Creepy Stuff
I don’t like vampires
They’re toothy and scary
I cannot stand werewolves
They’re noisy and hairy
But ghosts, I just love them
They glide across halls
And what’s even cooler
They glide right through walls.
Pat Simmons © 2014
Category Archives: Poem of the Day
Uncle Jack by Bill Condon
Leave a commentUncle Jack
Uncle Jack belongs Outback
so when he comes to visit,
he brings along his kangaroo
and Bert, his blue-tongue lizard.
He decorates the Christmas tree
with lots of slimy critters,
and when he turns the lights up high
he makes snakeburger fritters.
He also brings his cattle dog –
it bites off postie’s limbs.
On Christmas Eve it stays awake
howling sacred hymns.
Uncle carves the turkey up,
(half for him and half for pup)
and when it’s time to have dessert
he swipes my share to give to Bert!
His kangaroo sits at the table,
on the lap of Auntie Mabel.
It chews away on Christmas cake
and Auntie’s finger(by mistake).
After lunch Jack tells us that
He’ll show us how to shear the cat.
His presents bring us added gloom,
a gift-wrapped spider’s in my room.
His boomerang display is free
it’s always a catastrophe.
He throws it with a cocky leer,
it wedges in old Grannie’s ear.
The police are called to have a chat.
They ask about the crewcut cat.
And so it’s time to say goodbye,
a tear wells up inside his eye,
he gushes like a broken drain,
we have to push him on the train.
And Uncle Jack returns Outback,
with dog and roo and lizard,
and it only takes us til July
to recover from his visit.
© Bill Condon
Note: The chest of poems for Poem of the Day has been empty for many days. Where are the poems? If you’d like to see your children’s poem published, please send it along to dibates@outlook.com
The Miracle Tree by Bill Condon
Leave a commentThe Miracle Tree
We bought a tree from the corner shop –
bargain price for being dead.
We took it home and straight away,
stuck an angel on its head.
We tizzed it up with twirly bits,
and one bright shiny star.
Then we turned on the fairy lights
and the Christmas tree went
‘Ahhhhh.’
© Bill Condon
Cats in the Toilet Paper by Helen Ross
Leave a commentCats in the Toilet Paper
What’s that scurrying about?
It’s the sound of tiny paws
The cats are along the hallway
What’s that between their claws?
Oh no! It’s the toilet paper
That they’re dragging behind
Along the wooden hallway
And over the kitchen blind
There’s toilet paper everywhere
They’ve left nothing bare
The cats have left a trail
While travelling without a care
Now someone is shouting.
Oh no! It’s my Dad
He’s covered in toilet paper
And does look rather mad
Something’s moving toward me
Skidding on the floor
It’s Hans, our cute puppy
With paper around a paw
The cats have been everywhere
Around light shades and plants
Toilet paper’s hanging in cupboards
Around our clothes and underpants
The cats have gone outside
Paper is wrapped around a pole
There seems a lot of paper
Oh no! They’ve got another roll.
© Helen Ross
First published in Helen’s poetry collection, Bubble Gum Trouble and Other Giggle Poems published by Little Steps Publishing (Division of New Frontier) 2009.
Easter Thief by Jenny Erlanger
Leave a commentEaster thief
Tell me, Buster, tell me who
would want to rob a kid?
How could someone ever do
what this offender did?
Help me, Buster, use your snout,
your super sense of smell.
Sniff the thoughtless scoundrel out
and I’ll reward you well.
Sit up, Buster, take those paws
away from round your ears
Why the sudden droopy jaws,
the hint of doggy tears?
Why the worried-looking brow,
the tail between the legs…?
Naughty Buster, fess up now.
It’s you who stole my eggs!
© Jenny Erlanger
The Magic Words by Helen Ross
Leave a commentThe Magic Word
“May I go and play?”
Do you know the magic word?
“Is it Sesame?”
No, don’t be so absurd
“Mum, can I go?
I won’t be very late.”
Only if you know the password
can you go beyond that gate
“But all my friends are waiting
I haven’t time for games”
Do you know the magic word?
“No, I don’t know of any names.”
Well then you stay at home
“Oh Mum, I promised I’d be on my way”
Then say the magic word
or inside you’ll have to stay
“Mum, I have to go
I promised I’d first meet Kate”
“P-L-E-A-S-E Mum”
Yes, now go before you’re late.
© Helen Ross
First published in Helen’s poetry collection, Bubble Gum Trouble and Other Giggle Poems published by Little Steps Publishing (Division of New Frontier) 2009.
Sally’s Secret by Pat Simmons
Leave a commentSally’s Secret
Sally McPhee’s a collector of keys
She keeps them concealed in a drawer.
Some she has found just lying around
But several she stole from next door.
She has keys that lock windows
And keys for the shed.
She’s got keys for some diaries
She hasn’t yet read.
She has keys for a money box
Owned by her brother
And keys for the Volvo
Misplaced by her mother.
She has keys for a tool box
Her father’s great treasure.
To see him in search mode
Gives Sally such pleasure.
She has keys that are ancient
And keys that are new
Well, people are careless
That’s Miss Sally’s view.
Sally McPhee’s a collector of keys
She keeps them concealed in a drawer.
Her intention is clear
That year after year
She’s going to collect hundreds more.
Pat Simmons © 2014
Diving In by Bill Condon
Leave a commentDiving In
Diving in on a dark and fog-drowned morning
my heart snaps shut and still —
frozen like the scream in my throat.
Sea monsters rise from deep below to brush against my legs.
I’m too terrified to look down in case they’re looking up.
Straight into my eyes.
I strike out hard, splashing and kicking,
to stop from being drowned
by my imagination.
© Bill Condon
Time by Robyn Youl
Leave a commentTime
Time controls each minute.
Every hour and every day.
From a Time to be born.
To a Time to be carried away.
For nine months
Mary gave God Time.
Alone she carried within,
The Infant Divine
Three wise men
Followed a star till dawn.
Trekked wearily through Time,
To see the Christ Child Born.
Christmas is a special Time
At different times
Around our spinning Earth.
A special Time indeed
To celebrate Christ’s birth.
Time is such a special gift.
We need so much each day.
This is the gift I offer you,
To help you on your way.
You dwell within my heart
Family, you are mine
Pray accept this gift of love
Let me give my Time.
© Robyn Youl
The Yarn of Shaun the Sheep by Kate O’Neil
Leave a commentThe Yarn of Shaun the Sheep
Two Tasmanian farmers have found what they hope to prove is the world’s woolliest sheep. They believe it has been wandering wild for six years and never been shorn. Peter and Netty Hazell discovered the animal, nicknamed Shaun, wandering on their farm and decided to take him in.
You ought to hear the yarn the folks are spinning
now the news is out both far and wide
about the Tassie wonder from down-under –
our Shaun the Sheep, the nation’s woolly pride.
Now Shaun was just a lamb six years ago
when fire came blazing near his eastern farm
and Shaun thought “Yikes! It’s time to do a runner.
If I stay put I’m sure to come to harm.”
So off he went to wander through the mountains
and live a lonesome life beneath the trees.
He didn’t fancy staying to be roasted.
He thought the better option was to freeze.
But no, he didn’t freeze. His woolly fleece
grew thicker by the day as he went west
and Shaun the Sheep became a walking doona
(a first-rate one – merino at its best).
and as the days and months and years went by
that fleece became so big it swallowed Shaun.
But then it chanced that Pete and Netty Hazell
were driving in their ute one autumn morn
and saw that fleece – or was it someone’s doona? –
abandoned in a hedge beyond the road.
They went to have a look. The doona bleated.
“Hey Pete! There’s something living in this load!”
Then sure enough they saw that doona move.
And as these folks were kind and tender-hearted
they took the creature home to sort it out,
and since that day the three have not been parted.
For Shaun the Sheep has learnt to live in style
and changed his name to Shaun the Superstar,
for Shaun was shorn and now he is a legend.
That fleece of his is famous near and far.
The Aussie owners say his wool is destined
to make at least three jumpers – superfine.
But if you check what’s told around the campfires
you’ll find an even better story-line.
It seems that in that famous Aussie fleece
there lurks a kind of magic super-power
and like a certain Aussie magic pudding
it keeps on growing bigger by the hour.
The latest count is now at thirty-five
new woolly garments! Now do you suppose
that yarn could make (if someone keeps on spinning)
the right stuff for an emperor’s new clothes?
© Kate O’Neil