Now that’s what I call a house,
with lots of space for everyone.
Lots of stairs to run up and down,
and a room on the roof just for fun.
I could play my music really loud —
Mum and Dad wouldn’t hear it at all.
My siblings would be out of my way,
at the other end of a long, long hall.
But when it’s time for dinner,
there’s a problem I can see:
by the time I went down all that way
there’d be nothing left for me!
English stately home. Photo by Ginette Pestana
Eight hours, eight hours of sleep is best
to keep us healthy. Give us rest.
Eight hours brings opportunities
to strengthen our immunities.
To fight off winter’s colds and ‘flu.
Protecting us from cancer too.
For young and old; both short and lanky
lack of sleep can make us cranky.
Take away that eight-hour chunk
and brains act like they’re getting drunk!
Eight hours, eight hours of sleep a day
helps keep us well, live long and play.
Image from Pixabay
Summer has arrived and it’s hot, hot, hot!
Grab your togs and towel, I know a great spot.
To the beach we’ll go for a swim in the sea.
Playing in the waves will cool us down, you’ll see.
Let’s take the blue esky to have a picnic lunch.
I’ll pack some wraps and fruit to have a tasty munch.
We’ll lay down the checkered rug under shady trees
And eat our plums and cherries in the ocean breeze.
Then it will be time to find the ice-cream shop.
I’ll have macadamia – topped with the lot!
As our scorching summer day comes to a close
A thunder storm might cool us down and give the town a hose.
Image from Pexels
With watercolours or oil,
the choice is up to you.
The canvas is totally blank,
just like a day that’s new.
Perhaps you’ll draw with pencil,
or sketch with pen and ink,
why not give charcoal a go —
then sit back and see what you think.
With every single brushstroke,
with every line you draw,
you’ll create an image
that’s unmistakably yours.
Famous painter Hans Heysen’s studio at Hahndorf, South Australia. Photo by Ginette Pestana
railcars
silvery sleek
rattling, clicking, clacking
my very special adventure
outback
The Savannahlander train crossing a creek, North Queensland. Photo by Ginette Pestana
Teacher’s note: A cinquain is an unrhymed five-line poem that has a 2-4-6-8-2 syllable count.
Line 1: a one-word noun (the subject of the poem)
Line 2: two adjectives that describe Line 1
Line 3: a three-word verbal phrase that further describes Line 1
Line 4: a four-word phrase that shows a feeling toward Line 1
Line: a one-word noun synonymous with or related to Line 1
Writing cinquains is great fun for students.
(Note: “special” is a two-syllable word!)
The Australian Children’s Poetry website is looking for a new administrator to manage and maintain this wonderful site. ACP promotes poetry for children, has almost 900 subscribers, and has been showcasing Australian poets and quality poetry since 2014. The site uses the WordPress. com platform and the domain name is managed through GoDaddy.
If you are interested and would like to know more please contact Kerry Gittins at ozchildrenspoetry@gmail.com
When we’re asked what jobs we want
my friends and I like thinking big,
by imagining a future
doing ALL the things we dig.
I might be a figure skater,
and invent the flying car,
start a business selling cupcakes,
then become a football star!
Tess could be a brilliant doctor
(maybe operate on brains),
play the keyboard in a band, and
spend the weekend flying planes!
Jingyi wants to dig for fossils,
run a kitten shelter too,
show his skills at table tennis
and then join a hip-hop crew!
A detective scuba diver,
or an astronaut who sings….
what do you think YOU’D be doing
if you could do all the things?
Image from Pexels by Collin Guernsey
Have you ever wondered
why we have two ears —
they’re very nice,
one on each side —
but why do we have
only one mouth?
I asked a man called
Epictetus who said:
“We have two ears
so we can listen
twice as much as
we speak.”
Now, I wonder what he meant by that?
Teacher’s note: Epictetus was one of the great Stoic philosophers. This quote could stimulate a class discussion.
Photo from Pexels by Yan Krukau
i see a ball,
and i hear scurrying, nearby.
and then a trundling
thing, in the tall grass, who’s smiling at me,
and then the thing
pushing the ball from motionless.
i see, now, the feet
of the thing, pushing the ball,
edging it, moving it
quicker and quicker,
through the grass,
spinning, loping, disappearing…
I stare into the hollows
of his smiling, bony face
and I wonder how he looked
with all his other bits in place.
Was he beautiful or ugly?
Was he fat or was he lean?
Was he just a little weakling?
Was he built like a machine?
Did he have the smooth complexion
that belongs to movie stars?
Was his face a mass of pimples
or of scary-looking scars?
The skeleton says nothing
but I’m judging from his grin
that he’s rather glad he’s free
from all that muscle, flesh and skin.
Australian Children’s Poetry 