As I was in the Valley at the time and lived next door to the KV Public School, which my three children attended, I knew most of the children featured. Of course, they are now mothers and fathers of their own children, and some no longer live in the Valley.
Since there are many poems in the booklet that I thought appropriate to publish in the Voice, perhaps a couple could appear in each issue, which will take several months of submission. The foreword to the booklet just about sums up the wonderful minds and lives of children aged from 5 to 12 in their own world, so I have reproduced the following from the book.
When our children pick up a pen to draw, or a brush to paint, we witness art in its purest form. That splatted dandelion is an orchid, the stick person is someone dearly loved, the spiked blob, a brilliant moon. When children write poetry they paint pictures with words, brushing in that same raw honesty. As we grow older these primitive pictures fade and poetry loses its colour, its essential truth, and more often its simplicity.
The poetry of our children’s world is irreplaceable.
In this collection of poems by the children of Kangaroo Valley, the child in you will live again, refreshed by the beauty, tragedy, and humour of a child’s world, painted in words.
It is also a tribute to our teachers at Kangaroo Valley Public School and the parents who encourage and inspire our children to write poetry.
We hope you enjoy the collection of poems.
Sadly, Julie Meddows passed away a couple of years ago.
Sommer Rebbeck (14)
IF I COULD
If I could I’d build a world on my own
Where no one is ever alone
Where horses have wings
And dolphins can sing
And love is the only thing known
If I could pull a star from the sky
And through the bright starlight I’d spy
And see a pure white dove
In a world full of love
And a castle of jewels in the sky
If I could I’d build a rainbow of peace
Where kindness and wonders don’t cease
There’s nothing but play
All night and all day
And a giants the nicest old beast
If I could I’d borrow a silvery moonbeam
And craft it into something that you’ve never seen
Like a frozen flame
Or a tickling pain
Where these things don’t only happen in dreams
Lane Marcus (11)
PUSSY WILLOW
One deep dark night
When nothing was in sight
Something came a crawling
Pussy willow came a stalling
And he was no bigger than a mouse
He chased the butterflies
And the pigs from the sties
And he played hide and seek
While we played in the creek
Days went by
And one day there came a cry
Lots more pussy willows had come.
