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Star Wishing

Space was a glittering,

Glamorous eyeful

So I wished for a star—

But I got a sky full.

They covered the floor

Like sparkling snow;

They lit up the house

With a dazzling glow.

They caught in my hair,

They filled up my lap;

They poured like diamonds

From the kitchen sink tap.

The Milky Way draped me,

A burning white shawl.

Constellations were bright

Works of art down the hall.

The Southern Cross

Pointed me onto the lawn.

I looked to the sky;

It was bare and forlorn.

So I wished them away;

They returned to the night.

I should not wish again.

I should not—but I might.

Jessica Nelson

Poetry Prompt #35

Jessica said: Star Wishing is my response to 2016 poetry prompt #35 (Stars). I read a lot of picture books and I’ve noticed that wishing for (and often getting hold of) a star is  a common theme. This made me wonder how things would go if instead of getting one star, the wisher got a galaxy’s worth.

 

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Outback Afternoon

 

The breeze coaxes

the windows open:

 

Windows as large as doors;

Windows as small as Nana’s china blue

dinner plates;

 

Windows of rainbow coloured glass

covered with trees and angels;

 

Windows frosted, so you can’t see through them,

textured and light grey.

 

The breeze beckons the windows open

creak

squeak

knock, knock.

 

The breeze doesn’t care if they are latched

lifted,

or pushed out

as long as

they open.

 

The breeze remembers when

windows had no glass

and were just open squares in

the walls and there was no air conditioning.

 

 

The breeze knows that some windows

are so clean and clear

that when they are closed

clueless birds fly into them.

Splat!

 

Whoosh!  Ha, ha!

The breeze chuckles its cooling fresh breath

through open windows

into the outback houses

wishing for the end of summer.

 

© June Perkins
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #6

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Golden Sands

Oh, the sky was blue and the bottle was green and the old wooden fence was brown.

I didn’t go into the sea that day for fear I would falter, and drown.

But would I have taken a chance on a dip, here is question for you,

If the fence had been green, and the sky had been brown, and the bottle had been a bright blue?

© Stephen Whiteside
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #7

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Hot Summer

 

It’s too hot to play,

So I snooze in the shade.

Lazing in the cool

of a massive fig tree.

Nature’s air conditioning.

 

It’s too hot to play,

So I dive in the salty sea.

Waves tickle me,

refreshing my body.

Nature’s swimming pool.

 

It’s too hot to play,

So I sit in a sudden breeze.

Cooling my sticky body,

blowing my hair.

Nature’s fan.

 

It’s too hot to play,

So I eat a fat watermelon.

Refreshing my dry mouth

trickling on my face.

Nature’s most refreshing treat.

 

Karen Hendriks
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #7

poetry-prompt-7

 

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Bubble Trouble

 

I’ll tell you the trouble with bubbles:

They burst like a punctured balloon

As they fall on a sharp piece of rubble,

Or they fail on their flight to the moon.

It’s useless to try to collect them.

They’re not like a coin or a stamp.

For the hand that you raise to protect them

You’ll soon find is feeling quite damp.

 

Yet bubbles, you’d better believe it,

Can actually be lots of fun.

You can catch them and snatch them

And quickly despatch them

Until you have burst every one.

You can chase them all over your garden.

You can watch them drift over a wall.

Though you run like a hare,

As they’re mostly just air,

When you search you’ll find nothing at all!

 

Monty Edwards
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #2

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WINDOW SEAT

 

Just out the window seems to be

a better place for you and me.

There’s sunshine there

and giant slides …

and if you’ve brave

there’s dragon rides!

 

There’s trees to climb

that scrape the moon,

and monsters dance

in the lagoon,

and Bigfoots bounce

on trampolines,

and tigers sneak up

unforeseen

and strike like lightning

at their prey –

then lick them ’till

they’re licked away!

 

If only classrooms had lagoons

on sleepy Monday afternoons.

Bill Condon
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #4

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Mish and Mash

 

I love to cook a mish and mash

A pineapple avocado smash

Cranberry and potato soup

A pea and parsnip ice-cream scoop

A pepper zucchini chocolate slice

Special strawberry chilli rice

Pizza topped with jelly beans

Devil’s food cake served with greens.

I love to cook a mish and mash

Dinner’s done now – got to dash.

Jessica Nelson

Jessica said: Mish and Mash is my response to 2016 poetry prompt #45 (Food). This poem was inspired by the ‘cooking’ my siblings and I used to do as children, where any ingredients we could find were thrown together in the mixing bowl, with varied results.

poetry-prompt-45

 

 

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First day of school

 

I’ll soon be walking through that door,

I’ve waited all these years.

But nothing’s quite prepared me for

this sudden flood of tears.

I know that I will be OK,

I’ll take whatever comes,

as soon as I can get away

from all these weeping mums!

Jenny Erlanger

 

First published in “Hopscotch” (Jellibeanz Publications, 2011)

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #4

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Through my Window

 

Morning comes in through my window

making shadows on my wall

I can see the roses waving

I can hear the magpies call

In the street the dogs are barking

busy people start their day

I stay wrapped within my doona

till it’s time for me to play

Morning comes in through my window

beams of sunlight make me smile

Mummy’s calling me to breakfast

‘In a while, Mum. In a while’

Then I smell the crispy bacon,

maple syrup, pancakes, more.

Morning comes in through my window,

I go racing out the door.

 

Allan Cropper
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #6

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The Caterpillar’s Song by June Perkins

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caterpillarsongimustwaitfortransformation

 

 

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #5

poetry-prompt-5June said: I liked that the photograph prompt had creatures on it and it inspired me to think of what it must be like for a caterpillar to change its mode of transport when it transforms. I placed this poem over a photograph of a butterfly. I wanted something about the right length so the photograph and words could balance.  It is fun making poem/photograph creations. For playfulness I spelt the word travel out at the end of each line.

I took this photograph at the Botanical Gardens.

As for the last line, my teenage son recently was studying a Dylan Thomas poem so I thought it would be fun to echo some of the lines.

‘Do not go gently into that good night.’