“Name the Game” by Monty Edwards is his 100th poem of the day since November 2015.

Congratulations and Thankyou for sharing your creativity with us.

My riddle is about a game, so see if you can guess its name.

Of course, I’ll give you many clues, but in the end, you’ll have to choose.

The game is played by day or night, but if at night you’ll need some light.

Play summer, winter, there’s no reason not to play in any season.

This game is played in many lands and players need to use their hands,

Although one hand would be enough, because this game’s not very rough.

It can’t be called a contact sport, and never needs a field or court.

So do not think you’ll use a ball, for that would not be right at all.

Out of doors or play inside – play wherever you decide.

Play in almost any place. This game doesn’t need much space. 

Players always move in turn and there are other rules to learn.

There is no need to use your feet; that’s not the way that you compete.

This game does not have any aces, nor any Jacks with funny faces,

But players each have king and queen, while cards are nowhere to be seen!

Most find it best to share a table, but please make sure your table’s stable!

This rule must never be ignored, since you’ll place pieces on a board.

But boards are used in many a game: can you give my game a name?

Now since this riddle’s almost done, I’ll give a clue – another one:

The pieces number thirty two. Sixteen of them will be for you.

Another player has the rest and you two play to see who’s best!

Your pieces form a fighting force, though blood is never shed, of course

And though a kind of war you play, no-one is injured in the fray, 

Since mostly you will think and plan, then make each move as best you can.

But win or lose or even draw, you’ll want to play this game some more.

It’s time for you to make your guess. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

This riddle’s answer must be . . . . . . . . . . . . .  . .  . . .  .

Like an ancient herald’s call

Rustling leaves in autumn fall.

Though they whisper, never shout,

Yet their message leaves no doubt:

“Summer’s heat is on the wane,

Winter’s on the way again!”

I’m a green frog, serene frog,

A seldom ever seen frog,

Lolling on a lily pad and lazing in the shade.

For you see, I’ve found the knack

Of lying comfy on my back

And although you’ll think me slack,

I’ve got it made!

All is sweet now, complete now,

It’s time to rest my feet now,

Loving life on lily pads without a single care.

Ripples massage as I lie,

Looking blankly at the sky.

Who’s as lucky as am I

Found anywhere?

Something’s shifting! Oh, I’m drifting!

Now my lily pad is lifting!

It’s a duck that thinks I’m something nice to eat!

There’s no time to count to five,

I must leave and take a dive,

Since I’d like to stay alive

Complete with feet.

Summer Storm

One summer day, before my tea,

The early news was on TV.

It sent me to my balcony

For there would be a sight to see.

Outside, my eyes turned to the skies;

The thick black clouds there – no surprise.

The air I breathed in – moist and warm.

The news foretold a summer storm!

Since rain was welcome, that felt good:

Let that be clearly understood.

The dams were low, the creek beds dry,

Those clouds spread hope across the sky.

Yet more was promised than some rain

To make our farmers smile again:

This storm brought hail – and floods as well,

Because of all the rain that fell.

When something’s good, we all want more,

But here’s a thought we could explore:

Too much of one thing can be bad

If we then lose what once we had.

The Wright Song

When William Wright once wrote a song,

We thought the words Wright wrote were wrong,

Since what he wrote was such a scrawl

Wright’s wretched writing fooled us all,

But when he sang his song that night,

What we thought wrong was really right!

 Meeting the Monster

One night a monster most grotesque

Crawled out from underneath my desk!

I closed my book and took a look

And felt that my whole body shook!

It had a head with horrid horns

That looked as sharp as roses’ thorns;

It’s nose was like a length of hose

Which drooped right down to touch its toes!

With eyes the size of fruit mince pies

It gazed at me in mute surprise

And then as it began to think,

I saw those eyes were turning pink,

While when its mouth was open wide,

The teeth were huge I saw inside!

A sound came out: more like a croak;

I cringed in fear, but then it spoke!

It rasped: ‘So sorry I’m so badly smelling:

I’ve come to help you with your spelling!’

But even as the monster spoke,

My dog went ‘Woof!’ and I awoke.

Ready to Rhyme

I find when I am writing,

I oft resort to rhyme.

I don’t know why I do it.

It happens all the time.

But if you like my writing,

(I really hope you will),

You’ll find that I keep writing

In rhyming verses still!

First published in “The Mystery Box” (Playful poems for young readers) by Monty Edwards [Making Magic Happen Academy 2017].

Perpetual Trophy

It stood there in the cabinet:
The cup we all desired,
Engraved with names of winners past:
The stars we all admired.
Now watch us train with fierce intent
To match, then beat their best
For striving for that lofty goal
Will help us top the rest.
But if our team should fail the tests
On which success depends,
There will remain a greater prize:
A lasting group of friends