Green winter
In winter my feet get quite chilly
So I wear umpteen socks, I’m not silly
When the gas bills come in
They all go in the bin
And I burn them to boil up my billy.
Nadine Cranenburgh
Feeling Weird by Allan Cropper
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Feeling Weird
Have you woken up to find
you don’t know how you feel?
That’s how I felt when I woke up today.
I tried to find a word that would
express the way I felt
but there were not the words that would convey
the feelings I was feeling, for
it all felt so surreal,
a feeling like no other I have known.
I cannot find the words to tell you
how it is I felt.
I’ll have to make up new words of my own.
I felt flagisticatious,
all wimbillical inside.
Indubicartly grobble-poxed, was I.
Befuddulant and jingle-jacked,
quite micro-ballical,
which can’t have been too pleasing to the eye.
I felt so astro-numical,
anthortical in fact,
in a very catostrismic kind of way.
And that, my friend, just sums it up –
exactly how I felt –
the way I felt when I awoke today.
Allan Cropper
The Offering by Jenny Erlanger
Leave a commentThe Offering
Today she brought a lizard’s tail
and dropped it at my feet.
and yesterday a mangled snail
was offered as a treat.
A present helps me when I’m flat.
It gives me such a lift
but not when it’s the family cat
delivering the gift.
Jenny Erlanger
Poetry Pointers
Leave a commentTo rhyme or not to rhyme?
Where do you get ideas? How do you write a poem? Do poems have to rhyme? What makes it a poem if it doesn’t rhyme? Who publishes poetry? How do I become a children’s poet? What is your top tip for writers who want to write poetry for children?
These are among the myriad questions asked by writers who want to write poetry. How would you answer them? If you have a poetry pointer to share, email me at traffa-m(at)bigpond.net.au
Cat and Bag by Nadine Cranenburgh
Leave a commentCat and Bag
It rustles, bustles in the breeze
I’m creeping, peeping round the couch
Nearer, nearer almost there
I pounce, but wait
Now it has me!
Let go, you sack of crinkly skin
Stop chasing me
Please stop
You win!
Nadine Cranenburgh
Wrecked! by Jill McDougall
Leave a commentWrecked!
I’ve scraped the skin
From off my chin,
My arms and legs are grazed,
My elbow’s sprained,
My ankle’s maimed,
I’m feeling kind of dazed.
I’ve crunched my neck,
My knee’s a wreck,
My fingers curl like claws,
My dental work
Has gone berserk
And jammed up both my jaws.
My eyes are black,
My nose is red,
My lips are turning blue –
So tell me why
The teachers cry –
SPORT IS GOOD FOR YOU!
Jill McDougall
A Frog in a Log by Allan Cropper
Leave a commentA FROG ON A LOG
A frog
a frog on a log
a frog on a log with a bag full of sticks
a frog on a log with a bag full of tricks
a frog
a magical frog
a mystical frog
a wave
a wave of a stick
a wave of a stick from his bag full of tricks
a wave of a wand from his bag full of sticks
a fog
a magical fog
a mystical fog
a mist
a mist on a pond
a mystical fog on a frog on a log
a frog on a log was no longer a frog
a frog on a log had turned into a dog
a dog
a magical dog
a mystical dog
a dog
a dog not a frog
a dog, not a frog, on a log in a fog
a dog not a frog with a bag full of sticks
a dog not a frog with a bag full of tricks
a wave
a wave of a stick
a wave of a stick from his bag full of tricks
a wave of a wand from his bag full of sticks
a smog
a magical smog
a mystical smog
a twist
a twist of a tail
a magical smog and the pond was a bog
a dog not a frog was no longer a dog
a dog not a frog had turned into a hog
a hog
a magical hog
a mystical hog
a hog
a hog not a dog
a hog not a frog
a hog in a bog
a hog not a dog or a frog on a log
a hog in a bog not a dog or a frog
a magical hog with a bag full of sticks
a magical hog with a bag full of tricks.
Allan Cropper
Fishing Woes by Jenny Erlanger
Leave a commentFishing woes
I felt such delight
with the tug of its bite
and its fight till the end to be free.
But now that my fish
has been served on a dish
I just wish it were back in the sea.
Jenny Erlanger
Not Out by N. McMullin
Leave a commentNot Out
Facing.
The Bowler,
Streaks in.
Long limbed,
Powerful.
With intent, he glares at me.
Sweating.
Under my helmet.
I tap my bat.
Raised.
Ready.
Fixated on the Bowler’s hand.
An Umpire,
Yawns behind,
Darkened sunglasses.
Bored. Daydreaming.
A seagull cries
From the boundary.
The red ball,
Careers down.
An inside edge.
Caught by the Keeper.
They call for it.
HOWZAT!
The Umpire.
Stands motionless.
I feign innocence.
He hasn’t heard it.
No finger is raised.
And I silently thank the seagull.
N McMullin
No School Today by Jill McDougall
Leave a commentNo School Today
Don’t make me go to school today,
Please! Anything but that!
I’ll tidy up my bedroom,
I’ll be gentle with the cat…
I’ll do the dishes for a week,
(I’ll soak the saucepans too),
But please don’t make me go to school –
That place is like a zoo.
The kids are really mean to me,
They call me nasty names
Like ‘legend in a lunch box’ when
I interrupt their games.
And when they see me coming,
They spread out like peanut paste,
I feel like I’m some fungal growth,
Some noxious toxic waste.
So please don’t make me go to school,
I’ll sulk and whine and sob,
So WHAT if I’m the Principal!
I want a different job!
Jill McDougall