In my very big house
There’s a very small room
That’s just the right size for me
It’s under the stairs
It’s got pillows for chairs
And a torch so my teddies can see
There we read and we play
And tell stories all day
You see, we don’t need too much space
It’s all that I need
And I’m happy indeed
When I’ve crawled into my secret place.
Lynelle Kendall
T’s always starting Trouble as we very clearly see,
In Trains it must sit at the front, as selfish as can be,
Then when it comes to Taking Turns, of course it must be first,
As Time and Time again, in this, it really is the worst.
Its influence is very bad, of that there is no doubt,
For when there’s work for it to do we find it backing ouT.
A man named Ben was joined by T and instantly was BenT,
So gained a reputation that was never his intent!
Now people sometimes tell you, you should “mind your Ps and Qs”,
But when it comes to letters there’s another that I’d choose.
Its awfully bad behaviour’s bound to lead you into error,
So I’d advise: “Beware of T!” It truly is a Terror.
Monty Edwards
Monty says: My basic idea for the poem was to work with the actual letter T: its position in words and how it could be taken from or added to words to change them into new words. Although I could find lots of examples, for me it proved difficult to shape these into any sort of coherent narrative that could be taken literally, and also had a consistent rhyming scheme (which was my goal). I nearly gave up, but I found giving the letter T a personality helped focus my effort and gave the poem unity.
Peakhurst
A wilderness of T-trees
In our paddock playground
One free day in the midst of childhood
A day filled with everything
We are wild things,
Charging, ducking, hiding,
Flies swamping our sweaty faces
A dove, startled, flies up and
Petals fall like a sprinkle of rain
As we play
A game of cowboys and Indians
With imaginary guns
Bang! Bang! You’re dead!
Falling to the ground face-up
Wisps of clouds slide above
As if breathing in and out.
Dianne Bates
Dianne says: The letter T reminded me of tea-tree bushes that as children my brother, sister and I played among. We didn’t get much time to play as we were forever working on the farm (pigs, goats and poultry).
Our feet make a crackling
crunching sound
as we walk.
We stop
and
crouching down,
discover another world.
A world of mini workers
caring for our environment.
Beetles breakfasting,
Meandering munching millipedes,
Snails, showing off their spirals,
Earthworms turning the soil.
Lives under leaf litter
A secret space.
Pat Simmons
Pat says: Ever since I was a child I’ve loved mini beasts (some would call them creepy crawlies). During my career in children’s services as a child care educator, teacher and trainer I delighted in sharing my passion with children by taking my ‘minibeast family’ to child care centres.As a writer, they still inspire me and, yes, I still have a collection of critters including stick insects and rain forest snails.
There was shelter –
An upturned water tank
With an entrance hole —
My secret space
In the brittle summer bush
Where I’d hide,
Dark and bruised and splintered.
In those childhood days
I was an outlaw of sorts,
Travelling alone,
Not fitting anywhere,
Listening to cicadas throbbing
With song,
Beyond words,
Wanting nothing
But the arc of my mother’s arms.
Dianne Bates
Our cave we called the Keyhole,
we’d climb up there to see
the ferry carrying families
that drove out to the beach.
I’d sit there and imagine
floods rising high back then
to carve for us this keyhole
then rejoin the world again.
That door opened secretly
to millennia before
the cars, the ferry, boats and planes,
schools and rules and laws
And now…The ferry’s gone, and rust has taken
cars and boats and planes.
While I move on the Keyhole stays,
the secret place remains.
Walter de Jong
You’ll soon be walking through that door.
I can’t stay still a moment more.
I’m racing up and down the floor.
Can’t wait to say hello!
I’m here again with teary eyes
as everybody hugs and cries.
The air is filled with sad goodbyes.
Can’t stand to see you go!
Jenny Erlanger
I may not have a backbone,
But I’m brave as brave can be.
Just take time to observe me,
Then I’m sure you will agree.
My enemies are giants tall
And armed with hoes and spades!
They stomp around my picnic spots
And hurl their flashing blades!
Yet these will not deter me,
Since it’s clear that I must eat
The greens left lying in my path:
How beautifully sweet!
I bravely dodge the missiles
And the bomb-like boots from heights.
Such perils do not kill desire
To scoff down such delights!
When climbing I am carefree:
Though high may be the wall,
I cling to ledges upside down
And never fear to fall.
So do not doubt my courage.
Admire my spiral shell!
Call me “a mighty mollusc”
And “Supersnail” as well!
Monty Edwards
The pigeon struts
along the ledge:
he never gets
too near the edge.
by Katherine Gallagher
Green
Our fast green car
Green world
Stomach churning
Head spinning
Spinning
The world turning
Upside down
Downside up
Around and around
Wheels rolling
Streets passing
Blurred buildings
Blurred faces
Blur blur blur
Ur…
Dad, stop!
I’m going to throw …
Too late.
Australian Children’s Poetry 