Nadine said: The pickle prompt a while back made me think of a nonsense poem I wrote for Sally Odger’s upcoming poetry anthology, which played with the idea of ants of both sweet and savoury varieties.
At the School Camp
In our hut, I’m first awake.
I peer through the curtains –
nothing’s stirring out there
except for three magpies and a crow
looking for their breakfast – maybe a worm
or two. Haven’t they slept? It’s only six o’clock!
Everyone in this hut is still asleep.
Then suddenly I see the sun
climbing, climbing, ever so slowly –
a faraway orange
that I can’t reach.
Published in Read Me At School (ed Gaby Morgan, Macmillan Children’s Books, 2009)
Katherine said: I love “LOOK” as a POETRY PROMPT. It reminded me of my poem AT THE SCHOOL CAMP inspired by a wonderful sunrise in a weekend camp at Axedale, near Bendigo, Victoria.
Rambling round the ruins
Found in Greece and Rome,
We are merely tourists
Very far from home.
What it’s like to live here
We can only guess.
Is it full of interest?
Hear us answer: “Yes!”
Ruins tell us stories
Of a nation’s past,
But its former glories
Often do not last.
Wars and evil leaders
Good things can destroy;
Plagues and vile diseases
Steal a nation’s joy.
Rambling round the ruins,
Climbing steps and stairs,
Weaving through the columns,
We cast off our cares.
Here we hide from siblings;
Trick our dad and mum;
Once we were reluctant.
Now we’re glad we’ve come!
Monty says: Children can turn even ancient ruins into playground equipment at will!
Down sunbeams
Through shadows,
Along the light dancing…
I see in your hand waves,
The flick of your lashes,
A glimmer of laughter,
A shimmered illusion
Of flight
But not quite…
Reflections in water
Rippling,
Stars in the sky pool
Tripling,
Over the shoulder
Glancing,
Smiles from my daughters
Dancing!
A young platypus was recently sighted in Melbourne’s Yarra River, where it winds through the inner city suburb of Abbotsford.
The platypus at Abbotsford is new upon this earth.
It isn’t very long ago its mother gave it birth.
It views the world with wonder, and it moves with merry mirth,
And doesn’t see the dangers in the shadows.
The platypus at Abbotsford is learning how to dive,
And all the other little tricks it needs to stay alive.
Let’s hope it does much more than live, and learns to really thrive,
But perils lie in wait in all directions.
The platypus at Abbotsford is thrilled to find such space.
It can’t believe that others have not occupied this place.
It doesn’t know they did, but failed to prosecute their case.
Their bones lie buried in the river’s bottom…
The platypus at Abbotsford gives hope, gives joy, gives heart
That each and every one of us will play our vital part
In making sure that platypus gets off to a great start
To face an even more successful future!
Two tiny stripey kittens
think that I’m a tree
with sharpened claws
and agile paws
they scale my legs
to the knee.
At table height
they alight
to see what they can get
a tasty treat,
some cheese, some meat,
two cheeky little pets.
Scratched and sore
I shoo them off
to scamper on the floor,
but turn my back
and just like that,
they shimmy up for more.
Published in Through the Looking Glass Volume V Issue I, March 2016
Twinkle star, Twinkle bright!
A clamour of glamour across the night!
Little stars, eyes alight,
Tutus and tights, bold and bright!
How do I look? Have I got it right?
Will I look a lovely sight?
Please, don’t let me get stage fright…
Oh I’m trying with all my might!
I SO want my star to shine tonight!
Once a climbing clown,
Clambered up a tower,
Colander in hand,
Plus a cauliflower.
What he had in mind,
No-one seemed to know
And it wasn’t clear,
How far up he’d go.
After quite a climb
He had reached the top,
Items still in hand,
He then let them drop!
Neither looked the same,
Fallen from the tower,
Not the colander,
Nor the cauliflower!
Monty says: I enjoy writing rhyming verse with a bit of humour included and sometimes short lines add to the effect. Rhyming words for ‘cauliflower’ and ‘clown’ in ‘tower’ and ‘down’ helped provide the ideas for the basic content of the poem.
We’re the flu, we’re the flu, we’re the flu!
We come every winter to you.
You sneeze and you sniffle. Ah choo!
We’re the flu, we’re the flu, we’re the flu!
We give you a fever and chill.
We make you feel terribly ill.
Your throat will turn red
As you groan in your bed.
We sap you of all of your will.
But wait, there is more to come yet.
You’ll shiver in puddles of sweat.
Your muscles will throb
As your health we will rob.
You’ll wail. You’ll whimper. You’ll fret.
Your body will kill us, we know,
But long before that, we will go.
You’ll cough and you’ll sneeze,
And you’ll spread your disease,
As from victim to victim we flow.
Yes, being the flu is such fun.
From person to person we run.
We never stand still.
We can make thousands ill
Before all our labours are done.
But wait, this is terribly mean.
Our faces are turning bright green.
Have mercy, oh please,
On this humble disease.
We can’t fight the dreaded vaccine!
On match days,
I try to make sure
I play very well
and am first to score.
My team’s in blue,
the others are in grey.
In the heat of the minute
if I give the ball away,
it’ll be just too bad,
I won’t be picked next time;
it couldn’t be worse
if I’d committed a crime.
Don’t worry, Dad says,
A game’s just a game
but I’d like to be a star ?
maybe make my name.
Katherine said: My poem ‘Playing the Game’ is in response to the notion of ‘star performance’, being a star, however briefly and so on. Especially on the sports field.
