The Big Book of Verse for Aussie Kids Page 2

  They laid their foemen out in rows

  And saved the game.

  On native pear and Darling pea

  They dined that night:

  But one man was an absentee:

  The whistler duck—their referee—

  Had taken flight.

  A PROTEST AND A PROTEST

  John Shaw Neilson

  A certain old maid at Port Victor

  Had many strange pets to afflict her,

  Her kangaroos fought

  With the emu’s she caught

  And when she protested, they kicked her.

  THE TRIANTIWONTIGONGOLOPE

  CJ Dennis

  There’s a very funny insect that you do

  not often spy,

  And it isn’t quite a spider, and it isn’t quite

  a fly;

  It is something like a beetle, and a little

  like a bee,

  But nothing like a woolly grub that climbs

  upon a tree.

  Its name is quite a hard one, but you’ll

  learn it soon, I hope.

  So, try:

  Tri-

  Tri-anti-wonti-

  Triantiwontigongolope.

  It lives on weeds and wattle-gum, and has

  a funny face;

  Its appetite is hearty, and its manners a

  disgrace.

  When first you come upon it, it will give

  you quite a scare,

  But when you look for it again you find it

  isn’t there.

  And unless you call it softly it will stay

  away and mope.

  So, try:

  Tri-

  Tri-anti-wonti-

  Triantiwontigongolope.

  It trembles if you tickle it or tread upon

  its toes;

  It is not an early riser, but it has a snubbish

  nose

  If you sneer at it, or scold it, it will scuttle

  off in shame,

  But it purrs and purrs quite proudly if you

  call it by its name,

  And offer it some sandwiches of sealing-wax

  and soap.

  So, try:

  Tri-

  Tri-anti-wonti-

  Triantiwontigongolope.

  But of course you haven’t seen it; and I

  truthfully confess

  That I haven’t seen it either, and I don’t

  know its address.

  For there isn’t such an insect, though

  there really might have been,

  If the trees and grass were purple, and the

  sky was bottle-green.

  It’s just a little joke of mine, which you’ll

  forgive, I hope.

  Oh, try!

  Try!

  Tri-anti-wonti-

  Triantiwontigongolope.

  THE YETI

  Wilbur Howcroft

  The Yeti dwells for longish spells upon

  some high plateau;

  He lives on moss and fairyfloss and lots

  and lots of snow.

  A troglodyte, he’s impolite and wears no

  clothes at all,

  Except a hat when dancing at the

  Neanderthal Spring Ball.

  His hair is lank, his gaze is blank—a most

  unlovely brute;

  He is indeed an abject breed with

  manners dissolute.

  Although he’s crude and downright rude,

  I really must confess

  He’d pass for my Aunt Bertha if he shaved

  and wore a dress.

  A PURPLE COW

  Gelett Burgess

  I’ve never seen a purple cow,

  I never hope to see one.

  But I can tell you, anyhow,

  I’d rather SEE than BE one!

  I HAD A LITTLE PIG

  Traditional

  I had a little pig,

  I fed him at a trough,

  He got so fat

  That his tail fell off.

  I got a little hammer,

  I got a little nail,

  And I hammered back on

  That little pig’s tail.

  A CAMEL FROM KALAMAZOO

  Anonymous

  A camel from Kalamazoo

  Confessed he was feeling quite blue,

  He said, ‘As a rule,

  When the weather turns cool,

  Us camels get into a stew.’

  THE BEAR AT THE ZOO

  Anonymous

  There once was a bear at the zoo

  Who complained he had nothing to do

  ‘It’s boring, you know,

  Just to go to and fro,

  I think that I’ll go fro and to.’

  THE CUB

  Russell Hannah

  Said the cub to his mother,

  ‘Am I a Polar Bear?’

  ‘Of course you are,’ she answered.

  ‘There’s your father standing there,

  We all live in the Arctic,

  Amidst the ice and snow,

  And, if you were not a Polar Bear,

  I’d be the first to know.’

  He said, ‘Could I be an Aadvark,

  A fox or kangaroo?

  Or perhaps I’m a gorilla,

  A dog or shaggy gnu.’

  ‘Stop asking silly questions son,

  You’re a bear as you’ve been told.’

  ‘Well, if I’m a Polar Bear,’ he said,

  ‘Why do I feel so cold?’

  UNDERSEA

  Marchette Chute

  Beneath the waters

  Green and cool

  The mermaids keep

  A swimming school.

  The oysters trot;

  The lobsters prance;

  The dolphins come

  To join the dance.

  But the jellyfish

  Who are rather small

  Can’t seem to learn

  The steps at all.

  THE FISH TALENT QUEST

  Russell Hannah

  Mr Bream in the fish talent quest,

  Said, ‘I’m an old fashioned crooner,

  He sang out of tune, but he gave it his

  best

  For his off-key piano—it needed a test,

  He’d have won, if he’d called in the Tuna.

  THE FISH MARATHON

  Russell Hannah

  In the fish marathon held last Sunday,

  The eager cod swam and he swam

  At the twenty ‘K’ mark the cod hit

  the wall,

  Cursed his bad luck and said, ‘Dam!’

  SEA SERPENT

  Anonymous

  A sea serpent saw a big tanker,

  Bit a hole in her side and then sank her,

  In a minute or two

  He’d swallowed the crew

  And was picking his teeth with the

  anchor.

  NUTTY NURSERY RHYME

  Max Fatchen

  ‘Jump over the moon?’ the cow declared,

  ‘With a dish and a spoon! Not me!

  I need a suit and a rocket ship,

  And filmed by the BBC.

  ‘I want a roomy capsule stall

  For when I blast away,

  And an astronaut as a dairymaid,

  And a bale of meadow hay.’

  She gave a twitch of her lazy rump,

  ‘Space travel takes up time,

  I certainly don’t intend to jump

  For a mad old nursey rhyme.’

  A FROG HE DID A-COURTING GO

  Traditional

  Froggy he did a-roaming go,

  Heigh ho! says Rowley,

  Although his mother had told him ‘no’.

  With a rowley, powley, gammon, and spinach,

  Heigh ho! says Anthony Rowley.

  Off he went in his coat and hat,

  Heigh ho! says Rowley,

  And on the road he met with a Rat,

  With a rowley, powley
, gammon, and spinach,

  Heigh ho! says Anthony Rowley.

  The Rat said, ‘Won’t you come with me?’

  Heigh ho! says Rowley,

  ‘Pretty Missy Mouse to see . . .’

  With a rowley, powley, gammon, and spinach,

  Heigh ho! says Anthony Rowley.

  They came to the door of the Mouses’ hall,

  Heigh ho! says Rowley,

  They gave a loud knock, and they gave a loud call.

  With a rowley, powley, gammon, and spinach,

  Heigh ho! says Anthony Rowley.

  ‘Missy Mouse will you give us some beer?’

  Heigh ho! says Rowley,

  Soon Frog and Rat were full of good cheer.

  With a rowley, powley, gammon, and spinach,

  Heigh ho! says Anthony Rowley.

  But while they were all a-merry-making

  Heigh ho! says Rowley,

  A cat and her kittens came tumbling in.

  With a rowley, powley, gammon, and spinach,

  Heigh ho! says Anthony Rowley.

  The kittens they ate up Mr Rat,

  Heigh ho! says Rowley,

  And Missy Mouse was a meal for the cat,

  With a rowley, powley, gammon, and spinach,

  Heigh ho! says Anthony Rowley.

  Froggy had a terrible fright,

  Heigh ho! says Rowley.

  He grabbed his hat and he said goodnight.

  With a rowley, powley, gammon, and spinach,

  Heigh ho! says Anthony Rowley.

  On his way home he met a white duck,

  Heigh ho! says Rowley.

  And the little white duck just gobbled him up.

  With a rowley, powley, gammon, and spinach,

  Heigh ho! says Anthony Rowley.

  So there was the end of one, two, three,

  Heigh ho! says Rowley.

  The rat, the mouse, and the little froggy.

  With a rowley, powley, gammon, and spinach,

  Heigh ho! says Anthony Rowley.

  ODE TO A BANDICOOT

  Wilbur Howcroft

  The bandicoot is mighty cute, he lives on

  nuts and stew,

  On cricket bats and old straw hats and

  doughnuts dipped in glue.

  He has no cares but sits and stares and

  does not fret at all

  At woes of state, the stings of fate, or if his

  stocks should fall.

  He often sings and flaps his wings and

  hums a merry tune,

  Of scores repaid or conquests made

  beneath the midday moon.

  He loves to prance some stately dance

  with flowers in his hair,

  A plastic pail tied to his tail and both his

  elbows bare.

  He builds a home of bark and chrome

  atop a burnt-out ridge;

  He has a maid, who’s never paid, and

  strong drink in the fridge.

  So think of him when life grows grim,

  contrive to ape his ways,

  And you will find great peace of mind

  with happy, carefree days.

  LOVE SONG TO A YABBIE

  Grahame Watt

  We were sitting by a waterhole, my girl

  and I, one night,

  When we heard a yabbie singing a lov

  song clear and bright.

  ‘If I could only hold your claw and gently

  touch your feeler,

  I’d be yours for evermore and you would

  be my sheila.

  I’d get down on my sixteen knees, for me

  it’s just frustration,

  I feel for you, my shell goes weak, you are

  my own crustacean.

  You’re the yabbie that I love, I’ve gone and

  flipped my flippers,

  We could settle in the mud and raise lots

  of little nippers.’

  NEW GNU

  Anonymous

  A gnu at Taronga Park Zoo

  Fell in love with a girl kangaroo

  She said, ‘Don’t be a fool,

  You should know the rule

  That a roo and a gnu do not woo!’

  SPIDERS

  Tulip Kilbourne

  There are a bunch of spiders

  That lurk above my head

  I’m scared that they will drop on me

  And crawl around my bed.

  I dreamt they spun a massive web

  From my head down to my feet

  But luckily when I awoke

  I was just wrapped in my sheet.

  These spiders have humungous fangs

  I’m scared that they will bite

  So I sleep with a thwacking stick

  To thwack them through the night.

  Though thwacking is so messy

  ’Cause it stains my pillow case

  And sometimes chunks of spider guts

  Get squirted on my face.

  Those hairy critters freaked me out

  So I chased them with a broom

  I swept them up the hallway—

  Right into my sister’s room!

  THE LADY OF NIGER

  Anonymous

  There was a young lady of Niger

  Who smiled as she rode on a tiger;

  They returned from the ride

  With the lady inside,

  And the smile on the face of the tiger.

  WHAT HIPPOS DO

  Anonymous

  What can put a smile on a hippo’s dial?

  What can make him run for a hundred mile?

  No, it’s not a party with a paper hat

  Or cake and caramel that make him fat.

  I’ll tell you

  Just what hippos do . . .

  They, ooze and gooze

  They never get the blues

  They wade in the water

  Without any shoes.

  I’m telling you

  That’s what hippos do . . .

  CICADA

  Gregory North

  I am a cicada and I live in fear.

  They say that my music is harsh to the ear,

  But you would be noisy if you had my lot.

  Just look at the dangers and worries I’ve got!

  My problems all started near four years ago.

  I hatched in a tree top, then had to let go!

  They said with my size that the fall wouldn’t hurt,

  But I felt a pang when I crashed in the dirt!

  I had to start digging before I was seen

  By ugly big creatures all hungry and mean.

  When safely below then I had to find food.

  I sucked up the sap out of roots. Aren’t I shrewd?

  I lived in my air cell that shrunk as I grew.

  I had to enlarge it and shed my skin too.

  And as I grew bigger my new skin would peel.

  I shed it five times—it was quite an ordeal!

  Then one day the rain caused a fantastic urge—

  Next warm summer night I would have to emerge.

  I dug to the surface and when time was right,

  Emerged in the darkness—then started my fight.

  Surviving the crickets, the spiders and ants

  I shed my last skin like a tight pair of pants.

  In daylight my wings were a sight to behold.

  ‘Beware all the wasps and the birds,’ I was told.

  The dangers we face keep us all on our toes.

  I’ve heard I could live for four weeks, but who knows?

  Together our songs keep the bird life away,

  And attract lots of females who like what we play.

  Hey, here comes one now. I have just caught her eye.

  ‘G’day. Like my music? And look how I fly!

  Oh, no! I don’t think I can see you again—

  That Currawong’s eaten my whole abdomen!’

  THE LITTLE CORMORANT

  Stephen Whiteside


  I saw a little cormorant

  Upon a rock, and grinned.

  Her outstretched wings were soaking wet,

  And drying in the wind.

  I called to her, ‘You live

  A very inefficient way.

  Why, I reckon you’ll be standing

  On that rock for half the day.’

  The little cormorant replied,

  ‘Stop a while, and think.

  I never need to take them off,

  And wash them in the sink.

  ‘I never have to spin them dry,

  Or hang them on the line,

  So tell me which procedure

  Is the simpler, yours or mine?’

  Some rain had started falling.

  Though I knew I’d beat her yet,

  I had to run for shelter.

  I was scared of getting wet.

  THE COMMON CORMORANT

  Anonymous

  The common cormorant, or shag,

  Lays eggs inside a paper bag

  The purpose you will see, no doubt,

  Is to keep the lightning out.

  But what this unobservant bird

  Is not aware of, is that herds

  Of wandering bears may come with buns,

  And steal the bags, to hold the crumbs!

  THE CLEVER RABBIT

  DH Souter

  There was a little rabbit

  Who was lying in his burrow

  When the dingo rang him up to say

  He’d visit him tomorrow.

  But the rabbit thought it better

  That the dingo didn’t meet him,

  So he found another burrow

  And the dingo didn’t eat him.

  THE GYRATING GOOSE

  Wilbur Howcroft

  I knew a goose, his name was Joe,

  Who suffered bouts of vertigo

  That threw his balance out of plumb

  And wrecked his equilibrium.

  At certain times the bird would reel,

  Then rotate like a catherine wheel,

  Or, rapidly and minus fault,

  Proceed to double somersault.

  Whenever he’d attempt to fly

  And soar, light-hearted, in the sky,

  He’d flap his wings, then get up pace

  And, like as not, fall on his face.

  At courting time ’twas sad to see

  Joe’s efforts with a chickadee,

  For, though he’d turn on all his charm,

  His antics merely caused alarm.

  So, while he acted like a clown,

  The female goose would turn him down

  And leave poor Joe alone and blue

  To seek another mate to woo.

  Some hunting dogs one day, alack

  (A ravening, bloodthirsty pack),

  Attacked the geese and, shades of woe!

  Slew every single one but Joe.

  Our hero turned an ashen white

  And started to gyrate in fright.

  The pack drew back in fear and dread

  Then downed their tails and promptly fled.

  This story proves beyond all doubt,

  It doesn’t pay to moon about

  Or stand flat-footed in the way

  Of hunting dogs in search of prey.

  THE BUSH ANIMALS’ BAND

  Noel Stallard