It hardly rains
but when it pours
on sleepy desert ground
the speedy changes
to the land
will certainly astound.
A dried-up creek
now overflows
expanding to a lake.
And dormant life-forms
eggs and seeds
immediately awake.
The dry red dirt
transforms into
a carpet made of flowers.
And tiny creatures
start to hatch
within a few short hours.
With decorations
all in place
the waterbirds arrive.
Providing
lots of music.
Now the party’s come alive!
First Published in CSIRO’s Scientriffic #66 2009
You bought us in Summer when we were sparkly new:
brilliant white, shiny bright with a stripe of navy blue.
You took us to netball; you took us to the pool.
We went on an excursion, a casual day at school.
We got a little grimy; we got a little worn,
a scratch on the left heel; one lace was partially torn.
We played in the garden. We trudged on a hike.
We toured around the neighbourhood, pedalling on your bike.
We got a little tawdry; our tread was worn down low,
a scuff here, a mark there; a hole in one toe.
We stomped in muddy puddles. We danced in the rain.
We got a little water-logged. We got a little stained.
As we sit on the backstep, we’re hardly sparkly new.
We’re a muddy sort of brown with a faded stripe of blue.
But if we could have our druthers, I’m sure we’d rather be
nothing more than what we are: your favourite pair of shoes.
It’s when the snow is all around,
and leaves slide silent to the ground.
It’s when the river turns to ice
and skating on it might be nice.
It’s when the soup is brimming warm
and outside stays the storm.
It’s when the birds cease their choir
and your feet are by the fire.
Photo in Bavaria, Germany, by Ginette Pestana
The trees are stark and bare in winter,
Mist curls around their feet.
The brooks are running fast and pooling deeply
Where the waters meet.
The sleepy twilight sends the day to flight,
And the bush slides into night.
Winter’s chill seeps down into the gorges,
And all is lost to sight.
Mountain ridges smudge the distance
In the cold grey light.
But soon enough the bush will wake to spring,
And the bellbirds’ chimes will ring.
Image from Pexels by Warren Griffiths
A skip and a hop,
a jump and a run,
Easter Sunday
is mega fun!
The eggs are hidden
everywhere,
up in trees,
under the stair.
Some are green,
some are red,
some are even
under my bed.
I’ll have a feast when
my search is complete;
and save the rest
for my friends to eat.
Photo from Pexels by Boris Manev
Henry was on an egg hunt
he headed quickly outside
bright and early Easter morning
excited for what he would find
He spotted a big brown egg
his left hand performing the scoop
But Alas! as it bounced in the bucket
Not an egg! but his pet dogs poop
Now his dog is in the laundry
she is safely locked-away
Henry then cleaned his bucket
and got on with Easter Day
Image from Stockcake
The song that I will sing for you
will be the greatest ever sung,
greater than the loudest bell
that ever has been rung.
I will sing my song by day and night,
in sunshine or in rain,
and when my song is over
I will begin again.
And so my song will grow and ring
forever bright and new,
bringing joy to everyone,
but most of all
to you.
Image from Stockcake
Let’s sit down and write a book,
The first line matters — it’s called the “hook”.
Then off we go with Chapter One,
The words are flowing, isn’t it fun?
The story’s building, what a great plot,
With twists and turns, it’s got the lot.
There are so many stories to tell your friends,
With exciting beginnings and happy ends!
Photo from Stockcake Free Images
“Hello,” said the puppy,
“exactly who are you?”
“Hmph!” said the joey,
“I’m a kangaroo!”
The puppy said, “I’m only new,
I think I’ll grow quite tall.”
The joey laughed. “Next to me,
you’ll always be quite small!”
Image from James Aitchison
Australian Children’s Poetry 