Howling winds
from raging seas,
relentless, wild,
distort the trees.
Stunted growth
in salty air,
in sandy soil,
forlorn and bare.
Yet even here
we find beauty,
in harsh and tangled
symmetry.
Tag Archives: James Aitchison
The Poetic Opossum by James Aitchison
Leave a commentThere was an opossum
who wrote an opoem.
“O! look what I’ve done,”
the opossum opined.
At the oasis or
down by the ocean,
Opossum’s opoem
received an ovation.
Was it opossible
for an opossum
to write an opoem?
Oh yes, it owas!
Teacher’s note: Opossums are native to North and South America, while possums are native to Australia.
The Big Water by James Aitchison
Leave a commentFrom the foot of Peppercorn Hill
I flow, from a boggy heath in
the Snowy;
I journey by Canberra,
then map my mighty course
past Gundagai and Wagga,
to where the Murray waits.
My river’s tale is fraught
with a dozen deadly floods,
yet my relentless waters
bless Riverina farms.
Since the dawn of time I’ve been
Australia’s Big Water —
the Murrumbidgee River,
the life source of my land.
Teacher’s note: The Murrumbidgee is Australia’s second longest river, edging the Darling into third place by a few kilometres. “Murrumbidgee”, in Wiradjuri language, means “Big Water”. The photograph shows the Murrumbidgee at Wagga Wagga.
The Tale of Max McKnight by James Aitchison
Leave a commentOn his trampoline jumps Max McKnight
but he sails too high!
He’s snapped up by an eagle in flight
passing by.
Thwarted, the eagle can’t swallow the boy
in one go,
so it opens its beak and drops poor Max like a toy
into his backyard below.
Teacher’s note: This experimental poem reduces the line-length of a sonnet from the traditional iambic pentameter, while preserving a typical rhyme-scheme.
Scrooge’s Valentine’s Day by James Aitchison
1 CommentI should have sent some flowers,
I should have sent a card,
but then I got so busy
and it was all too hard!
So I cut some nice red roses
at next door’s in the dark,
and added lots of other things
growing in the park.
It made a lovely gift
and didn’t cost a cent.
Isn’t it the thought that counts
and not how much I spent?
My Sheep Rock by James Aitchison
Leave a commentI saw some rocks in Ireland
and the farmer there explained,
“I built myself a little wall
to keep my sheep contained.”
“The big stones on the bottom,”
the smaller ones on top,
and it cost me not a penny
for my roaming sheep to stop.”
“And who needs to have a gate
when you have this kind of pen?
I just lift some stones away,
then put them back again.”
Teacher’s note: Dry stone walls are constructed of carefully selected interlocking stones without mortar to hold them in place. Found in hilly areas of Britain, Scotland and Ireland, especially in Connemara on the West Coast where large stones exist in the soil. One system of Irish dry stone walls was carbon-dated to 3800 BC. Closer to home, dry stone walls can be found in western Victoria, some parts of Tasmania, and around Kiama in New South Wales.
Highlands Morning by James Aitchison
1 CommentMist weeps across the peaty land,
the breaths of ancient warriors
clothe the peaks.
High clouds roam above
the raw silence, a hint of gleaming
in their midst.
Once battles rolled throughout
these glens, as Highlanders
fought the King’s red-coated men.
No invader has stormed
these hills again, and peace
rests upon the folded crests.
In The Highlands by James Aitchison
Leave a commentI am the vast waters beneath the ramparts,
the icy wash against black rocks;
I am the broad distances veiled by mist,
the deep and eerie lochs.
I am embedded
in every Scottish soul,
so that man, with country,
becomes part of the whole.
Time Flies by James Aitchison
Leave a commentA billion hours ago,
(count them if you must),
our ancestors were living
before they turned to dust.
It was the Stone Age then,
and Man was in fine fettle,
after which the Bronze Age
saw Man start using metal.
I wonder if their knives and forks
back then were made of stone?
Or did people eat without them,
or maybe they used bone?
Did they go to school back then,
or did they work all day?
I think that I am lucky
to be alive today!
Teacher’s note: The prehistoric Stone Age period, when stone tools were used, lasted 3.4 million years, ending with the advent of metalworking. It is believed that the Stone Age represents nearly 99.3% of human history.
The Secret Lake by James Aitchison
Leave a commentA rambling path
I chose to take,
until at last it led me to
a secret magic lake.
Trees formed walls
on every side,
and there a little bridge
I spied.
It crossed the moat
to a fortress green,
where adventures waited —
perhaps a submarine?
I closed my eyes
and made a wish
that my backyard
could look like this!
Teacher’s note: This lake is located in Red Cow Farm, Sutton Forest, in the Southern Highlands of New South Wales. The farm boasts a series of different garden “rooms”.
Australian Children’s Poetry 