Tag Archives: poems for children

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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.

 

 

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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

 

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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

 

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Unlocked

 

A wooden case from days gone by,

Was found in Castle Cove by Kai.

The case was worn, the timber stressed,

Inside old coins? We guessed with zest.

 

The number twenty-five was writ,

A symbol, £, preceding it.

Is this a clue? Can’t wait to see,

A treasure trove for Kai and me.

 

A rusty handle, latch and hinge,

Accompanied by mouldy tinge –

Did fill the air with damp and must.

I held my breath and gave a thrust.

 

The lock was picked and thrown away,

And parchment lifted to display –

Some invitations to a show,

With royal insignia inked below.

Lynette Oxley
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #12

 

Lynette said: Although the crate reminded me of a vintage ammo box, I wrote about an alternative possibility.

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I NEED TO WALK

 

I need to walk each morning because there’s a horse that waits for me to rub its nose.

Though whether I stay five minutes or an hour,

I can never rub away its loneliness.

 

I need to walk so I can talk to a white dog that prowls in endless circles,

forever haunted by a chain, that cuts us both.

Bill Condon

 

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #11

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MY GRAN’S PLACE

 

My Gran’s place is an unchanging one

And I always visit when horridly glum.

She doesn’t go in for changing trends

Of fashion, hairdo’s or marital friends.

 

Everything’s the same, as long as I’ve known

The clock in the hall, the old fashioned phone.

She opens her door with a welcoming smile

And says ‘Hello love, come in for a while.’

 

Mum’s moved to a flat, small but not cosy,

Door to door concrete, and neighbours nosy.

No bike riding, skateboarding or making a noise

Pets not allowed, and they hate little boys.

 

Sometimes I go to stay with Dad

but after a while I start to feel mad.

A fresh new start, my stepmother said

And threw everything out, even my bed.

 

The kitchen’s never messy with cooking,

Everything’s tidy and modern looking.

The back verandah is now a study,

With nowhere to leave anything muddy.

 

Gran’s furniture’s shabby, and I like it a lot,

A smoking wood stove, and soup in the pot.

The broken down stool in my favourite nook

The bookshelf that has my very first book.

 

An expensive video game sits at home,

But it doesn’t compensate for nights alone.

Dad takes me fishing and for drives galore

(He never acted like this before!)

 

My Gran’s world is warm and friendly,

Nothing there is ever trendy.

I love to visit when feeling blue,

And pretend that my world’s unchanging too.

 

Margaret Pearce

Previous published in House of Sprouts (OUP 1988) and Positive Words (May 2008)

 

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Rain

 

Pelting: washing

the windows

rinsing roofs

rolling mud and stone

downriver

pushing earth

into sea

pulling grass

tree bush creeper

moss

out of dirt

pushing trees over

running

walking

tiptoeing

balancing in the air

stamping its feet

escaping from thunder

rushing headlong

dripping down

lightning’s white path

 

Jennie Fraine