Mr Wiggle Worm by Toni Newell

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Underneath the Ficus
Lives Mr Wiggle worm
In the rich moist soil
He can wiggle and squirm.

Wiggle worm
Looked around
It was cool and cozy
Underground.
There was much
Work to do
Churning earth
To let air through.
Enriching soil
Whilst breaking down
Organic matter
In the ground.
Mixing nutrients
On his way
Enriching earth
With leaf decay.
Wiggle worm
Doesn’t have eyes
Can sense light and dark
With cells specialized.
He doesn’t have lungs
He doesn’t have legs
He doesn’t have teeth

But he can produce eggs.
Wiggle worm
Is long and thin
Needs to be moist
To breath through his skin.
He has five hearts
He has no ears
Birds, moles and beetles
Are amongst his fears.
Up to ten years
His lifespan can be
If he is housed
In captivity.
But in the wild
I’m sorry to say
It can be reduced
If he becomes prey.
Harsh weather can also
Effect his lifespan
If soil gets too cold
Which it often can.
Wiggle worm’s poop
Is like liquid gold
Full of nitrogen
Often mixed and sold.
He’s a natural recycler
And works very hard
Maintaining ecosystems
In his backyard.

Mr Wiggle Worm
Lives under my Ficus tree
He hides from all above
Trying to live and be free.

Image from Pixabay

Happy World Environment Day !!

The unlucky camel by James Aitchison

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There once was a camel

Out in the desert,

Who craved something sweet

To eat for dessert.

But search as he may,

He found no traces

Of any date trees

Or any oases.

Image from Pixabay

Teachers’ note: This poem offers a fun opportunity to discuss the differences

between desert/dessert, and the plural of oasis/oases.

Mr Wiggle Worm by Toni Newell

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Underneath the Ficus
Lives Mr Wiggle worm
In the rich moist soil
He can wiggle and squirm.

Wiggle worm
Looked around
It was cool and cozy
Underground.
There was much
Work to do
Churning earth
To let air through.
Enriching soil
Whilst breaking down
Organic matter
In the ground.
Mixing nutrients
On his way
Enriching earth
With leaf decay.
Wiggle worm
Doesn’t have eyes
Can sense light and dark
With cells specialized.
He doesn’t have lungs
He doesn’t have legs
He doesn’t have teeth

But he can produce eggs.
Wiggle worm
Is long and thin
Needs to be moist
To breath through his skin.
He has five hearts
He has no ears
Birds, moles and beetles
Are amongst his fears.
Up to ten years
His lifespan can be
If he is housed
In captivity.
But in the wild
I’m sorry to say
It can be reduced
If he becomes prey.
Harsh weather can also
Effect his lifespan
If soil gets too cold
Which it often can.
Wiggle worm’s poop
Is like liquid gold
Full of nitrogen
Often mixed and sold.
He’s a natural recycler
And works very hard
Maintaining ecosystems
In his backyard.

Mr Wiggle Worm
Lives under my Ficus tree
He hides from all above
Trying to live and be free.

Image from Pixabay

Craft Group by Frankie Rose

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People gathered in the hall

The chatter loudly soaring

Cuppas, biscuits, busy hands

It must be Craft Group morning.

Craft Group by Frankie Rose

Image from Pixabay

In a Lava Cave by James Aitchison 

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This cave is at Undara,

a short walk from our bus.

The cave is nice and cool —

outside it’s 40 plus!

Forty thousand bats

call these caves their home,

and when the sun goes down,

the bats fly out to roam. 

But when they do — watch out!

There’s danger in the night:

snakes jump out from trees

and catch them in mid-flight.

The moral of the story?

See lava caves by day!

And keep the bats and snakes

well out of your way.

Undara Lava Tubes, North Queensland. Photo by Ginette Pestana

Out of Luck by Jenny Erlanger

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I’ve fetched a cloth and made it damp
with silver polish goo.
I’m banking on this little lamp
to make my dreams come true.
I’ve rubbed and scrubbed. I’ve really tried.
The smell has made me dizzy.
But nothing’s stirred from deep inside.
The genie must be busy.

Image from Pexels

Crash, Bang, Wallop by Diane Finlay

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Crash, bang, wallop
I’m starting up a band
Crash, bang, wallop
my drum stick hits the pan.

Crash, bang, wallop
it’s great to make a noise
Crash, bang, wallop
beats playing with my toys.

Crash, bang, wallop
my pan lid cymbals smash
Crash, bang, wallop
I love to yell and bash.

Crash, bang, wallop
it’s really going well
Crash, bang, wallop
this is music – can’t you tell?

Image from Pixabay

Why We Love Penguins by Celia Berrell

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Nursery Nonsense by James Aitchison

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Mary had a little lamb,

it grew into a sheep. 

It got so big and woolly,

she gave it to Bo Peep.

Little Bo Peep was

minding the sheep,

eating her curds and whey,

when a massive great spider

sat down beside her

and would not go away.

She sent off a text

to her pals Jack and Jill;

with three blind mice,

they ran up the hill.

All the king’s horses ran away with the spoon

and the sheep jumped over the moon.

Photo by James Aitchison

The Old Fence by James Aitchison

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How long have you stood there,

by whose hand were you made?

Your slabs were rough hewn,

but carefully laid

into place, long ago,

still standing but weathered,

where a drover’s horse

was maybe once tethered.

Tell me, did bushrangers 

ever ride by you?

Did farmers’ children 

once sit astride you?

What stories you’d whisper

of history and such,

of old pioneers

whose memories we touch.

Photo courtesy of Gina Pestana