Category Archives: Poem of the Day

“The Sound of the Dodo Bird” By Louise McCarthy

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The dodo bird was last sited in the mid 1600’s. It did not fly and lived fearless, wandering

In woodlands around the coast of Mauritius. The nicobar pigeon is its closest existing relative. Fruit is thought to have been part of the dodo bird’s diet. Interestingly the digestion of the bird was aided by the use of a gizzard stone. It existed carefree until becoming prey to invasive species and sailors.

 

 

 

 

From the Nicobar Islands, the Nicobar Pigeon,

Decided to travel – its one great ambition.

 

The trip was well planned – by no means capricious,

It would meet cousin dodo on the coast of Mauritius.

 

But the pigeon from Nicobar was not up to date,

About the extinction – the Dodo Birds fate.

 

Woo-woooo, woo-woo-woe,

Woe-woe, where-where-why,

What-what, what-what, happened,

Where are you dear dodo?

 

And the Dodo bird made no sound…

 

 

“Billy Jo” by Toni Newell

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My little puppy ‘Billy Joe’,

Had a short nose,

As the weeks went by,

A question arose,

“Was it getting bigger,

As mischief was done,

Did it grow accordingly,

Reflecting all his fun?”

Food stolen from the table,

Accidents inside,

“Was he like Pinocchio,

Whose nose grew when he lied?”

He always looked so innocent,

But I knew it could not be,

The evidence was there,

Right in front of me.

In time his nose grew longer,

More damage I could see,

And then it slowly stopped,

I was happy as can be.

Billy’s nose stopped growing,

The older he became,

He was less destructive,

For it was his age that was to blame.

“At the Playground” by Katherine Gallagher

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At the Playground

(for Julien)

 

 

The March wind whisks against us:

my son, three, starts the roundabout

refuses to get on himself. Today

he has planned ahead, says it’s his turn

to push me, watches me on board

and I’m away. I enjoy being passenger,

store all this for later –

the afternoon’s lulled moves,

everywhere the air heady

and he in the foreground

racing his years, reminding me

to take care, hang on.

 

The ground spins, blurs; he begs it

with each command, checks

I’m not going too fast.

‘You can’t fall off,’ he says

smiling, assured.

 

I know it, this steady pace

contains us both, days overlap: he will perhaps

never love me more than now.

 

 

 

© Katherine Gallagher

“School” with Teacher Notes by J. R. Poulter

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Topics: friendship, peer group, clique, pettiness, bitchiness, ‘in’ group,

English: An innate object, ‘the door’ is used to express inclusion and exclusion, hands express a similar sense of isolation in “Novice” – compare.

Activity: Think of other innate/animate items that could be used to describe similar sentiments.

Study of society: Humans are tribal by nature – being part of an ‘I group’ or not defines who we are for most. It is a brave person who can stand aside from the group and be there own person regardless!

Activity: Think of people throughout history who have been truly ‘individual’.

“Face off on the pirate ship” by Penny Szentkuti

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Face off on the pirate ship

 

One sturdy yellow captain’s wheel.

Two captains, toe to toe.

Legs braced, shoulders set,

No one’s letting go.

 

“I’m the captain of this ship.”

Hands pull to and fro.

“You can use the telescope.”

“No! No! No!”

 

Two fierce captains holding fast,

Leaders of the pack.

“Hattie! Ella! Come down now!

It’s time to have a snack!”

“Do Dolphins Kiss?”  by Celia Berrell

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Do Dolphins Kiss?

 

The dolphins swimming in the sea

make clicks and squeaks quite frequently.

These sounds move fast through liquid’s layer

compared to noises in the air.

 

Their clicks and chirps we can’t translate

but that’s how they communicate.

Not all their whistles we can hear.

They’re pitched too high for human ears.

 

They also sent out sounds to mark

locations of the sharks at dark

by bouncing echoes in the black

and timing when they’re getting back.

 

Since dolphins have to hold their breath

when swimming in the ocean’s depth

their voices aren’t from air that flows.

Instead they’ve lips inside their nose!

 

Their happy squeaks and chatty clicks,

those chirpy whistles, pops and hiss

like sounds of children’s playground bliss

are made from just a dolphin’s kiss.

“Dragon Breath” by Dannielle Viera

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When icy nights spawn chilly morns
and frost festoons the ground,
I let my inner dragon out
to have a stomp around.

The crunch of grass beneath my feet
draws roars of wild delight.
But rather than a fiery blast,
my breath just comes out white.

Numb puffs of steam swirl to the sky
with every shout and snort.
This winter air does not play fair-
it snuffs a dragon’s sport.

 

 

“THE WINTER SEASON” by Margaret Pearce

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THE WINTER SEASON

 

The curtain of autumn

Lifts colourfully up,

Revealing performers and actors

And other such factors.

 

While a glittering gauze

of slanting rain

drapes a curtain of murk

over the choreographer’s work.

 

The orchestra tunes

and the music swells,

High pitched concertinas

of hysteria screaming.

 

The ballet builds apace

an intricate dance

of advances and retreats,

And entrechats and leaps

 

Pirouetting bodies

and high kicking legs.

Sinews straining, arms flung tall

towards the illusive spinning ball.

 

Victory floating in the balance

Soft shoed boots tilt and point

Towards the stage goals

Of white painted poles.

 

At last the finale is reached

And in grease painted mud

And lit by media evidence,

Is the troupe’s last appearance.

 

And that cyclops eyed monster,

that audience of critics and fans,

Shows clamourous appreciation

Of their players’ hard won accreditation.

 

oooOooo

 

© Margaret Pearce

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Rainstorm” by Katherine Gallagher

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Rainstorm

 

A single drop

plop  plop  plop

joining other drops

 

plopplopplopplop

plopplopplopplopplopplopplopplop

 

 

Suddenly the sky’s gone black and dark

as the rain keeps pounding hard

on the street, on the houses

battering windows, never fleeting

 

raining thicker louder quicker

in the city on the streets

water coming down in sheets

raindrops dropping, never stopping

until, until . . .

 

 

© Katherine Gallagher

“Whether There’s Weather” with Teacher Notes by J.R. Poulter

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