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A Pony Named Bubbles

 

A pony named Bubbles

when I was young

would give us rides

he was so much fun

 

he was round and red

with gloss and fat

but his Bubbles name

didn’t come from that

 

nothing to do with

shape or weight

but  it did come about

from what he ate

 

once you were safely

upon his back

he’d set off unbidden

to his favourite snack

 

hidden behind where

gardeners don’t go

between the stables

where thistles grow

 

off you’d trot

when he’d had his fill

across the paddock

and over the hill

 

the thistles would gurgle

inside his tummy

and then the noises

which were really quite funny

 

it was long ago

but I’ve never forgotten

those bubbles from Bubbles

straight out of his bottom

 

 Myra King
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #2

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Bubbles

Big, bubbles floating in the air.

Soapy, sudsy, spheres,

I can see my reflection in you.

Magical colours reflect,

Fragile and soft,

I make a precious wish.

To be free just like you,

To see the world in rainbow colours,

If I just look close enough,

I will see all the wonder and beauty,

That is all around.

Karen Hendriks
  •  Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #2

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FEAR

I’ve never dreaded witches

Who look such dreadful frights,

Flying over ditches

On dark and windy nights.

 

I never shake if fingers

Touch my face at night,

If of course it lingers

I then turn on the light.

 

I just ignore the bogies

Lurking in the dark,

Packs of fat old fogies

Looking for a lark.

 

If I ever saw a lion

I’d punch him on the nose.

I’ve nerves of steel and iron

As everybody knows.

 

I don’t believe in being scared

I’ve never seen a ghost,

For creepy tales I’ve never cared,

And that’s my favourite boast.

 

I’ve proved that I’m the bravest

Of super heroes still,

So why does that stupid dentist

Still scare me with his drill?

© Margaret Pearce

A version of this published HOUSE OF SPROUTS 1987

A version of this published in LOVE & FEAR  A Poetry Anthology 2003 by Artary Project Space (Community Arts Project Victoria)

 

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Wacky Words

 

Perhaps you thought a pillar was a man who swallowed pills,

Which had flavours like vanilla and were meant to cure his ills,

But no pillars will be sickly, for they’re strong and stout and tall.

They are there to hold the roof up and without them it would fall.

 

Perhaps you thought a meddler was a man who went to war

And then came back home with medals that he didn’t wear before,

But most meddlers are a nuisance, for they like to interfere,

So that when they finish meddling, then their victims give a cheer!

 

Perhaps you thought a pedlar would be one to ride a bike,

Pushing pedals from its saddle with no wish to drive or hike,

But while pedlars can be mobile, for they have their wares to sell,

They may spread their goods on pavement and walk to your door as well.

 

It’s true, some words we read in books can give the wrong idea,

But using helpful dictionaries can make their meanings clear.

Now no pillars, pedlars, meddlers, should be leaving you perplexed,

So I wonder what the word will be you’ll want to look up next!?

 

Monty Edwards
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #34

Poetry Prompt #34

Monty says: “I wasn’t getting far with the picture, so began to look at the actual words “column” and “pillar” and thought how a child unfamiliar with their meaning might interpret them. In the process some other words that could be misunderstood came to me and I had the material for a light-hearted poem about our seemingly crazy language.”

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Plastic

 

Useful, cheap, convenient,

Found everywhere in our seas.

Endless uses.

It floats, swims, travels,

Found in hungry bellies.

Entangles and traps sea life.

 

Our Sea

Once clean and pristine,

Full of plastic debris,

No longer free of you,

On the sea bottom,

On the sea top,

No escape from you.

 

Crying Sea

How much longer can the sea put up with you?

Or will the sea just become a murky plastic soup?

Please stop the plastic poisoning,

Before it’s too late.

Stop making useless waste,

That hurts and kills me.

Karen Hendriks

 

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GEORGE’S NEW FRIEND

Once upon a time George’s constant moan,

Was ‘I’ve no one to play with, I’m always alone’.

 

No one to play with when flying a kite,

Or building a fort, or having a fight.

 

He scowled at his soldiers, in line by the wall,

With no one to fight, they were no fun at all.

 

He bounced his big red ball on the floor,

With no one to catch it, a terrible bore.

 

His mother took his red ball away,

And told him to go outside to play,

 

Outside in the yard, despite the bright sun,

George yelled that alone was no fun.

 

He kicked his go cart, painted bright red,

‘Needs someone to push it,’ he sulkily said.

 

Suddenly, George with great surprise,

Found a new playmate, just his size.

 

Someone to play chasey, tag and I spy,

To run beside him and jump just as high.

 

So every morning, when the sun is bright,

George’s new friend appears in sight.

 

Happy at last, George tells his Mum,

‘Me and my shadow are having great fun.’

 

© Margaret Pearce

 

 

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Beating Eric’s Eating

 

Young Eric was a little boy who really loved to eat.

In any eating contest he’d be very hard to beat.

His slender older sister wouldn’t ever be his match,

Nor did his bigger brother think that Eric he could catch.

And even Eric’s father, who was more than average size,

When watching Eric eating could not hide his great surprise,

For Eric’s plate was piled up high with food of every kind:

To see it quickly disappear just blew his father’s mind!

 

His mother’s face looked anxious as she eyed what Eric ate.

She thought: “If Eric keeps this up, he’ll put on too much weight.

I’ll feed him lots of Brussels sprouts and serve him tripe and brains.

That surely ought to put an end to any weight he gains!”

But Eric didn’t seem to mind; he just kept eating faster;

He hardly tasted what he ate. The plan was a disaster.

His father said: “This can’t go on. It’s got beyond a joke.

If Eric keeps his eating up, our family will go broke!”

 

They pondered for a moment, thinking what next they could do.

His older sister said that they should put him in a zoo!

“He’d only eat the animals”, replied his older brother.

“Enough of that! That’s most unkind!” responded Eric’s mother.

“We have to think of something that will make him want to stop,

Or else I’ll spend hours every day just going to the shop.”

His desperate Dad was thinking fast: “I think I know a way.

We’ll start to ration all the food we’re going to eat each day.”

 

“First, everyone will get a serve, all generous, but the same.

When anybody asks for more, then that will start the game.

You’ll have to buy the extra food you want put on your plate

And if you can’t produce the cash, food won’t eventuate.

Your pocket money or your purse could gain you new supplies,

But as your money disappears, you soon will realise

There’ll be no money left to buy the things you want far more

And only empty pockets will go with you to the store.”

 

His Dad knew well that Eric loved to spend his cash on sweets,

But money spent on extra food meant none for special treats!

It was a most unhappy lad who came to meals each day.

Instead of filling him with food, they filled him with dismay.

His appetite began to wane. He left scraps on the plate.

Before, with something left to eat, he wouldn’t hesitate.

The ration plan soon brought an end to Eric’s problem habit

And that is how his family stopped him eating like a rabbit.

 

Monty Edwards

Submitted in response to 2016 Poetry Prompt #48

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Monty says: I decided on the theme of overeating and brainstormed words related to eating, along with words rhyming with these that had potential as part of a story poem about a boy who ate too much. After introducing the family in verse 1 and posing the problem in verse 2, finding a convincing way to resolve the problem slowed my progress considerably.

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Sleep

 

Last night

we glowed like rainbows

as drumbeats

shook the air

 

Tonight

dinner, toothbrush

quiet

 

It’s too early

Let’s have some fun

One more story

 

I don’t want to

go to sleep

I don’t want to

go to sleep

 

I

don’t

want

to

go

to

 

Nadine Cranenburgh

 

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A sparkling summer

Christmas is coming,

Our school year’s complete.

It’s time for admiring,

As we walk street to street.

 

On doors we see wreaths

of green and red  holly.

On  balconies, sleighs,

and Santas fat and jolly.

 

The streets are not dark,

Even though it’s late,

For blinking and winking

On tree, fence or gate

Is a string of sparkling LED lights.

 

Our suburb’s gone magic

With colours so bright

We’ll visit again,

A new street each night.

 

But I’m glad that the sparkling

Is a Christmas-time treat

Like presents and cicadas,

and too much to eat.

 

The year keeps on turning,

Christmas is almost over.

Tomorrow is New Year’s Day

So tonight we’re all going

To the fireworks display.

Viv Nicoll-Hatton
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #50

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A PUPPY AT BREAKFAST

 

A wiggle, a wobble

a scramble, a stumble

a nibble, a gnaw and a nip

a puddle of dribble

a bowl full of kibble

a trip and a slide and a slip

a tail that’s a’wagging

a small bottom dragging

a’scrapin’, a’scratchin’ and flinchin’

the tiniest paws

on the slipperiest floors

a pup on the tiles in the kitchen.

Allan Cropper