Poem of the Day

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Shakira the Friendly Dog


I am a friendly yellow dog. Shakira is my name.

I’m always ready for a jog, go fetch or other game.

When I was only six weeks old, I came to live with Ben.

He wasn’t big enough to hold me but we’ve grown since then.


Now I’m his close assistant; he’s not ever on his own.

Where Ben goes, I’m consistently his loyal chaperone.

He’s never in the pool except I swim along beside,

And not a single night he’s slept without me by his side.


When we play football in the park, Ben’s always safe with me.

The bullies scatter at my bark; I guard him faithfully.

If we play cricket in the yard, the ball is mine to catch.

In all the world it would be hard to find a better match.


But recently there’s been a change. I’m not allowed upstairs

And Ben’s been acting kind of strange as if he hardly cares.

He doesn’t even want to play or run or swim right now.

I wish that I could find a way to turn time back somehow.


If I should whimper like a child each time he walks away

And maybe go a little wild, he might decide to stay.

I’ll throw my front paws on his chest and slobber on his face.

Then he’ll remember I’m the best friend that he can’t replace.


Oh no, my plan does not work well! Ben isn’t so impressed.

From his expression I can tell he must be slightly stressed.

My paw prints stamped his brand new shirt which shouldn’t make him shout.

Ben doesn’t mind a little dirt so what’s the fuss about?


‘Get down, Shakira,’ Ben commands. ‘Go over there and wait.’

He doesn’t seem to understand I’m telling him he’s great.

At this point, I see something new. Ben’s mum comes to the door.

She holds a bundle wrapped in blue I haven’t seen before.


‘He’s ready for the photo, Ben. His eyes are open wide.’

A grin undoes Ben’s frown and then he follows her inside.

I creep towards the open door. I peek into the room.

I tiptoe on the polished floor and sniff a sweet perfume.


Ben’s baby brother stares at me. I recognise his face

And as we’re gazing, suddenly, it all falls into place.

‘Shakira, girl,’ Ben calls, ‘Come here. You’re in the photo too.’

Instead of ONE dear boy, it’s clear, now I belong to TWO.

Sharon Hammad

  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #27 (Saffy)


Sharon said: I wrote this poem some time ago after meeting a friendly dog called Shakira at the beach. She looked just like Saffy.


Poem of the Day


One Little Raindrop


One little raindrop

Arrives on my nose

Dangles a moment

Then splashes my toes


Slides down my pinkie

Lands on the grass

Washes a blade so

It glimmers like glass


One little raindrop

Joins with its mates

A cackling creek

That skitters and skates


On through the forests

And meadows it snakes

Merges with rivers

That pour into lakes


One little raindrop

Drawn out to sea

Plays with the dolphins

A long way from me


Out comes the sunshine

Blazing and high

Hauls up that raindrop

Far into the sky


One little raindrop

Now it’s a cloud

Here is the thunder

Looming and loud


Quick! Run for shelter

Before the storm blows

As one little raindrop

Arrives on my nose

Sharon Hammad
  • Sharon says: I wrote it in response to Poetry Prompt #15 ‘In Winter’ during the Big Wet Weekend we had recently. I was thinking about how to explain the water cycle to children.Poetry Prompt15


Poem of the Day

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Dad’s Night to Cook


It’s Dad’s night to cook

And I can’t help a shiver.

What kind of yuckfest

Will he dare to deliver?


Last time, it was tripe

In an oniony sauce

With a side dish of sprouts

Boiled to green pulp of course.


Before that were brains

Fried in oil to a mush.

One taste and we gave them

A right royal flush.


Then kidneys and steak

In a pudding, you know.

He left out the steak:

It was kidneys and dough.


So now on the bench

Something slimy pink quivers

And into the bowl

Oozes blood in red rivers.


Dad says, ‘Don’t you fret.

There’s a feast in the making

Like you’ve never seen,

I mean truly breathtaking.’


He stirs and he sautés.

He toasts and he turns.

He dices and spices

And browns till it burns.


We stare at our plates

Dad says, ‘Please try a sliver.’

But whatever is it?

Erk, charred chicken liver!


‘That’s it’, says my mother,

‘Dad’s cooking will stop


Unless it’s a pizza

He buys from the shop.’


Dad seems kind of sad.

We’ve upset him, I think.

But then he turns round

And he gives me a wink.


It’s all been a fake

An ingenious plan…

One I must remember

When I am a man.


 Sharon Hammad

Poem of the Day


Purple Predicament

It happens one fine morning when I squint into the light;

The image in the mirror is a terrifying sight.

The carrot-coloured hair is gone that caused me so much grief,

Replaced with purple pansies…I feel gobsmacked disbelief!


The freckles that I hated are exchanged for purple dots.

Without exaggerating, there are lots and lots and lots.

Instead of whites, my eyes have mauves, and bristling on my chin,

A prickly purple beard grows out of lilac-tinted skin.


The nails are painted purple on my fingers and my toes

And, when I poke my tongue out, it is tied with purple bows.

The doctor says, ‘It seems that a disease extremely rare

Has turned your body purple from your toes up to your hair:


Acute impurpleitis. There is nothing I can do.

It’s really not my specialty. The cure is up to you.’

I snip the purple pansies and I shave the purple beard.

I dab the dots with crayon they look only slightly weird.


I loosen all the purple bows and cover up my skin,

Then crumple up my homework and consign it to the bin.

I’ve figured out the reason this predicament arose

From now on I intend to KEEP AWAY FROM PURPLE PROSE.

Sharon Hammad