Winter waves,
it’s icy fingers in gusting winds and shimmering rain.
It twists and hurtles,
comes splashing,
returning again and again
to direct its deliberate blast northwards
without any pause.
That cold intention tho,
is lost on our warm and tropical shores.
(In response to Winter Waves prompt)
I am geometrically perfect
I am several hues of blue
I quiver on a perfect arc
My ovals three times two.
But wait, there is another
Oval, perched out on a limb
Is it meant to be my head
On a body oh, so slim?
My head, if that is what it is
Is a different bluish blue
Am I really me, have I fluttered have I danced
Or am I but an icon, something digitally enhanced?
Meg Mackey
Australian Children’s Poetry 