Poetry Inspired by Australian Paintings Pott
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The Pioneer Cluny Nankervis
Trees whistling, leaves rustling Fire burning smoke Winter ends, spring time comes Lady sits lonely.
Man and woman marry Baby clutching Mum Smoke still burning Tree drop like a stone BANG! BANG! Not far from home Everything looks lifeless.
Everything dies Summer is here Baby now a boy Mum dead Dad dead Pioneer alone.
The Pioneer Lawrence Butt
Tees whistling Leaves whispering As the pioneer comes Winter comes, slowly, slowly more deadly than before. Chopping trees down in the night With one axe and no guns The pioneer sets up a camp fire While everything else gets darker and darker Sunset blinds all creatures of the unknown
The pioneer then sets a bush fire and collects the fallen trees The pioneer goes back to work straight away In the dark misty and deadly forest then‌. In the process he meets a young and troubled girl A year later they get married And together they build a small shack of wood Then have their first child.
As years pass the baby becomes a man And the dad returns to work The pioneer cuts a tree for the last time, then….. BAAM!!!!!!! The wife hears the loud and distracting noise! She ran out of the house to where she heard it BUT…… It was too late. She died of sadness. The son then became a pioneer in the footsteps of his father.
The Pioneer Emma Troy
The quietness of the trees Little crunches of the leaves The man is making fire for the dark cold night Animals hiding beneath the leaves And camouflaging with the trees While the man makes the fire The cloudy smoke floats in the ai. The lady sitting quietly and peacefully on the ground.
The Pioneer By Hamza Dahir
The man is making fire For the coldest night The maid is sitting Wondering what’s going to happen. All around the rustling branches make a crunching noise! Woosh! Woosh! Crunch!
The axe is resting after chopping down trees ‘’What are we going to do with this log?’’ He quietly whispers to his wife. The baby is hanging tightly to his mother. Listening Listening Listening To the sounds of the bush.
Years have moved The baby is a man Life has changed The baby buried his mother and father.
The Pioneer Henry Healy
The pioneers have just come Their wagon too In a great forest the fire to protect them From the night. Rustling leaves - What could it be? Strange new lands New beast to hunt or will they be hunted for the night?
Few years past now they have a shack to protect them From the rain and the weather or the beast Now they have a family of their own Also a trusty axe to keep wood to light Or to make their shack into a proper house
Sad time comes People pass the cross to help them go To a beautiful place that we call heaven up in the clouds They watch their son in the sky As he does what happened to them.
The Pioneer By Marcella Martin
The quiet trees Thee rustle of leaves Waiting all alone Time of deeply thinking The animals hiding beneath the trees Not knowing what to do While the man makes the fire The clouds of smoke falls softly Waiting woman not knowing what to do.
They get married and have a baby after chopping trees. Quiet chatting “ What should we do with what we have wife?” The baby clutching tightly to the mothers arms - listening.
The father dies Goes up to heaven Still looking down with love Grown baby takes his father’s steps And makes a life just like the rest.
The Bridge in Curve Youssif Serag
Like brightness coming out of the huge fire The bridge slightly falls Everything is crashing and falling Everything is rusty. It has a lot of oil! The bridge has not been finished.
The Bridge in Curve Conor McCarthy
You can see the Sydney Harbour Bridge buil. You can smell the oil Ka-boom! Small houses are tiny Hard working Very high Very loud Lots of buildings Builders are yelling Cranes working hard The sky is light blue Buildings are crashing together
Little person looking down Tiny grass Giant sun Little people
The Bridge in Curve Dan Kinfoyle
You can see the bridge being built Can you smell the oil from the crane? Ka-boom! Small houses are small Un-finished work Very high Very noisy Lots of iron Builders yelling Cranes working The sky is blue Builders concentrating Little person looking up.
The Bridge in Curve Ashton Bicknell
Un-finished work Smell of oil KA-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! Cargo trucks come full with iron. Gigantic cranes lift iron DONG-DONG! Dangerous work Vast bridge BREAK TIME! EEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! What a day! Time for bed GOOD-NIGHT!
Field Naturalists Famta Ali
Winter days come spring time ends Colourful grass. Rainy days come and rainy days end Beautiful sky. Happy days come and end Funny people. It’s always wet It is flooding A lot of trees Everywhere you see trees Days cloudy come and go People mean and kind and beautiful Pretty people Sad people Caring people Very generous people lots and lots of best friends Brother and sister live in one house Happy people kind and caring Everybody loves each other.
Field Naturalists Yvonne Morton
Winter ends and spring time starts Pink blossom blooms in fields of colour. Damp plants glow in the shining sun light Clouds shadow over the growing trees Ponds of water fill with floating leaves Soft little voices fade from children in the whispering trees.
The Rabbiters Kalinda Gonzalez
Sunset falls so do the trees Listen carefully hear the trees breeze Animals hide when it is hunting time The shoot comes out of a gun (BANG!) Animals crouch scared and frightened in the fading sun Men disappointed when animals relieved.
The Rabbiters Sophia Saunders
Hunting time comes The birds do not hum And the sun is settling down. The animals do not play during hunting time When the guns are about to shoot All is quiet the trees look sad While the boulders are still and frightening The shadows are creeping towards us As we fall back into the gloominesss The trees whisper secrets in the outback.
The Rabbiters By Erin Breeze
Sunset fades, hunting time comes As the hunters pull out their guns. The rabbiters are gliding around While the natural sculpture of gloominess is coming down! The rocks start whispering As the rabbiters load their guns.
The Rabbiters By Zoe Stellamanns
Night time is coming, shadows appear Now between the rocks and canyons Trees have fallen. Hunters come to see the mess as things are about Animals have fallen. Now we hear the bang, bang of their guns. The trees are curling up to create a perfect hiding place Rocks have fallen. They could go on forever in their little hidden places.
Shearing the Rams Aston Smith
Men shearing sheep Hard work Louds shearing, Smell of cheesy feet. Nude sheep Fluffy wool Hard working Crowds of men shearing rams Disgusting stinky smell of cheesy feet! Clik Clak of sheep, Clik Clak, Click Clack Bushy beards of men.
Collins Street Anas Saney
People looking at something They have creepy eyes They have black eyes It’s like a funeral It looks like a church They are very, very, very, very freaky Watching me! What are the people doing I wonder? There a lots of people around me They are surrounding me One of them jumped me It is the end of the world.
Collins Street Hayu Abdulkerim
They’re near the bank of New South Wales They’re walking like there’s something controlling them. Then someone scream ! Yfind out that they’ve been killed by zombies Because they’re killers Killers tonight. Collins Street is haunted by those crazy un-dead ghouls.