Feeling Weird by Allan Cropper

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Feeling Weird

Have you woken up to find
you don’t know how you feel?
That’s how I felt when I woke up today.
I tried to find a word that would
express the way I felt
but there were not the words that would convey
the feelings I was feeling, for
it all felt so surreal,
a feeling like no other I have known.
I cannot find the words to tell you
how it is I felt.
I’ll have to make up new words of my own.

I felt flagisticatious,
all wimbillical inside.
Indubicartly grobble-poxed, was I.
Befuddulant and jingle-jacked,
quite micro-ballical,
which can’t have been too pleasing to the eye.
I felt so astro-numical,
anthortical in fact,
in a very catostrismic kind of way.
And that, my friend, just sums it up –
exactly how I felt –
the way I felt when I awoke today.

Allan Cropper

Cat and Bag by Nadine Cranenburgh

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Cat and Bag

 

It rustles, bustles in the breeze

I’m creeping, peeping round the couch

Nearer, nearer almost there

I pounce, but wait

Now it has me!

Let go, you sack of crinkly skin

Stop chasing me

Please stop

You win!

Nadine Cranenburgh

Wrecked! by Jill McDougall

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Wrecked!

 

I’ve scraped the skin

From off my chin,

My arms and legs are grazed,

My elbow’s sprained,

My ankle’s maimed,

I’m feeling kind of dazed.

 

I’ve crunched my neck,

My knee’s a wreck,

My fingers curl like claws,

My dental work

Has gone berserk

And jammed up both my jaws.

 

My eyes are black,

My nose is red,

My lips are turning blue –

So tell me why

The teachers cry –

SPORT IS GOOD FOR YOU!

Jill McDougall 

A Frog in a Log by Allan Cropper

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A FROG ON A LOG

A frog

a frog on a log

a frog on a log with a bag full of sticks

a frog on a log with a bag full of tricks

a frog

a magical frog

a mystical frog

a wave

a wave of a stick

a wave of a stick from his bag full of tricks

a wave of a wand from his bag full of sticks

a fog

a magical fog

a mystical fog

a mist

a mist on a pond

a mystical fog on a frog on a log

a frog on a log was no longer a frog

a frog on a log had turned into a dog

a dog

a magical dog

a mystical dog

a dog

a dog not a frog

a dog, not a frog, on a log in a fog

a dog not a frog with a bag full of sticks

a dog not a frog with a bag full of tricks

a wave

a wave of a stick

a wave of a stick from his bag full of tricks

a wave of a wand from his bag full of sticks

a smog

a magical smog

a mystical smog

a twist

a twist of a tail

a magical smog and the pond was a bog

a dog not a frog was no longer a dog

a dog not a frog had turned into a hog

a hog

a magical hog

a mystical hog

a hog

a hog not a dog

a hog not a frog

a hog in a bog

a hog not a dog or a frog on a log

a hog in a bog not a dog or a frog

a magical hog with a bag full of sticks

a magical hog with a bag full of tricks.

Allan Cropper

Not Out by N. McMullin

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Not Out

 

Facing.

The Bowler,

Streaks in.

Long limbed,

Powerful.

With intent, he glares at me.

 

Sweating.

Under my helmet.

I tap my bat.

Raised.

Ready.

Fixated on the Bowler’s hand.

 

An Umpire,

Yawns behind,

Darkened sunglasses.

Bored. Daydreaming.

A seagull cries

From the boundary.

 

The red ball,

Careers down.

An inside edge.

Caught by the Keeper.

They call for it.

HOWZAT!

 

The Umpire.

Stands motionless.

I feign innocence.

He hasn’t heard it.

No finger is raised.

And I silently thank the seagull.

 

 

N McMullin 

No School Today by Jill McDougall

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No School Today

 

Don’t make me go to school today,

Please! Anything but that!

I’ll tidy up my bedroom,

I’ll be gentle with the cat…

 

I’ll do the dishes for a week,

(I’ll soak the saucepans too),

But please don’t make me go to school –

That place is like a zoo.

 

The kids are really mean to me,

They call me nasty names

Like ‘legend in a lunch box’ when

I interrupt their games.

 

And when they see me coming,

They spread out like peanut paste,

I feel like I’m some fungal growth,

Some noxious toxic waste.

 

So please don’t make me go to school,

I’ll sulk and whine and sob,

So WHAT if I’m the Principal!

I want a different job!

Jill McDougall

The Lighthouse by Neridah McMullin

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The Lighthouse

 

She stands tall,

Faithful,

Stoic and true.

White-washed,

And unwavering.

Carved basalt steps,

A salt encrusted,

Red door,

With a rusty lock.

Up curved, spiral stairs,

A French Fresnal,

Lens flashes,

Guiding ships,

Away from rocks,

And rips.

Bitter maelstrom,

Blustering galeforce.

To the Lighthouse!

The Lighthouse –

If only you knew,

You saved me

And my crew.

Neridah McMullin

Crusader Beetle by Helen Hagemann

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Crusader Beetle

 

She is not the Japanese beetle

who devastates rows of basil plants;

 

that brown and black fellow chomping

circles in your garden spaghetti herbs.

 

She is not elongated, black and lemon-tipped

like Soldier beetle who swarms in number

 

spring and summer; gardeners anxious they’re

plaguing Melbourne. Crusader beetle is not

 

bejeweled in topaz, emerald or sapphire

like Jewel beetle. Nor is she the roller

 

of poop like Dung beetle, ready to squeeze

her offspring inside (like famous Alexander

 

Beetle’s matchbox) reducing methane as she

dillies away on a cow pat in less than twenty-four

 

hours. No! Crusader beetle is neither of these,

but a “Joan of Arc” carrying her bannered symbol

 

on a bluish back. A cross in clear salute, as if

she is proud of her history, out there warring

 

against predators, her pink and grey feelers

tapping out miles travelled between home and

 

Acacia bloom, wing-pads blazoned with that

repellent X, proliferating Indonesia, the Indo-

Pacific, or at home, her hind femur and inner
teeth ready to slay Australia’s backyard weeds.

Helen Hagemann

I Want to go to School by Ron Barton

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I Want to go to School

 

A big girl of four and a young boy of two

were walking with their mum and dad through the zoo.

To see all the animals made both children smile

but it also made them tired so they stopped for a while.

 

They snacked on some treats that mum made before

when dad pointed out something that he saw:

a group of fish swimming around in a pool.

“Did you know,” the dad said, “that they call that a school.”

 

“I’ll go to school soon,” said little Miss Four.

“Me too,” said the boy – it was hard to ignore.

It was clear to the parents that their little boy

would miss his big sister. It gave them no joy.

 

And so they decided, that they must set things straight

before it got out of hand, before it was too late.

“Not yet,” said the dad. “It’s just not your turn,

you’re not old enough to go to school and learn.”

 

“The boy started crying, he just didn’t get

that he wasn’t quite ready to go to school yet.

He was a ‘big boy’, a baby no more –

why couldn’t he go to school with Miss Four?

 

“It’s ok, son,” said the mum. “Dry your tears,

you won’t go to school for a couple more years.

There’s a number of things you must learn before

you can go to school with little Miss Four.”

 

“That’s right,” said the dad. “I can think of some.

Like, you must no longer wear a nappy on your bum.

And while you know your whole alphabet

There are other things that you need to learn yet.”

 

“Just think,” added mum, “about how well you count

but you only know up to a certain amount.

You can do up to ten but little Miss Four

can count to 100 and sometimes even more.”

 

The tears had dried up, a change had occurred.

The young boy was now hanging on every word.

“And plus,” said the mum, “it isn’t all bad,

you’ll get to stay with me without Miss Four and Dad.”

 

“Just think of all of the games that we’ll play

and the fun things we’ll do when it’s just us all day.

We’ll get to bake cookies and sing songs and draw,

then we’ll walk up to the school to pick up Miss Four.”

 

“Ok,” said the boy and he started to grin

but Miss Four had been listening and she wanted in.

“That’s not fair,” she said. “I want to stay home.”

Then Mum and Dad let out a collective groan.

It didn’t seem like they could win either way

and so they left this fight for another day.

Ron Barton

My Brain is Full by Allan Cropper

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MY BRAIN IS FULL

 

‘I’ve examined you quite thoroughly,’

Is what my doctor said.

‘It seems there’s too much empty space

existing in your head.’

‘The vast expanse between your ears

Is that which makes you ill.

It’s far too great a cavity

for your small brain to fill.

You need to go expand your mind,

to fill the empty void,

if rattling noise inside your head

you’re wishing to avoid.’

 

So I went to the library

and took out lots of books.

Reading lots of stories is

much harder than it looks.

I read and read and read and read

each day, right after school.

 

I read and read and read and read

until my brain was full.

I read stories about pirates,

I read stories about sport.

I read stories about heroes

and the battles that they fought.

I read stories of adventurers

in the jungles dark and green,

stories of explorers finding

lands no one had seen.

 

I read fiction books, non-fiction books,

and reference books as well.

And very soon I noticed

that my brain began to swell.

I fear I overfilled my brain

‘Cause it just grows and grows,

and now my poor expanding brain

Leaks out my ears and nose.

So doctor can you tell me how

to keep my brain in check?

My brain keeps oozing out my head

and down my face and neck.

 

If my brain keeps on expanding

I’m afraid my skull will crack

Quite frankly, Doc, I’d rather have

That awful rattle back.

Allan Cropper