Mint green is the smell of the gum trees after rain, of Vicks rubbed onto chests by warm hands. Moss green is the fuzz beneath my fingertips, soft wooly jumpers and patterned socks. Emerald green are the shiny new wellies with polka-dots that keep feet dry. Army green is the smears of grass and mud on the knees of trackpants and footy boots. Lime green is a chorus of frogs, a cackle of twenty-eights, a quaver of silvereyes. Olive green is my sickly complexion, the contents of a crumple of tissues and a steaming hot bowl of comforting pea and ham soup.
She seemed extremely cheerful when she greeted us today and welcomed us so warmly as we set out on our way. The tracks were bathed in sunlight and the sky was powder blue. The kookaburras chortled till they had us chuckling too. The undergrowth was buzzing and the leaves of all the trees were waving to each other as they frolicked in the breeze.
But now she’s in a temper and she’s grumbling from up high. I can’t see blue above me, just an angry looking sky. The sun’s no longer smiling and the clouds are turning black. The rumbling’s sounding louder, so, it’s time we headed back. That gentle breeze has strengthened to become a howling gale. It’s started raining torrents and we’re drenched from head to tail. This monster she’s unleashing is undoubtedly deranged. I can’t believe how swiftly Mother Nature’s mood has changed.
A row of Ficus Line the drive Evergreen And air revive. On a branch Possums nest Escaping from Daylights quest. Annoyingly The leaves shed Continuously The drive, their bed. Falling softly When winds blow Floating leaves Put on a show. A quiet whisper Through the trees As branches shuffle In the breeze. Lovely Ficus Large and strong Manicured They’re now oblong. As they look out Upon the street The trees observe The passing feet.
They see the birds That fly on by Or those that perch On branches high. Lovely Ficus Line the drive Evergreen Where they survive.
A mother’s love is like a freshly picked bouquet; Full of life and colour, making everything okay. A mother’s love is like the brightest shining star; Lighting the way with warmth, even from afar. A mother’s love is like the best pages from a book; Guiding with truth and wisdom, as you take a fresh look. A mother’s love is like a lioness watching her cubs play; Defending and providing as you grow stronger every day. A mother’s love is like a moon beam full of gentle light; As her prayers of protection keep you safe at night. A mother’s love is celebrated on a special Sunday each year. Spend some time with Mum in May to show her that you care.
“I like the heat, freezing nights too, clear cloudless skies with stars blinking through. Grant me a wilderness so desolate and dry, that echoes in its silence for every passer-by.
“I’m not a fussy eater but know just where to look. I can eat the plants which make others really crook! My soft lips of velvet take thistle, thorn or prickle. I’ll nibble away without delay; their spikes barely tickle.
“For those who do believe my hump’s a jerrycan, I would like to share with you why that is not the plan. It’s how I store some fat to use when times are tough, for energy and water and if that’s not enough, I recycle vapour back along my nose; a clever way to sort and solve my water woes.
“My long and steady legs cut distance every stride; padded feet for trekking won’t split, sink or slide. No matter the terrain hills, rocks or sand, we can journey onward across the desert land.
“These eyes have luscious lashes, and my face shows a grin. I can shut my nostrils to stop sand from getting in! Strong, tough and hardy; they say we are all three. We’re made for desert life as I was meant to be.
“Now in modern times trekking ‘s still the same. I’m here among my Caravan and Carmel is my name. Relax to the rhythm of rock, roll and sway, all in line with my friends and we are on our way.”
Billy Joe was very angry And he had lots to say About Archer’s poor behaviour Happened almost every day. ‘You get us into trouble I always take the blame Trying to protect you And taking on the shame.’ ‘I’m sorry’ Archer barked ‘It’s just that I’m so young I need some stimulation And I need to have some fun’. ‘That’s all very well for you Do you ever consider me I constantly look after you Appreciation I never see. I think you’re very selfish If you’re really my best friend You’ll have to make an effort Put bad behaviour to an end’. ‘Well I can only try But there is no guarantee That I can do what you ask For my spirit it runs free. I want to be your best friend And behave accordingly I’ll do my very, very best You just wait and see’.
One week had passed And all was going fine Archer had behaved Which was a good sign. Billy Joe so happy He could hardly bark And Archer, angelic Didn’t leave his mark. ‘There you see’ barked Archer ‘I told you I would try I think I have succeeded Bad behaviour say goodbye’. Billy Joe was sceptical But he had to admit That Archer had improved He should get some credit. Now Billy Joe and Archer Will be friends for life The young lad now behaving Not causing any strife.
Australian Children’s Poetry 