Poem of the Day


Hot, Salty, Crunchy

by N. McMullin


Hey you!

Stop staring at me like that!

Yeah, you!

I don’t like the way

You’re looking at me…

With your beady little eyes

And that sad cry of yours.

It doesn’t fool me,

Not one little bit.

Hey! Don’t you come any closer!

No way, pal, you’re just

Asking for trouble.

C’mon, quit your begging.

I know your type.

I’ll give you one,

And then all of your

Mates show up,

Demanding more…

Ah, no, cut with the crying.

Okay, then, maybe just one little…

Hot, salty, crunchy chip.



Picture: Hannah Coleman

Picture: Hannah Coleman






Poem of the Day

1 Comment

The Bike Ride

by N. McMullin


On my bike,

I pedal fast.

Building speed,

My heart swells,

The wind whirls,

Tugging at my clothes,

Whipping, snapping,

Ticking spokes,

Quicken down the hill.

I’m racing,

I’m in front.

Wibble, wobble,

I straighten in time.

Wiggle, squiggle,

I keep my line.

Low on the handle-bars.

Hang on,

Hunker down!

Jiggle, joggle,

I’m in the gravel!

Swish swoosh,

Look how fast I travel.

I’m flying,

I’m flying in the sky.

Up on my toes,

Pushing, pulling,

Puffing panting,

Legs burning,

Lungs bursting,

I see it,

I’m so close,

At last, my destination –

The ice-cream shop.

Poem of the Day


Not Out

by N. McMullin



The Bowler,

Streaks in.

Long limbed,


With intent, he glares at me.



Under my helmet.

I tap my bat.



Fixated on the Bowler’s hand.


An Umpire,

Yawns behind,

Darkened sunglasses.

Bored. Daydreaming.

A seagull cries

From the boundary.


The red ball,

Careers down.

An inside edge.

Caught by the Keeper.

They call for it.



The Umpire.

Stands motionless.

I feign innocence.

He hasn’t heard it.

No finger is raised.

And I silently thank the seagull.