Tag Archives: poems for children

Poem of the Day

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Outback Afternoon

 

The breeze coaxes

the windows open:

 

Windows as large as doors;

Windows as small as Nana’s china blue

dinner plates;

 

Windows of rainbow coloured glass

covered with trees and angels;

 

Windows frosted, so you can’t see through them,

textured and light grey.

 

The breeze beckons the windows open

creak

squeak

knock, knock.

 

The breeze doesn’t care if they are latched

lifted,

or pushed out

as long as

they open.

 

The breeze remembers when

windows had no glass

and were just open squares in

the walls and there was no air conditioning.

 

 

The breeze knows that some windows

are so clean and clear

that when they are closed

clueless birds fly into them.

Splat!

 

Whoosh!  Ha, ha!

The breeze chuckles its cooling fresh breath

through open windows

into the outback houses

wishing for the end of summer.

 

© June Perkins
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #6

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Poem of the Day

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Golden Sands

Oh, the sky was blue and the bottle was green and the old wooden fence was brown.

I didn’t go into the sea that day for fear I would falter, and drown.

But would I have taken a chance on a dip, here is question for you,

If the fence had been green, and the sky had been brown, and the bottle had been a bright blue?

© Stephen Whiteside
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #7

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Poem of the Day

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Hot Summer

 

It’s too hot to play,

So I snooze in the shade.

Lazing in the cool

of a massive fig tree.

Nature’s air conditioning.

 

It’s too hot to play,

So I dive in the salty sea.

Waves tickle me,

refreshing my body.

Nature’s swimming pool.

 

It’s too hot to play,

So I sit in a sudden breeze.

Cooling my sticky body,

blowing my hair.

Nature’s fan.

 

It’s too hot to play,

So I eat a fat watermelon.

Refreshing my dry mouth

trickling on my face.

Nature’s most refreshing treat.

 

Karen Hendriks
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #7

poetry-prompt-7

 

Poem of the Day

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Bubble Trouble

 

I’ll tell you the trouble with bubbles:

They burst like a punctured balloon

As they fall on a sharp piece of rubble,

Or they fail on their flight to the moon.

It’s useless to try to collect them.

They’re not like a coin or a stamp.

For the hand that you raise to protect them

You’ll soon find is feeling quite damp.

 

Yet bubbles, you’d better believe it,

Can actually be lots of fun.

You can catch them and snatch them

And quickly despatch them

Until you have burst every one.

You can chase them all over your garden.

You can watch them drift over a wall.

Though you run like a hare,

As they’re mostly just air,

When you search you’ll find nothing at all!

 

Monty Edwards
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #2

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Poem of the Day

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WINDOW SEAT

 

Just out the window seems to be

a better place for you and me.

There’s sunshine there

and giant slides …

and if you’ve brave

there’s dragon rides!

 

There’s trees to climb

that scrape the moon,

and monsters dance

in the lagoon,

and Bigfoots bounce

on trampolines,

and tigers sneak up

unforeseen

and strike like lightning

at their prey –

then lick them ’till

they’re licked away!

 

If only classrooms had lagoons

on sleepy Monday afternoons.

Bill Condon
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #4

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First day of school

 

I’ll soon be walking through that door,

I’ve waited all these years.

But nothing’s quite prepared me for

this sudden flood of tears.

I know that I will be OK,

I’ll take whatever comes,

as soon as I can get away

from all these weeping mums!

Jenny Erlanger

 

First published in “Hopscotch” (Jellibeanz Publications, 2011)

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #4

poetry-prompt-4

 

Poem of the Day

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Through my Window

 

Morning comes in through my window

making shadows on my wall

I can see the roses waving

I can hear the magpies call

In the street the dogs are barking

busy people start their day

I stay wrapped within my doona

till it’s time for me to play

Morning comes in through my window

beams of sunlight make me smile

Mummy’s calling me to breakfast

‘In a while, Mum. In a while’

Then I smell the crispy bacon,

maple syrup, pancakes, more.

Morning comes in through my window,

I go racing out the door.

 

Allan Cropper
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #6

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The Caterpillar’s Song by June Perkins

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caterpillarsongimustwaitfortransformation

 

 

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #5

poetry-prompt-5June said: I liked that the photograph prompt had creatures on it and it inspired me to think of what it must be like for a caterpillar to change its mode of transport when it transforms. I placed this poem over a photograph of a butterfly. I wanted something about the right length so the photograph and words could balance.  It is fun making poem/photograph creations. For playfulness I spelt the word travel out at the end of each line.

I took this photograph at the Botanical Gardens.

As for the last line, my teenage son recently was studying a Dylan Thomas poem so I thought it would be fun to echo some of the lines.

‘Do not go gently into that good night.’

Poem of the Day

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There’s a Rainbow in my Pocket

 

Inside the pocket of my shorts it’s dark and not too clean,

But you might just decipher the colours red and green.

There’s a length of string that’s red or faded nearly pink

A piece of a tangelo skin that’s sweeter than you think

A dandelion head there is, that’s rather sad and squashed

A blade of grass that’s all green now but changes when it’s washed

A toffee wrapper, blue as blue, that’s sticky-d up the dark

As well a stone of purplish-grey I found when in the park.

 

Rainbow colours but oh no, not the rainbow with its glow

Far too dirty, far too dank, it all needs cleaning to be frank.

 

Hard edges, cooling to the touch. I take it out and rub it clean

Angled just right toward the sun, its transparency is seen

In coloured bands breaks up the light,

and then stream through the colours bright

A wondrous pleasure to bestow

the prism bears its own rainbow

Virginia Lowe
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #3

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Poem of the Day

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What Aesop’s tortoise might have taught us

 

I remember the race,

and the confident hare.

I remember the win.

But I really don’t care

for the moral that’s drawn from

that one-off affair.

 

The hare could have won

and if truth be told,

races are meant

for the fast and the bold.

But the rat race, the human race-

both leave me cold.

 

For racers don’t see

what is perfectly plain

to the slow and the steady –

all the living you gain

going at my pace

in the slow lane.

 

Kate O’Neil
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #5

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Kate said: I initially planned to have the tortoise address the bird, but the poem had other plans. I remember as a child being annoyed by the way generalised moral pronouncements could be extracted from specific “one-off” anecdotes. This fable was a case in point. That idea took over.  Sorry bird. Maybe next time.