‘What?’
I sent a delightful through ball to Ronaldo
‘Who?’
running down the touchline.
He did a one-two with Emerson,
the Brazilian midfielder,
‘Brazilian?’
and sent a driving low cross
to the near post,
where I dived full-length
to head the winner,
with seconds left.
The Italians were devastated
as my Brazilian team-mates
lifted me high on their shoulders…
‘Peter.’
and carried me into the stands…
‘Peter.’
as the samba played loudly...
‘Peter.’
and where the World Cup…
‘Peter.’
was presented to me by the Queen…
‘Peter!’
Yes, sir?
‘Sorry, to interrupt the Queen,
but were you playing your X-box
last night?’
Oh no, Mr Carey.
It was last year
when I won the World Cup.
An autumn poem by Billy
the leaves are gently falling
like the steady flakes
of dandruff
when I haven’t washed my hair.
A spring rap by the J-man
It’s spring. It’s spring.
Shake your shiny bling.
It’s spring sing the birds
whistling without words.
It’s spring shouts the king
who lives in Beijing!
It’s spring, yo, it’s spring.
Let those funky words ring.
A summer poem by Peter
Holidays.
Beach.
No school.
Enough said.
A winter poem by Emily
‘Now is the winter of my discontent’
when dear Romeo and sweet Juliet
are forsaken
by yonder class...
who chose a stupid concert instead49!!
Michael’s broken remote control
Dad slumps in his armchair
with the big blue cushion
behind his big bald head.
Mum relaxes on the lounge
where she can put her feet up -
her soft lilac slippers
warming her long pink feet!
My big sister Stella
sits on the lounge with Mum.
She plonks her feet on the coffee table,
and wiggles her smelly toes.
I’m forced to sit on the cushion
on the floor
in front of the telly.
Dad says,
‘Michael, turn up the volume, will you?
You’re closest.’
I lean forward and turn it up.
Mum says,
‘Darling, it needs more colour.
Fix it will you? That’s a good boy.’
I adjust the colour.
Now everyone on television
has faces pinker than Mum’s feet.
Stella says,
‘Dad, the picture’s all fuzzy.
Everyone’s got two heads.’
And sure enough,
Dad says to me,
‘Just move the aerial, son.
Just a little, to the right.’
I get up,
move the aerial,
fluff my cushion to get comfortable,
ready for The Simpsons,
when
there’s a knock at the door,
and Mum says,
‘Visitors.
Turn the telly off, Michael.
There’s nothing on anyway.’
Questions Mr Carey has
not answered, yet.
Mr Carey, if the earth revolves around the sun,
and the moon revolves around the earth,
why don’t they crash into each other?
Sir, if you can grow a beard on your face,
why can’t you grow a beard on your elbow?
Mr Carey, why is there an aeroplane
called the ‘Sopwith Camel’?
Mr Carey, why can’t men get pregnant?
Why can’t we see the hole in the ozone layer?
Why can’t you grow a beard on your knee?
Why does Dad snore and wake everyone, except himself?
Why can’t you grow a beard on your bottom?
Class 6C answer a question
‘Class 6C.
What do you call someone
who doesn’t eat meat?’
A feral!
Poor?
A vegetablarian.
A meat-free zone?
A long-haired, tree-hugging,
good-for-nothing, layabout hippie.
(That’s what my dad says, sir.)
An anti-carnivore.
A cow!
(Well, they only eat grass, don’t they, sir?)
A cool salad dresser,
Sees animals as no lesser.
A brussel sprouter!
A tofu-burglar!
A soy-beaner!
Can we go now, sir?
It’s lunchtime,
Meat pies and sausage rolls,
a dollar each!
If we’re late,
Year 5 will get them all!
Anna’s secret
Emily and Jason
have kissed again!
Before school,
on the bus,
up the back.
I couldn’t watch.
Yuk!
So I watched!
Yuk!
Peter
Ahmet
Michael
Billy
Sarah
Alex
we all watched.
It was worse than
Big Brother.
Worse than Survivor.
Worse than Australian Idol.
So we watched.
No one’s secret
any more...
Emily and Jason
can’t stop kissing!
True!
This time they did it
in the classroom
before study
when they thought Mr Carey
wasn’t around.
He was!
Now, they’ve really done it…
Emily
I can’t believe it!
Detention.
For kissing.
What will Mum say?
I’ve never got detention in my life.
How can Mr Carey do this?
Especially after I explained
Jason and I were in love.
Doesn’t he always sing songs
about ‘make love, not war’?
What a hypocrite!
Jason
I can’t believe it!
Emily told Mr Carey we’re in love!
And I got detention,
for kissing!
I’ve got detention before –
for breaking a school window,
for swearing,
for fighting.
But for kissing
how embarrassing!
Alex’s Saturday soccer
It’s the same every Saturday
now soccer season has started.
Mum stands on one sideline
watching my game,
drinking her coffee
and looking nervous.
Dad stands on the opposite side
shuffling his feet,
drinking his coffee
and watching Mum
from way across the field.
When the final whistle blows
I wait
in the centre-circle,
afraid to go one way
or the other.
Michael’s weekend treat
It’s the first meal
on the first night
of our firs
t camping weekend ever.
Mum, my sister Stella
and me are sitting outside the tent
watching Dad
trying to put together
the brand-new twin-burner deluxe gas stove
for our first meal
on our first night…
‘If I place this here,
screw this in,
tighten,
stand it on level ground,
and light…
Anyone got a match?’
I can’t resist.
‘Sure, Dad. A match.
How about Stella and a horse!’
‘Very funny, Michael,’ says Dad.
‘You can apologise to Stella
by washing up tonight.’
Stella smiles and keeps reading
her stupid fantasy book.
‘A match, please?’
Mum hands a box to Dad and says,
‘I’m starving. Let’s cook.’
Dad strikes the match,
talking to himself,
‘Here we go,
a delicious dinner coming up.’
He holds the match close to the gas cooker
turns the knob, and…
nothing.
‘It’s broken!
$220 and not worth a fig!’ Dad says.
‘Try another match,’ says Mum.
Dad strikes the match and
WHOOOOOMPHHH!
Instead of a blue cooking flame,
an orange flame shoots high and wide.
Our faces glow
in the sudden blaze.
Dad jumps and yells,
‘Quick! Run!
It’s going to blow.
Run! Now!’
He reaches for our hands
‘Quick!
It’ll take the whole camp ground if it blows.
Run!
Run, I tell you.
It’ll explode! Run!’
And as Dad is about to turn and run,
dragging us behind,
Mum leans close to the flame
and puffs really hard…
The flame goes out.
Dad is still jumping and yelling,
waving his arms.
‘Run! Run!’
Then he sees the flame is out.
The night is perfectly still
not a sound can be heard…
Dad slumps on a camp chair,
and is very quiet for a long time,
until Mum says,
‘Let’s go to the shop, shall we?
I’d love some fish and chips.’
Dad nods,
‘Sure. We’ll cook tomorrow.
Let’s have a treat for our first night.’
Anna and Beyonce
After school.
I check our house –
no one home.
Mum and Dad at work,
and my brother?
Who knows where Roberto goes?
Time for some secret concert practice.
I switch on Dad’s karaoke machine,
search through
a thousand stupid football songs
and another thousand soppy love songs
until I find
Beyonce.
I pick up the microphone,
push play
and start singing
and dancing…
I jump on the lounge,
I slide along the floor,
I even add Sharita’s
hip lifts and belly rolls.
Over and over,
playing the same song,
until,
sure enough,
just as I’ve perfected my
Beyonce bump dance,
I see my stupid brother
grinning at the window.
I bet he’s been there for ages
and he looks fit to burst.
I have to get used to an audience.
I know they’ll all be watching me,
but Roberto…
stupid crazy Roberto…
I hate him!
Wise things Billy
has said this term
When Mr Carey’s eyebrows meet,
caterpillars grow nervous.
What’s eleven plus seven?
Easy, eleventy-seven.
What happens if you spray Spiderman
with insect repellant?
True happiness can be found
at lunchtime,
when the canteen is open,
and there’s no one else in line.
A dead bird can’t hurt you,
unless it falls on your head.
Remember, salt on your chips
is better than vinegar on your lips.
Guns don’t kill people,
lollipops do.
I can’t read poetry,
it hurts my head.
Teachers are like parents,
only different.
Parents are like teachers
that don’t get paid.
You shouldn’t grumble
if you stumble.
Jason, and parents
I don’t understand parents.
When I got detention for fighting
last year,
Dad was so mad.
I couldn’t watch television for a week,
as ‘extra punishment’,
or as Mum said,
‘extra reason not to fight again’.
And when I got in trouble for
accidentally
breaking the library window
(how did I know
I could kick a ball that high?)
I had to do special chores
around the house
for two weeks
to help pay for the damage.
So, when they find out
about detention this week,
for kissing Emily,
what do they do?
Nothing.
Not a single thing.
And I catch Dad smiling at me
over dinner.
And Mum doesn’t say a word,
except to ask,
‘Is Emily that pretty girl
with the dark hair?’
And she starts smiling too.
Peter, in love?
Do you want a chip?
She took the whole packet.
Can I carry your bag?
She filled it full of books.
A double-pass to the movies?
She took her sister, Angie.
A sip of thickshake?
She gave me the empty cup.
Help with homework?
I did it all, alone, late at night.
The secret Sarah told me yesterday?
She told the whole school.
I offered her my soul, my heart, my hand.
She said I made her sick.
That night I cried.
The next day
I offered her another thickshake –
with out-of-date milk.
She gulped it down.
Now I really did make her sick!
Billy, in love?
There’s far too much love
going around this class
at the moment.
Emily and Jason,
Mr Carey and his hippie songs,
and now Peter…
What would Johnny Rotten say?
He’d sneer,
swear once or twice,
and start singing a song
about the war,
or being unemployed,
or having a wild haircut.
That’s what this class needs:
a good spiky haircut.
I’ll ask Dad,
when I get home.
The class respond to
Billy’s haircut
Cool and sharp.
Like a spiny anteater sitting on his head!
He’s ten centimetres taller!
He looks like he’s put his fi
nger
in a power point and been electrocuted!
Hey, that’s my good friend, Billy.
Some say his hair looks silly
But maybe the barber got drunk
and turned Billy into a punk.
Whatever you do,
don’t let him head my soccer ball.
I think the Prime Minister
should spike his hair,
to be just like Billy.
It looks like he’s poked
twenty knitting needles in his head.
Billy the Punk rules, okay!
Letter to an author
Dear Author,
I’m writing this because Mr Carey, my teacher,
says we have to.
We like your book.
It was almost as good as Harry Potter,
only there weren’t any wizards and stuff.
We liked the guinea pig.
We didn’t like the principal. He was mean.
Billy asked me to suggest you should write
about football. And ghosts. And goblins too.
Do you have any children?
I have an annoying brother and a pet goldfish
called Max.
Billy says to say that he had a goldfish
called Sid Vicious, but it died.
Do you make lots of money?
Can you put me and Billy in your next book?
Billy wants to be the goblin.
Yours in books,
Anna Baggio (and Billy)
Letter to a rapper
Yo!
I’m Jackson – but call me J-man, bro.
Dis letter for my teacher
he’s an education preacher.
Made me write a letter
to a dude who’s better.
I thought of you – a rapping man –
cause you can see I’m a rapping fan.
Do you wear a beanie and hip gear?
Cruise with a swagger and have no fear?
That’s cool.
You rule.
I wrote a song, you know, a great sound.
A real hot rhythm called
Rappin’ in the playground.
I’ll post it to you next time, if I can.
Don’t forget me bro, I’m the J-man.
I am,
J-man
Concert practice
Anna played a CD
of Beyonce.
She sang all the words
and danced around the classroom.
Billy had shaved his hair,