Poem of the Day




The sun is warm, the fish are biting

Snapper, squid and shoals of whiting

Ice-cream jingles sound inviting –

Summer’s on its way.


The breeze is up, the current’s running

Tourists bare their legs for sunning

Seagulls stealing chips are cunning –

Summer’s on its way.


The sky is bright, the waves are rolling

Zinc-nosed lifeguards are patrolling

Cricket-crazy kids are bowling –

Summer’s here  – let’s play!

Jill McDougall
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #47


Poem of the Day

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Sometimes . . .


Sometimes in the sunshine,

Sometimes in the shade;

Hiking through a forest,

Marching on parade;

Sometimes seeking shelter,

When the sun is hot;

Sometimes craving sunshine,

When the weather’s not.


Sometimes we are wanting

Warmth upon our skin;

Other times we’re wearing

What can keep warmth in.

When the weather changes,

We start changing too.

So it seems the weather

Tells us what to do!

 Monty Edwards
  •  Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #47


Monty says: Thinking about sunshine, I began reflecting on how our varied experience of it constantly affects us. Using brief couplets seemed to underline the changeable nature of the weather and our response to it.

Poetry Prompt #48

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Remember what it was like when your best friend told you a secret and made you promise not to share? I can’t wait to see what wonderful poems you come up with this week. Have fun and play with this prompt. Remember, you’re writing for children. Cast your mind back to how it felt to be four, six, or 10. What secret would you tell? Would you tell it? What would it take to make you talk?

Send your poems to me at traffa-m@bigpond.net.au as Word document or text file attachments and add a few words about your writing process.

Happy writing!


Poem of the Day


Here come the Martians

Here come the Martians, green as peas

as my spacecraft lands in thick brown seas.

They swamp my ship like some disease

so I zap myself to the broccoli trees.


As I grab my fork-shaped Ultra-Stun,

the Martians squeak (in Martian) “Run!”

They hide beneath a buttered bun

but I take them prisoner one by one.


I’m having super-cosmic fun

when Humanoid Robot XP One

drones: Earth to Mars – this is your mum

do NOT play with your dinner son!

Jill McDougall

Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #45



Poem of the Day



(after Charles Causley)

I am the song that lifts the sky

I am the earth that flames the fire

I am the cloud that calls the flood

I am the stream that draws the sun

I am the tide that drinks the moon

I am the air that sings the leaf

I am the bird that stirs the branch

I am the tale that flies the word

I am the note that spreads the song


Katherine Gallagher
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #47


Katherine said: Charles Causley, the Cornish poet, was  a wonderful children’s poet. His poem (that inspired my poem) is full of music.


Poem of the Day

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Snack time

I hope Mum’s packed a donut

in my play lunch for today,

I feel like something sugary and sweet.

A piece of carrot cake

would go down well, I have to say,

or chocolate cake, an even better treat!

Or even cubes of tasty cheese

with slices of kabana.

Let’s see what yummy snack my Mum has made…

One crummy little biscuit

and an overripe banana?

Would anybody like to do a trade?

Jenny Erlanger
  •  Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #45



Jenny said: Reading the latest “food” prompt poem, “Lunchboxing” reminded me of a poem I wrote several years ago along the same theme. I thought I’d share it with others who remember being disappointed with the offerings put in their lunch box.

Poem of the Day

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An Orange Egg


I’m sure that I can eat an orange egg.

You do not have to plead. You needn’t beg.

I do not think that I have ever tried

An orange that’s been boiled, poached or fried.

Nor have I yet consumed an egg that’s raw,

Been neatly peeled, and sliced up into four.


An orange placed on toasted sourdough

Is not a taste sensation that I know.

I haven’t eaten egg as marmalade.

I’m not convinced that it would make the grade.

I know! I’ll mix the two into a goop,

And eat them as an eggy, orange soup!


© Stephen Whiteside
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #45