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.
If a Thesaurus
came before us
would it claw us?
Or even gnaw us,
as soon as it saw us?
Not really.
A Thesaurus is a book
stuffed full of words,
so it would probably
just ignore us.
(As published in The Dirigible Balloon)
This poem was inspired by a news story I watched, then researched, about a boxer named Treasure, who became a mum to eight little piglets on a farm in Queensland.
Eight cute little piglets
grunting and squealing today
because a boxer named Treasure
came bounding their way
A stray herself
Treasure played her part
taking the eight little piglets
straight into her heart
She rounded them up
with cuddles and licking
her milk came in
with the suckling and kicking
On a farm with eight kids
and eight piglets in tow
Treasure the Boxer
put on a great show
She now has a family
Treasure loves them to bits
a boxer and eight piglets
the perfect farm fit
“how do you write a poem?”
the youngster cries.
“i hear with my ears,
and see with my eyes–
i pick a thing, a seed,
to softly blow, and blow,
and blow into a dangly,
loopy bubble…
seeing how it stirs,
or bulges,
and how my mind believes,
reflects, indulges
in its pause; and does it
look for trouble?
quicken the heart?
or make one feel so smart?
all these things a poem is,
once nothing, into synthesis.
you have a go now!
and let me know!”
Songs of yore, can be a bore
When they speak of snow and Holly.
Songs of sun are much more fun
To make our Christmas jolly.
We don’t ride sleighs – we catch some rays
As temperatures are soaring.
Hams to slice and prawns on ice
The feast is never boring.
Thongs on feet are not complete
Without our favourite boardies.
And by the pool, we’re staying cool
As Christmas hits the forties.
We don’t admire yuletide fire
Where chestnuts sit to roast.
We find fun with water guns,
Watch the sunset by the coast.
Raise a cup, with head held up
And toast the winter failure.
Sunshine above, what’s not love
That’s Christmas in Australia.
Christmas Confusion.
Exhausted I was – one Christmas Eve,
After putting out presents for Santa – Indeed!
I sat on the sofa and ate Santa’s supper.
Instead of the milk – I had a hot cuppa.
I started to doze, I started to dream.
I dreamt I was flying as one of a team.
It was cold; it was freezing; my nose – it was red!
Then someone roared “Rudolf!” And I turned my head.
“To the top of the porch…”
“Yes I know how it goes.”
And instinctively up off the ground I arose.
Dashing here, there and yonder,
With no time to ponder.
Delivering presents all made by the elves.
And when the night ended,
And at last we descended;
I wearily lay down to rest on the hay.
I started to doze, I started to dream.
Then someone yelled “Dad! Where have you been?
Santa’s left presents! Mum’s set the table…
Why are you out here asleep in the stable?”
Lee and Jazz
On the grass
Ukulele in hand
Learning fast
Tune in the air
Jazz’s ears prick
She starts to sing
Learning real quick
Songs in the garden
Float down the street
A boy and his dog
Sounding so sweet
A bond forged in music
A love made to last
The sounds of friendship
In music is cast
Jeanie Axton
There’s plenty of ways
to tell if the day is
too hot or cold
without being told.
You could try and catch
a fluffy pet cat
then watch and observe
to see how it’s curved.
When days are too hot
it’s likely as not
that cat’s all sprawled-out
in some shaded spot.
When researchers test
what temperature’s best
for comfort of cats
they find out these facts.
Those felines agree
that eighteen degrees
is purr-fectly warm
for cat’s furry form.
Then when it’s too cold
those pussycats fold
up cosy and still
to keep out the chill.
Scoot Scoot
Said the scooter
Shining in the sun
Time for me
To have some fun
Zoom Zoom
Said the scooter
Rider and helmet ready
Today we go fast
But take it steady
Whoosh Whoosh
Said the scooter
Down the street
Feet on kickboard
Who can we beat?
Zip Zip
Said the scooter
What a fun day
Zooming along
Smiling all the way
Jump Jump
Said the scooter
Trying a trick
Up in the air
And down real quick
Ring Ring
Said the scooter
A loud ring of the bell
Turn and head back
All is well
Yawn Yawn
Said the scooter
I’ve had a big day
Time to go home
Slowly make my way
Shuffle Shuffle
Said the scooter
Trudging back to the shed
Time for scooters
To be in scooter bed
Snooze Snooze
Said the scooter
Snoring away
Dreaming of tomorrow
Another scooter day
Australian Children’s Poetry 