I wish that in my bathroom
I had a shower like this!
All that water tumbling —
wouldn’t it be bliss?
Cascading down my back,
in a rushing flow!
The only problem is,
where would so much water go?
I’d need a massive drainhole
to carry it away,
and one enormous tap
to turn it on each day.
Waterfall, Milford Sound, New Zealand. Photo by Ginette Pestana
I leap up high and bend in two
till toes and fingers meet,
then follow with a somersault
and land back on my feet.
I bounce back to a dizzy height,
my hands attached to hips,
then arch my spine as I prepare
to do my backward flips.
Both Mum and Dad are sorry now,
the sorriest they’ve been
for never having got around
to buying a trampoline.
There’s clearly been some wear and tear
from all those tricks I’ve aced.
The mattress on my bed is wrecked
and needs to be replaced.
Image from Pexels by RDNE Stock
It is a pretty spot one may well admire
This land holds a history of harsh drought and fire
The farm has gentle hills others very steep
A home for generations an ideal place for sheep
Miranda had a job her project took a year
She grew a fleece of wool and now it’s time to shear
Perhaps a little precious not fond of being shorn
But it must be done before her lamb is born
Many years were spent in perfection of her line
Today she is known as Merino Superfine
Time to get a start according to the clock
Waiting in the holding pen with the others of her flock
And so the day begins nothing more is said
The combs come alive within the shearing shed
A highly skilled team and trusted roustabout
They’ll have the lot done before the day is out
It’s Miranda’s turn! She’s plucked from the fold
Taken swift but kind safe in expert hold
The shearer knows his trade and shorn across the land
Miranda needn’t fret there’s not a better hand
The shears begin to buzz belly, back legs and ‘round
Taking extra care where her teats are found
Topknot trimmed away chest and neck are clear
With skill of a surgeon around her eye and ear
Now the pace quickens moves becoming bolder
Shears glide to take the fleece away from Miranda’s shoulder
Then longer blows shearer’s got the knack
The fleece is giving way handpiece sweeps her back
Next the other side strength completes the job
Miranda’s out the shoot and rejoins her mob
Miranda returns to graze and grow next year’s clip
Today’s fleece will make its way to foreign lands by ship
As early Springtime comes marked by longer days
She’ll have another job to do a newborn lamb to raise
Image from Pixabay
My nose is buried in a book,
as I read from cover to cover,
and with every line I read,
new things I discover.
Each word makes a picture,
each picture fires my brain —
it’s such a great adventure,
how can I explain?
One day I will write a book
and everyone will read it —
an author I am going to be,
and you’d best believe it!
Image from Pexels by Min An
Out in the wilds
the daylight is dying;
the darklight is coming,
and the wind is a-sighing.
Shadows will deepen,
grow darker and soon,
with the quiet starlight,
will come the moon.
The pastures will sleep
and not waken till morn,
when at last the sun rises
and a new day is born.
North Island, New Zealand. Photo by Ginette Pestana
Word is a word
that rhymes with word.
But what about cord,
and ford and sword?
They don’t rhyme with word,
as you’ve no doubt heard.
How come English is so erratic,
so hard to learn and problematic?
My word, I wish I knew!
Photo from Pexels by Pixabay
Beetrice is all abuzz
A busy buzzing bee
Busy as a bee can be
Her home inside a tree
Shall we look and see
What she really does?
The busy bee she needs to be
Aside from all the buzz
Deep within the hive
She works her busy legs
Taking care of ‘Queenie’
While she lays more eggs
Lots of little larvae
Needing to be fed
Making sure each one has
A share of sweet bee bread
Working waxy wonders
Rooms with walls of six
Holding strong for so long
There’s no need for sticks
A fussy, clever cleaner
She keeps a spotless home
Life’s such a buzz within
Her world of honeycomb
But beware of Beetrice
Best to let her be
Show respect for her place
A home inside that tree
Should it be disturbed
The hive a bee defends
She’s got quite a sting
And so have all her friends
Lots to do in Summer
Young ones can’t get hot
Busy Beetrice fans her wings
Or else they’ll lose the lot
United with her sisters
Workers make a breeze
Cooling down bees to be
Together done with ease
Foraging for nectar
Changing it to honey
On the wing from dawn to dusk
While the days are sunny
Visiting the flowers
Beetrice never stops
She helps feed our nation
By pollinating crops
What a wonderous worker
A busy buzzing bee
Without busy Beetrice
Where would we be?
Could she understand
What bees do for us?
She’s probably too busy now
Too busy for a fuss
Busy buzzing Beetrice
Thank you for the honey
To have on buttered toast
Golden, sweet and runny!
And for tasty fruit
You work away for hours
There’s apples, pears and cherries
From pollinated flowers
We are so grateful
For treats such as these
May there always be
Busy buzzing bees!
Photo from Pexels by Pixabay
When did we start
having so much stuff?
To go without
would be cold and tough.
Two-and-a-half
million years ago
a few stone tools
was all we could show.
Three hundred thousand
years before now
we’d arrows and spears
and fire knowhow.
By seventy thousand
an Ice Age had stressed
those poor chilly humans
and made them get dressed!
Image from Pixabay
‘Twas a dark and stormy night among the horrible sixteen seas,
When the Pirate ship O’Hara, sailed into the dock of Fees.
It slammed into the port and jolted the ship ashore,
With sailors from the top deck attempting to break the law.
They took out a massive chainsaw and split the land in two,
By cutting a symmetrical pattern a new folklore grew and grew.
The traditional land of A lot was cut into two equal halves,
With two new entry points and stencil-crete ridden paths.
The two lands were divided and needed a name of their own,
So the Captain did some thinking, as the history has shown.
One land part was called “A” and was granted an official name,
Whilst the other land parcel called “LOT” had a symbol of a flame.
The two towns were now known as “A” and “Lot”,
And for teachers, this certainly hit the spot.
The town Alot became extinct, and was kicked off every map,
The word no longer existed – a new agreement signed in sap.
If you’re a fish and you get sick,
who do you go and see?
The Doctopus will help you —
he’s your undersea GP.
He’s qualified to treat
watery infections,
and because he has eight hands,
he’ll give you eight injections.
From sore sardines and sneezing sharks
to tonsil-troubled tuna,
the Doctopus will fix you —
you’ll feel much better sooner.
Photo from Stockcake
Australian Children’s Poetry 