From morning to evening its scream can be heard,
a warning to all from this dive-bombing bird.
My brother’s too frightened to venture outdoors.
He’s already suffered a scratch from its claws
and Dad has to run from the house to the shed
his arms waving stupidly over his head.
It happens the moment we step out of place,
that flurry of feathers, that beak in the face.
So, hurry up babies and fly from your nest.
Your mother’s becoming a serial pest.
Thought I might stay
Home today.
Safe.
Secure.
Did you now?
Thought I might
Miss you,
too
Much.
Did you now?
Thought maybe
Cos’ you’re smart,
You could
Homeschool me?
Did you now?
The house needs
A vacuum.
Doggy doo to
Be picked up,
So much work.
Didn’t you know?
Thought I might,
But now…
I think
I miss my friends.
I’ll go get ready.
You go do that now.
Giants are we that see
those little mites
of black and legs
following their tales
of trails
carrying to nest
their loads at least
the weight of three
but a mere grain
to you and me
Kale is not a thing of beauty
matt deep green leaves
as dark as night
their underside a network
of wrinkled veins.
Washed
ready for the pot
but there is a surprise!
Glistening glass-like watery jewels
shine and shiver
trapped in membrane pockets
soon to be darkened leaves
again.
I asked my mum, “How will I know
If I do something wrong?”
She told me that my conchers would
Help me to get along.
“Just listen to your conchers and
you’ll know what you should do.”
I don’t know who my conchers are.
Some people I once knew?
“Where will I find my conchers, Mum?
Are they under my bed?
Are conchers real or make believe?
Are they inside my head?”
And then one day I heard a voice
That stopped me on the spot.
“If I were you I’d think again.
Perhaps you just should not”.
I looked around, no one was there
to say a single word.
I knew then that my conchers were
the voices that I heard.
“Listen to your heart” is the
advice that I now give.
I think that deep within the heart
is where the conchers live.
* Conscience
From inside the house
the praying mantis looks like
a caught twig, a small gesture
of wood rocking on wire.
Up close, it draws you in and
outdoors, its pencil-spine a cloudy
grey. Grey as the litany of squares
she hugs. The most interesting thing
is the way she carries her colours
to meld or disappear into fabric,
cottage wall, or branch. Tomorrow
she may be yellow, pink, or green
depending on the plot-size of garden
or unattended window, the parallel
lines of wire-mesh giving just the
slightest hint of stick, of leaf.
We’re sitting on a picnic rug
beside our lemon tree.
We pass around the water jug
then start to eat our tea.
I’m staring at a Brussels sprout
with mounting discontent
When I suggested eating out
this wasn’t what I meant!
We scrabble over sun
warmed rocks and peer into
rock pools. Small crabs scuttle
sideways, sea anemones wave
and we climb on further- feet slip
in rubber thongs and we glimpse
a squishy sea cucumber, silkworm
soft. In another pool lies a blue starfish.
We race to the ocean to cool our skin,
water so clear we see a large bream flick
its tail and swim off into the depths.
Poetry Harvest
9 May – 11 May
Poets Nicola Bowery and Harry Laing will lead Poetry Harvest, a fully residential weekend workshop at Geebung, their 115 acre property bordering Monga National Park near Braidwood. The workshop will focus on how to bring a poem to fruition. The whole experience of the weekend is designed to recharge and excite both writers and readers of poetry. Cost is $300 ($270 concession). For details contact harrylaing@bigpond.com or phone (02) 4846 1075.
THE FAMILY CAT
Nestled on my lap
in a crevassed curve
to his liking
sharp edges unseen
body rounded
relaxed
rested
like a freshly placed pudding
plumped yet pleasing
to the eye
I feel the warmth
the beat
the motor mechanics
within
Purrrfectly Purrring…
Purrrfectly Purrring…
Purrrfectly Purrring…
I smooth his soft silkiness
and see
sleepy slits
slowly open
to reveal
green
golden
globes
gleaming
in contrast to black beauty
His eyes look into mine
adoringly…
speaking to my soul…
I trust you to care.
© Dianne Ellis
Throughout my life, I have enjoyed the company of cats in my home. I find the majority of cats are very soulful creatures, particularly the pure black ones who gracefully prance around taking confident ownership of property and loved ones.
One day I was sitting down writing when my gorgeous black Shadow effortlessly leapt onto my lap and settled there, as he always did.
It was only a moment in time but I felt the need to share my feelings and highlight Shadow’s special silent message through this poem. I hope you enjoy my words.
I have written poetry all my life, however in recent years, my love of writing has steered me towards children’s stories. Rusty Rumble and his Smelly Socks and Rusty Rumble’s Day at the Beach are my first published picture books and excerpts from my books can be seen on www.diannellisbooks.com.au
Australian Children’s Poetry 