Poem of the Day

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Would I chance it, Stephen?


Certainly not. You’re more likely to drown

if you swim under skies that are murky and brown.

And what’s that fence here for? Who cares if it’s green.

I’m more concerned with its ungainly lean

and its reason for being here. Something’s not right.

It belongs somewhere else (and would look better white) –

which prompts me to wonder just where it has been.

Did it come in a storm? What’s it all mean?

Blue bottles on beaches don’t appeal either,

glass ones or stinging ones. I insist neither

of these little dangers should ever be seen

on a beach where I swim; I’m a stickler for “clean”.

And one other thing: there’s no one else here;

I like to know that a life-guard is near.

That settles the matter. I wouldn’t go in.

I’d choose somewhere else for my holiday swim.


But if you’re inspired by your re-arranged mess

the outcome, I’d say, is anyone’s guess.


Kate O’Neil
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #7



Poem of the Day

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The bottle on the beach was green,

In the most beautiful tint I have seen.

But other bottles from my past

Were mostly white.


The empties waited at the gate in a crate.

When the milkman was late,

I’d wait at the gate till he arrived.

The Milkie came with a loaded horse-pulled cart.

He’d run beside it as the horse moved slow

And he moved fast.


My mother would send me out with a shovel

After he’d gone, to collect the manure

For her roses, hydrangeas, and fuchsias

Whose blooms were so full and wide,

They leaned against

The fence like fat ladies dressed in coloured ball gowns.


The bottles were smaller at school,

With strawberry and chocolate flavoured straws

For the lucky ones,

Who would let me have them when

They were finished.

I’d save them in my desk for the next day.

But I was always grateful

To just suck the milk from the bottle,

Even on hot summer days

When it had waited too long in the sun

For playtime to come around.


Those innocent days are all gone.

Like sand at the beach

They got swept out to sea,

To be brought back again to land on the tide.

My memories will always call back

Days with white bottles that sparkled

With the morning light, and tinted green

Ones found submerged on the beach

During Sunday School picnics.

Anastasia Gonis ©
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #7


Anastasia said: I thought this picture inspiring. As you can see, it created a daisy chain of memories together with the smell of the horse manure I’d collect for my mother as a child. I can recall the clink of bottles and the sound of the horses’ hooves on the bitumen.