The water beneath us is surging,
the thunder’s creating a din.
and swiftly a sense is emerging
of just what a pickle I’m in.
All hope of a rescue is shrinking,
I’m such a long way from the shore.
I’m trapped on a ship that is sinking
and teeming with pirates galore,
with villains who thirst for a killing,
who’d slice you apart with a hook.
I’m finding this ever so thrilling!
I love getting lost in a book.
We’re sitting on a picnic rug
beside our lemon tree.
We pass around the water jug
then start to eat our tea.
I’m staring at a Brussels sprout
with mounting discontent
When I suggested eating out
this wasn’t what I meant!
I’m woken by a presence
in the middle of the night.
I’d scream to get attention
but I’m paralysed with fright.
There’s something like a zombie
shuffling slowly round my bed.
Its eyes are staring wildly
from a vacant-looking head.
The figure edges closer.
and I’m just about to pray
then I recognise its features
and the terror drains away.
I’m glad it’s not a monster,
not some evil-minded creep
but I wish my little sister
wouldn’t wander in her sleep!
You’re clearly still dizzy
from spinning around,
from constantly stumbling
and hitting the ground.
You’ve slipped on the carpet,
bumped into the chairs
collided with pillars
and tripped down the stairs.
You’ve toppled the urn
that was next to the door.
There are slivers of china
all over the floor.
You’ve booted the table,
knocked books off the shelf.
Consider the trouble
you’re causing yourself.
This game’s a disaster,
so may I advise
you take off the blindfold…
and open your eyes!
Jenny Erlanger
The oyster way
An irritating grain of sand
or pesky piece of grit,
it slips inside the oyster shell
and finds a place to sit.
The oyster greets the irksome pest,
confronts it face to face,
bestows it with a soft caress,
a silky, smooth embrace.
How wonderful our lives could be,
how great for me and you
if we could tackle obstacles
the way the oysters do.
We’d gather all those gritty bits
that grind in vicious swirls
then smooth and sculpture each in turn
to shape a string of pearls.
© Jenny Erlanger
Double standards
When I sit down to dinner
There are things I mustn’t do.
There’s a list of rules to follow.
Let me give you just a few.
I’m not to gobble quickly,
every mouthful must be chewed.
I can’t talk over others
’cause to interrupt is rude.
My mouth needs to be empty
when I get a chance to talk
My dinner must be tackled
with a proper knife and fork.
And even when I’ve finished
I am forced to sit and wait
till everybody’s eaten
what was put onto their plate.
And that’s just the beginning.
I could rattle off some more…
But for little baby brother
all these rules go out the door!
He’s put into his high chair
with his plastic spoon and plate
and you’d not believe the chaos
that he’s able to create.
No sooner is he seated
than his spoon is knocked away,
the plate has been inverted
and his food has hit the tray.
He grabs the mush with fingers,
that he runs straight through his hair
and he saves a bit for missiles
that he launches from his chair.
He wriggles in his harness
as he giggles, burps and squeals.
He loves to get attention
when we’re sitting down to meals.
He downs his final mouthful
then, in keeping with the trend,
prepares the grand finale…
he explodes from either end.
My brother’s skills are many
and deserve to be admired
but his manners at the table
leave a lot to be desired!
© Jenny Erlanger
Australian Children’s Poetry 