stretch out your toes,
as far as it goes!
let your long fingers
out, so each one lingers…
breathe from down low,
let the good air flow!
jump like the stars,
or leap over the bars!
lie down on the mat
and arch like a cat!
or extend a leg or arm,
and sway slow like a charm!
stretch every good muscle
slooow…among others’ hustle –
don’t forget to drink water,
and cooling down after!
to get fit needs routine
to get muscley and lean –
whether morn or afternoon,
please do come again soon!
The rain is dancing down the street,
across the park and up the lane.
It’s teeming where I stand to meet
the clickety-clackety morning train.
The rain is hammering on the rooves
and causing such a fuss.
It’s drenching where I stand to meet
the braking quaking bus.
The rain is splashing on the ground
creating puddles deep.
To get to where I need to be
I’ve got to hop and leap.
The rain is filling all the creeks.
The gutters run with foam.
It’s wet day lunch at school today,
I think I’ll just stay home.
While I was walking by the sea
A seagull chose to follow me,
But soon one gull turned into two,
Then three, then four, began a queue!
When five or six swelled to a crowd
Their conversation grew quite loud.
This made it clear I’d have no peace
Without some way to make them cease.
I clapped my hands and stamped my feet,
I waved my cap, but faced defeat:
A few wings fluttered, webbed feet shuffled,
But squarks continued, quite unmuffled.
Seagull numbers kept on mounting!
It was then I started shouting:
“Please, I yelled, “Please go away!”
Not one gull did. They chose to stay.
Quite suddenly I had a hunch
That what they wanted was my lunch!
Can a seagull lick its lips?
Yes, it will, for fish and chips!
So off I ran to grassy ground,
There with seagulls all around,
I unwrapped lunch and chose to share:
Whoosh! Gulls arrived from everywhere!!
Blobs of jellyfish dot the sea shore
Why are they there? I’m not sure.
Their gooey bodies spoil the view
Interrupting the spotless blue.
They are in the way of my feet too!
Original artwork by Gemma Creegan
You say I haven’t listened
to a word you’ve said today
or to anything you’ve told me in the week.
But I think, in my defence,
that it is pretty fair to say
when I’m in the mood to listen, you don’t speak.
In County Down,
there’s no brighter green,
and the peaks and valleys
are a sight to be seen.
‘Tis old Ireland they sing of
when bleak winter falls,
and by firesides the heart of
Ireland still calls.
And when storms the crags
of the mountains have crossed,
they tell of great battles
forgotten or lost.
My favourite colour is purple.
My favourite food is cheese.
I’m very fond of Saturdays
when I can do whatever I please.
My favourite season is Autumn
When the leaves are red and brown
I like to cycle up steep hills
and glide the same way down
My favourite animal is zebra.
I love those crazy stripes.
Magpie is my favourite bird
dressed in black and white.
My favourite place is the seaside,
the waves, the sand, the spray.
I swim and surf and jump the waves
and play around all day.
But last, not least, I have to say
are the ones I can’t do without –
my family, friends, my little dog
are my favourites without a doubt.
Aboard an old steam loco,
many years ago,
the driver and the fireman
worked by the firebox glow.
They stood upon the footplate,
wood layered over steel,
where the engine driver could
control the loco’s wheels.
The fireman shovelled coal —
he had no time to dream —
heating water in the boiler
to keep up lots of steam.
I did not see the cat play dead.
I did not see her on my head—
I did not see her hide inside
My newest hairdo wild and wide.
I did not hear her caterwaul,
Nor see the scratches on the wall,
I did not see her eat the mouse,
Or hide the body ‘neath the house.
I did not give her balls of yarns
Stored up in Grandma’s giant barns,
Nor see her with her claws destroy
Gran’s crochet, with a look so coy,
Nor leap off Grandma’s rocking-chair,
I did not see her anywhere—
I did not see her tip the vase
Of flowers, or upset the jars,
Or scowl to spy the neighbor’s cat,
Or hide under the tall top hat—
All that I saw was clearly that:
The cat sat on the mat.
I wonder who lived here;
I wonder why they went?
What fate struck these pioneers
and left their spirit spent?
They built their dreams to last,
stone by golden stone,
but now these dismal relics
lie ragged and alone.
Teacher’s note: One of many abandoned dwellings in Burra, South Australia.
Australian Children’s Poetry 