Best Wallabies Poems
In one square mile, northeast of Noojee,
there are seven birds that I often get to see
as I walk on the tracks in pristine forestry,
in one square mile, northeast of Noojee.
A Whipbird crack through ti-tree scrub,
a Lyrebird echo from Cascade Creek,
Red Browed Finch on the sword grass heads,
I’m watching close a Ground Thrush sneak.
Black Cockies feed on Blackwood wattle,
in heath Blue Wrens are a family,
Yellow Robins perch on a paperbark trunk
in one square mile, northeast of Noojee.
In one square mile, northeast of Noojee,
are seven mammals sometimes I get to see,
as I walk on the tracks in pristine forestry,
in one square mile, northeast of Noojee.
Echidnas forage in wood or litter
Wallabies graze on grass and weeds,
a burrowing wombat sleeps all day;
high in a manna gum, a Koala feeds.
Sugar Gliders doze in a hollow log,
like Ring-tail Possums in a high ti-tree.
A Bandicoot scarps through the undergrowth
in one square mile, northeast of Noojee.
In one square mile, northeast of Noojee,
in Cascade Creek sometimes I get to see,
as I look at the water in pristine forestry,
in one square mile, northeast of Noojee.
Flowing over sand, fishbone fern as cover,
lurk Blackfish and the Gippsland Cray.
Brown trout forage in the hiding place
where Mountain Galaxias are their prey.
In Cascade Creek; well the Platypus play,
in long deep holes, but are rare to see.
There’s Short Finned Eel, Yabbies and Shrimp,
in one square mile, northeast of Noojee.
In one square mile, northeast of Noojee,
are a few reptiles I sometimes get to see,
if I look down at my feet in pristine forestry,
in one square mile, northeast of Noojee.
There are Blue Tongue Lizards and Three Lined Skinks;
Goanna’s up a tree and the Tiger Snake.
There’s Copperheads or Red-bellied Black,
and treading on snakes is a big mistake.
In one square mile, northeast of Noojee,
Growling Grass Frogs watch from water grass,
And the ‘pobblebonk’ croak is an Eastern Banjo,
in a swampy pool as I walk on past.
Skippers float over the canopy blooms;
Mosquito, March Fly, Bush Fly blight;
Jezebel Caterpillars feed on mistletoe;
Stag Beetles hover in the fading light.
In one square mile, northeast of Noojee,
on walking tracks there is much to see,
where I’m just a link that don’t belong,
in one square mile, northeast of Noojee.
Excitement filled the bushland as December was near
Every creature had been waiting for Christmas time - all year.
Wallabies hung their stockings on a gumtree branch with care
Just as all nice children do – everywhere.
Meanwhile those more up to date logged on the internet
sending E mails to Santa to see what they could get
Koalas draped high treetops with shiny garlands green
And furry possums lined their dens in golden glitter sheen
Wallabies joined in with bright balloons hung on their tails
All the crows tied streamers, cascading from the rails.
Kookaburras’ laughter changed to Christmas songs
While magpies and peewees piped along in throngs.
A wombat and a bandicoot made honeysuckle punch
The parrots came too early and drank’ til they got drunk
And when the’ Magic Pudding’ came to help with Christmas Dinner
His taste was so delicious he left a trifle thinner.
With a Kangaroo as Santa, his pouch stuffed full of cheer
hopping ‘round the outback in the hottest time of year
Just guess what all the drovers got- lots of ice-cold beer.
Suzanne Delaney
For Children's Christmas Poem Contest for Carol Eastman
windswept windsurfing wallabies warbling whales wailing................................................................................
A pink fish travelling with a tea towel is neither in a rush or dirty. Gridlocked gorillas getting grapes gracefully glide. Seafront mystery in windswept hair carrying a carrot, a jar of mustard, and ten grains of multicoloured rocks. A tambourine on a sponge cake can be beating but not beaten. And a lamb cawl is not a call nor a front crawl so place the gate and door at a sixty degree angle. Many custard cups play hockey with wildebeests in tutus. In a fingerless glove place nine toes, and in a pocket watch place a turning tubular pin. The frost from a llamas horn is neither stagnant or perfumed, it is merely a tidal wave of porridge. Hahaha magniloquent magnolia magnitude making monkfish moussaka. Hahaha equality equals equipment eveningwear xxxxxxx hospitalities Z z Z z Z
I travel 'long the winding track
Seeing mostly green, but a tree trunk black,
The orange and brown of a falling leaf,
It settles and nestles to a bush beneath,
A rocky outcrop where the wallabies bound,
The hidden tinklings of bellbirds sound,
A wispy fog emerging from a gorge,
Enveloping sheer cliffs that wind and rain forge,
It feels so good my walking track,
Although often away it always beckons me back.
DON’T GET ME STARTED
1. About taxes, we have to pay them so why bother
Wasting breath complaining? And they’re spent on
Useful stuff like nuclear weapons and world-tours for
The Prime Minister and keeping teenage shoplifting kids
In jail (where they belong) and allowing major embezzlers
Or inside-traders to be under light-supervision on open prison-farms.
2. About Richard Nixon, a president who got caught
Doing what practically every president does,
And did trivial things like achieving rapprochement with China,
Ending the war in Vietnam, and signing nuke treaties
With the USSR. What a waste of time.
3. About bees, because why should I put up with stings and all their buzzing
Just for honey, when I don’t even like honey or beeswax?
And don’t tell me about the hexagonal architecture of honeycombs.
Buckminster Fuller did it better without stinging or buzzing anyone.
4. About sushi, which is a bit too fishy for me. I hate fish,
With those big staring eyes in the shop, or floating pathetically
Around In the shrimp-pan gazing accusingly at me.
5. About Australians, wanting applause for kangaroos, wallabies or Melbourne.
How about a round of applause for Canada for having beavers, or the RCMP?
6. About rap “music” which really should be called crap music
7. About dogs
..................................................
( Don't get excited, politically, sexually or architecturally. No nationalistic or animal rights complaints, please. It's only a funny poem.)
Whether working wallabies would weave waved warm wafers or whether wallpaper would wear walls is two times a question really. It is rational to assume that an ass jacket would dart over a yak and a yam would appear. At intervals. Rotating. But rotating is not a salivating salubrious salutation singing strong songs. Nor is it a giant radio beam. Dancing. But the power of a hoover in many a house can simply be powered by five hundred and forty two heron wings. Hovering Hoovers having heaped hinged hunts. But a hunt disturbs a grunt so why line up paws and hooves in rows. Cinematic of scale and climatic of chaos. Said the four centimetre jar in a herd pile. Herd piles are not mooing nor are they moving either. Pan to the alloy and a fistful of iron ore can symbolise a very pretty pavement in a green patterned dress. But standing next to a chess set of colourful butter beans is pleasant for the partridges whose lacrosse abilities are really quite astonishing in a supernova diesel twist. Spinning. It is nit fashionable to quiz a funfair over which ride is the best for they all are egocentric and often argue with lashings of colours, noise, and fur ball darts. Pressure no pea to preform a painted piano concerto for concertos can control and control is akin to a line of skating cows on an outdoor rink. Always count the pink buttons carefully and slowly. Evaporated milk is often found playing near to margarine containers. Z cinematography Z at fifty nine little splooshes splashing to thirteen fish hooks waving at the fins. Z xxxxx zzzz whirrrrr the wings and eeeeee to mice piles. Z
Pups, imps, joeys, wiggling tailed marsupials, hunting in parties of five.
Deadly facial cancer has killed lots of us, it’s a wonder I am still alive.
I screech when I eat, carrion, my utmost favorite food, road kill.
My aggression insured me at babyhood alive I would be still.
There were fifty in my litter, but only four teats so we scrappers had to fight.
Growling and viciously, snarling at each other, slapping away nice ones in the night.
Our mother was grabbed by a caveman devil who dragged her off by the neck.
I was incensed, and promptly chased after them, thinking “what the heck?”
Some of my siblings were frightened out of the old hollow log,
not many decided to stay.
I was not one of them. I showed my teeth,
and my aggressors promptly ran away.
Wombats, wallabies, opossums and other animals on this island of mine.
Steer clear of my hollow log, knowing I will
snap them up and eat them in no time.
Matilda blew her didgeridoo
With wallabies hopping two by two
Some dingoes dropped by
To eat Shepherd's pie
Then off they went with a kangaroo.
Ambush
There's a lovely tropic island at the bottom of the map,
It's a paradise on earth except for one small handicap;
We have wallabies and kangaroos to only name a few,
And a gentler crowd is seldom found in any city's zoo.
But there's danger lurking everywhere throughout these tropic isles..
The forests here are full of snakes, the rivers; crocodiles!
There are miles of golden beaches where the crowds don't hesitate,
But just beyond the breakers, swift and hungry shadows wait!
In the land of Oz, downunder, lives a creature greatly feared
Both in quiet rural country and the city he's appeared.
His appearance is deceiving, and he sometimes looks quite strange..
And his colour varies widely right across his tropic range.
You may see him lurk half-hidden near a path or watercourse
Where he waits with endless patience and attacks without remorse!
He may strike your leg from ambush on some dark and moonless night.
And in terror you will recoil, and you may just die of fright!
So you'll rush off to the doctor, sure that it will do no good,
But he'll find no deadly venom, just a bit of splintered wood.
'I think that you'll survive', he says, 'although the leg may ache,
For you have just been bitten by the dreaded Bentstick Snake! '
Frank Halliwell
A story is often a mish mash jam on a tambourine. Whirling. Ignorant inscriptions incite incorrect information. And a bow in a bowl is not a box nor a bag. Well, normally it isn't anyway. But does a tiger blossom roar at midnight? Is a dimmer switch dim? Could it be that an electric eel can power up to ninety-six cars over twenty months and an optical ocelot is in prime time position on a television schedule. A coat with stripes is useful for racing practice but a chequered coat should only really be used to play a wild energetic game of chess. Pink picture playing pleasing piccolo productively producing pragmatic precision. Dot to dot then sit down. Great isn't it? But a fascinating breath of a near bead is not a breach of beach it is a braking bee. Opinions opulently occur officially announced over orders. So along the crystalized crate it is wise to play billiards. But not too frantically for that is reserved for cute little dust balls whose sweeping causes the passing ants to sneeze loudly in ships. At sea is at sand and at sand is a foray of a fishes' dinner plate at shell mansion. Metres then. Wow. Wouldn't you like to visit an itemised code today? Hahah Vesticular virtual vest versions. Hahaha 2 possums + 6 wallabies = 900, 800, 700, 001 % of a twenty mile koala on a train drinking eucalyptus and gin mix. Xxxxxx platypuses xxxxxx symmetrical Z Z Z Z
A track leads through a gully in the bushland
Following the least line of resistance in a haphazard plan
The kookaburras and the magpies squawk happily away
The sun on my back makes me want to stay
Walking to the rock face broken on the gorge face
Two wallabies look our way and away they race
A creek flows through glistening in the sun
The day exploring is heaven easily done.
© Paul Warren Poetry
You are the twinkle in the life
of elephants and blue giraffes.
You conjure them up in your sleep
and give them lots of ginger treats.
Perhaps you ride on lion's backs
and hear of secret planned attacks
on zebra homes and wallabies.
Perhaps you even hear them sneeze.
Maybe you hop in your canoe
and race the river otters too
to find the crocodile flower
and taste the kumquat, small and sour.
I think that all your dreams are true
A red-backed snail with one slug shoe.
A butterfly who sells perfume
and marbles played in moth cocoons.
Bubbles blown by flying fish
and riding them to wherever you wish.
A swirl of purple pearly walls
to protect all of your lemur calls.
A thousand sunset’s burn below you.
A serenade from Him that knows you.
You dream in delicate patterns deep
of animals you're sure to keep
And care for in the paradise
You'll feed the parrots coconut rice.
and scrub the algae turtle's back
while he chews on a lettuce snack.
You'll nestle in the wild bears den
and help them call the salmon friend.
It's quite a sight to comprehend
A dream to make our dreaming end...
A white dossier is neither a manual for a pilot on a pivotal stand nor a baking tray waiting for butter. Criss cross ducking on an angled penned out sketch. Drawing a ruin is not a clever idea for ruins are raving and raving is a radiant rather real rhombus reaching radical radios rationally. But a tall ironed turban is a fanciful cheese at a party wrapped in silky golden studded bread paper. And the tissues are to be halted at the wide gates for they are increasingly dangerous when they are wet and wet is not rain, oil, or paint. It is the will of the course on a cross country that spans over 12, 650, 901 miles. And a kilometre is neither a kayak nor a kaleidoscopic kale. Making a mark on a moonlit mortality. And the ship goes beep beep beep in complete unison with an underground bus. Boom then. Bull bringing bombs baking beasts. And a ponytailed servant mouse peeking from a window in shrewd observation of the spectacular show below in a glow and in goblets grunting. Give no iron fists talon to a bluebird balancing on a jelly bean. Hahaha washing windows will water wallabies. Hahaha spoon dancing with a grape. Xxxxxx consequentialism
Night brings a wondrous display
a mix and blended menagerie arrayed
with colors, melodies and creatures unmatched
by any hunter's imaginary superiority scratched.
In my wildest dreams at the midnight hour
comes the magical images of children's power,
a cartoon reality that finds life so interesting
with visions of all nature in peace co-mingling.
The majestic trees germinate flowers to grow then fall
where feathered birds and squirrels gather beneath its shawl
of catkin clutches formed to pollinate some distant tree of long ago
with love and purposeful blend hosted under the rainbow mistletoe.
Each dream images the strangest encounters
in melodic song for wallabies and flounders,
making sense of what was displayed in the vision quest
still lies a secret unrevealed to this nightly guest.
For koalas and wallabies yearning,
piles of money for tourism earning,
to Australia flying
and on jet fuel relying,
we now lose it and yell: "Oz is burning!"