Poem of the Day

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Secret Garden

 

The door looks like

part of the décor

and you need to be

in the deepest part of your mind

to recognise the place.

It smells of moss

and thousands of years

of water dripping.

It never rains here.

The pools reflect nothing

and nobody.

The only way in

is from the inside.

 

Jennie Fraine
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #11

Poem of the Day

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Rain

 

Pelting: washing

the windows

rinsing roofs

rolling mud and stone

downriver

pushing earth

into sea

pulling grass

tree bush creeper

moss

out of dirt

pushing trees over

running

walking

tiptoeing

balancing in the air

stamping its feet

escaping from thunder

rushing headlong

dripping down

lightning’s white path

 

Jennie Fraine

Poem of the Day

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How Trees Grow

 

First, they listen to the wind’s ideas

and take notes.

They suck nutriment from the soil

but never forget their manners.

They bathe regularly in rain

and soak their feet in special solutions.

Measuring distances from star to star

they dream of universal travels.

Also, they touch each other kindly

and play host to thousands of guests.

 

Jennie Fraine

Jenny said: This poem was published in 1993 in a booklet I prepared and printed myself, to share with children as I spoke to them in schools about the mystery and magic, the pure possibility, of poetry. The poems had originally been written for other children, in response to their requests for a poem on a topic they liked. I had created a business called Poetic Licence and apart from lots of work in schools (via three agents) I also worked at festivals as a roving performer (writing on the spot about anything suggested by those I accosted) at literacy camps, on tour along the Murray River, in country towns and suburbs in Victoria, at writers festivals for children, at Georges and David Jones for special occasions, and at private celebrations, and at schools and the fringe festival in the Kimberleys.