Poem of the Day

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Planting the Mango Seed

 by Anna Jacobson


After school, we raced home

to share a mango, one half each-

you let me have the seed.

Later, arms and wrists sticky

with juice, I planted it

in the middle of the yard,

so we could all admire it.

I dug with my hands

and a pointy rock. Dirt packed

under my nails. We pushed

the seed into the ground, covered

it up and sprinkled it with the hose.

Had a water fight just for luck.



Poem of the Day

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 By Anna Jacobson

I found her at school one day, hidden

under one of the classrooms. I climbed

in after her and she let me stroke

her fur. I carried her into the light

and her shadow stretched

across the grass.


Her owners were relieved.

She’d been missing three weeks.

They came to pick her up

and as I let her go, I imagined a cat

of my own. A cat called Nora.


Poem of the Day


Brisbane West End Markets

by Anna Jacobson


Under a canopy of fig trees

we pass a busker, watch his hands dance

over the surface of the drum and hear

music— soft, warm, bright.

Honey sounds that take us past the

food stalls and hot Afghani bread filled

with leeks and onion. I follow behind a girl

who carries a white Persian cat. Its pampered

face peers over her shoulder at me.


Poem of the Day


Image courtesy of Rosemary Ratcliff at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Image courtesy of Rosemary Ratcliff at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Ocean Life

by Anna Jacobson


We scrabble over sun

warmed rocks and peer into

rock pools. Small crabs scuttle

sideways, sea anemones wave

and we climb on further- feet slip

in rubber thongs and we glimpse

a squishy sea cucumber, silkworm

soft. In another pool lies a blue starfish.

We race to the ocean to cool our skin,

water so clear we see a large bream flick

its tail and swim off into the depths.



Poem of the Day

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The Forest


Silent as a mosquito whine just beyond hearing.

A lizard lies languid, tastes the air with its thick blue tongue.

A goanna runs up a gum tree, claws digging into bark.


A scrub turkey dashes across the path.

I sit on the timber seat halfway up the mountain,

careful of the red-back’s nest underneath.


Leaves dance with the first drops of rain. Birds call out.

A tree dribbles sap, sticky as honey. The downpour starts-

I am drenched in the forest’s earthy scent.

Anna Jacobson