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 Poetry

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silky4015
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PostSubject: Poetry   Mon Dec 26, 2011 9:58 pm

First topic message reminder :

Hopeful Athlete

I’m going to run
The Olympic marathon,
I’ve not left it too late.
I’m still fit and fine at age sixty-nine
Though a little overweight.
So I’ll do some easy training
To get me out of this rut,
For today my doctor told me
I’ve got an athlete’s foot.
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silky4015
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PostSubject: Re: Poetry   Sun Oct 07, 2012 7:53 pm

Being a big Laurel and Hardy fan, my wife decided to treat me to a weekend in the Lake District so that I could visit the Laurel and Hardy museum which is in the town of Ulverston, where Stan was born. This was her 37th wedding anniversary present to me. On our return I wrote the following poem.


REMEMBER?

Remember Ulverston?
You and I, hand in hand
Like teen-age lovers in mid-fifties bodies.
Pewter coloured clouds sprinkled their confetti.
We didn’t care, not you and I.
The ancient market square,
Encompassed in old buildings and new shops.
Its quaint museum, with ten-seated cinema,
Dedicated to Stan and Olly.
I remember.

Remember the lakes?
The old steam train,
No longer ‘Faster than fairies faster than witches’,
Chugging between sedately woodland glades.
Lake Windermere, with its yellow submarine giving a different view.
Above waves, whitewashed houses stand out while we drift by,
Their manicured gardens dip their toes in cold dark water.
We didn’t care, not you and I.
Still in love after all these years.
Yes, I remember.

Remember the journey home?
Three lane motorways squashed into two
By red and white cones.
Hours of nose to tail traffic.
We didn’t care, not you and I.

I remember, yes I do remember.

Acknowledgements to Robert L Stevenson for line three, stanza two.
Taken from his poem ‘From A Railway Carriage’.
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silky4015
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PostSubject: Re: Poetry   Tue Oct 30, 2012 7:18 pm

I think we have all had 'ONE of those DAYS' so I wrote this after having one myself.

THAT DAY

I wish I could forget, that day before today
When nothing did go right, my work it went astray.
That day started badly so I won’t give it its name,
Now today’s today, I hope it’s not the same.
That day started badly, my shower it was cold,
I went down stairs to type, the ribbon was too old.
Upon that virgin page, not a word did show
Just a streaky line;
that gave me quite a blow.
Looking in my ribbon box, ‘twas empty, all alone
I’d used up all my ribbons, for my sins I would atone.
Going out to buy some, I’m now an hour late.
Arriving home again a note is on my gate.
I called today with a parcel, no answer at the door
Collect it from the Post Office, collection nine till four.
Back in town again, to collect this parcel of mine.
Another hour wasted, another hour of time.
When I got the parcel, it was not for me
It was for my neighbour who lived at twenty-three.
The morning nearly over, no words had I written
This would not deter me, for I would not be smitten.
Ribbon now in place, the words would flow like water.
I heard the front door open, “Hello dad, it’s your daughter.”
Though I loved to see her, I wished that she would go
For in this cluttered brain of mine the words will overflow.
She said, “I’ll make your dinner, sit baby on your knee.”
Then before I knew it, it was half-past three.
The day now nearly over, the sun sinks you know where
And at this virgin page, I still sit and stare.
I’m going out this evening, to a place that’s miles away
I need to wash and shave and soon be on my way.
But tomorrow... Oh tomorrow, this day will be dead and gone
I’ll hide in my gazebo;
distractions there’ll be none.
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silky4015
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PostSubject: Re: Poetry   Sat Dec 22, 2012 2:28 pm

Two more of my poems.

John

CHRISTMAS DELIVERY

Dasher and Dancer, Prancer and Vixen
Comet and Cupid, Doner and Blitzen,
Came out of their stall’s one winter night
With Santa and sledge they started a flight.
They few round the world delivering toys
No matter what colour, the girls and the boys.
Delivering gifts in the wink of an eye
Children asleep don’t see them pass by.
Presents delivered, no more shall they roam
Happy and content they start off for home.
To rest in their stall’s till next Christmas day
When Santa and reindeer once more will display,
The presents and gifts they give with joy,
To people on earth, the great hoi polloi.

A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to one and all.




AVARICE

I spied her through the window
She was frail and very old
Aged at seventy seven
Arthritis had taken its hold.
Her face was drawn and blank -
She sat alone without any pleasure,
Though that didn’t bother me at all,
For I was after her treasure.

Slipping through the back door
In the kitchen I made some tea.
Walking into the parlour, I called,
“Hello grandma… its meeee.”
Rubies bloomed upon her cheeks
Her eyes like diamonds did shine
Her face had lustre just like gold
Her treasures… were now all mine.
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cowshed-sarah
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PostSubject: Re: Poetry   Fri Dec 28, 2012 8:48 am

How lovely to read such great writings, you certainly have a great talent Looking forward to the next read over a coffee.
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silky4015
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PostSubject: Re: Poetry   Fri Jan 04, 2013 10:46 pm

HIGH SOCIETY DREAMER

Walking, with medals on his chest
A man of no fixed abode
“He’s a tramp,” I heard someone say,
“Just an old man of the road.”
Yet he’s a high society dreamer
Years ago he did what he could,
Now he can’t forget the memories
Of the shedding of all that blood.

Little lad sits on his doorstep
No shoes upon his feet,
From a single parent family
With barely enough to eat.
Though he’s a high society dreamer
Dreaming of the day
When he and many like him
Can stand and have their say.

Young woman on street corner
Her miniskirt short and red
It’s the only thing she knows
Her living made on a bed.
But she’s a high society dreamer
Dreaming about the time
She doesn’t have to sell herself
By living this life of crime.

So listen you politicians
And you Whitehall men,
Stop thinking only of yourself,
Try to think of them.
Those high society dreamers
The one’s that dream and scheme,
And when you go to bed tonight
Have a low society dream.


and a happy new year to all my readers.

John
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silky4015
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PostSubject: Re: Poetry   Sun Jan 20, 2013 9:19 pm

This is not one of my poems, but is one that I give to students so that they can understand that some poetry can be funny. Click on the link below to hear the poem sung.

John

Murphy and the Bricks
By Pat Cooksey

An Ode to Bricklayers

Sir, I write this letter to let you know why Murphy’s not at work today
While working on the 14th floor, some bricks I had to clear
Tossing them down from such a height was not a good idea
The foreman wasn’t very pleased he is an awkward sod
He said I’d have to carry them down the ladder in my hod
Now shifting all the bricks by hand, it was so very slow
So 1 hoisted up a barrel, and secured a rope below
But in my haste to do the job, I was too blind to see
That a barrel full of building bricks ‘twas heavier than me
When I untied the rope, the barrel fell like lead
And clinging tightly to the rope, I started up instead
I shot up like a rocket and to my dismay I found
That halfway up, I met the bloody barrel coming down
Now the barrel broke my shoulder, as to the ground it sped
And when I reached the top, I banged the pulley with me head
I clung on lightly numbed with shock, from this almighty blow
And the barrel spilled out half its bricks, from 14 floors below
When these bricks had fallen, from the barrel to the floor
I then outweighed the barrel and started down once more
Still clinging lightly to the rope me body racked with pain
I met the bloody barrel, halfway down again
Now the force of this collision, halfway down the block
Caused multiple abrasions and a nasty state or shock
Still clinging tightly to the rope I fell towards the ground
Landing on the broken bricks the barrel had scattered around
And as I lay there groaning. I thought I’d passed the worst
But the barrel hit the pulley wheel and then the bottom burst
A shower of bricks rained down on me, I didn’t have a hope
As I lay bleeding on the ground I let go the bloody rope
The barrel then being heavier, it started down once more
And landed right across me, as I lay there on the floor
It broke three ribs and my left arm, and I can only say
I hope you understand why Murphy’s not at work today.

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oddball
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PostSubject: Re: Poetry   Sun Jan 20, 2013 10:38 pm

Wonderful John thanks for sharing. I am just going to send the video to facebook.

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