Foraging through undergrowth,
the Superb Fairy Wren
jauntily hops and bounces
velvety blue plumage; black-masked;
yellow petals collected
for its grey-brown mate.
Daintily, it dances
from earth to bough to leaf;
the garden its stage.
Flash of blue; flicker of brown;
bringer of joy
straight to the heart.
Photo from Pexels by Walter Coppola
You bought us in Summer when we were sparkly new:
brilliant white, shiny bright with a stripe of navy blue.
You took us to netball; you took us to the pool.
We went on an excursion, a casual day at school.
We got a little grimy; we got a little worn,
a scratch on the left heel; one lace was partially torn.
We played in the garden. We trudged on a hike.
We toured around the neighbourhood, pedalling on your bike.
We got a little tawdry; our tread was worn down low,
a scuff here, a mark there; a hole in one toe.
We stomped in muddy puddles. We danced in the rain.
We got a little water-logged. We got a little stained.
As we sit on the backstep, we’re hardly sparkly new.
We’re a muddy sort of brown with a faded stripe of blue.
But if we could have our druthers, I’m sure we’d rather be
nothing more than what we are: your favourite pair of shoes.
Familiar tunes float through stores;
holly, tinsel, wreathes on doors;
sparkling trees, the scent of pine.
Can it be almost Christmas time?
Elves on shelves, all playing tricks;
bells and baubles, candy sticks;
Silent Night the carolers chime
Maybe it’s nearly Christmas time.
Whispered plans and secret lists;
crinkly paper, wrapping gifts;
fairy lights on trees entwined.
It surely must be Christmas time.
Kindness, sharing, reaching out
to friends and family and all around;
peace and joy in hearts and minds.
Yes, it really is Christmas Time!
Photo from Pexels by Bob SpringBob54
Boots and bags and belts and braces;
slip-on shoes without any laces
hats with feather, coats with cuffs;
stripey socks and velvet gloves.
Shiny waistcoats, tall top hats;
onesies, boxers, baseball caps;
bracelets, bangles, silver pearls
scarves in patterns; scarves in swirls.
Woolly jackets, pants with spots;
petticoats and purple socks;
Skirts with zippers, skirts that flair;
Shirts with circles; shirts with squares.
Choose an outfit; match a hat.
Strike a pose! This or that?
Choose to be whatever you please
Magic, mayhem, make believe!
Image from Pexels by Ksenia Chernaya
It’s quite a blustery Spring this year.
It’s quite a squally Spring.
The wind is whistling at my door.
That wind can surely sing.
It’s really good for flying kites
and getting washing dry.
It blows away the cobwebs,
tosses clouds across the sky.
But I wouldn’t mind if it settles soon,
if the trees don’t shake and bend.
A little peace would be just fine.
I wish that wind would end.
Photo from Pexels by Bogdan Krupin
There is no magic rainbow, no pot of gold,
no endless pleasure, in spite of what we’re told
but there’s actually something better, manageable and right.
There are handfuls of happiness, pockets of delight.
There is:
the glimpse of a blue wren hopping through the trees;
a snatch of sweet music caught on the breeze;
the smile of a neighbour; the wave of a friend;
the book that you’re reading you don’t want to end.
There is:
the person in the supermarket who lets you go ahead
in the longest queue ever and you’ve only got bread;
running into friends you haven’t seen in a while
an ice-cream in a café, a laugh and a smile.
There is:
the mist on the river on a cold winter’s day
the man who says good morning as you both go on your way
the old friend who calls; the new friend you meet
the bustle of people moving up the street.
There is:
the gaze of your dog, eyes soft and brown
the first forget-me-not peeking through the ground;
the start of a holiday, a walk on the sand;
the breeze in your face, the touch of a hand.
There are handfuls of happiness, times that just feel right
and we welcome every moment, those pockets of delight.
Photo from Pexels by Javon Swaby
I could have gone for a morning walk
but I just stayed in my bed.
I might have seen the sunrise
but I dreamed a dream instead.
I could have run a marathon
but I’m a bit slow on my feet.
I might have won a medal
if there weren’t so many to beat.
I could have painted a masterpiece
if I had the motivation
I could’ve been known far and wide
but I lacked the application.
I might have been a master chef
as I’m one who’s out to dine.
I could have prepared a delicious meal
but I just ran out of time.
I could have done a lot of things
but I have a plan instead.
I’ll just sit here with my cup of tea
and perform them in my head.
My favourite colour is purple.
My favourite food is cheese.
I’m very fond of Saturdays
when I can do whatever I please.
My favourite season is Autumn
When the leaves are red and brown
I like to cycle up steep hills
and glide the same way down
My favourite animal is zebra.
I love those crazy stripes.
Magpie is my favourite bird
dressed in black and white.
My favourite place is the seaside,
the waves, the sand, the spray.
I swim and surf and jump the waves
and play around all day.
But last, not least, I have to say
are the ones I can’t do without –
my family, friends, my little dog
are my favourites without a doubt.
We’re marooned in a caravan
and the rain is pouring down.
It’s pounding on the roof top,
a relentless, driving sound.
There’s a moat forming around us
and the ducks are moving in.
We could be here for days and days.
It could be sink or swim.
But inside the caravan,
It’s cosy, warm and bright.
We’ll dream of sun and sea and waves
While it buckets down all night.
(In response to prompt Winter Waves)
Australian Children’s Poetry 