Category Archives: Poem of the Day

The Little Fish

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The Little Fish

 

I wish I was a little fish,

a little fishy me,

I’d swim and swim and swim and swim,

(I like swimming),

Swimming swimminglingly.

 

I’d flip my fins, do tail-spins

With an in-built mini-motor,

Act the lair and really scare

Away hook, line and floater.

 

If I were a little fish,

a little fishy I,

I’d make a little fishy wish

And wish that I could fly.

 

I’d fly and fly and fly and fly,

Flying up and down,

And in between, to see the scene,

Fly out, about and around.

 

I’d loop a kooky loop and fly

Through dark and drizzly weather,

Any where that’s full of air;

A fish without a feather.

 

I’d run on ultra-octane gas

With three thick wheels for legs.

This little town in yoke will drown

When I bomb it with my eggs.

 

Sky, sky, everywhere

Except where clouds go sailing.

Dry sky, anywhere

It is not rain or hailing.

 

I’d join the guys who fly the skies;

Naturally quite heroic.

I wouldn’t mind the wind behind,

But hope I don’t get air-sick!

 

I’d join a wacky Wild West Show

Touring South East Asia,

Teaching “curry and rice is velly nice,

But McDonalds will amazia.”

 

In black and white with banjo blue

I’d busk in Larry Park,

And Fred Astaire would stop and stare

When I whistled up a snark.

 

And who could keep me off the green

When I see a snooker table?

Shooting crap or `tender-trap’,

I’m cooler than Clark Gable.

 

I’d flap and fluff my way to fame,

A modern Petomaniac,

And do all manner of magic things

In white-tie & tails and top-hat.

 

And anyone who didn’t laugh,

I’d poop right in his soup dish.

I have my pride!  It’s not for nought I’d

Be a little fish.

 

Bridh Hancock

For My Grandson Ethan

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ETHEN’S 4TH BIRTHDAY

Ethen and Noah put to sea, in a beautiful pea-green boat.

They waved goodbye to their Mummy and Daddy, then struggled to stay afloat………………………….

Noah handled the sail, leaving Ethen to bail, as they rode the cresting foam

Then above the wind’s shriek, the bending mast’s creak,

They heard a mournful moan

 

Up from the depths, a sea-serpent leapt, its tentacles curling and twisting

they reached for the boys, with a scrabbling noise,

and set the boat spinning and listing

 

Staring in awe at the monster’s dark maw, their future looked terribly bleak

Each caught round the waist, they were dragged face-to-face

With huge eyes round a monstrous beak

 

But from deep down inside, a kindly voice cried: “Ethen, Noah you’re invited to tea!

The King and his mermaids, were told it’s your birthday.

Come, join the King of the sea!”

 

To the sea bed, with the serpent they sped, to a cave full of music and song

The king with his crown,  gazed regally around,

At his guests and a merry-some throng

 

Starfish on the ceiling, by their warm glow revealing, a most enchanting scene

Merfolk, in pairs dancing,  with seahorses  prancing

As clown fish shimmered and gleamed

 

A cake was unfurled, decorated with pearls, and “Happy Birthday” was joyfully sung

A treasure chest long concealed had its contents revealed

And gold coins round their necks gently hung

 

Then a bellowing call, echoed throughout the hall, and a giant of the sea now appeared

“Your ride has arrived” and the King winked his eye

As a whale beat it’s tail and drew near

 

On the backs of 2 dolphins, they perched just like Sultans, and rode to the creatures broad back

The boys cheered and waved as they swept from the cave

Into waters both cold and ink-black

 

To the surface they flew, launching into the blue, neath a sky now prickling with stars

Appeased and now calm into the Sea’s gentle arms

They settled and gazed up at Mars

 

To their ears came sad songs, deep notes, slow, prolonged, as the mermaids bade them good bye

Their boat no more needed, as a gift Ethen ceded

And they turned towards home with a sigh

 

The sudden flash of a light set the mermaids to flight, Ethen slowly took in the scene

There was Mum at his bed, gently stroking his head

The adventure had been but a dream.

Peter Rich

 

Fossil Hunters

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Fossil Hunters

The project’s elementary:

find rock-types sedimentary

then look for marks of mystery

that tell Earth’s ancient history.

 

Some skeletons of bone turned stone

and eggshells left by creatures grown

much bigger than an elephant.

Were dinosaurs intelligent?

 

A lot of effort is exerted

digging rocks and getting dirtied

when you are a scientist

and proud Pal-e-ontologist.

 

 

Dinosaurs are awesome.  And thanks to Paleontologists, we’ve recently learnt that some had fancy feathers or colourful collars – all through finding fantastic fossils.

Celia Berrell

 

https://www.britannica.com/science/paleontology

A Book

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A Book!

Book book, book book! exclaimed the hen.

Really!  I replied.

Book book, book book, she clucked again.

Book book, book book, she sighed.

A book, a book – I understand.

A book, a book – but what?

Book book, book book, book book, book book

Book book, book book, Book bok…

A book, a book – I’ll have a look.

I’ll see what I can find.

A book, a book – a classic  book,

This book, you will not mind.

So we sat under the claret ash with a book; the hen and me.

And I read till it was almost dark.

Then we went inside for tea.

 

By Louise McCarthy

 

A bit of fun! I love chooks. They are very entertaining to watch and listen to.

 

 

The Wizard Comb: A Poem from a Polish Poet

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The Wizard Comb

Hidden under the books, surrounded by pens.

White-but he has a soul of gold in a sense

He wants to fly away from the table.

Maybe then the world would be…

more wonderful.

My once favourite subject of play… with a doll;

Now broken and abandoned under the wall.

He was replaced by a NEW,

much bigger and colourful too.

I tell him of sorrows and fears.

He consoles me, wiping away all my tears,

and brings all the children sweet dreams…

Anna Banasiak

Anna is a poet and literary critic. Her poems have been published in New York, London, Surrey, Australia, Canada, India, Africa, Japan, Israel. She lives in Lodz, Poland.

The way to be

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The way to be

 

Choose a comfy place to lie

beside your favourite tree.

Cast your eyes up to the sky

and cut your thinking free.

Watch the clouds that quietly drift

across a sheet of blue.

Savour this tremendous gift

from Nature straight to you.

 

Pay no heed to thought balloons,

release them one by one.

Fill your head instead with tunes

awakened by the sun –

chortles, whistles, trills and tweets,

a magpie’s sweet refrain,

Nature’s songs, melodic treats

to soothe a busy brain.

 

Feel the brush of breeze on skin

of gentle sun on face.

Shut your eyes and bask within

this moment’s soft embrace.

Relish feeling truly blessed,

relax beside your tree.

Give your mind a chance to rest.

It’s time to simply be.

 

Jenny Erlanger

A FROG IN THE BATHROOM

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A FROG IN THE BATHROOM

 

I saw a frog in the bathroom last night

It seemed to be staring right at me in fright

big toilet roll eyes on a porcelain face

just stared up at me with a look of disgrace

did not say a word, but he sat there and frowned

as though disapproving, did not make a sound.

I pressed on his nose as he stared with distrust,

and water gushed out as the toilet bowl flushed.

I wonder if I’ll ever see him again?

I wonder if next time he might bring a friend?

© Allan Cropper

The Jungle’s Chooky Robin Hood 

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The Jungle’s Chooky Robin Hood

 

You have to love those scrub-fowl chooks

seen scratching in the forest’s nooks.

Like Robin and his Merry Men

they roam the jungle, cock and hen.

They’re dressed in dowdy blue and brown

while orange legs are bright low down.

And if you spot one, notice that

it wears a quiff-like Sherwood hat!

 

They build big nests of forest leaves;

communal giant compost heaps

to bury eggs and keep them warm

and hide them from the jungle’s harm.

And in the process, make a mess

of scattered leaves, continuous

that cover paths and walking trails

initiating human wails.

 

But most of all I love their calls

that echo through the wooded halls.

To some, it sounds like strangled kids

that shriek for help before they’re missed.

But night and day, their yodelling

is interspersed with chuckling

that signifies they’re happy chooks

despite their rather funny looks.

 

 

While I was living in the Daintree Rainforest, I loved hearing the calls of the Orange-footed scrub fowl, chortling and chuckling, squawking and shouting.  Keeping the quaint paths to the guest cabins safe and tidy was a constant job for resort staff as these native chooks make a terrible mess, flicking leaves everywhere.  But they always seem so happy!

 

by Celia Berrell

 

Swerving Irving

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Swerving Irving

 

Irving McDrane can fly a plane;

He flies it up and down again.

He flies by night, he flies by day,

Upside down or up the right way.

 

He loops the loop and barrel rolls,

Through the air he twists and scrolls,

Across the sky with great panache …

Look out, Irving — you’re going to crash!

 

 

SPLAT!

 

 

Irving McDrane can’t fly a plane;

Now he goes everywhere by train.

 

 

 

 

                                      James Aitchison

Springtime

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Springtime

 

When people say: “Spring’s late this year!”

They must be wrong – that’s seems quite clear.

It always starts on one firm date,

So cannot possibly be late!

At school I’m sure that we rehearsed

That Spring begins September 1st.

If every year that does not change,

To say: “Spring’s late”, seems very strange.

 

But if you’re north of the equator,

Spring for you is six months later.

That would mean you are not here,

But in the other hemisphere.

September there’s not Spring at all:

It starts their Autumn or their Fall,

When trees’ green leaves may turn to brown

And from above come floating down.

 

Should someone say that Spring is late,

I do not start some great debate

And tell them what I learnt at school

And treat them like a silly fool,

Since change, for seasons, can be slow.

It’s warmth they want: their plants to grow,

Their flowers to bud and birds to sing.

Till that time comes, it won’t seem Spring.

 

Monty Edwards