Poem of the Day


Platypus’s Penchant


‘Wakey-wakey, Platypus –

time to have your tea.’

Mummy prodded Platypus

quite impatiently.

‘Pumpkin, please not pumpkin,’

was Platypus’s plea.

‘You know how food that’s orange

does not agree with me.

I want purple periwinkles,

pickled, for my tea.’

And if I must have veggies

I’ll eat a frozen pea.

Kate O’Neil
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #9

Poem of the Day

1 Comment

A Certain Platypus


There was a certain platypus

He lived in five mile creek,

Who (prompted by the latest trend)

Went vegan for a week.


He tried butternut pumpkin cubes

And purple eggplant too.

He prodded peas with spoon and fork

And sipped hot mushroom stew.


He crunched on juicy celery,

Gave artichokes a try,

Sautéed leafy silver beet,

And munched on broccoli.


No doubt the fare was healthy,

But it mostly went to waste,

For those nutritious vegetables

Just didn’t suit his taste.


So he returned to worms and such

To bugs and shrimp so fine,

And left the vegetables to us;

Omnivorous mankind.


Lynelle Kendall
  • Inspired by Poetry prompt #9

Poem of the Day


Heading To the Game


I prodded my mate as we rode on the train.

“You know that we’re just gonna thrash you again.

Your players are either too short or too slow.

It’s a foregone conclusion. Just thought you should know.


“Besides, your team’s mascot. Mate, give me a break.

A platypus? That is a major mistake!

A lion or tiger might stir up some fear.

A platypus? Your blokes have got no idea!


“And why is it purple? I tell you, it’s sad.

A team needs a mascot that’s scary and bad.

Yours just looks weird. It’s not a good look.

No wonder the team you support is so crook.”

My mate simply smiled. He wasn’t upset.

“You’re really so certain? Well, let’s have a bet.

You look and you sound like a back-country bumpkin.

You can share my soup later.” “Tomato?” “No, pumpkin.”


Stephen Whiteside
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #9

Poem of the Day


Eggshell Animals


Purple-coloured jellybeans

with tiny arms and legs

will prod and poke a hole in

their marble-sized white egg.


Once hatched, they’ll grow-up hairy

and have a leathery beak.

So are they some new kind of bird

whose wings became antique?


No, no.  It’s not a birdy thing.

Then could it be lizard?

No.  Fur won’t grow on reptiles …

unless tricked by a wizard!


At first they’re bald as pumpkins

and lap their mother’s milk.

But four months-old, a platypus

has fur like soft thick silk.

Celia Berrell

inspired by:


  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #9

Poem of the Day


Muddled Monotreme


I poked a purple platypus

So playfully I prodded

It peered out of a pumpkin patch

it winked at me and nodded

The platypus was at a loss

no reason was there known

why he was in a pumpkin patch

and not his river home

I gently pushed him in a box

this muddled monotreme

and set him free to swim again

down at our local stream


© Allan Cropper
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #9