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A sparkling summer

Christmas is coming,

Our school year’s complete.

It’s time for admiring,

As we walk street to street.

 

On doors we see wreaths

of green and red  holly.

On  balconies, sleighs,

and Santas fat and jolly.

 

The streets are not dark,

Even though it’s late,

For blinking and winking

On tree, fence or gate

Is a string of sparkling LED lights.

 

Our suburb’s gone magic

With colours so bright

We’ll visit again,

A new street each night.

 

But I’m glad that the sparkling

Is a Christmas-time treat

Like presents and cicadas,

and too much to eat.

 

The year keeps on turning,

Christmas is almost over.

Tomorrow is New Year’s Day

So tonight we’re all going

To the fireworks display.

Viv Nicoll-Hatton
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #50

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Poem of the Day

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A PUPPY AT BREAKFAST

 

A wiggle, a wobble

a scramble, a stumble

a nibble, a gnaw and a nip

a puddle of dribble

a bowl full of kibble

a trip and a slide and a slip

a tail that’s a’wagging

a small bottom dragging

a’scrapin’, a’scratchin’ and flinchin’

the tiniest paws

on the slipperiest floors

a pup on the tiles in the kitchen.

Allan Cropper

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A BIRD UNIQUE

Hoo hoo hoo, and he haw hay

laughed the Kooka on his way.

 

After him the magpies chased

winging past in reckless haste.

 

What was it that the Kooka heard

to cause the magpies get so stirred?

 

An ornithologist rushed to meet

a magpie walking on two sore feet.

 

‘I’m scared to fly,’ the magpie wailed

‘They laughed at me because I failed.’

 

He then limped on, a bird unique,

an unhappy agoraphobic freak.

 

© Margaret Pearce

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Hide and seek

 

I climb to the top, which is ever so high,

I straddle a branch with my head in the sky

and pause for a moment to contemplate why

I’d ever return to the ground.

 

I’m happy to sit here for hours, it’s true.

It’s great to have nothing specific to do.

I’ll sit and enjoy this magnificent view

until I am finally found.

 

If I were a bird this is where I would stay.

This view would be mine to observe every day,

a vast checkered quilt stretching out to the bay,

a truly spectacular sight.

 

The cows in the paddocks are tiny brown dots,

the cars just a series of bright coloured spots

and far in the distance are miniscule yachts,

their sails little  speckles of white.

 

The hours slip by as I gaze at the scene

of miniature houses surrounded by green,

a setting so stunning, so hushed and serene

that glows in the afternoon sun.

 

And now as the daylight is fading away

the colours below me are turning to grey

and thousands of sparklers have come out to play.

The evening show has begun.

 

A dog far beneath me has started to bark

and suddenly people flock into the park.

They’re busily rummaging round in the dark

and shouting wherever they go.

 

I’m sure something terrible must have occurred.

I’m straining to recognize voices I’ve heard.

I peer from my branch like a curious bird

at all of the action below.

 

And now, at the base of this towering pine

the dog I heard barking has started to whine.

I watch from this marvelous hideout of mine

as everyone heads for my tree

 

And suddenly everything’s perfectly clear.

I could be in trouble, I’m starting to fear.

I know why these hundreds of people are here.

I bet they’re all looking for me.

 

 

Jenny Erlanger

This was awarded third prize in the “Adults writing for children” category of the Toolangi Poetry Competition in 2015.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poetry Prompt #52

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poetry-prompt-52

Here’s a lucky last poetry prompt for 2016 for those with a little time to spare and a yen to finish the year on a creative note. I hope you’ve all been enjoying these weekly prompts as much as I’ve enjoyed reading the wonderful submissions that have been turning up in my in box in response to them. I am always so impressed with what you create and I hope you will continue to contribute to ACP next year. It’s been such a pleasure reading and posting your poems. Send your submissions to me at traffa-m@bigpond.net.au as a Word or Text document attachment and add a few lines about your writing process.

Happy writing!

Teena

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A Happiness Recipe

 

If you want to be happy

As happy can be,

Try not to keep asking

“What’s in it for me?”

Enjoy what you have,

(Perhaps quite a lot)

And give far less thought

To what you have not.

 

Be happy you live,

Be happy you grow,

Be happy you learn

What many don’t know,

Be happy to help

A person in need,

Be happy you’re loved.

That’s happy indeed!

 Monty Edwards
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #23

Poetry Prompt #22

Monty says: Like adults, children can look for happiness in the wrong places and become disappointed and disillusioned with life. My aim in the poem was to offer a simple recipe for a different outcome.

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Santa’s New Clothes

 

Santa had a problem—his special suit no longer fit.

It was snug around the tummy. When he sat, his trousers split.

One bight and early morning, Mrs Santa said:

“Dear, I must tell you something that I read.

I love you roly-poly, I love you as you are,

but if you took a health test you wouldn’t get a star.

It’s really most important to have a healthy heart

and if you want a long life, it’s not too late to start.”

Santa called in at the health club—the trainer checked him out.

She said: “We’ll plan a program that’ll work without a doubt.”

She booked him in for workouts three times every week,

then talked about his diet and told him what to eat.

He ate lots of fruit and vegies, chose grilled instead of fried

for every single main meal, with salads on the side.

He said no to morning tea cakes and had carrot sticks instead.

Whenever offered sweet treats, he firmly shook his head.

Santa also started walking quite early in the day

and soon those extra kilos began to melt away.

He said: “I feel fantastic, this year will be a breeze.

I’ll deliver all those presents without the slightest wheeze.

I won’t get stuck in chimneys or struggle up steep stairs

or stop to have a rest whenever I see chairs.”

Then on Christmas Eve, a problem as Santa dressed to leave.

His suit no longer fit him except for length of sleeve.

His top was loose and baggy where tight it was before,

and when he pulled his trousers up, they slid down to the floor.

He looked at Mrs Santa. “Whatever will we do?

Perhaps some safety pins? Could you sew a seam or two?

We need a quick solution for I really ought to go.

The children are all waiting and I can’t be late, you know.”

Mrs Santa nodded and tried to hide a smile.

“Thank goodness it’s late shopping. This will only take a while.”

So that’s why this year Santa won’t be wearing his red suit.

He’s got a brand new outfit. Mrs Santa thinks it’s cute.

It’s a bright red fleecy tracksuit for warmth in North Pole cold,

and a pair of sporty sneakers replacing boots of old.

For his head a woolly beanie instead of pom pom cap.

So if one Christmas evening you should glimpse a bearded chap

who looks a lot like Santa except he’s fit and trim,

don’t think that you’re mistaken, for yes, you’re right, it’s him!

Teena Raffa-Mulligan

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12 days of Dogness

 

On the first day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

Last year’s Christmas stocking

In the bottom was a pea

 

On the second day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

A chewed up Christmas decoration

For our brand new tree

 

On the third day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

A dug up bone from last year

And dumped it by my knee

 

On the fourth day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

An old Santa hat

Found under the old settee

 

On the fifth day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

A bit of Christmas cake

To go with my cup of tea

 

On the sixth day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

A striped candy cane

Stolen from the tree

 

On the seventh day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

A string of Christmas lights

He thought needed to be freed

 

On the eighth day of Christmas

My doggy brought to me

A potato from the vegie patch

One less for Christmas tea

 

On the ninth day of Christmas

My doggy brought to me

A freshly baked mince pie

And eyes that pleaded “feed me”

 

On the tenth day of Christmas

My doggy brought to me

An old nativity book

Pages ripped out for me to see

 

On the eleventh day of Christmas

My doggy brought to me

Santa’s special cookies

Left out for Santa’s feed

 

On the twelfth day of Christmas

My doggie brought to me

A heart of Christmas cheer

Which was really all I need

Jeanie Axton

 

 

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Fly to the Moon

 

Fly to the moon and share with me

Your dreams and angel dust

We’ll touch the stars and fill the air

With sparkles light and such.

 

Fly to the moon, look down and see

Blue oceans surge and swell

The fish will dance in moonglow,

Salty secrets yet to tell.

 

Fly to the moon and watch the earth

From way up high above

Turning ever turning

All magnificence and love.

Patti Bourne
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #50

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