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Poem for the Day

Posted: 7 July 2013

Please Mrs Butler
This boy Derek Drew
Keeps copying my work, Miss.
What shall I do?

Go and sit in the hall, dear.
Go and sit in the sink.
Take your books on the roof, my lamb.
Do whatever you think.

Please Mrs Butler
This boy Derek Drew
Keeps taking my rubber, Miss.
What shall I do?

Keep it in your hand, dear.
Hide it up your vest.
Swallow it if you like, love.
Do what you think best.

Please Mrs Butler
This boy Derek Drew
Keeps calling me rude names, Miss.
What shall I do?

Lock yourself in the cupboard, dear.
Run away to sea.
Do whatever you can, my flower.
But don't ask me!

Please Mrs Butler
Allan Ahlberg 1938 -

New Zealand Tour Haiku #10

Posted: 7 July 2013

New Zealand Tour Haiku #10

House concert singer
Listens to the ocean waves
Dance upon the shore.

Bill Adair

Poem for the Day

Posted: 6 July 2013

This powerful and provocative poem was written about the sloth of German intellectuals following the Nazis' rise to power and the subsequent purging of their chosen targets, group after group. In many ways it is still very applicable.

First they came for the Jews
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for the Communists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a Communist.

Then they came for the socialists,
and I didn't speak out
because I wasn't a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out
because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Catholics,
and I didn't speak out
because I wasn't a Catholic.

Then they came for me
and there was no one left
to speak out for me.

First They Came
Pastor Martin Niemöller 1892–1984

New Zealand Tour Haiku #9

Posted: 6 July 2013

Orewa morning.
Sunlight on the ocean;
Shadows on the grass.

Bill Adair

Poem for the Day

Posted: 6 July 2013

Kind o’er the kinderbank leans my Myfanwy,
White o’er the playpen the sheen of her dress,
Fresh from the bathroom and soft in the nursery
Soap scented fingers I long to caress.

Were you a prefect and head of your dormit'ry?
Were you a hockey girl, tennis or gym?
Who was your favourite? Who had a crush on you?
Which were the baths where they taught you to swim?

Smooth down the Avenue glitters the bicycle,
Black-stockinged legs under navy blue serge,
Home and Colonial, Star, International,
Balancing bicycle leant on the verge.

Trace me your wheel-tracks, you fortunate bicycle,
Out of the shopping and into the dark,
Back down the avenue, back to the potting shed,
Back to the house on the fringe of the park.

Golden the light on the locks of Myfanwy,
Golden the light on the book on her knee,
Finger marked pages of Rackham's Hans Anderson,
Time for the children to come down to tea.

Oh! Fullers angel-cake, Robertson’s marmalade,
Liberty lampshade, come shine on us all,
My! what a spread for the friends of Myfanwy,
Some in the alcove and some in the hall.

Then what sardines in half-lighted passages!
Locking of fingers in long hide-and-seek.
You will protect me, my silken Myfanwy,
Ring leader, tom-boy, and chum to the weak.

Myfanwy
John Betjeman 1906 - 1984

661-665 of 841 blog entries

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