Monthly Archives: June 2017

Poem of the Day

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A Plea for Green

 

Green are the hills for children:

a sunlit place of grasses,

dandelions and daisies;

 

as green as an apple, a fig,

an unripe fruit; the green

of memory and melody,

 

the scrubby bushy slopes

for exploration; tall trees

to climb, parks to run through.

 

Screens are not green

or sunlit; the blue wild

winds do not blow there –

 

a static buzz bends

the mind in dark rooms.

This is my plea for green.

 

Jaz Stutley

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #22

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Dinner Time Rhyme

 

Did you hear how little Miss Muffet

Sat down to eat some food on a tuffet?

Her curds and whey were soft and wet

(These curds and whey are what you get

When using milk for making cheese,

So do not look for them on trees).

 

If you went out tonight to eat

Instead you’d likely have a seat

And choose a favourite food or two

And wait till it was served to you,

Or from the buffet eat your fill,

But not so much it made you ill.

 

Now should Miss Muffet too turn up

With curds and whey in bowl or cup

And say: “This buffet’s not for me,

Try this, it’s better, you’ll agree.”

Here’s what I suggest you say:

“Let’s go and get some takeaway.”

Monty Edwards
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #20

Monty says: “A buffet dinner celebration with family a few months back came to mind with the prompt. This got me thinking about how confusing a child might find the pronunciation of “buffet”, having been exposed at some point to little Miss Muffet, let alone what she ate, so I decided to explore both in this simple poem.”

 

Poetry Prompt #25

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Welcome to the workaday week. Mondays come round quickly don’t they? I hope you’re in creative mood because I’m really interested to see what you come up with in response to this week’s poetry prompt. There are so many possibilities.

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 and add a line or two about your writing process.

Happy writing!

Teena

Poem of the Day

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Retractable Teeth

 

Imagine, my friend…if you please, if you will…

That teeth were attached to your gums with great skill

By elastic – retractable, spit-proof and strong –

So that when they were wobbly, they’d not wobble long…

That the mean, ancient aunt who with glee and guffaw

Recommends that you tie your poor tooth to the door

With some cotton, then slams that old door with a bang!

Would faint dead away as your tooth, with a twang,

Zoomed back to your mouth in its boomerang way

Ready to chomp, munch and gobble all day.

 

Imagine, my friend… if you will, if you please…

That your teeth could extend down as far as your knees.

You could sit at the table with very straight back

Crunching secret supplies that were down in your lap.

And your mum, for whom manners at table are utmost,

Has cooked, let’s imagine, a nice, healthy nut-roast,

With no earthly clue that her child, yes, that’s you…

Is secretly eating the worst kind of goo.

The sugar, the colour, the taste, oh so yummy!

Is chomped in your lap, then transferred to your tummy.

 

 

Imagine, my friend… if you please, one last time…

That your teeth – so retractable, yes, so sublime –

Were immune, nay impervious, to plaque and to grot

And were teeth, everlasting, that just couldn’t rot,

So that if you ate junk, and let’s face it, you would,

Your teeth would stay healthy; your breath would stay good.

And your dentist, with beam fit to light up her clinic

Would trumpet your praise: ‘The example to mimic!’

Wouldn’t you grin at your photo beneath

Her new dentistry ad for Retractable Teeth?

 

Kesta Fleming

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Time Travel

 

The train left the station-

clickerty clack

the wheels gained motion-

clickerty clack

we then passed paddocks

of bones and dust

broken tractors, covered in rust

The train didn’t notice-

clickerty clack

but we did, with the notion

 

The train rambled on- clickerty clack

I nodded off- clickerty clack

And dreamt of the life

centuries before

of ladies’ long dresses

dusting the floor

The train didn’t notice-

clickerty clack

and my bonnet, shielded mine eyes

 

The train pulled into the station

C . L . I . C . K . E . R . T . Y

I woke with a jolt

 

I grabbed my laptop

and mobile phone

that enables connection

while travellers roam

The train didn’t notice, clickerty clack

on its timeline, to the future

Julie Cahill

It was serendipity when Julie’s poem happened to turn up in my in box ahead of my ‘Travelling’ poetry prompt. It also slots in nicely with an earlier prompt.

 

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Trim

I’m a black cat

A special cat

A ship’s cat.

I was born on the Reliance in 1799.

Of all my mother’s kittens

I was the one most fine.

I’m a black cat

A special cat

A ship’s cat.

I have four snow-white paws

And a white star on my chest.

Of all the cats on board this ship

The sailors like me best.

I’m a black cat

A special cat

A ship’s cat.

When it’s time for dinner

I don’t eat with other cats.

I sit at table with the men.

I don’t care for rats.

I’m a black cat

A special cat

A ship’s cat.

I have a trusty friend

And Matthew Flinders is his name.

He has called me Trim.

I think together we’ll find fame.

I’m a black cat

A special cat

A ship’s cat.

Matthew is a clever man

He’s sailed all round this land.

He’s given it a name

And that’s Australia – how grand.

Perhaps you have a cat at home

Is it as fine as me?

Would it like to come aboard

And sail upon the sea?

With a black cat

A special cat

A ship’s cat.

Pat Simmons

Pat said: ‘Trim’ is a special poem for me as it was the first poem I ever had published for which I was paid! Thank you Alphabet Soup which at that time was  a magazine as well as a great online resource.

 

Poem of the Day

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Flight of fancy

 

I feel that my arms have been turned into wings

that I’m suddenly able to fly,

to glide through the air looking down on the things

that can only be viewed from the sky.

 

I’m up on that branch and I’m ready to go.

I can launch from my perch in a blink,

creating a distance from all that’s below

and without even having to think.

 

Of course I will never take off from a tree

but, although it may seem quite absurd,

I’m instantly weightless and totally free

when I chance to look up at a bird.

 

Jenny Erlanger

Jenny said: This poem developed as I walked the length of Hadrian’s Wall through the beautiful English countryside.