There was a little girl, 

Who had a little curl 

She also dressed in the height of fashion

In fact they say this was her passion.

Every morning she would pose

By the mirror in her brand new clothes

Tossing her tresses in the air

Preening herself without a care. 

She would skip down to the breakfast table

To eat an egg if she was able.

Her vanity meant she hardly ate

“They cause a wrinkle!” she would berate

Her mother worried about this girl

Who was so cute with her little curl

But fretted that she would become

No wider than her mother’s thumb.

Hide and Seek

Grandpa and I were hiding

From my little brother Jim,

We were playing hide and seek,

Running away from him.

We ran around the corner,

As he counted up to ten,

Found a place behind the fence,

Crouched and waited then,

Nothing seemed to happen,

So we both stood up to see,

Looking at us through the fence,

Was Jim full of glee.

Why I Hate Beetroot

Beetroot’s colour hurts my eyes

That garish red I just despise

When forced to breach my reluctant lips

My stomach churns and burps and dips

It slithers and slides in a manner most foul

My body shudders – it reaches my bowel

A vegetable most surely cursed-

I have to stop, I fear the worst.

They think that we’re too old
To dance or play or run
That we only moan and grumble
Or daydream in the sun

But us oldies have a secret
A thing that we don’t tell
The little child inside us
Is still alive and well

And when we get the chance
Away from prying eyes
We sneak away unnoticed
To find wings we can use to fly

So if your scooter’s muddy
Or your bike is is no longer nearby
Look around for a nearby oldie
With stardust in their eyes.

Rhonda Cotsell 

What’s this old gal up to?

I think she stole her grandchild’s scooter.
She’s not wearing a helmet either!

Please send in your poem to

poemoftheday.jaxton@gmail.com

Cheers

Jeanie

Mrs McDilly’s Bed

Mrs McDilly looked under her bed

And discovered some terrible things.

A very old potty,

A dead mouse that was spotty,

And a box that was full of brass rings.

Mrs McDilly crawled under her bed

And there, in the big swirls of dust,

She had more adventures

And located her dentures

Hiding under an old piece of crust.

Che sara sara.

When I was young – from the age of three,

People asked what would I be.

What did they mean what would I be?

Was I not already me?

HEROES AND VILLAINS 

When I reach the end of an enjoyable story

It’s like saying goodbye to a cherished old friend

The tapestry woven of the hero and villain

Has me enthralled right to the end

An accomplished author will draw you right in

So  you follow the exploits with fast beating heart

As you turn the pages you wonder anew

Will the villain become the hero,

Or will he remain true to the part

You know in your heart of hearts

That the hero will vanquish his foe

But for a few heart stopping moments

It isn’t always so

In these days of global unrest

It helps to escape for a while

It doesn’t help to always hear

Doom and gloom on the breakfast file

Anton’s Microscopes  

Anton van Leeuwenhoek (1632-1723)

A Dutchman named Anton

was someone you’d count on

to tell you precisely

the things he could see.

A microscope maker

and shopkeeping draper

discovering life that’s

as small as can be.

He magnified beasts that

he scraped from his teeth

and watched as they swam

like some creatures in seas.

Learning there’s animals

formed from just single-cells.

Seeing that even a

flea can have fleas!

Finding bacteria

in our interior.

Sending this news

across the sea.

Anton astounded us.

What he had found in us

started the science

mi-cros-co-py.