Poem of the Day



 I am 72 today,


In Grade Two

The Hobyahs came to stay.

They came through the gloomy gullies

Creep, creep, creeping.

They came through the grey gum-trees

Run, run, running.

They came into my dreams

Skip, skip, skipping.

The Little Old Man

Cut off Little Dog Dingo’s tail

And Little Dog Dingo’s legs

And Little Dog Dingo’s head

To stop Little Dog Dingo barking.

To frighten the Hobyahs away

The Little Old Man

Hid under the bed

When the Hobyahs took

The Little Old Woman away.

The Little Old Man

Was very sorry.

He took Dingo’s tail and his legs and his head

And gave them back to Little Dog Dingo.

Little Dog Dingo saved the Little Old Woman

Little Dog Dingo ate up every one of the Hobyah’s

I am not so sure

There are no Hobyahs now

Even now

Now I am 72.

See for yourself.



Robyn Youl
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #32

Poem of the Day


School Rules


Books and pens and scratching chalk

Gotta think but you’d better not talk

Stop that running. Can’t you walk?

You must obey the rules.


Rewrite this page – and keep it neat.

Please don’t fidget with your feet.

Please sit properly on your seat.

Don’t you know the rules?


Perhaps you did not hear me mention

that you have to pay attention?

If you don’t you’ll score detention

writing out the rules.


Writing rules? I’d like that gig.

Creative writing’s what I dig.

Woo hoo! Stand back for something big

when I write the rules.

Kate O’Neil
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #4


Poem of the Day


Your door

by Walter de Jong


It was a new school, I was the young fool

It wasn’t long till I saw you

I made my mind up not to waste any time

till I first knocked on your door


You had a style, you had your smile

I wasn’t sure I had the nerve

I had a friend with me for moral support

When I first knocked on your door


I won’t forget that moment;

waiting for you to appear.

A look of pleasant surprise and…

then you asked me in.

Oh yeah!


That was the first time, but not the last time

That I was seen at your place

My parents ask me why I’m never at home

Since I first knocked on your door.


  • Submitted in response to the poetry challenge Words+Pictures #2 …


Photo: Neil Mulligan

Photo: Neil Mulligan

Poem of the Day


Counting down

by Nadine Cranenburgh


Five minutes left –

not much longer to wait

When the bell goes

I’ll zoom right through the gate


Left at the rose bush,

scream down Breakneck Hill,

bump through the creek bed

right up to Pa’s mill


Spokes spitting gravel

I’ll skid to a halt

my bike left to rest

like a sweat-lathered colt


Scrubbed up and changed

then I’m right for a snack –

left-over shepherd’s pie,

sigh and lean back


“Wake up right now!”

teacher’s voice breaks my spell.

Four minutes left…

I can’t wait for the bell



Poem of the Day


Class Rules

 By Kate O’Neil


In my Australian school

in the days of Empire,

we dipped our nibbed pens

in ink that was royal blue,

and, by decree,

in ink of

no other colour.

Not the blue of the sea

which girt us

nor of the arching sky

in our land of the free.

Australians were loyal

and True Blue

was royal.


Britannia ruled the waves

and Britannia ruled

the ink.


Margins however,

were to be ruled

(exactly one inch,

giving no quarter)

in erasable pencil.