“Green Thumbed in the Garden” by Julie Cahill

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Green Thumbed in the Garden  –

Looking through fog
like pea-green soup
The world is hazed with peas
Both ever-green and bare branch trees
are tinged like pea-soup seas
Swirling, swishing
in this day’s breeze
Dancing and
swimming some
Pea-soup fog has drawn me
Has coloured me in . . .
the colour of my gardening thumb

“Closed doors” by Julie Cahill

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Mum, she slammed the door, she did.
‘No one’s going out!’
I scratched my head and wondered what the fuss was all about.
My mother often sent us out
so she could clean our mess.
Now our home is inside out with plonked in tardiness.
We play games we have never played
Lose pieces that are loose.
The jigsaw puzzle is in MORE bits
Soggy, with my juice.
The tv stations repeat repeats.
I turn myself away.
Good gracious, it’s as though it is
a winters’ rainy day.
But that’s okay, the storm will pass.
My mum screamed
‘really soon!’
She still believes in nonsence
like ‘the man upon the moon.’
I give that sly and sideways look
The one which she deserves.
But Mum’s a treat
When she hands out sweet
And cuddles with elbows curved.

“Friends” by Julie Cahill

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Wally Wombat found some food,
in a bowl all large and round.
Kangarilla Kangaroo was foraging on the ground.
The fires had taken all their grub,
the ashes burnt kanga’s toes.
And as the wombat gobbled nuts,
he felt the other’s woes.
‘Come and share,’ he called in Wombat,
a foreign tongue indeed.
But Kararilla saw him summon,
and hopped his way with speed.
It happened then, the grumpy dog
whose food was in HIS bowl . . .
He let the creatures
fill their bellies,
while kindness filled his soul.

“Toilet Paper” by James Aitchison and “The Great Toilet Paper Chase” by Julie Cahill

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Dunny roll, dunny roll,

Where art thou?

There’s none in the shops

Or anywhere now!


Dunny roll, dunny roll,

Such a shame!

Not a sheet in sight,

And we’re all to blame!


We can do without pies,

Yes, we can!

But toilet paper?

Oh man, oh man!


The Great Toilet Paper Chase

Old Mother Hubbard went to her cupboard
to fetch her poor dog a bone.
When she got there the cupboard was full
of loo rolls and tissues, alone.
‘Don’t look at me,’ said the dog, honestly,
‘I don’t shop, nor do I talk.’
He spotted his lead and at breakneck speed
asked to go for a walk.
As they passed the first store
a man burst through the door,
‘Best hurry before they run out.’
The dog tripped him up, being a pup,
and the man went down with a clout.
His plastic bags burst and rolls of loo paper
rolled into curbs; jumped the fence,
while the panicked folk snatched
and grabbed and bagged
the last of Australia’s sense.



“The Days After” by Julie Cahill

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Fires broke out in Australia
And ravaged our wondrous land
But the people stood together
Yes, together we made a stand
The fireys arrived in engines
Indivuduals helped those in need
‘We have to fight together
if indeed we mean to succeed.’
The media took the story
Sensationalised, as they do
We know we lost many animals
A few people, and bushland too
But the heros arrived in droves
Saved animals and properties
The rains came in; the fires went out
And our land is green again


“Holiday Capers” by Julie Cahill

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Holidays again?’asked a mum in perplexed doubt
‘I thought the children just went back to school
but that’s a nought.’
Nanny, on the otherhand says ‘bring the holies on-
Bring the children to our home
for as long as long is long
We’ll cut and paste; colour in; take the dog for walks
We’ll paint, and fill the pavements with hopscotch drawn with chalks
We’ll take the kiddies to the zoo
and feed the baby goats
We’ll feed the hungry children too;
wipe down their fed-up coats
We’ll feed the kids with snacks and treats
before we send them home
Nanny time repays my own, for blaming Mister gnome
But at the end of every day
with grandies in our care
We’ll reminise; thank sheer good luck;
be grateful you are there.’

“The Gift” by Julie Cahill

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The Gift

The children took turns on Santa’s knee-
‘And what would you like?’ he asked.
The children were armed with answers;
their characters often unmasked.
‘I’d like a gun that shoots and kills,’
said a naive boy of three.
‘I’d like a doll’s house. I’ll smack my children, as my parents both smack me.’
Santa adjusted his whiskered chin;
gave thought before he answered . . .
‘Why shoot a gun? You could shoot Christmas snaps.’
Wow – what a comeback mastered.
The boy thought back, clapped his hands,
and asked for a camera from Christmas.
‘You could smack your children with loving kisses, if you receive indeed, a doll’s house.’
The girl saw red- her future daughter
with kisses all over her head.
‘I’ve changed my mind. A girl can do that.
I’d like lipsticks in Christmas red.’

“The Bushfire”  by Julie Cahill

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Someone lit a bushfire
in scrub, all dense and thick.
The thought of creatures struggling, made me really sick.
Houses too were threatened, human lives as well . . .
but when we heard the sirens
stress and worry fell.
The firetrucks, they went herbing past
with firemen clinging on
Men and women- don’t know names-
broke out into song.
‘We’ll dose that fire with hoses;
we’ll put out all the flames.’
The engines flashed a brighter red

Our bushlands have been saved.

“Polly Nation” by Julie Cahill

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We’ve just installed a bee hive

in our garden – what a fright.

Well, that is what I thought when bumble bees came into sight.

I’d squeal and flap my arms around-

‘Don’t come next to me.’

Get out of our garden, you’re spoiling dolly’s tea.’

‘Polly put the kettle on,

we’ll scare them off with steam.’

It didn’t work and all I did was run and hide and scream.

But Mum and Dad explained my fear

which swiftly flew away.

‘Bees are good ecology,

ensuring coming days.

Busy workers demonstrate the ethics of hard work,

collecting pollen from the flowers-

the spreading is a perk.

Without the buzzy, fuzzy mites

we wouldn’t have our food.’

And being as I love my grub,

‘That would be mighty rude.’