Project Description

Introduction 

I belong to a writing group called Lane Cove Poets, based in the suburb of Lane Cove, Sydney.  My colleagues and I agree that the poems I have written below are likely to appeal to children in particular.  They are written with humour and describe some of the characteristics of each animal.  I hope you enjoy them.  So mums, dads and family please read the poems to your young ones, or encourage them to read the poems to you.

What’s the Buzz about Bees?

© Robert K. Anderson 2020

Gentle humming,

Frantic buzzing,

It’s astonishing that bees make honey.

They shouldn’t really fly,

But gravity they defy,

It’s a wonder that bees make honey.

They build a complex hive,

So their community can thrive,

It’s a miracle that bees make honey.

With no compass to assist them,

They can navigate distance,

It’s nature’s triumph that bees make honey.

Amongst the flowers and leaves,

Flit these clever busy bees,

Their product is unquestionably yummy.

Communication, navigation,

Rumination, pollination,

Transportation, coordination,

Dedication – just to make us honey.

But, making honey is not the point,

Bees pollinate and anoint

The very crops we need for our survival.

But tragically they are dying,

In numbers so terrifying,

There seem few solutions to their revival.

On our bended knees,

We beg our lovely bees,

To keep pollinating and making honey.

Because in the future we want to hear,

Our children shouting in our ear,

“Where’s the runny honey mummy?”

The Kookaburra Alarm call

© Robert K. Anderson 2020

Kookaburra up there in the tree,

Please come perch here next to me,

I have some things I’d like to say,

D’you know you wake me every day.

Cackle cackle ha ha hoo hoo he,

Do you aim your song just at me?

With such a unique and famous call,

It sounds just like you’re having a ball,

You laugh so much it makes me smile,

But I’d rather stay in bed a while.

I know what you are trying to say,

“Wakey-wakey it’s a lovely day”,

But your song is like a foghorn blast,

And you wake me up far too fast.

At six o’clock the day’s just dawning,

It’s still too early in the morning,

Your raucous laugh is such a shock,

Can’t you wait ‘til seven o’clock?

Noisy Spring Nights

© Robert K. Anderson 2020

Ma and pa had a hundred babies,

I know that sounds pretty crazy,

We’ve grown from a goo of sticky eggs,

Through fish-like tails and bulging heads.

I’ve swum in a pond for weeks on end,

But the time has come for me to spend,

Some time in water and on land,

I’ve grown four legs so now I can stand.

You humans say that I’m amphibious,

To me that sounds so ridicalus,

I eat and sleep just like you,

But I can live in water and up here too.

I used to have a tail but it’s disappeared,

Amazing eh, that’s totally weird,

It was useful while I was in the pond,

But someone waved a magic wand.

I’m a frog, I’m a frog, I can hop and jump,

I can skip right over rocky lumps,

My tadpole days are truly over,

I can crawl through grass and sit in clover.

I’m pretty cool, after all I’m a frog,

Who’d want to be a hairy dog?

I like it warmer to get me going,

It sets my body’s cold blood flowing.

I can stick on walls and climb up trees,

Gaze in the eyes of birds and bees,

But not too close that the birds see me,

Or I might become their afternoon tea.

Look at my back legs, they’re all muscle,

They’re designed to get me out of tussles,

With fish and birds who want to chase me,

And evade those who’ll garlic baste me,

…Only joking, I’m not at all tasty.

And now I can sing and keep you awake,

You’ll be amazed at the noise I can make,

You’ll hear I’ve mastered a drilling croak,

Which at 10 pm you’ll think is no joke.

My cackle is loud so others can hear me

Five gardens away as I sit in your tree,

I may not be pretty but please don’t fear me,

I’m a Peron’s Tree Frog and adorable really.

An Aerial Perspective of Spring

© Robert K. Anderson 2020

We live in a palm in a large backyard,

From here the view is somewhat scarred,

It’s not like the bush with trees all round,

But it’s home for us; we hear every sound.

It’s safe, it’s dry and it keeps us warm,

In howling wind or a torrential storm,

Tucked deep within our umbrella tree,

Lives me, my mate, plus chick makes three.

We love it here ‘cos over the fence,

Our kindly neighbours, at some expense,

Planted grevilleas, bottlebrush and banksias too

Profuse flowering blossoms and nectar food.

We have some fun with the man next door,

Just skimming his head we fly at full bore,

Land on the fence, then squawk and screech,

Assaulting his eardrums with a decibel breach.

The man has a gadget, I don’t know why,

He holds to his face a large shiny eye,

No idea what it is but it makes a click,

He often points it at our cute little chick.

We are colourful characters, loud and noisy,

We gather in flocks and in pairs we’re posey,

Bold and feisty, we’ll hop on your table,

And become very cosy if we’re able.

We can fly at high speed, dodge and weave,

Barely avoiding branches and leaves,

We babble while feeding and scream in flight,

We screech in flocks; we are never quiet.

Have you guessed who I am, or shall I repeat?

My colourful tale is far from complete.

An extra hint…I rhyme with street,

I’m a type of parrot, a Rainbow Lorikeet.

Colour’s Mystery

© Robert K. Anderson 2021

The dawn Sun wakes from its veiled bed

covering all with warming waves of infra-red.

Colour ignites with the sunlight

which quenches the black of night.

Birdsong salutes colour’s entrance

as the Sun starts another sentence

in the journal of day’s flight from night,

the eternal tussle between dark and light.

When showers arrive and shadows fade

colour adopts more subtle shades,

sea blues turn grey, yellow petals pale

and leaves’ green lustre sadly ails.

But there’s a time the sky reverts to bright

when we learn that light is not just white,

it’s when angled sun and rain collide

and rainbows wash across the sky.

Red, orange, yellow, green…blue-indigo and violet,

Light, displays, seven, truths…as if painted by a pilot.

Then, as the Sun punctuates its daytime sentence,

colour makes yet another glorious entrance,

the heavens adopt the blues and greens

as wispy clouds become colour’s screen

and show off hues of orange and pink

which brighten swiftly to the strength of ink

before flickering out, then finally die

as black consumes colour’s sky.

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