also made them tired so they stopped for a while.

 

They snacked on some treats that mum made before

when dad pointed out something that he saw:

a group of fish swimming around in a pool.

“Did you know,” the dad said, “that they call that a school.”

 

“I’ll go to school soon,” said little Miss Four.

“Me too,” said the boy – it was hard to ignore.

It was clear to the parents that their little boy

would miss his big sister. It gave them no joy.

 

And so they decided, that they must set things straight

before it got out of hand, before it was too late.

“Not yet,” said the dad. “It’s just not your turn,

you’re not old enough to go to school and learn.”

 

“The boy started crying, he just didn’t get

that he wasn’t quite ready to go to school yet.

He was a ‘big boy’, a baby no more –

why couldn’t he go to school with Miss Four?

 

“It’s ok, son,” said the mum. “Dry your tears,

you won’t go to school for a couple more years.

There’s a number of things you must learn before

you can go to school with little Miss Four.”

 

“That’s right,” said the dad. “I can think of some.

Like, you must no longer wear a nappy on your bum.

And while you know your whole alphabet

There are other things that you need to learn yet.”

 

“Just think,” added mum, “about how well you count

but you only know up to a certain amount.

You can do up to ten but little Miss Four

can count to 100 and sometimes even more.”

 

The tears had dried up, a change had occurred.

The young boy was now hanging on every word.

“And plus,” said the mum, “it isn’t all bad,

you’ll get to stay with me without Miss Four and Dad.”

 

“Just think of all of the games that we’ll play

and the fun things we’ll do when it’s just us all day.

We’ll get to bake cookies and sing songs and draw,

then we’ll walk up to the school to pick up Miss Four.”

 

“Ok,” said the boy and he started to grin

but Miss Four had been listening and she wanted in.

“That’s not fair,” she said. “I want to stay home.”

Then Mum and Dad let out a collective groan.

It didn’t seem like they could win either way

and so they left this fight for another day.

Poem of the Day

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MY BRAIN IS FULL

by Allan Cropper

 

‘I’ve examined you quite thoroughly,’

Is what my doctor said.

‘It seems there’s too much empty space

existing in your head.’

‘The vast expanse between your ears

Is that which makes you ill.

It’s far too great a cavity

for your small brain to fill.

You need to go expand your mind,

to fill the empty void,

if rattling noise inside your head

you’re wishing to avoid.’

 

So I went to the library

and took out lots of books.

Reading lots of stories is

much harder than it looks.

I read and read and read and read

each day, right after school.

 

I read and read and read and read

until my brain was full.

I read stories about pirates,

I read stories about sport.

I read stories about heroes

and the battles that they fought.

I read stories of adventurers

in the jungles dark and green,

stories of explorers finding

lands no one had seen.

 

I read fiction books, non-fiction books,

and reference books as well.

And very soon I noticed

that my brain began to swell.

I fear I overfilled my brain

‘Cause it just grows and grows,

and now my poor expanding brain

Leaks out my ears and nose.

So doctor can you tell me how

to keep my brain in check?

My brain keeps oozing out my head

and down my face and neck.

 

If my brain keeps on expanding

I’m afraid my skull will crack

Quite frankly, Doc, I’d rather have

That awful rattle back.