Burnt

We’ve seen what a vengeful old planet can do

when it chooses to mount an attack.

The sky is no longer a pure sheet of blue

but a vile, toxic blanket of black.

These raging infernos have beggared belief

as they’ve flaunted their merciless force

and all round the world we’re united in grief

over trauma they’ve wrought in their course.

We mourn for the people who’ve already died

for the lives ripped apart at the seams,

for all the communities sadly denied

any chance of fulfilling their dreams.

The loss of our livestock and wildlife as well

has created a harrowing void

and as for the creatures surviving this hell,

their homes in the bush are destroyed.

It’s ever so hard to express the despair

that engulfs us right down to the core.

But we Aussies are tough and, as one, we’ll prepare

for whatever may next lie in store.

Water fight

My father is fighting the water

but some of it’s gone up his nose.

My sister and brother

and even my mother

are soggy right down to their toes.

They’re starting to sound pretty angry,

I’ll have to give in, I suppose

but I know for a fact

that I can’t be attacked

if I stay on this end of the hose.

This was first published in “Play” (Paper Dart Press, UK 2018)

A large cardboard box is reluctant to budge

till an ugly brown bag comes and gives it a nudge.

A pusher is passing in clear plastic wrap

and a grey bag’s just finished  its twentieth lap.

I’ve stood here for ages, I’m tired of the sound

of the carousel creaking around and around

There’s no sign at all of my shiny red bag

with its polka-dot ribbon and bright purple tag.

I watch as the cases are jostled and swayed,

as they each play their part in this clumsy parade.

They’re all in a higgledy-piggledy row

but there isn’t a bag with a polka-dot bow.

A flurry of limbs marks the start of a race

as the lucky ones capture their runaway case.

Around goes a rucksack, a crate and some skis

but, of course, I’ve no interest in any of these

I’m just on the lookout for one glossy bag

with a polka-dot ribbon and bright purple tag.

The crowd’s disappearing, they’re all moving on

and that rotating jumble of luggage has gone.

The carousel slows and I utter a shout

as the very last suitcase comes barreling out.

I cannot believe it, what wondrous relief

after sixty full minutes of nerve-wracking grief!

It’s finally made it, my special red bag

with its polka-dot ribbon and bright purple tag.

I cling to its handle, I cuddle my case

as the universe settles once more  into place.

No Peas, Please

Please, please Mum

I beg you, please.

Oh, please say you

won’t give me peas.

I’ll even eat a brussel sprout.

I swear I won’t spit any out.

And mushrooms too,

I’ll manage those

If I shut my eyes

and block my nose.

I won’t complain with all of these.

Just pile on heaps of grated cheese

and I’ll eat anything

But PLEASE

No peas!

Food art

This mashed potato sculpture

is a splendid work of art,

the best I’ve ever seen, I’d have to say

and every slice of carrot,

carved to look just like a heart,

you’ve set out in a most creative way.

The broccoli looks pretty

cut in perfect little flowers.

I love the way the peas spell out my name

and I know that you’ve been working

on this masterpiece for hours,

but I’m sorry, every night I feel the same.

It doesn’t really matter

what you do to all this food,

what handiwork you serve me up for tea.

I may seem quite ungrateful

and perhaps a little rude,

but, they still all taste like vegetables to me!

Food art

This mashed potato sculpture

is a splendid work of art,

the best I’ve ever seen, I’d have to say

and every slice of carrot,

carved to look just like a heart,

you’ve set out in a most creative way.

The broccoli looks pretty

cut in perfect little flowers.

I love the way the peas spell out my name

and I know that you’ve been working

on this masterpiece for hours,

but I’m sorry, every night I feel the same.

It doesn’t really matter

what you do to all this food,

what handiwork you serve me up for tea.

I may seem quite ungrateful

and perhaps a little rude,

but, they still all taste like vegetables to me!

Jenny Erlanger 

Dreams

I wish my warm and cosy dreams

would stay inside my head

Instead of floating off for good

when I get out of bed.

I’d like to put them in a box,

all those I want to keep,

then choose the one I want at night

before I go to sleep.

Jenny Erlanger

Grandpa’s farm

My Grandpa rang this morning.

He’s just bought a farm, he said

and so I’ve started dreaming

of the fun that lies ahead.

I see myself with bottles

helping feed the baby lambs,

I’m saddling up the ponies,

catching yabbies in the dams.

I glimpse a pretty orchard

filled with trees for me to climb –

the apples smell delicious

so it must be picking time.

I hear a rooster crowing

as it struts amongst the chooks

near a cosy little cottage

like the ones in picture books…

But now the vision’s fading

thanks to what I’ve just been told.

My dreams of country living

I may have to put on hold.

I won’t be catching yabbies,

won’t be riding through the scrub.

My Grandpa’s little farm is…

just some worms inside a tub!

Jenny Erlanger 

Hoisted

A wonderful contraption,

it’s the very best of toys,

a funfair installation

but without the added noise.

I grab the bar above me

and I launch straight off the chair.

I sway my legs a little

till I’m whizzing through the air,

I’m gripping really tightly

as I whirl above the ground.

I swing in giant circles,

spinning round and round and round.

I’d love to play for longer

but it’s time to end the fun.

My carousel is needed

now the load of washing’s done.

Jenny Erlanger