Long Wallabies Poems

Long Wallabies Poems. Below are the most popular long Wallabies by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wallabies poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member An Outback Christmas

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
Form: Rhyme


Catkins, Mistletoe and Wallabies

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.
© DM Babbit  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Quatrain

Ashes

Charred wood and ash 
stink, after fires
in Garigal high-country.

A single crow cries
road-side, on a black tree-post
guarding road kill –
a round brown wallaby
with feet stuck-up.

Ash covers ash:
grey dust lies still...

until rain drizzles sweet liquid,
wets dirt, licks seeds, nudges life.
Seeds swell, unfold, 
lift leaves to prick the air :
grass-whiskers spring up.  

Fat globes of summer-rain spill 
between sandy soil-crumbs 
where roots sip  silver water.

One tomorrow, black-skinned scarred tree-trunks will sprout leafy chests,
and white cockatoos will screech graffiti over skies patched with clouds. 

Once more, warm lips of wallabies will graze over green grasses, 
nibbling: blessed again.

Premium Member Art of Living

How to find the art of living,
how to find the art of love
To find the very art of harmony
circulating from above

Native trees shrubs and tussocks
growing down along the creek
Birds, wallabies, frogs, echidnas,
that's the kind of life I seek

Planting seeds in the garden,
building a wooden fence
It's the nature that surrounds me,
that really makes so much sense

Lying on my back in the sunshine,
watching fluffy clouds go by
Sometimes a wedge tailed  eagle 
glides across a clear blue sky 

Running on the grass bare feet
naked in the warm moist breeze
Exhilaration fills the body,
with so much delighted ease

Found the very art of living,
found the very art of love
Found the very art of harmony 
circulating from above
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member My Life As Tasmanian Devil

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.
Form: Rhyme


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