Sign up to our newsletter
Find out more about our new online CPD to provide extra support for your literacy curriculum
I was born with a map of Australia on my face;it was beautiful, my mother told me – there was nobody like me in the whole wide worldwho could trace the edges of down under
There is a place (believe me,
she said) where if, if
you go beyond
the street lights, to the lane's end,
The night was as dark as an ink well,For the moon had gone visiting elsewhere,But by the scuffling sounds around me,I knew there was someone there.
Standing by the river, my face grewinto a flat fish and floated offto a lily pad, and I was lonelywithout myself, without my twin.
Spring is baby,bright, fresh and new,gurgling with the melting snow,singing with the first cuckoo.
Take an apple. Chop it into quarters.Count out three. These represent the lakesthat nestle inside countries, all the snaking rivers joined with seas – the blue that’s water.
Next door live three old ladies. They’re sisters, well into their eighties, but to us kids, they seem beyond time.
It is midnight in the ice rinkAnd all is cool and still.Darkness seems to hold its breathNothing moves, until
The moon was married last nightand nobody saw,dressed up in her ghostly dressfor the summer ball.
The phone ringsBut never long enoughFor the Slow Man.
By the timeThe set’s switched onHis favourite programme’s over.