Hello dear Goose, it’s time for tea
So please come over and sit with me
I have some cakes and a sticky bun
I think that we shall have some fun
Buster goat has brought some bread
And although he carried it on his head
With strawberry jam and Vegemite
I’m sure that it will taste alright
Thank you Duck, it does look sweet
I’m glad he didn’t use his feet!
Oh look dear Goose, the Man in the Moon
Do you think that we can go there soon?
Of course Duck dear, we both shall fly
Out of the night, into the sky
Just close your eyes and rest your head
And tuck your feet up in the bed
For when you dream the moon you’ll see
And the Man within shall give you tea!
Oh look dear Goose, it is the sun
Is he smiling down on everyone?
Or is his radiance just for me
For I am a good little duck you see?
Of course Duck dear, he shines for you
And all the other creatures too
He gives us light and makes us warm
And dries us out after a storm
Oh dear Goose, how very clever
I hope the sun shall shine forever!
The sea gulls are in from the beaches,
Wheeling above the roof tops —
(Kiirr, kiirr, skreeik!
Such lovely voices they have) — or
On the grass in the park,
Like a flock of well-behaved cockies;
A brightly white grazing bird mass.
The gulls are in from the beaches.
Soon we’ll have some proper inclement weather;
Skies of storm-cloud, wind and rain howling, and
Perhaps if we are good,
LIGHTNING!
Enjoyable, memorable, coming with thunder,
Blustering unchallenged to skies east in elsewhere.
Soon it will be back to ordinary,
Water retreating to safety ‘neath lush green grass,
Or spread all wet and puddly on asphalt.
(What a way to go!)
Weather must be really bad to be really good.
I hate cold wet miserable gray glum old days to gloom, and
I hate mud, but
Squiddily, iddily, uddily, squd
Sometimes there are no times like those spent in mud,
But you need a steam-cleaning to be human again,
And a steam-cleaning’s fun;
So bring on the rain!
Mal Kennington Malone
wasn’t good at games.
His classmates always laughed
and called him names:
dumb-chum, drophead,
you silly billy shark –
biggest flapfingers
in Bladestone Park.
I think I’ll try running –
I know I’m not bad.
I could really show ’em,
he told his Dad.
He trained and trained
around an old dirt track;
he trained every day,
ran to school and back.
He trained and trained
and ran like a hare,
even trained when it rained,
racing everywhere.
When sportsday came,
he was first off the mark,
became the fastest winner
in Bladestone Park.
Books and pens and scratching chalk
Gotta think but you’d better not talk
Stop that running. Can’t you walk?
You must obey the rules.
Rewrite this page – and keep it neat.
Please don’t fidget with your feet.
Please sit properly on your seat.
Don’t you know the rules?
Perhaps you did not hear me mention
that you have to pay attention?
If you don’t you’ll score detention
writing out the rules.
Writing rules? I’d like that gig.
Creative writing’s what I dig.
Woo hoo! Stand back for something big
when I write the rules.
Explosions of colour burst out of blackness
In spattered circles of red and green
On the dark canvas of the heavens
Rockets streak skyward
Sending showers of silver stars
Above upturned faces
Children gaze open-mouthed
In awe and amazement
At the pyro technicians’ art.
Monty says: The explosions of bungers, jumping jacks and the humble Tom Thumb on “cracker night” in my childhood came immediately to mind with the prompt. Today’s fireworks are even more spectacular.
I think it’s time our anthem changed,
there’s something very wrong.
That third verse must be rearranged.
to validate the song.
“For those who’ve come across the seas”,
we can’t fulfill their prayer.
I’m really sorry, refugees.
We have no “plains to share”.
We live up on the hillside,
And our burrows dot the grass,
Where we play and romp and sleep,
And just watch the clouds float past.
Although it gets chaotic,
We can still have heaps of fun,
‘cause my family’s really large,
And I love them, every one.
There’s …
Auntie Flo whose strawberry RED,
And Uncle Bob who’s ocean BLUE,
They’ve two little PURPLE bunnies,
My cousins one and two.
Auntie June is butter YELLOW,
Fire engine RED is Uncle Clive,
Their three little ones are ORANGE,
Cousins three, four and five.
Old Uncle Jock is deep sky BLUE,
Lemon YELLOW is Aunt Devine,
Lime GREEN are my other cousins,
Six, seven, eight and nine.
Dear Uncle George is WHITE as snow,
And BLACK as night is Auntie May,
Cousins ten to fourteen turned out,
Five different shades of GREY.
Then cousin Joy is tree-frog GREEN,
Her partner Pete is ruby RED,
They have six BROWN bouncing bunnies,
All tucked up tight in bed.
My Mum and Dad are both pure WHITE,
And I could never really see,
How I turned out like I did,
With COLOURED spots all over me.
I guess I have a bit of all,
My large family mixed in me,
But I’m happy, it’s who I am,
How I turned out to be.
love SPRINKLES
Sandra said: I love writing in a quirky, fun style, but with still a lesson hidden in there. Most of my work tends to be rhyme as I simply can’t help myself!
Come November
the flame trees
begin to wear their fire.
Over there a winking ember
peeps cautiously
from a green crown,
hinting at Christmas
and stirring nervous thoughts
of fire in green places,
while nearby, an extrovert,
naked through winter,
makes a spectacle of herself
in the full flare
of a brand new red dress.
How do I look?
she asks seductively,
and even the old Jacarandas
in their cool quenching blue
offer nothing but
compliments.
We’re studying the moon –
drawing it, remembering all the moons
we’ve ever seen.
Just now, through the window,
there’s a daylight-moon looking fragile,
egg-shell soft, pale white.
I’ve no plans to go up there
whizzing through the blue,
landing on the pearly moon.
But I can’t stop thinking
about a blood-orange full moon
I saw inching up
into the summery sky.
It moved so slowly,
became a golden balloon
that never hurried.
I wanted to follow it,
catch it. But I never did.
(Published in Read Me, (Macmillan, 2009, ed. Gaby Morgan)
Australian Children’s Poetry 