Poetry Prompt #21

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Hi everyone, this week’s writing prompt is a photo I took at Crom Castle in Northern Ireland earlier this year during a writing retreat. This gateway is part of the ruins of the old castle and if I let my imagination roam freely, that open gate is an invitation to explore other times, perhaps even other dimensions. The aged stonework fascinates me – I want to touch it and sense the stories it tells of other lives. How does the image speak to you?

Thanks to everyone who has so enthusiastically embraced these weekly prompts. Your contributions to this site are much appreciated, so please keep them coming. Remember, if you’ve missed a prompt you can catch up later. And if you have other poems for children, feel free to submit them. They can be previously published as long as you retain the rights. Send submissions via email to teenawriter@gmail.com as a Word or Text document attachment, add a line or two about your writing process and make sure you include your name on your poem. It makes my job so much easier if I don’t have to search back in my email folders.

Happy writing!

Teena

Poem of the Day

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BEWARE! This is a HORRIBLE poem!!

Read at OWN RISK!!!

 

 

 

 

What’s for dinner, Mum?

 

First up

slurp up

sliced slug soup

seasoned with slaters.

 

Then

bite into

baked blowfly burgers

basted with blood.

 

Or

gobble down

goat gut goulash

garnished with grubs.

 

Next

munch up

minced mouse mousse

mingled with maggots.

 

Or

dive into

dragonfly dumplings

drizzled in drool.

 

And last of all

swill down

seaweed slime smoothies

smothered in snot.

 

Still hungry?

 

Glenys Eskdale
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #20

Glenys said: I heard a discussion on ABC talkback radio about sayings mothers used to have as answers to the question, ‘What’s for dinner, Mum’, so I invented a poem of the most disgusting stuff I could think of.

Poem of the Day

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Croc-o-diner

The crocodile has every right

to fall in love or have a fight.

He likes his home.  He wants to stay

and have a feed and sleep and play.

 

But better not get in his way

or YOU won’t see another day!

 

So when you travel our great land

respect this resident so grand

and DON’T go swimming where he hides

among the rivers, banks and tides.

 

It’s not HIS fault that tourists may

taste just like croccy’s take-away!

Celia Berrell
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #20

 

 

 

 

Celia said: My husband is considering working in a remote coastal location in Far North Queensland where it is possible to find crocodiles lurking under the buildings.  To all the people who work up there, PLEASE be careful and keep yourselves off their dinner menu!

Poetry Pointers

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  1. Try to write every day. Don’t wait for inspiration to strike.

 

  1. Play to your strengths. If you prefer to write in rhyme, do so. If not, don’t. It doesn’t matter whether a poem rhymes or not.

 

  1. Having said that, it is also important to push yourself out of your comfort zone from time to time.

 

  1. Don’t write to a formula. If your writing interests you, it will probably interest other people. If it bores you, it will probably bore others.

 

  1. Don’t take rejection personally. Remember, it is only your poem that is being rejected, not you.

 

  1. Talent is overrated. Persistence is much more important.

 

  1. Know the markets. Write with the markets in mind.

 

  1. Having said that, don’t write with the markets in mind all the time. It is important to have fun with your poetry, and take risks. Try not to get too serious about it all.

 

  1. If you’re stuck for an idea, choose something small and insignificant to start with, and build from there.

 

  1. Celebrate your mistakes. They are evidence of your productivity. Remember, the most mistakes are made by the most successful people.

 

Thanks to Stephen Whiteside for these excellent tips on writing poetry. Stephen’s collection of rhyming verse for children, ‘The Billy That Died With Its Boots On’ and Other Australian Verse, was published by Walker Books in 2014. In 2015, the book won a “Golden Gumleaf” award for “Book of the Year” at the Australian Bush Laureate Awards during the Tamworth Country Music Festival. Visit his website for more details.

http://www.stephenwhiteside.com.au

Poem of the Day

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The Feely Bag

 

What’s inside the feely bag?

Please tell us what you feel.

 

A slimy, slippery frog perhaps,

That makes you squirm and reel.

 

A ragged, worn-out kitchen sponge,

That’s squelchy, smelly, wet.

 

Or Cody’s wriggly garden worms,

The biggest he could get.

 

Do bristles scrape your fingertips,

When lifting something up?

 

Is it a nailbrush, Stickle Brick,

Some Velcro in a cup?

 

It may be soft with rubber wings,

And live inside a cave.

 

A tingly touch might make you scared

To guess you must be brave.

 

Lynette Oxley

 

  • In response to Poetry Prompt #18

 

Lynette said: I wrote about preschool children who are willing to put their hands in a Feely Bag and guess what the contents might be. This activity promotes language development.

 

 

 

 

 

Poem of the Day

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Montague Shoe

 

Have you heard the story of Montague Shoe?

He fitted a left foot — ’twas all he could do.

 

But the shoe that fitted the right foot was lost,

So into the trashcan poor Monty was tossed.

 

But there in the trash Montague found

A shoe for a right foot — ’twas perfectly sound.

 

They became a new pair, one black and one blue,

And that was the story of Montague Shoe.

 

James Aitchison

Poem of the Day

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What is Red?

 

I strolled in the woods,

Wearing a red hood.

Looking cool in the neighbourhood.

 

 

I knock, knocked at Granny’s door.

I heard a terrible snore.

Just like a dinosaur roar.

 

Poor granny lay dead still.

Given a sleeping pill.

I’m no dill.

 

 

My eyes could see

You were dressed to trick me.

I pretended all was as it should be.

 

 

In the big four-poster bed you lay,

Hoping I would play.

But this was my day to make you pay.

 

 

All was not what it seemed.

Your sharp teeth gleamed.

Showing you for who you are was my dream.

 

 

A mean cold stare,

Laid you bare.

Come closer you dared.

 

I had to be brave

To save poor granny from the grave.

Coming your way was a shock wave.

 

 

I may be sweet and dressed in red

But you should be filled with dread.

That isn’t Granny in the sickbed.

 

 

I asked the secret code word of you

You looked blue

You had no clue.

 

 

Three letters please

Don’t be a tease.

I can see you freeze

 

 

Tell me now

Stop wrinkling your brow

On your nose ‘kapow!’

 

The code word is red.

Your face is red.

You run with dread.

 

Sharing is caring

Your red face is laid bare

For now there is no one you can scare.

 

Karen Hendriks