I met a man with seven heads

Who had to sleep in seven beds.

But even worse, he had five legs,

Which an urgent question begs:

Can five legs fit on seven beds,

Or should he lose two of his heads?

All That Is Left by Dianne Bates

Why did the tree die?
Did it reach a grand old age?
Or did sharp axe cuts
Make its sap
Bleed down the bark
Onto the dry earth?

Years later it still stands                                                                                                                                       Defiant
Its gnarled branches
Clawing at heaven.

Good Evening,

A call out for a new Administrator for the site. This needs to be filled by the start of June as I’m going travelling and won’t be continuing with the administration. I have all the instructions ready for someone who could put their hand up. If we can’t find someone I’m sorry the site will have no new content added. It will still be accessible through WordPress as a resource on the internet but no new poems will be added.

It would be wonderful if one of you reading this could think about doing this job or email please to someone you think could do it.

Anyway email me if your interested.

Kind Regards

Jeanie Axton

There's no such things as baby frogs.
They don't have pups like seals or dogs.
When hatching them from frog-spawn eggs
they don't have any froggy legs.

They're just a body with a tail
that wriggles through their swimming trail.
But over time they start to change 
in ways that we find very strange

They grow two arms and legs and lungs,
Their tail goes back inside their tums.
As frogs, they're hardly recognised
until they've met-a-morph-o-sized.

The dawn awakens over endless space,

the monolith emerges with majestic grace.

The mulga rises from the desert floor,

This day alike a million gone before,

The hush a finger held to the lips of God.