Category Archives: Poem of the Day

Poem of the Day

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Three Trips Down the River

 

I  – A  Bed Time Story

Rainforest children fall

Into green dreams

Visions

Embracing nature’s eyes

Releasing their love for salmon.

 

II-  Night Time Wishing

Releasing time

In my heart for

Visions of night fishing with Poppy

Evenings of searching for the perfect spot

Remembering our smiles at my first catch.

 

III –  The Franklin

Revealing wild rivers

In the journeys they inspire

Visions for tourist and visitors

Entranced by nature’s eyes

Recipes are made for protective renewal.

June Perkins

June said: I wanted to work with the idea of three ways to think about the river: Prompt #19.

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IVY’S ADVENTURE

 

Irascible Ivy was angry

As she watched children skip through the gate

Magic shouldn’t be easy

It made her feel queasy

Still she worried that she’d be too late

 

She knew the gate had to lead somewhere

Enchanted that land was for sure

So she structured a ladder

And couldn’t be gladder

Imagine the magic she saw!

Virginia Lowe
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #21

 

Poem of the Day

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Rosella’s Dilemma

 

At five-to-eleven Rosella flew in

to a magical garden where time stands still.

With five giant statues of fairy-tale folk

and two silver fountains that sang and then spoke.

 

Eleven big books that could read for themselves

surrounded by flowers and mischievous elves.

Eleven days later he flew out again

and found that the time was exactly the same.

 

“Still ten fifty-five?” he said with a grin

“In that case, I may as well do it again!”

 

Celia Berrell
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #21

Celia said: Your photo looks like a place where time stands still … At the moment, there doesn’t seem to be enough time in the day for all the things that need to be done.  Having somewhere beautiful to go, where time stands still, sounds like a fantastic solution.  I’m imagining it right now.

Poem of the Day

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The Spell

 

Four metres tall

or possibly five metres!

It stares at us

with one red eye

as we approach.

 

We pause,

held by its gaze,

not daring to move forward;

not wanting to retreat.

 

People join us,

but they go no further than we

as if hypnotised

by that same red eye.

 

Click, click, click . . .

 

Suddenly, the red eye disappears

and we are free

to go safely

across the busy road.

 

The little green man

has broken the spell!

 

Monty Edwards
  •  Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #13

Monty says: “The prompt had me thinking of traffic lights, which seemed very mundane for a simple rhyme, so I felt I’d recast it to inject some drama using a bit of imagery and free verse.”

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RIVER

 

Running to school one cold wet day

Into dreams of escape and running away

Visiting islands full of sea and sun

Enjoying swimming and lots of fun

Returned to reality dark and grey.

 

Required homework not done yet

Idiot me never a teacher’s pet

Very hard to get past this disaster

Explaining why I can’t work faster

Rewriting forever the homework set.

 

Margaret Pearce

 

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #19

Poem of the Day

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Mixed-up Banquet

 

“What’s for dinner?” asked the snail from the rusty garden pail.

“Some lettuce and banana,” cried the skinny, young Iguana.

“The compost heap smells great … Hurry up! You’re running late.”

“I can’t go any faster,” wailed the snail as Ig raced past her.

 

“What’s for dinner?” asked the kid as he paddled near a squid.

“Some shrimp and little fish,” said the squid. “A tasty dish.

The water’s warm and fine. Come on in so we can dine.”

“The surf’s too deep and rough, so I’ll fetch my brothers Gruff.”

 

“What’s for dinner?” barked the dog as she raced towards a hog.

“I’m slurping applesauce. Can you guess the second course?”

“A Dagwood Dog or two? I don’t know. Give me a clue.”

“It’s frozen, in a cuppy. Starts with ‘S’ and ends with ‘Puppie’.”

 

“What’s for dinner?” purred the cat on the dusty, worn-out mat.

“Swiss cheese and raisin toast,” squeaked the mouse beside a post.

“I’d rather catch fresh meat,” yawned the cat. “A little treat.

My tummy cries for food and my eyes are set on ___.”

 

Lynette Oxley

 

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #20

Lynette said: I wanted the poem to have internal rhyme and be a guessing game.

Poem of the Day

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GATEWAY

 

This portal

speaks to me of Narnia:

the last book, the last battle.

 

Long before Dr Who,

C.S. Lewis knew, we knew

of the stable bigger on the inside;

 

though that door was rough and wooden,

a portal can disguise itself

as a gate in a lichened stone wall.

 

But enter at your peril.

The Irish faery folk haunt castles

and barrows, and mortal souls

 

can wander their land for a day; returning

to find it is seven years or seventy.

And Narnia was a faery place.

 

Look, admire, beware; walk through –

only if you desire to be bewitched,

craving the adventure of your life.

 

Jaz Stutley

 

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #21

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Sunday Dinner

My Nan grew up in wartime

And thought nothing goes to waste

And sometimes Sunday dinner

Wasn’t really to my taste

 

I loved to go to her house

And most of the meals were great

But at times I really struggled

To eat the food upon my plate

 

Her Shepherd’s Pie was awesome

And I loved cold meats and cheese

She made Special Fried Potatoes

That always made me say “More please”

 

But every now and then

The dish that truly gave me shivers

I couldn’t even stand the smell

Of Nan’s boiled chicken livers

 

I pushed them all around the plate

And covered them with sauce

Tried to mix them with potatoes

But it didn’t help of course

 

In the end I had to say

There really was one choice

And though I knew it would be hard

I mustered up my voice

 

“Nan – I don’t like boiled chicken livers”

 

There was a moment’s silence

And my eyes were opened wide

Nan looked at me and gently smiled

“Just push them to the side”

 

After that no chicken livers

Were served at Sunday dinner

And we had all the other lovely things

My tastebuds were the winner

Sioban Timmer
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #20

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Out the Gate

 

May-Belle, Marlene, Miss Moo and Flo

were dairy cows of Farmer Joe.

They all agreed that he was great,

‘cos Joe forgot to shut the gate.

 

They knew that cows should really stay

inside the field just eating hay.

But down the lane they liked to stroll,

the rubbish tip their only goal.

 

The things that people threw away

were great for cows on ‘dress-up’ day.

Marlene found dance shoes for her hooves

and danced some really groovy moves.

 

May-Belle decided she’d wear lace

which she placed round her ears and face.

Miss Moo dressed as a movie star

in fake-fur cape all la-de-da.

 

And Flo? She thought it might be fun

to wear an orange cardboard sun.

But then she had some rotten luck,

it slithered past her ears and stuck.

 

She gave the sun a mighty nudge,

but it stayed put; it would not budge.

Then all too soon the time had come

to leave the tip and all the fun.

 

They strolled back home in fancy dress

while cars all got into a mess.

Alarmed at such a scary sight,

they all drove off the road in fright.

 

Then as the cows all neared the shed

they watched old Joe just scratch his head.

He checked his watch and stamped the ground,

annoyed his cows were not around.

 

Then finally he saw the girls,

Marlene out front and dancing twirls.

“This lark must stop,” said Joe quite gruff.

“There’s no more room for all this stuff.

 

Cows don’t dress up or dance or play.

The paddock’s where you need to stay.”

The girls all winked and gave a grin.

If gates aren’t shut, cows don’t stay in.

Caroline Tuohey
  • Previously published in The Looking Glass magazine in Ireland.  It’s also on the CKT Website under Caroline’s writing portfolio.
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #21

Caroline said: It’s not directly related to a lovely, historical castle but open gates do encourage wandering and that’s what my poem is about.

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Phineas McGonagall

Phineas McGonagall was very strange indeed,

For the manner of his feeding and for where he kept his feed.

Upon his head, he wore a wig of lamington and cheese.

His beard was full of ‘little boys’ that dangled to his knees.

Among his friends I must say there were many most disgusted:

And so would you be if you knew just where he kept his custard.

To critics Phiny simply smiled and said, ‘Now look here sonny!’

Stamped a dusty boot from which erupted blue gum honey.

‘With a narnie in me pocket and some damper in me daks,

I’m never short of tucker as I tred life’s sandy tracks.

From Alice Springs to Zanthus I have never ‘ad the munchies.

-Thanks mostly to me grundies where I keep a stash of crunchies!-

And I betcha when I cark it and am carried out feet first,

The tinnies in me pocket slake the undertaker’s thirst!’

Alys Jackson

 

  • Alys is a regular contributor to The School Magazine and has just won the 2017 Award for Poetry at the Henry Lawson Festival of Arts.