“MY DOG RUPERT” by Jaz Stutley




My dog Rupert¹s cool and slick

And he has a special trick:

When he hears opera, blues and jazz,

My goodness, what a voice he has!


It starts to ripple, soar and glide,

At our applause it soars with pride.

He lifts his nose and shuts his eyes

And sings his heart out to the skies.


He sings to piano, saxophone,

Bagpipes, flute and slide trombone.

The penny whistle and kazoo;

Accordion and harmonica too.


On Saturdays, just down our street

A band plays with a rocking beat.

And my dog Rupert steals the show

When he sings high and he sings low.


He sings the themes to TV shows

The news, cartoons, and all of those.

But Rupert has a secret goal:

To be a star of rock and roll.


When he performs the Rupert Rap

The people whistle, cheer and clap.

I¹m just afraid that he¹s so good

They¹ll sign him up for Hollywood!





Away in a corner
where nobody goes,
there is a secret
that nobody knows.
Each year at Easter
Mum, Dad and me,
we go to visit
the Easter egg tree.

Has that Easter bunny
used his hiding-place?
We search in the branches,
and all round the base.
He’s hopped through the paddocks
to our special tree
to leave lots of eggs there
for Mum, Dad and me.

Eggs red and yellow,
eggs blue and green;
that’s how we know
Easter bunny has been.
Yes, each year at Easter
Mum, Dad and me,
find Easter eggs in
the Easter egg tree.

Jaz Stutley

This is a true story! I wrote the poem for my daughter. When she was
small we used to stay in the country each Easter.
Mysteriously, when we visited a large gumtree away across the paddocks,
we always found Easter eggs. Once she even said she saw the bunny in the

The Noise In The Night

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What’s that noise! What can it be?
A mouse, a rat, a twig, a tree…
A window shivering in the breeze?
A snore, a snort, a cough, a sneeze?

The noise – and there it goes again!
What a problem! What a pain!
To have to follow up that noise
And discover what’s the cause.

Why are these books upon the floor?
Just maybe I forgot before
To pick them up, to brush or sweep
Before I had to go to sleep.

What are those whiskers twitching there
Beside the couch, behind the chair?
Much too big for mouse or rat
A different shape to dog or cat?

A small pink nose, and dark round eyes
Staring at my great surprise,
The possum leaves its tiny cave
And hides behind the microwave!

It crouches to become quite small
As though it isn’t there at all;
But – sorry, possum – you can’t stay,
A kitchen’s not a place to play.

I left the window open wide,
Banana and apple close beside.
Stumbled to bed. A stretch, a yawn.
And in the morning, Poss had gone.

– Jaz Stutley


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The sun finds a hole in a cloud.

It shines on me.

‘Why on me?’ I say to the sun.

‘Because you’ve just begun.’

‘Mummy says I am three.’

‘That’s fine,’ says the sun,

‘You’ve just begun. Not me.’

I look at the sun, I can hardly see –

It’s so big and shiny and proud.

I am proud to be three

With a shine that is mine.

I smile like the sun

It’s fine.

Jaz Stutley