Poem of the Day

Leave a comment

How to get rid of peas

 

Slip a couple up your sleeve,

that way you can’t go wrong

but first take care the sleeves you wear

are pretty tight and long.

Then accidentally bump your plate –

that should get rid of more.

Your Mum would never make you eat

the peas that hit the floor.

Another thing that’s hard to do

but really worth the wait

is slip some peas when no one sees

onto your sister’s plate.

And then (don’t say I told you)

if you’re desperate I suppose

you could shove some up your nostrils

and then quickly blow your nose.

By now you should have lost the lot.

If not, may I suggest

you think of other ways yourself

to deal with all the rest.

Jenny Erlanger

 

First published in “Giggles and Niggles” (Haddington Press, 2007)

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #45

poetry-prompt-45

Poem of the Day

Leave a comment

FOOD inside an orange egg.

So, you want to pull my leg?

Not an egg and not a fruit.

Is it food? The point is moot.

 

Letters help to form a face.

Judging by their size and place,

Eyes comprising two big “O”‘s.

Nothing there to serve as nose,

But all’s not lost, no, have no fear,

For “F” and “D” each serve as ear!

Stephen Whiteside
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #45

poetry-prompt-45

Poem of the Day

Leave a comment

Rose is red and Violet’s all blue

 

Rose loved painting,

Violet loved it too.

Rose painted with red,

Violet with blue.

 

They crept out of bed,

To paint in the night.

But Mum came in,

‘Aaaagh!’ And got such a fright.

 

‘Sorry Mummy,’ said Rose, all red.

‘Sorry Mummy,’ said Violet, all blue.

‘It’s okay, my little monsters,

‘I know what to do.’

 

Mum drew a big bath,

And plopped them both in.

Whooshed them round,

And into a spin.

 

The monsters spun round,

Splished and splashed.

Water whirled round,

And both colours clashed.

 

Now Violet wasn’t blue,

And Rose was not red.

‘Yippeeee!’ they cried,

‘We’re purple instead!’

 

Now Mum feeling faint,

Took out some more paint.

‘Perhaps some white,

Will fix them all right.’

 

The water whooshed round,

And down the sink.

‘Aaaagh!’ wailed mum,

‘My monsters are pink.’

 

Nanna came in,

with a towel so green.

She scrubbed while she dried,

Until they were clean.

 

Not purple or pink,

Or blue or red.

But finally all green,

And ready for bed.

Ken Williams
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #41

Prompt5

Poem of the Day

Leave a comment

Stop, rain, stop!

 

Stop, rain, stop!

Not another drop!

My friends are here. They’ve come to play.

We want to be outdoors today.

Stop, rain, stop!

 

Stop, rain, stop!

Not another drop!

We do not want our washing wet,

But you make sure that’s what we get.

Stop, rain, stop!

 

Stop, rain, stop!

Not another drop!

You’ve been around for several hours:

Look how you’re drowning all the flowers!

Stop, rain, stop!

 

Stop, rain, stop!

Not another drop!

Go help the farmer grow his wheat

And give his stock green grass to eat.

Stop, rain, stop!

 

Drip . . . . . drip . . . . . . . . . . . . plop!

At last, the final drop!

Now we’ll get a flower display.

Now the washing’s on its way.

Now we can go out to play!

 

Monty Edwards
  •  Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #41

poetry-prompt-41

Monty says: The poem sets out to give voice to the dissatisfaction and frustration we often feel  when wet weather disrupts our plans – a common experience for both children and adults.

Poem of the Day

Leave a comment

Ham vs Flout

 

Captain Ham had a beard as green as old broccoli,

And a streak as mean as a bitter green.

 

They say that he led his crew in a mutiny,

Against Captain Flout (just a young brussel sprout).

 

The battle was swift and soon Ham had the victory,

All Flout’s hopes sank as he walked the plank.

 

Balanced on the edge looking down into destiny,

His quivering lips were as pale as parsnips.

 

“This ‘ere be the Basin of Sharks,” sneered his enemy,

“Thanks for ye ship, in ye go fer a dip!”

 

Splash!

 

The overthrown captain was chomped up like celery.

The ship sailed away but ever since that day…

 

Superstitious old Ham has been cursed by the memory.

He can’t eat a sprout without thinking of Flout.

Lynelle Kendall
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #29

Poetry Prompt #29

Poem of the Day

Leave a comment

A Scorpion’s Search

A scorpion christened Cruella, left home to search for a fella.

She sifted through sand and she searched under slate.

She peered under pebbles to look for a mate.

She reached under rocks and she gazed at the ground

but a masculine mini beast couldn’t be found.

 

Cruella, poor creature, was filled with despair.

There had to be someone who loved her out there.

But wait! She heard rustling and spotted the cause.

From a burrow appeared some spectacular claws.

 

They belonged to a sumptuous scorpion male.

What glorious eyes, and that sting in his tail!

It was love at first sight for Cruella and friend,

Which is how satisfactory quests all should end.

Pat Simmons
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #42

Prompt5

 

Poem of the Day

Leave a comment

Ten Tarantulas

 

There are ten tarantulas

That live in a terrarium

Their names all start with ‘T’

There’s Tina, Tony and Tom Thumb.

 

Ted and Tilly (they’re the twins)

Then Terrance and Tryphena

To top it off there’s Tiffany

And Trix (our ballerina).

 

Finally there’s Tucker. He’s

The tenth “T’ in the group

Of hairy scary spiders

What a terrifying troupe!

Lynelle Kendall
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #2

Prompt2

Poem of the Day

Leave a comment

Seeking Stardom

 

There was a young man who once bought a guitar.

His goal was to strut on the stage as a star,

But when plucking a string,

It just broke with a “ping”,

So he gave up and didn’t get far.

 

Another young man bought a fine tennis racquet.

He dreamt of success that would make him a packet.

But his strokes were all wrong:

Balls he hit went too long.

When he saw any ball he’d just whack it!

 

 A third wanted fame with a bat, playing cricket.

He went for a six, but fell onto his wicket!

“Owzat!?” came the shout.

Then the umpire cried: “Out!”

So, for fame then, the bat was no ticket.

 

 Monty Edwards
  •  Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #35

Poetry Prompt #35

Monty says: For would-be stars, the right equipment is only one ingredient for success.

Poem of the Day

Leave a comment

Clown Stuff

 

“Put that cauliflower in the colander,

not on your head, you fool!

It’s no time now for climbing the ladder

to the loft. Come on down

or you’ll be late for Clown-School.”

© Katherine Gallagher

Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #36

Poetry Prompt #36

Poem of the Day

Leave a comment

Clowning Around

 

A clown with a cauliflower ear

Decided that he would appear

In a colander hat

With a cute climbing cat.

But the cat said

‘Not likely my dear.’

Pat Simmons
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #36

Poetry Prompt #36