Tag Archives: James Aitchison

Forever Chemicals by James Aitchison

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They’re called PFAS and alas,

they’ll harm the world forever.

You can’t stop their damage,

not today, no — never!

They waterproof your clothes,

you wipe them on your chin,

they stop mum’s frypan sticking,

and the box your pizza’s in.

These chemicals are deadly

and never go away,

so why on earth do we use them

every single day?

Photo from Pexels by Akil Mazumder

Teacher’s note: PFAS (pronounced P-Fass) are known as Forever Chemicals — a large family of 10,000 chemicals that have been proved to persistently contaminate the earth. They are used in fire-fighting foam, food packaging, foundation cream, cosmetics, non-stick cookware, smartphones and waterproofing clothing.  They contaminate drinking water, wildlife, and agriculture. 

In The Land Of Song by James Aitchison

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A valley in Wales

so green and clear,

no sign of the coal

mined near here.

A land of song,

where mining coal

destroyed its valleys

but not its soul.

Teacher’s note: Wales was once famous for its polluting coal mines.  Today we celebrate great Welsh singers such as Dame Shirley Bassey, Charlotte Church, Katherine Jenkins, Bonnie Tyler (Gaynor Sullivan), Sir Tom Jones and Sir Bryn Terfel, actor Richard Burton and poet Dylan Thomas.  The word “Eisteddfod” — a musical competition— is taken from the Welsh language which is still spoken. 

My Word! by James Aitchison

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Shoes always come in pairs,

but pears don’t come in shoes.

And I know that my nose knows

how to make ah-choooooos.

Whales don’t come from Wales,

is it rite or is it right?

And who can tell the difference

between quiet or quite?

Angle grinders not ankle grinders,

it’s so easy to make a slip—

because English is really funny

and tries to make you trip.

The Isle of Skye by James Aitchison

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I dreamed one day I’d journey

over the sea to Skye,

and I did, on a modern ferry,

to where the crags reach high.

Like Bonnie Prince Charlie himself,

I had the hills to climb,

where songs and daring legends 

were born in the mists of time.

Eggcitement! by James Aitchison

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I hear a hip and hop,
it’s very, very near,
and I know who it is —
he comes this time of year.

I’ve never ever seen him
as he hastens here and there;
the Easter Bunny’s hiding eggs 
and he won’t tell us where. 

He puts them under bushes,
and up in trees somewhere,
but my friends and I will find them
and we’ll have lots to share!

Photo by Alexas Fotos

My River of Dreams by James Aitchison

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Here is where I’d like to float,

in my very own white boat.

I’d slowly rock from side to side,

while sleeping on the gentle tide.

Sometimes I’d sail upstream in style,

and that would make life so worthwhile.

I’d catch some fish to cook each day,

and leave my troubles far away.

Teacher’s note: This poem could invite a class discussion about why people love their boats and rivers.  What dreams do students have about a “dream” escape?

Time and Tide by James Aitchison

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The waves roll in, cunning waves 

and hungry;

the stone stacks wonder when 

they too will fall.

Headlands brace themselves 

against the wild tide,       

and, in time, the ocean 

will devour the shore.

Teacher’s note: The Twelve Apostles are limestone stacks off the shore near Port Campbell, Victoria.  The harsh waves from the Southern Ocean slowly erode the soft limestone in the cliffs to form caves, which later become arches that eventually collapse leaving up to fifty-metre high stacks. 

Nature’s Knitting by James Aitchison

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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.

The Poetic Opossum by James Aitchison

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There 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

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From 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.