Poem of the Day

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Yesterday we had bacon and eggs for breakfast

Today was Coco Pops

Yesterday we had an apple for morning tea

Today was fairy floss

Yesterday we had pumpkin soup for lunch

Today was hot chips

Yesterday we had Greek yogurt for an afternoon snack

Today was a Mars Bar

Yesterday we had a roast chicken dinner with veggies

Today was a Happy Meal from McDonald’s

Yesterday we had homemade apple pie for dessert

Today was a chocolate donut

Yesterday we watched the footy with carrot sticks and dip

Today we watched with a big bucket of popcorn

Yesterday my mum was home all day

Today my dad was in charge of food

I wonder what we will eat tomorrow?

 Jeanie Axton
  •  Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #32

Poem of the Day

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A sleepwalker named Alexander

Left his bed so he could meander.

Eyes closed and snoring,

Arms out before him,

He ended up on the verandah.


But fate had in store a cruel twist

For this poor lonely somnambulist.

The next thing he knew

There was doggy-doo,

And his feet landed right in its midst!


So in future, my friend Alexander,

Take heed of a humble bystander:

Please stay in your bed,

Sheets over your head,

And don’t try to sleep’ly meander.

James Aitchison
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #31

Poem of the Day




I have a cat and she lives inside;

Inside the house, where she grows quite fat.

BUT often that fat cat wants to go outside;

Outside the house to hunt for a rat.


Inside, outside, inside, outside –

Cat at the window goes meow, meow, meow.

Inside, outside, inside, outside;

Make up your mind, cat, right away, NOW!


I have a dog and he lives outside;

Outside the house where he stays on guard.

BUT often that guard dog wants to come inside,

Inside the house and away from his yard.


Inside, outside, inside, outside –

Dog at the door going howl, howl, howl.

Inside, outside, inside, outside;

Make up your mind, dog, right away, NOW!


Jaz Stutley


  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #30

Poem of the Day


B is for boring

A was for apple

and  B was for ball.

C was for something

I can’t quite recall,

maybe a carrot,

a cat or a comb,

but certainly something

you’d find round the home.

I love reading books

but I have to concede

that my first ever book

was so boring to read.

Jenny Erlanger
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #29


Poem of the Day

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The Night The Kids Cooked Dinner


The children in the rural town Lower Upper Dresher,

had joined the craze of cooking shows where cooks cooked under pressure.

They all sat glued three nights a week to television screens

and if they missed an episode, were prone to nasty scenes.


They’d taken up the challenge to improve their daily diet,

but grocery shopping with their mums was heading for a riot.

Their parents all seemed quite content to stick to same old styles;

they very rarely wandered down the continental aisles.


The kids had all decided that the cooking shows were right –

that food should be exciting and artistically ‘a sight’.

And things became hysterical the night Sam’s mum cooked pasta,

with sauce that came in bottles, as Sam’s mum said ‘it was faster’.


But Sam no longer wished to eat spaghetti bolognaise.

Instead he wanted new spring lamb infused with minted glaze.

He told his mum potatoes were no longer smooth and mashed;

they should be served unpeeled with lumps – potatoes now are smashed.


And Michael and Robina were appalled with KFC

that their Dad brought home as takeaway for Friday’s casual tea.

“It wouldn’t be,” they said perturbed, “too hard to buy a chop;

they sell them marinated down in Finley’s butcher shop.”


While down at Harrigan’s Hotel the chef was going blotto,

when Master Joe suggested cooking salmon roe risotto.

Chef Willy wasn’t too impressed – Joe questioning his grub.

“My chicken parmigiana is a staple in this pub.”


But Joe was fairly adamant and asked his mum to change

the chicken to a salmon (and it needs to be free-range).

His mum explained the menu was decided by Chef Willy

and to stop this fancy cooking rot – “the whole thing’s getting silly.”


So Joe and all the other kids decided they would score

their parents’ meals all out of ten – most getting three or four.

They figured that some comments would assist their folks to see,

no longer were they tolerating mediocrity.


The parents were appalled of course, when meals were given zeros,

while all those darn contestants on the show were hailed as heroes.

The children sensed their parents were all close to nearly breaking –

that they understood they needed to improve what that were making;


until a parent phoned around and called a secret meeting,

to try and sort the bedlam over what their kids were eating.

And Mary-Jane convinced them that she had a sure-fire winner.

“We’ll all give in,” she said quite calm, “just let the kids cook dinner.”


The parents at the table sat in silence for a while,

then one by one were nodding and a few began to smile.

They started to imagine they’d have time to read a book,

instead of being busy in the role of family cook.


And so that night the parents gave their kids the welcome news:

“You’re all the chefs tomorrow night – it’s up to you to choose.”

The kids all gave a mighty shout – “We’ll show you how it’s done,”

then raced towards their kitchens, looking forward to lots of fun.


The next day was a Saturday – they measured, mixed and stirred

at stove tops and the benches where much muttering was heard.

By six o’clock they’d finished and their meals had all been plated,

but each and every one of them was tired and not elated.


In Sam’s house, both the Willis’ were wondering what to do

with little Sammy’s cheeses that were mouldy, old and blue.

Insisting Sam should try it first, they waited while he ate

a cracker smeared with rancid cheese, some pate and a date.


But Sam’s young taste buds didn’t like his gourmet nibbly platter.

“I think,” he said, “I’d rather have a saveloy in batter.”

Sam’s parents kindly got their kid a sausage fried in oil,

both knowing that his craze for fancy food was off the boil.


While down the road, Robina had some doubts about her pudd –

it wasn’t looking like a trifle usually would.

She hadn’t missed a step at all – she’d done as they’d instructed.

But some desserts just don’t taste right when they are deconstructed.


Robina knew her trifle would be judged ‘not good enough,’

when served on several silly plates, in little piles of stuff.

Her Mum and Dad suggested that she plop it in a bowl –

that a tasty, messy, mixed-up pudd was trifle’s only goal.


And down at Harrigan’s Hotel young Joe was in a pickle,

as his salmon-roe risotto dish was proving rather fickle.

To stir a pan of fishy rice for nearly forty minutes,

was really rather boring and was giving Joe the irrits.


Eventually Chef Willy – who could stand the smell no more,

suggested Joe should help him make a dish he’d like for sure.

And that night all the customers said Joe’s meal was a charmer,

as Joe served up his special dish – Chef Willy’s parmigiana.


And Mary-Jane was lauded as the parent of the year –

their children viewed those cooking shows with something close to fear.

The kids were now content with being decent, simple cooks,

as cooking fancy food is not as easy as it looks.

Caroline Tuohey
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #20

Poem of the Day


About Elephants


An elephant has a very long nose

That’s sometimes used like a powerful hose

And once that trunk has been exerted,

Anyone close may well be squirted.


Note this elementary fact:

Eggshells won’t remain intact

If an elephant’s massive legs

Place his feet on a poor bird’s eggs.


It’s OK if you feel hesitant

Every time you’re near an elephant.

Watch that trunk – you could be washed!

Mind those feet – you may be squashed!


Monty Edwards

Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #26

Monty says: “I didn’t get far with rhymes for the key words, but eventually was able to compose a couple of verses which included all the words and then added a final verse to tie it all together.”

Poem of the Day


Yellow Jack


I have a pet canary,
I call him Yellow Jack.
He has white feathers on his wings
and yellow on his back.

I love my pet canary,
I feed him every day.
I put fresh seeds into his bowl;
he pecks them straight away.

My dearest pet canary,
I love to hear him sing.
He chirps and cheeps to me each day
and even more in spring.

My lovely pet canary,
I watch him day and night.
Today I watched him lay an egg.
I think her name’s not right!

Kristin Martin

Poem of the Day

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Interrogation time


How will you travel, on foot or by train?

What if it’s cold, if it threatens to rain?

When are we likely to see you again?

Do you know when you’re going to be back?


I think that the tram and the bus would be good.

I’ll pack an umbrella and coat with a hood.

I’d give you a date if I thought that I could

but it might be a year down the track.


Won’t you be lonely with nowhere to stay?

When are you leaving, what time of the day?

Why are you planning on moving away?

Is everything really that bad?


I’m taking my toys. I’ll have plenty to do.

I’m banking on leaving the house around two.

And now that you ask, I’m escaping from you!

Your questions are driving me mad!

Jenny Erlanger
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #18






Poem of the Day




There’s an elephant hiding in the fridge?

How can you be so sure?

There are footprints in the margarine

and eggshells on the floor.


How did an elephant manage

to get himself inserted?

It must have been a treat to see

the skill that he exerted.


Its elementary, my friend,

he slid inside with ease.

He clearly used the margarine

as lubricating grease.

© Allan Cropper
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #