The campfire’s burning merrily
as Frogmouth sings a melody.
Percussion’s played by Wallaby
and Devil howls the harmony.
Before they leave, they thought they might
sing lullabies to sky-star’s light.
Some soothing songs that feel just right
for wishing the world a fond “Goodnight”.
Artwork: NIGHTSOUNDS by Amanda W Johnson
Just imagine if this was where
your school concert took place!
With lots of gold everywhere,
you’d be in a magic space.
Picture yourself up on the stage —
what would you dance or sing?
With mums and dads in every box,
the applause would really ring.
Photo of Teatro de Fenice (Venice Opera house) Italy, by Ginette Pestana
The song that I will sing for you
will be the greatest ever sung,
greater than the loudest bell
that ever has been rung.
I will sing my song by day and night,
in sunshine or in rain,
and when my song is over
I will begin again.
And so my song will grow and ring
forever bright and new,
bringing joy to everyone,
but most of all
to you.
Image from Stockcake
Myrtle McGuire
joined a choir,
because she thought
she could sing.
She sang soprano
near the piano,
and here’s the
terrible thing:
her voice was a shriek
that lacked technique,
and started a chain of disasters;
the glass windows shattered,
and what really mattered,
down from the roof
came the rafters.
Photo from Pexels by Andrea Piacquadio
I picked-up my recorder
and started blowing loudly,
a tootle-oo and tootle-ay
while Dad was snoring proudly;
I leant over his breathing chest
to listen to his heart,
then went outside playing my tune
as stars lit-up the chart;
I stood on tiptoe, eating grapes
on this side of the neighbor’s fence;
and played my pipes, until their dog
emerged in their defence;
but as I stood under the stars
and played my pretty song,
the dog stuck-out his wet old tongue,
and then began to croon along—
and all the cats hidden among
the roses then pricked their sharp ears,
until I’d played my last this night—
the cats and dogs (with no more fears)
slept soundly then, but woe, alas,
my Dad came-out to yell and scream
at me for waking him, and he awoke
the cats and dogs, and then
I woke-up from my dream…
Photo from Pexels by Alexas Fotos
I woke up to a sound
Beating in my head
An imaginary tune
Which trumpets led.
I did not recognise
What vibrated in my ear
But moved instinctively
In pleasure it was clear.
A mist came over me
Like I was in a dream
Music became louder
Or so it seemed.
Guitars took the stage
A melody subdued
In this euphoria
I felt totally attuned.
The beat continued on
I embraced the melody
It took me to a special place
One that I could only see.
Photo from Pexels by Tim Mossholder
o boy, could that fat lady sing!
she sung a very special aria!
we didn’t know that she could wing
that complicated song, and look the star-ia!
but with her front teeth (and I sorely quote)
’twas rather she would whistle every note
so shrilly to the rafters of the hall,
it seemed her voice could magically enthrall,
o heavens above, it was not over
in this operatic swift manoeuvre
till the fat lady did whistle, or just sing!
but if it was a whistle, it was shrill,
and if a song, some sort of highland fling!
whatever it was, it was quite the thrill!
A valley in Wales
so green and clear,
no sign of the coal
mined near here.
A land of song,
where mining coal
destroyed its valleys
but not its soul.
Teacher’s note: Wales was once famous for its polluting coal mines. Today we celebrate great Welsh singers such as Dame Shirley Bassey, Charlotte Church, Katherine Jenkins, Bonnie Tyler (Gaynor Sullivan), Sir Tom Jones and Sir Bryn Terfel, actor Richard Burton and poet Dylan Thomas. The word “Eisteddfod” — a musical competition— is taken from the Welsh language which is still spoken.
Farmyard Band
The cow was playing cowbells,
Giddy Goat joined in on his guitar,
The horse was hoofing bongo drums,
Animals started coming from afar.
The chicken clucked an egg out,
Pig was oinking right in time,
Duck was tinkling on her triangle
While dog was hammering on his chime.
Pussy picked up her piccolo,
Goose was flapping on his flute,
Donkey brayed on a big trombone,
It really was a farmyard hoot.
© John Williams
Australian Children’s Poetry 