A Day Like No Other by James Aitchison

1 Comment

Their names are etched forever

beneath a statue’s feet,

or beside a lofty obelisk

on every main street.

They left their farms to fight,

young men who heard the call,

from offices and banks,

prepared to give their all.

Some fell in foreign fields,

in trenches far away,

while others maimed and struggling,   

relived their horrors every day.

The debt our nation owes them —

how can it be repaid?

Let us all remember them,

let not their honour fade.

A DAY LIKE NO OTHER by James Aitchison

Photo sent in by James Aitchison: “George William Aitchison (1873-1950) served with the NSW Volunteer Bushmen in the Boer War”

Teacher’s note: From the Boer War to Afghanistan, 103,101 men and women have died serving Australia.

The Owl by Toni Newell

Leave a comment

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

Crazy Quasi-Liquid Layer by Celia Berrell

1 Comment

Like ballerinas on blue ice
those skaters glide and pirouette
in perfect dance and balance – yet
to know skate’s science would be nice.
Don’t blunder with confusions such
as “ice melts under pressure”.
We’ve found a better measure
which explains why skaters slide so much.
From nought to minus two-hundred (°C)
a Quasi-Liquid Layer is found
on any water-ice around.
The thinnest, smoothest, slippery-spread!
Friction makes our fingers grip.
We’ll hold a biscuit with control
while ice-cubes fumble, flip and fall
because of crazy quasi-slip.

Crazy Quasi-Liquid Layer by Celia Berrell

Image from Pixabay

The Swing is Mine by Sara Patricia Kelly

Leave a comment

I climb the stairs and zip down the slide,
I’m racing round the playground.
Hanging from bars and jumping on rocks,
laughing so loud on the merry-go-round.
And when I get my turn on the swing,
I’ll never get off, not ever.
Not even if you promise me cake,
I’m going to swing forever!

The Swing is Mine by Sara Patricia Kelly

Image from Pixabay