Eyes open
Wide and yellow
Alert, cold
Not warm and mellow.
A piercing glance
Looks through the night
And guides its wings
When it’s in flight.
The hooting sound
It often makes
Stakes claim to space
And calls for mates.
White feathers smooth
Around the eyes
Resemble marbles
In disguise.
I look at it
And wonder why
It’s been described
As being wise.
The owl so regal
On its perch
Eyes wide open
Of prey in search.
The Owl by Toni Newell
Image from Pixabay
A wasp, a worm
Which one does squirm
I do believe
It is the worm!
A fly, a mosquito
Which one does buzz
I do believe
The mosquito does.
A cat, a dog
Which one meows
I do believe
It’s the cat somehow
A hen, a rooster
Which one does crow
I believe it’s the rooster
In his morning show.
A horse, a cow
Which one does moo
I do believe
That the cow must do.
A sheep, a goat
Which one does baa
I do believe
It’s the sheep by far.
We all do have
Our different voices
But human’s can
Mimic all the noises.
Who Does What? by Toni Newell
Image by Pixabay
Billy Joe is my best friend
Wears a collar, has four legs,
Follows me consistently
If there’s food he often begs.
We live in leafy Doncaster
In a small two-bedroom home
And because I have to work a lot
Billy Joe’s often left alone.
Whilst I’m away at the office
He has the run of the house
And often creates havoc
He’s not as quiet as a mouse.
The neighbours are not happy
When he barks and carries on
But there’s very little I can do
When working on the phone.
His devilish disposition
Gets him into lots of strife
By causing so much damage
Which he’s done all his short life.
So how can I fix this problem
I ask with nought in mind
What can I do to stop him
And a happy solution find.
But then I think of something
Should I find him a friend
Which would keep him occupied
And his destructiveness end.
I put my masterplan in action
Bring home Archer, a puppy
It appears that what I’ve done
Has made Billy Joe very happy.
They seem to get along quite well
And spend their time in play
Until they’re both exhausted
Crash on the couch and stay.
Archer has become
Billy Joe’s best friend
Bringing him home has been
A victory to this end.
Devilish Billy Joe by Toni Newell
Image by Pixabay
There on the table
Infront of me
Sat a brown box
What could it be?
It hadn’t been wrapped
There was no bow
It looked very plain
At least I thought so.
Who put it there
I began to wonder
Should it be opened
What was the answer
I stood for a while
Contemplating the thought
Decided against it
My imagination caught.
I left the room
Returning again
My curiosity peaked
But it was all in vain.
The table was empty
It was no longer there
It seemed to have vanished
Into thin air.
I searched the room
It couldn’t be found
And in my head
Thoughts spun around.
Did I imagine
What I had seen
Was there a brown box
Or was it a dream?
Shelves lined with books
different sizes and colours
each individually categorized
an order allowing one to find
what they are searching for.
But the magic is
what lies within the covers
pages neatly typed
creating a story.
Books that share or expose
an autobiography
others containing facts
documented, written for all
who wish to read them.
Novels filled with imagination
taking a reader to another world
where they can be lost and escape
the one they live in.
Romance which gives one hope
or despair
fiction taking us to the edge
and murder mysteries
which keep us guessing.
Picture books that satisfy those
who don’t want many words
and children’s books
that delve into imagination
of characters who don’t exist
outside the pages.
So many books to choose from
with individual appeal
all works of art in their own way
with Authors’ proud
presenting a cacophony of ideas
mounted on multiple shelves
in this distinguished building
which houses a library.
Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay
I hear what sounds like footsteps
From beneath the stairs
Where all my many sneakers live
In colour coded pairs.
I hear a lot of movement
And voices raised up high
There seems to be contention
Amongst sneakers standing by.
Each want to have an outing
And are fighting for position
But fail to understand
That the choice is my decision.
It’s all about my wardrobe
And what I choose to wear
Determining my selection
Although seemingly unfair.
The noise is getting louder
I will have to take some action
Read to them the riot act
To end this senseless faction.
So down the stairs I go
Open the cupboard door
To find all the sneakers
Lying quietly on the floor.
A smile returns to my lips
As I survey sneakers galore
Admiring the many colours
And for them what lay in store.
Image from Stockcake
An almighty roar
A frightening sound
Could be heard in the castle
And all around.
The dragon was angry
His head stretching high
Flames soared from his lips
Followed by a deep sigh.
How could he get in?
The portcullis was down
Unable to enter
He adorned a frown.
He had a conundrum
Should he stay and just wait
Or return to his home
And there contemplate.
Marion, his betrothed
Was on the other side
She had been kidnapped
To prevent becoming his bride.
Nothing could be done
As the situation stood
Locked out of the castle
Didn’t look good.
Perhaps he could plead
To the one on the throne
And try to convince him
He could his sins atone.
Show he was worthy
Of Marion’s hand
And would love and protect
All those on the land.
He could disguise himself
Follow in the next train
Entering the portcullis
And from roaring refrain.
So that’s what he did
He followed inside
Sneaked into the castle
In search of his bride.
A wailing he heard
Which came from above
He instantly knew
That it came from his love.
He ran up the stairs
Whispered through the door
It is me my love
Together we’ll be forever more.
The sobbing stopped
Her face appeared
He was so lost in love
He no longer feared.
Arm in arm together
They searched for the King
Whose blessing they sought
And whose praises they’d sing.
They’d seek his approval
Which they hadn’t before
Thus creating this problem
A necessary chore.
As it turned out
The King was impressed
He pardoned the dragon
For his regress.
The dragon was happy
He had used his guile
As the King looked on
With a surreptitious smile.
Image from Stocktake
The river flowed
With milk and cream
Washed over me
I swam upstream.
Samson was there
My trusty dog
Swimming beside me
In a thick fog.
I couldn’t make out
What lay ahead
Just trepidation and
A little dread.
Out of the shadows
I spotted a bird
It spoke English
Which was quite absurd
It directed us to
What appeared to be
An alien vessel
With free entry.
Samson and I
Were a little confused
But at the same time
A little amused.
We walked up a ramp
Slimy and white
And there before us
An unusual sight.
Mice on a wheel
Going round and round
Keeping time with
An annoying sound.
It was loud and sharp
And hurt my head
I opened my eyes
I was in bed.
Was it a nightmare
Or was it a dream
Or an alternate world
Of milk and cream?
Photo from Pexels by Ron Lach
Sitting here on the couch,
A dog on either side
I describe as heavenly,
I feel warm and loved inside,
They are such a pleasure,
And bring me so much joy,
But they can be so naughty,
And so many things destroy.
Yet, they are forgiven,
For the naughty things they do
Just like we were forgiven,
By parents who loved us too.
Image from Pexels by Yaroslav Shuraev
The sky was turning darker
Minutes quickly passing by
As stars began to twinkle
In the fading lost light sky.
Void moon increases darkness
Sleeping humans in their bed
The drop into their body
Is swift but not widespread.
Spirits come out dancing
The crossing has been made
And there within the darkness
The spirits do invade.
A body borrowed for the night
Instead of floating free
The spirits take possession
But not for eternity.
Then early in the morning
Before it is daylight
The reversal begins
Spirits take their flight.
Bodies dispossessed
And unaware of all
Life continues on
Until spirits once more call.
Photo by Pixabay
Australian Children’s Poetry 