BREAKFAST
I had rolled oats for breakfast.
It was not very nice.
I’ll have to ask my mother
To dish up curried rice.
I do not mind an egg or two
To put upon some toast.
But what I really want for breakfast
Is mummy’s veg and roast.
Tag Archives: Ron Marsh
“DAD’S BARBECUE” by Ron Marsh
Leave a commentDAD’S BARBECUE
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
3 CommentsANTS
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
Leave a commentCLOUDS
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
Leave a commentME AND CAPTAIN COOK
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
Leave a commentDOLLS
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
Leave a commentYARD CRICKET
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
Leave a commentPOSSUMS AND PUMPKINS
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
“DAD’S BBQ” by Ron Marsh
Leave a commentDAD’S BARBECUE
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
“MY RACEHORSE“ by Ron Marsh
Leave a commentMY RACEHORSE
I’d like to own a pacing horse,
Or maybe just a pony.
I’d take it to the racing course,
To join the ceremonies.
He’d always be fed every dawn,
With oats and hay and corn,
A horse would never hungry be,
If it belonged to me.
I could not care, there’s no disgrace,
Should it never win a race,
I’d be so happy just to own,
A racehorse of my very own.
Australian Children’s Poetry Website 