“how do you write a poem?”
the youngster cries.
“i hear with my ears,
and see with my eyes–
i pick a thing, a seed,
to softly blow, and blow,
and blow into a dangly,
loopy bubble…
seeing how it stirs,
or bulges,
and how my mind believes,
reflects, indulges
in its pause; and does it
look for trouble?
quicken the heart?
or make one feel so smart?
all these things a poem is,
once nothing, into synthesis.
you have a go now!
and let me know!”
I’m on the Harry Potter train,
in the highlands bold and bleak,
racing through a Scottish glen,
where mist clings to every peak.
The soul of Scotland calls to me
whichever way I look,
from wind-rushed heather on the hill
to every stony brook.
Teacher’s note: The Jacobite steam train, used as the Hogworts Express in the Harry Potter movies, runs between Fort William and Mallaig. This 84-mile round trip is regarded as one of the world’s epic rail journeys.
Half asleep I pulled up my blind
and saw two men from Mars!
They were in the garden, watching me,
too big for any vase.
With special alien fingers
and huge galactic eyes,
no wonder my friend Philip said
they’d come down from the skies.
How can one describe them?
Thousands of little bays.
We’re on the Royal Mail boat.
It only runs two days.
Little coves with just one house,
they must love this isolation.
The boat drops in to leave them goods,
like a train at every station.
Rugged hills with ferns to cover,
I wonder how folk live.
Plenty of fish and wildlife
They’re hardy to survive.
This way of life is not for me,
I cannot live on just beauty,
without the comforts of my place.
I need to see a friendly face.
(In response to prompt #2 What’s Outside Your Window?)
A polar bear waved to me
and called a loud “hello”,
as he floated past eating fish
on a jolly big ice floe.
Penguins flapped their flippers,
a humpback slapped its tail,
and I waved back with all my might
as onward I did sail…
In response to the Winter Waves prompt
We turned a corner and there he was,
towering in the air,
a gorgeous dog with enormous eyes
and wheat dust in his hair.
He didn’t bark, he didn’t move,
he gazed out from the wall,
beside his master, for all time,
the biggest dog of all.
Teacher’s note: This silo art is at Nullawil, Victoria, so named because the local indigenous word “nulla” is a killing stick while “willock” means a galah. Both items appear on the medal attached to the dog’s collar.
I sat and watched the night steal in,
across the barren plain,
where a bowl of salt and water
will seize the sky again.
The fire of day lies frozen
in water still and wide,
and the lake will paint the sky
and the two will scarce divide.
Teacher’s note: Lake Tyrrell, a vast salt lake, is located near Sea Lake in northern Victoria.
We’re marooned in a caravan
and the rain is pouring down.
It’s pounding on the roof top,
a relentless, driving sound.
There’s a moat forming around us
and the ducks are moving in.
We could be here for days and days.
It could be sink or swim.
But inside the caravan,
It’s cosy, warm and bright.
We’ll dream of sun and sea and waves
While it buckets down all night.
(In response to prompt Winter Waves)
We’ve heard of Jack Frost, but is he alone?
Is there a Jacky? Is there a Joan?
Is Mrs Frost grim with a heart that is steely?
Or Jack’s tender side – more touchy-feely?
When he looks in the mirror and thinks he is cool,
does she send him to SpecSavers and call him a fool?
Does Jack have a temper? Prone to cold snaps?
Or misunderstood, the nicest of chaps?
(In response to Winter Waves prompt)
Winter waves,
it’s icy fingers in gusting winds and shimmering rain.
It twists and hurtles,
comes splashing,
returning again and again
to direct its deliberate blast northwards
without any pause.
That cold intention tho,
is lost on our warm and tropical shores.
(In response to Winter Waves prompt)
