Category Archives: Poem of the Day

Poem of the Day

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Eight amazing animals

by Monty Edwards

 

Animals ev’rywhere always amaze:

Big beefy buffaloes quietly graze;

Cats with their claws out can climb and can scratch;

Dogs dive for balls using teeth for a catch;

Elephants’ ears are as big as can be;

Foxes from hunters can speedily flee;

Gentle giraffes are remarkably tall;

Heavyweight hippos have ears that are small.

I like the ibex. It surely can climb.

Just don’t wait for zebra. I haven’t the time!

 

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #11 – Write an Alphabet Poem.

poemhand

Author comment:  For an alphabetic assignment I wanted a subject of interest to children that was represented by many examples. This would help provide maximum flexibility for the alphabetic choices and the accompanying rhymes. Animals seemed ideal. I decided to underline the alphabetic structure with some alliteration and the final line, but stopped at J to avoid monotony and less convincing examples.

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Strike away the days

By Sioban Timmer

 

Strike away the days

In strokes sharp and purposeful

Cut them down like old growth forest

The calendar boxes, the tree rings of our lives

With each slashing mark of pen to page

Screaming out the passing time

Strike away the year

Remove the tired dog eared pages

Cast aside events and tasks of yesterday

Carefully raise and hang the New Year high

Crisp and clean like the dove and olive branch

A new beginning in each blank square.

 

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #14

Poetry Prompt 14

 

Poem of the Day

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Frangipani

by Penny Szentkuti

 

Frangipani

Grows, guerilla-planted, by the footpath.

How does a stick thrust

Into the dirt

Just grow?

Kicking into life,

Leaning into light,

Making the most of

Night rain,

Of morning dew.

Putting down roots

Quietly

Reaching down to grasp

Soil,

To hold the earth steadily

Until

Velvet furls of leaf appear,

Waking now above, as below.

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #11: Write and Alphabet Poem.
poemhand
Penny says: I enjoy constraints when writing poetry so I don’t feel overwhelmed by the task, so this prompt appealed to me. I’ve been observing a beautiful deep pink frangipani outside my place for several weeks and it was a delight to explore that with words. I like how I was forced to split phrases which increased the emphasis on some words and ideas.
 

Poem of the Day

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DOG WALK/TALK

by David Rish

 

When I took Minnie for a walk,

All she wanted to do was talk.

The new butcher’s meat is very tasty,

Especially when wrapped in pastry.

Did you hear that Chris bought a blue hat?

Don’t you think that Paul’s got fat?

Yap, yap, yap, and chat, chat, chat.

This is this, and that is that.

And what was that rat-a-tat-tat?

 

Please, Minnie, end your constant chatter,

I’m turning as mad as the Mad Hatter.

 

I’m terribly sorry you feel that way,

Because I have so much I want to say.

I like to talk, that’s what mouths are for,

I wonder, what’s the cricket score?

I wonder if the Moon is made of cheese.

Listen to that cat snort and sneeze.

Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk.

Talk and talk and talk; squawk, squawk.

 

Sigh.

  • Submitted in response to Poetry prompt #10

Prompt10

David says: My poem was ‘inspired’ by my nephew’s whippet, Minnie-the-Fish. She tends to look at humans as if we’re all complete idiots.

 

Poem of the Day

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WHO SHOT SOOTY?

by Joanne Pummer

 

Who shot Sooty?

”I did,” cried Ellie. ”With a little gun

I shot Sooty.”

 

Who found  the gun?

”I did,” said Ellie. ”In my Mummy’s purse

I found the gun.”

 

Who squeezed trigger?

”I did,” sobbed Ellie.

”I squeezed the trigger.”

 

Why did you squeeze it?

”I wanted to play.

That’s why I squeezed it.”

 

Who heard the shot?

”I did,” said Mum.

”I ran and I ran when I heard the shot.”

 

Who bought the gun?

”I did,” said Dad.

”I bought the gun.”

 

Why did you buy it?

”To keep us all safe.

That’s why I bought it.”

 

Who saw the blood?

”I did,” said James.

”I saw Sooty’s blood.”

 

Who kissed his forehead?

“I did,” said James.

”I kissed his soft black fur.”

 

We hugged and we cried when they carried off Sooty.

 

”Wait,” said the gun.

”I shot Sooty. With my little bullets

I shot Sooty.”

 

Did you scream, did you shout when the shot rang out?

Did you cry, did you call when you saw Sooty fall?

 

”No,” said the gun.

”I’m not like you.

I only do what I was made to do.”

 

Author comment: I wrote Who Shot Sooty?’ on the spur of the moment when I saw in a news item that the National Rifle Association in the US have written a children’s book.

 

 

 

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THE TRAIN   

by Anne Bell

Past houses,trees and grazing sheep,

I race and rock and sway

and I say to the track of strong, firm steel

that likes the sound of a hurrying wheel,

I’ll soon be back,

be back,

be back.

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #13.

PoetryPrompt13

Author comment:  Goodness gracious me…this was first published in The School Magaz Circa Yonks AD when that journal was edited by Lilith Norman and still in black and white mode.

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Good News Story

By Lynelle Kendall

The Easter story starts at Christmas,

When a baby named Jesus was born.

A special child, sent to save all people.

He brought hope like a bright new dawn.

As a man he told people God wanted their friendship,

But the wrong things they did had to go.

God is good, he is sad when we steal, when we lie,

When we’re mean to the people we know.

The first Easter, good Friday, Jesus died on a cross,

Took away all those wrong things we do,

And to prove he’s God’s son, and that those things are gone,

He came back to life! Yes it’s true!

Trust him with your heart and you can be God’s friend!

That’s what Easter is really about.

Hot cross buns will remind us; Jesus made a way,

It’s a good news story, no doubt!

Poetry Prompt 11Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #12.

Author’s Note: At Easter, Christians celebrate that Jesus died on the cross and came back to life. This good news is for all people everywhere. If you want to
find out more, ask the Chaplain at your school.
 

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My Fingers

by Dianne Bates

 

My fingers

are going on an adventure

What fun

Exploring the world

Poking, prodding, whirling

Running

along a rough ridge

of timber freshly sawed –

watch those spikes!

Poking in a pudding

spongy soft with a skin

of smooth creamy custard,

raspy and rough

Holding hands with a friend

her fat, sticky fingers

kissing mine

Sliding a finger along

a prickly strip of string

then a scrap of paper

lying flat and dry

nothing but words

that send love

list groceries

start wars

 

Exploring the ridged

wet craters of inside my mouth,

Next the damp stubble

of a nostril

Disgusting, says Mum

wash those hands!

The drowning sensation

of tepid water

the satiny surface of soap

the fuzzy tickle

of suds, tiny rising balloons

that wink, and in the

blink of an eye

snap!

Vanish

just like that,

Fingers explore the furriness

of towel…

 

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #4

Prompt4

Dianne says: I brain-stormed the topic before realising that the best way of
describing textures was to have a finger or fingers feeling them, hence this
finger exploring some things in a child’s world.

 

 

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Easter Unwrapped!

by Monty Edwards

 

Easter’s not about a bunny ,

Nor the eggs in shops you’ll see

Wrapped in foil with shells of chocolate:

Mostly empty , you’ll agree.

Easter’s all about a Saviour:

One who died and rose again;

Paid a price to bring us freedom;

Lives for evermore to reign.

 

We can leave our guilt behind us.

Jesus bore it on his cross.

Start again, and grateful serve him,

Rescued from eternal loss.

Ours is wisdom to obey him:

He alone our rightful King;

This is lasting satisfaction

Chocolate eggs can never bring.

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #12

Poetry Prompt 11

Author comment: Amid today’s crass commercialism, the poem attempts to remind readers of Easter’s original meaning and significance which remain important to millions the world over.

Poem of the Day

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Not Hot Cross Buns Again!

by Carolyn Eldridge-Alfonzetti

 

At Easter Mum bakes special buns —

they’re warm and soft and sweet.

But with those piped white crosses

come some things this kid won’t eat.

 

The shiny glaze Mum brushes on,

I think is kind of icky.

It makes the buns look like they’re wet

and leaves my fingers sticky.

 

The shriveled-up sultanas

look like flies cooked in the dough.

I pick them out for our dog, Rex

(Shhhh.  Mummy doesn’t know!)

 

Those buns would be much nicer, too,

without mixed peel and spice.

If you ask me, next Easter,

hot cross doughnuts would be nice!

 

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #12

Poetry Prompt 11