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Moonlight Surprise


The moonlight shines brightly

casting dancing shadows afar.

A tiger prowls past

Creeping into the night.

Just behind a tree

a crouching black mystery

seems to be stalking

me in the deep,

dark, black night shadows.

But as I draw

closer and closer surprise!

For the black mystery

Isn’t a scary thing.

As the dancing moonlight

shines ever so brightly.

Then I see revealed

our dog Elmo hiding

behind a dark tree.

Elmo crouches and waits

to doggy surprise me

in the night so

that I’m never alone.

Karen Hendriks
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #16

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Anzac Day


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.

Monty Edwards


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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Coast of Normandy,

France, Omaha Beach.

Today the tide is out –

barely a ripple.

Cement bunkers and bomb craters

merge into the grass,



by d-day, June ‘44.

Wave after wave, forward or drown,

nowhere to go but falling.

Mangled tanks, body parts.

Blood on the tide.

Exploding cliffs.


Now the guns are sold for scrap,

the bodies collected,

laid in neat rows

in the cemetery above,


under white marble crosses,

so precisely placed

that if I kneel I see one –

if I stand I see thousands.


Oceans of crosses.

I read along the rows –

Name: Regiment: Hometown:

Creep soundlessly, with sickened awe.

Is sleep a just reward?


The Pool of Remembrance:

waterlilies soften its sharp angles,

wisp of a breeze ruffles the reflection

of chiselled words on the monument above.


Can the sacrifice be softened?

Can the past be put to rest?


In the distance the gardener kneels,

shears in hand, cutting the grass,

blade by blade. Around one cross

then on to the next –

and on and on and on.

Glenys Eskdale

Glenys said: I wrote this poem after visiting the Colleville, the American war cemetery at the site of the d-day landings in Normandy in June 1944. I have since visited World War One war cemeteries on the Somme in France. My sentiments have not changed. Nothing can atone for the unspeakable horrors these men endured.






Poem of the Day

Anzac Day


How can I ever forget

The old legless soldier

Ribbons on his chest

In his wheelchair

That April morning

In the hospital grounds

When the bugle sounded

Tears streaming down his cheeks

His muffled sobs and

His sweet-faced young nurse

Leaning to offer him comfort –


In that single moment

A snapshot of what

War does to people.


Dianne Bates

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The End of the Solar System


Our sun releases energy.

A plasma called the Solar Wind.

But far away it’s just a breeze.

And further still that breeze will end.


The space probes Voyager 1 and 2

have travelled over thirty years

transmitting sounds and pictures as they

act as mankind’s eyes and ears.


Voyager 1 has reached the point

where Solar Wind no longer blows.

Now cosmic rays from other stars

our Voyager’s detector shows.


Eighteen billion kilometres

away from Earth, these space probes trace

just what it’s like existing on

the edge of interstellar space!

Celia Berrell
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #13

Celia said: For me, the word “GO” prompts the questions “how far CAN we go?”  The most distant man-made objects are the space probes Voyager 1 & 2.  Launched in 1977, they are still transmitting information, helping us learn more about space and the farthest reaches of our Solar System.  Even when we can’t “GO” somewhere ourselves, we can still discover fascinating stuff about our world!



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Ko-Ko Koala was a spoilt little brat.

He wouldn’t eat vegies in case he got fat.

‘Brussel sprouts and cabbage belong in the bin,

Lemonade and fudge keeps me nice and thin.’


‘Chicken and chips and hamburgers fried,

And chocolate donuts with cream inside

Taste much better for a Koala about town

Bush food is stodgy,’ he said with a frown.


His friends all got very very cross,

Bush food is filling but isn’t very posh.

Until there visited a crocodile

Jaws wide open in a hungry smile.


The little Koala was suddenly left,

Nobody liked the company he kept.

Ko-Ko wished the crocodile very far away,

But the crocodile stayed to talk of takeaway.


‘Bags of chips and popcorn for tea,

Plenty to eat if you dine with me.

If only you would come down nearer,

Our friendship could be so much dearer.’


The days went by, Ko-Ko got thin and wan,

Dreaming of takeaway meals long gone.

Getting very hungry so high off the ground,

He started eating gum leaves and grew very round


The crocodile still waited his eyes full of greed.

And kept renewing his invitation to feed.

‘There’s pineapple on pav with cream between,

And ice creams with flavours you’ve never seen.’


‘A diet of ice cream and potato chips fried,

Will give me tummy ache,’ scared Ko-Ko replied.

The crocodile sighed and at last lost his smile,

And decided to slink off home for a while.


And this is why the crocodile’s tears of grief

Are at the Koala’s love for the Eucalyptus leaf.

And for takeaway food Ko-Ko will never roam.

He finds plenty to eat in his tree top home.

Margaret Pearce


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Ready, Steady, Go!


Ready, steady, go!

What do you want to know?

My name is Fleet,

My brother’s Pete,

And this is my sister, Jo.


Ready, steady, go –

What will we see at the show?

A clown with sweets

For parakeets,

And elephants laying low.


Ready, steady, go –

What will we do in the snow?

We’ll build a street

Of snow and sleet,

With icicle homes in a row.


Ready, steady, go –

Why is the house aglow?

It’s a retreat

For tired feet,

So everyone here, let’s go!


Lyn Oxley


  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #13

Lyn said: I sense a marching beat to this poem, hence the retreat for tired feet.