Pick a piece of purple paper
And a purple pencil too,
Do not wait until you’re prodded,
For you have a job to do.
Draw yourself a purple pumpkin:
Purple platypus as well,
Then you’ll have a purple picture,
That you’ll never ever sell!
Monty says: I took the prompt as an invitation to alliterate.
Way up north where the orchids grow, where the coconut palms sway to and fro,
There’s a croc! Beside a rock! And he’s looking for something to eat!
Way up north where the rainforests grow, where the stars at night are all aglow,
There’s a crocodile with a smarmy smile and he’s hunting for a tasty treat!
Way up north where the sea winds blow and the pace of life is lovely and slow,
There’s a scaly beast looking for a feast, not that you’d ever know.
For he lurks in the creek and he takes a peek, but he never makes a sound.
He’ll quietly seek (he’s such a sneak) whatever meal can be found.
And all you can see if you look carefully are his watchful yellow eyes.
He’s disguised you see as a gnarled old tree as under the water he lies.
Down for drink, not stopping to think, here comes his hapless prey,
Right on the brink as its feet start to sink and it can’t keep this monster at bay.
As the prey takes the plunge, there’s an almighty lunge and the croc has his lunch for the day
And he smirks for he knows that as meal-seeking goes, there’s nothing like takeaway!
Kate’s the quickest in our class
At working fractions out,
Wayne’s a whiz at Mental Maths,
He doesn’t mess about.
Tran’s a turbo-jet on skates,
But Polly owns the pool,
She swims the 100 metres
Like a fish on rocket fuel.
Sam’s a super sprinter,
Always first across the line,
Jess is quick to say, “Well done,”
And give the thumbs-up sign.
Chen’s a champ at cleaning up,
He empties every bin!
Emmy’s quickest with a joke,
And William’s quick to grin.
Me? I’m the lazy, laid-back type,
I like to take things slow,
But when Ms Mark says, “Class dismissed,”
Well, you should see me go!
Spider walks with shivery legs
to the edge of his dew-laden home, then waits –
perched on the bottom thread.
His white web of winter droplets
absorbs the morning sun.
Crouch
spring up
balance back on thread
hold tight.
Dew drops fall and spider
enjoys his morning shower.
Clean.
I’ve turned into jelly.
I don’t have the strength.
My stomach is stuck in my throat.
Why did I say I could swim a whole length?
I don’t even know how to float.
My goggles are loose,
should have tightened the strap.
What if they happen to leak?
And what if my bathers just suddenly snap?
I’ll be laughed at the rest of the week.
What if I don’t make the end of the race?
What if I give up all hope?
I’ll never be able to lift up my face
if I have to hold onto the rope.
My stomach is churning,
I’m still feeling bad,
I’m freezing… and there goes the gun!
I’m kicking,
I’m splashing,
I’m swimming like mad.
Will I make it?
I have!
And I’ve won!
First published in “Giggles and Niggles” (Haddington Press, 2007)
Jenny said: I was always a very nervous competitor in school swimming sports and dreaded the sound of the starting pistol.
An echidna passed across a track
heading towards a special snack.
A naturalist muttered, ‘What a turn!
about this creature, I’ve got to learn.’
He kneeled to take a closer look
the echidna swung with strong right hook.
And it was such a heavy clout
it nearly knocked the watcher out.
The echidna curled into a prickly ball
snarling, ‘I don’t like you at all.’
The naturalist cried and mused upon
what it was that he’d done wrong.
He only wanted to see first hand
the weirdest creature in the land.
The echidna uncurled and stalked away
grumbling at his ruined day.
And idiots too dumb to know
you always let echidnas go –
About their business digging holes
and eating ants from salad bowls.
Or snuffling around a great big mound
Where tasty termites are always found.
To spare echnida watchers’ pain,
the moral of this tale is plain.
Always remember it’s very rude
to keep echidnas from their food.
Silvery streaks of morning-time rain
puddling into the mud
reminds me of blueberry pancakes
and circular see-through parachutes.
Raindrops aren’t teardrops.
There’s no pointy tip.
Those free-falling globules
are blueberry round.
But if they meet-up
as they fall through the sky
a middle-sized raindrop
as-flat-as-a-pancake
might suddenly start to appear.
Bigger and larger and bulkier still
fast-falling raindrops
past pancake proportions
with stretch in the centre
and drag through the air.
For less than a second
becoming a dome
these small glassy parachutes
wobble then burst
to break into
blueberry droplets again.
Celia said: I was delighted to learn that raindrops make all these weird shapes as they fall to the ground. This year I hope to receive Your Poems about the wonders of water for the Science Rhymes website.
http://www.sciencemag.org/news/2009/07/how-raindrop-exploding-parachute
First, they listen to the wind’s ideas
and take notes.
They suck nutriment from the soil
but never forget their manners.
They bathe regularly in rain
and soak their feet in special solutions.
Measuring distances from star to star
they dream of universal travels.
Also, they touch each other kindly
and play host to thousands of guests.
Jenny said: This poem was published in 1993 in a booklet I prepared and printed myself, to share with children as I spoke to them in schools about the mystery and magic, the pure possibility, of poetry. The poems had originally been written for other children, in response to their requests for a poem on a topic they liked. I had created a business called Poetic Licence and apart from lots of work in schools (via three agents) I also worked at festivals as a roving performer (writing on the spot about anything suggested by those I accosted) at literacy camps, on tour along the Murray River, in country towns and suburbs in Victoria, at writers festivals for children, at Georges and David Jones for special occasions, and at private celebrations, and at schools and the fringe festival in the Kimberleys.
In the land of dreams,
All is not what it seems.
For no world is perfect.
You see, not even in the most beautiful imaginary places.
Lurking in the dark are sharks.
Ready to invade the place of great beauty,
To steal some of that sunshine away.
You see, sharks are drawn to beautiful imaginary places.
Best to turn on the light,
And cast the shadows aside.
Let the beauty sparkle in a golden glow.
You see, even the shadows are in beautiful imaginary places.
Let the sun shine and sparkle,
Casting all the dark shadows aside.
Then the stunning beauty can shimmer in all its glory.
You see, goodness and happiness are found in beautiful imaginary places.
When you allow them to glow.
White Mice
White mice sniff the air
Each time I spread fresh shavings
On their bedroom floor.
They climb the ladder,
Build a nest of woody curls,
And squeak with delight.
Blind, pink and naked
Newborns smell and propel to
Mother Mouse’s milk.
Older babies hide,
But I see their beady eyes,
Peering from safety.
Going unnoticed
From my cubby-house window,
I also look out
And note the bustle
Of backyard creatures; thankful
For my quiet space.
Lyn said: I incorporated Haiku style (5/7/5 syllables) into this poem to lengthen it, but kept the traditional appreciation for nature from a child’s point of view. Alliteration adds interest.
Australian Children’s Poetry 