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Sunshine

 

Swaddle me in sunshine

sang the fairy child.

Weave me into forest,

tell me you have smiled.

 

Dance me tales of blossoms.

Look carefully for my signs.

Swaddle me in sunshine,

Now climb the magic vines.

 

Breathe me into spring time.

Search for the unseen.

Swaddle me in sunshine.

Cover trees in green

 

Swaddle me in sunshine,

when winter’s on her way.

Find for me some shelter

to keep the cold at bay.

June Perkins
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #15

June said: Today the muse visited – with that sunshine topic. Perhaps it was the approach of winter and a memory of my mum trying to convince me that fairies exist.

 

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THE MUSIC BOX

 

Tea for two, and a biscuit with Granny

giggles and games, I recall there were many

but clearest of all,

I recall the small music box.

Hidden inside, a tiny ballerina

waiting to dance there, in front of her mirror

at my beck and call

once I had unclipped the locks.

Lifting the lid, I would take a peak under

up she would pop, not so much as a blunder

though not very tall

she would stretch to the sky

pirouettes fashioned on blue satin lining

tutu pure white, in the limelight, there shining

I somehow recall

just for Granny and I

© Allan Cropper
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #16

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MY NANNA’S BAG

 

My Nanna’s arrival is a delight to see

But she’s only staying for afternoon tea.

 

She carries her coat and her umbrella furled

And the most exciting bag in the world.

 

She stands us in line for our hugs and kisses

And tells us how much she enjoys her visits.

 

After that she opens her bulging bag wide,

And out comes what she has packed inside.

 

First a chocolate cake for afternoon tea,

Liquorice and jelly beans for baby and me.

 

Then two jumpers, one blue and one pink,

One to wash and one to wear she says with a wink.

 

Out come some beads, a ball and two bats,

A doll and a pram and two calico cats.

 

Six pairs of crawlers made from old bedspreads,

And knitted striped beanies for everyone’s heads.

 

There’s a hammer and nails to mend the side fence,

Dad says now that’s a gift with plenty of sense.

 

Out comes a scooter and a skippy rope too,

And a most beautiful set of drums, brand new.

 

A bright crocheted rug to go on the bed,

Be lovely and warm, my mother said.

 

After the crayons, paints and a big picture book,

Nanna stopped delving so I had a good look.

 

Five peppermints and a half knitted sock remained

Nanna’s wonderful bag was empty and drained.

 

The grownups drank tea and ate most of the cake

Only smears and crumbs remained on that plate.

 

Nanna stood us in line for more hugs and kisses

And we all said how much we enjoyed her visits.

 

My Nanna took her coat and her umbrella furled,

And left with the emptiest bag in the world.

 

My Nanna’s departure was a very sad sight,

But she’ll be back to babysit Saturday night.

 

 

© Margaret Pearce

 

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Moonbeams

 

The Sun is a star

that is burning bright.

Like a furnace

that gives off heat and light.

 

Like a beacon

emitting sunshine rays.

Like a torch in the sky

changing nights to days.

 

The Moon is a sphere

made of silent rock.

That orbits the Earth

like a cold round block.

 

No furnace or beacon.

No torch to run.

Those moonbeams have come

from the headlight Sun.

 

The Moon doesn’t shine!

It reflects instead.

Like cat’s-eyes at night

on the road ahead.

 

Like the glint of the Sun

on a tranquil lake.

Like your sparkling eyes

when a smile you make.

Celia Berrell
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #16

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Moonlight

 

The light of the moon

On a clear clear night

Brings out the Fish

But not to bite

 

Leaping out of the water

Higher each time

Teasing the fishermen

Is not a fish crime?

 

Meeting in the river

Holding fish school

Teaching the young ones

How not to be fooled

 

Big ones and small ones

Middle-sized fish

None of these beauties

Will end up on a dish

 

By the light of the moon

On a bright clear night

Not one fish caught

Not one little bite

 

Jeanie Axton
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #16

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Exhibit

 

The box looked rather ancient:

It was made of weathered wood.

They’d placed it on a varnished shelf

Where now it mutely stood.

Its latch was rather rusty,

Suggesting use at sea,

I guessed it was a sailor’s box:

That’s how it seemed to me.

 

I saw on it some markings

And wondered what they meant,

A letter “C” and “26”

But what was their intent?

Was “C” perhaps for “Captain”,

But why the numbers too?

I came to the conclusion

More likely “C” was “Crew”.

 

Each crewman had a number,

And each his box to store

Whatever most he valued,

Till he was back on shore.

I felt this was the answer.

What else then could it be,

But storage for a sailor?

That’s how it seemed to me.

 

The box was quite discoloured

As if it once was wet:

A relic from a wreck perhaps,

That divers dived to get.

Now salvaged from the sea bed,

Displayed for all to see,

It still held many secrets.

This fascinated me!

 

Whoever once had used it,

Must surely now have died.

I looked at it intently:

What had it held inside?

Beneath it was a notice.

Perhaps this held a clue?

I stopped so I could read it,

As I’d seen others do.

 

Just then I heard my teacher

Quite firmly call my name.

It seemed my class was moving on

So I must do the same.

Our bus outside was waiting.

I clearly couldn’t stay,

But I am now determined

I’ll go back there one day!

Monty Edwards
  •  Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #12

 

Monty says: “I wrote this in sympathy with children who often find it frustrating when they are prevented by adult time constraints from satisfying their curiosity about the things that interest them. Despite this, some children will go on to demonstrate that they have the confidence and resourcefulness to continue their search for answers independently.

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Playground

 

It’s a zip line from the sky,

A flying fox of joy,

A slippery dip of shiny warmth

For every girl and boy.

 

Swing out to touch the sunbeams,

Spin ’round to chase the light.

Run and duck and climb and jump

To catch the sun’s delight.

 

Penny Szentkuti
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #15

Penny said: I am heavily influenced by the weather. Sunshiny days are the best medicine. As soon as I thought about my audience – children – this poem just flowed joyfully out.

 

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Garth and his Bath

 

This is a tale of a boy named Garth

Who was far too lazy to have a bath.

 

One night when he did, he suddenly spied

A black ring running around every side.

 

When he asked his mum, “What’s that thing?”

She took a look and said, “A black bath ring!”

 

“It’s the dirt from when you walked in the mud,

“And that blob of gunk is when you fell ker-THUD!

 

“And see all that mess stuck around the ends?

“That came from playing with your friends.”

 

She got a soft cloth and her special spray,

And in no time at all scrubbed the bath ring away.

 

“That was hard work,” Garth told his mother,

“I have an idea to save all that bother.”

 

And he said with the widest smile she’d seen,

“Why don’t I stay dirty so the bath stays clean?”

 

 

James Aitchison

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Nightfall

 

The sun has set in hibiscus

Whose lips still faintly burn,

And now the moon and star drops

Drip down onto the fern.

 

The wind’s begun to whisper

Like a lover in the dark,

And trees caress each other

With hands of leaf and bark.

 

Love drawn birds are singing

Somewhere under sky,

And soft wings brush together

As they glimmer by.

J.R.McRae
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #16

J.R.McRae is a published and awarded poet and fiction writer, who also writes award winning books for children and education  as J.R.Poulter. Word Wings is her collaborative.

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My Favourite Toy

 

I love my orange scooter

I love my green doll

I love my purple robot

And my toy remote control.

 

I love my yellow digger

I love my red ball

I love my blue bucket

But my favourite toy of all,

 

Is my rainbow dancing ribbon

All its colours in a row

The way it flutters in the breeze

I twirl it fast and slow.

 

And when it’s finally time for bed

I hang it on my wall

Because, of all my toys it is

The one that’s best of all.

 

By Lynelle Kendall

 

  • Inspired by Poetry Prompt #3