“Surprise Egg” and “Easter”

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Surprise Egg

 

Scritch scritch!

Scratch scratch!

This little egg’s about to hatch!

Quack quack!

Duck duck!

She’s made of chocolate!

What sweet luck!

 

Kylie Covark

Easter

I cross the road to Molly’s farm.

There is a sign nailed to a post:

Eggs for sale.

I buy a dozen.

I hear a rooster crow.

On the way home I trip and fall.

One egg is cracked and broken,

The others are saved.

On Sunday we celebrate Easter;

Soft boiled eggs for breakfast.

I see the Easter bunny has visited too!

Dark chocolate is my passion.

Life is good.

By Louise McCarthy

 

 

 

 

PS: Prompt is in Tuesday this week

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POEM

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POEM: Kylie Covark

Teacher Notes: Jeanie Axton

This poem is a wonderful opportunity to introduce the language of poetry to your class. When you read the poem to the students get them to point out the words that create feeling. Then to extend the class list possible alternative words in this poem.

Acrostics are a simple way to introduce a unit of work on poetry. I have found students find them easy enough to write. An idea is to start with their name and then each letter is a self descriptor. For example: SAM

Smart

Amusing

Male

The good copy of these poems with a photo or illustration could be made into a class book for students to reread during the year.

Have fun.

Obstruction

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Obstruction

It’s quarter to four
and you’re at the door –
I hear your tail thumping
and bumping the floor –
and while I’m delighted
that you’re so excited
to know that it’s time
to be reunited,
it would make me grin,
(in fact, we’d both win),
if you’d move a little
so that I could get in!

By Kylie Covark

Fish and Chips

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Fish and Chips

 

Chips was a seagull,

His best friend was Fish,

Together they made their own

Favourite dish.

 

A real set of villains,

Wired to steal,

Swooping and snatching

From humans mid-meal.

 

They could have been heroes,

This larcenous pair,

But there was a problem;

They just couldn’t share.

 

The other seagulls,

Tired of scraps,

Began making plans

For tricks and for traps.

 

They held all their meetings

In secretive places,

Aboard mighty ships

With stowaway spaces.

 

Then Livingstone Seagull

Came up with a scheme,

To rid their fair beach

Of that greedy gull team.

 

They planned a great party

On one of the ships;

The two guests of honour

Would be Fish and Chips.

 

They were to be named

Joint “Bird of the Year”,

And they boarded the ship

To a gushing gull cheer.

 

On each of their heads

Was placed a gold crown,

Pretty but heavy,

Those crowns weighed them down.

 

The pair smiled and waved,

As proud as could be,

The party went on

As the ship sailed to sea.

 

Some seagulls made speeches

Which seemed sort of long,

Then Livingstone stood

And sang them a song.

 

Well Fish and Chips

Were tired by now,

“We really must fly,”

They said with a bow.

 

The others agreed

And flocked to the sky,

Shouting “So long”

“Adios” and “Good bye”.

 

But poor Fish and Chips

Were weighed to the ground,

Their heads had been glued

As they had been crowned.

 

And try as they might

To get them unstuck,

Those crowns were on tight;

They had run out of luck.

 

And as they sat glumly

Each one had a wish,

Fish wanted chips,

And Chips wanted fish.

 

By Kylie Covark

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Koalas’s Christmas Carol/The Santa Man

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Two poems today: Thankyou for the terrific response

 

A Koala’s Christmas Carol

 

In a great, grey gum,

As daybreak crept.

Snoozy Koala

Slept and she slept.

 

Her branch was cosy –

Firm, yet snug.

It cradled her gently

In a eucalypt hug.

 

She was alone,

Just as she preferred.

No possums, no gliders,

Not even a bird.

 

But then one day

Something was wrong,

Her tree was humming

Some terrible song.

 

“Come along Snoozy,

You know that can’t be.

You’re losing your marbles,

It’s only a tree!”

 

But on went the music,

Through day and through night,

And the mystery choir

Remained out of sight.

 

The lyrics were strange

Words she did not know.

Like jingling bells

And reindeer in snow.

 

No longer at peace

In her comfy bed,

Those strange sounding words

Got stuck in her head.

 

She could take it no more,

The sound she must follow,

So she searched and discovered,

A glittery hollow.

 

But who were these folk,

All waiting in line,

And what was that painted

On the entrance sign.

 

“Christmas Committee

And carollers free.

Everyone else:

A five gumnut fee.”

 

“What is this nonsense?”

She wanted to know.

An owl said, “It’s the

Bush Christmas Show.”

 

She was curious now

To see this big bash.

But koalas really have

No use for cash.

 

She had no gumnuts

So she couldn’t pay.

She hummed as she

Glumly turned on her way.

 

Just at that minute,

Who should pass by,

But the chief choir mistress,

Madame La Magpie.

 

“Oh darling koala,

You’re just what I need!

Your pitch is quite perfect,

Just follow my lead.”

 

Now Snoozy Koala

Was usually shy,

But she couldn’t resist

And followed the pie.

 

In front of the crowd

She remembered each word

To all of the Christmasy songs

That she’d heard.

 

The crowd stood and cheered

As she took her bow.

She understood what all of this

Fuss was for now.

 

She hugged her new friends,

She’d had such a ball.

And she beamed as she cried,

“Merry Christmas to all!”

Kylie Covark

 

 

 

That Santa Man

 

It’s Christmas Eve and everywhere,

Children lie awake and stare,

Hoping for a single glimpse,

Of sleigh or boots or reindeer prints.

 

They leave out carrots, cookies, milk,

And stockings made of wool or silk.

They hang a sign that says ‘Stop Here,’

In hopes that Santa will appear.

 

But I’m a grinch, I am a scrooge,

I think that jolly man is rude!

Entering a person’s house,

Sneaking quiet as a mouse.

 

Break and enter! It’s a crime.

It’s not your house, it’s mine, mine, mine!

Keep your gifts and Christmas cheer,

I do not want it brought in here.

 

I’ve barred the windows, locked the doors.

I have no chimney, but that Claus,

He gets inside, I don’t know how.

I’ll keep him out this year I vow.

 

I lie awake, I will no doze,

I’ll catch that man in bright red clothes.

I’ll hand him in to the police,

They’ll give him twenty years at least.

 

The clock strikes midnight in the hall,

My eyelids droop, a far off call,

Says, ‘Ho Ho Ho,’ in chuckled voice,

I rouse myself and then rejoice.

 

I think I’ve caught him out this time,

But down the stairs what do I find?

Before my eyes a horrid sight,

Silver tinsel, baubles bright!

 

Wreaths and stars in golden hues,

Gifts inside my socks and shoes!

Candy canes and Christmas cake,

Fairy lights, for goodness sake!

 

Every inch from floor to roof,

Is decorated, there’s my proof,

He’s been and gone, that Santa man,

Thwarted again my Christmas plan.

 

And in my yard, what’s this I see?

There’s a live nativity!

Donkeys, cows and baaing sheep,

Baby Jesus fast asleep.

 

Mary, Joseph, wise men too,

Shepherds galore, what can I do?

It’s time that I admit defeat,

Time to surrender and retreat.

 

I’ll write a card to Mr. Claus,

For when it comes to Christmas wars,

I’ve tried my best but I give in.

Can’t keep him out. Santa, you win.

By Lynelle Kendall

 

 

 

 

 

My Christmas Story

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My Christmas Story

 

I’m writing a Christmas story.

It feels like Winter snow.

I’d better get a move on;

Just six more sleeps to go.

 

I’m writing a Christmas story.

It sounds like Ho Ho Ho.

I’d better get my skates on;

Just five more sleeps to go.

 

I’m writing a Christmas story.

It smells like cookie dough.

I’d better get a roll on;

Just four more sleeps to go.

 

I’m writing a Christmas story,

But it’s not the one I know.

I’d better pull the reins in

With three more sleeps to go.

 

I’m writing a Christmas story.

It smells like fresh mango,

I’d better take it easy;

Still two more sleeps to go.

 

I’m writing a Christmas story.

It sounds like the sea’s flow,

It’s time to take a rest now;

Just one more sleep to go.

 

I’m writing a Christmas story.

It feels like Summer’s glow.

And today I’ll live that story;

A Christmas of my own.

 

By Kylie Covark