Below see
2 haiku, 2 limericks,
a fantasy poem, a nature poem
and a Christmas poem
for children
Honeybee Haiku
Honeybee, you know,
nuzzling those blossoms places
your bottom on show!
© Andrew Lansdown
Limerick on a Long Nose
There was a short man whose nose
extended right down to his toes.
While walking a track
it caught in a crack
and stretched out as long as a hose!
© Andrew Lansdown
On the Need for Food Vouchers at Race Courses
There was a thin man at the Course
who lunged at a lagging horse.
Though they tried to stop it
he began to scoff it
before they could offer him sauce.
© Andrew Lansdown
First published in Patterns
Wagtail Haiku
Oh, for a gadget
to stop the willy wagtail’s
fiddle and fidget!
© Andrew Lansdown
The Nares
At dusk when the darkening sky is mauve
and the edge of the earth is white
the Nares rise up and begin to move
like shades in the shapeless night.
And off and on their hunting song
can be heard on their lips as they stalk along:
Small and light, small and light
are the Nares of the Nether Mounds.
We have no fear, though we might give fright,
as we hunt through the night for sounds.
They wear no shoes and they wear no hats
as they roam the trembling night.
They wear black pants with buckled straps
and pockets that bulge and button tight.
They glide like shadows, far and fleet,
and never make a noise with their naked feet.
Small and light, small and light
are the Nares of the Nether Mounds.
We have no fear, though we might give fright,
as we hunt through the night for sounds.
Oh, the silent ones, the fearless Nares!
How intent they are to catch each sound!
By moon or by stars, alone or in pairs,
They scent out sounds like small blood hounds.
No thump too loud, no click to slight
to draw their attention in the sightless night.
Small and light, small and light
are the Nares of the Nether Mounds.
We have no fear, though we might give fright,
as we hunt through the night for sounds.
They track the sound-makers, catch them unawares
in their hidden lairs. No matter what the noise—
the murmur of a mantis muttering his prayers,
the giggle of a ladybird among the beetle-boys,
the click of a seed-pod, the whirr of a cricket—
they snatch it, catch it, put it in their pocket!
Small and light, small and light
are the Nares of the Nether Mounds.
We have no fear, though we might give fright,
as we hunt through the night for sounds.
Cut by the sharp sounds, bruised by the blunt,
teased by the soft sounds, boffed by the loud,
the Nares, oh the Nares, return from the hunt!
Fearless, the Nares! Triumphant and proud!
They boast to one another of each heroic deed,
of courage or of stealth, of cunning or of speed.
Small and light, small and light
are the Nares of the Nether Mounds.
We have no fear, though we might give fright,
as we hunt through the night for sounds.
Copyright © Andrew Lansdown
Abiding Things: poems, stories essays
Andrew Lansdown
Studio (Albury), 1996
ISBN 0-646-28959-4
Nightfall
It is dusk and the chill air is sweet
with the scent of plums.
Crickets curtail the quiet with chirring
and the last parrot has left the pear tree.
Only New Holland honeyeaters
flutter and call in the last light.
Soon, kangaroos will come
into the orchard from the forest.
© Andrew Lansdown
First published in Quark: Young People’s Magazine
Christmas Tree
Gold was among the gifts
that the wise men brought to Jesus.
(See how the tall one lifts
the sack from his saddle
and pours the coins into the lap
of Mary by the cradle?)
Gold is a gift for kings;
but wise men aren’t the only ones
who understand such things.
For on the western side
of Australia, a peculiar tree
fills the bush with pride
each Christmas, with a bold
and brilliant display of blossoms
as bright as molten gold.
Rejoice! Even the odd,
the unlovely and misshapen
may offer gifts to God!
Christmas trees are ugly
trees. Their leaves are tatty and dull
and their limbs are straggly.
Their wood’s a carpenter’s loss,
being too weak to bear the weight
of a rafter or a cross.
And yet on Christmas Day,
between banksias and eucalypts,
by roads and in paddocks, they
blaze with a beauty that hurts
the eye. (See them fling their nuggets
into the sky’s blue skirts!)
Nuytsia floribunda:
a little tree with gifts of gold
on the Day of Wonder!
© Andrew Lansdown
First published in
Christmas Crackers: Australian Christmas Poetry, ed., Ann Weld (Omnibus Books, 1990)
Also published in
Abiding Things: poems, stories essays
Andrew Lansdown
Studio (Albury), 1996
ISBN 0-646-28959-4
&
Fontanelle
Five Islands Press (University of Melbourne), 2004
ISBN 1-74128-074-5
Click here to see six more poems for children - from Andrew’s collection A Ball of Gold.