The mighty ramparts rise above the plain,
where once the plains were sea.
And you might think how harsh it looks,
yet beautiful it seems to me.
A world of red soil, stone and silence,
of ancient legends told ’round fires,
of peace and fascination
to my tired city eyes.
Flinders Ranges, South Australia. Photo by Ginette Pestana
Old kangaroos with worn-down teeth
cannot get any nutrition.
They sense they will die, so their final hours
are driven by intuition.
Their know hollow trees
are their best safe havens,
to save their eyes
being pecked out by ravens.
The lucky roos will die in peace,
sheltered inside a tree,
beyond the reach of enemies
who would feast on them with glee.
Such is life in the bush —
relentless, wild and cruel,
a never-ending circle
of life, death and renewal.
The Cazneaux tree, Flinders Ranges, Australia. Photo by Ginette Pestana
A girl named Amelia Hicks,
Went to Discount Day at the flicks.
She sat right through Jaws,
Halloween and Star Wars
For a cost of Sixteen Sixty-six.
Image from Pexels by GEORGE DESIPRIS
May the twelfth is Limerick Day,
So I thought I’d better just say,
Limericks are fun,
Have a go at one,
Grab your pen without delay!
Image from Pexels by picjumbo.com
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
Australian Children’s Poetry 