Green are the hills for children:
a sunlit place of grasses,
dandelions and daisies;
as green as an apple, a fig,
an unripe fruit; the green
of memory and melody,
the scrubby bushy slopes
for exploration; tall trees
to climb, parks to run through.
Screens are not green
or sunlit; the blue wild
winds do not blow there –
a static buzz bends
the mind in dark rooms.
This is my plea for green.
The train left the station-
clickerty clack
the wheels gained motion-
clickerty clack
we then passed paddocks
of bones and dust
broken tractors, covered in rust
The train didn’t notice-
clickerty clack
but we did, with the notion
The train rambled on- clickerty clack
I nodded off- clickerty clack
And dreamt of the life
centuries before
of ladies’ long dresses
dusting the floor
The train didn’t notice-
clickerty clack
and my bonnet, shielded mine eyes
The train pulled into the station
C . L . I . C . K . E . R . T . Y
I woke with a jolt
I grabbed my laptop
and mobile phone
that enables connection
while travellers roam
The train didn’t notice, clickerty clack
on its timeline, to the future
It was serendipity when Julie’s poem happened to turn up in my in box ahead of my ‘Travelling’ poetry prompt. It also slots in nicely with an earlier prompt.
I’m a black cat
A special cat
A ship’s cat.
I was born on the Reliance in 1799.
Of all my mother’s kittens
I was the one most fine.
I’m a black cat
A special cat
A ship’s cat.
I have four snow-white paws
And a white star on my chest.
Of all the cats on board this ship
The sailors like me best.
I’m a black cat
A special cat
A ship’s cat.
When it’s time for dinner
I don’t eat with other cats.
I sit at table with the men.
I don’t care for rats.
I’m a black cat
A special cat
A ship’s cat.
I have a trusty friend
And Matthew Flinders is his name.
He has called me Trim.
I think together we’ll find fame.
I’m a black cat
A special cat
A ship’s cat.
Matthew is a clever man
He’s sailed all round this land.
He’s given it a name
And that’s Australia – how grand.
Perhaps you have a cat at home
Is it as fine as me?
Would it like to come aboard
And sail upon the sea?
With a black cat
A special cat
A ship’s cat.
Pat said: ‘Trim’ is a special poem for me as it was the first poem I ever had published for which I was paid! Thank you Alphabet Soup which at that time was a magazine as well as a great online resource.
I feel that my arms have been turned into wings
that I’m suddenly able to fly,
to glide through the air looking down on the things
that can only be viewed from the sky.
I’m up on that branch and I’m ready to go.
I can launch from my perch in a blink,
creating a distance from all that’s below
and without even having to think.
Of course I will never take off from a tree
but, although it may seem quite absurd,
I’m instantly weightless and totally free
when I chance to look up at a bird.
Jenny said: This poem developed as I walked the length of Hadrian’s Wall through the beautiful English countryside.
Pretty cities love their trees.
We know they help prevent disease
by trapping poisons found in air
from fumy cars that drive round there.
Green-leaved cities cool things down.
Those leafy air-cons make no sound
evaporating water while
providing shady streets with style.
Tree-lined cities seem to manage
heavy rain and water drainage.
Tree roots tend to drink-up well-as
leafy crowns form umbrellas.
Pretty cities need their trees.
From wind-chimed leaves and shadowed ease
to joys of birdsong’s many keys.
So cities, please don’t lose your trees.
Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #22
Celia said: In leafy suburbs and shady streets, gentle giant trees do more than simply add a splash of green to a city’s stony setting. I’m grateful for those city trees.
‘Wakey-wakey, Platypus –
time to have your tea.’
Mummy prodded Platypus
quite impatiently.
‘Pumpkin, please not pumpkin,’
was Platypus’s plea.
‘You know how food that’s orange
does not agree with me.
I want purple periwinkles,
pickled, for my tea.’
And if I must have veggies
I’ll eat a frozen pea.
Irascible Ivy was angry
As she watched children skip through the gate
Magic shouldn’t be easy
It made her feel queasy
Still she worried that she’d be too late
She knew the gate had to lead somewhere
Enchanted that land was for sure
So she structured a ladder
And couldn’t be gladder
Imagine the magic she saw!
Australian Children’s Poetry 