On 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.
I 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?
I 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.
Mist 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.
I 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.
A 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.
A 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”.
Picture a pretty villa
built with Tuscan stone,
sitting in an olive grove
with lemons nearby grown.
The skies are puffed with cloud,
the wooded hills are steep,
and in the afternoon
the people love to sleep.
The province paints your dreams
with ancient hilltop towns,
whose battlements stood guard
for many noble crowns.
From far away resounding,
a church bell chimes the hour,
its drowsy notes a-floating
from a lonely tower.
Teacher’s note: This villa is located in the village of Montanare, close by the enchanting hilltop city of Cortona. Florence (in Italian, Firenze) is the capital of Tuscany, whose other famous cities include Siena and Pisa.
Getting sick of summer?
I found just the spot
to cool off really fast
when you’re feeling hot.
The water’s like a mirror,
instead of sand there’s snow;
but how deep is the lake?
You don’t want to know!
Teacher’s note: This lake is one of twenty favourite tourist spots located in Germany’s Black Forest, where hiking and swimming are popular. One lake is 40 metres deep.
I made a resolution
to keep the whole year through.
I wrote it down but lost it,
now I don’t know what to do.
I’ve searched but cannot find it,
no matter how I strive.
Oh well, I’ll make another one
in twenty-twenty-five.
Australian Children’s Poetry 