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Pathway in the Park

 

The winter sun was sinking. It was getting rather late.

Our parents would be waiting at the park’s main entrance gate.

“Make sure you’re back by sunset!” That had been Dad’s final word,

But Mum chose to repeat it to make sure that we had heard.

 

Because I was the oldest, Dad had said I was in charge,

Adding: “Stay together always!” since the park was very large.

Also quite important was to stay close to the track,

For then we’d simply follow it to make our way straight back.

 

We walked downhill some distance, then we found a little creek.

This turned out really excellent for playing hide and seek.

The trees and boulders by the banks were great to hide behind

And in the creek some coloured stones, I felt, were quite a find.

 

The time there passed more quickly than I ever realised

So when I glanced down at my watch, I really was surprised.

“We’ve been here much too long!” I cried, “It’s time for us to go.

We can’t afford to take our stones. They’ll make us far too slow.”

 

The others tried to argue, but I wouldn’t change my mind.

The pathway back was steep uphill, so stones were left behind.

We hid them underneath a bush and hoped to come back soon

To find and play with them again, some other afternoon.

 

The sun no longer warmed us and we felt the winter chill.

The wind blew in our faces as we climbed the steps uphill.

The shadows grew much longer and the sky was turning red.

Our legs were getting weary, but we faced more steps ahead.

 

Beyond the steps, in fading light, our pathway took a bend

And as it curved off to the right I thought we’d find the end,

But still the path continued on. No gate came into view.

Nor was there sign of Mum or Dad. What were we going to do?

 

The path was now all we had left to guide us to the gate,

Since round us everything was dark and we were awfully late.

The wind was whistling eerily: a mournful sort of sound.

We huddled close together and our hearts began to pound!

 

Just then I thought I heard a shout. It sounded like my name.

“I’m here!” I cried with all my might. The others did the same.

Despite the dark, we knew the voice, it clearly was our Dad

And though we were in trouble, I could not have been more glad!

 

Monty Edwards
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #38

poetry-prompt-38Monty says: For me the first challenge was to find a suitable narrative involving children for the setting in the prompt. From a basic scenario based loosely on personal experience the rhyming verse was developed with the aim of providing enough colour and detail to achieve an appropriate level of tension and resolution.

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Soul Alley

 

Boots in

the sky

Free footing it

High over

the wires

Ballet pumps

let loose

Shoes on

the sky way

Sneakers

scuffing cloud

Canvas loafers

floating

Kid shoes

lost…

Barefoot

at a cost.

J.R. McRae

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Nomad

 

A blousy tent

on a slow-go trail

 

A leathery balloon

swaying jungle-free

 

A sail-eared face

playing cascades

 

A house on stilts

trimming waves of air

 

© Katherine Gallagher

(Published in A Trunkful of Elephants, ed. Judith Nicholls, Methuen Children’s Books, 1994)

  • Submitted in response to  Prompt #31

poetry prompt #31

 

 

 

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Ten Tarantulas

 

There are ten tarantulas

That live in a terrarium

Their names all start with ‘T’

There’s Tina, Tony and Tom Thumb.

 

Ted and Tilly (they’re the twins)

Then Terrance and Tryphena

To top it off there’s Tiffany

And Trix (our ballerina).

 

Finally there’s Tucker. He’s

The tenth “T’ in the group

Of hairy scary spiders

What a terrifying troupe!

Lynelle Kendall
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #2

Prompt2

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BUTTERFLY MOTHER

 

Dancing the tune of the breeze

She lifts her coat sleeves –

And freezes as if in prayer

To breed in the shady leaves;

Green confetti in air.

 

On the rib-case underneath –

A waxy seam of leaf,

Tiny eggs, colour of cream

Are stuck with butterfly paste.

Blue lady lifts as a dream,

Leaving them, to hatch or waste.

 

Who knows where she goes

Blue butterfly mother?

© Dianne Bates
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #40

poetry-prompt40

 

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Seeking Stardom

 

There was a young man who once bought a guitar.

His goal was to strut on the stage as a star,

But when plucking a string,

It just broke with a “ping”,

So he gave up and didn’t get far.

 

Another young man bought a fine tennis racquet.

He dreamt of success that would make him a packet.

But his strokes were all wrong:

Balls he hit went too long.

When he saw any ball he’d just whack it!

 

 A third wanted fame with a bat, playing cricket.

He went for a six, but fell onto his wicket!

“Owzat!?” came the shout.

Then the umpire cried: “Out!”

So, for fame then, the bat was no ticket.

 

 Monty Edwards
  •  Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #35

Poetry Prompt #35

Monty says: For would-be stars, the right equipment is only one ingredient for success.

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Clown Stuff

 

“Put that cauliflower in the colander,

not on your head, you fool!

It’s no time now for climbing the ladder

to the loft. Come on down

or you’ll be late for Clown-School.”

© Katherine Gallagher

Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #36

Poetry Prompt #36

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I am geometrically perfect
I am several hues of blue
I quiver on a perfect arc
My ovals three times two.

But wait, there is another
Oval, perched out on a limb
Is it meant to be my head
On a body oh, so slim?

My head, if that is what it is
Is a different bluish blue
Am I really me, have I fluttered have I danced
Or am I but an icon, something digitally enhanced?

Meg Mackey

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #40

poetry-prompt40

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White Button, Red Button

 

If everything is going well,

And you can say, “I’m feeling swell!”

Then press the button on your right.

It’s cool and calm and painted white.

 

But if your life is in a mess,

The red button’s the one to press.

Sound the alarm, in just a tick,

We’ll all join in and “PANIC!”

Lynelle Kendall
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #9

Poetry Prompt#9

 

 

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The Corkscrew

 

Rattle, rattle, off we go.

At last we start the ride

and even now my stomach’s jumping

up and down inside.

Clackety – clack, we’re climbing up,

right up into the sky.

We’re at the top, I’m shaking now,

I know I’m going to die!

I grab the sides and close my eyes,

I’m really scared to death.

I scream, I yell the whole way down

till I run out of breath.

My eyes are sore, my mouth is dry,

my stomach leaps and churns.

My head is knocked from side to side

with all the twists and turns.

And all my little inside bits

are tangled like spaghetti.

I’m prickling almost everywhere,

my hands are cold and sweaty.

The carriage stops, and out I hop

and maybe I’m insane  …

But I can’t wait to join the line

and do that ride again!

 Jenny Erlanger

 

First published in “Giggles and Niggles”  (Haddington Press, 2007)

  •  Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #39

poetry-prompt-39

Jenny said: This poem was inspired by the memory of my son’s reaction to his first roller coaster experience.  Having just told me that he’d felt like he was going to die, he begged me to let him have another ride.