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Poems

Kool Kalahari Kats

22/3/2023

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This was written in response to the image prompt below and posted on the
​Australian Children's Poetry website. 


Ladies and gentlemen please take your seats, for soon you will hear music mellow and sweet.
 
A band of three brothers whose sound is well known, on vocals, guitar and smooth saxophone.
 
They’ve played their soul music all over the sands, and gained a huge mob of adoring jazz fans.
 
Many have gathered to hear Michael croon, including hyenas and blues mad baboons.
 
The same for young Larkin whose skill on guitar, has hogs and hares smitten from towns near and far.
 
And then there is Charlie. His alto sax tunes cause gemsboks and cheetahs to sway and to swoon.
 
Hush now and listen on this moonlit night, to sounds I am sure will thrill and delight,
 
as three jazzy brothers get ready to play, until the dawn comes to herald the day!

Picture

Kool Kalahari Kats © Kerry Gittins 2023. All Rights Reserved.

​

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The Fox by Kerry Gittins

30/8/2022

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This is a new poem written about an encounter between myself and a fox on a cold snowy night in Lausanne. It was magical seeing this beautiful animal watching me by the light of a city street lamp. 
Picture
Photo from Pexels by Alex Andrews
The night is cold and filled with stars.
The snow is soft and fresh.
Do you see me? I think you do. 
Soft brown ears twitch, listening. 
Long tail straight, waiting. 
Eyes shine, unblinking. 
You are ready to run, to vanish. 
But you are as curious as I. 
You wonder why I am here. 
I wonder the same about you. 
It seems both of us are out of place. 
Seeing you is a wonderful, magical thing, 
a reminder of my home before the city. 
I kneel, quietly, carefully. 
You sniff the crisp air, and in a flash,
​you are gone. 

And I suddenly feel hopeful. 
Perhaps the city won't be so bad. 
After all, if you can be here, maybe I can too. 

The Fox © Kerry Gittins 2022. All Rights Reserved.

​

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The Small Boy by Kerry Gittins

12/7/2022

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PicturePhoto from Pexels by Dominika Roseclay
I am a small boy that much is true They say I’m mischievous. Do you think so too?
A mischievous boy - am I really or not? What does the word mean? I hear it A LOT!
This very big word that some people say. It’s one that I hear almost every day,
whenever I go to climb up a tree to try and search for that fat bumblebee,
or go to the garden to find a green frog who’s ribbeting, robbeting under a log.
‘He’s up to something’, says my sister. Then Mum says ‘Now just remember mister,
DO NOT put that bumblebee onto a spoon and shoot with your slingshot the bee to the moon,
for though you may think he knows how to fly  
he’s not really built to fly up so high.’
‘DO NOT bring the frog from outside to in to stare at me out of the biscuit tin,
for though you may think he likes TimTams the best, he really likes flies and insects and pests.’
And while both my mother and sister stare, I shake my head, ‘No never – I swear!’
I don't understand how they would think I’d do such strange things. I stand and blink,
with eyes all wide and innocent, then, I find in my pocket my ballpoint pen,
and decide then and there that I should write, what a good boy I am. That I'd NEVER 
invite
a frog to come into my mum's biscuit tin to eat all the Timtams – who’d do such a thing!
I 
NEVER would try to shoot to the moon that fat bumblebee with a slingshot and spoon!
I look from my note as I finish and see my mother and sister smiling at me.
“He's got that mischievous look in his eye”, they say as they wink at each other and sigh.
Later that night as I go to my sleep, I keep one eye open and see mother peep
her head round my door and blow me a kiss. ‘Sleep well and sweet dreams and always know this -
you are much loved and bring us such joy, and really you are a good little boy’.
I am a small boy - that much you knew. I’m a little mischievous. Yes that is true!
But one thing I know I will never feel blue, because I'm much loved and I hope you are too! 
​

The Small Boy © Kerry Gittins 2022. All Rights Reserved.

​

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The Spell

26/5/2022

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​THE SPELL
Watch out for the witch who is standing nearby
with wand at the ready! Make sure you don’t try
 
to stop and to chat. She does not like this.
She’s not very friendly so give it a miss.
 
If you catch her eye be sure to run fast
or else upon you a spell she will cast
 
I made the mistake of saving a bug.
So what did she do? Turned me into a pug!
 
That’s not the worst thing as pugs are quite cute,
The worst thing is now I’m short and hirsute!
Picture
Photo from Pexels by Charles

The Spell © Kerry Gittins 2022. All Rights Reserved.

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Autumn Leaves

11/5/2022

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​Big leaf, small leaf
Green leaf, brown leaf
Red leaf, yellow leaf
So many leaves
 
Cat shaped, dog shaped
Bird shaped, fish shaped
Mouse shaped, house shaped
So many leaves
 
Pile high, jump in
Pile low, jump out
Throw up, throw down
So many leaves
 
Wind blows, leaves fall
Rain comes, leaf puddles
Sun’s out, leaves sparkle
Autumn is here.
Picture

Autumn Leaves © Kerry Gittins 2022. All Rights Reserved.

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Seven Small Letters

6/4/2022

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Picture
Picture
Seven small letters is all that you need
to IMAGINE new things, to plant a new seed.

IMAGINE you’ve climbed to the top of a tree
and see a horizon as wide as can be.

IMAGINE you are a dragon or bird
or sitting on top of a star. How absurd! 

IMAGINE a day with rain or with snow
and when they are done out comes a rainbow.

IMAGINE adventure upon the high seas
with treasure and pirates with knobbly knees.

IMAGINE you’re now tucked up safe in your bed
​and those seven letters spell DREAMER instead.

Seven Small Letters © Kerry Gittins 2022. All Rights Reserved.

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A Perfect Pair

6/4/2022

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One partridge in a pear tree is a lonesome sight to see,
and though the bird can fly away he sits and stares at me.
He watches as I sing about the twelve fine days to come
but as the song continues, the sadder he becomes.
 
He twists his head from side to side, blinking small black eyes.
Then he chirps, ‘Don’t sing that song. Please don’t make me cry!’
He ruffles bright red feathers from his head down to his toes,
pruning each one carefully, tweeting as he goes.
 
Once he’s done he stands up straight and sighs a mournful sigh.
His beak begins to quiver and a tear forms in his eye.
He starts to tell a tale that’s full of misery and woe,
of sorrow and of heartbreak, as he paces to and fro.
 
‘You’ve no idea how hard it is to see the doves and hens
all kissing and canoodling. It seems to never end!
Then there are the calling birds, the geese and all the swans!
They prance and swim and lay their eggs and proudly sing that song.
 
And do not get me started on the lords and maids and ladies
The pipers and the drummers wake up all the sleeping babies!’
I listen as he tells me of his wish for just one thing -
to find another partridge who will make his sad heart sing.
​
I ask him to come closer, wipe away his tear and say,
‘No need to be alone for look who flew in yesterday!’
He turns his head to where I point, his eyes full of surprise.
His little heart now bursts with hope and to her side he flies.
 
He hops a little closer, pecks her gently with his beak.
She fluffs her wings and then she lays her head upon his cheek.
Together with their heads entwined, the future’s bright and fair.
No longer lonely but instead a perfect partridge pair!
Picture
Image © Bridget Ackerman 2022. Used with permission.

A Perfect Pair © Kerry Gittins 2022. All Rights Reserved.

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Words

21/3/2022

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In response to the Australian Children's Poetry picture prompt #4
WORDS
​Words, words, words!
They’re in the air, they’re everywhere
In a book on a page,
on a sign on the stage.
Falling up, falling down,
in my head spinning ‘round.
My mind is full of wondrous things,
of lovely, weird imaginings.
As I walk the words flow through
and I write them in my notebook blue.
So many tales to tell and share
with dragons, frogs and cranky bears!
When story’s done there’s many more
because the world has words galore!

Picture

Words © Kerry Gittins 2022. All Rights Reserved.

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island of ghosts

8/11/2020

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Whilst on a recent holiday to Con Son island off the southern coast of Vietnam, I was struck not just by the remote beauty of the place, but also by it's history. The white sandy beaches and clear waters belie it's cruel past. It was used as one of the most feared places of incarceration in the region by the French from the 1800's, and also by the Americans during the Vietnam War. The aptly named 'tiger cages' are still there, and for many Vietnamese, these prisons are places for sombre remembrance and full of ghosts. . .
Island Of Ghosts: The Tiger Cages of Con Son Prison
I see you. I see your ghosts.
Wisps of breath from long ago, floating up through the tops of wired pits.
Sighs of terror etched into walls.
Caged like tigers.
Trapped. No hope of escape.
Guards strolling above, along the cement walkway,
taking pleasure in your pain.
Beaten. Humiliated. Starved.
Worthless creatures - not human beings.
I struggle to understand, not the why, the why is war.
It’s the how.
How does someone detach themselves from the screams, the pleas, the sobbing?
How does someone smile while they inflict suffering so terrible?
How does a human being become the same as a cockroach,
something to be stamped on, put down, abused?
Yet you rebel in small, unseen ways.
Comforting each other. Sharing tiny morsels of food.
Scratching names into the walls of the living and the dead,
so they won’t be forgotten.
So you won’t be forgotten.
Unimaginable.
Perspective, history.
Places overgrown over time.
In this place it is not mine, it is yours.
I can only see what is now, and try to make sense of what is past.
I want you to know I see you. I see your ghosts.
No longer trapped. No longer in pain.
Free to roam the beautiful beaches.
Free to roam the lush, green forests
Free to rebel, to whisper their stories
on this island of ghosts. 
Picture
Picture

Island of Ghosts: The Tiger Cages of Con Son Prison © Kerry Gittins 2020. All Rights Reserved.

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Stuck

2/9/2020

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I’m stuck
Not because I don’t have anything to think about
But because my head is full
And I don’t know which idea to choose
To focus on. To tease out. Make bigger
Into what, I haven’t yet figured out
Tired. And stuck
Thoughts about ghosts both past and present
Thoughts about the planet and how much I want to see a future
Thoughts about my family and how much I miss them and can’t wait to see them
Sad. And stuck
There it is again. That word.
Some days are blue sky days where ideas and feelings soar and my hands fly across the keyboard
Some days are black cloud days where my ideas and feelings lay in a dark sticky tar
My hands hover for hours waiting to pluck the ideas from the mire
I know I have to experience both to realise what the other is
But on black cloud days it’s hard to create honey from tar
I look out of the window in my apartment on a world that seems so busy and noisy
As I observe that world my mind starts to quiet
Thoughts slowly begin to unravel
Jumbled scenes become a recognizable thread
Tar is not honey. Not yet.
But there is something. A beginning.
Not so stuck anymore. 

Stuck.© Kerry Gittins 2020. All Rights Reserved.

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