Getting sick of summer?
I found just the spot
to cool off really fast
when you’re feeling hot.
The water’s like a mirror,
instead of sand there’s snow;
but how deep is the lake?
You don’t want to know!
Teacher’s note: This lake is one of twenty favourite tourist spots located in Germany’s Black Forest, where hiking and swimming are popular. One lake is 40 metres deep.
It’s wintertime in Krakow
and by the castle wall,
the snow is fresh and deep
from this morning’s fall.
The city seems in silence,
the trees are black and bare,
and I can hear my heartbeats
in the frozen air.
Teacher’s note: Krakow is the second largest city in Poland. Its existence can be traced back to the Stone Age. The Old City and Wawel Castle are heritage sites. Krakow boasts one of the world’s oldest universities, and of course it is famous for Oskar Schindler’s factory which is now a museum.
Have you ever heard a kangaroo
Go ah-choo, ah-choo, ah-choo?
Have you ever seen a koala
Wearing a balaclava?
Cold kookaburras like to laugh,
But have you ever seen one wearing a scarf?
Owls make hoots
But don’t wear boots,
And as for wombats,
They don’t need hats.
So how come you and I will sneeze,
In the midst of winter’s icy freeze?
The sea can tell stories with never a word,
Yet when winter comes they are frequently heard.
Such stories will speak of both weather and wind
As dark clouds and dark seas say:
“Sun, you have sinned!”
“So retire in disgrace,
While our veil hides your face.
For this day or brief hour,
You are under our power!”
(In response to the Winter Waves prompt)
Stop, rain, stop!
Not another drop!
My friends are here. They’ve come to play.
We want to be outdoors today.
Stop, rain, stop!
Stop, rain, stop!
Not another drop!
We do not want our washing wet,
But you make sure that’s what we get.
Stop, rain, stop!
Stop, rain, stop!
Not another drop!
You’ve been around for several hours:
Look how you’re drowning all the flowers!
Stop, rain, stop!
Stop, rain, stop!
Not another drop!
Go help the farmer grow his wheat
And give his stock green grass to eat.
Stop, rain, stop!
Drip . . . . . drip . . . . . . . . . . . . plop!
At last, the final drop!
Now we’ll get a flower display.
Now the washing’s on its way.
Now we can go out to play!
Monty says: The poem sets out to give voice to the dissatisfaction and frustration we often feel when wet weather disrupts our plans – a common experience for both children and adults.
Rainstorm
A single drop
plop, plop, plop
joining other drops plop, plop, plop
plopplopplopplopplopplopplopplopplop
into rivers, on to crops,
getting thicker, louder, quicker
in the cities on the streets
water coming down in sheets
raindrops dropping, never stopping
ad infinitum
plop, plop plopping
Katherine said: The inspiration came from hearing a single drop, loud and individual, and then the gradual building into a thunderstorm and more.
One picnic with my family I would rather now forget,
Since it started with a thunderstorm that left us very wet.
We ran like rabbits to the car and tried to eat our lunch,
But our sandwiches were soggy and our biscuits lacked their crunch.
We aimed to keep the rain out so we wound the windows up,
But that just made them foggy. Then I dropped my half-full cup!
My parents weren’t too pleased with me as anyone could tell
And then the baby filled the car with a most awful smell!
At last we saw the rain had stopped, so quickly we got out.
Mum changed the baby’s nappy. It was then Dad gave a shout.
“Oh no, we’ve run over a nail!” He’d found a tyre was flat.
So we weren’t going anywhere till he had dealt with that.
While Dad was working on the wheel, I got my brand new ball.
I kicked it high into a tree, but it refused to fall!
So then I said: “I’ll climb the tree and shake the football down.”
But Mum said: “You’ll do no such thing” and stopped me with a frown.
I didn’t want to lose the ball, but what would you have done?
It looked as if I’d have to save to buy another one.
Just then a teenage boy came by. He said: “Leave it to me.”
At once he climbed up to the branch and shook the football free!
I tried to catch it as it fell, but Mum caught it instead.
She didn’t catch it in her hands. It landed on her head!
I thought it wasn’t wise to laugh in case she was upset.
She’d told me not to bring the ball. I hoped that she’d forget.
When finally Dad changed the tyre, he said: “It’s time to go.
Those heavy clouds are coming back. The journey will be slow.”
I moaned: “An hour here’s not enough. We need some time to play!”
But Mum declared: “Your Dad is right. Let’s come another day.”
Although this time our picnic didn’t seem much fun at all,
We did arrive home safely and I still had my new ball.
The baby now is chuckling and we’re by the fire and warm.
It still was an adventure, even with the winter storm.
Monty says: Some picnics are memorable for the wrong reasons, but even if not exactly enjoyable they can still supply some interesting and humorous experiences.
Australian Children’s Poetry 