Poem of the Day

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by Elizabeth Cummings

The dawn striped red across the sky
When standing still we gazed upon the sea
Breathing in the silence drawing near
As patriotic flags flapped in the wind
We prayed and thought about this legacy.
Our minds dwelling on the many and the many more
Who gave their lives too soon in all those wars
And their aching families who mourn them yet
And the countries whose pride they to death held dear.
When bearing death, their legacy they gave.

The talking and the praying goes on
The hymns that some still know
And sing in quivering tone and tune
In time as the quiet comes and goes
About this legacy and so a unified conscience grows.

Now the wreaths are being laid down
Beside the twin flag poles
Names are called with due respect

And whilst we hear “the Last Post” played.
We reflect on how their loss to us our freedom gave

When will we know when we have learnt
Through all those lessons that war taught

And whilst we are stirred by native spirit

To all rise to praise the strong and dead
We sing our half-forgotten anthems with our coy pride


As the crowds now make their way

And file past the decorated stones
That mark the lives of those unknown

Whose legacy only our little lives do show
And whose coldness hold warm the hearts of all those left.


Should we not find some better thing

Some meaning for ourselves

Some way to comprehend this gift, this loss

To ask ourselves what bleeding heart, what weeping soul

Can immortalise this bloody legacy.


So take up your arms and leave your soul

To mourn on what was lost

For these memories of the dead will not bring back

Nor lay to rest the passion and the harm

That simmers in these hearts of the mournful young


They will learn in their own time

What it is that harms a man

But if there be but one sole prayer

That we should chant in eternal unison

Be it that this day shall be their legacy for peace.


  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #17

poppies copy






Poem of the Day

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Anzac Day

by Monty Edwards


They fought for freedoms we hold dear

And paid an awful price.

They faced the foe and conquered fear

To make their sacrifice.


Today we honour those who died,

And others who returned,

Who with their fellows, side by side

True comradeship had learned.


May all who love Australia fair,

Both here and far away,

Ourselves aspire to gladly serve

Through sacrifice today.

  • poppies copySubmitted in response to Poetry Prompt #17 ‘Lest we forget’.

Author Comment:  It’s fitting that we honour the courage and sacrifice of past generations of Australian service personnel and citizens, but I believe our nation’s future largely depends on how we personally respond to their example in meeting the challenges facing our society today.


Poem of the Day


Kitten Kisses


Frisky kitten,

smug and smitten,

scimper scamper out the house.


Whiskers twitching,

scratching, itching,

leap and pounce upon a mouse.



feeling hazy,

mouse has dashed into a hole.


Never mind,

Kitten’s kind,

instead she spots her milk-filled bowl!


Sipping, slurping,

Kitten burping

Oh, what fun to roll and play.


Licking, purring,

cool fan whirring,

Kitten’s had a busy day.


Kitten’s snooping,

birds are swooping,

Watch out, here comes pointy claws!


Dodging, dashing,

bin lids clashing,

make a dive for the safe indoors.


Adults stomping,

children romping,

a bouncy ball flies past and misses.


Kitten tumbles

over jumbles

Here comes Mummy for kitten kisses.


by Ramona Davey   © 2016




Poem of the Day


Words for Birds

by Monty Edwards


I have a cockatoo named Bert. I’m teaching him to talk.

For years the best that he could do was simply screech and squawk.

He made the most unpleasant sounds – I had to walk away.

I wondered which words would be best to get my Bert to say.


“A dictionary might help,” I thought, but that was clearly wrong:

To read right through a dictionary would take me far too long!

In any case, some words I found, I didn’t want to use,

Since words I couldn’t say myself were not the ones to choose!


My teacher knows a lot of words, but when I went to ask

What she’d suggest to be some words for such a tricky task,

The teacher only shook her head. “I really wouldn’t know,” she said.

That night before I went to bed, I thought to ask my Dad instead.


My Dad said: “Why not ask your Mum? If you want words, then she’s the one!”

So off I went to find my Mum, but words for birds? She gave me none.

Mum said: “Now son, it’s getting late. It’s time for bed!” Those words I hate.

It seemed I must accept my fate. To get her help I’d have to wait.


I went to bed. What could I do? I hoped that sleep might bring a clue.

A word. Just one. Perhaps a few. If only wishes could come true!




Next day I had a great idea. The place to start became quite clear.

The word was one Bert often heard and perfect for my noisy bird.

Perhaps you’d like to try to guess the word that brought me such success?

Before your brain begins to hurt, I’d better tell you. It was . . .  “Bert”.


  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #10


Author Comment: The idea for this poem came from “squawk” as a rhyme for the prompt word  “talk”. Then, as I began to write, the ideas kept coming and determined the final destination.

Poem of the Day

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To a T

My thought paused where paths intersect,

it knew which way was right

but what was left to know

was much more interesting that night

‘tis true that to the right

was where all sensible thoughts would turn;

avoiding less trod tracks, devoid of facts

where questions burned

but this thought had a mission;

to discover poetry

and he risked the world’s derision.

That way suits him to a t

Walter de Jong
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #2


Walter’s cloud theory: A cloud should fulfil its purpose of conveying something of substance which, upon precipitation, may nurture growth in the earth. A cloud should be impressive in itself; beautiful, awesome and individual; it should evoke feeling. A cloud should engage its audience and inspire them to find an echo of their own imaginings and create their own personal meaning. And in my own creations I will aim to emulate the clouds.

Poem of the Day


Ode Rage

I push my pen around the page,

it pushes back and sneers.

When I incur a paper cut –

I cry, the paper jeers.


A face appears upon the page –

a horrid, mocking troll.

Now my chair collapses

and I’m truly on a roll.


My pen falls down beside me.

I’m sure I hear it speak.

It mutters, ‘Feelin’ lucky, punk?’

I answer, ‘Feelin’ weak’.


Dead lines are sneaking up on me,

like zombies, clawed extended.

My brain is full of jellybeans –

the jar has been upended.


My Muse is out to get me

and I’m filled with angst and fear.

I send regards from Writer’s Hell,

be thankful you’re not here.

Bill Condon
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #5