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Poetry
Poetry
Any kind, but the below gave me a chuckle.
Quoted on the radio today (but maybe paraphrased, can't remember exact words):
Their bed begins to creak,
Their ardour has awoken,
That makes it twice this week,
Their TV must be broken.
Quoted on the radio today (but maybe paraphrased, can't remember exact words):
Their bed begins to creak,
Their ardour has awoken,
That makes it twice this week,
Their TV must be broken.
"Look forward; yesterday was a lesson, if you did not learn from it you wasted it."
Me, 2015
Me, 2015
Re: Poetry
To a fat lady seen from the train by Frances D Cornford 1886-1960
O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
Missing so much and so much?
O fat white woman whom nobody loves,
Why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
When the grass is soft as the breast of doves
And shivering sweet to the touch?
O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
Missing so much and so much?
Frances was a granddaughter of Charles Darwin - thus the D in her name. This poem, which may grow on you eventually, is a triolet - with 8 lines, only 2 rhymes, lines 1,4 and 7 repeats)
O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
Missing so much and so much?
O fat white woman whom nobody loves,
Why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
When the grass is soft as the breast of doves
And shivering sweet to the touch?
O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
Missing so much and so much?
Frances was a granddaughter of Charles Darwin - thus the D in her name. This poem, which may grow on you eventually, is a triolet - with 8 lines, only 2 rhymes, lines 1,4 and 7 repeats)
Re: Poetry
G.K.Chesterton (1874-1936) replied with this -
The fat white woman speaks
Why do you rush through the field in trains,
Guessing so much and so much?
Why do you flash through the flowery meads,
Fat-head poet that nobody reads;
And why do you know such a frightful lot
About people in gloves as such?
And how the devil can you be sure,
Guessing so much and so much,
How do you know but what someone who loves
Always to see me in nice white gloves
At the end of the field you are rushing by,
Is waiting for his Old Dutch?
The fat white woman speaks
Why do you rush through the field in trains,
Guessing so much and so much?
Why do you flash through the flowery meads,
Fat-head poet that nobody reads;
And why do you know such a frightful lot
About people in gloves as such?
And how the devil can you be sure,
Guessing so much and so much,
How do you know but what someone who loves
Always to see me in nice white gloves
At the end of the field you are rushing by,
Is waiting for his Old Dutch?
Re: Poetry
If I had no gloves by jaywhat b1937
If I had no gloves I would rather be dead
Rather than walk in the dark
Rather than staying at home in bed
If I had no gloves I would rather be dead
Better to stay at home in the shed
How I would like to walk in the park
But I have no gloves, might as well be dead
And live my whole life in the dark.
If I had no gloves I would rather be dead
Rather than walk in the dark
Rather than staying at home in bed
If I had no gloves I would rather be dead
Better to stay at home in the shed
How I would like to walk in the park
But I have no gloves, might as well be dead
And live my whole life in the dark.
Re: Poetry
They are in the top drawer of your Mum's bureau.
Re: Poetry
Poem by a 14-year-old to be read from beginning to end then from end to beginning. Worth it.
https://twitter.com/Renzo_Soprano/statu ... 30/photo/1
https://twitter.com/Renzo_Soprano/statu ... 30/photo/1
Re: Poetry
You know how forums can filter certain words to censor and how sometimes it misfires? Is this the best example ever? Copied from elsewhere:
The Glory of the Garden by Rudyard Kipling
Our England is a garden that is full of stately views,
Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,
With statues on the terraces and pea****s strutting by;
But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye.
The Glory of the Garden by Rudyard Kipling
Our England is a garden that is full of stately views,
Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,
With statues on the terraces and pea****s strutting by;
But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye.
Kathryn
Re: Poetry
Local U3A threw out a Limerick challenge this month, supplying two starter lines, thought I would have a go:
There was a young man from Stroud
Who of his long hair was so proud
'Til an unfortunate tangle
With an electrical mangle
Had him yelling long, blue and loud.
There was a young man from Stroud
Who to be faithful had solemnly vowed
But a blue eyed duty
Led him far from his duty
But his wife soon had him cowed.
A Cheltenham lady of note
Was fond of her Angora goat
‘Til the hairy billy
Did something most silly
That ruined her favourite coat.
A Cheltenham lady of note
Shakespeare did often quote
Then in a line from King Lear
Her voice went most queer
Because a fly flew into her throat.
There was a young man from Stroud
Who of his long hair was so proud
'Til an unfortunate tangle
With an electrical mangle
Had him yelling long, blue and loud.
There was a young man from Stroud
Who to be faithful had solemnly vowed
But a blue eyed duty
Led him far from his duty
But his wife soon had him cowed.
A Cheltenham lady of note
Was fond of her Angora goat
‘Til the hairy billy
Did something most silly
That ruined her favourite coat.
A Cheltenham lady of note
Shakespeare did often quote
Then in a line from King Lear
Her voice went most queer
Because a fly flew into her throat.
"Look forward; yesterday was a lesson, if you did not learn from it you wasted it."
Me, 2015
Me, 2015
Re: Poetry
There was a young lady from Stroud
Whose vagina made her so proud.
She would show it in bed
To each Tom, Dick or Fred,
Yet complained "I'd prefer a whole crowd"!
Whose vagina made her so proud.
She would show it in bed
To each Tom, Dick or Fred,
Yet complained "I'd prefer a whole crowd"!
Re: Poetry
There was a young man from Cam
Who thought he was quite the big ram.
But when women by the score
Said "You're such a Severn Bore"
He realised he was still just a lamb
Who thought he was quite the big ram.
But when women by the score
Said "You're such a Severn Bore"
He realised he was still just a lamb
Re: Poetry
There was a young man from Thornbury
Who decided to all his porn bury.
When he returned to the spot,
He found he'd lost the whole lot:
The plot had been planted with corrnberry
(corrnberry is a fast-growing crop in the Pokémon world - well, YOU try writing a limerick about Thornbury)
Who decided to all his porn bury.
When he returned to the spot,
He found he'd lost the whole lot:
The plot had been planted with corrnberry
(corrnberry is a fast-growing crop in the Pokémon world - well, YOU try writing a limerick about Thornbury)
Re: Poetry
Seem to have hit a spot with you on this subject, animist!
Not sure the Old Dears of the U3A, despite being fairly broad minded, will be able to handle some of those!
Not sure the Old Dears of the U3A, despite being fairly broad minded, will be able to handle some of those!
"Look forward; yesterday was a lesson, if you did not learn from it you wasted it."
Me, 2015
Me, 2015
Re: Poetry
At writing group the other day
given a picture of a skeleton in the sea
and told to imagine it was me.
Here is my effort:-
skeleton
clearly I‘m in the wrong place
clearly I must have died
there are only bones left
but how the hell I got here
stretched out comfortable on the sea bed
I’ll never know
before I popped my clogs
I left clear instructions
I was to be donated to medical research
to be unmourned and quite forgotten
someone dumped me here
I lived nowhere near the sea
a quick look and a feel
I have all the bones I started with
no proof I was experimented on
no proof I wasn’t
but someone at Leeds General Infirmary
responsible for body disposal
after it was finished with
had clearly tipped me out
probably on a trip to Grimsby
I would say I had never been to Grimsby
but something in my bones
is telling me I must have
no harm has been done
but it makes one feel a bit let down
they promised to give their volunteers
a decent funeral according to their beliefs
and their wishes with a good variety
of drinks and tasties for friend and family
I did answer the question
what did I want at the end
but I was only having a laugh
when I said I wanted to be
chucked off the cliffs at Bempton
- never ever mentioned Grimsby.
given a picture of a skeleton in the sea
and told to imagine it was me.
Here is my effort:-
skeleton
clearly I‘m in the wrong place
clearly I must have died
there are only bones left
but how the hell I got here
stretched out comfortable on the sea bed
I’ll never know
before I popped my clogs
I left clear instructions
I was to be donated to medical research
to be unmourned and quite forgotten
someone dumped me here
I lived nowhere near the sea
a quick look and a feel
I have all the bones I started with
no proof I was experimented on
no proof I wasn’t
but someone at Leeds General Infirmary
responsible for body disposal
after it was finished with
had clearly tipped me out
probably on a trip to Grimsby
I would say I had never been to Grimsby
but something in my bones
is telling me I must have
no harm has been done
but it makes one feel a bit let down
they promised to give their volunteers
a decent funeral according to their beliefs
and their wishes with a good variety
of drinks and tasties for friend and family
I did answer the question
what did I want at the end
but I was only having a laugh
when I said I wanted to be
chucked off the cliffs at Bempton
- never ever mentioned Grimsby.
-
- Posts: 3590
- Joined: July 14th, 2007, 8:38 am
Re: Poetry
Great poems! Here is my contribution:
~~ How I lost my temper! ~~
Once upon a life,
I was walking on time.
But something happened,
And I missed a chime.
So I lost my temper,
As it rolled down my past.
And since the past is past -
I can never lose it again,
From the time, I saw it last!
~~ How I lost my temper! ~~
Once upon a life,
I was walking on time.
But something happened,
And I missed a chime.
So I lost my temper,
As it rolled down my past.
And since the past is past -
I can never lose it again,
From the time, I saw it last!
Re: Poetry
Here is Matthew Sweeney's bones poem. I like it a lot.
Fishbones dreaming
Fishbones lay in the smelly bin.
He was a head, a backbone and a tail.
Soon the cats would be in for him.
He didn’t like to be this way.
He shut his eyes and dreamed back.
Back to when he was fat, and hot on a plate.
Beside green beans, with lemon juice
squeezed on him. And a man with a knife
and fork raised, about to eat him.
He didn’t like to be this way.
He shut his eyes and dreamed back.
Back to when he was frozen in the freezer.
With lamb cutlets and minced beef and prawns.
Three month he was in there.
He didn’t like to be this way.
He shut his eyes and dreamed back.
Back to when he was squirming in a net,
with thousands of other fish, on the deck
of a boat. And the rain falling
wasn’t wet enough to breathe in.
He didn’t like to be this way.
He shut his eyes and dreamed back.
Back to when he was darting through the sea,
past crabs and jellyfish, and others
like himself. Or surfacing to jump for flies
and feel the sun on his face.
He liked to be this way.
He dreamed hard to try and stay there.
Matthew Sweeney
Fishbones dreaming
Fishbones lay in the smelly bin.
He was a head, a backbone and a tail.
Soon the cats would be in for him.
He didn’t like to be this way.
He shut his eyes and dreamed back.
Back to when he was fat, and hot on a plate.
Beside green beans, with lemon juice
squeezed on him. And a man with a knife
and fork raised, about to eat him.
He didn’t like to be this way.
He shut his eyes and dreamed back.
Back to when he was frozen in the freezer.
With lamb cutlets and minced beef and prawns.
Three month he was in there.
He didn’t like to be this way.
He shut his eyes and dreamed back.
Back to when he was squirming in a net,
with thousands of other fish, on the deck
of a boat. And the rain falling
wasn’t wet enough to breathe in.
He didn’t like to be this way.
He shut his eyes and dreamed back.
Back to when he was darting through the sea,
past crabs and jellyfish, and others
like himself. Or surfacing to jump for flies
and feel the sun on his face.
He liked to be this way.
He dreamed hard to try and stay there.
Matthew Sweeney
Re: Poetry
love that poem, JW, and your own are great too. I am unable to rise beyond the intellectual, aesthetic and spiritual level of the limerick
Re: Poetry
It's true. Yesterday I did refuse the offer of a pocketful of leaves ..............
do you want a pocketful ?
the man was clearing up leaves
picking them up with two pattens
those large thin pieces of wood
used for picking up leaves
he needed a break so he spoke
as I was strolling past
do you want a pocketful
no thank you I replied
I’m trying to give them up
I could have added but didn’t
now sitting in the sunshine
disturbed by several large flies
and the clacketty clack of the train
crossing the viaduct to Penistone
the tower on Castle Hill on the sky line
the late autumn sun on my face
getting my supply of vitamin D for free
thinking of my afternoon cuppa tea
in about half an hour with ginger dunks
can’t think of anything better I want
certainly not a pocketful of leaves
or even a handful of dog shit
that might well be included
the third train has crossed below me
on the Marsden line taking people
on their journey either East or West
now several ladybirds are showing an interest
I stand and stretch - it is time to go
do you want a pocketful ?
the man was clearing up leaves
picking them up with two pattens
those large thin pieces of wood
used for picking up leaves
he needed a break so he spoke
as I was strolling past
do you want a pocketful
no thank you I replied
I’m trying to give them up
I could have added but didn’t
now sitting in the sunshine
disturbed by several large flies
and the clacketty clack of the train
crossing the viaduct to Penistone
the tower on Castle Hill on the sky line
the late autumn sun on my face
getting my supply of vitamin D for free
thinking of my afternoon cuppa tea
in about half an hour with ginger dunks
can’t think of anything better I want
certainly not a pocketful of leaves
or even a handful of dog shit
that might well be included
the third train has crossed below me
on the Marsden line taking people
on their journey either East or West
now several ladybirds are showing an interest
I stand and stretch - it is time to go
Re: Poetry
End of the pier, end of the bay
You tug my arm, and say : "Give in to lust,
Give up to lust, oh heaven knows we'll soon be dust ... "
I could have been wild and I could have been free
But nature played this trick on me
She wants it now, and she will not wait
But she's too rough, and I'm too delicate
You tug my arm, and say : "Give in to lust,
Give up to lust, oh heaven knows we'll soon be dust ... "
I could have been wild and I could have been free
But nature played this trick on me
She wants it now, and she will not wait
But she's too rough, and I'm too delicate