afternoon all :D

this thread is about the poems that speak to you somehow....

so...post a poem!

and then why you like it

have fun

:D

The Voyeur

whats your favourite word dearie
is it wee
i hope its wee
wee's such a nice wee word
like a wee hairy dog
with two wee eyes
such a nice wee word to play with dearie
you can say it quickly
with a wee smile
and a wee glance to the side
or you can say it slowly dearie
with your mouth a wee bit open
and a wee sigh dearie
a wee sigh
put your wee head on my shoulder dearie
oh my
a great wee word
and scottish
it makes you proud

Tom Leonard

i like this poem because i've always liked the word 'wee' and the poem's bloody funny :hihi:

This somehow speaks to me :

There was a young harlot named Bunny,
Whos kisses were sweeter than honey,
Her callers galore,
Would line up at her door,
To take turns in paying her money.



Ok, I know its a Limerick so what ? :roll:

Ok, I know its a Limerick so what?

:hihi: limericks are welcome babe :D

This is Smothering Sunday, by John Hegley. I like it because it is sarcastic. I particularly like the last line.

To a wonderful mother
with wrinkly skin,
this card was concocted
by one of your kin.
I hope that you like it
it's specially for you,
I've sprinkled some glitter
on top of some glue.
I don't like the bought ones
I thought you should know,
they're too superficial
and two quid a throw
some of them.

This somehow speaks to me :

There was a young harlot named Bunny,
Whos kisses were sweeter than honey,
Her callers galore,
Would line up at her door,
To take turns in paying her money.



Ok, I know its a Limerick so what ? :roll:

:hihi::hihi::hihi::hihi:

From Larkin's This be the Verse:

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.


I like its joyous optimism, obviously.

From "The Stolen Child" by W.B. Yeats -

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glencar,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.


My son's ashes are scattered at Glencar Waterfall, about 10 miles from here.

From Larkin's This be the Verse:

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.


I like its joyous optimism, obviously.


I Love Larkin;


They ***** you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

I Love Larkin;


They ***** you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

me too berlin :D

he speaks da troof :nod:

A Few Hours Ago

a few hours ago, hot and
tired, i was surrounded by the
jargon of business, myself
a part of it.
now near the middle of the night, i am sitting by
an open window.
everything is still and the soft
night air is cool.
the sky seems very near, and
the stars lie over the heavens
stretching on and on.
the moon is passing in and out
of the clouds, making a
shadow-chequered day of the
night, and breaking the sky
with shafts of gold.
all silent, the universe is doing
its work - beautiful,
mysterious, religious!
what was all the jargon about
a few hours ago?

Max Ehrmann

i like this poem because of its restful gentleness and ole max is one of my favourite poets :)

My son's ashes are scattered at Glencar Waterfall, about 10 miles from here.

what happened to him? :(

The Stranger Rudyard Kipling

The Stranger within my gate,
He may be true or kind,
But he does not talk my talk—
I cannot feel his mind.
I see the face and the eyes and the mouth,
But not the soul behind.

The men of my own stock,
They may do ill or well,
But they tell the lies I am wonted to,
They are used to the lies I tell;
And we do not need interpreters
When we go to buy or sell.

The Stranger within my gates,
He may be evil or good,
But I cannot tell what powers control—
What reasons sway his mood;
Nor when the Gods of his far-off land
Shall repossess his blood.

The men of my own stock,
Bitter bad they may be,
But, at least, they hear the things I hear,
And see the things I see;
And whatever I think of them and their likes
They think of the likes of me.

This was my father's belief
And this is also mine:
Let the corn be all one sheaf—
And the grapes be all one vine,
Ere our children's teeth are set on edge
By bitter bread and wine.

what happened to him? :(

He died at birth, in 2003.

He died at birth, in 2003.

i'm sorry to hear that berlin :(

If you find for your verse theres no call,
And you cant afford paper at all,
For the poet true born
However forlorn,
Theres always the lavatory wall.:D

From T.S. Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.



Because I grow old and listen for the mermaids whenever I walk on the beach.

i'm sorry to hear that berlin :(

Thank you. Time is a great healer, as they say.

I do like that poem Berlin. First time Ive heard it.:)

Here's the full text.............I love it.

http://www.cs.amherst.edu/~ccm/prufrock.html

Here's the full text.............I love it.

http://www.cs.amherst.edu/~ccm/prufrock.html

Thanks Berlin for the link. :thumbsup:

afternoon all :D

this thread is about the poems that speak to you somehow....

so...post a poem!

and then why you like it

have fun

:D

I like the following poem as it makes me laugh ...

"Ernie the pidgeon"

Ernie was a pidgeon

A pidgeon, a pidgeon

Ernie was a pidgeon

A pidgeon that flew

He flew through the day

And he flew through the night

And when he came back

He was covered in sh ...

... Ernie was a pidgeon (repeat rest of poem)

Do not stand by my grave and weep
I am not there, i do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints on snow
I am the sun on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain
when you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight
I am the soft stars that shine at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there, i did not die.

A poem by Mary Frye, it gave me comfort when my first born son died..aged 3 weeks,

I like this one:

The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight; somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?


I read it on SF a few years ago when t was posted by a reg who I`m rather fond of. I dont know why I like it as far as "Art" goes and basically its the only poem I know that doesnt have words that rhyme with "Willy" in it.

Its a nice bit of work though and I love the way the writer plays with the word and rythm of the piece.

Thats the only way I can really explain myself here because I have all the artistic knowledge and soul of a chestnut.
I just like the piece.

I like this one:

The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight; somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?


I read it on SF a few years ago when t was posted by a reg who I`m rather fond of. I dont know why I like it as far as "Art" goes and basically its the only poem I know that doesnt have words that rhyme with "Willy" in it.

Its a nice bit of work though and I love the way the writer plays with the word and rythm of the piece.

Thats the only way I can really explain myself here because I have all the artistic knowledge and soul of a chestnut.
I just like the piece.

It's by W. B. Yeats, it's called The Second Coming (written in 1920) and it has a resonance because of the moves towards Irish independence at the time, and the terrible aftermath of the Great War. Only two years later T. S. Eliot published The Waste Land which also signified the breakdown and alienation of the 20th century.

It's by W. B. Yeats, it's called The Second Coming (written in 1920) and it has a resonance because of the moves towards Irish independence at the time, and the terrible aftermath of the Great War. Only two years later T. S. Eliot published The Waste Land which also signified the breakdown and alienation of the 20th century.

Thanks for that!

Excellent stuff!

I have so many favourite poems, I can't list them all. Two most favourite are Thomas Gray's 18th-century poem Elegy in a country Churchyard, and the 19th-century version by Edward Fitzgerald of the Rubai'yat of Omar Khayyam. Look them up and you'll see why!

Much longer is Robert Browning's poem The Ring and the Book which takes up two volumes in the original printing but is a marvellous piece of work, examining the same event through the eyes of different witnesses and participants in it.

Thanks for that!

Excellent stuff!

Look him up, he was quite a character!

And by the way, best wishes about your little...ahem...loss ;)

Excellent stuff!

Speaking of which, how could we forget?.............


JABBERWOCKY
Lewis Carroll
(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Well, of course, Berlin--and some of the versions in different translations are very interesting too! This version in Latin was actually done by Lewis Carroll's uncle! It scans in elegiac verse too!

Gaberbocchus by Hassard H. Dodgson

Hora aderat briligi. Nunc et Slythia Tova
Plurima gyrabant gymbolitare vabo;
Et Borogovorum mimzebant undique formae,
Momiferique omnes exgrabuere Rathi.

"Cave, Gaberbocchum moneo tibi, nate, cavendum!
(Unguibus ille rapit. Dentibus ille necat.)
Et fuge Jubbubum, quo non infestior ales,
Et Bandersnatcham, quae fremit usque, cave."

Ille autem gladium vorpalem cepit, et hostem
Manxonium longa sedulitate petit;
Tum sub tumtummi requiescens arboris umbra
Stabat tranquillus, multa animo meditans.

Dum requiescebat meditans uffishia, monstrum
Praesens ecce! oculis cui fera flamma micat,
Ipse Gaberbocchus dumeta per horrida sifflans
Ibat, et horrendum burbuliabat iens!

Ter, quater, atque iterum cito vorpalissimus ensis
Snicsnaccans penitus viscera dissecuit.
Exanimum corpus linquens caput abstulit heros
Quocum galumphat multa, domumque redit.

"Tune Gaberbocchum potuisti, nate, necare?
Bemiscens puer! ad brachia nostra veni.
Oh! frabiusce dies! iterumque caloque calaque
Laetus eo" ut chortlet chortla superba senex.

Hora aderat briligi. Nunc et Slythia Tova
Plurima gyrabant gymbolitare vabo;
Et Borogovorum mimzebant undique formae,
Momiferique omnes exgrabuere Rathi.

Thanks Waltheof. I've never seen that before. I love it in Latin!

I love the Birthday Letters collection by Ted Hughes. One of them I think of often is Daffodils (http://www.poemhunter.com/best-poems/ted-hughes/daffodils-2/)

Poem for a Friend

I wanted to fulfil my dream
which surely was in God’s own scheme
You know the one who weaves with silver and gold
Our lives, our futures yet to unfold.

My dream was to dance with a partner sublime
But where would I find this man of mine
So I thought I would have a ghost of a chance
If I tried my luck at the City Hall dance

After one or two who trod on my toes
And three or four who God knows
why they thought they could be
the all singing all dancing one for me.

I have found the man who dances and sings
of walking towards what the future brings
The one who says ‘now don’t be late’
His name is John Bond 008

Were we brought together by destiny or fate ?
And have we found a perfect soul mate
was it sods law or could we have been
like ships that pass in the night unseen.

hazel

February 17th by Ted Hughes (from Moortown Diary)

A lamb could not get born. Ice wind
Out of a downpour dishclout sunrise. The mother
Lay on the mudded slope. Harried, she got up
And the blackish lump bobbed at her back end
Under her tail. After some hard galloping,
Some manoeuvering, much flapping of the backward
Lump head of the lamb looking out,
I caught her with a rope. Laid her, head uphill
And examined the lamb. A blood-ball swollen
Tight in its black felt, its mouth gap
Squashed crooked, tongue stuck out, black-purple,
Strangled by its mother. I felt inside,
Past the noose of mother-flesh, into the slippery
Muscled tunnel, fingering for a hoof,
Right back to the port-hole of the pelvis.
But there was no hoof. He had stuck his head out too early
And his feet could not follow. He should have
Felt his way, tip-toe, his toes
Tucked under his nose
For a safe landing. So I kneeled wrestling
With her groans. No hand could squeeze past
The lamb's neck into her interior
To hook a knee. I roped that baby head
And hauled till she cried out and tried
To get up and I saw it was useless. I went
Two miles for the injection and a razor.
Sliced the lamb's throat-strings, levered the knife
Between the vertebrae and brought the head off
To stare at its mother, its pipes sitting in the mud
With all earth for a body. Then pushed
The neck-stump right back in, and as I pushed
She pushed. She pushed crying and I pushed gasping.
And the strength
Of the birth push and the push of my thumb
Against that wobbly vertebra were deadlock,
A to-fro futility. Till I forced
A hand past and got a knee. Then like
Pulling myself to the ceiling with one finger
Hooked in a loop, timing my effort
To her birth push groans, I pulled against
The corpse that would not come. Till it came.
And after it the long, sudden, yolk-yellow
Parcel of life
In a smoking slither of oils and soups and syrups -
And the body lay born, beside the hacked-off head.


I really like this poem by Ted Hughes. It's violent. But in his description of the natural world he's captured a certain beauty. The image of a decapitated lamb's head, with the whole of the planet earth for its body is one that still haunts me.

listen for the mermaids whenever I walk on the beach

did you know that it was whale song which the sailors of yore took to be mermaids berlin? :)

Do not stand by my grave and weep
I am not there, i do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints on snow
I am the sun on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain
when you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight
I am the soft stars that shine at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there, i did not die.

A poem by Mary Frye, it gave me comfort when my first born son died..aged 3 weeks,

so sorry to hear about your son linnet :(

its a lovely poem :)

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!


sounds about right :D

Dum requiescebat meditans uffishia, monstrum
Praesens ecce! oculis cui fera flamma micat,
Ipse Gaberbocchus dumeta per horrida sifflans
Ibat, et horrendum burbuliabat iens!


sounds about right :D

(the jabbers in latin baby! :hihi:)

I love the Birthday Letters collection by Ted Hughes. One of them I think of often is Daffodils (http://www.poemhunter.com/best-poems/ted-hughes/daffodils-2/)

which reminds me......

"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud"

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed---and gazed---but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

William Wordsworth

i love this poem! always makes me feel good :banana:

Is there a difference between a poem and a well written song? I'm thinking of Eminem here.. he puts so much into it. Don't get me wrong .. I dislike rap music and all the bling but the words of Eminem are surely poetry. 'Stan' stands out to me as modern poetry just as Damien Hirst can compete with classical painters.

Is there a difference between a poem and a well written song? I'm thinking of Eminem here.. he puts so much into it. Don't get me wrong .. I dislike rap music and all the bling but the words of Eminem are surely poetry. 'Stan' stands out to me as modern poetry just as Damien Hirst can compete with classical painters.

lyrics count as poems alco :)

wiki says so innit :D

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poetry

These are the lyricxs to Around the World By Daft Punk (an aptly named band if ever there was one)

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world.

It would be a bit boring as a poem

Im sure you missed the chorus out there....

Im sure you missed the chorus out there....

My sincere apologies Jabbers, it goes like this:

Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world
Around the world, around the world

Here is a poem written by a fiend of mine who is, or rather was, a clairvoyant

Life is short, and

I have just writen this for my sister, it doesn't rhyme but to me it's poetry.


Tuesday 24th November when the world stood still

Until one o’clock today I had a sister

She was always there ---still retaining those few mths seniority--- still suggesting I do this and that --as she had done when we were young ,I never seemed to catch her up

She was a large part of my life

.She had always been there for me.

She took me to school and brought me home,

We were sent shopping together her pushing a younger brother in the pram which had a loose wheel, me sent to find matchsticks on the way there to keep the loose wheel from rolling off the pram or me chasing the wheel when it escaped.
She was always there

We shared a room—when younger we shared a bed in which she would draw an imaginary line down indicating her half and mine and woe betide me if I accidentally rolled over on to her part. The line was then fiercely renewed

We played together, us two against the world, she in the front line, me following, we were dressed the same,--- we went to the same schools exploring the bombed buildings on our way-- we lived the same lives, we were known as those twins.

She was always there.

We were apart only when she was the first to go to Notre Dame and left me wondering how I could find my way on my own to school and get my brother there on time,
Con having taken us both for years.
Even then I would find her waiting at the bus stop for me pn the way home.

She was always there.

Sundays on our way to Mass we would buy comics and she would put me on my honour not to glance at them during the Service. Honour looming big in our lives.

Her voice rang in my ears, we always together, until we were young adults

I know I will find her somewhere waiting just out of reach saying, catch up
catch up and this time I will...
she will be there

until then I will miss her,

hazel

I have just writen this for my sister, it doesn't rhyme but to me it's poetry.


Tuesday 24th November when the world stood still

Until one o’clock today I had a sister

She was always there ---still retaining those few mths seniority--- still suggesting I do this and that --as she had done when we were young ,I never seemed to catch her up

She was a large part of my life

.She had always been there for me.

She took me to school and brought me home,

We were sent shopping together her pushing a younger brother in the pram which had a loose wheel, me sent to find matchsticks on the way there to keep the loose wheel from rolling off the pram or me chasing the wheel when it escaped.
She was always there

We shared a room—when younger we shared a bed in which she would draw an imaginary line down indicating her half and mine and woe betide me if I accidentally rolled over on to her part. The line was then fiercely renewed

We played together, us two against the world, she in the front line, me following, we were dressed the same,--- we went to the same schools exploring the bombed buildings on our way-- we lived the same lives, we were known as those twins.

She was always there.

We were apart only when she was the first to go to Notre Dame and left me wondering how I could find my way on my own to school and get my brother there on time,
Con having taken us both for years.
Even then I would find her waiting at the bus stop for me pn the way home.

She was always there.

Sundays on our way to Mass we would buy comics and she would put me on my honour not to glance at them during the Service. Honour looming big in our lives.

Her voice rang in my ears, we always together, until we were young adults

I know I will find her somewhere waiting just out of reach saying, catch up
catch up and this time I will...
she will be there

until then I will miss her,

hazel

That my dear, is beautiful poetry at its very best
God Bless

I have just writen this for my sister, it doesn't rhyme but to me it's poetry.




Hazel - my heart goes out to you. Thanks for sharing that.

I have just writen this for my sister, it doesn't rhyme but to me it's poetry.


Tuesday 24th November when the world stood still

Until one o’clock today I had a sister

She was always there ---still retaining those few mths seniority--- still suggesting I do this and that --as she had done when we were young ,I never seemed to catch her up

She was a large part of my life

.She had always been there for me.

She took me to school and brought me home,

We were sent shopping together her pushing a younger brother in the pram which had a loose wheel, me sent to find matchsticks on the way there to keep the loose wheel from rolling off the pram or me chasing the wheel when it escaped.
She was always there

We shared a room—when younger we shared a bed in which she would draw an imaginary line down indicating her half and mine and woe betide me if I accidentally rolled over on to her part. The line was then fiercely renewed

We played together, us two against the world, she in the front line, me following, we were dressed the same,--- we went to the same schools exploring the bombed buildings on our way-- we lived the same lives, we were known as those twins.

She was always there.

We were apart only when she was the first to go to Notre Dame and left me wondering how I could find my way on my own to school and get my brother there on time,
Con having taken us both for years.
Even then I would find her waiting at the bus stop for me pn the way home.

She was always there.

Sundays on our way to Mass we would buy comics and she would put me on my honour not to glance at them during the Service. Honour looming big in our lives.

Her voice rang in my ears, we always together, until we were young adults

I know I will find her somewhere waiting just out of reach saying, catch up
catch up and this time I will...
she will be there

until then I will miss her,

hazel
I normally write rubbish on SF for the sake of it. I read your poem and it made me cry. This is not rubbish- it's beautiful ! I hope you find solace in writing it and wish you well

Thank you for sharing my grief,
I am hoping to be able to read it out at the service.

hazel

Thank you for sharing my grief,
I am hoping to be able to read it out at the service.

hazel

You're brave and It's lovely. I'm crying too. x

These are the lyricxs to Around the World By Daft Punk

ahhhhh....daft punk :love:

great vid too :banana:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s9MszVE7aR4

Here is a poem written by a fiend of mine who is, or rather was, a clairvoyant

Life is short, and

:hihi:...........

until then I will miss her,
hazel

beautiful poem hazel :)

A song for England

an' a so de rain a-fall
an' a so de snow a-rain

an' a so de fog a-fall
an' a so de sun a-fail

an' a so de seasons mix
an' a so de bag-o'-tricks

but a so me understan'
de misery o de englishman

Andrew Salkey

i like this poem because it explains the dour expression of most

except when its hot and sunny :D

afternoon all :D

this thread is about the poems that speak to you somehow....

so...post a poem!

and then why you like it

have fun

:D

Blind faith psychosis.Draft three

Psychosis and Money

What is it then that makes them pray,
that makes them creep and crawl all day,
that makes them read some silly script,
their pride and confidence slyly stripped ?

What is it then that transfers their minds,
to heavens and angels and spiritual kinds,
to attend Cathedrals in little groups,
then dress in robes as exemplar troops ?

What is it then that makes them build,
on fertile land where food was tilled,
huge Mosques; and Cathedrals too,
just to sing and confess anew?

Does it help in anyway,
to wile away the hours of day,
dressed in best and on their knees,
praying to anything and making pleas?

Is it selfishness that makes them think,
we all need them to cower and shrink,
on our behalf at their request,
so that our souls be sublimely blessed?

The whiff of selfishness stirs the air,
I think it’s just themselves they care,
the work is easy and less to think,
from competition they wilt and shrink.

This God they advocate with fuss,
when ask for proof, they won’t discuss,
O proof, O proof; what for you need ?
the devils home you’ll go with speed.

My lucid mind begins to stir,
I’m in the hands of a blackmailer,
I only ask; for what your sales?
they came back as hard as nails.

So business then shall prevail,
In Woolworth’s by an honest sale,
the Church an inquisition I think,
proof of God surely brinks.
jobee

http://com4.runboard.com/bcoventryalternativeforums.f6

Carnegie

"I don’t believe in God. My god is patriotism. Teach a man to be a good citizen and you have solved the problem of life."

- Andrew Carnegie, Scottish-born American industrialist and philanthropist

The Dream Machine

In my dream I walk along a thin spaghetti bridge
High up in clouds of candy floss it leads me to a fridge
Inside the fridge I walk along a path of velvet eels
One gets between my toes and I don’t like the way it feels

I see there is a doorway in a round magenta cheese
It leads me to a forest full of purple pasta trees
A garden gnome pops up, from an orange jelly stream
I ask him who he is and what he’s doing in my dream

He says his name is Snorkel from the bottom of Loch Ness
And tells me that he’s in my dream due to a wrong address
He proffers me a packet labelled ‘Made in North Tibet’
So from the pack I take a king size rhubarb cigarette

‘Dreams don’t have addresses, please do you have a light?’
‘Land of Nod, Lot four three two, first bedroom on the right
You see the address is written on this plastic macaroon’
‘My door is second right, you should be in my brother’s room’

He cried ‘Oh pickled gherkins! Whatever shall I do?
I should be in your bro’s dream now, it’s half past quarter two’
‘Why don’t you go there then’? I say. ‘Better late than never’
‘I can’t just walk out from a dream it’s just not done, not ever’

‘So how then does one depart from a dream for goodness sake’?
‘Rule Number One – don’t leave until the dreamer is awake’
A flying scarlet albatross performs a sausage roll
‘You’re in the piccalilli now, they’ve sent out the Dream Patrol’

Snorkel scratches his long beard with a cock-a-leekie stick
‘Maybe I should call them, and say that I’m off sick’
‘Who is them? I ask him ‘For whom is it you work’?
‘I’m on the staff of Dream Machine owned by a Scottish Turk’

‘I resemble my dear brother, perhaps they’ll never know’
That you were never in his room’ An eel bites my big toe
He says ‘Look, in the dream, I have a special role to play’
‘Play it in my dream instead, does it matter either way?

‘If you read your brother’s dreamplay you may be too shy
To take your brothers place, you see he’s gay, and so am I’
I had no clue at all that he is gay I must confess
But it does explain the reason why he wears our sister’s dress

And from the one and only Mr Bob Dylan
I am sure many of us can relate to this

You got a lotta nerve
To say you are my friend
When I was down
You just stood there grinning

You got a lotta nerve
To say you gota helping hand to lend
You just want to be on
The side that's winning

You say I let you down
You know it's not like that
If you're so hurt
Why then don't you show it

You say you lost your faith
But that's not where it's at
You had no faith to lose
And you know it

I know the reason
That you talk behind my back
I used to be among the crowd
You're in with

Do you take me for such a fool
To think I'd make contact
With the one who tries to hide
What he don't know to begin with

You see me on the street
You always act surprised
You say, how are you? good luck
But you don't mean it

When you know as well as me
You'd rather see me paralyzed
Why don't you just come out once
And scream it

No, I do not feel that good
When I see the heartbreaks you embrace
If I was a master thief
Perhaps I'd rob them

And now I know you're dissatisfied
With your position and your place
Don't you understand
It's not my problem

I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
And just for that one moment
I could be you

Yes, I wish that for just one time
You could stand inside my shoes
You'd know what a drag it is
To see you

Modesty

Would it better if men were more spared,
And women stopped praising he-men who dared,
Would it be better if tenderness reigned?
Those blood and guts nerviest held and restrained.

Would it be better if modesty prevailed?
And we kissed and caressed all those who failed.
Ticker tape welcomes for those who are quiet.
Who mind their own business refusing to fight?

Me thinks twould be better to stop making guns,
By spending the money on laughter and puns,
I hope in the future we’ll think again,
And governments think deeply ‘bout women and men.

The Animal kingdoms no problem at all.
Its humans that’s spreading and taking it all.
Should we consider our productive rate.
Lesson our urge to procreate.

China had fun with this little game,
Should we take stock and do the same,
Nature tells us to watch our stock.
Or we could be in for a blooming big shock.

Jobee


http://com4.runboard.com/bcoventryalternativeforums.f6

Re: Attack!

PRO PATRIA.
In far off lands and out of sight,
men still fight for what is right,
give their lives to sought things out,
lose their limbs, writhe and shout.



Called up men were forced to fight,
to bite the bullet and not take flight,
glad to see that call ups gone,
but spiteful wars still drag on.



Those called up lads are old some gone,
some nerves still shattered by shell and bomb,
the fist of government we did our best,
and still no medal clasps our chest.



Britain’s small wars are ignored,
as long as government is assured,
men will face the gun and die,
no one hears their widows cry.



For many years we have asked,
some small medal you give at last,
so as our children, and theirs too,
know their kin fought good and true....jb 3 para.03.
jobee

DAWN

At first a misty stirring light,
Dewdrops glisten, still and bright,.
The sun begins its dewy climb,
As it’s done from dawn of time,

Something stirs in the bush.
Quickly silenced not to rush.
A misty meadow appears in view,
Bidding the silent night adieu.

Cowslips raise their sleepy heads,
Mottled sunlight slowly spreads,
Just a touch of gentle rain,
As birds begin their ancient refrain.

A young foal begins to rise,
Falling against its mothers side,
The air warms and starts its rise,
Mist disappears in a swirling glide.

The patter of rain begins to stall,
Just drips and drops from branches fall,
By the sides of a swirling brook,
Gnats and dragonflies feed and suck.

A gentle steam leaves horses sides,
As filtered sun their body chides,
Frolicking lambs skip and play,
Welcoming the heat of day.

The cool of morning says goodbye,
As skylarks ascend to hover on high,
We bid goodbye to another morn,
And wait the morrows refreshing dawn.

I decided I would end it all and commit suicide
I bought a recommended ‘How to Hang Yourself’ guide
All I needed was a rope, some handcuffs and a chair
And soon my body would be lifeless, twirling in mid air

I made a noose and slipped the rope around a strong wall hook
I cuffed my hands behind my back, just like in the book
I found a chair and positioned it just underneath the rope
I had last minute doubts, but knew with life I could not cope

I wriggled my neck through the noose and now I was all set
To take the final curtain, there’s nothing to regret
But as I am about to kick the chair away I find
Where there’s life there’s hope and I think I’ll change my mind

But there I was, stood on the chair and I could not get down
But I knew that my girlfriend would soon be back from town
For two hours I stood up there, my legs were tiring fast
Then I heard her door key turning, she was home at last

My girl walked in and saw me, she exclaimed ‘Holy Cow’!
‘Come on over here’ I said ‘I need your help right now’
She said ‘Of course my darling, I won’t leave you standing there’
She smiled at me, said ‘Goodbye dear’ and kicked away the chair

I decided I would end it all and commit suicide
I bought a recommended ‘How to Hang Yourself’ guide
All I needed was a rope, some handcuffs and a chair
And soon my body would be lifeless, twirling in mid air

I made a noose and slipped the rope around a strong wall hook
I cuffed my hands behind my back, just like in the book
I found a chair and positioned it just underneath the rope
I had last minute doubts, but knew with life I could not cope

I wriggled my neck through the noose and now I was all set
To take the final curtain, there’s nothing to regret
But as I am about to kick the chair away I find
Where there’s life there’s hope and I think I’ll change my mind

But there I was, stood on the chair and I could not get down
But I knew that my girlfriend would soon be back from town
For two hours I stood up there, my legs were tiring fast
Then I heard her door key turning, she was home at last

My girl walked in and saw me, she exclaimed ‘Holy Cow’!
‘Come on over here’ I said ‘I need your help right now’
She said ‘Of course my darling, I won’t leave you standing there’
She smiled at me, said ‘Goodbye dear’ and kicked away the chair

I like it.:love:

Modesty

Would it better if men were more spared,
And women stopped praising he-men who dared,
Would it be better if tenderness reigned?
Those blood and guts nerviest held and restrained.

Would it be better if modesty prevailed?
And we kissed and caressed all those who failed.
Ticker tape welcomes for those who are quiet.
Who mind their own business refusing to fight?

Me thinks twould be better to stop making guns,
By spending the money on laughter and puns,
I hope in the future we’ll think again,
And governments think deeply ‘bout women and men.

The Animal kingdoms no problem at all.
Its humans that’s spreading and taking it all.
Should we consider our productive rate.
Lesson our urge to procreate.

China had fun with this little game,
Should we take stock and do the same,
Nature tells us to watch our stock.
Or we could be in for a blooming big shock.

Jobee


http://com4.runboard.com/bcoventryalternativeforums.f6

I really like this one :thumbsup:

usama bin laden

usama bin laden was born in riyadh in 1957- he is said to be the 17th of 52 children by yemeni born muhammad bin laden saudi arabia's wealthiest construction magnate with close ties to king faisal of saudi arabia.-after his father's death in 1968 usama bin laden inherited some estimated $300 million


the camp david peace accords between egypt and Israel- the overthrow of the shah of Iran and the subsequent creation of a ‘shiite’ islamic regime - plus-the soviet invasion of afghanistan changed the young man's perception of the world. "I was enraged," he told the newspaper ‘al quds al arabi.’

usamah bin muhammed bin awad bin laden

born. 1957.

saudi arabia the place of his birth
his father seemingly ruling the earth
the construction business- brought him fame
wealth and power in this arab domain.

52 children his father would sire
bricks and mortar- not his only desire
the sunni religion instilled in them all
they considered it better- than peter and paul

but young usama tired of it all
wealth and luxury was not his call
he decided that fame was his game
and ‘sunni’ fame his ultimate aim.

free thinking russians he started on first
Infidals all- was his first outburst
if your not ‘sunni’ your nothing at all
no think- no fun- no having a ball.

slapping the deck five times a day
then babying women and going astray
up to the hills shouting the odds
bombing -killing- playing at gods

killing all- no question asked
christians –muslims- all stand aghast
we went through this- centuries ago
then we decided to give it a go

you pray to your god- I’ll pray to mine
this is our Mosque- that is your shrine
come off it bin Laden we’ll ignore your call
most of this world awaits your fall.

Jb. ©©©

free thinking Russians= weak religion

The other Side of the Coin, 1956 Anglo-French " Suez War" - A Bravenet.com Forum

I like it.:love:

Glad you like it Jobee
I got the idea from a book I once read with a similar situation

Family,Christmas day.

Did you notice baby's face,
Trying hard at table grace,
Spitting out, wondering why,
Nothing goes in mouth or eye.

Did you notice startled eyes,
When poppers pop, trailers fly,
Christmas lights blink, flash,
New found toys whirl, crash.

Did you notice Grandma's care,
Trying to catch baby’s stare,
Making faces, sucking lips,
Twiddling fingers, making quips.

Tapping Grandpa on the knee,
"Watch that drink! I’m telling thee,
Just one more, that’s enough,
I’ve seen you on that malted stuff."

Then more kids come hustling in,
What a ruckus, what a din,
Don't stand up you'll lose your seat,
Your ageing limbs cannot compete.

Youths and girlfriends then appear,
Showing off their flashy gear,
Drinks all round, giggles to,
Last nights sipping starts anew.

The smell of cooking fills the air,
Tables laid with special care,
Paper hats, tinsel to,
Take your turn, join the queue.

That's my toy, don't you dare!
A little friction in the air,
Children squabble then settle down.
Taking note of fathers frown.

Just a glance of Christmas day,
Cheers to all I hope and pray.
The new year brings to everyone.
The well sung words of Lennon’s song.

Give peace a chance.
jobee

Solomon look what you're missing, what talented people :thumbsup:

Here he comes the ice cream man
Pretty chimes, and little van
Waiting, waiting. Will he stop?
99 with nuts on top.

Moving closer all the time
Louder, louder is his chime
Soon be here, I just can't wait
Standing by the garden gate.

He isn't slowing, drives straight past
So I follow, very fast
Waving, shouting, running after
Street is full of cruel laughter.

Round the corner, up the hill
Panting, waving, running still
Ice cream man ignores my cries
Tears are forming in my eyes.

Very soon I see he's stopping
Children queue like grown-ups shopping
Take your time till I get there
Cross the road with greatest care.

Breathing now with lungs a-heaving
In and out of folks I'm weaving
Finally I'm in the queue
"Boy in front, I'm after you."

Shaking legs and knocking knees
"Can I have a 99 please?"
"Sorry lad you can't have nowt.
He were't last, I've just run out."

So ice cream free and knackered out
I kick and scream, and swear and shout
The people stare, the air is blue
I have my rights,.....I'm 52.

I cast my mind back years ago
When I was only 10 or so
And life seemed oh so simple then
A full toy box, a garden den.

I had no worries, life was good
No future plans for adulthood
Getting lost my only fear..........
And the occasional clip around the ear!

Saxon I like that:hihi:

GOGO to GO

The Boulevard’s a stream of light
That skirts Manila Bay
I notice it is now midnight
As I drink the hours away

I hear a jeepney’s blaring horn
I hear a young girl sighing
I feel so empty and forlorn
Like part of me is dying

The factories of flesh
Have GoGo girls galore
They look so young and fresh
And I feel ninety four

I see her dancing on the stage
My pulse increases pace
She’s eighteen years of age
With such a pretty face

Dark brown eyes and skin so clear
I send her my invite
And together we then disappear
Into the city night

Hating Flowers

Scorned, kicked
Ground with rage into the tarmac,
levelling the surface underfoot - a crocus coloured streaked mass.

I was just passing. The sight of them made me grind my teeth
(All pristine, orderly) cradled in heaps of stoneless damp brown earth
Controlled, deodorised. Neutered.
Alienated.
Like the inhabitants of the house they were intended to offset.
(And they do, quite perfectly.)

The rage splutters and gathers around my neck but only escapes enough to allow a small outburst.
The petals are rubbed to translucence over the grey path,
stamens tangled, pistils crushed, compressed
the turgid cellular pillows unstuffed
not slowly with the joy of it’s sensation -either between finger and thumb or between front teeth
not a slow juicy crushing but one mean anarchistic act;
quick joyless, senseless.
The small rage leaks away warmly as a dull shame seeps in like liquid on to litmus paper,
rising in scarlett clouds,
blooming,
staining.

Hating Flowers

Scorned, kicked
Ground with rage into the tarmac,
levelling the surface underfoot - a crocus coloured streaked mass.

I was just passing. The sight of them made me grind my teeth
(All pristine, orderly) cradled in heaps of stoneless damp brown earth
Controlled, deodorised. Neutered.
Alienated.
Like the inhabitants of the house they were intended to offset.
(And they do, quite perfectly.)

The rage splutters and gathers around my neck but only escapes enough to allow a small outburst.
The petals are rubbed to translucence over the grey path,
stamens tangled, pistils crushed, compressed
the turgid cellular pillows unstuffed
not slowly with the joy of it’s sensation -either between finger and thumb or between front teeth
not a slow juicy crushing but one mean anarchistic act;
quick joyless, senseless.
The small rage leaks away warmly as a dull shame seeps in like liquid on to litmus paper,
rising in scarlett clouds,
blooming,
staining.

All together now:

This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius
The Age of Aquarius
Aquarius! Aquarius!

Harmony and understanding
Sympathy and trust abounding
No more falsehoods or derisions
Golden living dreams of visions
Mystic crystal revelation
And the mind's true liberation
Aquarius! Aquarius!

In the garden next door there are bushes and trees
And some nice daffodils that sway with the breeze
There’s a green patch of lawn down near the gate post
And this part of the garden is which I like most

The lawn gets the sun around quarter to two
From my bedroom next door I have a good view
One day as I gazed at the trees and the grass
The girl from next door who’s a shapely young lass

Came out and placed her towel on the ground
Then looked to make sure there was no one around
Either she didn’t see me or she fancied a flirt
As she lifted her arms and removed her T shirt

Beneath the shirt she wore a bikini top
It was so miniscule it made my eyes pop
She unzipped her shorts which slid down her thighs
A wonderful sight for my lecherous eyes

The thong she wore was no more than a string
And to her lovely curves it did tightly cling
She lay on the towel almost in the nude
I was thinking that I was just one lucky dude

Her hands reached to where the bikini was tied
When she pulled on the string I nearly died
The bikini top fell away to the ground
Revealing her norks so firm and so round

I sat and I watch and I hoped and I prayed
That she’ll take off the thong and ….

To be continued

Solomon look what you're missing, what talented people :thumbsup:

innit :D........

I cast my mind back years ago
When I was only 10 or so
And life seemed oh so simple then
A full toy box, a garden den.

I had no worries, life was good
No future plans for adulthood
Getting lost my only fear..........
And the occasional clip around the ear!

so true saxon :)

All together now:

This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius
The Age of Aquarius
Aquarius! Aquarius!

Harmony and understanding
Sympathy and trust abounding
No more falsehoods or derisions
Golden living dreams of visions
Mystic crystal revelation
And the mind's true liberation
Aquarius! Aquarius!

:banana:

:D :D

Wind

This house has been far out at sea all night,
The woods crashing through darkness, the booming hills,
Winds stampeding the fields under the window
Floundering black astride and blinding wet

Till day rose; then under an orange sky
The hills had new places, and wind wielded
Blade-light, luminous black and emerald,
Flexing like the lens of a mad eye.

At noon I scaled along the house-side as far as
The coal-house door. Once I looked up -
Through the brunt wind that dented the balls of my eyes
The tent of the hills drummed and strained its guyrope,

The fields quivering, the skyline a grimace,
At any second to bang and vanish with a flap;
The wind flung a magpie away and a black-
Back gull bent like an iron bar slowly. The house

Rang like some fine green goblet in the note
That any second would shatter it. Now deep
In chairs, in front of the great fire, we grip
Our hearts and cannot entertain book, thought,

Or each other. We watch the fire blazing,
And feel the roots of the house move, but sit on,
Seeing the window tremble to come in,
Hearing the stones cry out under the horizons.

Ted Hughes

i love this poem :love:. learnt it at school and its wildness really made an impression on me

:banana:

:D :D

Aquarius, Aquarius
:banana::banana::banana::banana::banana:

The house rang like some fine green goblet in the note

I was reading it out my missus and that line came out something like

The louse fang hiked nine green gob snotlets in the goat

Her hands reached to where the bikini was tied
When she pulled on the string I nearly died
The bikini top fell away to the ground
Revealing her norks so firm and so round

I sat and I watch and I hoped and I prayed
That she’ll take off the thong and ….

To be continued[/QUOTE]

Stop teasing the men Mr blue, where's the end? or would you get a ban if you wrote it :hihi:

Her hands reached to where the bikini was tied
When she pulled on the string I nearly died
The bikini top fell away to the ground
Revealing her norks so firm and so round

I sat and I watch and I hoped and I prayed
That she’ll take off the thong and ….

To be continued

Stop teasing the men Mr blue, where's the end? or would you get a ban if you wrote it :hihi:[/QUOTE]

HI Joto,
Sometimes you just gotta keep your readers thirsting for more:D
The end will be revealed -and maybe something else will be revealed- in the fullness of time *walks off whistling, hands in pockets*

Dusk



The sun starts its downward glide,
Huge and glowing reddoned with pride,
The days work loved and done,
Breathing life into mans kingdom.

Slowly descending this giant orb,
Emitting light that plants absorb,
Lower and lower then disappears,
Only the glowing horizon appears.

A cool breeze begins to stir,
Flies and midges clear the air,
The occasional sound of falling things,
A spectre of silence and all it brings.

Listening for the occasional noise,
As night things begin to express their voice,
Roaming free and and helped by the night,
Creatures wait to show their might.

The moons face observing all,
High and aloof just a glowering ball,
Its craggy face not changing its stare,
Penetrating the cool night air.

Occasionally obscured by darkening clouds,
Rolling shadows by pillowing shrouds,
Starlight twinkling from afar,
Like aliens observing who we are.

Tis night now and day is done
We wait the morrows rising sun,
The celestial orb that gives us life
How much longer can its energies drive?

John Bishop
Copyright © - John Bishop - All rights reserved

The Blender and the Vendor

The idiot explained to the vendor
That it would be so much fun
To stick his hand into a blender
And watch his red blood run

To see your red blood running free
I am sure would be so funny
The sight would really tickle me
But blenders as you know, cost money

‘No problem’ the idiot told the vendor
‘It will be worth every penny’
‘How much cash you got, big spender’?
The idiot said ‘I don’t have any’

Let us now cease this balderdash
I do not wish to sound bombastic
But do not return without some cash’
The idiot said ‘do you take plastic?

‘Of course, of course’ the vendor cried
‘I see you can be quite a teaser’
The idiot ginned as the blender he eyed
‘Would you like Mastercard or Visa’?

‘Either one will do just fine
Another sale means more commission
If you’ll just sign upon this line
You’ve have made the right decision’

The vendor smiled at the transaction
Of the price he’d charged the nut
The blender was worth just a fraction
It was a display from cardboard cut

‘Now refunds we will never make
And please do not take this too hard
That blender you moron, is just a fake’
‘Really? Just like my credit card!’.

VIAGRA,Hmmm?

Would it work on sodden ground,
Where moss and stingers do abound,
When gnats and flies will harass,
And cowpats mingle with starchy grass.

Would it help when bodies tire,
Tho' push and push has quelled desire,
When young lovers kiss and smile
Our exhausted bodies rest awhile.

Has it got what my youth had got,
To rekindle fires when spent and hot,
Then ignore the brush of falling rain,
Our naked bodies make love again.

As evenings cool air begins to stir,
I only then let go of her,
It's not Viagra I'm looking for
I need that lovely paramour.

jb

VIAGRA,Hmmm?

Would it work on sodden ground,
Where moss and stingers do abound,
When gnats and flies will harass,
And cowpats mingle with starchy grass.

Would it help when bodies tire,
Tho' push and push has quelled desire,
When young lovers kiss and smile
Our exhausted bodies rest awhile.

Has it got what my youth had got,
To rekindle fires when spent and hot,
Then ignore the brush of falling rain,
Our naked bodies make love again.

As evenings cool air begins to stir,
I only then let go of her,
It's not Viagra I'm looking for
I need that lovely paramour.

jb

This is a lovely romatic poem.:)

Stop teasing the men Mr blue, where's the end? or would you get a ban if you wrote it :hihi:

HI Joto,
Sometimes you just gotta keep your readers thirsting for more:D
The end will be revealed -and maybe something else will be revealed- in the fullness of time *walks off whistling, hands in pockets*[/QUOTE]

You're a big torment you are :hihi: I bet you've not even written the end yet :P

HI Joto,
Sometimes you just gotta keep your readers thirsting for more:D
The end will be revealed -and maybe something else will be revealed- in the fullness of time *walks off whistling, hands in pockets*

You're a big torment you are :hihi: I bet you've not even written the end yet :P[/QUOTE]

Are we getting a little frisky in the afternoons now ?;)

Dusk



The sun starts its downward glide,
Huge and glowing reddoned with pride,
The days work loved and done,
Breathing life into mans kingdom.

Slowly descending this giant orb,
Emitting light that plants absorb,
Lower and lower then disappears,
Only the glowing horizon appears.

A cool breeze begins to stir,
Flies and midges clear the air,
The occasional sound of falling things,
A spectre of silence and all it brings.

Listening for the occasional noise,
As night things begin to express their voice,
Roaming free and and helped by the night,
Creatures wait to show their might.

The moons face observing all,
High and aloof just a glowering ball,
Its craggy face not changing its stare,
Penetrating the cool night air.

Occasionally obscured by darkening clouds,
Rolling shadows by pillowing shrouds,
Starlight twinkling from afar,
Like aliens observing who we are.

Tis night now and day is done
We wait the morrows rising sun,
The celestial orb that gives us life
How much longer can its energies drive?

John Bishop
Copyright © - John Bishop - All rights reserved

lovin it :love:

Winter

Cold lies the lifeless earth,
the birds are gone, and through
the naked trees the shrill wind
whistles. Though the world outside be chill and dead, may the
world within us resound
with gleeful songs, and our hearts
be warm with hope and love.
And may many an evening's merriment, beside the
hearthstone's cheerful glow, make
sweet the passing of time.

Max Ehrmann

i like this poem cos...ummmm...i dunno...i just like it :D

HI Joto,
Sometimes you just gotta keep your readers thirsting for more:D
The end will be revealed -and maybe something else will be revealed- in the fullness of time *walks off whistling, hands in pockets*

You're a big torment you are :hihi: I bet you've not even written the end yet :P[/QUOTE]

Ya got me Joto!
Ihave not indeed written the end yet.
Do you have any preferences for an ending?

The Tears of Marie Anne

Marie Anne cried as she was born
Her first tears on a hallowed morn
A child so tender and so sweet
She made her parents joy complete
With her blessed life’s first dawn

The son of two years old named Chad
Was fair of face, a robust lad
‘Congratulations’ smiled his mother
‘You have now become a brother’
And he was truly glad

The next three years were heaven sent
With siblings both intelligent
Gentle natured, softly spoken
Then the bliss was rudely broken
By nature’s cruel event

One evening blew a squall so bad
The worst storm they had ever had
The lives of Marie Anne’s good folks
Were taken by fierce lightning strokes
Which spared Marie and Chad

The pastor’s face was pale and wan
The rhythmic funeral drum began
Her parents now in God’s embrace
Streaming down her pretty face
Were the tears of Marie Anne

Thus at the age of three years old
Marie Anne was taken from the fold
And in an home incarcerated
All alone and separated
From all of her family

She knew not to where Chad had got
But knew so well that he would not
Leave her side from his own choice
Leave the memory of his voice
As she dozed off in her cot

The matron of the orphan’s home
Watched the young girl all alone
Wide eyed with bewildered face
She sought to give the child solace
And wished she was her own

The Guvnor of the home, Baptiste
For children, cared not in the least
He invented new rules at a whim
But no one dared to defy him
They all called him The Beast

Thirteen years passed by too fast
Since Marie saw her brother last
She so missed his smiling face
Missed her brother’s warm embrace
Her longing never passed

Baptiste came to the child so fair
Stroked her face, stroked her hair
‘’Come with me my little one’
Took her hand and they were gone
To climb the winding stair

Behind a wooden panelled door
A gloomy room of brown decor
Which felt so damp and smelled of rot
Dark and dreary, fearsome hot
A coat and mattress on the floor

Baptiste led his young prize so pretty
And showing not one trace of pity
Took away her orphanage dress
Took away her happiness
And took away her virginity

After Marie had been defiled
The matron sought her surrogate child
She went to Marie’s sleeping place
Picked up a crumpled pillow case
Her thoughts were running wild

The matron cursed the Guvnor man
Knew she could have stopped his plan
In the sombre glow of a bedside lamp
She felt the pillow case was damp
From the tears of Marie Anne

For several months the evil beast
Pleasured himself as he pleased
Abused her young and tender charms
Pinned her down with his strong arms
She prayed that it would cease

One day the matron knocked her door
She said ‘you have a visitor’
No, not again thought Marie Anne
Assumed it was the Guvnor man
And cried a little more

Baptiste opened the dark room’s door
Stepping inside the gloom he saw
As expected, curled beneath the coat
A figure, to whom he did gloat
‘I am here my little whore’

An arm then cast the coat away
But no Marie Anne beneath it lay
Instead a young man, tall and strong
Leapt to his feet pointing a long
Sharp rapier Baptiste’s way

The guvnor’s heart leapt at the sight
At first he was struck dumb in fright
But when his nerves had calmed, he said
‘Who is this that steals my bed
And trespasses this night’?

‘The loving kith and kin am I
Of the girl you choose to terrify
And now for my dear sister’s sake
Vengeance I have come to take
And you sir, you must die’

‘Please no’ the guvnor man implored
‘Name the price to sheath your sword
Of riches I have very many
‘To you I will give every penny’
You can live life as a Lord

Chad’s lips curled into a smile
He did not speak for quite a while
As though the bribe he did consider
‘So you think that to the highest bidder
I would forget your crimes so vile’?

‘I hereby turn down your request’
Baptiste’s lips moved to protest
But from his mouth words came no more
In dreadful pain he looked and saw
The sword buried in his chest

The Piper at the gates of dawn
Played a jig through till next morn
As Hell prepared a special spot
Dark and dreary, fearsome hot
For Baptiste to adorn

You're a big torment you are :hihi: I bet you've not even written the end yet :P

Ya got me Joto!
Ihave not indeed written the end yet.
Do you have any preferences for an ending?[/QUOTE]

I don't care personally:hihi: it's the men you're catering to.;)
Mind you I am a bit of a voyeur so I understand the person viewing :cool:

A rabbit limerick/poem for Mr Blue

Mr blue owl thinks nothing of insulting the Easter bunny
He's took it's foot now, so it can't even runny
With only three legs
It delivers our eggs
When yours arrives broken, will you then see it as funny:hihi:

Ya got me Joto!
Ihave not indeed written the end yet.
Do you have any preferences for an ending?

I don't care personally:hihi: it's the men you're catering to.;)
Mind you I am a bit of a voyeur so I understand the person viewing :cool:

A rabbit limerick/poem for Mr Blue

Mr blue owl thinks nothing of insulting the Easter bunny
He's took it's foot now, so it can't even runny
With only three legs
It delivers our eggs
When yours arrives broken, will you then see it as funny:hihi:[/QUOTE]

Nice Raberik Joto
Funny thing is, I find that broken chocolate eggs taste pretty much the same as unbroken ones
Anywyay the Easter Bunny struck me off his list ages ago

In fact he called round to my local pub the other day
The place went quiet as he limped in
He looked me straight in the eye
And said

I'VE COME FOR MY PAW:hihi:

:hihi::hihi::hihi:

Autumn/fall

The ground awash with dying leaves,
as dismissive, sleepy, wearisome, trees,
cast them off to flutter down,
and die unwanted on winter's ground.

Cold and cheerless the autumn air,
offers nothing to help or care,
huddled together as if for cheer,
but spiteful winds divide and clear.

All the browns and ochre’s too,
nature's carpet open to view,
every single shade of green,
as nature's palette reigns supreme.

Twigs and branches strewn around,
Magpies search and probe the ground,
foxes peek, search and inquire,
approach and stop as if to admire.

Cautiously taking a guarded stance,
ever fearful of man's violence,
The sky above cold and blue,
clouds mixed in a grey and white hue.

And then to man we next inquire,
as extra warmth he does require,
all wrapped up in jumpers new.
fearing colds and chills anew.

Then the autumn day is done,
giving way to nights kingdom,
a chilly cold and watery sky.
watches nature's foliage die.


jobee

This is a lovely romatic poem.:)

Thank you pattricia.

Jobee being as you never put an author, does this mean it's your own work? if so well done:thumbsup:

Jobee being as you never put an author, does this mean it's your own work? if so well done:thumbsup:

Thank you, cross my heart they are all my own work, I wrote them a few years ago for Coventry forum, alas it closed down.

I never post other people's work.

Well it's ok jobee as long as you put the author:)
Solomon I like this because for a moment you step in the world of a cat.

NO - TRUCE PUSS

When Puss came to our house to stay
She looked for friends with whom to play:
But next - door's cat was not amused...
Our garden heretofore she'd used
As if were her own domain,
And so to friendship would not deign.

Poor Puss, whene'er she ventured out
Was very quickly put to rout:
In through the open door she'd rush
Fur straight and stiff, tail like a brush!
Her green eyes dark and full of dread
She'd refuge seek beneath the bed.

But soon her pique began to show...
To seek fresh fields that cat must go!
So she, each day, a vigil kept
And after next - door's cat she crept
Till, inch by inch, it edged away
Crestfallen ... pride in disarray.

She's now the boss, that much she's shown
But Puss must play her games alone;
The next-door cat peeps through the hedge
While Puss sits on the window ledge;
And so---unless they make amends ---
It seems they never will be friends.

Mary M. Milne

Love
When I say I love you then,
Would you care to hear again
Your face reveals nought to me,
I feel I need to find some key.

Im okay within myself,
Would you care to trouble your self,
Ever thought to lower your pride,
Put personal feelings to one side.

Ever thought to be a girl ,
With mind and body in a whirl,
To walk and talk then jest with me,
We'll sit beside some country tree.

Holding hands and being nice,
Let our lips touch once or twice,
I'll just admire your lovely face,
As bodies touch in warm embrace.

Lets sit beside that country pond,
Where you walk and seem so fond,
Where water boatmen skip and play,
Protected from the heat of day.

By weeping willows and fronded trees,
Swaying gently in evenings breeze,
Watch ripples form and circle out,
And baby ducks go walk about.

See speckled sunlight filter down,
On shimmering water that makes us frown,
And rustling reeds that gently sway,
Could it be where fairies play?.

Tomorrow then do you agree?
I'll meet you by the village tree,
We'll walk and talk and kiss again,
When I say, I love you then.
jobee

Wow jobee :cool: you must be the last of the romantic's :love:

Wow jobee :cool: you must be the last of the romantic's :love:

I shall remain a romantic forever.:love::love::love:

When the First World War broke out Hitler said.
"Overpowered by stormy enthusiasm- I fell down
on my knees and thanked heaven for granting me
the good fortune of being permitted to live at this time".

Cpl. Adolph 'Adi' Hitler. 1889 -1945.

Hitler was rescued from his drifting life,
By rumblings of war and oncoming strife,
Germany not Austria his leanings were bent,
His spirits lifted by this awesome event.

The assassination of Archduke Ferdinand,
By a man named Princip from Serbian land,
Austro-Hungary attacked the Serbs.
Then Russia and France called on reserves.

Belgian nuetrality the Germans ignored,
The British lion -awakened then roared,
Hitler signing for Bavarian command,
Overcome with enthusiasm for his adopted land.

For Hitler the army a base and a home,
Stopping his restless urge to roam,
With the 'List' regiment he first saw war,
At Ypres in Belgium he started his tour.

Decorated early, in this vicious war,
The Iron Cross 2nd class he very soon wore.
Competent, courageous, alert and keen,
A credit to any fighting machine.

Between actions quietly reserved,
Drawing and philosophy studiously observed,
No presents or cards at Christmas time,
His pet dog 'Foxl' suited him fine.

Surviving Ypres and making his name,
The battle at Somme his next little game,
A wound in the leg caused him to fall,
Convalescing, his nature, not suited at all.

Back in action for the last great push,
Heading for Paris in a desperate rush,
Nearly, the name of this little game,
A desperate attempt before Americans came.

A First Class Iron Cross Hitlers reward,
A Jewish officer gave the award,
At the second Ypres in a gas attack,
Partly blinded - he would be back.

Jobee a coy 3 para
The Iron Cross First Class normally only given to
Commissioned officers.

http://nobeliefs.com/mementoes.htm

http://nobeliefs.com/mementoes.htm

Love
When I say I love you then,
Would you care to hear again
Your face reveals nought to me,
I feel I need to find some key.

Im okay within myself,
Would you care to trouble your self,
Ever thought to lower your pride,
Put personal feelings to one side.

Ever thought to be a girl ,
With mind and body in a whirl,
To walk and talk then jest with me,
We'll sit beside some country tree.

Holding hands and being nice,
Let our lips touch once or twice,
I'll just admire your lovely face,
As bodies touch in warm embrace.

Lets sit beside that country pond,
Where you walk and seem so fond,
Where water boatmen skip and play,
Protected from the heat of day.

By weeping willows and fronded trees,
Swaying gently in evenings breeze,
Watch ripples form and circle out,
And baby ducks go walk about.

See speckled sunlight filter down,
On shimmering water that makes us frown,
And rustling reeds that gently sway,
Could it be where fairies play?.

Tomorrow then do you agree?
I'll meet you by the village tree,
We'll walk and talk and kiss again,
When I say, I love you then.
jobee

Love this poem,very romantic.:)

.



Jobee a coy 3 para
The Iron Cross First Class normally only given to
Commissioned officers.

So you fought in the 2nd World War Jobee? and got an award, I don't remember the war, I was born in 1943. :)

It's a recession when your neighbour loses his job

it's a depression when you lose yours.

.



Jobee a coy 3 para
The Iron Cross First Class normally only given to
Commissioned officers.

So you fought in the 2nd World War Jobee? and got an award, I don't remember the war, I was born in 1943. :)

No I am to young for that, i served in the parachute regiment tho'
and got the 'general service medal' here is a brief account.



In 1956 British parachute troops
and French Foreign legion Paratroops
attacked Port Said in Egypt.
I took part in that attack.


Suez. the reasons why.

Nasser up to his age old tricks,
closing the Straits of Tiran for kicks,
pouring verbal abuse at Jews,
trying to make the headline news.

Removing the British with great success,
the British rejoicing and saying God bless,
into their planes and boats and ships,
heading for blighty to fish and chips.

But Col Nasser had not finished yet,
Disraeli’s investment he had to get,
£4,000,000 we vested in this canal,
taxpayers money in this foreign channel.

I will close this canal company down
said Col Nasser without a frown
some honest Egyptian’s had their doubt
this is thieving they were heard to shout.

But close it down the mighty man did,
its all mine, there’s no need to bid,
not long after in a morning sky,
roaring engines were heard on high.

At a place called El Gamil ,
Egyptians asserted Nasser’s will,
the sound of shells and cordite smell,
men descending to a thunderous hell.

Ack ack and flack was poured at these troops,
but none of it mattered to these sturdy groups,
B companies men dropped over enemies heads,
alerting them to realities dreads.

Acrid smoke and cordite smell,
self propelled guns releasing shell,
streams of tracer searing a path,
fallen heroes in a bloody bath.

All because Nasser could not wait.
till that day in ‘68,
this worldly waterway would be his,
not one parent their son would miss.

To ALL those that fell at the battle of El Gamil.

[Jobee 3 Parachute Group. [primary source]



That first day.

Bonfire night 1956

Eleven years after world war two,
airborne troops were ask anew,
parachuting down on Egyption sand,
Major Walsh plays his hand.

With Pte.Eccles marking the spot,
control falls to the Majors plot,
two platoon with Coates in command,
attack a pillbox as was planned.

Clements fires a bazooka shot,
Egyption soldiers lose the plot,
hands up and out they show their face,
Binnsy marches them back to base,

Major Stevens and B coy’s men,
fall amidst a snipers den,
badly wounded in the hand,
the Major stays and keeps command.

Then they attack the sewage farm,
Cpl.Woods fall, causes alarm,
with Maj.Stevens wounded again,
Captain Beale takes the rein..

C coy.attack the cemetary then,
Major Norman and his men,
call and get air support,
to halt the danger snipers thwart,

Pte Beech with bren in hand,
dispatches a soldier in the sand,
the Egyption's bazooka failed to fire,
soldiers remember to attach that wire.

To Hms. Albion, we send good cheer.
for sending us those crates of beer,
Hms.Bulwark played their part,
to quench our thirst then depart..

Waiting for commando men,
C coy. took the cemetary then,
advanced still further to the flats,
henceforth stopping sniper attacks.

B.coy. then moved into the flats,
C.coy.then the barracks attacked,
the barracks fell with great success,
C.coy. occupied the officers mess.

A military success draws to a close,
but lets not forget those we opposed,
men on both sides were very brave,
in Britains small wars heroes are made.

Jobee.A coy.3 para.group [primary source]

My Commanding officer-Lt Colonel P.Crook[deceased]

My company commander Major 'mike' Walsh.

Later, Lt.General Mike Walsh.


Gamil Abdul Nasser
President of Egypt.
1918- 1970 .......

The postman’s wife gave birth to child,
Beni Morr village didn’t go wild,
another boy of peasant stock,
a scruffy urchin running amok.

no one saw no one cared,
with whom young Gamils thoughts were shared,
an active mind he noticed things,
golden bangles, golden rings.

from boy to youth with incumbent desire,
the military academy he did aspire,
with alacrity of mind the youth was blessed,
the officer class he quickly addressed.

as Major Nasser he first saw war,
when UN proposals they did ignore,
partition was offered the Arabs refused,
Israel from then belonged to the Jews.

Egyptians, Syrians, Jordanians attacked,
all three armies Jews quickly sacked,
a complete calamity was the 48 war,
the Jews gained more land than catered for.

after this shocking military defeat,
Nasser advocated officers meet,
radical change was planned in the land,
a coup d'etat with Nequib in command.

two kings they removed to clear the way,
then declared a republic would hold sway,
the removal of Nequib they had to arrange,
he was not in favour of radical change.

and so at last ‘Al Rayess’ emerged,
with agrarian reform he quickly surged,
more equality he certainly achieved,
removing the British to which we agreed.

alas his great weakness was Israel,
Fedayeen attacks would never prevail,
in ‘56 his skin was saved ,
for U.S. intervention he must have prayed.

in 67 he had to resign,
his military prowess was proved benign.
the West Bank, Gaza, Golan Heights and all,
his air force reduced to a fireball.

but luck indeed favours the brave,
the Arab people his skin would save,
rallying round when needed most,
breathing life into a military ghost.

in 1970 El Rayess would die,
the whole Arab world was seen to cry,
the postman’s son had died so young ,
in his short life liberation had sprung,

mistakes he made he would concede,
but beloved Egypt he had freed,
all in all we'd have to say.
young Jamal had won the day.

jobee. Acoy 3 para group.[Al Rayess/ Jamal]
other names for him.

Fedayeen- Egyptian Commandos


I can't remember Nasser winning any war he went into.
His country was flat broke when he died.
But the press seem to like him.



Guy Mollet

Guy Mollet became prime minister of a French coalition government in January 1956.
Later that year president Gamal Abdul Nasser of Egypt announced he intended to nationalize the Suez Canal.The shareholders, mainly British and French, ask for compensation. Nasser replied “let them choke on their tears”. The French and British
attacked, the canal was unblocked and compensation was duly paid up by 1963.

Guy Mollet. French Prime Minister 1956- May 1957.

1905-1975.

Born in Flers of ordinary stock,
A textile factory his fathers lot.
But Guy was different in many ways,
Showing talent from early days.

A teacher’s job at Arras school,
Education his working tool.
When Hitler came he stood his ground,
Giving the Gestapo the run around.

French resistance his chosen task,
Many questions the Germans asked.
Three times captured then freed again,
Skilfully avoiding the Auchwitz train.

After the war the political game,
National Socialism his ultimate aim.
Leon Blum he worked for first,
Right wing politics they reversed.

In ’56 he reached his peak,
Thus for France, he could speak.
French PM he became,
Soon embroiled in Nasser’s game.

With Anthony Eden at his side
Twould soon be known far and wide,
The Suez Canal was open again,
Another successful military campaign.

Compensation duly paid,
After this highly skilfull raid.
Well done Anthony, well done Guy
Well done soldiers from the sky.
Jb

Leon Blum=First French[Jewish] PM


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Jobee a coy 3 para
The Iron Cross First Class normally only given to
Commissioned officers.

So you fought in the 2nd World War Jobee? and got an award, I don't remember the war, I was born in 1943. :)

No, HITLER who was only a corporal got the iron cross first class.

No, HITLER who was only a corporal got the iron cross first class.

Sorry jobee :blush: As you can see history wasn't my forte. Solomon will be thrilled to bits when he sees your contribution, not only does the poetry remind you of something in life, but you actually wrote it and lived it. I hope jobee that you have a book of your work. Well done, this history written in poetry is truly excellent work :thumbsup:

A Wish

Today at the park, I watched a boy
Pecking away at a computer toy
When near his face, a Faerie went by
And I smiled as I saw it catch his eye
"Mommy! I caught a wish!" he cried
And then I heard his mother sigh:
"That's not a wish. It's just a seed,
drifted from some noxious weed,
to plant itself, and then to breed.
Now isn't that just what we need?"
And I whispered, heartbroken, "indeed."

- Tresa Crane


Written about 10 years ago, while I was playing with my son at a park and watched a mother scold her child. At the time, it got me thinking about how we lose "magic" as we grow older, how it changes us, and how sad it is to rob a child of those moments that will be gone soon enough as is.

The Oak

Don’t stare at me in winter time,
I’m just an oak tree not a pine,
Pines stay neatly dressed all year,
Come winters chill they have no fear.

From chilly winds and freezing snow,
That rack my bough from top to toe,
Pouring rain and biting sleet,
Unguarded trunk and branches meet.

Pines don’t have this awful stress,
Casting off a summer dress,
They don’t wear my worried frown,
As dancing leaves flutter down.

Changing partners on the way,
Acknowledging their final day,
Hello, goodbye, its time to quit,
No good sighing this is it.

Dance, be merry, twirl around,
Twist and flutter to the ground,
Make a carpet o so rich.
Block the farmer’s drainage ditch.

The pine looks on with nonchalant air,
Smartly dressed with not a care,
My silhouette is stark and bare,
To natures gaze and freezing air.

O how I wish I was a pine,
To hold these dying leaves of mine,
Don’t stare at me in winter time,
Come back in May and I'll be fine
jb©©

Thanks for letting me into your world of observation turned into poetry,you truly appreciate this earth you live on. Most of us take things around us for granted I'm afraid, what a beautiful poem :thumbsup:

Mary M. Milne

a relative of A. A. Milne jot? :)

FURRY BEAR

If I were a bear,
And a big bear too,
I shouldn't much care
If it froze or snew;
I shouldn't much mind
If it snowed or friz--
I'd be all fur-lined
With a coat like his!

For i'd have fur boots and a brown fur wrap,
And brown fur knickers and a big fur cap.
I'd have a fur muffle-ruff to cover my jaws.
And brown fur mittens on my big brown paws.
With a big brown furry-down up to my head,
I'd sleep all the winter in a big fur bed.

A. A. Milne

:hihi:

War over Braunstone

Walking round or sitting down,
I often get my mind around,
Things that happened long ago,
Up to my waist in drifting snow.

Or when I wondered how and why,
Birds took wing and learned to fly,
When women often talked of war,
And boyfriends they would see no more.

Airplanes that filled the sky,
Where they going? for what and why?
Vapour trails all day long,
Today you know there's something on.

And then at night what a show,
Amazing searchlights all aglow,
They pierce the sky off, then on,
Till droning planes they shine upon.

Little silver specks on high,
Like luminescent fire fly,
Huddled together in groups of four,
Embroiled into the winds of war.

I hope that there's some more to come,
O boy! am I just having fun,
Id love to see a plane on fire,
Crash into that old church spire.

And parachutes come floating down,
And me the hero of the town,
Arrest them all and take them to,
That old home guard arresting crew.

Alas, the all clear can be heard,
Then at once my thoughts transferred,
Tomorrows school what a shame!
Not those silly sums again.

I much prefer Bluebell Wood,
Pretending I am Robin Hood,
Or Fir Tree Forest that secret place,
Where startled pheasants scurry apace.

I'm tiring now must close my eyes,
Lets hope tomorrow brings surprise,
With some good luck the schools ablaze.
And I'll indulge in halcyon days.

Jb a coy 3 para©

Moonlight Sonata

In November 14 1940 500 planes of the the German Luftwaffe bombed Coventry city center.Their code name for this operation was Moonlight Sonata. Edna Viner was an off duty probationary nurse.

A lovely starry moonlit night,
With extra incandescent light,
Parachutes with chandelier flares,
Edna Viner sits and stares.

Alighting from a city bus,
Bemused and blinking, what’s the fuss?
Air raid sirens howled and moaned,
“I bet it’s Birmingham" she groaned.

“Not here I hope, it’s my night out,
My one and only drinking bout”
Then calling in to see her friend,
Her leisure time, soon to end.

At once the symphony began,
Coventry reacts to Hitler’s plan,
Incendiary bombs clatter down,
Like Christmas lights all around.

Buckets of sand douse the flames,
Ladies help in human chains,
Searchlights probed the sky around,
Fire engine's bells resound.

The sharp bark of Bofor guns,
The glistening sweat of Coventry’s sons,
High explosive bombs thud down,
To shake the heart of this boom town.

Fire watchers on roof tops high,
Silhouetted against the sky,
Buildings seem to leave the ground,
Bricks and mortar spewed around.

The old Cathedral gets it next,
As if deserved of no respect,
High explosive bombs come first,
Then when the lofty steeple bursts.

Showers of incendiaries fall all round,
Blackening the very ground,
Just one great wall of searing fire,
For those inside a funeral pyre.

Cov and Warwick's hospital now.
All the staff survived somehow,
They worked all night and did their best.
Still 520 were laid to rest.


Copyright © John Bishop 2004 - All rights reserved

a relative of A. A. Milne jot? :)

I've no idea Sol :huh: we must google it :D it appears they both like furry things.
Jobee I'll read yours later, (I have a headache) I do hope all these poems of yours are in a book.:)

Haiku

To convey ones mood in seventeen syllables
Is very diffic

John Cooper Clarke

The Sky Lark

We hardly see this twittering bird,
Mystery abounds only sounds are heard,
Pylons stretching for miles around,
Golden cornfields its terrain abound.

Moths and butterflies all in view,
After sucking the morning dew,
See the sparrow hawk fluttering high,
A scurrying rabbit catches its eye.

It drops like stone out of the blue,
A shimmering sun blurs its hue,
A startled rabbit sniffs the air,
Danger threatens must beware.

Its warren beckons yards apace,
Hope indeed in this deadly chase,
In it goes quick as a flash,
The screeching hawk lands with a crash.

High above the lark still sings,
What joyous melody this chatterbox brings,
All day long it entertains,
Only dusk can still this refrain.

Mystery surrounds this melodious bird,
Visual contact almost unheard,
Come days end it leaves the sky,
Still unsighted from human eye.

Copyright © - John Bishop - All rights reserved

Ronald ‘Dutch’ Reagan

1911-2004

Lifeguard.
Sports Announcer.
Actor.
Businessman.
Soldier.
Governor.
President.

Tampico Illinois, a small rural town,
Quiet, simple, of little renown,
The verities of work were driven home,
Breaking the law was almost unknown.

The Reagan’s, Jack and Nella, lived there,
Catholic by faith, their living was bare,
In 1911 they gave birth to a boy,
Nella was happy overcome with joy.

A second son now, they possessed,
Jack made sure his bottom was blessed,
He liked a swig or two did Jack.
Occasionally falling flat on his back.

In 1914 to Chicago they moved.
But Jack was restless and soon removed.
Dixon Illinois was the next family stop,
Where Jack opened, The Family Boot Shop.

Their second son Ronald began to aspire,
Some acting skills he began to acquire,
With photographic memory Ronald was blessed,
To various interests his mind was addressed.

As a lifeguard at Black Rock he began,
Seven long summers, this career did span,
77 lives he claimed to have saved,
For many a soul the waters he braved.

At Eureka College he found what he was,
Not a great athlete or intellectual swot,
A good communicator was more his form,
This unique talent with which he was born.

Reporting sport is a media event,
So into radio he eventually went,
Making this a great success,
Next to movies he would progress.

With radio and movies he tasted success,
Politics next he was to address,
Getting the vote as California’s boss,
Pat Brown his opponent conceded the loss.

In 1970 he did it again,
California’s governor he would remain,
In 76 he went for the top,
Gerald Ford, caused, his ambitions to flop.

1980 would be his big year,
Elected as President he moved into gear,
Upping the arms race and spending like mad,
The Soviet Union started to sag.

Crushing Russia without firing a shot,
Gorbachev’s hand he very soon got,
Admittedly leaving his country in dept,
But the cold war was over that you could bet.

In 89 his reign came to its end,
A suspected illness began to offend,
Alzheimer’s declared in 94,
Ronald Dutch Regan was closing the door.

Ronald Regan made 55 movies,
The first, Love is on the Air.
The last, The killers.©

The poem about Ronald Reagan I read to hubby, he was a great fan of Ronald Reagan, and thought he was a great president. You certainly educate us with your work jobee :)

The poem about Ronald Reagan I read to hubby, he was a great fan of Ronald Reagan, and thought he was a great president. You certainly educate us with your work jobee :)


Yes I liked him, he'd have a go at anything.

Della Rose Cottage

Della Rose Cottage is being reborn,
The dreams of centuries stripped and torn,
In pristine condition it should remain,
But slightly twisted and out of frame.

What memories it aspires to evoke,
Since first its chimney extruded smoke,
Thousands of birds have made their nests,
Families born then laid to rest.

The fields around are just the same,
As when Napoleon came to fame,
200 years of laughter and tears,
Children playing with giggles and jeers.

When first its humble footings were laid,
Nelson was putting the Danes in the shade,
At Copenhagen he made his name,
Assuring himself of lasting fame.

Della Rose Cottage has a new mistress now,
A humble lady with skill and know-how,
Her name is Paula she is so bright.
A beautiful lady with skill and foresight.

Wappenham village is in for a treat,.
When at last they gather and meet,
To see the cottage they've known for years,
Afresh with life and full of good cheers.

John bishop. 1©©©8 /9/03.

These poems are too good to just read on SF, and should be printed out shouldnt they ?

Col. James Stewart-pilot-actor.

1908-1997
dfc.-croix de guerre
air medal with oak leaves.
brig. general. retired

indiana the place of his birth
extremely modest- down to earth
tall gangling- smooth and cool
speech affected by a halting drawl.

a degree in architecture- he gained with ease
but the great depression started to squeeze
so off to hollywood and not to sure
if his amateur talent would mature.

but acting he mastered with the greatest of ease
the camera and audience were easy to please
his honest character came shining through
in one year just- he was head of the queue.

the rumblings of war were heard afar
and stirred the conscience of this superstar
he volunteered - quick as a flash
the recruiting office he made a dash

at the army air corps training base
flying talents were honed apace
an agile mind and quick to learn
a commission and wings he was to earn.

training pilots- he took for a while
but training really- was not his style
In 43 to England he went
to tibenham in norfolk his talents were sent

with the rank of captain and his own command
they commenced to bomb adolph hitlers land
success and promotion came his way
by clever decisions in the heat of fray.

with the rank of colonel and chief of staff
the town of brunswick he commenced to trash
another success with him in command
a nail in the coffin for hitler’s band

shortly after he left the war
he'd done his best to settle the score
modest to the end about his success.
his achievements in war he did not address.

james stewart made 78 films.
the first .’murder man’
the last ‘the magic of lassie’.
he won an oscar for ‘the philadelphia story’


jobee el gamil suez group club. 03©©

"Scag" by me 2004

When the flame hits the foil
and it all starts to boil
you go chasing them dragons away
and that sickening smell
that comes straight from hell
lingers on every word you say

relax now..
the dragons have gone
you've chased them all away
but you know for sure
it wont last long
they'll be back by the end of the day.

:sad:

[QUOTE=pattricia;5710026]These poems are too good to just read on SF, and should be printed out shouldnt they ?

/QUOTE]I have been published, just the odd poem.

May be i should write a book of poetry.

YOU

I thought of you again today,
Did you host some small soiree?
I feel you are amongst your friends,
Unless off course my mind transcends.

Occasionally I get like this,
The precincts of my mind dismiss,
Any thoughts that you are down,
And tears beget that puzzled frown.

I think of all the lovely things,
Meeting you and warm feelings,
Northampton town on our first date,
How cool you looked, so sedate.

The library another day,
How simple was that T.M.A.
When you ask me to assist,
A gesture I could not resist.

That classy two piece suit you wore,
Not anybodies paramour!
Lovely tussled flaxen hair,
Aloof, remote, and debonair.

My eyes beheld a wondrous sight,’
To me you felt exactly right,
This ambience of country life,
Rustical and free of strife.

O well I’ve got my mind back now,
I don’t think you will mind somehow,
My sincerity when I say,
I thought of you again today.

jobee

there was an old man with a drawer
who decided to open the drawer
so he opened the drawer
and inside the drawer
there was an old man with a drawer

"Scag" by me 2004

When the flame hits the foil
and it all starts to boil
you go chasing them dragons away
and that sickening smell
that comes straight from hell
lingers on every word you say

relax now..
the dragons have gone
you've chased them all away
but you know for sure
it wont last long
they'll be back by the end of the day.

:sad:

I vowed that I would never chase one more little bit
But first I badly needed just one more final hit
‘That will be my last’ I promised my dear mother
But then I had another and another and another
This all took place some time ago and still I have not ceased
It’s too late by the time you've learnt the nature of the beast

Meditation

Naked I sat in the high Himalayas
Watching the sunset unfold
A voice from the Gods cut into my prayers
It said ‘Hey you, don’t you feel cold?

A Funny Place

i am in a funny place today
a funny place indeed
its not a bad place, its fair to say
nor is it all care-free

its sort of a place between here and there
a place thats all asunder
a place that makes me stop and stare
a place thats full of wonder

i have been here many times before
in lots of different states
when things go wrong...or round and round
and i feel theres a lot on my plate

but its not a bad place, when alls said and done
i guess i just have to get used to it
peace is not just always under the sun
its a decision and its mine if i make it

Solomon
(written in the last 10 mins :hihi:)

My name is Fred and I’m a big and fat brown sewer rat
I’m what the good Lord made me, you can be sure of that
Everybody hates me, though I’m sure I don’t know why
If people got to know me I’m a laid back kind of guy

Now there’s this guy I know of, Cyril is his name
He is a rodent too, but it’s somehow not the same
Maybe it s because of the nice bushy tail of Cyril
Or maybe it’ ‘cos Cagney never said ‘You dirty squirrel!’

Someone earlier post a John Hegley poem. As a fan, i thought I'd share a couple more:





Pop and me

My dad had come along to watch me
the day I came last in the cub scout sack race;
the day my glasses fell off on to the running track
and somebody behind me
deliberately hopped on top of them
and damaged them really badly.
I was that
struggling runt at the back
laughed at by everyone,
everyone, except my dad.
And not because he had
a beating in mind
but because he felt for me.
And when he came to find me
and I was melting with tears
he said 'You're the one
they'll remember in the years to come, son,
you were very funny.'
And he took me to the shop
and ordered me some pop
and we halved the humiliation
when he didn't have the money.




An Owner's Complaint

I've got a dog that's more
like a carrot than a dog.
It's hairy,
but only very slightly.
It's got no personality
to speak of,
no bark to bark of,
no head
no legs
no tail
and it's all
orange
and
crunchy.

BRIEF ENCOUNTER


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
An uneasy glance across the room, a second glance none to soon
she’s looking at me that’s for sure, she’s very smart with much allure
the guys she's with seems to care, his arm around a waist that's bare
she turns him with his back to me, her eyes just say she can be free

An uneasy wriggle in my seat, where and when can we meet?
who is she then and what her name? I sure enjoy this flirting game
I reach the bar and get a drink, then ask the barmen who's that in pink?
he shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, I haven’t a clue who she can be

I’m heading back to my seat, her lovely perfume my nostrils meet
I think he's twigged it I saw him glance, our sly glances spoiling the chance
he then heads her to the door, she gives that look what’s this for?
my stomach sinks we've lost our chance, a brief encounter has no romance.

johnB

Saddam Hussein

Saddam Hussien.1937

Always a rebel was Saddam Hussein,
Determined to run this Iraqi domain,
Born in 37’ in the town of Tikrit,
Primary school he was to aquit.

For secondary school he went to Baghdad,
It wouldn’t be long for this ‘jack the lad’
Joining the Baath in 56,
Qassims regime he couldn’t yet fix.

One day in 59, he began to evolve,
His countries problems he tried to resolve,
Armed to the teeth and making no noise,
He opened up on Qassim and the boys.

The Primo was hit more than one time,
His bodyguard had, Saddam in line.
Young Saddam took a shot in the leg,
How he escaped the regime never said.

Saddam, reappeared on Syrian soil,
Sentenced to death for this turmoil.
Moving to Egypt and back to school.
Improving education, and staying cool.

Between journeys into Iraq,
education,would never lag,
a very good mind and quick to learn,
a degree in law,he was to earn.

In 64 he was charged and arrested,
His beloved Baath party the regime detested,
When in prison he was studious and quiet,
Then in 67 he escaped in a riot.

The real coup was in 68 ,
They drove a tank at the palace gate,
The coup d’etat was a complete success,
His country now , Saddam could address,

Kurds for autonomy they ask him to give,
As an independent nation they wanted to live,
He granted freedom, the extremists refused,
The Peshmerga violence was never defused.

In 1980 he attacked Iran.
Eight years of slaughter he began,
In 88 it came to an end.
The Iranians steadfast ,refusing to bend.

In 91 he took the lot on,
This should have been his swansong,
Instead ,he was ,allowed to survive,
I bet his own people wish he had died..jb.03

Show your face

what use is heaven to modern man?
what use is after life?
dont lets meet and clash again,
we're nothing but trouble and strife.

Why should God care up there,
he showed no form down here,
to settle our own frustrations,
we run to guns and beer.

hey goddy boy try again,
you made a mess with us,
I packed in praying long ago,
'twas such a stupid fuss.

just show your face, make a bunce,
lets see a happening true,
dont be shy show your place,
give us all a clue.
JB
jobee

Field Marshall Bernard Montgomery.

London 1887-1976.Hampshire.

His father a Bishop with prayer in mind,
But Monty's thoughts were war inclined,
Different they were as chalk and cheese,
With driving ambition and ways to succeed.

St Paul’s in London- Monty's chosen school,
Impish and playful but nobodies fool,
Sandhurst academy he eventually went.
The Warwick’s Reg. he began his ascent

Off to India to assist the Raj,
His five years there he didn't enlarge,
1914 he returned to these shores,
Eagerly entering Europe's wars.

Badly wounded in a machine gun tirade.
A young medic came to his aide,
A snipers bullet hit the medics head,
Falling on Monty and instantly dead.

The young medic Monty claimed,
Saved his life as the sniper aimed,
Two years in hospital Monty spent,
Then returned to this ghastly event.

Surviving this war with great valour,
He then addressed the Second World War,
On Dunkirk beaches -on the retreat,
To blitzkrieg tactics he conceded defeat.

Learning from this traumatic event,
To African deserts he next was sent,
A man named Rommel was in command,
Ruling the roost in this desert land.

Methodically assembling all he could get,
Leaving nothing to chance with this little bet,
With set piece tactics and classical war,
He relieved Gen.Rommel of his African tour.

Now the world looked with the greatest of awe,
Not one more battle would he lose in this war,
Like Wellington before him- he had found,
His own ideas were most profound.

Alas on D Day he was not selected,
Although on all sides most respected,
The great American Eisenhower,
Was elected to lead this finest hour.

After the war he settled down.
Not to far from a Hampshire town,
He bought a mill on the river Wey,
In Binstead churchyard his body does lay.

JB. A Coy 3 para.55/57.

What an excellent thread this is.:)

I love this one by Philip Larkin:

This Be the Verse

They f**k you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were f**ked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.

My Dog, Spot

I have a white dog
Whose name is Spot,
And he's sometimes white.
But whether he's white
Or whether he's not,
There's a patch on his ear
That makes him spot.

He has a tongue
That is long and pink,
And lolls it out
When he wants to think,
He seems to think most
When the weather is hot.
He's a wise sort of dog,
Is my dog, Spot.

He likes a bone
And he likes a ball,
But he doesn't care
For a cat at all.
He waggles his tail
And he knows what's what,
So I'm glad that he's my dog,
My dog, Spot.

Remember this one by Rodney Bennett?

Palestine/ Israel

ZIG ZAG

In 1917 Balfour declared,
Tormented Palestine could be shared,
Both sides gave a promising nod,
Combine talents unease be shod.

A Palestine majority didn't stop war,
Retalitary acts they both stood for,
Husseini tried his Arab rise,
Fleeing to Hitler was his demise.

Peel and Woodhead tried their plot,
A Jewish minority was their lot,
A foot in the sand was their way,
Then Lord Moyne Lehi did slay.

The U.N. Issues It's report,
Equal division was It's resort,
The Jews gave a reluctant yes,
Break through here the world would bless.

But not so it seems in Arab eyes,
Reluctance could be their demise,
Opportunity indeed here was missed,
To attend the table submit their list.

Resolution 181 was the way,
Equal opportunity, equal play,
Jerusalem under protective care,
Till Arab and Jew learned to share.

The gun and bomb get publicity yes,
But not to clear this awful mess,
This type of war will come to an end,
With both sides learning to yield and bend.

Your war is spreading across the globe,
It needs restricting to your abode,
9/11 proved nothing at all,
American people still stand tall.

The table as usual will clear the air,
Twil end your torment and despair,
181 a way to success,
Now the table you must address.

JB -