I’m sick of waiting for the bathroom
with Sister Susie taking her time
Preening herself while I’m busting to go —
that has to be a crime.
If Francis Drake had to wait in a bathroom queue
instead of setting sail on the sea,
he might not be known at all today
simply because of a pee.
Dianne Bates
Today I’m all excited ’cause we’re going to the zoo
And there’s something that we’ll see there that I’ll now describe to you.
Since it’s found throughout Australia you would hardly call it rare –
Live for long in any city and you’ll surely find one there.
Not so common in the country, but you still may see a few,
It’s no cuddly koala nor a bounding kangaroo.
Do not think of an echidna or a little bandicoot
This is something that you’ll never ever hear described as cute.
In appearance, on occasions, it’s been likened to a snake,
But it’s certainly not legless in the moves that it can make.
If you see a very large one, you will wish it wasn’t so,
Should it move along quite slowly, you may even see it grow!
You can rule out any reptile, bird or fish that comes to mind,
But I will not tease you further, that would really be unkind.
It’s a line. No, not a lion. There, I’ve given you a clue.
It’s a line of ticket buyers gaining entry through a queue!
Monty Edwards
Author comment: I found the array of spellings used to convey the final sound of “queue” quite remarkable and used several. Among them, the zoo provided a useful context for the poem, as aside from rhyming with the key word, the zoo is a familiar and positive experience for most children. Describing the queue as if an unnamed exhibit seemed a good way of arousing curiosity without compromising truth on the way to a surprise conclusion.
A queue of curious pelicans
A cue of queueious pelicans
The English language
Never ceases
To amaze
And amuse
Mother counted sixty four
swans and pelicans
on Lake Colac once
when I was a child
in the days
when the lake
was full
before
climate
change
hit.
Virginia Lowe
Virginia says: I wrote this poem for exactly the reasons given in the poem. The memory, and amusement at ‘curious’ and ‘queue’.
Pelicans
I have often seen these fine big birds,
Above the waves or in the sky,
Lords of the shores and the upper air.
They certainly know their worth, they do,
These fishers who seek a beak-full of fish.
They don’t say much, as I can tell,
But fisher-folk know them very well
As exceedingly skilful and persistent.
Oh yes, they know their worth, alright,
These seekers of stealth with a fondness for fish.
Bridh Hancock
We cannot see or hear them,
yet we know when each arrives.
We love them, hate or fear them
as we stumble through our lives.
They fire away like crazy
somewhere deep inside our brain.
They prod us when we’re lazy,
get us back on track again.
They don’t ask for permission
from the moment that we wake
to set out on their mission
to control the moves we make.
It may not live an hour
as its life is pretty short
but there’s no denying the power
of a solitary thought.
Jenny Erlanger
Jenny says: I have always been fascinated by the capacity of a seemingly immaterial thought to create physical or emotional responses in human beings.
Kudos to the queue – not cue
(for that’s a hint or hit for billiard ball)
Kudos to the queue – not coupe
(for that’s a shock surprise for city hall)
Kudos to the queue – not coo
(for that’s what doves and grannies tend to do)
Kudos to the queue – not Que
(For that’s a Tassie river … yes, it’s true!)
Kudos to the queue – you knew
This had to end and now the end is due
But kudos to the queue – a row
Of sailor’s hair or pelicans you know.
Sally Odgers
Must our poems rhyme
ALL the time?
No. Not so.
Don’t you know
Some verse is free
Like a fish in the sea?
But personally, I prefer my fish
Served on a regular dish
(With chips).
Monty Edwards
Monty said: The poem is something of a joke at my own expense, since I find it difficult to break the rhyming habit, but sometimes the ideas in a poem refuse to yield to the constraints of rhyme. This is admitted by the final line of the poem.
Please tidy your room Tim,
I’ve asked you ten times.
Can’t it wait ‘til tomorrow
I’m solving some crimes?
I’m tired of asking,
Now do as I say.
Two seconds Mum, promise,
I’m still on e-bay.
That’s it Tim, I’ve had it,
I’m coming to look!
Give me a minute Mum
I’m on Facebook.
I’m tired of texting you,
Open this door.
Now I’m doing my homework
Mum, don’t be a bore.
I’m coming in Timmy,
I’ve had quite enough.
I’m opening the door Tim,
I’m tired of your guff.
Good grief, your room’s tidy.
And Tim, you’re not here.
No I’m texting from Tom’s place.
Ha ha mother dear!
Pat Simmons
He walks the beach
Collecting driftwood
Calm carries on the sea air,
Hunks of timber now distressed.
Turned by the lathing waves of the salted expanse
How enduring they are,
So far from their green beginnings
He inhales and smiles
As the breath escapes he muses
I guess we have a lot in common
He will take them in
Find new life in their random forms
They are a seaside distraction
A salty breeze on city days in his urban garden
Serenity obtained in a memory of beachcombing
Sioban Timmer
Sioban says: I like how this poem has a sense of textures – wood, sand, water and the effect that they have on each other.
In between the happy times, I sometimes have sad days.
My tear ducts sweat and my stomach turns. My silver lining fades to grey.
My sister – she throws tantrums. My brother – he slams doors.
The one time I saw Mummy cry, she slinked slowly to the floor.
There are some solemn days when people are sad with you.
Like when I lost my grandma, my grandpa lost her too.
I’m sure the house gets lonely when we’re all asleep.
And on some nights, when the scene’s just right, the neighbour’s puppy weeps.
I know my Dad gets sad sometimes. In fact, he’s sad a lot.
But no matter how glum he seems to be, Daddy says he’s not.
Sometimes he’s blue but peaceful. Some days he’s mad and red.
On other days he’s so far down he can’t get out of bed.
But I know he’ll get better. Mum thinks he will too.
She tells me, “Love, he’ll make it out as long as he has you”.
Soon he will be happy, but, until that time,
I’ll just be glad that his imperfect life is one with mine.
Sadness finds us, day or night, to remind us all to give.
It lets us know that our happy lives are better shared than lived.
Patrick Dower
Patrick says: I used this as the stimulus for a Social and Emotional Learning discussion with my Year 5s late last year. It was inspired by several conversations I have had with students about mental health – particularly the differences and similarities between emotions and illness.
Australian Children’s Poetry 