I knock on the door,
who will be there?
Out comes a ghost —
a frightful scare!
The ghost has got me
in its spell —
no treats for me,
and what’s that smell?
The ghost’s cooking me
in a witch’s brew —
with eye of newt
and rats’ tails too!
The water’s bubbling
under my chin,
and the ghost gets a snake
and tips it in!
Oh no, oh no —
what can I do?
But it’s only a dream,
it’s all over — “Phew…”
Image from Pixabay
The shops are awash with spooky gear,
It must be nearing that time of the year.
When folks living in the northern hemisphere
Stock up on sweet treats but not reindeer!
Halloween is closing in fast,
That ancient Celtic festival from the past.
Samhain for the purist at heart,
Celebrating a healthy harvest is just the start.
Creating Jack O’Lanterns and dressing in disguise,
This keeps the old traditions very much alive.
But remember, when it is all said and done,
Halloween is a thin veil where you could become undone!
Image from Pixabay
Up in the mountains in the cold and snow,
lives Nettie the Yeti, so the stories go.
Nettie is tall and covered in fur
and lives in a cave with others like her.
Nettie’s big face has very wide eyes
and she has hairy feet of a very large size.
Nettie has lived in the mountains forever,
she’s kept out of sight and learned to be clever.
Though hunters keep trying to track Nettie down,
she knows how to hide where she’ll never be found.
It’s best to leave Yeti’s alone in the snow,
they might not be real –
but you just never know.
Image from Pixabay
My mum lived next door to her mum when I was young.
Now when was I last young?
What can I remember of my grandma?
Ah! Here are her old recipes,
Written down in ink,
Yes, she was a cook!
I look into my memory,
It’s my third year of life.
I see her, standing on a patch of old worn linoleum,
Soapy suds hide Nanna’s wrists to fingertips –
Dishes washed in the sink, to squeak and sparkle – to shine.
Nanna dries her hands on the floral cotton apron that protects her best house dress.
She migrates to another island of worn flooring,
And, with tea-towel in hand opens the wood-fired oven door.
She rescues something from the cooker,
Lands it – clanking, clashing, clattering – onto the range top,
Then, one by one,
Seemingly hot to the touch,
Slightly browned on top, handful sized white loaves,
Land, in a tea towel lined crockery bowl.
I turn to watch Nanna’s next action, but it is done –
While I was still in awe of my sense’s revelations,
My grandmother has transformed a plain old kitchen table into a feast for the eyes.
Cups on saucers, soon to be filled to the brim with hot tea and a dash of milk.
Scones, butter, and red berry jam,
And cream.
“Devonshire tea for two!” says Nanna
Well blow me down if this old memory should fail to awaken every sense in my whole being.
Were there days, or even seconds, before that time?
For Grandparent’s Day on Sunday 25th October
Image from Pixabay
I saw a circly-wirkly tree
making quite a show,
its circly-wirkly branches
in circles liked to grow.
Round and round
without a stop,
up to that bobble
on its top.
At first it made me giddy,
so I sat down in the shade,
and that’s when someone told me
the tree had been hand-made!
Teacher’s note: This poem can be used to talk about topiary, the art of shaping bushes. Students can be asked to bring examples of topiary to class.
Photo by Ginette Pestana
This post was scheduled for Thursday 22nd October, however we are currently having problems behind the scenes with the ACP website. Please accept our apologies.
Chopping down trees shouldn’t leave you satisfied!
Or all the koalas will leave your side!
The singing crickets will be no more!
Life will simply close your door.
Artwork: MR CHIRRUP THE CRICKET AND HIS CHOIR by Cindy Wider
This post was scheduled for Wednesday 21st October, however we are currently having problems behind the scenes with the ACP website. Please accept our apologies.
Whenever life
goes off the rails,
Cheryl chews her
fingernails.
Chomp, chomp,
she chews away,
Chomp, chomp,
she chews all day.
They look bitten,
they look ragged,
so uneven,
really jagged.
She chews so hard,
goodness knows —
she’ll chew up to
her elbows!
Image from Pixabay
This post was scheduled for Tuesday 20th October, however we are currently having problems behind the scenes with the ACP website. Please accept our apologies.
Millions of moths,
Bogong they’re called.
Fluttering down Bong Bong Street
And on yachts, where they’re moored.
Covering the Pines,
Near Kiama Blowhole.
Dancing on Bottlebrush
Sharing Little Corella’s pole.
Is the Daisy Spring Festival
What they’ve come here for?
Dislike them or love them,
They’re hard to ignore.
Like a frolic of fairies
Such a magical site.
The whisper of moths
Fly towards light.
Inside people’s homes,
Moths are clustering on walls.
Finding cracks in the door,
They’re inundating halls.
Then we awake one morning
And the spell has been broken.
“Bogongs begone!”
Must have been spoken.
An eclipse of mocha
Migrating to Australian Alps caves.
Leaving Kiama’s shore,
Saying goodbye to crystal blue waves.
This poem was recently published in the The Bugle News in Kiama, NSW.
Photo by Linda Davidson
This post was scheduled for Monday 19th October, however we are currently having problems behind the scenes with the ACP website. Please accept our apologies.
A Halloween party was held near the creek.
Preparing the costumes took almost a week.
Several koalas in purple were cloaked.
A curled-up echidna was prodded and poked
into a hollowed out pumpkin shell, where
she peacefully slept and was quite unaware,
that first prize went to platypus dressed in his skin.
No costume was needed for this guy to win.
Image from Pixabay
Everywhere, flowers.
Everywhere, fragrance.
Everywhere, blooms,
Everywhere, bees.
Everywhere, sunlight.
Everywhere, colour.
Everywhere, life.
Everywhere, smiles.
Everywhere, everywhere,
spring!
Spring flowers photo by poet.
