Hourglass
The beach has changed this year
tall dunes have washed away—
our rock pools dry and bare
… so fall the sands of time.
The surf club walls have lurched
foundations sink and warp
each window pane has cracked
to admit the sands of time.
The jetty timbers creak
and splinter with the tide
with every passing week
sink deep in sands of time.
The camping ground has closed
bright sign has fallen low
weeds thrive where children played
… so fall the sands of time.
© Julie Thorndyke
Blue Mountains Gully
Yellow crops of sandstone,
Jagged mountain peak,
Red display of waratahs,
A meandering bush creek.
White display of flannel flowers,
Bottle brush with orange cones,
Beautiful fronds of tree ferns,
Blue gums with crafted tones.
A frolicking roll of mountain mist,
An ancient windswept cave,
Green moss upon the velvet rocks,
Falling gum leaf gives a wave.
The tinkling sound of bellbirds
Run echoes round the stream,
A yellow-tailed cockatoo
Circles back to where it’s been.
The buzzing of a bush-bee
Comes from near a fallen log,
A croaking sound pervading
It’s a golden striped tree frog.
This bush display persistent,
Wallaby nibbles grass nearby,
A lyre bird shyly into view,
Kookaburras sit in branches high.
The melodic sounds continue,
Chirping birds with coloured plume,
Gorge of coolness calling,
Mountain gully, nature’s loom.
© John Williams
I Need To Walk
I need to walk each morning
because there’s a horse that waits for me to rubs its nose,
though whether I stay five minutes or an hour,
I can never rub away its loneliness.
I need to walk
so I can talk to a white dog that prowls in endless circles,
forever haunted by a chain,
that cuts us both.
© Bill Condon
Bill’s latest book is the junior novel The Simple Things, published by Allen & Unwin in March, 2014.
Today’s Poem of the Day was composed by a group of elderly people in a Victorian nursing home under the leadership of Robyn Youll who presents poetry readings and workshops to them weekly. The poem was inspired by ‘Leaves’, a recent Poem of the Day.
Leaves
In Autumn
English Invaders
shed
Crackling – underfoot,
Gutter – clogging,
Wind – dancing,
Leaves
Australian Eucalypts
stubbornly
cling to
hard leaves
shiny leaves
fire-loving leaves
harsh climate leaves.
Evergreen Eucalypts
shed
bark instead
English Leaves
paint
Autumn
Bronze
Scarlet
Yellow
Gold
Then
English Leaves
Paint
Spring
Green
Again
In
Summer
Eucalyptus Leaves
Bushfire scarlet.
Providence U3A: 26th May: Prudence Marsh. (Prudence Marsh in the nom-de-plume for Group Poetry)
Prompt: Di Bates Poem: Leaves.
Present: Ted, Verna, Lucy, Margaret W.,M.[briefly] Joyce,Dorothy, Sirkka, Pat, Betty R.,F., Melvie.
Reconciliation Rap
Hey, hey,
It’s time to say,
Gotta walk the talk,
It’s the only way!
Gotta do it right,
Whether black or white,
No room for hate –
REC-ON-CIL-IATE!
Hey, ho,
It’s the way to go,
Gotta keep it real,
From head to toe.
Gotta stay on track,
Whether white or black,
No room for hate –
REC-ON-CIL-IATE!
Hey, hey,
Let me hear you say,
Gonna walk the talk,
Every night and day!
Gonna say it loud,
Gonna say it proud,
Make our country great –
REC-ON-CIL-IATE!
© Jill McDougall
Check out other poems by Jill on her website, www.jillmcdougall.com.au
LEAVES
Leaves have thousands of brothers and sisters
Leaves jostle and elbow one another
Leaves wave at the sky when it’s breezy
Leaves batter window panes on windy nights
Leaves have veins but never get varicose veins
Leaves never have to go on diets
Leaves abandon trees in winter and gather in piles in autumn
Leaves sizzle like steaks on a barbie when there are bushfires
Leaves make friends with fruit
Leaves are McDonald’s for hungry koalas
Leaves hate kerosene and matches.
© Dianne Bates
Bullies
With the eye in the back of his head
he sees them coming —
eight-year-old breakers,
baby-hard, baby-soft.
Their space-machine, so elegant
could swallow him,
drown him once and for all
in a dish of air.
No use trying to rewrite the law:
they are the masters —
skills bred in the bone.
He freezes —
they expect it,
though a voice inside him squeaks
I … Words cut his tongue,
weigh in his mind like a bruise.
© Katherine Gallagher
(Published in Them and Us (The Bodley Head, 1993) and Ramshackle Rainbow (Macmillan Children’s books, 2001)
Katherine Gallagher is a widely-published Australian poet resident in London. She writes for children and adults and has poems in many children’s anthologies. About Bullies, she says, ‘I wrote this poem in response to bullying that I witnessed in a local primary school. Bullying is tragic and a big social problem; children become increasingly insecure and afraid. Sadly, they often don’t tell anyone, even parents and teachers, and this misery can affect them for the rest of their lives’.
Hot Summer Day
The seashells I’ve collected stink,
not one of them is pretty.
My cordial’s too warm to drink,
my sandwiches are gritty.
I’d build a fortress on the shore
but no one here will help.
I won’t go swimming any more
with jelly fish and kelp.
My face is hot, it’s getting pink.
I’ll turn into a peach.
I hate to grizzle, but I think
it’s time to leave the beach!
© Jenny Erlanger
Although I have many positive memories of the many Christmases I spent as a child on the Mornington Peninsula, eating sandwiches on the beach in the middle of summer, with no shade in sight, was not one of them. This poem comes from my volume of children’s poetry, Giggles and Niggles (Haddington Press, 2007)
The Back of Beyond
“We’re going on a holiday.
We’re packing bags and GOING AWAY!
‘Away from it all’ in a camper-van.”
That’s how Dad announced his plan.
“Away from it all! Far out!” I said.
But Dad just grinned and raised his head
and muttered “Yes! exactly so.
The Back of Beyond is where we’ll go.”
“How long does it take to get to Beyond?”
I asked, but when he didn’t respond
I asked if there’d be other stops
along the way. Would there be shops
to buy some food? And would there be
interesting things to do and see?
“Away from it all!” How could Dad
think that was fun? Had he gone mad?
‘Beyond’ was not on any map.
Was this plan some kind of trap?
I told him: “Dad, I want to know
About this trip, or I won’t go.”
He promised lots to see and do:
A locust plague in Bugaboo
Kangaroo pies in Pinnaroo
Dingoes howling in Orrorooooooooooo….
DAD! What are you trying to do?
Names like that just can’t be true—
You’ve made them up, haven’t you.
I’m staying here in Woolloomooloo!
© Kate O’Neil http://www.kateoneil.com.au
The above poem was placed second in the 2011 Toolangi CJ Dennis competition
Bullies
With the eye in the back of his head
he sees them coming —
eight-year-old breakers,
baby-hard, baby-soft.
Their space-machine, so elegant
could swallow him,
drown him once and for all
in a dish of air.
No use trying to rewrite the law:
they are the masters —
skills bred in the bone.
He freezes —
they expect it,
though a voice inside him squeaks
I … Words cut his tongue,
weigh in his mind like a bruise.
© Katherine Gallagher
(Published in Them and Us (The Bodley Head, 1993) and Ramshackle Rainbow (Macmillan Children’s books, 2001)
Katherine Gallagher is a widely-published Australian poet resident in London. She writes for children and adults and has poems in many children’s anthologies. About Bullies, she says, ‘I wrote this poem in response to bullying that I witnessed in a local primary school. Bullying is tragic and a big social problem; children become increasingly insecure and afraid. Sadly, they often don’t tell anyone, even parents and teachers, and this misery can affect them for the rest of their lives’.
