Scarecrow by Jenny Erlanger

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Scarecrow

 

My scarecrow worked a wonder

in our brand new garden patch

but I made a fatal blunder

and must start again from scratch.

 

I’d made sure he was scary

‘cause his mission night and day

was to make the birdlife wary

and keep all the pests away.

 

His hair was wild and woolly

and his eyes were cold and hard.

He looked a fearsome bully

as he stood there in our yard.

 

His face was truly ghastly

With its horrid, evil smirk.

He looked so mean and nasty

as he carried out his work.

 

I’ve reassured my mother

that next time I’ll get it right.

I have to build another

’cause the plants all died of fright!

 

© Jenny Erlanger

 

 

 

Santa’s Wish List by Jenny Erlanger

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Santa’s wish list

 

I’ve never thought it pleasant

asking Santa for a present

even though I’m really longing for a bike.

So while I’m sitting on his knee

and his attention’s all on me

I ask the man what he would really like.

 

Santa’s taken out a list

just to check that nothing’s missed

and I’m madly writing all his wishes down.

Some snazzy luggage racks

to hold those heavy-duty sacks

he lugs around at night from town to town.

 

He has now gone on to say

that he would really like a sleigh.

His other one, he says, is getting old.

A turbo-charged two-seater

with a super-duper heater

to protect him from the bitter arctic cold.

 

Dasher’s girth has lost its casing,

Rudolph’s harness needs replacing

and he says that he had better add as well

That Donner, Comet, Prancer

and some other deer called Dancer

all need a new and flashy-looking bell.

 

His list just keeps on going,

his demands on me are growing.

This really is becoming quite absurd.

The requests are getting stranger,

now he’s asked me for a manger

that is big enough to feed his treasured herd.

 

He’s still got several pages,

he’s been going on for ages

and I’m not sure I can get him all this stuff.

He’s talking now of brandy

and some special brand of candy

but I’ve hopped down from his lap. I’ve had enough!

 

© Jenny Erlanger

Cocoon by Jenny Erlanger

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Cocoon

My sleeping bag is warm and tight.
I’ve wormed my way down deep.
Could someone please turn out the light?
I’m ready now to sleep.

I could be quite a while in here.
Take care of all my things.
I don’t intend to reappear
until I’ve sprouted wings.

© Jenny Erlanger

This poem won first prize in Jackie Hosking’s Rhyming Poetry Spring competition in 2013. Jenny has had ten poems published in “The School Magazine” and another two feature in Hopscotch (Jelli -Beanz Publishing 2007). Jenny’s book of children’s poetry, Giggles and Niggles (Haddington Press 2007) is currently out of print, but anyone interested in purchasing a copy can contact Jenny by email jennyerlanger@optusnet.com.au

Hot Summer Day by Jenny Erlanger

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Hot Summer Day

 

The seashells I’ve collected stink,

not one of them is pretty.

My cordial’s too warm to drink,

my sandwiches are gritty.

 

I’d build a fortress on the shore

but no one here will help.

I won’t go swimming any more

with jelly fish and kelp.

 

My face is hot, it’s getting pink.

I’ll turn into a peach.

I hate to grizzle, but I think

it’s time to leave the beach!

 

© Jenny Erlanger

Although I have many positive memories of the many Christmases I spent as a child on the Mornington Peninsula, eating sandwiches on the beach in the middle of summer, with no shade in sight, was not one of them. This poem comes from my volume of children’s poetry, Giggles and Niggles (Haddington Press, 2007)

Rhyming Curse by Jenny Erlanger

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Rhyming Curse

I think my problem’s getting worse.

My every thought is thought in verse.

This habit’s now become a curse.

It happens all the time.

 

Each word inside me rattles round.

It plays with pattern, rhythm, sound

and won’t come out until it’s found

a perfect one to rhyme.

 

I wish I knew the way to mend

this most excruciating trend.

Just when will this affliction end?

What happens if it grows?

 

It’s shown no signs of stopping yet.

If I go on like this I bet

my brain will very soon forget

the way to think in prose.

 

© Jenny Erlanger