“DAD’S BARBECUE” by Ron Marsh

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My father had a bullock,

I don’t know where he found it,

The council man came by one day,

And said he must impound it.

Now Dad said that it can’t be done,

Because he’d asked a few,

Of his friends and relatives  

To a barbecue.

The bull heard this, and with a roar,

He headed for the hills,

He had no plans for barbecues,

And salad for the frills.

So dad and all the family,

And some of his good friends,

Had barbecue of vegetables,

And other odds and ends.

“Ants” by Ron Marsh



I was eating supper very late,

And chanced to look upon my plate,

A little black ant standing there,

Just about to share my fare.


I said to him “now listen mate,

I want you quickly off my plate”.

To ants one should not be so bold,

He’s brought back friends a hundred-fold.

“Clouds” by Ron Marsh

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Have you ever lain on your back, watching skies above

When clouds are making quite a show, a ship, a tree, a dove?

A constant changing scene to keep you quite enthralled,

Simple easy pleasure that has no cost at all.


You sometimes see a fairy, an ogre or a frog,

You let imagination go and even see a hog.

When your mind comes back to earth and all around seems bland,

You can enjoy the memory of a cloudy fairyland.


“Me and Captain Cook” by Ron Marsh

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Captain Cook, he wrote a book,

He was extremely clever,

He wrote of his trip round the world ,

In the barque “Endeavour”.


I watched him sailing past one morn,

I waved, he did not see me.

It was a pity for me and Cook,

For I’d be in his story book.


I guess I wasn’t meant for fame,

And also not for history,

And no one ever heard my name,

I’ll always be a mystery.


“Dolls” by Ron Marsh

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I have a baby sister,

I often think she’s cute,

The way she smiles and gurgles,

And bares her one front tooth.


One day she will grow up like me,

And I am nearly eight,

Then she and I can play with dolls.

We’ll  take them out the gate.


We’ll push our strollers up and down

And we’ll go parading,

Just like little mothers,

With babies, promenading

“Yard Cricket” by Ron Marsh

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On pleasant summer afternoons,

My dad and I play cricket.

The dog he loves to chase the ball,

So he’s behind the wicket.


Our yard is small,

And so the ball

Is not hit very far.

But if we hit a window,

We cop a blast from ma.


I hit a whopping six some days.

That’s when it goes next door.

And if the neighbour gets upset,

We take that off the score.


When dad is batting I get scared.

I wish my gloves were leather.

He hits them fast, and most get past,

As I clap my hands together. 

“Possums and Pumpkins” by Ron Marsh

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I planted a small pumpkin seed,

Hoping that in time,

I’d have a crop of pumpkins,

Growing on the vine.


I did not think of possums,

Those pesky climbing”rats”,

If only they would fall from trees,

And please me with the splat.


They ate up all the pumpkins,

They were not even ripe,

And then attacked the parsley,

I think it gave them gripe.


They damage all my fruit and veg,

It isn’t very fair,

I’m not allowed to chase them,

Or even pull their hair.


I guess I’ll have to just sit back,

And let them have their way,

And buy my fruit and veg, on

Sunday market day