Welcome 2026!
We hope that you’ve had a lovely holiday season and are ready for some new beginnings.
Looking forward to receiving your poetic creations, so email them to me, Linda Davidson (your new ACP Administrator), at:
Date prompts:
Picture prompt:
This is the first panel of a large artwork titled TIME TO GROW by Sharon Davson
Casanova caterpillar
Had a bold ambition,
He wouldn’t be a butterfly
(Though that was the tradition).
He’d seen the others growing wings
And didn’t fancy that,
Instead he’d shed some letters
And turn into a cat.
Cousin Costa chaffed him.
“It cannot be”, he said,
“Come on Casanova,
You’ve really lost your head.”
“I can! I can! I can!”
Casanova cried.
He could do most anything
If he only tried.
And when it was the moment
To weave his own cocoon,
Casanova said “Farewell,
I’ll be a real cat soon.”
And so with bated breath,
(It really was a thriller),
He wished away the e and r
And the entire pillar.
And then oh joy of joys
The time came to be free,
And life was so much lighter,
As just a C-A-T.
By Kylie Covark
Lee and Jazz
On the grass
Ukulele in hand
Learning fast
Tune in the air
Jazz’s ears prick
She starts to sing
Learning real quick
Songs in the garden
Float down the street
A boy and his dog
Sounding so sweet
A bond forged in music
A love made to last
The sounds of friendship
In music is cast
Jeanie Axton
There’s plenty of ways
to tell if the day is
too hot or cold
without being told.
You could try and catch
a fluffy pet cat
then watch and observe
to see how it’s curved.
When days are too hot
it’s likely as not
that cat’s all sprawled-out
in some shaded spot.
When researchers test
what temperature’s best
for comfort of cats
they find out these facts.
Those felines agree
that eighteen degrees
is purr-fectly warm
for cat’s furry form.
Then when it’s too cold
those pussycats fold
up cosy and still
to keep out the chill.
I can, I can’t, the difference is
One tiny little letter
‘won’t use the “T”, or I will be
Worse off, instead of better
But if I say “I can, I can”
My confidence will soar
And hope will come my way because
I opened up its door
“I can, I can!” will make me brave
My thinking it will change
And pocketsful of obstacles
Will vanish down the drain!
And if I cultivate “I can”
“I can’t” will sound so weird
And soon I’ll wonder where they went
Those things that I once feared
When the humans were asleep
In nightgowns and nightcaps,
The midnight rat would creep inside
And feast upon their scraps.
The midnight rat was crafty,
The midnight rat was sly,
He’d always slink in shadows,
Unseen by human eyes.
But there was someone watching,
With eyes that gleamed in black,
The midnight rat could see him:
The cunning household cat.
The midnight rat was agile,
And cautious, quick and smart,
That cat could never catch the rat,
When the house was clothed in dark.
So the cat approached politely
And he bent down very low.
“Oh rapturous rat I love your work,
I do admire you so.
“But I would make a suggestion,
If I could be so bold.
A king like you should never dine
On scraps so soggy and cold.
“The humans have cake in the daytime,
And bread and scones and pies,
There’s so much good food in the daytime,
You wouldn’t believe your eyes.
“The only thing you really need,
Ask anyone who steals,
If you are going to make a getaway –
Is a brand new set of wheels.”
The rat told him to keep away
And ran off with his loot,
But then he started pondering
As he chewed on soggy fruit.
He was the Midnight Rat!
The cleverest rat by far!
It would be a snap for him
To build a speedy car.
And build away he did,
Though you may find it surprising,
The rat had made that car
By the time the sun was rising.
And he could smell the breakfast
And he didn’t stop to think,
The car whizzed straight inside
Faster than a blink.
And what a tale of glory!
What a momentous day,
The rat snatched a delectable haul
And was making his getaway.
But outside the car slowed
And the cat caught him with ease…
Instead of using tyres,
He had used four wheels of cheese.
As he watched them melting on the road
The rat knew we was done,
His greatest foe was not the cat
But that infernal sun.
The cat smiled a wicked grin,
“I never thought of that!
I think my favourite meal might be
Grilled cheese à la rat.”
Vertebrates are covered
In spikes, feathers and scales
Most mammals wear fur
Skin covers humans and whales
With skeletons covered
In scaled skins.
Fish breathe under water
And glide with their fins.
With skeleton covered
In thick armored plates
Eyes and nose above water
The crocodile waits
With skeleton covered
In skin soft and cool
Tadpoles become frogs
In creek, river and pool.
With hollow skeletons
And fragile feather
Birds swoop and soar
In flocks together
With skeletons covered
In thick fur or fine hair
Bats, seals and elephants
Share earth water and air
Way down passed our shed,
Where the realm of humans ends,
‘Mongst the mottled bottle brushes
Live a hundred feathered friends.
And ninety-nine of those
Cavort and romp and play,
And the only one left out
Is poor old Pigeon Grey.
The magpies are quite striking
And the honey-eaters fair,
The rosellas are spectacular;
It’s tricky not to stare.
They gather in the bird bath
Where they primp and preen all day,
But when Pigeon tries to join them
They squawk, “Ew! Get away!”
And Pigeon Grey sighs deeply
Then he sits off on his own,
He watches on with envy
Wishing he was not alone.
If only they would speak to him
Those other birds would find
That Pigeon Grey is funny.
He is clever. He is kind.
But they all look down their beaks
At his feathers drab and grey,
And then rather than converse with him
They just squawk “Get away!”
Then one day there is twittering,
The garden is in shock.
Pigeon Grey has made a friend;
The new bird on the block.
And the whispers are quite snippy,
“That new bird she must be dull.
Perhaps another pigeon
Or an imbecilic gull!”
But the honey-eater sees her
And she has to look once more.
This new bird is not dull at all.
This bird is not a bore.
Her feathers start as brightest blue,
Then yellow, red, and green.
If the garden was a monarchy
Then she would be its queen.
There’s a hustle then to meet her,
A bustle and a fuss.
“You don’t have to sit with Pigeon Grey,
Come here and sit with us!”
But the lorikeet shakes her head,
“I’d rather stay right here.
The world seems so much shinier
When Pigeon Grey is near.”
The other birds they bristle,
“It simply can’t be true.
He is drab and dreary,
He’s not half as bright as you.”
The lorikeet looks surprised,
“You don’t know him at all.
Pigeon Grey is marvellous,
He’s famed beyond your wall.
“Have you not heard his music,
As he wakes the morning sun?
If you’ve spent the afternoon with him
Has it not been loads of fun?
“Have you seen him cheer a baby bird
As it first takes to the skies?
Have you heard him tell a funny tale
With laughter in his eyes?
“Have you come to him with worries
And been sure he’d listen well?
Have you taken on the sage advice
That he will freely tell?”
“If you’ve ever asked him for his help
Did he make you wait?
I’m sure that you must know the truth.
Pigeon Grey is great!”
Pigeon Grey is humbled
But as he looks around,
His neighbours will not meet his eyes;
They all stare at the ground.
But then a tiny bird agrees,
“Yes, Pigeon Grey’s the best!
He taught me to be brave
When I was scared to leave the nest.”
And others pipe up too
With their tales that spring to mind.
Indeed, each bird does seem to know
That Pigeon Grey is kind.
Way down passed our shed,
Where the realm of humans ends,
‘Mongst the mottled bottle brushes
Live a hundred feathered friends.
And each one of those hundred
Cavort and romp and play,
But the one they all love best of all
Is dear old Pigeon Grey.
Once a waddling goose and gander
On a search for something grander
Left their farmyard to meander
Down a stream.
Now the goose was named Cassandra
And the gander, Alexander,
With a new home by the water
As their dream.
They had found the farmyard boring
With the crows’ incessant cawing
And the sleepy dogs all snoring
Through the day.
While the river looked appealing
And it gave the pair a feeling
In their new home by the water
They would stay.
But the farmer had been boasting
Of the geese he planned on roasting
At a dinner he was hosting
For his friend.
So he searched in haste to catch them
And he speedily despatched them.
Thus the dreamers by the river
Met their end.
Get set to create! It’s poetry prompt time. I’m sure this image will inspire some wonderful poems about other eras but don’t lock yourself in to only one interpretation. What else can you come up with in response to the prompt?
Thanks to everyone who so enthusiastically supports this site with regular submissions. It couldn’t be what it is without your generous contributions. Don’t forget, if you’ve missed a prompt you can always catch up.
Please email your poems to me at teenawriter@gmail.com as a Word or Text file attachment and add a line or two about your writing process.
Happy writing!
Australian Children’s Poetry 