“Summer Storm” by Monty Edwards

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Summer Storm


One summer day, before my tea,

The early news was on TV.

It sent me to my balcony

For there would be a sight to see.


Outside, my eyes turned to the skies;

The thick black clouds there – no surprise.

The air I breathed in – moist and warm.

The news foretold a summer storm!


Since rain was welcome, that felt good:

Let that be clearly understood.

The dams were low, the creek beds dry,

Those clouds spread hope across the sky.


Yet more was promised than some rain

To make our farmers smile again:

This storm brought hail – and floods as well,

Because of all the rain that fell.


When something’s good, we all want more,

But here’s a thought we could explore:

Too much of one thing can be bad

If we then lose what once we had.







“A good square meal” by Kate O’Neil

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Please note our special of the day:
(eat it here – or take-away)

Rye-grass  pellets dipped in swill
lightly fried or from the grill

Perhaps your choice is a la carte:
hay or lucerne, pie or tart.

Bonemeal biscuits served with slops
(fewer calories than chops)

Seasonal silage steamed or fried
sautéed birdseed on the side.

And should you feel inclined to quaff
please place your order at the trough



“Queue” by Sally Odgers

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Kudos to the queue – not cue

(for that’s a hint or hit for billiard ball)

Kudos to the queue – not coupe

(for that’s a shock surprise for city hall)

Kudos to the queue – not coo

(for that’s what doves and grannies tend to do)

Kudos to the queue – not Que

(For that’s a Tassie river … yes, it’s true!)

Kudos to the queue – you knew

This had to end and now the end is due

But kudos to the queue – a row

Of sailor’s hair or pelicans you know.

“Can you guess?” by Marque


Can You Guess?


Can you guess of whom I speak?

He has no claws and he has no beak.

No fangs nor feathers nor fleece nor fur.

And he won’t get upset if you don’t call him sir.


Whilst not renowned for being a mobster,

He crushes and eats many a lobster.

You’d probably part with your hard earned dollar

If I told you his body can change its colour.


In the encyclopedia me finds

There are over fifty different kinds.

Though not much bigger than your fist,

Don’t cross him off your friendship list.


The smartest of all invertebrates,

I proudly class him as one of my mates.

His legs aren’t long, but they number eight.

I think this creature something great.


I tell you of the octopus,

Who lives his life with minimal fuss.

Should one of his legs be gone without trace,

Another one grows back in its place.


Why do I like the octopus so?

He’s resourceful and quiet and not too slow.

But I think it’s his kindness which sets him apart.

I guess I’d be the same if I had three hearts.

“YoYo” by Marque

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I had a little yoyo,

It travelled up and down;

Courtesy of a reel of string

I twirled it round and round.


Every day I walked the dog

and journeyed round the world.

I’d create a baby’s cradle

And make loop to loops unfurl.


I’d forward pass and go over the falls

And produce a man on a trapeze.

Then hop the fence and go around the corner,

Whilst the throwdown was done with ease.


On other days I might do the sleeper,

Skin the cat and reach for the moon.

Go into a time warp or gravity pull,

And then breakaway by noon.


Where is my little yoyo now?

It still twirls round and round.

A young lad bought it at my garage sale

And took it out of town.