Poem of the Day

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Anzac Day

by Monty Edwards

 

They fought for freedoms we hold dear

And paid an awful price.

They faced the foe and conquered fear

To make their sacrifice.

 

Today we honour those who died,

And others who returned,

Who with their fellows, side by side

True comradeship had learned.

 

May all who love Australia fair,

Both here and far away,

Ourselves aspire to gladly serve

Through sacrifice today.

  • poppies copySubmitted in response to Poetry Prompt #17 ‘Lest we forget’.

Author Comment:  It’s fitting that we honour the courage and sacrifice of past generations of Australian service personnel and citizens, but I believe our nation’s future largely depends on how we personally respond to their example in meeting the challenges facing our society today.

 

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Kitten Kisses

 

Frisky kitten,

smug and smitten,

scimper scamper out the house.

 

Whiskers twitching,

scratching, itching,

leap and pounce upon a mouse.

 

Whoops-a-daisy,

feeling hazy,

mouse has dashed into a hole.

 

Never mind,

Kitten’s kind,

instead she spots her milk-filled bowl!

 

Sipping, slurping,

Kitten burping

Oh, what fun to roll and play.

 

Licking, purring,

cool fan whirring,

Kitten’s had a busy day.

 

Kitten’s snooping,

birds are swooping,

Watch out, here comes pointy claws!

 

Dodging, dashing,

bin lids clashing,

make a dive for the safe indoors.

 

Adults stomping,

children romping,

a bouncy ball flies past and misses.

 

Kitten tumbles

over jumbles

Here comes Mummy for kitten kisses.

 

by Ramona Davey   © 2016

 

 

 

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Words for Birds

by Monty Edwards

 

I have a cockatoo named Bert. I’m teaching him to talk.

For years the best that he could do was simply screech and squawk.

He made the most unpleasant sounds – I had to walk away.

I wondered which words would be best to get my Bert to say.

 

“A dictionary might help,” I thought, but that was clearly wrong:

To read right through a dictionary would take me far too long!

In any case, some words I found, I didn’t want to use,

Since words I couldn’t say myself were not the ones to choose!

 

My teacher knows a lot of words, but when I went to ask

What she’d suggest to be some words for such a tricky task,

The teacher only shook her head. “I really wouldn’t know,” she said.

That night before I went to bed, I thought to ask my Dad instead.

 

My Dad said: “Why not ask your Mum? If you want words, then she’s the one!”

So off I went to find my Mum, but words for birds? She gave me none.

Mum said: “Now son, it’s getting late. It’s time for bed!” Those words I hate.

It seemed I must accept my fate. To get her help I’d have to wait.

 

I went to bed. What could I do? I hoped that sleep might bring a clue.

A word. Just one. Perhaps a few. If only wishes could come true!

 

***

 

Next day I had a great idea. The place to start became quite clear.

The word was one Bert often heard and perfect for my noisy bird.

Perhaps you’d like to try to guess the word that brought me such success?

Before your brain begins to hurt, I’d better tell you. It was . . .  “Bert”.

 

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #10

Prompt10

Author Comment: The idea for this poem came from “squawk” as a rhyme for the prompt word  “talk”. Then, as I began to write, the ideas kept coming and determined the final destination.

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Yesterday

Yesterday today was just a thought inside my head.

Yesterday  today was my tomorrow.

Tomorrow this today will be my yesterday instead.

And so it goes for all the days that follow.

Jenny Erlanger
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #14

Poetry Prompt 14

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To a T

My thought paused where paths intersect,

it knew which way was right

but what was left to know

was much more interesting that night

‘tis true that to the right

was where all sensible thoughts would turn;

avoiding less trod tracks, devoid of facts

where questions burned

but this thought had a mission;

to discover poetry

and he risked the world’s derision.

That way suits him to a t

Walter de Jong
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #2

Prompt2

Walter’s cloud theory: A cloud should fulfil its purpose of conveying something of substance which, upon precipitation, may nurture growth in the earth. A cloud should be impressive in itself; beautiful, awesome and individual; it should evoke feeling. A cloud should engage its audience and inspire them to find an echo of their own imaginings and create their own personal meaning. And in my own creations I will aim to emulate the clouds.

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Draw me!

Capital T
Stood tall and strong,
Below huddled a and p—
A gripping hand
Turned the top of T,
And p began to drip.
 
Louise Molloy
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #2
Louise says: ‘This prompt took me to a DIY concrete poem’.
Prompt2

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Ode Rage

I push my pen around the page,

it pushes back and sneers.

When I incur a paper cut –

I cry, the paper jeers.

 

A face appears upon the page –

a horrid, mocking troll.

Now my chair collapses

and I’m truly on a roll.

 

My pen falls down beside me.

I’m sure I hear it speak.

It mutters, ‘Feelin’ lucky, punk?’

I answer, ‘Feelin’ weak’.

 

Dead lines are sneaking up on me,

like zombies, clawed extended.

My brain is full of jellybeans –

the jar has been upended.

 

My Muse is out to get me

and I’m filled with angst and fear.

I send regards from Writer’s Hell,

be thankful you’re not here.

Bill Condon
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #5

Prompt5

 

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Thought Menu

 

An hour before breakfast

I thought of omelette piping hot

oozing sun-yellow cheese

With butter-dripping toast

And sweet cumquat marmalade —

 

Instead, I ate tasteless cereal

Drenched with sourish milk.

 

An hour before lunch

I thought of a hamburger

Succulent meat patty

And softy spongy bun

with the works —

Sweet beetroot and ripe tomato

Caramelised onion rings and crispy lettuce

Tangy sauce and juices

trickling down my fingers.

 

Instead I ate crackers and

A tart green apple.

 

An hour before dinner

I thought of succulent hot chops

Drenched with mint jelly

And French fries

golden-brown and salty.

 

What I ate was

Tinned spaghetti

On dry toast.

 

Nothing I tasted all day

Was as delicious

As my thoughts.

Dianne Bates

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #6

Poetry Prompt 6

The Day After Yesterday by Melanie Hill

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The day after Yesterday

The play-date is the day before
tomorrow and, the one after that.

The party is two sleeps before the last
Family Day, and five after morning tea last week.

One week is shorter than seven days because it’s one!
I want the day to start in the morning not at sunrise.

But you said next week was after this day.

Wednesday is before Tuesday, not Friday!

I said it’s June, not March, because I want my birthday to be today.

The Day After Yesderday by Melanie Hill

Melanie says: This poem was inspired by trying to teach time and the sequence of days, weeks and months to my four year old. It’s so tricky!

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Jimmy

by Pat Simmons

 

This is where we used to walk

On the beach

I collect driftwood

All different shapes and sizes

Jimmy would fetch the small pieces

I smash them against the rock

I pick up some pumice stone

It’s light and scrunchy, like a macaroon

Jimmy was so heavy

Especially when he got wet

I scrunch the pumice stone

It crumbles to dust

I see a rat

It scuttles behind a rock, sinister and sneaky

Jimmy chased rats and barked at them

I touch and tickle the sand with my toes

There are millions of grains – too many to count

Jimmy liked to dig in the sand

I sort some shells

No-one’s living in them now

They’re empty and quiet

Like my place

Coloured glass glitters

Smoothed by the sea water

Mum calls it treasure

She says Jimmy was a treasure

Near the waves seaweed settles

Someone told me you can eat it

Jimmy used to chew it and spit it out

That made me laugh

I discover a dead seagull

Was it old when it died?

I bet Jimmy would roll on it

And come home smelly

A plastic bag floats in front of me

It shouldn’t be here

But I wish Jimmy was

I watch an old man and his dog

Looking out at the blueness

His dog barks at the seagulls

Just like Jimmy

I grin, remembering.

I think I spy sea monsters hiding in the waves

But I am alone.

Or am I?

I’m sure Jimmy’s watching me.

 

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #4

Prompt4