Category Archives: Poem of the Day

Sweet Sorrow by Elaine Harris

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Sweet Sorrow

 

I have a sweet and sorry tale,

I promise you it’s true.

It happened a few years ago –

Now would I lie to you?

It started with a parcel,

A present from a friend

Who posted Easter munchies,

A kindly thing to send.

 

She sent rich English toffee,

And luscious marzipan

All dipped in thick dark chocolate,

Packed tightly in a can.

And on the very top we found

All dressed in festive red

The sweetest chocolate duckling

Who bore a note which said:

“I left my country as an egg

But somehow on the way

I got so bored I had to hatch.

Can I come out to play?”

 

We ate the lovely marzipan,

We chewed the English toffee;

We shared the goodies with our friends,

A treat to serve with coffee.

I couldn’t bear to crack the duck

Though Granddad said we should;

I used to stand and gaze at him,

He looked so sweet and good.

 

And so he lived inside the fridge

For weeks, for months or years;

The very thought of breaking him

Would bring me close to tears.

 

But then one day it happened,

His balance being poor

He strayed too close to the shelf’s edge

And shattered on the floor.

 

Alas! No more our luckless duck!

Well, what else could we do?

With only chocolate fragments left

We ate him, wouldn’t you?

 

© Elaine Harris

As Like as Two Peas by Edel Wignell

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As Like as Two Peas

I wanted a brother,

But was warned by my mother

That we might get the other.

But no! It was twins!

Then Pa comes to stay,

His grandsons he sees.

‘Why bless me!’ he cries,

‘As like as two peas.’

 

Identical boys,

Double the noise,

Duplicate toys.

A pigeon pair!

Two mouths that dribble,

Two heads that nod,

As like as two peas –

Two peas in a pod.

 

Hair that is fair,

Gums that are bare,

Four eyes that stare.

Help! Mirror image!

To tell them apart,

Mum says it’s a breeze,

All but their ears

Are as like as two peas.

 

By Edel Wignell

 

Code-Breaker by Elaine Harris

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Code-Breaker

 

I strolled down to the park last week

To watch a game of cricket.

They speak a different language there –

Please, what’s a sticky wicket?

 

I stood with rapt attention

But soon became downhearted.

How is something over when

It hasn’t even started?

 

I thought most bowls held soup or fruit

And bats could squeak and fly,

That bowlers were a type of hat

And maidens rather shy.

 

The people sitting on the grass

All loved to clap and shout.

They yelled out things like “Four!” “No, six!”

And “Is he still in or out?”

 

They had a tea-break halfway through,

The sandwiches were good.

I concentrated really hard

But still misunderstood.

 

The next time I go for a walk

And see a cricket match,

I might learn how to spin a bowl

Or not to drop a catch.

 

My girlfriend doesn’t seem convinced.

“You’re all confused”, she said.

“Why fuss with all those words and rules –

Try something else instead.

 

I’ll walk beside you to the park;

Don’t buy that cricket glove.

We’ll sit and watch the tennis where

At least they speak of love.”

 

© Elaine Harris

Mother and Child by Warren Cox

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Once … upon a long ago

we sat inside the quiet

and watched the sun-kissed waters drift

beneath the morning light.

 

A place without a number;

a world with no address;

tucked away behind the trees

where Golden Whistlers nest.

 

Where thoughts so soft and gentle

filled my mind with peace.

And locked me in a moment

that I hoped would never cease.

 

But nothing lasts for always

and time will have its way.

The world and I have aged since then

and dimmed my yesterday.

 

Yet still one memory strong and clear

rests safe where it was filed.

A snapshot of the love that is

a mother and her child.

 

Warren Cox

Silly Shifts by Katherine Gallagher

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Silly Shifts

 

All traffic jams jump questions.

No one can lose a dog in a hurry.

Therefore every day has a shape.

******

All fires have a starting point.

There is only one sky.

Therefore clouds surrender at will.

*******

All squares have four corners.

Fish rarely swim in circles.

Therefore the ocean may look flat.

********

© Katherine Gallagher

 

The Electricitree by Stephen Whiteside

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The Electricitree

 

Hello, reader. I am me.

I’m climbing up this mighty tree.

I’ll climb and climb and never stop.

I’ll climb it to the very top.

 

I’m climbing in the dark of night,

With moon and stars to give me sight,

And when at last I reach the crown,

I’ll turn around and climb back down.

 

Why, goodness gracious, who are you?

And why are you a brilliant blue?

Colours in the depths of night? Explain yourself! It isn’t right!

 

I am an electric bird.

It really isn’t so absurd.

What did you expect to see

Inside an electricitree?

 

Electric birds? Electric trees?

Don’t take me for a moron, please!

Power runs along a wire.

You’re a fibber! You’re a liar!

 

Hold your horses. Do not scoff.

Watch me turning on and off.

See my colour come and go.

Don’t you like my little show?

 

By jingoes, I believe you’re right!

You really are a pretty sight.

I’m sorry I was rather short.

Electric birds, eh? Who’d have thought!

 

Not just birds, but also bees

You’ll find in electricitrees.

Instead of blue, they’re brilliant red.

See them buzzing round your head?

 

Electric bees I can’t believe.

You must have something up your sleeve!

I’m stung! Oh, I apologise!

The proof is here before my eyes.

 

It hurts! It hurts! Please help me, please!

I trust in your electric bees!

Please, oh please, remove the sting,

And I’ll believe in anything!

 

Hold quite still now. Do not move.

Let me settle in my groove.

I’ll take the sting out of your hand,

But listen close, and understand.

 

When you say they are not real

It hurts them. Think of how you’d feel

If someone said you don’t exist?

You’d roar and shout and shake your fist.

 

Bees can’t shake their fists, and so,

They do the only thing they know.

They sting. But listen, you’re in luck.

Imagine if they’d run amok

 

And stung and stung, and stung some more.

Then you would be very sore.

You are in their territory

Inside the electricitree.

 

Thank you. I am feeling better.

Your advice, right to the letter,

I will follow. There’s no chance…

Hey, something’s climbed inside my pants!

 

It’s got me laughing like a clown.

I’ll have to pull my trousers down.

There’s yellow dots upon my knees.

Help me! Help me! What are these?

 

Ah! I see electric ants

Have climbed up high inside your pants

Events like this must always be

Inside an electricitree.

 

Electric ants? Are you quite mad?

Or do you think a foolish lad

Like me will swallow any stuff

You throw at him? I call your bluff!

 

Electric birds. Electric bees.

Yes, I believe in all of these.

But now I’m shown electric ants.

Do I believe in them? Fat chance!

 

Oo! Ow! Oo! Ow! I feel a fire

On my legs, and even higher.

Help me, please, to put it out.

Is this a punishment for doubt?

 

Of course it is. You’re slow to learn,

And now, alas, your legs must burn,

But here, now, take this little leaf,

And rub it on. You’ll feel relief.

 

Oh thank you, thank you, little bird.

I promise I will trust your word

From now until eternity.

You’ve been so very good to me.

 

Electric birds. Electric bees.

Electric ants. Please, no more please.

I couldn’t cope with any more.

My hand still stings. My legs are sore.

 

Why, we have only just begun!

There’s lots more creatures, lots more fun.

Electric grubs. Electric moths.

We even have electric sloths!

 

They’re very fast. They love to chase

And jump and skip and leap and race.

Why, if you see a sloth that’s slow,

That means its battery is low.

 

Now, that’s the end! You’ve very mean

To fool a boy as young and green

As me. I simply can’t believe

Your tale, so I will take my leave.

 

I’ll leave the electricitree.

My bedroom is the place for me.

I have enjoyed your little show…

Hey, look! I have begun to glow!

 

Yes, you are young, and you are green.

Why, that’s the nicest shade I’ve seen.

What a treasure! What a joy!

We have our first electric boy!

 

© Stephen Whiteside   16.07.2013

 

 

Santa’s Wish List by Jenny Erlanger

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Santa’s wish list

 

I’ve never thought it pleasant

asking Santa for a present

even though I’m really longing for a bike.

So while I’m sitting on his knee

and his attention’s all on me

I ask the man what he would really like.

 

Santa’s taken out a list

just to check that nothing’s missed

and I’m madly writing all his wishes down.

Some snazzy luggage racks

to hold those heavy-duty sacks

he lugs around at night from town to town.

 

He has now gone on to say

that he would really like a sleigh.

His other one, he says, is getting old.

A turbo-charged two-seater

with a super-duper heater

to protect him from the bitter arctic cold.

 

Dasher’s girth has lost its casing,

Rudolph’s harness needs replacing

and he says that he had better add as well

That Donner, Comet, Prancer

and some other deer called Dancer

all need a new and flashy-looking bell.

 

His list just keeps on going,

his demands on me are growing.

This really is becoming quite absurd.

The requests are getting stranger,

now he’s asked me for a manger

that is big enough to feed his treasured herd.

 

He’s still got several pages,

he’s been going on for ages

and I’m not sure I can get him all this stuff.

He’s talking now of brandy

and some special brand of candy

but I’ve hopped down from his lap. I’ve had enough!

 

© Jenny Erlanger

Chillytoes by Sally Odgers

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Chillytoes

Chilly toes or silly toes?

Have to put on socks

I‘m too idle though the cold bites

Lost the will to move? he mocks

Life is chilly for a silly. Socks are packed away

Yes I have some… Dear-oh-dearie, where (oh where) are they?

 

Sally Odgers

Humungous Fungus by Pat Simmons

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Humungous Fungus

 

Humungous Fungus is among us

And it’s rather smelly.

It slowly creeps between your toes

Then right up to your belly.

 

It can be blue, but when it’s pink

It gives off such an awful stink.

Sometimes it floats down in the breeze

And leaves great blobs on both your knees.

 

When it sparkles like a fairy

Then you must be very wary.

If it waves its magic wand

You’ll smell like slime from next door’s pond.

 

Beware if Fungus goes to school.

It doesn’t care who looks a fool.

Your teacher might get quite a shock

If Fungus hides inside his sock.

 

If poor grandma, while she’s sitting

Concentrating on her knitting

Notices a sudden pull

It’s Fungus climbing up her wool.

 

Even mum must be quite careful

She might cop a blobby hair full

If she happens to be shopping

Right where Fungus slime is dropping.

 

Family pets should run and hide

‘Cos Fungus loves to slip and slide

Into kennels, baskets, cages

Sending critters into rages.

 

But Fungus loathes a water spray

So get yourself one right away.

And squirt that fiend with all your might

You’ll be a hero overnight.

 

Pat Simmons © 2014

High Achievers by Kate O’Neil

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High Achievers

 

We thought we could. ..

We said we would

go on the climb

to Mount Sublime

and we did it!

Yes! We did it!

We got to the top! We did it!

 

They said it was impossible.

They said we wouldn’t last.

They said it was a grown-ups’ walk

and grown-ups walk too fast.

They said you must be big and strong—

The path is very steep

and you have to cross some channels where

the water’s very deep.

They said the climb is difficult

and we’re not old enough

to know you just keep going when

the going’s really tough.

They said there could be leeches and

creepy crawly things

and real explorers don’t complain

of scratches, bites and stings.

They thought we wouldn’t make it but

they let us go along

and we showed them, yes we showed them they

were wrong! wrong! wrong!

 

© Kate O’Neil