Giggy Gilbert had a horse,
he didn’t have a cart.
He had to blow a whistle
before the horse would start.
The horse was deaf and couldn’t hear,
So Giggy, in despair,
Picked it up in both hands
And carried it everywhere.
Tag Archives: James Aitchison
Jasper’s Gory Story by James Aitchison
1 CommentPoor Jasper McGore,
by a creek for a while,
fell asleep, didn’t see
the huge crocodile.
Those mighty jaws
opened big and wide,
swallowed him whole,
but Jasper inside
tickled its tongue,
made it open one jaw,
and out climbed one half
of Jasper McGore.
Photo by Sebastien Varin on Unsplash
The Poor Poem by James Aitchison
Leave a commentI wanted to write a poem about Sunday,
simply because it rhymed with Monday.
But then it was Tuesday,
I struggled all day,
and all Wednesday I waited
with breath abated,
and decided that Thursday
would be my verse day!
But no words came to mind,
I got really behind,
now it’s Sunday again
and I’ve lost my pen…
Teacher’s note: “To wait with bated breath” is a very common phrase. Bated is short for “abated”. It is never spelled “abaited”, because bait refers to hunting and trapping.
Who Are You by James Aitchison
Leave a commentHello, puppy, what’s your name?
Where did they find you?
Have you come to live at my place,
or are you passing through?
I got here first, I make the rules,
so set them in your head:
never ever eat my food,
and don’t sleep in my bed!
The Happy Haberdasher by James Aitchison
Leave a commentWhat’s a haberdasher?
Is it someone who runs fast?
No, it’s not, so let me tell you
about this shop that you walk past.
A haberdasher runs a shop
that sells haberdashery.
Things for sewing, things you won’t see
in a salmon hatchery.
Needles, threads, wool and yarn,
material by the metre —
that’s the stuff that Mum will buy
when haberdashers greet her.
Teacher’s note: In America, haberdashers sell men’s clothing!
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
Stop Raining Please! by James Aitchison
Leave a commentI can’t go out to play today,
it’s raining very hard.
And it rained the day before as well
and flooded my backyard.
My shoes are wet,
my socks are soaked,
my boots are green with mould —
I wonder how much water
this world of ours can hold?
Photo by Pixabay
The Fast Train by James Aitchison
Leave a commentWe’re on the train to Paris
and we’re going really fast!
I can see the needle climb,
as the scenery flashes past.
The ride is very smooth;
not a rattle, bump or shake.
It’s like the magic carpet
that Aladdin used to take.
We’ve almost reached three hundred
kilometres an hour;
there’s no train in Australia
that has this kind of power.
Teacher’s note: The distance from Bordeaux to Paris is around 500 kilometres. The fast train, leaving Bordeaux at 5.04 pm, arrives in Paris at 7.08 pm.
Mountain Morning by James Aitchison
Leave a commentThe morning mist lingers,
doesn’t want to go.
The air crackles,
overnight was zero.
I’ve stoked the fire,
boiled the tea,
a long cold day
awaits me.
What Am I? by James Aitchison
Leave a commentAm I a cathedral —
or something finer?
Maybe a palace,
or an ocean liner?
Am I a museum,
studded with gold?
A famous art gallery
with pictures old?
The fact is, I’m nothing
much of a sensation.
I’m just the local
railway station!
(Teacher’s note: Kecskemet —pronounced KETCH-kem-ayt — is the eighth largest city in Hungary. It is located at the north of the Hungarian South Great Plain. In January, temperatures drop below zero; in July they average 22 degrees Celsius. The famous composer Zoltan Kodaly was born here. In the years under Communist rule, many public places such as railway stations were decorated to inspire awe and express the power of the State.)
Secret Steps by James Aitchison
Leave a commentI wonder where they come from,
I wonder where they go,
I wonder who might use them,
as they hurry to and fro.
Is a ghost abroad at night?
Does it haunt this secret place?
I can hear its shuffling feet,
but I cannot see its face!
So ancient are these steps,
So stony cold and bare,
In the heart of old Vienna,
By a bleak and wintry square.
Australian Children’s Poetry 