“Flying Tale” by Julie Cahill

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Flying Tale

The most favorite pet we ever had 

was little ‘Peanut,’ named by Dad

The tiny fit upon my hand

soon sprung out 

like a rubber band

When laying, he was Peanut Paste

fortunately without the taste

When chasing ‘Fly,’

our other dog 

t’was left behind at every log

We watched Fly in the longest grass

grass that bent

while Peanut chased his . . . tail 😁

Julie Cahill 

“Song of the Wood” by Julie Cahill

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’Ssssshhhhh!’ the trees whispered

and the children froze 

absorbing sounds; standing up on their toes. 

‘Ribbit!’ The sound of a deep voiced frog.

‘What’s that?’ asked a child, hiding under a log.

‘Ribbit!’ said the deep voiced frog again.

‘Get lost’ said the girl in the wooded glen. 

‘Ssssshhhhh!’ said the trees

and the frog cleared his throat. 

‘Ribbit ribbit . . . riiiiiiiiiiiiiibit!’

‘Chchchchchchchchch  ‘ – a cricket tuned. 

‘Riiiiiiiiiiiibit’ the frog sung, renewed.

The wood came alive with wondrous ballett.

‘Chchchchchchchchch’ – the string quatet.

‘Chomp chomp chomp’ went the hungry deer. 

‘Ribbit.’ ‘Chomp chomp chomp chomp chomp chomp.’

‘Ribbit’. ‘Chomp chomp chomp chomp chomp chomp.’

‘Chchchchchchchchch’ ‘Chomp chomp’

‘Chchchchchchchchch’ ‘Chomp chomp’

And a boar joined in- bold and brave.

‘Stomp stomp stomp stomp stomp stomp stomp.’

‘Ribbit!’ ‘Stomp!’ ‘Ribbit!’ ‘Stomp’!’

‘Stomp stomp stomp stomp stomp stomp!’


“Internal Relection” by Julie Cahill

The kitten looked and saw

his very own reflection
But ’twas not him to others looking
in the cat’s direction
The cat had never seen himself
as no one ever does
and the lion in the mirror
wore the same beige mottled fuzz
He licked his paw
when the kitten licked
he yawned although much wider
and when they both lay down to sleep
they breached the glass divider
When they woke together
at exactly the same moment
they smiled at one another
and roared with quiet contentment

“Sun Burned” by Julie Cahill

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Sun Burned


Sun and surf, holidays and laughter 

unless the sunscreen is slapped on after 

the sun bites in and blisters appear

our hat blow off and lobsters adhere

our tents lay flat and our drinks slide away

sand-witches zap our bread into hay

buckets grow holes and spades lose their handles 

and wouldn’t you know it, we break our sandals

our towels turn all crunchy, the barbie explodes

the tide washes out and the shore erodes

the sand grows so hot that we scurry like mice 

wishing we’d taken the experts’ advice

‘Global warming,’ they had warned us ahead 

so we tread more carefully and change the thread 

care for our planet; reap new choices we’ve made

wearing sunscreen and hats; we play in the shade

holidays arrive . . . we all survive

‘Cheers!’ A toast with cool lemonade


Julie Cahill 



“Another Week Already” by Julie Cahill

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Another Week Already?


Sunday is our day of rest
Monday’s Sunday’s getting dressed
Tuesday comes and Tuesday goes
Wednesday’s humped like Nanna’s hose
cause Thursday is her watering day
and Friday dries Thursday away
but fills us all with hopes and dreams
for Saturday’s delish icecreams
each ending with ‘THIS week’s been the best’
Waking then, yes you guessed
Sunday is our day of rest
and no, it’s not a weekday test.
Julie Cahill

“Carnival Roundabout” by Julie Cahill 

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Carnival Roundabout

Marmaduke our winning ram

won the raffle and home he came

T’weren’t US who won HIM at the show

the judges messed that up, you know.

saying ‘here’s your special prize

for guessing both his weight and size’

The Marm who wasn’t any ram

he chased the cows and drained Dad’s dam

he grew and spread with every day

eating cats and dogs and hay

And when the next show came around

Marm went on the roundabout

Another girl then took him home

My sister Jill, and home he came

Julie Cahill

“Fruit Fest” by Julie Cahill

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Fruit Fest

Lenny Lemon and Lucy Lime
were actors in a pantomime
Oscar Orange and Melon Slice
agreed that would be very nice
so rounded up their fruity friends
Abby Apple, Banana Bend
Granny Smith and Coconut
attended practice, prepared to strutt
And when their play reached the stage
suitable for any age
they had forgotten one wee thing
there was no more fruit to hear them sing
no more apples to watch them prance
or watermelon to cheer their dance
So instead they changed their theatre play
to play itself, that fruitful day.