Poem of the Day

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An Album of Yesterdays

I caught a piece of yesterday

to share with you today.

It’s clinging to a memory

of how we laugh and play.


I know that piece of yesterday

will never go astray.

It’s squashed inside a heavy book.

That’s where it’s going to stay.


Tomorrow, when I’m old and grey

I’ll still remember yesterday

and how we used to play and laugh.

Because … I have our photograph!

Celia Berrell
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #32

Celia said: Personal pictures and photos have an almost magical connection with our memories and emotions.  And some become more precious as the Yesterdays slip by!  Do you treasure your analogue or digital album of Yesterdays?

Poem of the Day


Yellow Letters


When my grandad passed away

We found beneath the floor

A beat up, sturdy wooden box

We’d never seen before


The reason that we found it

Was a floor board out of place

It was sticking out and I tripped up

And landed on my face


I could tell it was important

And I removed it with great care

Grandad loved us all so much

What would he hide down there?


Mum looked surprised as I was

As she opened up the lid

Slowly then, her tears rolled down

As she found out what he hid


Her face had turned from flush to pale

As though she’d seen a ghost

So many yellowed envelopes

He never meant to post.


Mum said that Grandad never wrote

While serving in the war

And all these papers sitting here

She’d never seen before


We sat and read together

Sharing tears and love as well

My grandad never wrote of war

As it was nothing short of hell


He couldn’t say the words out loud

But these letters had ensured

That maybe one day later

We would know what he’d endured


We placed them back into the box

And closed the lid up tight

I felt my grandad was at peace

When I fell asleep that night


For though he never posted them

Those letters got him through

For the final one said ‘War is done!

I’m coming home to you’

Sioban Timmer
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #12

Sioban said: I just recently received copies of my Grandad’s war medals and have a special box to place them in, I think that put the idea to the front of my mind.


Poem of the Day

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The bottle on the beach was green,

In the most beautiful tint I have seen.

But other bottles from my past

Were mostly white.


The empties waited at the gate in a crate.

When the milkman was late,

I’d wait at the gate till he arrived.

The Milkie came with a loaded horse-pulled cart.

He’d run beside it as the horse moved slow

And he moved fast.


My mother would send me out with a shovel

After he’d gone, to collect the manure

For her roses, hydrangeas, and fuchsias

Whose blooms were so full and wide,

They leaned against

The fence like fat ladies dressed in coloured ball gowns.


The bottles were smaller at school,

With strawberry and chocolate flavoured straws

For the lucky ones,

Who would let me have them when

They were finished.

I’d save them in my desk for the next day.

But I was always grateful

To just suck the milk from the bottle,

Even on hot summer days

When it had waited too long in the sun

For playtime to come around.


Those innocent days are all gone.

Like sand at the beach

They got swept out to sea,

To be brought back again to land on the tide.

My memories will always call back

Days with white bottles that sparkled

With the morning light, and tinted green

Ones found submerged on the beach

During Sunday School picnics.

Anastasia Gonis ©
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #7


Anastasia said: I thought this picture inspiring. As you can see, it created a daisy chain of memories together with the smell of the horse manure I’d collect for my mother as a child. I can recall the clink of bottles and the sound of the horses’ hooves on the bitumen.