When I have nothing else to do,
I look up at the sky.
There’s always something happening,
as clouds go rolling by.
I like to watch the colours change,
there’s always something new;
and after it rains I might see
a beautiful rainbow or two.
I think I’ll become a pilot —
how good does that sound?
Then I could be up in the sky
instead of on the ground!
Wattle Glen sky. Photo by Philip Webster
It’s back-to-school time! We hope you connect with some fabulous friends in FEEL-GOOD FEBRUARY.
Send your poetic inspirations to Linda Davidson at:
Date prompts include:
Picture Prompt:
Artwork: YOU ARE HERE by Hayley Gillespie
The whoosh of the wind has lifted its sail.
It flips and flaps and flicks its tail.
My kit-packet kite is pecking the sky,
jigging and jagging, higher and higher!
Soaring in circles – a marvellous thing!
I am the keeper.
I hold the string.
Oops, it’s in a tree…
Image from Pixabay
I’ve got a kite
whose tail’s quite white.
It’s strong and light
in colours bright.
With wind just right
my kite gains height.
The string’s pulled tight.
My kite’s in flight!
But my delight
soon turns to plight
when wind-gusts bite
with forceful spite
and push my kite
with such great might
the string can’t fight
and snaps in fright.
My falling kite’s
no more in flight
and lost to sight
as day turns night.
Image by Pixabay
A sandy island in the Gulf
beckons us to make landfall.
A picnic here is lots of fun
while flocks of seabirds call.
The waters slapping round the shore
look inviting in the sun,
but listen to the boatman
when he warns everyone:
“Just step into that gentle tide —
up to your knees will do —
and a hungry tiger shark
will bite you clean in two!”
Best leave before the sun goes down,
that’s when the tide will rise
and cover every inch of ground
and catch you by surprise.
Going, going, almost GONE! Sand Island off Karumba, Queensland.
Photo by Ginette Pestana
Houses strung with sparkly lights;
Carols echoing through the night;
A star atop a special tree;
That’s what Christmas means to me.
Santa, stockings, secret lists;
Whispered plans and secret gifts;
Glittering lights upon the tree;
That’s what Christmas means to me.
Baubles, lanterns, tinsel strings;
Elves on shelves and bells that ring;
Presents ready near the tree;
That’s what Christmas means to me.
Giving, sharing, having fun;
Wishing peace to everyone;
Gathered together round the tree;
That’s what Christmas means to me.
image from Pixabay
I’ve fetched a cloth and made it damp
with silver polish goo.
I’m banking on this little lamp
to make my dreams come true.
I’ve rubbed and scrubbed. I’ve really tried.
The smell has made me dizzy.
But nothing’s stirred from deep inside.
The genie must be busy.
Image from Pexels
Dear Santa, here’s my list
of things I want this year:
Lots and lots of juicy leaves,
growing fresh and near.
Lots and lots of happy trees,
so I’ll always have a home,
and may the trees grow nice and tall,
so I’ll have room to roam.
Please don’t let men cut them down,
And destroy our precious bush — No!
For if the forests are destroyed,
I’ve nowhere else to go.
image from Pixabay by Michaela
Looking out the window, while sipping on my chai,
I saw a shining star in the clear night sky.
And wondered, was this the star the wise men saw too,
Two thousand years ago when baby Jesus was brand new?
Image from Pixabay
Now that’s what I call a house,
with lots of space for everyone.
Lots of stairs to run up and down,
and a room on the roof just for fun.
I could play my music really loud —
Mum and Dad wouldn’t hear it at all.
My siblings would be out of my way,
at the other end of a long, long hall.
But when it’s time for dinner,
there’s a problem I can see:
by the time I went down all that way
there’d be nothing left for me!
English stately home. Photo by Ginette Pestana
