Poem of the Day

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The House that Never Sleeps

 

Our house is a blinking one,

A winking, ever-thinking one,

At night when all the work is done,

Our house is standing by.

 

The laptop light is pulsing white

In case it’s needed in the night

To play a game or book a flight,

It’s always standing by.

 

The bright light on the video

Is glowing green, all set to go,

In case we want to watch a show,

It’s always standing by.

 

The red lights on the Xbox E,

The microwave, the smart TV,

All stab the dark impatiently,

Forever standing by.

 

Our house is ready all night long

To heat some food or play a song,

Till all the fossil fuels are gone,

Our house is standing by.

 

© Jill McDougall

 

Poem of the Day

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Harvey’s Escape

Based on the reported escape of a bouncing, squat, Staffordshire bull-terrier

by trampolining over the back fence of his yard.

(‘Odd Spot’, The Age, Melbourne, 16 June 2008)

 

Harvey liked to jump and bounce upon the trampoline

With frisky owners, little Bob, and teenage girl, Noreen.

He jumped and bounced, and bounced and jumped, steadily getting weary-er,

‘Come on, boy! Keep it up! Jumping’ll make you merrier!’

Exhausting Harvey, the bouncing, squat, Staffordshire bull-terrier.

 

Next day their mother called as they merrily bounced on the trampoline,

‘Come on kids! Come and say “Hello” to your Aunt Doreen!’

While Harvey bounced alone, his eyes were staring – getting bleary-er,

The day was hot, the sun so fiercely shining – becoming glary-er,

Blinding Harvey, the bouncing, squat Staffordshire bull-terrier.

 

Mum came out. ‘Get off, Harvey! Get off the trampoline!

The kids have gone with Aunt Doreen – please don’t make a scene.

Jump down! Rest! Good dog, Harvey! Now you’re looking cheerier.’

She went inside. Then, sitting there, soon the fencing barrier

Inspired Harvey, the bouncing, squat, Staffordshire bull-terrier.

 

‘Escape, escape!’ The dog jumped back and bounced on the trampoline.

‘I’ve thought of a marvellous way to fly and escape from this prison scene.’

He left the yard, propelled on high by a bounce upon his derriere,

Over the fence he flew, then tumbled, falling through the wisteria –

Freedom for Harvey, the bouncing, squat, Staffordshire bull-terrier.

 

Across a park and into a forest, goodbye to the trampoline.

Two people appeared, offering choice and both were smiling and keen.

‘Come with me, pick berries for market – I am the local berrier.’

‘Come with me, ride on the ferry – I am the local ferrier.’

‘Alternate days!’ barked Harvey, the bouncing, squat, Staffordshire bull-terrier.

 

 

By Edel Wignell

 

Poem of the Day

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Double standards

 

When I sit down to dinner

There are things I mustn’t do.

There’s a list of rules to follow.

Let me give you just a few.

 

I’m not to gobble quickly,

every mouthful must be chewed.

I can’t talk over others

’cause to interrupt is rude.

My mouth needs to be empty

when I get a chance to talk

My dinner must be tackled

with a proper knife and fork.

And even when I’ve finished

I am forced to sit and wait

till everybody’s eaten

what was put onto their plate.

And that’s just the beginning.

I could rattle off some more…

But for little baby brother

all these rules go out the door!

 

He’s put into his high chair

with his plastic spoon and plate

and you’d not believe the chaos

that he’s able to create.

No sooner is he seated

than his spoon is knocked away,

the plate has been inverted

and his food has hit the tray.

He grabs the mush with fingers,

that he runs straight through his hair

and he saves a bit for missiles

that he launches from his chair.

He wriggles in his harness

as he giggles, burps and squeals.

He loves to get attention

when we’re sitting down to meals.

He downs his final mouthful

then, in keeping with the trend,

prepares the grand finale…

he explodes from either end.

 

My brother’s skills are many

and deserve to be admired

but his manners at the table

leave a lot to be desired!

 

© Jenny Erlanger

 

Poem of the Day

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My Nan speaks Nanish

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Hippo or Hag.

It’s a slippery language I’d love to snag,

a scrumptious secret wild horses can’t drag

but Nan won’t let the cat out of the bag!

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Thai or Turkey.

Spying on the neighbours what does she see?

Pishposh! Codswollop! Fiddle-de-dee!

Wagging tongues are barking up the wrong tree.

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Belgium or Bear.

She’d teach me if she had the time to spare

but it’s half past a freckle, quarter past a hair,

the proof’s in the pudding and hen’s teeth are rare.

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Dog or Derry

wetting her whistle watching the telly,

chewing the fat with great aunty Nelly,

bulging eyes growing bigger than bellies

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Mooney or Manx.

When old photos lull her into a trance

she’s caught and lead in a merry old dance

by teasing bees knees and fancy ants pants.

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Cree or Kipper.

Hob-knobbing in her best bib and tucker.

When she married Pop it was a ripper,

he was the monkey, she the dog’s dinner.

 

My Nan speaks Nanish not Gothic or Goop

sucking on eggs or jumping through hoops.

She calls me little chicken noodle soup.

Possum. Pumpkin. I’m her favourite fruit loop.

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Persian or Pie.

It’s tricky talk that leaves me tongue-tied

But if wishes are fishes, pigs can fly,

my Nan can speak Nanish and so can I!

 

© Jane Williams