The Thing-a-me-bunyaroo
The Thing-a-me-bunyaroo
Is a very strange creature, it’s true!
He’s as tall as a man
And stout as a ram
With a long, shaggy coat of blue.
The Thing-a-me-bunyaroo
Loves to find nuts to chew.
His teeth are as strong
As the river is long
But he also loves apple stew.
The Thing-a-me-bunyaroo
Has been seen by very few.
He hides in the billabong by day
And then comes happily out to play
At night, amongst the dew.
The Thing-a-me-bunyaroo;
Where to find him? I haven’t a clue!
I’d like to meet him just for fun,
Play ‘Hide and Seek’ or ‘Tag and Run’
With the Thing-a-me-bunyaroo… Wouldn’t you?
Category Archives: Poem of the Day
“Let the show go on” by Celia Berrell
Leave a commentLet the show go on
For you and me
it’s free to see.
The greatest show around.
The cast’s
eleven million of
the life forms that abound.
From big-screen species
super-stars
like humans; dolphins; whales.
To tiniest of
microbes making
sure our show won’t fail.
The plants provide
the perfect props
and stunning back-drop scenes.
All intertwined
with DNA
and fascinating genes.
The show is so
tremendous.
Full of life’s variety.
Our planet Earth’s
X-factor is …
BIO-DIVERSITY!
First published in CSIRO’s Scientriffic magazine, No 65 January 2010
The Reluctant Racehorse” by Monty Edwards
Leave a commentThe Reluctant Racehorse
Old Roscoe was a racehorse who no longer wished to run.
He’d had enough of coming last. That didn’t seem like fun.
Each day his trainer woke him with an early morning call,
But Roscoe still felt sleepy and he wasn’t pleased at all.
He hated the old trailer that would take him to the track,
Nor did he like the jockey who’d be sitting on his back.
His owner, who would watch him train, just wanted extra pace,
But all that Roscoe longed for was to be some other place!
Once, when the trailer halted and glum Roscoe looked about.
He thought he recognised the spot and wanted to be out.
For what he saw was lush green grass and trees providing shade
While underneath those lofty gums a group of children played.
He looked in vain for jockeys, and the grown-ups there were few,
But then he spied the trainer , and the owner with him too.
The trailer door was opened, then the trainer led him out
And that was when the children all at once began to shout.
“It’s him,” they cried. “It’s Roscoe! Maybe Dad will let us ride.”
“Remember, Dad, you promised!” “Yes, I did,” their Dad replied.
“Old Roscoe’s finished racing. It just seems he’s had enough
Of chasing younger horses – no more winning. It’s been tough!
The fact is, he was born here, and he loved it from the start,
But when we took him off to race, it seems that broke his heart.
He’s home now. No more racing. He’ll be happy here at last.
Old Roscoe’s found there’s lots you miss when always running fast.”
– Monty Edwards
“Carnival Roundabout” by Julie Cahill
Leave a commentCarnival Roundabout
Marmaduke our winning ram
won the raffle and home he came
T’weren’t US who won HIM at the show
the judges messed that up, you know.
saying ‘here’s your special prize
for guessing both his weight and size’
The Marm who wasn’t any ram
he chased the cows and drained Dad’s dam
he grew and spread with every day
eating cats and dogs and hay
And when the next show came around
Marm went on the roundabout
Another girl then took him home
My sister Jill, and home he came
Julie Cahill
“Unknown Soldier” by Katherine Gallagher
Leave a commentUnknown Soldier
We have covered him with real flowers
and taken him from country to country.
It’s always the same journey –
people standing in the streets
silently saluting
as we carry him by.
And our hands tremble
under his weight,
our eyes are shocked
by the riddle of tongues
presenting the same paradox
in every country –
the whole human voice as background
shrilled to fever
about keeping the guns at bay.
Katherine Gallagher
Published in Carnival Edge, New & Selected Poems, (Arc Publications, 2010)
“If I had a pony” by Julie Dascoli
Leave a commentIf I had a pony
If I had a pony, only if I did,
I would call him Darcy, Darcy the Kid.
I would feed him carrots and sometimes some hay,
I would brush his long tail and ride him all day.
Out of the paddock, through the rusty gate,
We’ll be friends forever, as Darcy’s my mate.
When the sun is setting, and the birds go to bed,
I will say “Good night,” and kiss his sweet head.
“The Seahorse and the Mermaid” by Madonna George
Leave a commentThe Seahorse and the MermaidThe seahorse and the mermaid went up to the water’s edge one dayTo glimpse at the world above-Together they winked and leapt out of the water and to golden sands they played.They strolled in the shine of the sun, and warmed their bodies and giggled some more.For their’s was an adventure that dayAn odyssey different to the sea.The shells they found were presents for Neptune and all the seahorses galore,that fretted and cried for seahorse’s absence.For they were creatures of the seaA family yet unamed by sciences and formulasThe mermaid she dipped her sunbronzed bodyback into the sea and sweetly murmured to the seahorseWait for me!Madonna George
“A Tribute to WWI Military Dogs” by Robyn Youl
Leave a comment
LEST WE FORGET.
11/11/19-18 > 11.11.2018
HIS MASTER’S VOICE.
A Tribute to WWI Military Dogs
His Master’s Voice has gone
Dogs do not understand goodbye
He watches waits and grieves
Why do the women cry?
A War Dog has a focus
Love dictates the choice
The wailing shells surround him.
His world, His Master’s Voice
He did not care to understand
Why humans kill or play
Be it German, French or English
His Master’s Voice his day
Evading deadly Allied Bullets
On German Voice command
A precious load strapped to his back
He skims the mire of No Man’s Land
Blueruns with army orders now
There are no sheep or cattle
Blueonly hears His Anzac’s Voice
Above the roar of battle
A Red Cross Dog saves lives
Aiding those who still draw breath
The Stretcher Bearer’s Voice
Braves the screaming stench of death
Flanders fields are still blood red
Killing is still glorified
Men and dogs are still at war
Will we ever turn the tide?
Robyn Youl
Notes:
Both sides trained Military Dogs.
World War I dogs were used to carry messages, first aid kits and transmission wiring. Some dogs were army mascots.
Small dogs were also useful in the trenches to kill the hordes of rats that swarmed in the filth and squalor. Removing sick and dead men from the trenches was difficult. They were high, narrow and usually had stagnant water lying in them. Rats thrived.
The rule was Keep your Head DOWN!!! Sharp shooters on the other side of No Man’s Land were just waiting to put a bullet into any head that poked up.
No Man’s Land was the distance between enemy trenches. It was covered on barbed wire. After the troops had come out of the trenches to Charge the Enemy, No Man’s Land was the place of the dead, the injured and the dying.
The sound of shelling, machine gun and rifle fire began at daylight and did not finish until it was too dark to see.
At night the stretcher-bearers were busy taking the wounded to safety. Other soldiers were collecting Dog Tags or Identity Discs from the dead. These were used to change the records to Killed in Action and send a telegram and letter to the next of kin.
The Australian Armed Forces still train war dogs. If you love dogs you might like to find out more about them.
Horrie the War Dog by Roland Perry is an interesting yarn about a dog who worked with the Australian Army in Egypt.
“Heroes” by Mary Serenc
Leave a commentHeroes
Clap, yes clap loudly
For only they know the suffering
Memories etched in time-worn faces
Framed in the windows of the RSL bus.
Clap, clap hard
For the years unlived,
For those left behind.
Clap, don’t stop
For the ones still marching,
Medals hanging heavy on their hearts.
Clap for them
Clap for them all,
For only they know
The silent horror of war.
Mary Serenc