Tag Archives: poems for children

Drum Practice by Jenny Erlanger

Leave a comment

Drum Practice

 

The walls are pulsating,

the floor is vibrating,

I feel so awake and on fire.

Every thump, every boom

coming out of my room

has that wonderful power to inspire.

I love all the smashing,

the pounding, the crashing,

the air in my bedroom is ringing.

All the houses around

are alive with my sound,

every dog in the neighborhood’s singing.

From my window I see

people waving at me,

their heads are all nodding and shaking.

Every fist that they raise

is in obvious praise

of the marvelous music I’m making.

Now they’ve formed into groups,

into synchronized troops.

They must really love what I’m playing.

They’re stomping their feet

right in time with the beat.

I just wish I could hear what they’re saying.

Jenny Erlanger

 

First published in Countdown Magazine 2008

 

Buccaneer Banquet by Kate O’Neil

Leave a comment
Buccaneer Banquet

 

The buccaneer bragged to the butcher,

“My Kitchen Rules, for sure,

so gimme those guts for me banquet tonight

and a coupla bears and that boar.

 

I’m goin’ all out on the barbie,

with bacon and bangers to boot,

served up with a broccoli garnish,

and for afters, a basin of fruit.

 

A good balanced bash for me hearties,

from Yours Truly, the Buccaneer Host,

and if they wake up in the morning,

they can get their own coffee and toast.

Kate O’Neil

Squirrel Sightings by Monty Edwards

Leave a comment

 Squirrel Sightings

 

Have you ever seen a squirrel? You may think them rather cute,

But they’re certainly not stupid, for they’re really quite astute.

They take notice of the weather when the winter’s on its way

And store all the food that’s needed for each coming frosty day.

For that is when they snuggle in the hollow of a tree,

Or they hide among the bushes where they’re difficult to see.

 

Every squirrel’s quite a builder when it wants to make a nest

So that as things get much colder there’s a place for warmth and rest.

If you should see a squirrel when you’re at the park to play,

Don’t be too disappointed if the squirrel darts away.

Watch him hurry, scamper, scurry, for you’ll seldom see him walk.

Perhaps he’s just too busy to take time to stop and talk.

 

Monty Edwards

Monty says: I enjoy writing poetry for the opportunity it gives to inspire, challenge or entertain people I may never meet personally. I also enjoy attempting to conquer such constraints as form, meter and rhyme by my choice and arrangement of words in order to produce my own unique response to a theme or prompt. For me it is like tackling a complex puzzle for which there may be many possible solutions, but few that are completely satisfying as an offering to potential readers.

 

Beach Treasure by Kristin Martin

Leave a comment

Beach Treasure

We went for a walk,
just Nan, Pop and me,
and found lots of treasure
washed up by the sea.

Nan found a rock crab
alone on the sand.
It tickled and wriggled
around in my hand.

I found a treasure
beneath the sea grass;
a smooth-as-silk
wave-polished piece of green glass.

But Pop said his treasure
was the best you would see:
he crawled under the jetty
and there he found me!

Kristin Martin

Bubbles by Vanessa Proctor

Leave a comment

Bubbles

 

We blow them in streams

across the yard,

some small and marble-sized,

others as big as baseballs.

Every bubble iridescent,

a perfect world of its own,

mirroring grass, sky,

occasionally our faces.

Bubbles glinting with sunlight

swirl skyward or

float to the ground.

Each one

a little miracle

before it pops.

Vanessa Proctor
  • Published in The School Magazine, Orbit, August 2015

 

Wattle Blooming by Sophie Masson

Leave a comment

Wattle Blooming

Sudden bursts of gold,

Sweeping colour bold,

By rivers, by roads, in country and town,

In farms and gardens, the wattle’s the crown.

 

Of the end of the winter, beginning of spring,

The blooming of wattle will sing and sing

Of birds in their nests and the warm days to hand,

For the wattle is blooming across the land.

Sophie Masson

High Tea by Monty Edwards

Leave a comment

High Tea

 

When pelicans are flying low,

With open beaks they say “Hello”

To any fish they gladly see

That could provide a tasty tea,

For like a furry flippered seal,

They do enjoy a fishy meal.

 

So after taking time to greet,

These hungry birds prepare to eat,

(While under beaks, there hangs a store

For extra, should they want some more).

Then up they rise to sail the sky:

Their beaks too full to say “Goodbye”!

 

Monty Edwards

Monty says: I wanted to get both greetings and goodbyes into a single poem, but the result promised to be rather long. I tried using a short telephone call for content, but wasn’t satisfied with the outcome, so contrived a brief encounter of familiar creatures at the seaside.

Tammy by Bridh Hancock

Leave a comment

Tammy

 

As long as I live will I ever remember

Those bright eyes shining under the table,

Of a black and tan kelpie, who was silently saying:

“Will you be my friend? Can I be yours, too?

 

“Can we be friends?—yes! the best of. And if you

Love me, fun me, feed, and de-flea me,

I’ll guard and care for you, and ever be there,

For you’ll be my friend—yes!—and I’ll be yours, too.”

 

She was my ‘best of…’, and I loved her and kept her

Til, old, deaf and blind, she lay down and died.

Then gone were the walkies, my petting this pal,

But memories, good memories, will ever remain.

 

Memories, dear memories, so near and so dear,

Of a woofity pal who just wanted a friend.

Thanks, Mum, for Tammy, with her bright eyes so shining,

Who sat ’neath the table waiting for me.

Bridh Hancock

Old John and the Rain by Elizabeth Cummings

Leave a comment

Old John and the Rain

I woke last night

And heard the rain

And as I lay there

Listening to the opera

That was the rain

And that the silence filled

A sense of gratitude

In my heart did grow

 

My bones still ached

And my hands so crooked

Stayed clawed and bent

Their toils outside

Were reaping a dividend

Plenty-fold and tonight

As I listen to that welcomed trespasser

I see my reward that awaits come dawn.

 

Sleep came again she did

Upon my weary limbs

My eyes, my mind, my heart

All heavy, so full and overflowing

Of all that life has been

And so dreams did come

And take me back to these blessed moments past

And I was young again

Till I woke at dawn to the sound of rain.

Elizabeth Cummings