I’d hate to be a hairbrush,
by the mirror, waiting there;
my bristles would get clogged up
with strands of yucky hair.
Everybody uses me,
no one seems to care;
red hair, black hair, grey hair too —
a technicolor scare!
Image from Pexels by RDNE Stock project
The other day
I got a surprise —
at first I couldn’t
believe my eyes.
It came in a box
tied with string —
the biggest, weirdest
funniest thing.
It was a purple
pizza eater,
eating a
purple pizza!
Mervyn McFigg
lost his wig,
it blew off in the breeze.
It came to rest
in a bird’s nest,
in the highest of high gum trees.
Mervyn McFigg,
to retrieve his wig,
climbed up that mighty tree.
But at the top,
a bald bird said, “Stop!
Your wig now belongs to me!”
I wanted to write a poem about Sunday,
simply because it rhymed with Monday.
But then it was Tuesday,
I struggled all day,
and all Wednesday I waited
with breath abated,
and decided that Thursday
would be my verse day!
But no words came to mind,
I got really behind,
now it’s Sunday again
and I’ve lost my pen…
Teacher’s note: “To wait with bated breath” is a very common phrase. Bated is short for “abated”. It is never spelled “abaited”, because bait refers to hunting and trapping.
There’s a Gruble in my garden
wearing rainbow coloured clothes.
He lives beneath the gimble patch
where no one ever goes.
If you’re curious I’ll show you,
but you’ve got to promise me,
you’ll never tell a single soul.
That’s how it’s got to be.
We’ll tiptoe from our bedrooms
and steal along the hall,
then down the stairs, across the yard
up to the garden wall.
We’ve got to be as quiet as mice
‘cause on the other side,
if the Gruble hears a noise,
beneath the gimble patch he’ll hide.
He won’t be there this morning,
nor in the afternoon.
But set your clock for midnight
and provided there’s a moon
He’ll be digging out the mungle weeds
and chopping through the ling,
to clear the ground of carbles
for the annual rickshing.
It’s a really wondrous sight to see
this rickshing celebration.
Grubles come from every corner
of the Gruble nation.
Their tables all are laden
with every fine delight;
baked bullwort, creamy piggler
and barbequed quambite.
The party lasts for eldons,
till the mungle weed grows back.
Then they finish with a lively dance
they call the rakanbak.
But as the moon gets lower.
Just before the sun turns red.
The Grubles leave the way they came
and go back home to bed.
And the Gruble in my garden
with the rainbow coloured clothes?
Well – he’s back beneath the gimble patch
where no one ever goes.
They say my words are quite absurd,
my poems most preposterous,
my rhymes are poor, my rhythms wild,
my metre’s all quite monstrous.
But I don’t care what they say,
one day I will be prosperous,
because I am the world’s only
poetic rhinoceros.
Have you ever seen a turtle swimming with a whale?
Have you ever seen an elephant dancing with a snail?
Have you ever seen a grasshopper hopping with a frog?
Or a big fat walrus barking like a dog?
Have you ever seen a wagtail without a tail to wag?
Have you ever seen a hippo and a rhino playing tag?
Have you ever seen a kookaburra eating Christmas cake?
Or a lion and a tiger, laughing at a snake?
Have you ever seen a billy goat flying through the air?
Have you ever seen an alligator sitting on a chair?
Have you ever seen a goldfish splashing in your pool?
Or a baa baa black sheep on its way to school?
Have you ever seen an emu nesting in a tree?
Have you ever seen a butterfly bathing with a bee?
Have you ever seen a panda bear sliding on a sled?
Or a big bad wolf standing on its head?
Have you ever seen a rooster slipping down a slide?
Have you ever seen a peacock at the sea-side?
Have you ever seen a kitten give a puppy dog a hug?
Or a huge great dane shaking paws with a pug?
Have you ever seen a monkey dressed up like a clown
Have you ever seen a kangaroo hanging upside down?
Have you ever seen a rabbit thumb its nose at a fox
Or a two humped camel with its head inside a box
If you’ve never watched a wombat make dinner for a goat,
or a rooster and a rabbit drinking coffee on a boat.
If you’ve never seen a turkey doing ballet with a duck,
then I’ve got to say, “Dear children, you are just plain out of luck.”
A sensible hat is sensible
if worn in a sensible way
by a sensible type of person
at a sensible time of day.
A sensible hat can be silly
ugly, tattered or old
a sensible type of hat
is just that, sensible “so I’m told!”
Hey, hey, the goose got away,
down the street
on its two webbed feet!
“Honk, honk! Out of my way
I want to do my shopping today!”
(Teacher’s note: Apart from flock, what other collective nouns apply to geese? It all depends where they are. Geese on the ground are a gaggle, or if they are flying, a skein, a trip or a team. If flying in formation, they’re a wedge. Geese flying close together are a plump. Some other choices: a chevron, a nide, a lag, a sord, and the poet’s favourite, a christmas of geese!)
There once was a pillow
that couldn’t sleep,
not even when
it counted sheep.
It stared at the ceiling
all through the night,
until over the sill
came dawn’s bright light.
Australian Children’s Poetry 