Ten days in a vase
The dead rose weeps red petals
Onto the white bench
Dianne says: I originally made a list of so many red and white images — blood on a band aid, the Red Cross sign, Japan’s flag and so on, but this morning when I walked into our kitchen, the poem came to me as per this haiku.
UQ
If you were a ewe
would you queue
too
(ewes
usually do)
if you knew
it was true
that waiting for you
at the end of the path
was a bath?
Or would you
shoot through?
If you dearly want to gain
A skill
Allow me to explain
The drill
You really have to train
Until
You can do it again
And again
At will.
Monty Edwards
Monty Said: I thought I’d try to work with the keyword as a verb. I seemed to be on the way to some rare (for me) free verse, but the rhyming possibilities took over, resulting in perhaps my shortest ever poem.
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.
Yesterday
I was a golden dragon
The kiss of grasses brushed my ankles
And then I rose into the sky
Where I cavorted at first
Then drifted
brushing the clouds,
a wondrous lilting shape that those below
beheld with awe.
Gold and crimson I lapped the world
like a god commanding
everything
and everyone
all things revolved around me
I owned the day
Shattered it with my beauty
And my gigantic roar.
Today
yesterday was a dream
and now I am but a mere child
my mother standing over me
with her many demands
I must obey.
The ticket’s important.
Your favourite show
is almost sold out
but you’re dying to go.
You groan at the queue
but you can’t walk away;
there’s no other chance.
You must see it today.
Yes, you’re dying to go,
But not just to the show.
One coffee too many,
and the queue is so slow.
The choice is so cruel,
What will you do?
You have to choose now:
The queue or the loo?
It’s Nature that wins,
As Nature will do,
but you’ll know next time
that it’s ‘P’ before ‘Q’.
Kate O’Neil
Animals ev’rywhere always amaze:
Big beefy buffaloes quietly graze;
Cats with their claws out can climb and can scratch;
Dogs dive for balls using teeth for a catch;
Elephants’ ears are as big as can be;
Foxes from hunters can speedily flee;
Gentle giraffes are remarkably tall;
Heavyweight hippos have ears that are small.
I like the ibex. It surely can climb.
Just don’t wait for zebra. I haven’t the time!
Monty Edwards
Monty Said: For an alphabetic assignment I wanted a subject of interest to children that was represented by many examples. This would help provide maximum flexibility for the alphabetic choices and the accompanying rhymes. Animals seemed ideal. I decided to underline the alphabetic structure with some alliteration and the final line, but stopped at J to avoid monotony and less convincing examples.
Strike away the days
In strokes sharp and purposeful
Cut them down like old growth forest
The calendar boxes, the tree rings of our lives
With each slashing mark of pen to page
Screaming out the passing time
Strike away the year
Remove the tired dog eared pages
Cast aside events and tasks of yesterday
Carefully raise and hang the New Year high
Crisp and clean like the dove and olive branch
A new beginning in each blank square.
Sioban Timmer
Frangipani
Frangipani
Grows, guerilla-planted, by the footpath.
How does a stick thrust
Into the dirt
Just grow?
Kicking into life,
Leaning into light,
Making the most of
Night rain,
Of morning dew.
Putting down roots
Quietly
Reaching down to grasp
Soil,
To hold the earth steadily
Until
Velvet furls of leaf appear,
Waking now above, as below.
Penny Szentkuti
Penny says: I enjoy constraints when writing poetry so I don’t feel overwhelmed by the task, so this prompt appealed to me. I’ve been observing a beautiful deep pink frangipani outside my place for several weeks and it was a delight to explore that with words. I like how I was forced to split phrases which increased the emphasis on some words and ideas.
When I took Minnie for a walk,
All she wanted to do was talk.
The new butcher’s meat is very tasty,
Especially when wrapped in pastry.
Did you hear that Chris bought a blue hat?
Don’t you think that Paul’s got fat?
Yap, yap, yap, and chat, chat, chat.
This is this, and that is that.
And what was that rat-a-tat-tat?
Please, Minnie, end your constant chatter,
I’m turning as mad as the Mad Hatter.
I’m terribly sorry you feel that way,
Because I have so much I want to say.
I like to talk, that’s what mouths are for,
I wonder, what’s the cricket score?
I wonder if the Moon is made of cheese.
Listen to that cat snort and sneeze.
Talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk.
Talk and talk and talk; squawk, squawk.
Sigh.
David Rish
David says: My poem was ‘inspired’ by my nephew’s whippet, Minnie-the-Fish. She tends to look at humans as if we’re all complete idiots.
