MY UNCLE’S HORSE

My uncle had a Clydesdale,

He’d traded for a pup,

He took him down to Flemington,

To run the Melbourne Cup.

The crowd they were all laughing,

And even stewards too,

No one believed as uncle did,

Just what his nag could do.

The horses all were at the gate,

And champing at the bit,

And as the barrier went up,

The field, they had a fit.

They’d never seen a horse like that,

They frolicked on the ground,

No matter what the jockeys did,

No other horse was found

To run against the Clydesdale,

As he went round and round.

So uncle’s horse, he won the race,

And the shiny Melbourne Cup

To the North, was taken up.

The Clydesdale never raced again.

And almost always had for sup.

A manger full of oats and grain.

SHARKS

There’s commotion in the ocean,

When sharks are all about.

Little fish go to and fro

Darting all about.

They try to hide inside the reef,

And in rock caverns too.

But the sharks do not go hungry.

They always catch a few.

BALL GAMES 

My sister’s in a netball team,

Where she is goal attack.

I prefer my football

I often play full back.

So throughout season,

On Thursday nights we train,

And then head off on Saturday,

To try to win our games.

YARD 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

ANTS

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.

GRANDMA’S STEW.

Sometimes I visit grandma,

And ofter stay for dinner

She always has an Irish Stew

But it is not a winner.

It has sweet potato and turnip

And awful parsnips too

These are things I do not like

To tell you of a few.

I wish she had a roast like mum’s

Now that is quite a treat

With proper roasted vegetables

And the very best of meat.

But grandma does her very best

She’s set in all her ways

She’s made stew for fifty years

And twenty seven days.

I know for we sat down one night

With almanacs and such

She worked it out, she is so bright

She hasn’t lost her touch.

PIRATE PUSSY

There was a pirate pussy cat 

Who sailed the Spanish Main,

His ship it wore a pirate flag 

In hail,or sun or rain.

And when he caught a galleon 

As buccaneers will do,

He took up all the gems and gold 

And cast away the crew.

Then when he sailed back into port,

With his ill-gotten prize,

He threw a great big party 

with cakes and sweets and pies.

This pirate’s name was Blacky Patch,

He had white feet and tail to match.

He ruled his crew,as hard as nails,

And did not spare the nine ‘o’ tails. 

One day the King’s fine sailing ships 

Caught up with Blackie Patch.

The fired their guns while on the run,

And Blackie’s were no match.

His ship went down and all were drowned,

The pirates were dispatched.

Ron Marsh 

Ron is 79 years old and has taken up writing poetry