Whisker of Poetry

Here’s a little whisker of poetry – quirky snippets of life to keep me sane.

.
.

blank page
mocks
doubting ability
to weave words
into story
as cursor blinks
like fingers
thrumming
on desktop
We’re wait-ing…

I wait
and doubt
too

.
.

There’s no flies on us!

teacher,
noting empty spaces,
observes:
‘They’re dropping like flies.’

later,
ailing student prompts peer’s
response:
‘There’s not many flies left.’

.
.

40
over the hill
and way too
hot!
Cool it.
Take the temp
down.

.
.

Most mothers are sick of their kids getting sick
and when they are gooder Mum’s gladder.
But when my little boy is not good, he’s the bestest
and when he is better he’s badder!
.
.

Yep – sick kids. With half their class away, I’m not really surprised. And mine aren’t doing too bad… (Nor is my youngster that bad when he’s well! But he is an angel when he’s sick!)


34 comments

  1. Beautiful poems, Kat. I’m delighted to see you mixing the forms and writing both in rhyme and in free verse. Maybe a result of our verse off?

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  2. Thanks Sally. I used to say I learnt all I know about free verse from my 6 year-old… but now there’s the verse off, a couple of beautiful little verse novels – including the delightful Pearl! – and the wisdom of kids coming back into play, working with Yr6/7s, hearing their interpretations & observations… Helps clarify things.

    But I’m real chuffed that you liked! 🙂

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  3. I have a few friends going through the ‘teenage years’ – as parents – and there have been some scary tales told! I’ve not got that far yet, but turning it over in my head lead to this poem…

    Offspring

    babies –
    soft, warm
    snugly –
    wrapped up in
    bundles of love

    toddlers –
    testing, tempting
    tempertanties –
    twinkling eyes
    alight with life

    kids –
    carpet floor
    with toys, clothes
    books and ‘stuff’ –
    whirlwind round of
    music, sport and friends

    teenagers –
    overnight experts
    learning from
    own mistakes –
    uncertain, unloved, unlovable
    yet loved!

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  4. Love it, Kat! For two days now, I’ve had my very own, brand new teenager – and I’m looking ahead with hope, and a lot of nervousness! Thanks for your poem!

    Kim

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  5. Gorgeous poems, Kat….and I loved the teen one too. My son has been a teen for two weeks now…and I keep waiting for him to turn….thankfully, he is still his kind loveable (although assertive) self:-)

    Dee

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  6. Loved them all!! The PIRs have switched off my creativity too but here goes..

    Giggle…:)

    My teenager sits here beside me
    Lays his head on the laptop
    Attention please

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  7. Heh – this is fun! So glad a little whisker of poetry escaped to liven things up. Thanks for your comments – and your poetry. Keep loving those teenagers – and those kids who think they’re teenagers…

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  8. Dear Kath,
    You are so clever. I am so proud of you. I just have a question. What was your inspiration for writing your 40 poem? Did you have anyone hot! and over 40 in mind. Love Shazxx P.S. Thank you for the 40th present you gave me. He he

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    • Heh Shaz! Crazy you – I was thinking of my hot SON with his 40 degree temperatures!! But now you mention it, I do know a hot blonde who just turned forty! Happy birthday to you…

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  9. A new year – time to refresh with a snippet of poetry. Here goes for 2010…

    01/01/10

    dingoes,
    dogged in
    pursuit,
    run the roos
    and rue the ute
    that roars beside
    with slip
    ’n’ slide
    and wheels
    the wild dogs
    off their stride.

    Like

  10. KitKat:
    mad dad thinks
    his motorbike can float –
    it sinks

    Katfish:
    dingoes chase roos
    on rainy day –
    we chase dingoes

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  11. I’ve read the poems Kat- and enjoyed them greatly. Maybe I can send you the first one of mine via email… don’t know if I want it published online as I want to keep this one to send away. I tend to blur the boundaries between children’s poems and literary poetry. More so lately.
    Hope to write another poem today… still not a poem a day for January though.
    Lorraine

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  12. Tonight I decided to reward myself with a short poem before bed. But what would I write about? Hubby had the answer. In fact, he almost wrote it himself!

    Night Owl

    my husband says
    I should write a poem
    about going to bed
    too late –
    you could write one
    every night
    and eventually
    you’ll go to bed
    that late it
    will be morning
    then afternoon
    and evening –
    and then you’ll be
    going to
    bed when
    normal people
    do…

    but I ask
    him – when
    would I write
    this poem?

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  13. hahaha, well done, Kat. I reckon you could write a poem for every occasion known to man (and woman)!
    How about one for cough! cough! cough! (I’m still coughing after the cypress bark dust incident). 😦

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    • Whoof!

      breathe in deep
      (cough cough cough)
      clean green air
      (cough cough cough)
      cypress fresh
      (cough cough cough)
      ‘dust’ the thing!
      (cough cough cough)
      sound as crook
      (cough cough cough)
      as a dog
      Bark! Bark! Bark!

      Hmmm… Don’t know that I’d call it a poem, Sheryl – just a bit of ridiculousness. Not good to hear that you’re still BARKing. Hope the cough settles soon!

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  14. Hi Kathryn,
    Your poems are fantastic. I love the sick children poem. It’s so true for my children as well. I used to attend Gayndah High School, however was a 2003 graduate. I’d love to chat with you some time about your work as I’m an aspiring children’s picture book writer. If you have time and wish to! I hope you had a great day as a Goddess. What fun!

    Like

  15. What luxury, to tramp over open paddocks and let your imagination run free… (A bit like my puppy dog, actually. :P)

    Puppy Tales

    Like a cursor
    on the blank screen
    my little dog
    streaks across open paddocks

    What mischief will I write today?
    he yaps

    Shoo Fly

    Buzzing
    at my ears…
    I swat,
    flap and wave;
    chase hovering horsefly
    away from my
    ponytail.

    Sunset Sky

    Today
    God painted
    the sunset with
    a pastel pallet;
    soft strokes
    on wispy clouds of
    cotton wool

    Like

  16. Amazing the power of a solitary walk. That’s why I never take a mp3 player when I walk. In that meditative space so many ideas come.

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