Tag Archives: poems for children

Poem of the Day

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I am a geologist

 

I am a young geologist,

I study gems and rocks,

And go fossicking for fossils,

And add them to my box.

 

I have all sorts of crystals,

Some are pretty rare,

Some I gathered from a beach,

I found them everywhere.

 

Some rocks are from volcanos,

Some wash up on a shore,

Some came from a quarry,

Where there’s many, many more.

 

My favourites are the shiny gems

With colours clear and bright.

From blackest black obsidian

To ones that let through light.

 

There’s chrysocolla, jasper,

Emerald, onyx, jade,

Amethyst, carnelian.

Their colours never fade.

 

Maybe when I’m older,

I’ll go digging when I’m free,

And find a new gem never seen,

And name it after me.

Pamela Ueckerman

 

Pamela said: This one I wrote for my son, who is obsessed with rocks, minerals and gems.  While most young children are interested in them, he takes it to the next level.  He is four years old and tells anyone who’s interested that he wants to be a geologist when he grows up, he even had a geology theme for his fourth birthday.  I have incorporated some of his favourite gems into the poem.

To find out more about Pamela and her writing, visit www.ueckerman.net

 

Poem of the Day

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Moonlight Surprise

 

The moonlight shines brightly

casting dancing shadows afar.

A tiger prowls past

Creeping into the night.

Just behind a tree

a crouching black mystery

seems to be stalking

me in the deep,

dark, black night shadows.

But as I draw

closer and closer surprise!

For the black mystery

Isn’t a scary thing.

As the dancing moonlight

shines ever so brightly.

Then I see revealed

our dog Elmo hiding

behind a dark tree.

Elmo crouches and waits

to doggy surprise me

in the night so

that I’m never alone.

Karen Hendriks
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #16

Poem of the Day

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Anzac Day

 

How can I ever forget

The old legless soldier

Ribbons on his chest

In his wheelchair

That April morning

In the hospital grounds

When the bugle sounded

Tears streaming down his cheeks

His muffled sobs and

His sweet-faced young nurse

Leaning to offer him comfort –

 

In that single moment

A snapshot of what

War does to people.

 

Dianne Bates

Poem of the Day

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The End of the Solar System

 

Our sun releases energy.

A plasma called the Solar Wind.

But far away it’s just a breeze.

And further still that breeze will end.

 

The space probes Voyager 1 and 2

have travelled over thirty years

transmitting sounds and pictures as they

act as mankind’s eyes and ears.

 

Voyager 1 has reached the point

where Solar Wind no longer blows.

Now cosmic rays from other stars

our Voyager’s detector shows.

 

Eighteen billion kilometres

away from Earth, these space probes trace

just what it’s like existing on

the edge of interstellar space!

Celia Berrell
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #13

Celia said: For me, the word “GO” prompts the questions “how far CAN we go?”  The most distant man-made objects are the space probes Voyager 1 & 2.  Launched in 1977, they are still transmitting information, helping us learn more about space and the farthest reaches of our Solar System.  Even when we can’t “GO” somewhere ourselves, we can still discover fascinating stuff about our world!

http://www.abc.net.au/news/2012-06-16/voyager-space-probe-reaches-edge-of-solar-system/4074468

 

Poem of the Day

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THE KOALA AND THE CROCODILE

 

Ko-Ko Koala was a spoilt little brat.

He wouldn’t eat vegies in case he got fat.

‘Brussel sprouts and cabbage belong in the bin,

Lemonade and fudge keeps me nice and thin.’

 

‘Chicken and chips and hamburgers fried,

And chocolate donuts with cream inside

Taste much better for a Koala about town

Bush food is stodgy,’ he said with a frown.

 

His friends all got very very cross,

Bush food is filling but isn’t very posh.

Until there visited a crocodile

Jaws wide open in a hungry smile.

 

The little Koala was suddenly left,

Nobody liked the company he kept.

Ko-Ko wished the crocodile very far away,

But the crocodile stayed to talk of takeaway.

 

‘Bags of chips and popcorn for tea,

Plenty to eat if you dine with me.

If only you would come down nearer,

Our friendship could be so much dearer.’

 

The days went by, Ko-Ko got thin and wan,

Dreaming of takeaway meals long gone.

Getting very hungry so high off the ground,

He started eating gum leaves and grew very round

 

The crocodile still waited his eyes full of greed.

And kept renewing his invitation to feed.

‘There’s pineapple on pav with cream between,

And ice creams with flavours you’ve never seen.’

 

‘A diet of ice cream and potato chips fried,

Will give me tummy ache,’ scared Ko-Ko replied.

The crocodile sighed and at last lost his smile,

And decided to slink off home for a while.

 

And this is why the crocodile’s tears of grief

Are at the Koala’s love for the Eucalyptus leaf.

And for takeaway food Ko-Ko will never roam.

He finds plenty to eat in his tree top home.

Margaret Pearce

 

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Ready, Steady, Go!

 

Ready, steady, go!

What do you want to know?

My name is Fleet,

My brother’s Pete,

And this is my sister, Jo.

 

Ready, steady, go –

What will we see at the show?

A clown with sweets

For parakeets,

And elephants laying low.

 

Ready, steady, go –

What will we do in the snow?

We’ll build a street

Of snow and sleet,

With icicle homes in a row.

 

Ready, steady, go –

Why is the house aglow?

It’s a retreat

For tired feet,

So everyone here, let’s go!

 

Lyn Oxley

 

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #13

Lyn said: I sense a marching beat to this poem, hence the retreat for tired feet.

 

 

Poem of the Day

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Secret Garden

 

The door looks like

part of the décor

and you need to be

in the deepest part of your mind

to recognise the place.

It smells of moss

and thousands of years

of water dripping.

It never rains here.

The pools reflect nothing

and nobody.

The only way in

is from the inside.

 

Jennie Fraine
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #11

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Eggshell Animals

 

Purple-coloured jellybeans

with tiny arms and legs

will prod and poke a hole in

their marble-sized white egg.

 

Once hatched, they’ll grow-up hairy

and have a leathery beak.

So are they some new kind of bird

whose wings became antique?

 

No, no.  It’s not a birdy thing.

Then could it be lizard?

No.  Fur won’t grow on reptiles …

unless tricked by a wizard!

 

At first they’re bald as pumpkins

and lap their mother’s milk.

But four months-old, a platypus

has fur like soft thick silk.

Celia Berrell

inspired by:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K5Y2h5zjpWU

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #9

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Beach

A grain of sand on its own,

A tiny world

in the palm of your hand.

But still, nothing much…

 

Add millions of other grains,

Shape them with sea-water

And you’ve got a sand-castle.

 

Next add trillions and trillions of grains                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Getting there…

And zillions and zillions more —

Now you’re talking!

 

Dianne Bates

 

Poem of the Day

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One day…

 

One day, as part of my ongoing plan

I’ll surf in Hawaii and ski in Japan.

I’ll hike in the Andes, I’ll cycle through Spain

I’ll jet round the world in my own private plane.

I’ll go on safari, see rhinos, gazelles.

I’ll hop off to Venice and ride its canals.

I’ll sit in a rocket and head for the stars,

I’ll travel to Jupiter, Saturn and Mars.

One day of mine will be truly unique

but what should I do for the rest of that week?

Jenny Erlanger
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #10