Christmas Day

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Christmas Day

For some it’s the turkey, the pudding, the cake,

Some travel for days for family’s sake,

Kids lie awake, waiting for Santa,

Adults like parties with dancing and banter,

Some get their jollies from massed sparkling lights,

Festooned from houses –  such Christmassy sights,

For me there is nothing that makes me feel merrier,

Than spending the day with my Santa Claus terrier.

Glenys Eskdale

Poem of the Day


BEWARE! This is a HORRIBLE poem!!

Read at OWN RISK!!!





What’s for dinner, Mum?


First up

slurp up

sliced slug soup

seasoned with slaters.



bite into

baked blowfly burgers

basted with blood.



gobble down

goat gut goulash

garnished with grubs.



munch up

minced mouse mousse

mingled with maggots.



dive into

dragonfly dumplings

drizzled in drool.


And last of all

swill down

seaweed slime smoothies

smothered in snot.


Still hungry?


Glenys Eskdale
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #20

Glenys said: I heard a discussion on ABC talkback radio about sayings mothers used to have as answers to the question, ‘What’s for dinner, Mum’, so I invented a poem of the most disgusting stuff I could think of.

Poem of the Day

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Coast of Normandy,

France, Omaha Beach.

Today the tide is out –

barely a ripple.

Cement bunkers and bomb craters

merge into the grass,



by d-day, June ‘44.

Wave after wave, forward or drown,

nowhere to go but falling.

Mangled tanks, body parts.

Blood on the tide.

Exploding cliffs.


Now the guns are sold for scrap,

the bodies collected,

laid in neat rows

in the cemetery above,


under white marble crosses,

so precisely placed

that if I kneel I see one –

if I stand I see thousands.


Oceans of crosses.

I read along the rows –

Name: Regiment: Hometown:

Creep soundlessly, with sickened awe.

Is sleep a just reward?


The Pool of Remembrance:

waterlilies soften its sharp angles,

wisp of a breeze ruffles the reflection

of chiselled words on the monument above.


Can the sacrifice be softened?

Can the past be put to rest?


In the distance the gardener kneels,

shears in hand, cutting the grass,

blade by blade. Around one cross

then on to the next –

and on and on and on.

Glenys Eskdale

Glenys said: I wrote this poem after visiting the Colleville, the American war cemetery at the site of the d-day landings in Normandy in June 1944. I have since visited World War One war cemeteries on the Somme in France. My sentiments have not changed. Nothing can atone for the unspeakable horrors these men endured.






Poem of the Day




Balanced on the end of a twig,

raging river below,

tree canopy above,

can’t climb back,

mustn’t fall down.


halfway between:

earth and sky,

falling and stuck,

alive and dead.


need nerves of steel,

a sharp brain,

monkey muscles.


this boy buccaneer

should have eaten

that basin of spinach,

broccoli and seaweed,


or he should never

have followed

his fog-brained idea

to climb this tree

in the first place.


Glenys Eskdale


  • Submitted in response to Prompt #29

Poetry Prompt #29



Poem of the Day

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 Night Friend


He pads down our street

in the dark

when I’m in bed

closes swinging gates

puts away left-out bikes

finds lost cricket balls

checks the street lights are on

and our front door shut tight.


In the daytime he rests

inside the big round pipe

with the metal grille

under the road.


He’s my quiet, night-time friend.

My Elephant.


Except on Wednesdays

when he goes stomping wild

clunking clatter-crashing

grabbing munching tossing


all along the street,



rubbish bins.

Glenys Eskdale
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #22

Poetry Prompt 22