“ THE KOAKAS COME BACK” by James Aitchison

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One by one you’ll see them come back

And climb to the top of the tree,

Those cuddly koalas we love,

They’ll come home — just you wait and see!

Some nursed back to health by humans,

So they can be happy and free.


It might take a little more time

Till the bush comes to life anew,

But once all those juicy leaves grow

Koalas have something to chew.

Then we’ll say, “Welcome home, Blinky!

We’ve saved a big cuddle for you!”

“Australian Bushfires” by James Aitchison

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Australian bushfires

They say the smoke has reached Chile.

Not just the smoke from our blazing forests,

But the smoke from lost fireys and townsfolk,

And thousands oft homes,

And five hundred million wild animals,

And cattle and sheep and bold horses

Burned alive in once-lush paddocks.


They say the smoke is toxic.  It is not.  

It is sacred.

“An Aussie Bush Summer” by James Aitchison

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Golden dust veils the scalding sunset,

And eucalyptus leaves droop weary.

Heat strangles each breeze at birth,

And all the bush is quiet and eerie.


A lonely road wanders lost between

the fences; some cattle, black and still.

Lost interest in the grass

And waiting for that dry creek to fill.


Nightfall claims the leavings of the day,

And branches reach out long and shady.  

The country’s parched and breathless,

Till once more, spring steps like a lady.



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Prickly bindi-eyes sting my feet

when on the summer grass I walk.

In everyone’s backyard I’ll meet   

                            Prickly bindi-eyes!


And even when tip-toed I stalk,

hoping their menace I can cheat,

I fail — and you can hear my squawk!


Bindi-eyes love the summer heat,

And I — I’d need eyes like a hawk

To avoid them in ev’ry street —

                            Prickly bindi-eyes!



“MERRY CHRISTMAS …. WOOF!” by James Aitchison

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Bow wow, I’ve been a good boy,

For Christmas I’d like a bone.

A bone that’s big and juicy,

A bone I can call my own.


Santa, Santa, I’ve been good,

Look — here’s a ball for the tree.

Come on, Santa, I’m your friend,

There’s no better dog than me!


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Season’s greetings — but which season?

Bush fires start much earlier now.

When the country’s devastated,

What joy will light the Christmas hour?


Stumps of houses, chimneys blackened,

Nowhere for Santa Claus to stop!

No trees this year decked with tinsel,

They’re just a charred and cheerless crop.


With all our presents wrapped in dust,

And no grass to feed the reindeer,

I hate to think of Christmas morn;

It will get worse year after year!


When climate change changes Christmas,

No Santa through the sky will dash.

Yes, we’ll still have our white Christmas

But a Christmas all white with ash.