“Lyle the Lemon” by Lynelle Kendall

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Lyle the Lemon

 

Lyle the lemon turned eleven,

Time to celebrate!

He planned a party with his friends

His Mum said, “Just ask eight.”

 

Who would he ask? How would he choose?

The job was hard, for sure,

He thought he’d ask the apple twins

They’d make a solid core.

 

Gus Grapes – he was a bunch of fun

And Orange, always bright

Watermelon, kind and sweet

Three more left to invite.

 

Lyle stopped to think, he scratched his peel

Oh yes! His best friend Lime

They’d play some games and do the twist

And have a brilliant time.

 

Two left to join Lyle’s fruity crew

Two left to share his day.

Banana, she can do the splits

And shake things up. Hooray!

 

Mum asks, “How many have you got?”

Lyle counts and says, “just seven.”

“That’s find,” says Mum, “I’ll help you out,”

“You must ask cousin Kevin.”

 

“Oh yeah, thanks Mum. Well now I’m done.”

He wrote out ‘Kiwi Kevin,’

And that’s who came to celebrate

When Lyle turned eleven.

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

If N is for Nose

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If N is for nose,

And T is for toes,

Then why is it K,

For someone who knows?

 

Knights have armour,

And knots get tied,

But not if the K,

Decides to hide.

 

And knives and forks,

Set the spoon on edge,

If the silent K’s,

Left upon a ledge.

 

I knock with my knuckle,

And kneel on one knee,

With a knack for knitting,

So effortlessly,

 

But for all my knowledge,

I have to say,

I’d have no knickers,

Without silent K.

By Lynelle Kendall

Cartoon Picnic

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Cartoon Picnic

 

I stepped into the cartoon frame

I lost my voice, I lost my name

I lost my third dimension too

Last of all – my hair turned blue.

 

I sat upon a picnic mat

With friends who were equally flat

Their world was bright and fancy free

Their cartoon food looked heavenly

 

But then I learnt – this frozen frame

Had left me motionless, in vain

I pulled my sandwich towards me

It did not budge – not one degree!

 

Stuck in starved exasperation

I wished I were an animation.

By Lynelle Kendall

Poem of the Day

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A Certain Platypus

 

There was a certain platypus

He lived in five mile creek,

Who (prompted by the latest trend)

Went vegan for a week.

 

He tried butternut pumpkin cubes

And purple eggplant too.

He prodded peas with spoon and fork

And sipped hot mushroom stew.

 

He crunched on juicy celery,

Gave artichokes a try,

Sautéed leafy silver beet,

And munched on broccoli.

 

No doubt the fare was healthy,

But it mostly went to waste,

For those nutritious vegetables

Just didn’t suit his taste.

 

So he returned to worms and such

To bugs and shrimp so fine,

And left the vegetables to us;

Omnivorous mankind.

 

Lynelle Kendall
  • Inspired by Poetry prompt #9

Poem of the Day

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Picnic

 

Will you come to lunch with me,

Upon the grass, beneath the tree?

Will you bring a mat for three,

And picnic ‘neath the sky?

 

Yes, I’ll come to picnic there.

The grass is green, the day is fair,

And then we’ll play without a care,

My two best friends and I.

 

I’ll bring the fruit and fairy bread,

Cool drinks and cups and (as you’ve said)

A mat with checks so bright and red,

To sit on ‘neath the sky.

 

We’ll feast and laugh and climb and run

Our picnic day will be such fun!

We’ll spin cartwheels and when we’re done

We’ll watch the clouds go by.

 

Then when the sun is sinking low

And stars are warming up their glow

Fold up the mat, it’s time to go

We’ll bid a fond goodbye.

 

Until we meet again my friend,

We’ll bid a fond goodbye.

Lynelle Kendall

Poetry Prompt #24

Poem of the Day

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Ham vs Flout

 

Captain Ham had a beard as green as old broccoli,

And a streak as mean as a bitter green.

 

They say that he led his crew in a mutiny,

Against Captain Flout (just a young brussel sprout).

 

The battle was swift and soon Ham had the victory,

All Flout’s hopes sank as he walked the plank.

 

Balanced on the edge looking down into destiny,

His quivering lips were as pale as parsnips.

 

“This ‘ere be the Basin of Sharks,” sneered his enemy,

“Thanks for ye ship, in ye go fer a dip!”

 

Splash!

 

The overthrown captain was chomped up like celery.

The ship sailed away but ever since that day…

 

Superstitious old Ham has been cursed by the memory.

He can’t eat a sprout without thinking of Flout.

Lynelle Kendall
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #29

Poetry Prompt #29