Poem of the Day


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.


Poem of the Day

1 Comment


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


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.


Poetry Prompt #24


Get set to create! It’s poetry prompt time. Monday certainly comes round fast, doesn’t it? I’m receiving a wonderful response to these weekly poetry prompts. If your poem hasn’t appeared on the blog yet, please be patient. And do keep your submissions coming in. It’s such a treat to check my emails each day and see what’s turned up. I’m looking forward to what this week’s prompt will inspire. Keep in mind you’re writing for children and cast your mind back to how you felt as a child.

Email your poems to me at teenawriter@gmail.com as a Word or Text file attachment and add a line or two about your writing process.

Happy writing!


Poem of the Day




Jumping, biting, annoying,

Sneaky little flea.

Scritch, scratch, scritch,

I have a terrible itch.


How do I ditch this itch?

A flea on board,

Becomes a terrible game.

Flea twister is no fun,

Trying to find the little biter.


Take off your clothes,

And jump into the sea,

Swim, dive, and float,

Surf a few waves.


No more itch,

Wash those clothes,

Peace at last,

No more sneaky little flea.


Karen Hendriks


Poem of the Day


Clear the field


Clear the field

Run away!

The farmer’s bull escaped today.


Swim the creek,

He’s mad, I see.

With those big horns, we’d better flee!


Jump the ditch,

Scale the rocks.

Don’t follow me in those red socks.


Take them off!

Shut the gate.

Don’t look back, the bull’s irate.


Home at last.

Slam the door.

We’re not snooping anymore! 

Lynette Oxley
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #21

Lynette said: I wanted to create the suspense I felt as a child when a girlfriend said, “The bull’s escaped!”


Poem of the Day

1 Comment

Pretty Cities

Pretty cities love their trees.

We know they help prevent disease

by trapping poisons found in air

from fumy cars that drive round there.


Green-leaved cities cool things down.

Those leafy air-cons make no sound

evaporating water while

providing shady streets with style.


Tree-lined cities seem to manage

heavy rain and water drainage.

Tree roots tend to drink-up well-as

leafy crowns form umbrellas.


Pretty cities need their trees.

From wind-chimed leaves and shadowed ease

to joys of birdsong’s many keys.

So cities, please don’t lose your trees.

Celia Berrell

Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #22

Celia said: In leafy suburbs and shady streets, gentle giant trees do more than simply add a splash of green to a city’s stony setting. I’m grateful for those city trees.