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Poetry corner: Read your poems

The One Show Team | 15:48 UK time, Friday, 12 September 2008

In September 2008 we asked for your original poems on the theme of 'my passion'. Literary types Gyles Brandreth and Roger McGough, have now selected their favourites - and the film has been shown on The One Show.

Click here to find out which poems Gyles and Roger chose to read out.


Our 'Poetry Corner' has now closed, but you can still read the submissions, below.

Thank you.

 

Here are Gyles' "beginners' top tips" for writing poetry:

Poetry packs a punch.  It gets to the heart of the matter.  A poem is like the postscript to a letter: it's the place where you find what the writer really wanted to say.  Before you begin to write your poem, decide on the essence of your message.  What exactly do you want to say?

Organise your thoughts.  When you've decided what you want your poem to do - tell a story, express an emotion, make the reader laugh or cry - work out a route map.  Where is your poem going?  What journey is it going to take?  Even the shortest poem needs a beginning, a middle and an end.

Easy does it.  Just because you are writing a poem, you don't need to go all "poetic".  Keep it simple.  Use language that's direct and honest and that you are comfortable with.  Avoid euphemism and euphuism and anything else you need to look up in the dictionary.

Truth is what counts.  Whether your poem is a love poem or a limerick, if it doesn't ring true it won't work.  If it's a love poem don't hide behind sentimentality and cliché: simply speak of your experience from the heart.  Good jokes work because they ring a bell.  The same goes for good poems.

Rhymes are fun.  Rules are good.  It's not essential to write a poem that rhymes - or scans - or obeys the traditional rules of poetry used by Shakespeare or Shelley or Rupert Brooke or John Betjeman - but it can help.  Read poems by great poets to discover how the discipline of writing to rule helped them make their poems memorable.

Your voice.  That's what we want to hear.   And if we do, your poem will be unique - because you are.
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Comments

  • 1. At 7:29pm on 15 Sep 2008, subastra wrote:

    Planet Rolf

    Rolf drove his Golf to the end of the earth
    And off into space he went,
    With a pint and a quarter of mineral water
    And seventeen bags of cement.

    Centuries later, an ant found a crater
    And in it, a meteorite
    Wrapped in a note that said, "I hate to gloat
    But from here, it looks like I was right."

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  • 2. At 7:30pm on 15 Sep 2008, borednotstupid wrote:

    Somewhere by a distant shore
    Sits a girl he could adore
    Looking seaward feeling blue
    Searching hard for something true

    And somewhere not so far away
    Stands a man with words to say
    To mend her heart to dry her tears
    To chase away those pointless fears

    So dont be lonely or feel blue
    For I will always shelter you
    From all the pain you have inside
    And give you love in which to hide


    Paul - Lowestoft

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  • 3. At 7:31pm on 15 Sep 2008, laura2207 wrote:

    GOODBYE


    I wanted a way to say goodbye
    To the past that i've lived
    The one where i would cry.
    I cry no longer
    As you have gone,
    I live my life
    Me,my daughter and son.
    The pain you caused
    For me and them,
    The fear inside us
    Of all other men.
    The day i nearly lost them
    I wanted to hurt you bad,
    You were not worth it
    I had to fight for what i had.
    I changed who i was
    And grew stronger by day,
    To a far better person
    Living life my way.
    You thought you would win
    With your power so tough,
    The night you raped me
    You were so rough.
    For the nights of abuse
    Not the pushing or hitting,
    For the words you said
    Your ways of belittling,
    To the days you had me locked up inside
    I had been beaten so bad
    To no-one i could confide.
    It's hard to believe
    I am so young,
    Three men have hurt me
    The misery they brung.
    For now i say
    My final farewell
    To that life i knew
    To which i nearly fell.
    You won the battles,
    I won the war
    you have the bitter memmories
    As you walk through every door.
    I kiss my angels
    As they go off in there lives,
    They are my world
    For them i strive.
    Goodbye to the past,
    I am over it all.
    I am proud of who i am,
    As i did not fall.

    By Laura Whiting
    17/02/08

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  • 4. At 7:32pm on 15 Sep 2008, laura2207 wrote:

    The Victim


    I am the victim
    The one who weeps,
    Pain of all sorts
    When will he go to sleep.
    My face is black
    Swollen and sore,
    He is smiling
    I can take no more.
    Does it end,
    Do i tell,
    My life is worthless
    This must be hell.
    Hell is the end,
    Though i am still young
    I can't let this be
    Or he would have won.
    I have to escape
    From this life i know,
    To a place far away
    Somewhere to grow.

    By Laura Whiting
    7/02/08

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  • 5. At 7:34pm on 15 Sep 2008, e90rp84 wrote:

    Deep inside my heart, a Shadow looms in wait, A Flower thrown in the dark, Is how my life relates. This Shadow haunts my thoughts, questioning loves true fate, All this Flower asks for is peace, Please dont doubt my 'soul mate'.

    Darkness falls all around, My heart begins to race, The Shadow creeps up on me, This Shadow has a face. The face of a clock that shows a coming of time, a place in the future when i am yours and you mine!

    Once again darkness falls and the Flower again must wait, for what has been witnessed was the coming of true fate! Though in the lightness of here and now she does find her perks, in the darkness of her heart is the place where her true love lurks!

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  • 6. At 7:34pm on 15 Sep 2008, rioutousgnome wrote:

    Tomorrow's Rain

    Tomorrow will be today tomorrow, and today is now, and now is yesterday
    tomorrow.

    The past is on our heels, never slowing,
    never stopping.

    If we could freeze one moment in time,
    there would be no past or future, just right here, right now.

    In that brief and solitary moment we are
    nothing.

    The past is easy to escape, we outwit
    yesterday by being here today.

    So beware my friends, for yesterday may have once been today, but tomorrows rain is yet to come.

    Gary Barrell

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  • 7. At 7:36pm on 15 Sep 2008, ClaireCasey wrote:

    Avalon Keeps Her Dead

    The heroes of old sleep,
    Never to return to the land
    That they once loved and defended.
    Great leaders have fled,
    And have gone beyond the veil,
    Leaving us blind and defenceless.

    The pens of once great scholars
    Remain silent and unmoving,
    Leaving an emptiness yet to be filled.
    The home I continue to love,
    And fear to lose,
    Slips beyond all recognition and hope.

    The past returns to haunt the present
    As memories of a once proud nation
    Remain where they will be slowly forgotten.
    Avalon keeps her dead;
    Our hope.

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  • 8. At 7:36pm on 15 Sep 2008, lennyhope wrote:

    This poem came to me in the bath
    Like something by Sylvia Plath
    If only finding the soap was so simple

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  • 9. At 7:37pm on 15 Sep 2008, Vektrix wrote:

    Wheeley Bin

    See that wheeley bin standing there?
    "I'm not a goal post!" it does declare,
    How dare you use me in your game,
    I like holding garbage, if it's all the same,
    I have icky rubbish and banana peel,
    The pong I contain will make you squeal
    And feel quite sick, so stop that now,
    I can't kick back, I don't know how,
    You'll break a window, or damage a car,
    Or you'll kick that ball way too far,
    There is a field not far away,
    You have the energy, go there to play,
    The bloke who lives here hates you boys
    Using streets like common toys,
    Go down the park with your 5-aside,
    Let steam off there with your football bride,
    See that wheeley bin standing there?
    "I'm not a goal post!" it still declares.

    Patrick Carter

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  • 10. At 7:37pm on 15 Sep 2008, Bill Raison wrote:

    Two Thousand Feet

    A jerk. A short and bumpy run. And then
    Silence, save the whistle of the slipstream.
    The tug, foreshortened to a graceless thing, which men
    Contrived as poor answer to their dream,
    Circles slowly, in altitude crescendo,
    Yaws gently ‘till I harmonise
    My freedom simulator. I know
    That, tight-strapped herein, I just surmise
    Noble freedom’s truth. But, foetus-like
    I trail on steel umbilical cord
    While envying still the hawk and shrike
    Who Heaven the flight-gift did afford.
    But were I for a day to be like
    They, would I? Would you? Would any man?
    All men are born with talent, skill,
    Ability and power. They can
    All do or be anything they will.

    Two-thousand feet! It’s up to me.
    Cable released; air-born. I’m free!

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  • 11. At 7:37pm on 15 Sep 2008, lennyhope wrote:

    Poems about work
    Oft’ use words like shirk,
    Jerk, irk and lurk.
    Next time I’ll create a sensation
    I’ll write a poem about an occupation.

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  • 12. At 7:37pm on 15 Sep 2008, dancingtobyhall wrote:

    captain cook sailed the endeavour, in all kinds of stormy weather.
    the sails were torn.
    the sea was rough.....
    and captain cook was in a huff !!!!

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  • 13. At 7:37pm on 15 Sep 2008, lee_fleeper wrote:

    The Vigil


    The Lady entered the knight’s domain
    For love, in search of rest.
    In need of comfort, at least one night she must remain.
    This knight loves his Lady:
    So much more and wholly than all the rest,
    This knight must awake
    To guard his dearest heart.
    His Lady, she lies so soft, so kissable
    Her serene sylph-like form ebbing and
    Flowing with each life-giving breath.
    The dark soft hairs on arms and legs
    Highlighted by moon invite the tenderest caress.
    But no, My Lady she needs to rest,
    And this knight is content and in love.

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  • 14. At 7:37pm on 15 Sep 2008, holydrone wrote:

    The old rubber monkeys,
    Of Ancient Gadong.
    They bounce around,
    Like they just don't belong.
    They bounce from the trees,
    They bounce from the floor.
    Then, bounce into the sky,
    And are heard of no more.

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  • 15. At 7:38pm on 15 Sep 2008, Asolja wrote:

    Grasshopper green is a comical chap,a comical chap is he.

    Bright little trousers,jacket and cap,these are his summer wear.

    Out in the meadows he loves to go,a playing away in the sun.

    Its hoppity skippity high and low,summers the time for fun.

    Asolja

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  • 16. At 7:38pm on 15 Sep 2008, charmingCJblogger wrote:

    The Future is the Fuschia
    By Cj

    The future is the fuschia
    For Chrysanthe-mums and dads
    Where Dandy Lions wear velvet pants
    And fox-gloves on their pads

    And I rode a Dendron bush to work
    And although it might surprise ya
    When I get home I make up songs
    On my Hyacynthesizer!

    The Internet Auction
    A poem by CJ

    This Internet auction is quite an addiction
    There are minutes to go and now time’s a restriction.
    I’ve just placed a bid on an item most curious
    If someone outbids me I’m gonna be furious
    The time goes quite slowly, the seconds are ticking
    And how many times have I refreshed by clicking?
    But the end is in sight, and champagne I’ll be swiggin’
    Damn! I’ve just been outbid by a welder from Wigan!

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  • 17. At 7:38pm on 15 Sep 2008, lee_fleeper wrote:

    Southwestern Spirit



    Saw you here some years ago
    Swimming in the sea.

    Slender girl, dark tousled hair. Natural. Beautiful.
    St Catherine’s Tor your understudy,
    Surely there must be more like you.

    See you now from time to time, still so gamine,
    Sustaining my dreams, you’re why I am here.

    Surf-drenched dreams. So many dreams.
    Sea-swept thought sintered by jagged cliff,
    Sultry notions of what shall never be.

    Struggling to survive on this awkward peninsula,
    Sometimes lonely, yet so thankful I am here.

    Stay with me Hartland, for I cannot let you go.

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  • 18. At 7:38pm on 15 Sep 2008, MickyMickMcMike wrote:

    Afraid to Fail?

    Don’t be afraid to fail
    Or think mistakes beyond the pale
    Or hide your face when things go wrong
    When all your prizes are the golden gong

    Don’t worry if you don’t make the grade
    Or beat your self up when success does evade
    Or hang your head in lowly shame
    Or crawl into a corner when it’s you they blame

    Don’t think it’s the end when you don’t succeed
    Or gracefully bow out when you’re no longer in the lead
    Or chuck what you’re doing when you can’t get it right
    Or turn your back and swiftly take flight

    Don’t be downhearted when friends criticise
    Or think your failure will lead to demise
    Or stop in your tracks when the going gets tough
    Or jump from the boat when the road gets rough

    When you fail
    Give it another go
    Stand on your feet
    And give it another blow

    Pick up your tools and start again
    Put your brain into gear and don’t be so vain
    It’s not that serious, nobodies going to die
    Get back to the front and have another try

    When friends point accusing finger at you
    Stare them in the face, they haven’t got a clue
    “Are you so perfect and always keep the pace?”
    We’re all failures sometime, welcome to the human race

    People aren’t born great,
    It’s something they become
    Through mistakes and failure
    They were taught to carry on

    So don’t be afraid to fail
    Or think you’re the wasted one
    What does not kill you
    Is the thing that will make you strong

    We all learn by our mistakes
    Get red faced when we ain’t got the touch
    You see I’ve made a catalogue of mistakes
    And that is why I………… know so much!

    Michael (September 2008)


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  • 19. At 7:39pm on 15 Sep 2008, lee_fleeper wrote:

    Seasons’ Corruption


    Wondering souls no longer in wander,
    Glazed minds, feeble thoughts,
    Weakened, watered idealism
    Crumbled at Time’s assaults;
    Once so new so fresh,
    Once great, now maimed……..dying.
    Turgid shop-floor manager feels omnipotent;
    So weak in fact.
    No more crying, ignoring, halt this dilution,
    We must rejuvenate, grow well,
    Naivety will be, must be;
    For, in such is our strength:
    The world depends upon our babies’ minds.

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  • 20. At 7:39pm on 15 Sep 2008, marblefishface wrote:

    Cheeky monkey

    A cheeky monkey would love to dance around,
    bounce bounce,bounce bounce, along the solid earth ground,
    he was such a happy monkey and would love to laugh,
    he would play with your hair and get tangled in his little wooly scarf,

    a cheeky i once knew.

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  • 21. At 7:40pm on 15 Sep 2008, TheGeraldine wrote:

    Feeling Antsy

    An anteater, whether it’s fat or it’s thin,
    pretty much does what it says on the tin:
    it eats ants for its dinner and ants for its lunch
    and ants for its supper and snacktime and brunch,
    and whether it’s Christmas, or Sunday or Easter
    a modest repast, a quick nibble or feast, a
    N’anteater has what an anteater wants -
    which is dozens and dozens and dozens of ants

    Except Eric.

    Eric said firmly: “what really bugs me,
    I had insects for breakfast and insects for tea.
    I’m not being fussy, I’m not being hasty -
    I want something to eat and I want something tasty.
    I’ve had red ants and black ants, I’ve eaten them boiled,
    I’ve eaten them fried and I’ve eaten them broiled.
    I won’t clear my plate. I don’t want more grubs-to-root.
    I don’t want them skewered,
    I DON’T WANT ANT SUBSTITUTE.

    I hate ’em.

    “I’ve had it with ants. I’ve had more than enough.
    I want to try cheeses and gateaux and stuff.
    I just want to gorge myself, eat without stopping
    on pates and pizzas - and choose my own topping.
    I don’t want ants skewered, I don’t want them whole,
    or chopped up in pieces, or served in a roll,
    I don’t them frittered or in an ant-ball,
    or satayed or seared - I don’t want them at all.

    NO MORE ANTS.

    Or cockroaches.

    Nothing with a thorax or more than two eyes.

    Chips would be great.

    Thank you.

    Moral: sometimes it pays to make a fuss

    Geraldine Durrant

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  • 22. At 7:40pm on 15 Sep 2008, MickyMickMcMike wrote:

    Love Lost

    Breathing lightly
    Just a breath
    Her alluring whisper
    Palm stretched across my chest

    Rise and fall of synchronous torsos
    I feel her heart murmur even more so
    Aroma of crushed grass,
    Meadow’s sweet summer breeze
    Moments cherished, yet why ill at ease.

    Taken my lover and now alone
    Summer’s sweet swallow torn from me, to another’s home.

    I turn away and look ahead
    Face of flint
    No more tears to shed

    Michael (August 2008)

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  • 23. At 7:40pm on 15 Sep 2008, MagicWatcher wrote:

    I hid safely undercover,
    But from the corner of my eye,
    I saw a woman screaming,
    I saw a helpless young man die.

    I saw soldiers bravely fighting,
    I saw old and yound men fall,
    As invading monsters advanced,
    And killed them all.

    And as these metal creatures,
    Waged a brutal war,
    I looked around me, shaking,
    And thought of running for the door.

    I saw the creatures coming,
    And as they turned on me,
    The music started playing,
    And the image seemed to freeze.

    I got up from behind the sofa,
    And a voice from the TV,
    Said; "Tune in next week to see what happens,
    To Doctor Who on BBC".

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  • 24. At 7:41pm on 15 Sep 2008, lee_fleeper wrote:

    The Boat


    Thousands of screws; all types, all sizes,
    The train to London is so full of screws.
    So many screws.

    Smiles; all sorts of smiles.
    Nervously exchanged, timorously break strangers’ faces,
    So many nerves, so much excitement.

    The talking spasmodic, conversation falters;
    The journey so full of pauses, all sorts of pauses.
    So many pauses.

    Into London; Millions of people,
    All sorts of people, all colours, all sizes,
    This place swarms with bustling humanity.
    So many lives, so much excitement.

    Hundreds of boats, all types, all classes,
    Earls Court is awash with boats.
    So many boats.

    Leaning on a balcony alone……………So together,
    Standing superior, looking down alone……So content,
    So together.
    I spy THE BOAT! She’s so beautiful; So much beauty,
    She lies there yearning for sailing
    On oceans deep and wide.
    So much water. So much adventure.
    I write this poem sitting upon her deck.
    So much romance.
    Then I ask “How much?”
    “HOW MUCH??”
    So much money! So much for dreams.
    So many dreams…………..

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  • 25. At 7:41pm on 15 Sep 2008, sundappled wrote:

    Arise, Fair Sun


    Shall I compare you to the sun so fair?
    Your beauty burning while eyes cannot grace
    The harsh splendour of your midday glare, stare
    Till calm twilight merges this haggard face
    That spends life shining yours from its facade
    With your slumbering vermillion, pale;
    Gold, silver meet weak in morning aubade,
    Radiance still unseen as part mid-trail.
    Round righteous Nature's centre start and close
    As the night follows day, I follow you,
    Pulsing rays beat bright and cold and so grows
    The urge to endlessly find and pursue.
    But the brief align clips the earth in awe
    Till our traced circles dry and quickgold pour.


    Louise Allen

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  • 26. At 7:41pm on 15 Sep 2008, lee_fleeper wrote:

    MOTHER-IN-LAW
    (Not to be taken seriously)


    I love this woman that lies so warm
    Beside me in our own so secret world,
    A private universe created in an instant
    With nothing more than a closing door
    And two hearts eagerly entwined.
    Silent though awake, regaining our composure
    I look at the lines on her face and neck
    And desire her more,
    A dozen greying hairs enticing me back again.


    We never wanted to part, but we knew,
    The tenderest kiss, gentle tears, aching goodbye.
    She turned before I closed the door
    And whispered huskily…………
    “Please, Please look after my girl
    And be the husband she deserves”.
    And she was gone.

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  • 27. At 7:42pm on 15 Sep 2008, Kanksha wrote:

    Mbolo's Revelation.


    Little Mbolo lives in a tree,
    Knowing the ways of the forest.
    With spear, with arrow, with knobkerrie
    He hunts for his food in the forest.

    One morning Mbolo arose with the sun
    And set out to hunt far and wide.
    He went with a gait and a lope and a run,
    Brushing the bushes aside.

    He stopped at the edge of a clearing and saw,
    Clear on the sunbaked ground,
    The most unusual, strangest, spoor
    That ever a hunter had found.

    "Great Spirit!" He said to himself, with a groan,
    "What wonderful creature is this?
    I will track it and find it and bring it back home.
    My mummy will give me a kiss."

    He followed the spoor as the sun rose high,
    Further than ever he'd roamed,
    Through tangles and thickets, 'til he drew nigh
    To the wondrous creature's home.

    He stood and listened and heard a weird noise,
    A chuckling sort of a boom,
    Then a voice which sounded incredibly wise
    Came thundering out of the gloom:

    "I know what you want, but you shan't get it,
    O little Mbolo so free,
    You want my hide, but you can forget it,
    You'd better go back to your tree."

    Mbolo was somewhat taken aback,
    The creature sounded so sure,
    But of courage and bravery he'd no lack,
    So he strode right in through the door.

    The sight that met his wondering eyes
    Made him sigh and laugh with amaze,
    As if forty million butterflies
    Were singing in his gaze.

    Oh! Glorious creature! How he glimmered,
    How he flickered and shone,
    How his seething colours shimmered,
    So bright to look upon.

    And then the creature began to sing,
    A sound like pouring honey,
    Like water bubbling up from a spring;
    It made Mbolo feel funny.

    He blinked his eyes and shook his head,
    But he seemed to be under a spell,
    He began to wonder if he was dead,
    But really he felt very well.

    In fact he felt such a surge of joy,
    He whooped and yelled with glee:
    "I'm the happiest, hoppiest, hippiest boy
    That ever the world did see."

    "So," said the creature, "Now you know,
    And we'd better leave it at that.
    But I'll say one thing before you go:
    I really am only a bat."

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  • 28. At 7:42pm on 15 Sep 2008, cxjames wrote:

    Western Sky

    It was evening last,
    When I saw heavens light,
    As indigo came to bathe the world.
    I cannot forgive myself,
    Some of the things I have done.
    Sometimes before dark though,
    I dare to hope.

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  • 29. At 7:42pm on 15 Sep 2008, nekrotica wrote:

    We lie here in an endless sleep,
    Just you and I beneath these sheets.
    I wonder, are our dreams entwined,
    The way they were the night we died?

    My body wanting yours, so cold,
    It turns my thought to passions old.
    This world had scored us both, you see,
    Rejecting our philosophy.

    A life forever out of reach,
    A word impossible to breach.
    Never again desiring life,
    But choosing in death the lesser strie.

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  • 30. At 7:42pm on 15 Sep 2008, lee_fleeper wrote:

    Sleep Sheep


    I’m one little sheep
    Who has lost his way
    Out of a mind where I never sleep;
    I’m chased and used, and tired all day.

    I’m one little sheep,
    Don’t know it myself,
    But only give him sleep
    And during the day forgotten on the shelf.
    I’m one little sheep all alone,
    It’s so hard jumping that gate
    I wouldn’t object to a clone;
    Hurry! Time for his sleep, mustn’t be late!

    I’m one little sheep, I need my sleep
    So badly I fear I’m dying;
    When he tries to sleep
    Tonight he will be crying.

    “Mummy! I can’t go to sleep”.
    “Darling, try counting sheep”.
    “But Mummy, I can’t, I can’t”.
    “Don’t be a baby now; not another peep…………….”

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  • 31. At 7:43pm on 15 Sep 2008, MickyMickMcMike wrote:

    Creatvity

    Hidden depths well up to surface
    Hidden shards that life obscures
    Hidden facets of a persons conscience
    Hidden pathways that are only yours

    Touched by beauty, eternity's Author
    Touched by pain a fallen soul
    Touched by love the clockmakers daughter
    Touched by hate the accusers rule

    Here my heart that love has moulded
    Here the hands that Jesus bought
    Here the eyes that have seen the eternal
    Here the soul the Creator taught

    See the work He inspired
    Touch the form His hands conceived
    Smell the sent of seasons forgotten
    Hear passion His Heart did weave

    Michael (September 2008)

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  • 32. At 7:43pm on 15 Sep 2008, lee_fleeper wrote:

    XJR





    THIS XJR IS NOT A CAR
    NOR BUS NOR PLANE OR TRIKE
    THIS XJR IS NOT A TRAIN
    SHE IS A GLEAMING SUPERBIKE

    SHE TAKES ME OVER MILES
    AND NEVER LETS ME DOWN
    HER DUNLOP TYRES WORKING HARD
    TO GET ME OUT OF TOWN

    DP BRAKES AND UNDERTRAY
    AN EXHAUST THAT IS A BLAST
    I KNOW HER SO INTIMATELY
    SHE LETS ME TAKE HER VERY FAST

    SHE GLIDES ALONG EACH SURFACE
    LIKE A SWAN UPON A LAKE
    AND THEN ROARS LIKE A LION
    WHEN SHE OVERTAKES

    HER RED BODY AND CHROME GLISTEN
    AS SHE THUNDERS PAST
    THIS XJR NUMBER 25
    WAS TRULY BUILT TO LAST.

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  • 33. At 7:44pm on 15 Sep 2008, lee_fleeper wrote:

    This comment was removed because the moderators found it broke the House Rules.

  • 34. At 7:45pm on 15 Sep 2008, HarbingerxOfxDeath wrote:

    Heaven, Hell or Purgatory

    On the mountain you stood
    So long a time ago
    With your arms held out and
    Your hair blowing in the wind.
    You want to leave this Earth
    To escape the suffering
    That you have had to endure
    In this mortal, insane life.
    The wind pounded around you
    Daring you, taunting you to jump
    Yet something held you back
    Tethered to the old tree stump.
    Lightning cackled menacingly and
    The tether broke in two
    And you gladly fell forward
    Into the unknown depths of the abyss.
    Free falling, you knew the end
    Would be coming, drawing nearer
    Heaven, Hell or Purgatory
    You wonder where the blackness will end.
    To find yourself only with Angels
    Yet you know in your heart you don’t belong
    You find yourself watching the world below
    Wishing you never found the courage, the skill to take
    That fatal jump.

    By Aimee Pope

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  • 35. At 7:45pm on 15 Sep 2008, xrachelx121 wrote:

    love in the air.

    love is in are hearts
    love is all around
    love is that feeling that keeps your feet on the ground
    love gives you wings so you can fly
    love is wish for you to try
    love is when god gives you wings
    love makes you do crazy things
    love can never go away
    love is a rule that is here to stay
    love is a feeling that you can't hide
    love is a feeling that you can't describe loves is somthing every one will share
    love is a feeling that you cant compare
    love is wish a for my dreams to come true love cannot compare to you

    by rachel

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  • 36. At 7:45pm on 15 Sep 2008, MarkHastings wrote:

    You are...

    You are the most beautiful in all of creation
    You are the light that illuminates devastation
    You are the angel of joy and devotion
    You are the source of all emotion
    You are the constant in all of my thoughts
    You are the view which never distorts
    You are the perfection that we dream of all our lives
    You are the one from where all beauty derives
    You are the epitome of positivity and fun
    You are the most special person I have ever gazed upon
    You are the gift more prized than a dove
    You are the one who I will always love

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  • 37. At 7:46pm on 15 Sep 2008, scottycov25 wrote:

    we'er just been friends , and now you're going
    far away for many years,
    but please dont leave me without knowing,
    how i feel as you're time nears,
    i know you're older and more mature.
    and far beyond me in so many ways ,
    but what we have between us is something pure,
    tht's given me these magic day's,
    i thank you for the loveliness,
    that you're sweet friendshp's brought to me.
    this is not a goodbye just to say i love you and thank you
    for the times we shared togehter .

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  • 38. At 7:46pm on 15 Sep 2008, poetscribe wrote:

    Reflections...

    At the top of the stairs is a room on one side,
    the bathroom, I gather, for washing your hide.
    There’s something I’ve noticed when wandering by,
    a mysterious hound who keeps catching my eye.

    First time I saw him I barked and I howled
    and just for good measure I bristled and growled.
    But next time I looked in, just who did I see
    as bold as you like and not three steps from me!

    I lie in the hall and I stare in at him,
    he lies on the mat and stares back with a grin.
    I scratch my left ear as he scratches his,
    it’s just like a game this, some sort of quiz.

    I‘d like him to come to the park or the wood
    we would have such fun, if only we could.
    But he never comes with me, he never comes out,
    he just stays in the bathroom and wanders about.

    He is rather handsome, that dog up the stairs,
    who postures and poses with all kinds of airs.
    So regal, a pure breed, a champion of kind;
    sometimes I fancy he’s reading my mind.

    No matter at what time I try to sneak past,
    he’s always there watching and moving so fast.
    I can never surprise him, but how can that be?
    The more I reflect, he is so much like me…..

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  • 39. At 7:46pm on 15 Sep 2008, klivep wrote:

    THE SADNESS OF WAR

    In the morning mist stands an old man
    Where a young man once stood
    Tears in those sad eyes lonely eyes
    Which once were happy and shining
    His body old and frail
    Which once was young and strong

    In the field of crosses white and shining
    He stands along the forever young
    Boys he once knew happy and full of life
    Now lying silent in a row
    The memories grow old but not forgotten
    But only by those that were there

    The world passes by in shameless ignorance
    The sacrifices were in vain
    No-one sees the old men that were once young
    Soon the old man will be gone
    To join those that died so young
    The crosses will still be there
    But no one will come
    No one cares
    The world will fight on

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  • 40. At 7:47pm on 15 Sep 2008, lindyloopy wrote:

    Corn Porn Lindyloops

    You little sneak you
    Starting off so ordinary
    Slipping into our day to day
    As common as common or garden grass
    Grass- my ass! Only for a week or two
    Then ew, ew, ew - look at you!
    Getting adolescent leggy and waving your arms all over the place
    A few bristles appearing around the face
    Awkward at first and then gathering pace
    Slinky. Tinkly. Silky rustles.
    A shade sinking from the greens to the creams
    Through the mosses to the muddy and then back again.
    To grown up full blown oven baked biscuit, warm and golden yellow.
    You little sneak you
    You did all that under the guise of ordinary
    Just so you could leap out and boo me
    With your ears cocked and your fingers waving in glee
    Thank you so much for surprising me.

    And then…after all that trouble…we just reduce you to stubble.

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  • 41. At 7:47pm on 15 Sep 2008, lee_fleeper wrote:


    Viaduct


    Thick mist rolls over the garage roof
    Down from the old embankment as I sit
    Glazed of mind in need of rejuvenation.
    Climbing, scrambling searching for traction
    I weave my way up the crumbling mound.
    Each hard won breath brings cold cold liquid
    Running down my throat, droplets run past my collar.
    Here at the top of this shrouded place
    No view of town to distract, all sound deadened,
    All thought focused.
    This beautiful dead place visited seldom,
    Rarely disturbed except for the hordes of rabbits,
    And of course the ghosts of the hard men,
    The hard men who built this railway,
    Now long since removed but not forgotten.

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  • 42. At 7:48pm on 15 Sep 2008, lee_fleeper wrote:

    ADOLESCENT GLOW


    Long before dawn on an intensely misty morning,
    Deathly silently dropping pearls to roll down windows,
    Water creeps down faces and necks,
    Each breath brings sips of the airborne fluid;
    Dimly make out a glow ahead through misty windscreen
    On my Sunday journey,
    Sulphureous, warm, inviting street-lamp
    Arches around a pair,
    Man-boy, tall and thin, baseball cap cockily perched,
    Holding girl-woman, small and pretty,
    Short pre-pubescent fingers clasping her love;
    The heat they generate brings light all about,
    Light and hope to a man long-tired, long cynical,
    On his way to work at two-thirty on a Sunday dawning.



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  • 43. At 7:48pm on 15 Sep 2008, sligopoet wrote:

    Spell

    Midnight over Furbo,
    and every star
    was a gin tear
    while I etched your name
    on fastfade sand,accepting my truth
    that you are a page
    I can never turn.
    Witchmagic has touched you,
    no one else comes
    remotely close.

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  • 44. At 7:49pm on 15 Sep 2008, lee_fleeper wrote:

    Fireman Fred

    Two-thirty in the morning at the station
    Fred and the crews are in bed;
    Like most tired firemen across the nation
    They appear sallow and dead.

    Not Fred, an experienced man,
    He’s used to the tension
    And lies curled in the land of sand.
    The bells. Call out. Attention! Attention!

    Only the fifth call that night;
    Though Fred is wide awake and alert
    The driver is weary but starts up all right,
    And the machine leaps out onto the orange London street.

    No need for sirens, only the lights
    As the red roaring monster takes Fred
    Perhaps to a job of frights,
    Away from his cosy warm bed.

    Cynical Fred, now dressed, believes
    That it’s only a rubbish fire
    As the engine slides around the road on wet leaves
    And the revs are getting higher and higher.

    Skidding to a halt, the doors fly open
    Mother and father screaming, pointing
    To a third floor window; Their children!
    The prospect of rescue is daunting.

    In seconds the ladder is wheeled and pitched
    And Fred leaps up the fifty feet;
    The window breaks as he punches with his fist
    Then ducks the flames screaming “The Bitch!”.

    He’s inside now, another man follows,
    Jim runs up the ladder with a hose.
    Hair burning, insides boiling, but good Fred
    He sees the children unconscious beneath the bed.

    One under each arm he takes them
    To the window, flames block the door,
    And passes the children to Jim.
    Explosion. Destruction. Fireman Fred is no more.

    Now Fred lies in the cool
    To be admired by one and all or not atall.
    This brave man lies beneath his stone:
    “Fireman Frederick Jones; 21st July 1980.
    His last call”.

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  • 45. At 7:50pm on 15 Sep 2008, Sanraphael wrote:

    Ode to a Zimbabwean Farmer


    Where is that man I talked to all those years ago?
    He sat upon a simple bench with spirits at all time low
    His shoulders slumped, his eyes abyss and thoughts so far away
    His hopes and dreams in tatters as he remises a bygone day


    I sat beside him for a while in quietness by his side
    Until he took a moment to explain his broken pride
    His fertile land and years of toil had vanished in a night
    Ravaged by deeds of evil men his endeavours were out of sight


    His future hopes of going back to where he had been born
    Were still alive within his soul there was no need to mourn
    One day Mugabe and his men shall surely get their deal
    And vanish in an inferno to let the deep wounds heal


    In his quiet Rhodesian way the man began to say
    I do not feel at home here with my family so far away
    I will return to start afresh to Zimbabwe’s beaten side
    And help her thrive yet again to restore her broken pride.






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  • 46. At 7:50pm on 15 Sep 2008, mckellarfamily wrote:

    Written by Chris McKellar - aged 16 with autism:

    I'm ten years away from those patches you dig,
    You're surrounded by uncovered bones and relics.
    As time passes a city will be uncovered, Sooner or later, you will salvage a great discovery. - Howard Carter

    I'm not there yet. I'm a fossil waiting to be revealed to the world
    A miniature dinosaur struggling to break out of its shell
    While you brush away the sands of the past
    Surrounding the treasures, in my valley of time.

    The decade ahead, a new jewel to you
    Amid pain and happiness, my time with you has arrived.
    Something about your life is about to change,
    No more hidden treasures, I am here in your world.

    Chip, chip, chip as we examine our archaeological finds,
    On Vesuvius slopes, that we left behind,
    From the grounds of foreign soils come treeasures of time,
    Trips away in your own little world long ago, before you were mine.

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  • 47. At 7:50pm on 15 Sep 2008, lennyhope wrote:

    An Antagonist's Poem

    As poetry rears it's ugly head
    How I wish that it was dead
    How I long for a verse that ceases
    May that rhyming syntax rest in pieces!

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  • 48. At 7:51pm on 15 Sep 2008, Luke_Blogger wrote:

    2nd Dedication

    Stood outside a bar one night
    The darkness was multiplied
    By the sky of street lamp stars
    And police cars’ flashing lights
    And the more they tried to make it bright
    The more they mystified
    The further away they pushed the day
    And the longer they made the night

    Eighteen months since we’d last met
    The passing of time a vex
    The memory had not faded
    No neither had the regret
    As the smoke’s fine wisps
    Twist, flow and flex
    To infinity you look at me
    And begin to move your lips

    Your word so pure that they ring
    Like the clouds’ atomic bell
    And their startling shafts of light
    Are the mad insights that they bring
    The copper conductor of my ear
    Hears for the tales they tell
    And my rampant lobes they begin to strobe
    As The Meaning becomes clear!

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  • 49. At 7:52pm on 15 Sep 2008, supaBonzoman wrote:

    Where was I




    Where was I
    When I could smell the sweetest of Flowers
    Where was I
    When I could feel the smoothest of Silks
    Where was I
    When I was holding the rarest of Jewels
    Where was I
    When I was kissed by Velvet
    Where was I
    When every nerve tingled
    Where was I
    When I felt the wetness of the dew
    Where was I
    I was with you.

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  • 50. At 7:53pm on 15 Sep 2008, logicus tracticus philosophicus wrote:

    Just a kiss, miss just a peck on the cheek,
    speak to me, midizi me
    Creep into me see me squirm, firm but soft,
    your caress, nothing less will do
    Its all I pursue is the touch
    I like very much for you too
    Distress me press me to the floor,
    more more no door,
    To unlock the key to my heart is not needed,
    my defences all fled
    I am now senseless caution thrown to the winds
    please please lead me bleed me dry
    then tie me lie with me fly high with me
    then back down to the sea, to drown me,
    with your lips, let me feel wanted,
    Wanton and wilful,
    not woeful and tearful fearful
    I may look but only the thought of you
    stopping this pleasure,
    This fortuitous seizing of my licentiousness,
    I confess, has me quivering,
    misrepresentation represented unrelenting,
    Intentions of contemplations,
    now sought, Since you’ve brought,
    Me to boiling point….
    with just a look from your eyes,
    I aspire. Perspire on fire with lust
    I must miss just one kiss
    just a peck on the cheek I will be meek
    I will be humble into your arms I will tumble,
    Or crawl on all fours for one more kiss miss,
    one peck on the cheek from those lips
    those ruby red bits
    Attached to your face all so delicious so tempting
    all luscious even Lucifer would repent
    if it meant that he could kiss those lips miss
    this nervousness that I feel
    is the worst part of me but I know this miss
    My shyness will crumble,
    and crumple like my iniquitous,
    curiosity, you see is all saintly really its true.
    Take pity just a kiss miss .
    A peck on the cheek,
    I am weak at knees Hear my pleas please
    I am pleading, my cheeks are red as if bleeding.
    Jut a kiss miss: kick start my heart. Back into motion.
    Just a kiss will do it,
    there is nothing new to it for me you see.
    This kiss miss this mouth to mouth resuscitation.
    Is all I am awaiting lain here in my bed
    I have gone through it in my head
    a thousand times I’ve felt it,
    I’ve smelt it and melted deep down into mush,
    you must have seen, My queen mi lady
    you drive me crazy insane,
    I am but a pauper at your door,
    I am knocking, on all fours
    I am crawling calling,
    just one kiss miss just one kiss
    Thrill me with seksumi

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  • 51. At 7:55pm on 15 Sep 2008, beneboyblue wrote:

    I love sailing and last year I was a crew member on a tall ship sailing across the Atlantic and on night watch felt inspired!!

    High above in gods back yard
    where mortal man can take no part
    stars shine down upon this Earth
    and make men wonder at their birth.

    Brighter some and others dull
    they help us find our way
    across the oceans deep and vast
    to where our dear ones pray.

    When steering by the helm at night
    we see their friendly stare
    which reminds us of a greater being
    who's with us everywhere.

    Sometimes Earth's brooding heavenly lids
    cloud out our twinkling hosts
    and leave us pushing through the seas
    with nothing but our hopes.

    And when at last these lids unfold
    our steady friends still there
    we know once more the course to steer
    to take us, we know where.

    Well i liked it.


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  • 52. At 7:57pm on 15 Sep 2008, supaBonzoman wrote:




    Loving

    Glancing, Looking, Smiling, Winking,
    Smelling, Touching, Sensing, Thinking.
    Glowing, Knowing, Kisses Blowing,
    Some strange bonding started Showing.
    Risking hurting this Love by starting,
    We know the price of sometime Parting.
    Caring, Sharing feelings Baring,
    Heart strings Pulling Heart strings Tearing.
    Holding, Fondling, Chancing, Blushing,
    Pulses Beating, Racing, Rushing.
    Braving, Craving, Grasping, Moulding,
    Caressing, Kissing, Hugging, Holding.
    Gasping, Gulping, Wishing, Waiting,
    Praying for that rewarding Mating.
    This Love is real with no Pretending,
    Whatever happens it's never Ending.




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  • 53. At 7:58pm on 15 Sep 2008, bluemrtea1 wrote:

    drugs what do i do!
    what do you feel high in the sky
    do you care?
    i hope you do care when you
    hit me black and blue!
    yes i hate you!
    drugs are killing you!
    what can i do!
    i can,t help you
    you don,t want help
    drugs are killing you!
    but now back to normal
    what do you feel about drugs?

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  • 54. At 7:59pm on 15 Sep 2008, neilflavell147 wrote:

    AN AUTUMN DAY
    By Danielle Benedict-Flavell
    13

    This morning,
    The grass is sparkling,
    Like jewelled diamonds,
    Jet planes,
    Going to the airport,
    To be refuelled.


    From green leaves,
    To orange leaves,
    then a blend of red and,
    Brown leaves,
    Then they all fall down,



    The evening air is icy.
    Everybody sits inside,
    To have a drink of…
    soothing hot cocoa,
    To warm their chilly selves up.

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  • 55. At 7:59pm on 15 Sep 2008, grasib wrote:

    on missing my 2 year old grandson while on holiday

    "Twingle Twingle" our little star
    how we miss you from afar

    Here in Spain where the sun beats down
    you in Scotland where the weather makes us frown

    Not once today did someone say "digger"
    no wiggly worms or sweets after dinner

    Out for a promenade and then for a bite
    our thoughts strayed to you late last night

    Down by the marina, clear sky, moon high
    you really were that "Diamond in doh sky"


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  • 56. At 8:04pm on 15 Sep 2008, germinal45 wrote:

    Ode to the Post Office

    By Alex Owen-Meehan aged 12

    Thy post office is so imbued
    A structure conveniently afoot
    With a cylinder shaped tube
    Ready for your mail, thy shall put.

    Early in thy morning
    The newspapers stacked high
    As I walk past the awning
    To go to the stack and collect thy.

    But wait! The scent collides with you
    Released from the glass jars
    You join the queue
    So you can invest for a Mars

    Upon your natural anniversary
    A yearly card with postal order
    To there you want to flee
    So that it will last no shorter

    You see a car tax disc holder
    So you are then reminde’d
    Of the driven forces one year older
    And another form that has to be signe’d

    For all the forms in complications
    A simple life on a daily basis
    With an offer of confectional sensations
    You even have the tags for our holiday cases.

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  • 57. At 8:05pm on 15 Sep 2008, Lambert3 wrote:

    Animal Crackers

    By Adam Lambert, Age 13

    I saw an elephant dressed in blue,
    He had escaped from the local zoo,
    I saw a giraffe in a tie,
    Carrying a blackbird in a pie.

    I saw the polar bears dressed in suits,
    I saw the penguins in hob nail boots,
    The kangaroo wore boxing gloves,
    While trying to catch a pair of doves.

    I saw a spider on roller skates,
    I saw a monkey lifting weights,
    I saw a panda all dressed in red
    And a chimpanzee in a four poster bed,

    The funniest thing I’ve ever seen,
    Was a hippopotamus dressed in green,
    Now that’s your lot, I’m out of time,
    And this is the end of my funny rhyme!


    My son wrote this at school, and I think it is brilliant!!!


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  • 58. At 8:05pm on 15 Sep 2008, installed_fear wrote:

    Dreaming 129 days ago

    A dust of snow accross the pane ,
    a touch of frost against the skin ,
    A drop of rain against the glass ,
    simple beauty in itself ,

    The way the sky breaks a morning red,
    A dark sunset as i lay in my bed ,
    A drop of winter in the cooling air,
    as i drift to sleep upon a cloud.

    A past brought forward due to sleep,
    A secret in which my brain can't keep,
    A shudder of pain with in myself,
    of present past and future.

    Now dream a soft dream for me sweets,
    And may the nightmares stay locked for keeps,
    and all the hate and pain disappear,
    In amongst your dreaming.


    by

    David Tulloch

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  • 59. At 8:08pm on 15 Sep 2008, Shwizze wrote:

    THE SHARING OF


    The first glimpse of the O so beautifully knitted shells laid out in readiness for the making up.

    The vibrant frenzy of the colours, well put together - What great thought - What effort.

    The fun that was had in their arrangement.

    The drift upon touch of them, passing through ones senses - What work - What LOVE.

    That little SHARED thing made up of silk, cotton and linen, will be with me for ever and EVER and E V E R.

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  • 60. At 8:11pm on 15 Sep 2008, subastra wrote:

    A Letter Home

    I went to write a letter home;
    I got as far as "Dear..."
    Before I remembered: there's nobody there
    And nothing to write about here.

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  • 61. At 8:12pm on 15 Sep 2008, sustin wrote:

    The little boy played with his bucket and spade
    Watched by a golden haired, chubby faced maid
    His castle be built from sea wetted sands,
    Shaped by deliberate, small dimpled hands

    A battlement, turret, ramparts as well
    Adorned at the top by a large cockle shell
    Four ensigns flying from towers so tall
    Completely surrounded by moat and a wall

    Countless long trips with bucket in hand
    He persevered filling his moat made of sand
    Finally finished he sat down and sighed
    Then ran to his mum who surbveyed it with pride

    The little girl gazed at his work with delight
    She looked all around - no-one in sight
    And quick as a bolt - up like a shot
    With one swipe of her spade
    She demolished the lot!

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  • 62. At 8:13pm on 15 Sep 2008, dave_wynter wrote:

    Bedouin Lady

    Beguiling, tantalizingly sensually beige
    You sit there partly clothed oozing charm
    Where have you been all these years?

    Hidden away from view, such a shame.
    Your delectable curves should be seen by all.

    So well upholstered, comfortable and snug.
    Inviting, curvaceous, naughty and sleek.
    Promiscuous perhaps? Always a flirt?

    No matter it just serves your art.
    Will I be tempted, be lead astray?
    Probably, but then you are just a car.

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  • 63. At 8:14pm on 15 Sep 2008, ihateskol999 wrote:

    Seasons by Ceire M aged 11

    Flowers bloom along the ground
    Petals fall all around.
    I look outside for insperation
    But the rainy days cause devastion.
    Autumn days are very chilly,
    Not as bad as the Winter days that freeze me.
    Sometimes its really cold
    "Stay inside" thats what I'm told.
    But Winter days are so fun with snow
    It makes the childrens faces glow.
    Christmas always make me smile
    I love to play with my new toys for a while!
    Spring is an important season,
    It has its own reason,
    Maybe because flowers bloom
    Or baby lambs are born soon?
    Summertime is my birthday
    Oh how I love to play!
    Seasons change but people don't
    Or some people won't.
    Sometimes we do change for good or for bad.
    But the main thing is I get to share the seasons with my mom and dad.
    All of them are gloomy days here in Ireland
    With global warming its affected England
    But lifes to short to worry everyday for no reasons
    We should be looking at the seasons.
    The End

    [Sorry for bad spelling]

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  • 64. At 8:17pm on 15 Sep 2008, fastredsnapper wrote:

    Photography.

    The Pagoda at Kew proves I dont have a clue;for the picture never came out.

    I took two in Penge and one at Southend but the subjects are clearly in doubt.

    Oh I've pointed my Brownie at yokel and townie but there all just a blur by and large,

    And I once took a snap of a pony and trap but it looked like the side of a barge.

    So I'm saying enough 'cause my pictures are duff and I'm giving my camera a rest,

    And I,m slinging them all except that one of Nichol 'cause I think in that one she's undressed.

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  • 65. At 8:19pm on 15 Sep 2008, ElfeWillowson wrote:

    What Is Love?

    Love is the purr of a beloved cat
    Love is the dog you stroke and pat
    Love is the feeling that's between friends
    Love is the feeling that never ends
    Love is the warmth that shines from inside
    Love is the feeling that will not hide
    Love is the feeling that can bring pain
    Love is the thinking of what I can gain
    Love is the something that brings me joy
    Love is the kiss that makes me feel coy
    Love is the moment when I catch his eye
    Love is the answer to who, when and why
    Love is the knowing that he is mine
    Love is the shiver down my spine
    Love is the lust and also desire
    Love is the comfort of a hot blazing fire
    Love is the quiet we share each night
    Love is the knowing that this is so right
    Love is the first time my baby I hold
    Love is the courage that makes me feel bold
    Love is the bond 'tween parent and child
    Love is the patience that tames the wild
    Love is the precious, more that silver or gold
    Love is the togetherness of growning old
    Love is the sun that shines all day long
    Love is the remembering when my loved
    ones are gone



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  • 66. At 8:20pm on 15 Sep 2008, ihateskol999 wrote:

    Limerick by Ceire M 11

    There was an old lady from Peru
    Who needed to go to the loo
    When she sat on the toilet
    She turned quiet violet
    And dint know what to do!

    [Made that up when my teacher was doing poems. Everyone loved it and laughed at it. Hope you do too.]

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  • 67. At 8:21pm on 15 Sep 2008, RobertBarnard wrote:

    My Garden In Full Bloom

    Gardening is in my blood,
    I have a love for plants,
    It’s in my Grandads’ family genes,
    And also in my Aunt’s.
    I was first inspired,
    When I was just a kid,
    I tried to learn their Latin names,
    And wondered what they did.
    I walked around the gardens,
    Of stately home estates,
    With beds of scented Roses,
    And curly iron gates.
    Yew and Leyland hedges,
    Were used to form a maze,
    And bedding plants would edge the lawns,
    Throughout the Summer days.

    Now I’ve designed my garden,
    I know what I’ve got planned,
    Flowers, fruit and kitchen herbs,
    With vegetables at-hand.
    Some ponds with running water,
    And fish to watch and feed,
    Wild flower meadow plants,
    That germinate from seed.
    A mixed herbaceous border,
    With bulbs and woody shrubs,
    Trailing hanging baskets,
    And plants in pots and tubs.
    Plants that climb up trellis,
    And marginals in ponds,
    Lilly pads that float on top,
    And Bracken ferny fronds.

    I’ll have a stripy lawn,
    A home-made compost heap,
    A rich and healthy soil,
    For at least a metre deep.
    A heated, lighted greenhouse,
    A shed that’s full of tools,
    Water butts and rain gauge cups,
    To catch the rain that falls.
    I’ll grow my favourite flowers,
    And fruit in different forms,
    I’ll cover-up my tender plants,
    And batten-down in storms.
    I’ll choose resistant cultivars,
    And suppress the weeds with bark,
    I’ll rig-up lights along the path,
    To guide me through the dark.


    My garden will be my hiding place,
    A world where I’ll be free,
    A future plan inside my head,
    That only I can see.
    A scene that’s full of colour,
    A plantsmans’ paradise,
    That looks as good as Summer time,
    In frost and Winter ice.
    It’ll be an invitation,
    For birds and wildlife,
    To give me all the help they can,
    With horticultural husbandry as though they were a wife.
    I’m eagerly impatient,
    To see my outdoor room,
    Which will be the finished product,
    Of my garden in full bloom.

    Robert Barnard

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  • 68. At 8:21pm on 15 Sep 2008, klivep wrote:

    I'm Lost

    Im lost since you left me alone
    I tried to join you and got it wrong
    Im still here lost,waiting to join you
    My friends are few,my days are long
    My nights are so dark thinking of you

    Your music echos in my head
    Even though i cant bear to hear it
    No-one knows the pain i feel
    I hide it in the day and make it go away
    At night im alone and lost no one sees me cry

    Im growing older now
    and the memories are all thats left
    It wont be long before im gone
    What will i leave behind but an empty space
    No body will miss me,or know im gone
    I was never here i was with you

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  • 69. At 8:24pm on 15 Sep 2008, Azerus wrote:

    Honour Guard
    As the winter breeze hits me i finally
    realise why i am here,
    to fight for my freedom
    to fight for my rights,
    to fight for what is right.

    The siren starts to flare,
    as they come ever near,
    we have no idea how long we'll last,
    but we'll fight for out freedom
    and fight for our rights,
    and most defiantly fight for what is right.

    They come with hell on their side finally,
    we meet out match, but we'll fight for our freedom and we'll fight for our rights even though we won't last the night

    But we shall fight and we will try to last the night, for we are earths last hope against the hordes that march ever closer, now i must fight and atleast try to last the night...

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  • 70. At 8:25pm on 15 Sep 2008, puppiesruleyh11 wrote:


    LOVE
    Love is patient.
    Love is kind.
    Love is the most powerful thing in the world.
    Love is blind.
    Love is always there,
    Even though you may
    Think not.
    Love is precious
    And joyful.
    Love will never be forgot.
    By Freya Collis age 12 Tooting

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  • 71. At 8:26pm on 15 Sep 2008, supaBonzoman wrote:


    Love is being thoughtful ,
    Love is being true .
    What if you love someone not free
    And not betrothed by rule .
    Are you being thoughtless ,
    Are you being cruel?
    Loves not made by written words ,
    In deals or deeds or charts
    Love comes to those where 'ere they are
    By the joining of their Hearts .
    They may not live together
    They may live far apart .
    These lovers have no need to hide
    They have no need to run .
    It no matters where they abide
    Within their minds they live as one .
    Please don't be impatient
    To break free from your ties .
    True love waits forever
    True love never dies .




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  • 72. At 8:28pm on 15 Sep 2008, sustin wrote:

    Smile
    When the smell of May
    Fills a warm spring day
    And the hum of the bee fills the air
    When my spirit is high as the deep blue sky
    I'll smile for I know you're there


    When the first red rose opens petals wide
    To embrace the morning dew
    And daisies peep through an emerald lawn
    To start the year anew
    I'll smile as I think of you

    As I wonder at the sight of a new born lamb
    In a field where the poppies grow
    And watch horses graze in a field of grass
    While a soft gentle wind does blow
    I'll smile for I know you know

    As I walk by the sea on an empty beach
    And watch the waves break on the sand
    I'll remember how you guided me
    With a gentle touch of your hand
    And I'll smile as I think of you

    For death has not taken you from our lives
    You are still here with me in my heart
    As I walk down the street I still see you there
    And I know that of me you're still part
    And I'll smile when I think of you.

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  • 73. At 8:31pm on 15 Sep 2008, Jenny_Greenteeth wrote:

    (According to Norse mythology, the first woman was called Embla and she was created from a tree.)

    You gave me bus stops and concrete and clocks
    Newspapers, timeshares and free DVDs.
    You think I’d rather these windmills and docks
    To the slowness and stillness and silence of trees.

    I was a thing that delighted in rain
    I breathed in the sun. I was strong. I was old.
    Now I catch the flu and the six-thirty train.
    The ground I once lived in feels clammy and cold.

    Keep all your textbooks and weather reports.
    Take back your ballpoints and GCSEs.
    I split out my arms and I make my hands forked
    And I settle myself for a
    long
    winter
    freeze.

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  • 74. At 8:32pm on 15 Sep 2008, Garth_Power wrote:

    'MANCHESTER' by Garth Power


    Architects’ visions standing tall,

    Craftsmen and scientists built them all.

    A people with history, hope and pride,

    Cultures and customs work side by side.

    The future is waiting to greet this new Rome,

    Manchester city, united, our home.






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  • 75. At 8:34pm on 15 Sep 2008, RobertBarnard wrote:

    The Golden Age Of Steam

    Let’s go back to the age of steam,
    When driving trains was a schoolboy’s dream,
    Clouds of smoke from a loco’s funnel,
    Got trapped inside a long, dark tunnel.
    Breakfast cooked on a hot coal fire,
    As the coals glowed red,
    And the flames roared higher,
    Gauges moved from left to right,
    As pistons worked with all their might.

    Train tracks ran through fields of green,
    Past sheep on hills and sights unseen,
    Children stood on a hilltop ridge,
    As they watched a train cross a viaduct bridge.
    As the train roared past and the smoke would rise,
    Came tears of joy to a schoolboy’s eyes!
    And passengers waved from a window ledge,
    To those who stood at the railway’s edge.

    Signal signs and track points,
    Were moved by human hand,
    As the wheels went round,
    They created a sound,
    Like a rhythm by a Rock ‘n’ Roll band.
    With a name and number written on the side,
    The locos looked majestic as they stood in all their pride.
    People stood on platforms,
    With great anticipation,
    For a train to fill their hearts with joy,
    As it pulled into the station.

    Ticket fares were cheaper,
    And the trains were never late,
    Even when they had to wait at a crossing,
    For a man to open the gate!
    The carriages were cosy,
    And the locos all ran fine,
    No delays or cancellations!
    Even when there were leaves on the line!
    When their working day was over,
    The trains were put to bed,
    Then cleaned and checked for any faults,
    When in the engine shed.

    So let’s go back to those golden days,
    And revive that schoolboy dream,
    To the age when our railways did us proud;
    The golden age of steam!

    Robert Barnard

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  • 76. At 8:34pm on 15 Sep 2008, Jenny_Greenteeth wrote:

    (The Norse God Odin was said to have imbibed a magical mead that made him a great poet. This poem is written from the point of view of his wife Frigga)

    Coming from him, it was startling news.
    Calling me “Vision”, “Aisling” and “Muse”.
    Ordering pizza or asking the time
    In kennings or couplets or internal rhyme.
    Beautiful prose and poetry spun
    From the back of his throat to the tip of his tongue.
    From the bowels of jargon, slanguage and slurs
    To the palette of Shakespeare, sonnets and verse.
    My glottal, brutish, ignorant swine.
    Coming from him, it was terrible crime.

    He loves his new diction. His ballads and puns.
    But I miss the savage with dirt on his tongue.

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  • 77. At 8:34pm on 15 Sep 2008, miraculousfrankie wrote:

    Dreamtime
    Dreamtime is the place for me, all alone and all so free,
    sometimes flying through the air ,floating along without care.
    Once I was driving alone in a car along a road that went so far,
    maybe that road is the path of life,filled with fear and endless strife.
    Once I was rich with lots of money buying gold and silver,eating pots of honey.
    Dreams are filled with hidden treasures,
    the boundaries of thought they have no measures.
    Your greatest wish can soon be granted, the world of dreams is so enchanted.
    But all this will end soon, you'll awake then return to your life.the hell we all make.
    Until the next night those memories you'll keep,until you re-live them in a good night sleep


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  • 78. At 8:35pm on 15 Sep 2008, brijo73 wrote:

    Pottering in the garden,
    Talking to the flowers.
    Pulling weeds and cutting grass
    Gives me many happy hours.

    Watching seeds that I have sown
    Break slowly through the soil.
    Unfurling tiny tender leaves,
    As they upwards toil.

    Waiting for the frost to cease
    And the earth to come alive.
    As bees wake from their winter sleep
    And venture from their hive.

    To see the wondrous butterfly,
    Emerge from its cocoon,
    It stretches wings up to the sun,
    Then it’s gone; too soon.

    It’s my ecological oasis,
    My haven; my retreat;
    It’s where I love to sit and watch
    All the wildlife meet.






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  • 79. At 8:37pm on 15 Sep 2008, hilblog wrote:

    My daughter wrote this poem for me on my 50th birthday. It sums up perfectly the relationship between mother and daughter in very few words. I love it

    As a leaf bronzes brown,
    falls and grows green,
    this love changes.

    From faltering feet falling flat,
    Through hopeless hippy
    bright and black,
    to separation.
    This love remains
    indelable as we are alive.

    The seas rage and calm,
    synonymous with us,
    Mother and Daughter.

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  • 80. At 8:38pm on 15 Sep 2008, SneebazooX wrote:

    Untitled

    No matter how hard I try, every year,
    It's the same.
    There's always one or two poems
    Which I never can name.

    I sometimes wonder,
    If poems had feelings
    Would they find
    The name "Untitled" appealing?

    Would they hate me, their creator
    For making them uncalled,
    Or would they just keep their feelings
    Inside those Lined A4 walls?

    On one hand the fact
    That they have no name is sad
    But in my opinion
    It's really not bad.

    It means that there is more to think about
    More to create in your mind
    So if I call you "Untitled"
    I'm not being unkind.

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  • 81. At 8:43pm on 15 Sep 2008, Garth_Power wrote:


    Would you please correct the typographical error in my poem, 'Manchester' which seems to have arisen during its transmission through the Ether.

    The error occurs at the end of the first word of the first line, which should read as
    " Architects' " rather than " Architects? ".


    Garth Power

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  • 82. At 8:51pm on 15 Sep 2008, subastra wrote:

    Heimlich

    I used to know someone who lived on a boat.
    He once got a lump of cheese stuck in his throat;
    Remembering something I'd seen on TV,
    I grabbed him and squeezed till his airway was free.
    This favour, he later saw fit to repay
    By taking my beautiful girlfriend away...
    As they sailed off together, I said (as a joke),
    "If only I'd sat there and just let him choke."

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  • 83. At 8:52pm on 15 Sep 2008, wordsculptor wrote:

    They do not sing as I sing

    They do not sing as I sing,
    their jumbled song
    a burble of contorted face.
    Their rainbow thought
    bumbled, tumbled down
    a chaotic assault
    on alternative reality.

    They do not dance as I dance,
    their semaphore waving
    unintended cacophony
    explosions of pleasure.

    They do not sing as I sing
    but their eyes
    are symphonies of joy.

    (Thoughts after attending a harvest festival at a school for children with special needs.)

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  • 84. At 8:53pm on 15 Sep 2008, twentynineandahalf wrote:

    A TALE OF FLITTY THINGS

    One morning when the skies were grey
    And rain came down in buckets-full
    And mud was sluicing down the drains,
    The flitty things were really scared
    They thithered hither in a peek
    And fluttered utterly in pairs,
    Because the bitties for their beaks
    Were in the flooding everywhere
    And absolutely out of reach.

    The small sparfinch and the chafrow
    The robtit and the bluein, all
    Had lost the will to make their calls.
    The blacklark and the skybird too
    Had no idea what to do.
    Eventually the cucpie said:
    “Let’s go to ask the old Magkoo,
    She always was a smart old bird:
    Perhaps she’ll think of something new.”

    The friendly Magkoo was surprised
    To see the delegation come
    To ask her if she could advise.
    She thought awhile and thought again,
    And thought and thought till ten a.m.
    Finally, at ten precisely,
    She squawked and jumped excitedly
    Up from her stick and feather bed.
    “I have a clever plan!” She said.

    “I know how you can catch your lunch:
    The stonetail and the wagchat munch
    On insects at the water’s edge.
    Their methods could be really good,
    I’ve seen them catching little things
    Between the rocks and in the goo,
    I think that’s something you can do.
    Go where the water’s shallow,
    Stand on a rock and watch the flow.”

    “Search till you find two rocks so close
    That floating seeds can’t get between:
    The seeds and things collect upstream
    Providing a delicious bunch
    Of lots of juicy things to munch.”
    The delegation listened hard
    And turned their heads from side to side,
    Then held a conference to decide
    If Magkoo’s plan would find their lunch.

    “Our committee has decided
    That your proposal is just right.”
    Chirped Cucpie to the wise Magkoo.
    “We’ll go fishing in the water
    For nuts and seeds and insects too!”
    Magkoo was pleased the flitty things
    Agreed to use her clever plan,
    She gave them all an owly wink.
    (Magkoo was really tickled-pink!).

    Off flew the happy little band
    Towards the muddy water’s edge
    To try-out clever Magkoo’s plan.
    They found a place quite close at hand
    Where two big rocks were firmly wedged
    And just as clever Magkoo said,
    Right there between the rocks was lunch:
    Enough food for them all to munch
    For tea and lunch the next day too!

    When all the flitty things had done
    With pecking, crunching, munching lunch,
    They gathered for a chorus song
    Atop the nearest, biggest tree
    And sang so happily and long,
    It was a joyful melody
    In praise of clever old Magkoo
    And Magkoo heard, and Magkoo blushed
    And Magkoo puffed her feathers up!

    “Oh! Old Magkoo, dear old Magkoo,
    Chirp, tra-laa-laa, chirp, tra-laa-laa!
    What could we all do without you?
    You’re cleverer by far, tra-laa,
    Than all the other flitty things,
    By far, by far, tra-laa, tra-laa,
    What would we do without you?
    Oh! Old Magkoo, dear old Magkoo,
    Chirp, chirrup-oooo! Tra-laa, tra-laa!” **

    And when the flitty things had sung,
    They said “Three cheers for old Magkoo!”
    And the old Magkoo said “Thank you!
    That was the very nicest song,
    In fact, it was the only song
    That anyone sang about me!
    I’m glad I found your lunch and tea.”
    They all became the greatest friends
    And that is how our story ends…..

    ** Author’s note:

    This song is far too hard to sing,
    Unless you are a flitty thing!

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  • 85. At 8:59pm on 15 Sep 2008, twentynineandahalf wrote:

    OLD COOKING OIL



    A drainage funnel is the thing
    To put the sticky oil back in
    That really dirty oily tin.
    Just ask when eating
    Thick fried bread
    If old brown
    Gunge is
    Really
    “Cred”
    And
    Is it
    Bet
    ter
    To
    Be
    D
    e
    a
    d
    ?

    ?
    ???
    ??????
    ?????????

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  • 86. At 9:01pm on 15 Sep 2008, squeezefruit wrote:

    Hello all.
    This is my poem and it's called 'Oh what I would give'.

    What I would give to be with you
    To hold your hand as we walk along a sun kissed beach
    and feel the warm sand between our toes
    Oh, what I would give.

    What I would give to kiss your sweet soft lips
    To kiss your neck, your cheek
    To feel your long brown hair against my face
    Oh, what I would give.

    What I would give to gaze into your beautiful brown eyes
    and let my body melt into your arms
    To feel the beat of your heart against mine
    Oh, what I would give.

    What I would give to watch you sleep
    To snuggle into you
    and to wake you gently with a kiss
    Oh, what I would give.

    What I would give to lay out under the stars
    To feel the summer breeze drift over our bodies
    To feel the shooting stars pierce our hearts with love
    Oh, what I would give.

    What I would give for us to become one
    To spend the rest of our lives together
    To grow old together
    Oh, what I would give.

    What I would give for the dream to come true
    And now it has
    And we have become one
    Oh, what they would give to be me right now.

    Martin Hall

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  • 87. At 9:03pm on 15 Sep 2008, twentynineandahalf wrote:

    SMITHEREEN

    I toured the land of Smithereen
    Where broken glass is often seen
    Upon the highways and the lows
    A constant danger to one’s toes
    When dancing to the village green

    I asked a local in the street
    (A tall man, walking in bare feet)
    “Why is there so much broken glass?”
    He said “The glass can train our toes
    To walk on beds of red-hot coals.”

    “And why does everybody dance
    Whenever they can get the chance?”
    The man replied through gritted teeth:
    “One has to dance on broken glass
    Or else one cuts one’s feet, you ass!”

    “And what’s the point of red-hot coals?”
    “The red-hot coals glow bright at night
    They light our path to show the way
    The glass is useless in the dark,
    Far better on a sunny day.”

    “And why’s the village green so brown?”
    “Ah - they’re our beds of rusty nails
    Where we relax and meditate
    On how to count the legs of snails
    And scratch our backs while lying down.”

    “The best time to adore a door
    And how to tell a jar’s ajar
    Just when one’s taking-off its lid
    When no one told one how before,
    And why do potters throw their pots?”

    “Does every bucket have a hole
    To fill with water at the top?
    And are there birds that really hop
    On only one leg at a time?
    And when should meditation stop?”

    I thanked the man for helping me
    To see why folk in Smithereen
    Use broken glass and red-hot coals.
    This clearly proves, the strangest tasks
    Make perfect sense, if one just asks!

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  • 88. At 9:04pm on 15 Sep 2008, satilel wrote:

    ODE TO THE ORANG-TUANS

    A shy ape, the Orang-utan
    should more than likely be found,
    gingerly peering from the branches of trees
    high up in a green green canopy.


    My friend Suxanne
    is certainly a sweet Orang-utan.
    Though sad and shy
    from watching her world go by.
    By and bye to her home
    and without her mother
    she watches alone.
    No more there, can you see,
    them swinging in the canopy.
    Now only at the age of two
    here we find sweet little sue
    not sleeping in a monkey nest
    beneath the moon,
    but dangling in a grey cage in a zoo.
    Here I sit and watch Suxie
    and marvel at the cleverness of she
    eating dragon fruit upside down
    her toes gripping the cage
    and her nose at the ground.
    So sad to see such a sweet race,
    shy in personality but expressive in face
    be slowly erased with the trees
    by no means of natural disease.


    I ponder on the species' fate
    which is declining so quickly as of late
    and think if only man could ban
    the distruction of the home and lives
    of the orang-utans.



    By Laura Coats
    from Bath

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  • 89. At 9:08pm on 15 Sep 2008, Anti-Vision wrote:

    I arm myself,
    And go outside.
    Equipped with only my imagination,
    I sky fish for clouds.

    Like plucking dreams from my head,
    I collect in a net,
    These soft little clouds.
    I sky fish.

    Pinned to a board,
    Dried and preserved,
    Like butterfly's they adorn my wall,
    Beauty immemorial.

    and as I've said,
    I'm out with my head,
    once again,
    Sky fishing for clouds.

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  • 90. At 9:12pm on 15 Sep 2008, Schoolguv wrote:

    My passion is education - last NPD we had a whole day devoted to "dreams" at our primary school this was my contribution:-




    DARE TO DREAM
    By
    James Warwick

    For National Poetry Day 2007 and premiered (by the poet) at the day’s school assembly!

    The theme is “Dreams”.

    With apologies to Alfred Lord Tennyson and respect for Captain R.F. Scott RN CVO on whose memorial in the Antarctic (a simple wooden cross) the final line is inscribed.

    Dare to dream, dare to dream,
    Dare to dream you’ll be supreme,
    Dare to dream you’ll be the best,
    Let your dream become your quest.

    Strive to do the best you can,
    Be you scientist or artisan.

    Seek knowledge – it will take you far,
    And expand your repertoire.

    Find the job that suits you best,
    And you’ll find your life is blessed.

    Yield to no-one on your way,
    Stick to your task and seize the day.

    To be the leader in your field,
    Strive to seek, to find, and not to yield!

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  • 91. At 9:13pm on 15 Sep 2008, lennyhope wrote:

    An Anti-Poem

    As poetry rears it's ugly head
    How I wish that it was dead
    How I long for that verse to release
    That rhyming syntax rest in piece

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  • 92. At 9:14pm on 15 Sep 2008, silkpoet wrote:

    Memories

    Memories are the photographs
    Taken by the heart
    Unspoken moments cherished for all time

    I remember a baby born
    I remember holding you gently
    Pure innocence gazing up
    From trusting eyes

    Memories are like dried rose petals
    Their sweet perfume lasting down the years

    I remember giggles and laughter
    Long days shared as children played
    Friendships forged in the warmth of family
    And the special ties of blood and roots

    Memories are like small candles
    Glowing gently in the darkness

    I remember meeting you
    Knowing deep within
    That you would love me well
    And I love you

    Memories are like precious diamonds
    Glinting on a finger, marking a special moment

    Memories are the photographs taken by the heart
    Some in black and white and others colored bright
    We remember days of sadness and of joy and laughter
    Equal in their strength to stain our memories






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  • 93. At 9:15pm on 15 Sep 2008, Zowwii wrote:

    Wounds heal,
    Scars fade,
    Tears dry,
    The sun will come out another day.
    Flowers wilt,
    Love letters burn,
    Songs end,
    Secrets are learned.
    Memories blur,
    Windows frost,
    Time ticks away,
    Contacts are lost.
    Candles burn out,
    Rumors die down,
    Pictures perish,
    Grudges are re-found.
    Feelings change,
    People move on,
    But my love for you,
    Forever stays strong.

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  • 94. At 9:15pm on 15 Sep 2008, littlemrmike wrote:

    the little jungle,,,,,

    i remember you little jungle
    full of wonder and suprise
    i recall my scrappy childhood days
    hidden away from adult eyes
    natures tunnel of golden leaves
    was the gateway to my dreams
    where dinosaurs still roamed the earth
    and jubbly monsters screamed
    the hump backed hill became a castle
    the well worn path a moat
    the blackbirds song a battle tune
    from a mounted buglars throat
    rushing speedily as the wind
    the charging armies came
    till our mothers called for dinner
    and the soldiers were trees again
    i went back to find you little jungle
    garden of my youth
    but there in place of your oasis
    i found the concrete truth.

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  • 95. At 9:16pm on 15 Sep 2008, littlemrmike wrote:

    i dedicate this ditty
    to you my darling ruth
    for i love you more than man city
    and that is almost the truth

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  • 96. At 9:17pm on 15 Sep 2008, silkpoet wrote:

    Sounds

    Nurses chatter through midnight
    The whir of the drip
    Distant voice, moaning
    The night screams

    Trolly on the smooth floor
    Clatter of the food truck
    Door thudding shut
    Can’t eat again

    The bright hello’s
    The unspoken menace
    Droning condolences
    Distant good wishes

    Swear words in your eyes
    Razor sharp encouragements
    Veiled threats of
    Get well or else

    Soft prayed words
    Comforting whispers
    Longed for laughter
    Sounds of life returning

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  • 97. At 9:17pm on 15 Sep 2008, littlemrmike wrote:

    the buttercup field.
    ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
    gone is the day
    when the children would play
    in the buttercup field
    gone is the hour
    when the buttercups would flower
    like a shimmering shield
    gone is the minute
    with a years beauty in it
    when time would stand still
    and gone is the second
    when jar fillers were beckoned
    to decorate the bare windowsill.

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  • 98. At 9:18pm on 15 Sep 2008, Zowwii wrote:

    Reflection
    By Zoe Ranford


    Stare in the mirror,
    Things have never been clearer.
    How could I of been so wrong?
    The people I swore I'd never be,
    The things I wished I wouldn't see
    When did i stop being so strong?
    All the things i've done,
    All the battles i should of won,
    Now staring in the mirror at who i've become.

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  • 99. At 9:23pm on 15 Sep 2008, Caionneach wrote:

    Banned Aid

    She had voted for choice, for choosers,
    but the television fashion-conscious musers
    had reminded her,
    beggars can't be choosers.

    Once a flag day she avoided the open hand wrenched,
    by cold patient petitioners, drenched,
    as they watched her realise,
    it was her bosses' hand , clenched.

    "No rises above the rate of inflation",
    became the cry of a divided nation,
    as the bosses took evening classes,
    in pay multiplication.

    The newscasters screamed, "not here",
    which struck her as rather queer,
    after all, what used to be over there,
    unclothed, roofless and hungry,
    was quite clearly over here.

    She voted again for choice, for choosers,
    but this time she started counting the losers,
    and reminded herself,
    beggars can't be choosers.

    Once a flag day she held out her hand,
    for Africa's bleeding sand,
    until the time came,
    when collecting for foreign poverty was banned.

    She had heard that too many of the cheques were blank,
    in future the decisions would be made by the bank,
    and, rather oddly,
    aid would come strapped to the back of a friendly tank.

    The newscasters screamed, "not there",
    which struck her as rather unfair,
    after all, what used to be over here,
    camouflaged, tracked and shiny,
    was quite clearly over there.

    The next time around there was no vote,
    for people who couldn't afford a decent coat,
    beggars can't be choosers,
    she had learned, too late, by rote.

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  • 100. At 9:24pm on 15 Sep 2008, rallsk wrote:

    Pawnshop Blues

    The only smile sits behind a rot-wood desk
    cheating the needy and reaping a tidy profit.
    The dust is full of oddments and allsorts;
    Clocks that have lost their tock; rag dolls
    without their rags; radios with the dial missing;
    go-carts that stalled too often; half-men in a rusty tin.

    The books are stacked wherever they’ll fit,
    unsteady libraries that hold forgotten knowledge.
    China ornaments scattered like freckles in
    the dust, chips lost in motes and cobwebs.
    The instruments hang at the back – crying for
    a tune some will never hear again. Violins
    with their bows snapped; harmonicas choking on dust;
    banjos left in the backs of broken-into cars.

    In the shadows, away from the rest, a well-worn
    traveler leans against a crumbling wardrobe.
    The bottom string is missing, the neck is warped
    and the tuning pegs cling on for dear life.

    A rare find, sir! Special offer, just for you and
    nobody else. Twenty five quid.

    Done.

    Kim Ralls, 2008

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  • 101. At 9:25pm on 15 Sep 2008, Zowwii wrote:

    I Am
    By Zoe Ranford

    I'm your mouth when you can't lie,
    I'm your reson, your alibi.
    I'm the door you hide behind,
    I'm the evidence they can't find.
    I'm your mask, i'm your disguise.
    I'm the secrets behind the lies.
    When you get caught, i'm your guilt and shame.
    I'm the one you try to blame.

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  • 102. At 9:25pm on 15 Sep 2008, subastra wrote:

    Dear fellow poets! (Especially those
    Who struggle to see past the end of their nose)
    May I just point out the guidelines above
    Which specify clearly: your labours of love,
    While doubtless articulate, thoughtful and fine
    Are not really meant to exceed twenty lines!
    Otherwise, carry on - let's see some more
    (Just try to keep it all under a score).

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  • 103. At 9:25pm on 15 Sep 2008, growingcroc wrote:

    Boredom

    I can knit and I can crochet,
    I can read and I can write,
    I can use a computer,
    So, why am I bored tonight?
    There's plenty in the house
    That I could and should do.
    So why am I not doing it?
    Does this happen to you?
    There's gardening and cross stitch
    And photography to try
    But am I doing anything?
    Oh no, not I.
    I'm sitting here bemoanin'
    The fact that I am bored.

    Oh, look I wrote a poem!
    I think the poems finished.
    So I will have to go
    Right back to being bored
    And watch a TV show.

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  • 104. At 9:27pm on 15 Sep 2008, rallsk wrote:

    Black Lead

    I often think that the best
    place by the fire was
    kept for me; only
    me

    I’m no story-teller
    but I like my
    place by the fire when
    I’m home

    The smell of fresh-cut logs
    slightly damp from the rain
    streaking down the
    windows

    A log collapses into ash
    sending sparks flying
    up the chimney
    in a cloud

    A gust of wind draws
    the flames higher
    and brighter before
    they die down again

    Kim Ralls, 2008

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  • 105. At 9:28pm on 15 Sep 2008, rallsk wrote:

    Footsore

    There’s a pair of old boots in the hall
    If they could talk, what stories they’d tell
    Of all the streets and roads they’ve walked
    down; dirt paths, past dry-stone walls

    Grit in the treads from Robin Hood’s Bay
    Mud after walking in the rain all day
    Caught out in a storm high up in the hills
    Stuffed with paper, drying on window sills

    Scuffed by the winding cobbles in Hawes
    And from tapping on rough stone floors
    Beer-stained from working behind the bar
    as they wait for the drive home by car

    Resting beneath spidery laces
    Bored with always setting the paces
    Fed-up with the icy-watered beck;
    Their owner insists on another trek

    Kim Ralls, 2008

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  • 106. At 9:28pm on 15 Sep 2008, growingcroc wrote:

    Beware The Warwickshire Way

    The Warwickshire way
    Is a way they say
    Which takes you through bush and through briar
    Beware what you say
    About the Warwickshire Way
    It could end you up in the mire
    Is it advice that you read
    Well that's all gone to seed
    Or grown into leaflets and such
    I'm sorry they say
    But the Warwickshire way
    Is not to help you too much
    Don't throw papers away
    For ten years and one day
    Then put them on the fire
    You should have learned
    That the papers you burned
    Will be the ones we require
    So follow the Warwickshire way
    And if you can help, just don't say
    You'll end up in a haze
    In the Warwickshire maze
    And wish you'd gone your own way.

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  • 107. At 9:28pm on 15 Sep 2008, growingcroc wrote:

    Frankie Or Lazy Baby

    Frankie had the experts worried
    His crawling and walking wouldn't be hurried
    Waiting to be carried
    To sit on someone's knee
    Is so much easier thought Frankie
    I'm sure you'll agree
    Than trying to walk
    Anyway, I'm busy
    Learning to talk
    Being helpless I've found
    Gets them all running round
    If I drop a toy, I won't fetch it
    No, boy!
    Making enough noise
    Is one of my ploys
    To get their attention
    Then, I should mention
    I get what I want
    So you see
    It's best for me
    To pretend to be helpless
    And worry them so
    I won't let it show
    They'll never know
    It's my way of coping
    I know they are hoping
    I'll walk or I'll crawl
    I won't try at all
    Maybe later I'll try
    But while my ploy
    Is all I need
    Why should I bother?
    Why, indeed.

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  • 108. At 9:29pm on 15 Sep 2008, Sainteyblog wrote:

    Sam

    Tomorrow night at half past eight all kids will eat their greens
    Smoking will be good for you and lard will make you lean
    Throughout the world there will be peace all nations hand in hand
    and all our loved and dead ones will rise and walk the land

    Tomorrow night at half past eight politicians will decree "we have a glut of money therefore everything is free"
    The world will turn the other way and we will all get younger
    The rain will fall, the crops will grow and we will all get younger

    Tomorrow night at half past eight when the world is having fun
    those who are disabled will jump up and run
    No one will be afflicted through drink or hate or drugs
    happiness will be poured out from multi coloures jugs.

    Tomorrow night at half past eight no onw will be blue, I'll seek you out and to tell you I have no love for you.

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  • 109. At 9:30pm on 15 Sep 2008, Zowwii wrote:

    Run
    By Zoe Ranford

    Run away and don't look back.
    Run along the railway track.
    Run from us,
    Run with me.
    Run from pain,
    Run to be free.
    Run for pleasure,
    Run for sport.
    Run away- don't get caught.
    Run for fortune,
    Run for pride.
    Run for destiny,
    Run to hide.
    Run for your life,
    Leave or stay?
    Eventually, you'll run away.

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  • 110. At 9:33pm on 15 Sep 2008, maycassidy wrote:

    Free range break free

    No space..no room
    Just doom and gloom
    For the rest of my life
    As l wait for the knife
    No chair no rest
    Just propped up for the best
    A cluck and a sigh
    As the day passes by
    Who gives a damn
    Just get the targets
    Hit the heights
    Lay the eggs
    Hands with seggs
    No love no care
    NO... don't go there
    Break free...fly on`
    Don't look back your jobs done

    Breathe in my face rat race
    Free Range break free from society

    Cluck loud no one can hear
    Who cares if you fear
    Death ever near
    To the left to the right
    Not a pretty sight
    Wounds laid bare
    No one to care
    Have another pill
    Keep you all still
    Don't cry out
    You'll get a clout
    Peck you to death
    Put the boot in
    Who said it was a sin
    Put you to sleep
    Not another peep

    Breathe in my face rat race
    Free Range break free from SOCIETY

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  • 111. At 9:35pm on 15 Sep 2008, Zowwii wrote:

    Away With The Fairies
    By Zoe Ranford

    Away With The Fairies;
    Head in the clouds,
    Escaping Reality,
    Or as insane as it sounds?
    'Cause if you've never known,
    Being down to earth.
    Then is being normal,
    More trouble than it's worth?

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  • 112. At 9:36pm on 15 Sep 2008, Sainteyblog wrote:

    I wrote myself a poem and I made a proper fudge
    now my poetic licence has been taken by a judge
    I tried to find a word to rhyme with Aberystwyth, I couldn't so I made one up 'Harrybarrymistiff'
    He said that it was shameful and should't be allowed, but when I read my poem, I was rather proud
    and I'm still writing poems because I'm a scarey rebel, la la la la la la la orangeapplebble.

    Chris Saintey

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  • 113. At 9:40pm on 15 Sep 2008, growingcroc wrote:

    Spring Garden
    The garden in spring
    Is a wonderful thing.
    It's full of long grass and weeds.
    The Mustn't lawn
    It looks all forlorn
    And the thyme,
    It has all turned to seeds.
    To the herbs in the garden
    I must beg your pardon.
    During winter you know
    The weeds didn't show
    And it was too cold
    To stay out in the garden.
    So we'll sweat and we'll toil
    To turn over the soil
    And make it look
    Nice for the summer.
    But next spring
    You will see
    The weeds there, whoopee.
    Isn't gardening a real b.....?

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  • 114. At 9:56pm on 15 Sep 2008, subastra wrote:

    Big World

    She went away so discreetly;
    If she suffered, the pain never showed;
    Her hair still framed her face neatly,
    Her eyes were still on the road.
    I can't say that I'd ever known her,
    Or cared about her at all,
    So I thought, as I looked through her,
    So much for the world being small.

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  • 115. At 10:00pm on 15 Sep 2008, Caionneach wrote:

    Remember Remember

    perfect straight ranks
    perfect straight minds
    hush little baby
    while the rightguard go by

    forty-five degrees
    raised falsely in love
    blaspheming to honour
    a power above
    perfect straight ranks
    goose-stepping tanks
    hush little baby
    while the rightguard march by

    days labours done
    time now to go
    their small patient cancer
    is learning to grow
    perfect straight ranks
    (fill in the blanks)
    hush little baby
    while the rightguard wheel by

    earth-coloured shirts
    soaking to black
    we saw your true colours
    as we turned to look back

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  • 116. At 10:02pm on 15 Sep 2008, Jodie_G wrote:

    A broken heart- by Jodie Garrett, 21

    (On telling a friend that I liked him and realising I was mistaken in thinking that he felt the same way.)

    I mistook you for someone who loved me
    Someone who cared about how I felt
    So when I discovered you didn't, oh what a blow my heart was dealt

    I said I loved you, but you just stared
    You couldnt have cared that I was scared
    You had asked me to be honest, but where to start
    Now I have a broken heart
    Once my cards were on the table
    I didn't know if you would still be there, if it would mean our friendship falling apart

    Why couldn't you love me like I loved you?
    You stood there not understanding what I was going through
    Now that you knew the truth what was I supposed to do?
    I couldn't have kept my feelings all bottled up inside
    That much I knew was true, I just couldn't help what I felt for you

    Things will never be the same again
    I was caught in limbo, not sure how to act
    Saying 'I love you' I infrienged on our friendship pact
    I loved you, but you dont love me, that was the unfortunate fact

    I knew deep down you didn't care
    But it didn't stop me wanting something to be there
    Now in my beating heart there is a tear
    Risked our friendship to lay my feelings bare

    I had been guessing about your feelings
    But obviously I guessed wrong
    I tried to hide my feelings and be strong
    But I wanted to sing my love out in song

    I loved you but all you wanted to be was friends, had to rebuild our friendship over again
    Unrequited love and passion for you made me cry
    But I couldn't let our friendship die
    I wanted you too stay
    But you were considering walking away

    I'm glad we both had faith in you and me
    Happy that you saw what a future without our friendship would be
    Through the confusion and pain I could see what real friendship meant and I could deal with just being mates
    Even though at the time it hurt to see reality

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  • 117. At 10:09pm on 15 Sep 2008, wildbloggerme wrote:

    A FLOWER

    A flower for all seasons is what we wish to choose,

    and many are the reasons for its uses as we muse;

    A flower can say I’m sorry or congratulations too,
    or lift away a worry with a thought so warm and true.

    A flower and its beauty says to all human kind,

    within me lies the power to grant you peace of mind;

    So as you gaze upon me, frail, yet beautiful to see,

    Remember man WHO made me; as healer unto thee !

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  • 118. At 10:11pm on 15 Sep 2008, wildbloggerme wrote:

    typographical error in the poem 117 titled

    "A Flower" change I?m to I'm

    ta!

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  • 119. At 10:12pm on 15 Sep 2008, rockTazzyTam wrote:

    Noises in my head

    The baby’s crying
    The cat’s meowing
    The stereo’s blaring
    The waters flowing
    My eyes are stinging
    The knifes shining in my hand.

    I slip to the floor
    I cry on the floor
    I look at the shiny knife in my hand
    Every things going black
    I drop the knife
    It’s not shinning
    I’ve stopped crying
    Every things quiet

    Nothings in my head
    There is no noise now
    I open my eyes
    Charm as seas
    I get up
    I tidy up
    Every thins quiet now


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  • 120. At 10:14pm on 15 Sep 2008, StuartRyder wrote:

    Snowdon

    I'm smoking on the summit, your letters
    in my hand. I tear them into snowflakes
    and scatter them across the all-inferior land.

    I look in your direction back
    along the ridge, swatting
    the attentions of each irritating midge
    on Snowdon's slatey slopes;

    where all my hopes rose up,
    kissed the air and breathed a silent,
    misty prayer.

    You're coming up the mountain, your hands
    are waving pleas. You gather up the snowflakes
    that I sent upon the thin, invisible breeze.

    You lick each paper fragment -
    adhesive of your lips glues us back
    together, despite our faults and slips
    on Snowdon's slatey slope;

    where lovers grope the stony ladder
    or shaky scree, and whisper "forever
    you and me".

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  • 121. At 10:15pm on 15 Sep 2008, starlight2112 wrote:

    Here's a wee nonsense poem I wrote a little while ago... I love making up words. What an interesting piece tonight by Giles :)

    "The Boogaloo"

    Down a dank and darkened stair,
    The Boogaloo resides.
    Twisting, turning, wriggling, gurning,
    yuch beyond compare.
    Igglsome, kootsy darned right ploopsy,
    Fair in the face he was not.
    Zitzy and puggled and overly muggled
    He stank of the most horrid rot.

    And there in the dankness
    He thought of his rankness
    And cried out ?It?s really not fair!
    To suffer such pleuchness
    And comments so ruthless!?
    Then he realised that no one did care.

    On his own, down those stairs,
    The Boogaloo sat,
    And he cried and he wailed that he wanted to end
    This most miserable life with its glooch and its clee -
    He cried out once more, ?Why?s there no one for me??

    So he sat on his own for the next ten years long,
    Till he heard a faint whisper,
    T?was almost a song?
    ?Look at me, can?t you tell that I really do smell
    and my legs are all blibbity bloop.
    My hair?s in a state and my nose is not there
    And my feet stink of drippity plop!?

    Uggsome, buggsome they slivered side by side,
    And were happy by all account heard.
    That the Boogaloo bundle,
    Had found a wee Rungle,
    And the pair carried on till the end.

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  • 122. At 10:16pm on 15 Sep 2008, callanjd wrote:

    A COMPUTER ROOM SONNET -

    The Swifts have nested above us to our
    right and our left, and the humming is not

    the computers, but the restlessness of
    chicks cheering their parents return, with a

    mouthful of flower-bed residents. Even
    the chug of the printer isn’t certain –

    the birds are garrulous and they
    are sleepless. Some way into the grey of

    an April afternoon they look for their
    parents and hope that the next meal will

    be better than the last. They can spy on
    us schoolchildren, whistle to each other

    when they catch kissing in the corridors
    and a brushing of hands by the bushes.



    Callan Davies, Kent.

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  • 123. At 10:17pm on 15 Sep 2008, callanjd wrote:

    Error above -

    A Computer Room Sonnet

    14 May 2007


    The Swifts have nested above us to our
    right and our left, and the humming is not

    the computers, but the restlessness of
    chicks cheering their parents return, with a

    mouthful of flower-bed residents. Even
    the chug of the printer isn’t certain –

    the birds are garrulous and they
    are sleepless. Some way into the grey of

    an April afternoon they look for their
    parents and hope that the next meal will

    be better than the last. They can spy on
    us schoolchildren, whistle to each other

    when they catch kissing in the corridors
    and a brushing of hands by the bushes.

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  • 124. At 10:18pm on 15 Sep 2008, callanjd wrote:

    the ?s should be dashes but it won't post correctly.

    * 'isn't' and 'certain - '

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  • 125. At 10:21pm on 15 Sep 2008, haptree wrote:

    To Anna

    You are new
    Now clean, now dry
    A small bright marble
    (you have fingernails and hair!)

    So who is she, it’s ok she’s safe
    She knows everything about you
    Every single minute of you
    Why Anna, she even smells like you!

    And him, he’s yours too
    You just met, he held your hand
    He cried - You are too beautiful
    He will protect you and talk softly about the world

    Anna, be sure to show them everything about you
    (and impress their friends too!)
    But that’s all for tomorrow
    You must sleep now.

    I said SLEEP NOW!
    Mummy needs to sleep too
    Don’t you remember?
    She just gave birth to you.

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  • 126. At 10:23pm on 15 Sep 2008, johnstirlingsmith wrote:

    A poem about the old Lec Airfield in Bognor Regis, West Sussex - derelect for some years now, strange and beautiful.

    The Airfield.

    No more the thrusting engines roar
    Above the cold wet strip,
    Long gone the song of merlins
    pounding down the hard packed grit.

    The brambles ramble
    stretching from the safety of their roots,
    Across the concrete, spikey fingers
    Clutching bundles of black fruits.

    The distant pink horizon
    Seeps through hedges turning red,
    And rosehips glow like warning lights
    Through crimson, silky spiders' webs.

    The mist rises like a blanket,
    Spilling from the cold wet rife,
    And dulls the sounds of distance
    Drifting through his grey half-life.

    He sometimes thinks he sees him there,
    And he walks with him alone,
    As he listens for the distant roar
    Of his Spitfire heading home.

    John Stirling Smith

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  • 127. At 10:23pm on 15 Sep 2008, Jubbahey wrote:

    SHEVA'S REALM

    In a river, under the bright,
    lived a spirit of the water
    an iridescent breath of light.
    She was wholly,grieving, lonely
    too many disbelievers strongly
    opposing her memory of time.
    Now she came forth. seeking solace
    looking for a reason to become
    a bride, to the earthly tide.
    Gazing down upon a Ranger, seeing
    his bereaving eyes, she opened
    them to great surprise.
    He captured her beauty then, for
    just a moment, enraptured, then
    tightly bound to her disguise, he
    came by the waters edge, to survey
    the world of his new love's life.
    He drowned that day before his time.
    Now she wanders, ere, begone her
    life's draught lost, beguiling passersby
    to a watery grave, in Sheva's realm.





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  • 128. At 10:27pm on 15 Sep 2008, starlight2112 wrote:

    here's another one of my favourites... (god I'm getting carried away)

    A to Zen

    Always be an avid admirer of art
    Always blaspheme the blasted bigot
    Always count the calm caresses
    Always debate the damning defect of duty
    Always eject eminent eejits
    Always find and forge fine friendships
    Always get god to go away
    Always have harmony handy
    Always investigate illogical ideology
    Always jump on jaggy judges
    Always kiss Celts in kilts
    Always love, laugh, live, learn
    Always make memorable moments
    Always negate the negative newscast
    Always be open to offers obscure
    Always appease a ‘pretty please’
    Always question a quizzical quarrel
    Always return a rude raspberry
    Always stalk with stealth
    Always talk with truth
    Always use the universe unselfishly
    Always vocalise vibrant voices
    Always weave a wondrous web
    Always excoriate exasperating xenophobes
    Always yearn for youthful yesterdays
    Always zig-zag to the zenith with zest and zeal

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  • 129. At 10:30pm on 15 Sep 2008, starlight2112 wrote:

    I don't think I'm going to stop... must...go...to bed....soooooooon!

    Dance With Me…

    Dance with me, just once more.
    Dance with me and feel my heart beat.
    Hold me, make me safe, protect me from the music
    That staggers from beat to beat.
    Embrace the madness that is my repertoire
    Forgive the dirge that is my disease.

    Find a note that sings so pure
    In me and tell me
    That I can make my own music
    To which you want to dance.

    Dance with me, just once more.
    Dance and hear my music,
    Like no one else.

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  • 130. At 10:32pm on 15 Sep 2008, subastra wrote:

    Love

    If love's what makes me look
    Between the lines of all you say;
    If love's what makes my heart ache
    Every time you walk away;
    If love's what makes me wonder
    Who you're with when you go out,
    I have to say that love is something
    I can do without.

    If love's what keeps you from me
    And yet always on my mind;
    If love's just something I'll hear all about
    But never find;
    If love can give me nothing more
    Than things to dream about,
    I have to say that love is something
    I can do without.

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  • 131. At 10:32pm on 15 Sep 2008, starlight2112 wrote:

    one last entry... thanks for reading :)



    "I.C.T.ee Hee Hee"

    Page up! I want to scream and shout!

    Copy, cut, paste I start to spout.

    Ostentatiously I try to comprehend,

    The message that I want to send…

    But happiness is my default position.


    Page down, I try again with doubt

    But it’s easier to eat a brussel sprout!

    My mouse is stuck!!!! I’ll try to mend…

    But happiness is my default position.


    Soft-ware, what a mystery; devout

    am I to work it a------ll out.

    Confused and confuddled, I am my friend.

    Escape I want!!! To leave !! Transcend!?

    Alas, I know not; not enough… POUT…

    But happiness is my default position : )

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  • 132. At 10:36pm on 15 Sep 2008, warriorLAMMIE wrote:

    FOR A WAR PHOTOGRAPHER LOST...
    Dont just tell me about shattered lives
    And the blood that stained the river
    Don't just tell me about the frightened child
    And the ghosts in her eyes that made you shiver
    Dont just tell me about the burning tanks
    And young charred bodies that littered the sand
    Dont just tell me about a home land gone
    Show the world a desolate land
    Dont just tell me of the frightened faces you met
    Show me the enimies bloody sons glistening wet
    Dont just tell me of a world gone mad
    Show it as it is...sad, sad, sad....Dont just tell me about it...TAKE THE BLODDY PICTURE

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  • 133. At 10:39pm on 15 Sep 2008, mir-lyn wrote:

    Requiem

    Watch the stars
    fall from the sky
    and shatter like fountains
    one by one
    dancing on the water

    Feel the wind
    graze the mountains
    and re-shape the void
    stone by stone
    with grains of crimson sand

    Hear the sea
    meet with the shore
    and tear the castles
    tide by tide
    from their fairytale beginnings

    Touch the night
    with a sweet caress
    and tell me softly
    hour by hour
    how much you loved me

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  • 134. At 10:41pm on 15 Sep 2008, GordonWJudge wrote:

    On the mend

    My passion is for mending things,
    I'm just that sort of bloke.
    To me, a thing's more interesting
    If it's well and truly broke.

    Just give me pliers, nuts and bolts,
    A hammer, tape and glue,
    And give me something old and broke -
    I'll make it just like new.

    A rattly bike, a wobbly chair,
    A clock whose tick needs curing:
    What other folk would throw away
    I really find alluring.

    I can't resist the urge to fix
    Whatever needs restoring;
    New things that always work okay
    Are boring, boring, BORING!

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  • 135. At 10:42pm on 15 Sep 2008, mjjenkins wrote:

    Woman

    Tis woman I need, and woman I crave
    And though in life I shuffle to my ignoble grave
    To God I’ll turn and plead and cry
    ‘O let me love one other before I die’
    And if as I believe my God is fair and just
    to me one other woman he will entrust
    He’ll change me, old man, back bent double
    into a youth once more, alive with sinews supple
    He’ll send to me a maiden fair
    And I shall look into her eyes and brush aside her flaxen hair
    and kiss and take her by the hand
    and we shall love in ways that only mortel men may understand

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  • 136. At 10:42pm on 15 Sep 2008, krzone wrote:

    The Annoying Thing.

    There’s a man in my bed!

    My friends, it seems we value our rest
    So what goes on in our cosy love nests?

    The way men sleep seems to cause us gyp,
    Frequently interrupting our deepest kip.

    A pint of beer would set him off,
    Decibel snoring from my bit of rough.

    Vegetarian emissions from dusk till dawn,
    Farts like the QE2 fog horn.

    The search for the credit note under the cover,
    I could have ignored if he was a great lover!

    Lying next to a sweaty mozarella cheese
    Made even worse by the annoying wheeze.

    Can you imagine after your first night in bed
    You wake up to find your pants on his head!

    The dribbling, the scratching the twitching’s the worst
    A peaceful night’s sleep that’ll be a first!

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  • 137. At 10:43pm on 15 Sep 2008, mjjenkins wrote:

    The green eyed monster

    I hated your husband before I met him
    He tried to be friendly
    I wouldn’t let him
    He shook my hand
    I wanted to crush his throat
    I hid it well, aloof and remote
    He smiled surreptitious and offered a platitude
    I wanted to kill him
    Perhaps the wrong attitude.

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  • 138. At 10:45pm on 15 Sep 2008, installed_fear wrote:

    The await of my third son,

    10 seconds gone my heart beat is getting faster
    20 seconds gone my mind takes over,
    30 seconds gone my eyes start to wander,
    40 seconds gone my heart beat over powers
    50 seconds gone i don't know what to think,
    1 minute gone my i start to worry,
    waiting waiting for someone to come in,
    to tell me it is time to scrub and to hurry ,
    waiting waiting looking up at the clock
    tick tick it goes completely non stop
    2 minutes gone what the hell has happened,
    this is taking too long i better go and ask them
    but still i find myself glued to the spot,
    worried out my mind beginning to lose the plot,
    deep inside i feel the tension building up,
    but in full front my face gives of nothing,
    No emotion i start to breathe slower
    each breath deepend heart beat going lower ,
    then the nurse comes i feel all the relief ,
    Into the theatre i follow as she leads,
    all my worry seems to be for nothing ,
    a baby boy wow he is so lovely ,
    the child i helped bring into this world,
    a child i will love for ever more.

    By David Tulloch

    Whitebridge , Inverness

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  • 139. At 10:51pm on 15 Sep 2008, StuartRyder wrote:

    Having just been through the same experience, I felt I could relate to this, David.

    Cheers

    Stuart

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  • 140. At 10:54pm on 15 Sep 2008, StuartRyder wrote:

    The slope of volcanic Ulan
    Is too steep for the climbing of Man.
    But mountainous goats
    With comfortable coats
    Will trot it as oft as they can.

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  • 141. At 10:55pm on 15 Sep 2008, denizeh123 wrote:

    True Love


    I love you my darling
    My heart is all yours,
    And when we are together
    My heart seems to pause.

    My breath is taken
    Far far away,
    And you my darling
    Are in my heart, to stay.

    Life is so precious
    And short this we know,
    And when you’re not with me
    I’m feeling so low.

    So let's get together
    And live in one home,
    Cause when we are together!
    I don't feel alone.

    I sit by the phone
    And wait for your call,
    And what a surprise,
    You are stood in my hall.

    With suit case in hand
    And love in your eyes,
    I know we'll be together,
    For the rest of our lives.



    By Denize Hastings

    19th June 2008

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  • 142. At 10:57pm on 15 Sep 2008, denizeh123 wrote:

    Eight legged friend

    I went to the toilet,
    to give it a clean,
    oh boy! guess what I've seen.

    I saw a big spider,
    gosh what a fright,
    he shouted “PLEASE HELP ME!”
    I fell in last night.

    The sides are so slippery,
    my web is all wet,
    please can you get me out with your net?

    I looked at the spider,
    was frightened no more,
    and in my net,
    I took him to the door.

    As I released him,
    he gave me a smile,
    I knew I would miss him,
    at least for a while.

    Good buy little spider,
    be on your way,
    but please remember to visit one day.


    By Denize Hastings

    28th June 2008

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  • 143. At 10:58pm on 15 Sep 2008, Poetryinsong wrote:

    Africa Lost

    Africa!
    Beating harshly - emotion of night
    The drum beat sounds - breaks forth in light?
    Rivers dusky red,
    Famine and corruption spread,
    Beauty raped!
    Your loveliness a camouflage
    masking anarchy?

    I cannot leave you!
    Your song is in my blood
    Unforgiving! Hard!
    Your talons have caught their prey!

    For I will remain here alone and forgotten
    You do not provide for your own
    You leave them - to die in the sun.

    Written by Beatrice Markham 1998

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  • 144. At 10:59pm on 15 Sep 2008, denizeh123 wrote:

    The stray moggy

    The cat on the mat is a cute little cat.

    I wish that cat was my little cat.

    I'll feed him, I'll stroke, I'll give him a smile.

    I know he will love me at least for a while.

    A cat has a free spirit he's soon on his way.

    I know it was silly to think he would stay.


    By Denize Hastings

    30th June 2008

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  • 145. At 11:02pm on 15 Sep 2008, Poetryinsong wrote:

    Requiem for Diana

    A star shone brightly in the hearts of men
    Rising swiftly in the sky, it fell to Earth again
    Its light was bright with a course so true
    Charisma and destiny bound anew!

    A nation rose and laughed and wept
    To witness a star so illuminated
    Royalty was at last understood
    Enacting the part of sisterhood

    Vulnerability was her strength
    Compassion for people was the key
    Combined with awesome charisma
    Her destiny was bound to be

    Adored by all, the paparazzi clamored
    For riches a plenty and fame enamoured
    Scruples all gone, they hounded and bayed
    Until blood on the ground, their rabid noises stayed

    What can we say?
    Who is to blame?
    Who are the ones that brought this shame?
    For all are guilty
    No one is spared
    The fox was caught and died in the snare

    A nation mourns, the darkness enfolds
    Mankind is filled with a guilty loss
    For the Star they sought to shine so bright
    Split its blood on the mantle of life.

    Where are we now?
    The crowds have gone
    What was is no more and cannot be maintained
    For the star that was Diana, will never rise again.

    Written by Beatrice Markham

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  • 146. At 11:05pm on 15 Sep 2008, installed_fear wrote:

    HMMMMMMMMMMM

    I traverse through life
    working on broken promises
    seeing the world through tinted glasses
    holding my life in the balance of a blade on a knife
    tasting destiny and watch it being ripped from me
    working hard to get nowhere ,
    to be somebody
    just to land on my feet to go there
    Just to feel the sweeping blow that takes my feet from under me.

    No longer should i stand in the shaddows of the greats
    to feel the honour they betroth on me
    to see the pride that falls upon me ,
    it is time for me to stand no longer wait,
    passes of gold dust streaming through my eyes
    No longer should i hear my own cries
    that fall beneath the skin in my darkened soul.
    but to periodically stun and amaze
    and no longer abide by our masters.

    You see a new man that stands before you,
    One of life with no breath of failure upon him
    In fct the truth i have never failed in nothing i have ever done ,
    just set-backs of love, hate and times of fun,
    i shall stand before you not as a figure to worship
    but as a humble man holding coins in his pocket.
    But in the persuit of true happiness i have found only one refuge,
    that refuge is to believe in ones self.

    All my dark thoughts lay in writing ,
    Written works of hate and self belief
    Words i would gladly fight for,
    But not words of hidden masterpeice
    epiphenies that no longer make us feel safe
    like we have the world at our feet ,
    begging us for mercy , begging us to be there
    to protect and serve them for whom of what i am .
    I am my own master and slave only to my heart.
    A slave that no longer feels compassion ,
    but for the retribution of the world ,
    i will wait.



    by David Tulloch

    Whitebridge , Inverness

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  • 147. At 11:10pm on 15 Sep 2008, Poetryinsong wrote:

    Ground Zero

    The mournful bell, four sets of five
    A folded flag with stretcher bare

    Reminder of that sunny day, when Hell
    its' burnished flame fought
    the way - to destroy a nation
    Naive in that all would be
    okay
    that fateful September day.

    Black muslin flaps, the steel beam shorn and then
    we raise it, raise it high
    To signify our loss of those
    brave souls destined, to die.

    The last post sounds, as bugle's notes clear
    around New York, its' heart laid bare.
    The fervent
    aorta visible to all the nations there.

    Selfless courage
    when dust perverted night and firemen
    police, workers, priests, entombed within the towering edifice -
    their final home.

    Their spirit remains
    They did not die in vain.
    The plans and actions of evil men
    will be thwarted as best we know.
    -
    We will not forget
    Ground Zero!

    Written by Beatrice MarkhamA

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  • 148. At 11:23pm on 15 Sep 2008, erinsloss wrote:

    WELL GILES IM BEGUILED
    WITH UR WINNING SMILE
    AND UR HEART IT IS SO FULL
    OF GUTSO
    TO HAVE A WEBSITE IT IS SO HARD TO JOIN
    AND IT ALL RELIES ON A MUTSO
    TO JOIN THE BLOG HERE U MUST VISIT THERE FOR A POET LIKE ME IS A PISTO
    BY THE TIME I GET THERE I HAVE LOST THE CUFF SONG I HAD IN MY HART TO DEPISTO
    TO PEOPLE LIKE YU COMPATRIOTS TRUE
    ON A WHIM TURN WORDS TO A WHISPER
    WITH POWER UNTOLD CAN STORIES UNFOLD
    HAVE EM SINGIN OR LAFIN OR CRYIN
    SO DONT MAKE IT HARD FOR ENOCHS LIKE ME
    FOR WORDS COME AN GO IN A FLASH
    AN IF I DONT GRAB EM AN PEN EM
    THERE GON TO ME MEMORY STASH
    ONE DAY ILL RETRIEVE EM
    AN LAUGHINGLY SHARE EM BUT FOR NOW
    HAVE TO WORK FOR ME CASH

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  • 149. At 11:28pm on 15 Sep 2008, pseudogirl wrote:

    Children versus the Neighbourhood Witch
     
    I was one once I know
    but that doesn’t stop me
    shouting at them now – children!
    In front of their parents
    who seem to think
    it doesn’t really matter
    that their litter ends up in my garden
    that they can pick my flowers
    and trample my shrubs
    But lay a finger on their ball
    and their daddy comes to call
    I find a well placed
    very small puncture hole
    does the trick
    Invisible to the naked eye
    they can carry on for another day and a bit
    Then slowly but surely
    the ball deflates
    And I am as innocent
    as they are.

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  • 150. At 11:29pm on 15 Sep 2008, subastra wrote:

    Dead

    I saw it on the evening news:
    Thay showed a picture of my muse
    And said there'd been an incident
    Involving some sharp implement...
    The poor thing never stood a chance
    And now she's pushing up the plants.
    I still miss her dreadfully -
    Hence the lousy poetry.

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  • 151. At 11:38pm on 15 Sep 2008, OceanDivide wrote:

    Manifesto

    Count the sheep, whilst you lie in bed,
    Convince yourself, it’s fun to pretend.
    If you can hear us laughing
    Then we’re sorry, we’ll be quieter, at best.
    Now just you get some sleep, and forget the rest.

    There are creatures lurking around our house
    Fearsome, ferocious, yet silent, cautious.
    Monsters, ripping, tearing they will
    If you just take a step toward the window sill.
    Real they may be but you’re with us now,
    Family, freedom, of us be proud.
    Terrible danger, not far from here,
    Yet of those monsters you will know no fear.

    Trap yourself beneath our wing,
    Stay with us, keep away from the glass.
    For to stay safe from what you see, you must
    Put in us your faith, and in us your trust.

    Now go back to sleep.
    We will hear your prayers
    For the ones we say to trust,
    For the ones we wish to care.
    We’ll keep you safe from the truth.
    So you don't get too scared.
    Protect you with small, white lies,
    Instil the right amount of fear.

    There is danger nearby; there is no time to flee,
    Just keep your head to the pillow and our words heeded.
    Have faith in us, just go back to sleep,
    We’ll have the monster wake you
    When we feel it is needed.

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  • 152. At 11:41pm on 15 Sep 2008, erinsloss wrote:

    WELL GILES IM BEGUILED
    WITH UR WINNING SMILE
    AND UR HEART IT IS SO FULL
    OF GUTSO
    TO HAVE A WEBSITE IT IS SO HARD TO JOIN
    AND IT ALL RELIES ON A MUTSO
    TO JOIN THE BLOG HERE U MUST VISIT THERE FOR A POET LIKE ME IS A PISTO
    BY THE TIME I GET THERE I HAVE LOST THE CUFF SONG I HAD IN MY HART TO DEPISTO
    TO PEOPLE LIKE YU COMPATRIOTS TRUE
    ON A WHIM TURN WORDS TO A WHISPER
    WITH POWER UNTOLD CAN STORIES UNFOLD
    HAVE EM SINGIN OR LAFIN OR CRYIN
    SO DONT MAKE IT HARD FOR ENOCHS LIKE ME
    FOR WORDS COME AN GO IN A FLASH
    AN IF I DONT GRAB EM AN PEN EM
    THERE GON TO ME MEMORY STASH
    ONE DAY ILL RETRIEVE EM
    AN LAUGHINGLY SHARE EM BUT FOR NOW
    HAVE TO WORK FOR ME CASH

    CATHERINE TREACY
    TIPPERARY

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  • 153. At 11:44pm on 15 Sep 2008, installed_fear wrote:

    What you expect from a highlander,

    Now heres a myth a story a'll tell,
    From the deepest darkest pits of hell,
    Hair of fire and a beard of snakes,
    This creature loves the lives he takes,
    Dragging them from Loch to Loch,
    Bones he crunches with his mighty jaws,
    Flaring Kilts and bagpipes roar,
    His lust for death blood and gore,
    Cannot be further from the truth,
    As he is a gentle giant and good,
    He writes his poems of love and dreams,
    A tender lonely heart it seems,
    He talks of velvet heather moors,
    A meadow pippet dancing slowly tours,
    From leaf to brush accross the heather,
    Enjoying the fine tender weather,
    And Golden Eagles seem to fly,
    Through his dreams of his darlings eyes,
    He writes soft poems about her smile,
    That warms his heart all this while.
    So a myth about the evil man ,
    Who has held death in his hands ,
    Is not the truth of what we are ,
    Us highland boys are lovers by far.


    by David Tulloch

    Whitebridge, Inverness

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  • 154. At 11:49pm on 15 Sep 2008, Chockyalien wrote:

    The Kestrel

    The Kestrel sits quietly on the post of a fence
    And patiently waits for his prey
    As I stand and look on
    He is instantly gone
    After his catch of the day

    He has spotted a mouse and gets into position
    Soon he will make a sharp dive
    He’ll hover above
    And with out any love
    Will swoop down and take it alive

    I admire this Falcon. He’s shrewd and he’s clever
    He’s no match with his hover and pause
    He’s quick, and he’s fast
    His dive does not last
    As he takes up his prey with his claws

    All though he’s not huge his wingspan is wide
    And his tail like a fan he will spread
    He is one of a kind
    So accurate you’ll find
    He’s the best it just has to be said

    By
    Beryl Ladd

    Chockyalien

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  • 155. At 00:13am on 16 Sep 2008, erinsloss wrote:

    IVE HAD SUCH FUN AND HAVE
    HAPPILY RAN
    THROUGH COUNTRY AND CONTINENT FREE
    HOME WAS NO JOY AS I LAY ON THE GROUND
    AND LOOKED UP THRU THE WARM SUMMER SUN
    ON SPOTTING A PLANE I GAVE IT MY NAME
    AND PROMISED SOON TO BE THERE
    I REMEMEMBER IT WELL AUGUST 65
    ON A BLISTERING HOT WORKING DAY
    WEIGHING THE FRUIT
    FOR THRUPPENCE A POUND
    WALKING ENDLESSLY
    AROUND AND AROUND
    ONLY THEN REALISED I WAS ONLY TEN
    A PASSPORT WAS NEEDED TO FLY
    PERMISSION WAS SOUGHT
    IT WAS FIRST IN MY THOUGHTS
    BUT THAT DID NOT WORRY ME.

    CATHERINE TREACY
    TIPPERARY

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  • 156. At 00:14am on 16 Sep 2008, ffrances wrote:

    Here is my poem..to be read in the style of a Stanley Holloway monologue...

    MY cousin Jim died today,
    me mother said "Not cousin Jim!"
    "rest o't'family were fated, but ahd never ah thowt of 'im!"
    "He never drew breath on a fag end,
    his choleslteral intake were nil,
    he even shunned t'pleasures o' drinkin'
    which mek all t'rest of us ill!
    He were up at dawn, each mornin' joggin',
    an' is cheeks 'ad the rosiest bloom,
    an' 'ee never went near the town centre
    for fear of poolution an fumes!"
    There were lots of discussion at t'funeral,
    of the untimely end that he'd met,
    Cousin Jim? not a day over eighty?
    it must ah been summat e'd et!
    F.H.S copyright

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  • 157. At 00:22am on 16 Sep 2008, jamjardog wrote:

    One passions:

    My one passion, after 34 years of marriage, is still my wife, Maggie.
    Every year I write four poems for her, on her birthday, on Valentines day, on our wedding anniversary, and for Christmas.

    Here is one I wrote soon after I first met her:

    You comfort my eyes

    You comfort my eyes when I see you,
    And when you speak,
    You are a friend to my ears.
    In the black silence your words are stars,
    Your laughter a constellation.
    Your smile fills the sky,
    Your songs are spurts of lightning.

    Oh, I fear darkness, I fear night
    Don’t leave me empty of your light.

    And another:

    I have burned my boats

    I have burned my boats down to the ground
    And left their ashes on the sand.
    After many years of riding rough seas,
    Carried by uncharted currents
    I have burned my boats
    Without a second thought.

    So with never a backward glance,
    I stumble up the beach,
    Stubbing my toes on stones
    Unused as yet
    To the stability of land.
    Hearing behind me the sea
    Suck the sodden ashes.

    For you, my love,
    I would have burned a fleet,
    A whole armada.


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  • 158. At 00:28am on 16 Sep 2008, mir-lyn wrote:

    Pylons

    Ugly
    symetrical
    tree - things
    tallproud you stand
    rooted in the dark earth but not
    of it
    for your
    seed was
    not cast from
    mother nature's
    hand but from some
    smelting pot in Scotland
    where they cloned you.
    Though your silver bones
    may weather time's test
    still I say beware
    one day, even for you, the axe will fall

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  • 159. At 00:33am on 16 Sep 2008, ANTOLYANTO wrote:

    ODE TO THE BACON BAP

    ON COLD AND FROSTY WINTERS MORN
    WHEN FROZEN AND CHAPPED LIPS SCORN
    WHEN IT’S CALLED A SUDDEN COLD SNAP
    THANK HEAVENS FOR A BACON BAP

    AS MID MORNING LOOMS AND FEELING WEAK
    WITH STOMACH RUMBLING, THINGS ARE BLEAK
    AND ALL YOUR PLANS BEGIN TO UNWRAP
    THERES ALWAYS TIME FOR A BACON BAP

    IT IS TIME AT LAST FOR YOUR LUNCH
    NOW WERE LOOKING FOR SOMETHING TO MUNCH
    ANY FOOD SEEMS GOOD ENOUGH TO ENTRAP
    LET US FEED ON A BACON BAP

    MID AFTERNOON AND ALL HAS GONE WRONG
    OUR HEART IS HEAVY AND WITHOUT SONG
    WE MUST PUT ON OUR THINKING CAP
    I THINK I WILL HAVE A BACON BAP

    ARRIVING HOME AND IT IS TIME FOR TEA
    WIFE AND CHILDREN GREET YOU WITH GLEE
    RECIPIES ABOUND WITH LOADS OF CRAP
    I WILL FEED THE FAMILY WITH A BACON BAP

    TIME FOR BED AND TIME TO DREAM
    ANOTHER DAY AT WHICH WE SCREAM
    I KNOW IT WILL ALWAYS SET IT’S TRAP
    BUT I CAN GET THROUGH IT WITH A BACON BAP

    BY ANTOLYANTO

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  • 160. At 06:02am on 16 Sep 2008, pollypage wrote:

    Not So Permenent Marker.

    I'm refillable and permanENT
    Everywhere she went I went
    I was even often lent
    ConfidENT
    I'd never be spent.
    I always knew just what she meant
    Then that day the accidENT
    She dropped me, crushed me, now I'm bent.

    So much for being PERMANENT!

    by Polly Page

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  • 161. At 06:11am on 16 Sep 2008, pollypage wrote:

    DESPAIR

    Helpless
    Hopeless
    Darkest
    Blackest
    Welcome death for helpless hopeless souls
    Sinking in life's darkest blackest holes.

    By Polly Page

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  • 162. At 06:34am on 16 Sep 2008, starlight2112 wrote:

    I strongly suggest you try this ...



    Go and Try it!


    Have you ever, ever tried
    To do what I’ve just done?
    Just walking round the park, I was,
    Decided to have fun.
    You see those fallen crumpled leaves,
    All dried and curled up too?
    Well I’ve just had a good ole stomp,
    I loved the scrunch – Woo HOO!
    Go try it. It was Brilliant!
    To hear the leaves go SCRUNCH!
    Especially when there’s more than one
    The sound has bigger PUNCH!
    You don’t need to be 7 or 8
    To do the things I’ve tried.
    I’m bleedin’ over 30
    And “Responsible” she sighed.
    But, scrunching, crunching
    Stomping, chomping
    Stepping on those leaves,
    Was quite delightful
    (Even frightful!)
    Go and try it please.

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  • 163. At 08:14am on 16 Sep 2008, HAPPINESS9 wrote:

    Wrote this when I was being inundated with half ripe, red and green tomatoes, little and big, told to put them on the windowsills,anywhere everywhere, I was weary of getting up in the morning and a few more had been placed on the worktop with a note, can you find room for a few more?..........

    If you love me..
    Do not torment me with tomatoes,
    DO not pester me with peas,
    Do not cover me with cabbage,
    or put nettles on my knees.

    But let me revel in the radishes,
    and cuddle me in cress.
    Then lavish me with lettuce ,
    and put beetroot on my breast.

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  • 164. At 08:55am on 16 Sep 2008, Janiecobweb wrote:

    THE TRUTH

    "It was like a dream," she said,
    "The way you held my hand,
    The way you looked into my eyes -
    I'll never understand..."

    He shook his head and smiled at her,
    She felt her insides squirm,
    He leaned to her and touched her hair -
    His fingers seemed so firm;

    "Take me, all of me," she said,
    "Take my breasts and all,
    Take the essence of my soul,
    Hear my passions call!"

    "You're nothing but a worthless tart!"
    His riposte was so cruel,
    He snarled so close she felt his breath
    Hot, where hers was cool.

    Tears stung her eyes and trickled down
    The shadows on her face,
    "Come back..." she feebly begged of him,
    "Come to my humble place...."

    But he was gone, she saw him go,
    There could be no escape,
    Her whispered words hissed through the air
    And the sound of them was "rape"....

    That was the past, the years ago,
    She now looked wan and pale,
    Waiting for the King of Hearts
    To return to her from gaol.

    And when he came, his pale face grey
    Like the face of men can be
    She smiled at him and said to him
    She was glad to see him free.

    "I never touched..." he muttered loud,
    "I never .. no, not once...."
    "I know," she giggled, "It seemed the thing:
    You must think me a dunce!"

    "I gave so many years," he said,
    "Years you stole from me,
    And even though it's over now
    I won't be truly free..."

    "It was like a dream," she said,
    "The way you held my hand,
    The way you looked into my eyes -
    I'll never understand..."

    He shook his head and walked away,
    There was nothing he could think
    Beyond the blade he'd take to her
    After he'd had a little drink.

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  • 165. At 08:57am on 16 Sep 2008, jarlathbancroft wrote:



    The Decline of the Male


    It’s thought by the year two thousand and ten
    The world will no longer have need for us men

    No longer will women have need for our sperm
    To provide for that child for which some yearn

    No need to remember that first tender kiss
    All those magic moments now to be missed

    That discreet glance and the little black dress
    No more simple things, those pleasures of the flesh

    The end of the courtship, the romance, the chase
    Just a trip to the cloan shop, and a two minute wait

    The end of the moonlight, the roses and romance
    No need anymore to go to that dance

    And what if they miss the company of men
    They can go buy an artificial one instead

    A world where all children will look like their mother
    No one is different….we all look like each other

    So what of this world devoid of us men
    Will it be better or worse….or just dull

    A empty life this, without any men
    Let’s hope we see sense before two thousand and ten

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  • 166. At 09:00am on 16 Sep 2008, Janiecobweb wrote:


    MY WICCAN LOVE

    "Wicca, Wicca witchy, roast the nuts in May,
    Take me to your mistress, take me there today,
    And I will be your sweetheart, will bring you to my heart,
    Will wait for you at midnight, and we will never part;

    "Wicca Wicca Witchy, there's a ring passed through your nose,
    A golden ring with diamonds, like petals of a rose,
    You are the Queen of darkness, the light inside our souls
    And they are in the shadows, and mystic stygian holes.

    "Wicca Wicca Witchy, with spells inside your heart
    And whispered words of magic, a verbal kind of dart,
    Come and kiss me gently, press lips upon my brow,
    And tell me all your secrets, yes tell me every how!"

    She held me with her eyes, her piercing eyes so blue,
    "There's nothing in my heart that I'll ever say to you,
    For our secret, man, is love or the things that lovers think,
    So come this way so peaceful and join me for a drink."

    She held a goblet to me, golden like the moon
    And steaming with temptation, "Come take it, friend, and soon!"
    But a thought reached out and grabbed me, a spiteful little thought
    And told me with a whisper that all would come to nought!

    The baleful little man who dwelt within my brain
    Nudged me once and nudged me twice and nudged me once again;
    "Go off!" he shrieked, "This Wiccan witch will poison you for sure,
    She'll force her toxins on you, and make you drink them more!

    "You'll be her slave for ever, she'll cast a spell on you,
    Don't take her word for anything for none of it is true,
    She'll have you at her feet, grovelling for your life,
    And beware her motives, fool of mine, hers is the cruellest knife."

    I shook my head to clear him, and turned back to the dame
    But she had gone, of course she had, and I would do the same:
    "I might have made a friend there, we might have shared a life,
    But now it seems you've left me with pain and fear and strife."

    I sauntered on and sang my song, the one I'd made for her,
    The Wicca, Wicca Witchy song, it made my spirits stir,
    And my little demon cackled at the nonsense of my loss -
    He was the awful best of me, my spoiler and my boss.

    And in the forest, deep and dark, with eyes alight around,
    With mind dimmed by my thinking and focussed on the ground,
    I walked until the midnight hour struck from a distant tower
    And I sat upon the blackest ground, my stony hard-rock bower.

    Sleep stole on me slowly, sleep and dreams of death,
    Ice cold spirits teased me, they almost stole my breath,
    And silently, like magic, or like magic sometimes seems,
    My Wiccan friend descended and moved inside my dreams.

    And my eyes were closed forever, my heart stilled there and then,
    No spirit good or evil, no creature and no men,
    And I was lost in nowhere, how can a mortal tell
    That a finger came to touch me, the finger of a spell.

    "Wicca Wicca Witchy," a voice formed all around,
    It entered my dead spirit, it seeped into the ground,
    And she was there, and smiling, and filled with boundless love
    And I gazed for ever upwards to a nothing up above.

    The darkness and the freezing and all the stuff of death
    Were piled like sods upon me, and ice instead of breath
    But still my spirit stirred, my Wiccan came to me,
    My newfold witch of magic, to set this sinner free.

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  • 167. At 09:03am on 16 Sep 2008, Janiecobweb wrote:

    THE LAY OF THE SQUIRREL OKIES

    There's a mountain in Mullovia where the squirrel okies played
    Travellers from a dustbowl to a mountain where they stayed,
    Though coughs and wheezes grabbed them, and the winds blew thin around
    They laughed the briefest moment and sunk onto the ground:
    "Nuts to everybody, nuts to all," they cried,
    And took their sickness with them and with their sickness died.
    The mountain in Mullovia became their tombstone proud,
    A sky-high place where often their ghosts prayed out aloud,
    And in their mountain graveyard they sowed some seeds of love,
    Though clouds swirled down below them and space loomed big above.
    And the god of life and loving gazed down on where they lay,
    Saw the dust of Okie squirrels, heard the echoes from the day,
    And cast a sunbeam like a sparkle to Mullovia's icy peak,
    Through death and all its angels it wove as it did seek
    The dust, the 0kie remnants, the squirrels of the Earth,
    And offered them the gift of life, strange magic of rebirth.
    They stirred, who wouldn't stir when promised such a thing?
    But with but a single voice their mystic words did sing:
    "Nuts to everybody, nuts to all", they sang
    And for a fragile moment their muted voices rang,
    Then back their dead dust settled, back to its timeless rest
    As they proved they were true lovers, true and quite the best:
    In death they moved together as idle winds blew past,
    In death they were true squirrels, in death they were the last.






    11:24 - 6 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove

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  • 168. At 09:09am on 16 Sep 2008, Janiecobweb wrote:

    THOUGHTS AT NIGHT MY LOVE

    There's absolutely no way
    I want to be apart from you,
    Not now in the breathing day,
    Not for a heartbeat moment
    So beware brother death, take care
    Not to come this way if you dare!

    I want her near me, so much,
    Like a shadow, or nearer,
    Always close enough to touch,
    To reach out in the mess of nights,
    To call to like lovers call,
    Daring the darkness and shadows and all.

    Don't think of that long black night,
    We'll keep it ever so far away,
    Give it never the hint of a light,
    Yet it's where us lost urchins will play
    Hands touching hands in the fragrance
    Of an everlasting bower,
    And lips pressed together, with moisture,
    Like dew on the sweetest flower

    The curtains, my lover, will lower
    As curtains always do,
    Will make heartbeats go gradually slower
    Of me and then of you,
    But there's time for the beating of hearts,
    Time for enraptured life,
    Years when our friendship outsmarts,
    The wiles of death's gruesome knife.
    We'll be playing together our parts
    My angel, my lover, then wife.

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  • 169. At 09:19am on 16 Sep 2008, Janiecobweb wrote:



    THIS AFTERNOON

    We'll go for a walk in a moment
    My lover girl and I
    We'll walk through the woods together
    With the sun high in the sky.
    And we'll laugh at the dog and his antics -
    We'll laugh till we nearly cry!

    We'll talk like we do forever,
    We'll chat about nothing at all,
    Hold hands as we pass by the river,
    Lips touch as the spirits call,
    And the dog will chase off in that moment
    After a rabbit or shadow or ball.

    And the gods of the earth will surround us,
    The deities guarding each tree,
    The life-force that moves like a shadow
    Embracing my lover and me,
    And the dog is lost in a hedgerow,
    Barking and frantic – and free!

    And when we're weary and almost panting,
    Old folks with our aching limbs,
    There's the path that leads us homeward
    As the sun winks at us, and dims:
    And laughing his canine laughter
    Old Max and his doggy whims.

    And we'll sit on our sofa and smile
    At recollections of our walk
    And give new life to memories of sunshine
    As we chatter and smile and we talk,
    And Max will dream as he softly slumbers
    To the popping of our blackberry cork!

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  • 170. At 09:22am on 16 Sep 2008, EddieMarch wrote:

    The Chicken

    I went out a-walking under skies that grew grey,
    When I met a young chicken a-hurrying my way,
    I gave her a smile and I laid on some flattery
    As this sometimes works well on the girls from the battery.

    With her head on one side she said I was sleazy,
    She told me that I couldn’t turn an egg over that easy.
    I said I was sorry, I wouldn’t try it on again,
    And as that lie left my lips it started to rain.

    “Oh no!” cried the chicken “this will ruin my plumage,
    Precipitation! For my down that spells ‘doomage’.”
    “Come shelter at my place, it’s close by” I said.
    “It’s a sweet little cottage (with a big feather bed).”

    So together we scurried back to my kitchen door,
    By the time we had reached it, it had started to pour.
    Once dry and inside I noticed a change,
    No battery bantam - this bird was free range.

    She pressed up against me unbuttoning my shirt,
    Clip, zip, slip and she stepped out of her skirt.
    I tried to say words – mouth open - unable,
    As with a grin full of sin she bent over the table.
    So I closed the door and I fastened the locks,
    Then I plucked, stuffed and ate her coz I is a fox.

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  • 171. At 09:23am on 16 Sep 2008, LizLogan wrote:

    MOUNTAIN WOLVES

    Searching the depths where no-one else goes
    Looking for truths that no-one else knows
    Trying to feel what everyone else shows
    Staying up, despite all the lows.

    Does the pack know the pain of the lone?
    Joint anonymity favoured to a heart of stone
    Long sorrowed howls turn to soft moan
    The trash-can where lost souls are thrown.

    A life-long war seems hardly a life
    Yet nothing awaits from giving up the fight
    To run with the pack only brings strife
    Yet lone wolf can't see the light.

    To sit on the mountain in fresh-driven snow
    To gaze at people without need to show
    You've a care for them or troubles they know
    Because up on the montains their pain gains perception
    The climb to the hights emotions' revelation
    Only the battered survivors sit there.

    You run with the pack through the woods of time
    Passion of one shared between the gathered whole
    For every event you raise up a neon sigh
    Tears and laughter spill out without control
    Yet your wounds are the size of grains
    To those who sit on the mountain

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  • 172. At 09:25am on 16 Sep 2008, LizLogan wrote:

    MIGHTY RIVER

    Little bear cub sat by the stream one day
    Waiting for the fishes to come and play,
    They dived down the stream in a frenzied fray
    Following mighty river along his way.

    The sun beat down on little cub's back
    As he gazed across at the gray wolf pack
    They smelt cub's mother big and black
    And slinked back to the hunting track.

    Little cub put out a paw for prey
    To take from fish-shoals what he may
    But from firm ground he was stray
    And by mighty river was swept away.

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  • 173. At 09:39am on 16 Sep 2008, growingcroc wrote:

    I Wonder

    I wonder where the wonder goes
    As we start to grow.
    I wonder where the wonder goes.
    I wonder. Do you know?
    The wonder of the spiders web
    Bejewelled in the morn.
    The wonder of how seeds can grow
    Into barley wheat and corn.
    Can we keep the wonder
    The wonder of a child?
    Can we keep the joy of it
    And go wondering wild?

    I wonder why the wind is.
    I wonder why it's there.
    I wonder if the wind can
    Blow away our cares.
    I wonder where the sun goes
    When the moon is in the sky.
    Are the sun and moon friends?
    If not I wonder why.
    Isn't it wonderful
    The wonder of a child?
    Let's try and keep the joy of it.
    And go wondering wild.

    I wonder how a caterpillar
    Can change so very much.
    I wonder how some plants
    Can curl up with just a touch.
    I wonder how a tadpole
    Can turn into a frog.
    I wonder how many creatures
    Can live on one old log.
    Let's join them in their wonder.
    The wonder of a child.
    We all need to wonder
    And go wondering wild.

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  • 174. At 09:46am on 16 Sep 2008, oldquakerboy wrote:

    Last Winter I was having yet another bad day on the golf course. Walking up the 12th fairway I was contemplating my next shot which had to negotiate a tall tree. In an effort to pull myself together,I found myself composing the following poem that reflected my passion of a 77 year old's love for the Coming of Spring.

    WAITING FOR THE “OFF”


    The barren, leaf-less chestnuts stand elegant and tall
    No rising sap, just waiting there for Nature’s Wake-Up call.
    Through Winter months they’re buffeted by endless wind and rain
    Their tight-lipped buds keep straining to burst with life again.
    Exposed and open branches force birds to look elsewhere
    For cover from the snow and cold, the bitter months to bear.
    But Nature has the answer , some trees no leaves they shed,
    The evergreens, like holly give food and warmth instead.
    The daffs start growing early, before the frost has formed.
    Then stop, to wait until the frozen soil has really warmed.
    But when New Year is over, with gardens white with snow
    Perhaps, for weeks it lingers before it starts to go.
    Then as the thaw brings solace, the ground returns in style
    We find the cheeky snowdrop has been there all the while.
    A buzz of expectation begins to fill the air
    Deceptive sunny days appear and seem to be less rare.
    Then suddenly one morning we wake with quite a fright,
    We’re sure the hedge is greener and the sky is shining bright
    The chestnut buds are popping; the birds brought in the dawn,
    Nature sent its e-mail, “A new Spring now is born”.

    Thanksto The One Tam for letting me share my passion for Spring.

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  • 175. At 09:50am on 16 Sep 2008, zycolees wrote:

    Ode to my Flower

    Our love was like a flower
    That burst into the light
    Its fragrance, warm and cosy, always seemed so right

    Each petal opened slowly
    It colours shone so bright
    Redness like a sunset, a radiant, warming might

    The beauty was so wonderful
    It brought insects from their flight
    Attracted by the perfect form, so small and round and tight

    Then one day the petals fell
    The beauty gone from sight
    And slowly, oh so slowly, we entered darkest night

    Now all that’s left is memory
    Of flowers red and white
    And memories of a flower which finally lost the fight

    But out there somewhere in the cold
    Fighting winters bitter bite
    A seed from the flower is waiting, to burst into the light



    Mike - Lydney

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  • 176. At 09:54am on 16 Sep 2008, robinwhitty wrote:

    Ironically, there are more poems on the "Welcome, Here's How to Sign Up" page than this one ... not the easiest blog to use.

    That was where mine ended up. Well, here it is again - I've improved it slightly anyway...

    Higgledy-piggledy,
    BBC's One Show's
    Recording one's views on what's
    Floating one's boat;

    What makes it watertight
    Axiomatically -
    Proof mathematical's
    What gets my vote.

    And when I'm failing to prove my own theorems, I write higgledy-piggledies about other peoples:

    Higgledy-piggledy,
    Pierre de Fermat,
    Declared two nth powers,
    n greater than 2,

    That sum to a third imply
    Non-integrality;
    Marginally harder
    Was proving it true!

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  • 177. At 09:55am on 16 Sep 2008, YoungZoot wrote:

    Football Fever

    I've got football fever
    Now I'm football mad
    Football's taken over
    I've got football bad

    Yes, I've got football fever
    I thought I was immune
    But I'm not 'sick as a parrot'
    Instead I'm 'over the moon'

    So I don't need a doctor
    I don't need a pill
    I'm not feeling awful
    I'm not really ill

    I've just got football fever
    I've just gone football mad
    I'm as crazy as my sister
    I'm as barmy as my Dad

    We've all got football fever
    Each one did succumb
    But if you think we've got it bad
    Wait till you meet Mum!

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  • 178. At 10:00am on 16 Sep 2008, singingchortle wrote:

    Baby

    Recently, I feel as though something has come between us.
    We've grown apart
    of you and me.
    And as it grows, so do we.
    But a strong pair of arms can bridge the gap.
    They do say that the best way to a man's heart is through her stomach.

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  • 179. At 10:05am on 16 Sep 2008, akafentiger wrote:

    Childhood
    My memory often wanders back to days when I was small,
    To times when play was everything and make believe was all.
    Elves lived in our apple tree, (the knots were their front doors).
    Sprites danced in the clover field, I saw them once, I’m sure.

    My cardboard box could be a boat, a car or aeroplane
    A hole dug in the garden we’d defend with might and main
    Against the fiendish enemy who ever it might be.
    Then we’d be called in to get cleaned up and ready for our tea.

    In the school hols. in the Summer time we’d be out in the fields all day
    The “helping” with the haymaking would soon turn in to play
    Rough and tumbles on the springy stacks would have us sweating fit to burst,
    Then off we’d run to our “dockey” bags for our “pop” to slake our thirst.

    Cricket in the Summer days with makeshift bat and ball
    And battles in the Autumn when we heard the Conkers call.
    Driving the tractor in the harvest fields, who could ask for more?
    The “Jobsworth, can’t do that” brigade, of now, would have never kept the score.

    With the rush, hurry, worry of today, youngsters are super supervised.
    They’re driven here there and every where to a time table set and sized.
    They have advice on care from every side, electronics by the score.
    But I can’t help feeling that it would be great, to set them free, once more.

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  • 180. At 10:17am on 16 Sep 2008, ladytina40 wrote:

    My Arrival

    I can hear her voice, she's taking to me, she says "I love you".
    Can she feel me moving around and kicking,
    I've had enough of that now, I'll go back to my thumb licking.
    I think I'll make an appearance today,
    But it's like an obstacle course in here,
    all these things in my way.
    I'll take a deep breath and burst out of this balloon,
    Where's all that water going, I hope I see her soon.
    It's taking a long time, isn't there a short-cut, I'm tired out,
    What's this big rope round my neck, help!
    I can't move about.
    I can't breathe, I hear their voices
    "give her a section",
    Time's running out, I'm turning blue, then at last, safe hands deliver me to protection.
    I can't cry, I'm exhausted and freezing cold,
    But now they wrap me in a blanket and give me to her to hold.
    Something soft is touching my lips, I think I'm in luck,
    Lovely warm liquid is coming now,
    "thanks Mum!" I settle down and happily suck.

    by Tina Thompson

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  • 181. At 10:17am on 16 Sep 2008, YoungZoot wrote:

    Addict

    I don't choose cheese or chicken
    I don't touch marzipan
    Chocolate's my addiction
    I indulge whenever I can

    I gobble it for breakfast
    I guzzle it for tea
    Chock-a-block with chocolate
    Send for me

    I may not have my own teeth
    I may be overweight
    But as a chocolate chewing chomper
    I'm not just good - I'm GREAT!

    Please don't prohibit chocolate
    Don't impose a chocolate ban
    Cos I'm a chocoholic
    A desperate dangerous man

    And I need chocolate - NOW!

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  • 182. At 10:25am on 16 Sep 2008, AnnieRowles wrote:

    My passion is my little boy, he makes me smile all day!

    Ashley


    When I wake in the morning I hear him cry,
    “Mummy, I need you!” I go to see why,
    He wants a cuddle and to know you’re there,
    I give him a kiss and stroke his hair.

    He fills me full of love and joy,
    He means so much, my little boy,
    His smiley face make me tell everyone,
    That he is the best thing I’ve ever done.

    He loves to go to school each day,
    I miss him so much when he is away.
    At home time I stand at the school gates with glee,
    My little boy I just can’t wait to see.

    We walk home hand in hand together,
    Discussing the day and proclaiming he’s clever,
    We come home and sit for a drink and snacks,
    Then out come his Thomas toys, back on the tracks.

    He loves his lego, putting together the pieces,
    He compares what he’s made with my nephews and nieces,
    He has Wilbur and Bilbur his two little cats,
    He helps to look after them and to them he chats.

    We have tickling fun when he lies on the ground,
    Laughing delightfully squirming around,
    He is so special my little one,
    He makes everyday happy and so much fun.

    What did I do before he arrived,
    What was I doing, how had I survived?
    For my world is now filled with so much love,
    Mummy, Daddy and Ashley, we fit like a glove.

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  • 183. At 10:39am on 16 Sep 2008, Sarahellen1982 wrote:

    A passion for poetry. (My big brother collaborated on this one. I'm 26 by the way!! Lol)



    The Greater Spotted Poet.

    The poet is a funny bird,
    It’s never seen but often heard,
    Sometimes clever, sometimes crude,
    (In limerick there often rude!)
    Appearing when there least expected,
    At rugby grounds they've been detected,
    Singing loud, clear and free,
    Mainly at the referee.

    They are quite loud,
    And often we,
    Will find them,
    At the library,
    They also like,
    To project,
    On the one show,
    I interject,

    They sometimes charge,
    A small fee,
    But the poet bird,
    Won’t bother me.
    You see,
    For I am one too,
    And in a bar,
    You'll find a few,

    In other places they are also found,
    Sometimes they don’t make a sound,
    They hide amongst Bronte’s heathers,
    For people hunt them for their feathers.

    By Sarah-Ellen Stevenson and
    Stuart Stevenson.

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  • 184. At 10:45am on 16 Sep 2008, Sarahellen1982 wrote:

    In the first verse, (My brother's) the spelling was terrible. I felt the need to correct it!


    The Greater Spotted Poet.

    The poet is a funny bird,
    It’s never seen but often heard,
    Sometimes clever, sometimes crude,
    (In limerick they’re often rude!)
    Appearing when they’re least expected,
    At rugby grounds they've been detected,
    Singing loud, clear and free,
    Mainly at the referee.

    They are quite loud,
    And often we,
    Will find them,
    At the library,
    They also like,
    To project,
    In places wide,
    I interject,

    They also charge,
    A small fee,
    But the poet bird,
    Won’t bother me.
    You see,
    For I am one too,
    And in a bar,
    You'll find a few,

    In other places they are also found,
    Sometimes they don’t make a sound,
    They hide amongst Bronte’s heathers,
    For people hunt them for their feathers.

    By Sarah-Ellen Stevenson and
    Stuart Stevenson (her brother).

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  • 185. At 10:45am on 16 Sep 2008, singingmerlin wrote:

    Here is my poem:

    GRANDPA TO THE HOODIE

    Good morning, compeer, lout. I see you slouch
    the length of Merlin's Lane, your iPOd clamped
    to dour and anti-social (unwashed) ear.
    You look morose - but hell, there was a time
    (I know maybe I didn't wear a hood)
    but boy, I scowled. And mouthing freely, cursed
    the cinemas who wouldn't let us in
    to X's. Moan? Oh boy, we really moaned
    the lack of serious erotica
    within the barber's shop, school dinners, school,
    and all those groaning patronising swine,
    policemen, bus conductors, usherettes,
    shopkeepers, barmaids, teachers. Boy.
    You think this lane is boring, Sunshine Joe.
    You should have been here fifty years ago.

    Robert Nisbet
    Haverfordwest

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  • 186. At 10:53am on 16 Sep 2008, stanwarby wrote:

    The best of all time

    Sir Alex Ferguson, the fiery scot,
    As a manager, best of the lot.
    Won ten trophies with Aberdeen
    Then came to England, to reignite a team.
    From Man. United, the invite came,
    Since that day, it's not been the same.

    Though slow at first, it soon picked up,
    His first United trophy, the F.A Cup.
    Then the trickle turned into a flow,
    And 18 years later, 29 trophies on show.
    Great football, great players, they've passed the test. And as for the manager, he's outwon the rest.

    We don't care about the 'Becham Boot'
    And facing the 'Hairdryer' we don't give a hoot.
    He s the man with the consoling arm,
    And when it warrants, he lays on the charm .
    Eric? Van Nystolroy? players arrive, players leave,
    He just wins more silverware, more 'stripes on his sleeve.'

    So carry on Fergie, may you never alter,
    Because you are our own 'Rock of Gibralter'
    And with the Rock in place, we know we've a chance,
    Of seeing this great club, all the more enhanced.
    All other managers, stand in line,
    Salute Sir Alex, the best of all time.

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  • 187. At 10:55am on 16 Sep 2008, Heather_one_only67 wrote:

    STAY AFLOAT

    Chugging along at a snails pace
    See Heron's, long pokey face
    Poised at dawn, for a spot of fishing
    Natures here, there's nothing missing

    Opening locks, as in days of old
    Wanderous tales, they could have told
    Standing still to ponder awhile
    Wondering what's beyond that stile

    Sitting there late at night
    Amidst the flicker of candle light
    Sharing stories of what you've seen
    With new friends, who know what you mean

    Each of us a common view
    Gently barging, for a week or two
    Here there are no hills to climb
    And for a while, no thought of time

    Sheilakay

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  • 188. At 11:09am on 16 Sep 2008, chickenlunch - Save 606 wrote:


    Magical, Romantic Italy

    The magic of Italy's there for all to see
    From Rome and Sorrento to the Isle of Capri.
    There's no mistaking its beauty and so
    Year after year it's where I must go.

    I've travelled to Malaysia and also Taiwan
    And experienced the flavour of Pakistan;
    Cyprus, the Greek Isles and sizzling Spain
    And loved them all, but I cannot explain
    What lures me back across the sea
    To my beautiful, magical, serene Italy.


    Sheila Feeney

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  • 189. At 11:17am on 16 Sep 2008, greatgranny219 wrote:

    This is my poem recently wrote to my daughter, and family as they leave to live in W.Australia on the 16th October 2008, not very far away now.

    Our hearts will be with you, all of the way.
    We are so very sad, and find it hard to know what to say.
    But your lives are to be lived, as we have done,
    And we know that you have much happiness yet to come.

    We hope with all our hearts that you can settle down.
    Make Australia home, but always remember your old town.
    There will be sadness and struggles of that we are sure.
    But nothing that a good old chat, cannot cure.

    So go with our blessing, and have joy and fun.
    This is your new venture, with lots to come.
    We have lived our lives, and try not to have regrets,
    Cos, our love is as strong as the day we first met.

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  • 190. At 11:23am on 16 Sep 2008, saintMamamia wrote:

    Giraffes

    (Piggy voice)

    ?Long-necked and lovely, full of grace
    With skin so smooth and sleek
    We?ll never know what?s over the wall
    But you could take a peek

    Are there fields of corn and grass?
    Palm trees tall and green?
    The chatter of chimps is on the wind
    Tell us what you?ve seen

    Stretch your neck, flutter those lashes
    Give us the low-down, do
    Flamingos at the water?s edge?
    With rivers running through??

    (Deep giraffe voice)

    ?All that you describe is there
    And more, hippos wallowing near
    No doubt you?ll hear the elephants bellow
    So brave, they have no fear?

    The giraffes exchange a glance or two
    No wish to spoil the view
    No need to tell their smaller friends
    They?re all living in a zoo















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  • 191. At 11:42am on 16 Sep 2008, Bountypuss wrote:

    T@KeN
    Today I lie, with no disguise
    Naked, all my feelings on show
    People can see, straight thru me,
    Makes me feel unknown.
    No idea how to deal,
    Desperately need to keep it real
    Let the days pass by
    Waiting and dreading that things wont change,
    Hoping and praying things wont remain
    Change appeared and took me clear out,
    I’ve lost my safety zone,
    Been completely thrown down
    Need back my strength,
    Need back my life,
    Simple things now come with a price
    It’s just not right
    Fighting against my life,
    Trying to regain control
    It’s beginning to take its toll
    Been completely thrown
    But I will regain my throne
    Nothing will faze me
    I won’t let it take me
    Control of my life just takes a fight
    I won’t let this stay
    This is not its day
    This is my day, My way!

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  • 192. At 11:43am on 16 Sep 2008, Bountypuss wrote:

    PRETTY BOI
    I see your eyes,
    gazing into the night
    can feel the ties
    pulling me tight.
    Begin to feel wanted,
    cared for and loved.
    Feel like I’m haunted
    strides in my blood
    watching each moment
    and guiding me through
    and somehow from heaven
    it brought me to you.
    Gorgeous, hansom my gift from above
    touch me, tell me, the things that you love.
    Secure in your arms, just don’t want to leave
    it starts to become so hard to believe
    why do you want me, what does he see?
    Questions arise, no surprise.
    I want to be there for you
    want to make you feel safe
    don’t know if it’s right or if it’s even my place.
    Sometimes you stare at me and kiss me so sweet,
    you make me feel lovely, my knees feeling weak,
    make me feel happy hope you do too
    smiling and laughing
    just like a fool
    you got me blinded
    I only want you.
    So Dan you are lovely
    friendly and cuddly.
    You got me right were you want me,
    you need me and hold me
    say things no one has told me.
    And because of all this
    I find I just sit
    and write
    whilst you gaze into the night.

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  • 193. At 11:45am on 16 Sep 2008, Bountypuss wrote:

    Anxious
    The rage, the fire,
    The strain and tire,
    i stand, I sit,
    I pace and twist,
    my brain, my mind,
    feels like I’m blind.
    Control is gone,
    Fear comes on.
    Why me, why now,
    I must find how
    To make me feel alive.
    Slowly but surely
    Its going,
    Its gone,
    The relief,
    I feel strong,
    Better and
    Stronger as the days seem longer
    More like they use to feel,
    Happy go lucky,
    No longer feel yucky,
    I feel like the world is mine.

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  • 194. At 11:47am on 16 Sep 2008, REDBLOGMASTER wrote:

    My passion is the sky at night, here is my poem.
    PRELUDE
    Through the still and perfumed air, nights
    silence now descends.
    and velvet black it's veil of darkness lies.
    A feeling of expectancy now with the
    darkness blends,
    as night paints countless stars across the
    skies.

    The trees like muted symbols stand, their
    silhouettes have cast,
    the image of a timless mystery.
    Like columns from an ancient temple lost
    deep in the past'
    as endless as the great infinity.

    Now slowly does her entrance come upon
    this tranquil scene.
    and gently doth she lay her silvery light.
    The sensuous beauty of her spell,
    majestic and serene,
    now makes seductive contrasts of the
    night.

    From a lake the mists lie hanging in the
    still night air,
    diaphanous as of a bridal gown.
    Reflected in the water's edge, her beauty
    doth compare,
    with Aphrodite in her golden crown.

    Now serenely does she sail across night's
    endless sea,
    her radiance in the darkness shining bright.
    A prelude to the next act in her ancient
    mystery,
    she, the moon, the goddess of the night.


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  • 195. At 11:55am on 16 Sep 2008, njsdevil wrote:

    My passion is my son. I wrote this to make him laugh. I hope to illustrate it soon.


    What was that noise?


    Grenelope Grimp awoke with a jump,
    as she heard a strange noise go Floop-Fulla-Lump!
    'What was that noise?' she thought to herself,
    whilst running and grabbing her boots from the shelf.

    Her ears pricked up as she skipped over ground,
    determined to find the cause of the sound.
    'Where are you going?' shouted dear mummy Grimp,
    as Grenelope entered the Forest of Blimp.

    She suddenly heard a Bish-Binkle-Bong!
    But it wasn't her noise, this sounded all wrong,
    when out of a bush, a Squiffet did yell,
    'I'm afraid it was me, I was cleaning my bell!'

    Later she heard a Sloop-Goopy-Ploo!
    This wasn't her noise, it really wouldn't do,
    when a Flumper called down from up high in a tree,
    'I was picking my nose, I'm afraid it was me!'

    Then came a loud, Burp-Popple-Splatt!
    This wasn't her noise, it was different to that,
    when a Quadipus shouted, looking up from his dish,
    'I'm afraid it was me, I was eating some fish!'

    As she listened she heard, a Flop-Pipple-Wow!
    This wasn't her noise. 'What was it now?'
    When a Ploogum looked up from her riverside seat,
    'I afraid it was me, I was washing my feet!'

    Deep in the woods, she heard Yelp-Bammer-Blom!
    'That's not my noise, where was it from?'
    When a Grobbler announced from amongst scented shrubs,
    'Don't worry, it's me, I was juggling my clubs!'

    Grenelope returned when the moon filled the sky.
    'I couldn't find it?' she said, and gave a shrug and a sigh.
    She climbed into bed and greeted her toys
    when Floop-Fulla-Lump!. 'THERE WAS THAT NOISE!!!'

    She jumped with a jolt and called mummy Grimp
    Her answer was here, not the Forest of Blimp.
    'I've discovered the sound, do you know what I saw?'
    'It was my hot water bottle, hitting the floor!
    Hip-hip, hip-hooray, that's what I heard.'
    And she went to soundly to sleep.
    ............Oh how absurd!


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  • 196. At 11:55am on 16 Sep 2008, AsaBoHero wrote:

    Looking Through My Window, by Steven D

    There's a biblical affliction,
    A rigor mortis setting in,
    But it's purely self-inflicted,
    Now where do I begin......

    A tongue as black as liquorice,
    Spits out venom and disgust,
    At the concrete, steel, glass canvas,
    That hands out lessons in distrust

    Devils have been worshipped,
    Conspiracys abound,
    It's a ruthless luke warm bloodbath,
    Where no-one can be crowned

    Stray cats are night patrolling,
    Flak jackets must be worn,
    Faceless young assassins,
    Makes you question why they're born

    Ears bleed to constant sirens,
    Gutless wonder crawls out from a stone,
    Surveys the walking wounded,
    Then knifes the weakest one

    The perfect crime committed,
    No conscience I can find,
    An A star in deception,
    Puts the U in suicide

    The streets all lined with lampost jibs,
    The hangman ties a noose,
    You better guess a letter friend,
    Before your face turns blue

    The ship of hope is sinking,
    Blind eyes have all been turned,
    Those that dare to lend a hand,
    Get there fingers burned


    .... Sorry, I know, 3/4 verses or 20 lines, but once you've started!.....

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  • 197. At 12:17pm on 16 Sep 2008, YoungZoot wrote:

    Love Is Blind

    Under the mistletoe
    my very short-sighted sister
    and her extremely short-sighted boyfriend
    take off their glasses
    to kiss...


    and miss.

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  • 198. At 12:32pm on 16 Sep 2008, davidmintman wrote:

    this is a little thing I wrote some 30years ago,but it is a bit autumnal;

    The tale of Oliver Brackett.
    Oliver Bracket cried lord ! what a racket
    whatever is going on here ?,
    But the Squirel said tut and ate one more nut
    Then he threw all the shells in a large old tin pail,
    Which was white on the outside and rusty within, and was balanced precariously high on at thin and incredibly tall
    and amazingly rickity rackaty wall.

    Just over the wall was a beautiful pool
    Full of fountains and Goldfish and things
    and when Oliver landed he found himself stranded,
    sitting next to the pail,
    the squirel you see with a flick of his tail
    had jumped into a tree, but the wall wasnt strong and of course before long,
    with a terrible clatter and horrible racket
    in splashing confusion fell Oliver Brackett
    and sadly for him ,there fell also a thin and
    incredibly tall and amazingly ,
    Rickity Rackaty wall ! ! !

    David minty

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  • 199. At 12:35pm on 16 Sep 2008, courteoustabitha wrote:

    What a joy when life begins
    Love and laughter time to share
    What a smile as life grows
    Expectations, dreams as life goes
    What a struggle as life expands
    Different ways and different sounds
    What a beauty as life pans out
    Doing all with life that fills
    What a turn when life stands still
    Feeling all those ways now lost
    What a pain when life is past
    Hidden in a mist thats black
    What a question life instills
    Knowing now that is that
    What a joy when life rebrings
    Colours now bright and warm
    What a smile as feelings come
    Gently feeling the riseing sun
    What a mixture of past and future
    Softly touching now is now
    What a pleasure to feel the day

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  • 200. At 12:36pm on 16 Sep 2008, andy23961 wrote:

    Old Age, I decided, is a gift. I am now, probably for the first time in my
    life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body!
    I do sometimes despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and
    the sagging backside. And often I am taken aback by that old person that
    lives in my mirror (who looks like my dad!), but I don't agonise
    over those things for long. I would never trade my amazing friends, my
    wonderful life, and my loving family for less grey hair or a flatter belly.
    As I've aged, I've become kind to myself, and less critical.
    I've become my own friend. I don't worry too much for eating that
    extra biscuit, or for not making the bed, or for buying that silly plastic
    gadget that I didn't need but looks so avante garde on my desk. I
    am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant, I have
    seen too many friends leave this world too soon; before they
    understood the great freedom that comes with being old.. Whose
    business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM
    and sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful
    tunes of the 70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over my
    first love ... I will. I will walk the beach in a pair of trunks
    that are stretched over a bulging belly, and will dive into the waves
    with a smile on my face if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the
    people who don’t know me and therefore don’t count. They, too, will get old. I know I am sometimes forgetful. But then again, some of life is worth being forgotten. And
    I eventually remember the important things. Sure, over the
    years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you
    lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's
    beloved pet is taken from them? But broken hearts are what give us
    strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is
    pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being
    imperfect. I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my
    hair turning grey, to be losing a little on top and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so
    many have died before their hair could turn silver. As you get
    older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other
    people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the
    right to be wrong. So, to answer the question, I like being older.
    It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to
    live forever but while I am still here, I will not waste time
    lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I
    shall eat dessert every single day. (If I feel like it)

    MAY YOUR TRUEST OF FRIENDSHIPS NEVER COME TO AN END AND MAY YOU ALWAYS HAVE A RAINBOW OF SMILES UPON YOUR FACE.

    Andy

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  • 201. At 12:39pm on 16 Sep 2008, marvellousDeanswift wrote:

    Where do I write my poetry?

    Marvellousdeanswift

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  • 202. At 12:39pm on 16 Sep 2008, matty4emz wrote:

    Laying here, motionless, thinking about the past that once was,
    Unable to sleep, thinking about the present that could have been,
    Staring into space, looking at the future that can no longer be.

    A life without friends is a life not lived,
    A life without family is a life doomed to fail,
    A life without love is not worth living

    In a world torn apart by love, all we have is hate,
    In a world torn apart by hate, all we have is desire,
    In a world full of desire, all we have is our friends.

    Life is filled with regret and past mistakes,
    The world is full of death, and pain of the heart,
    But when I’m with you, none of it matters, the feelings that were felt are lost.

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  • 203. At 12:44pm on 16 Sep 2008, matty4emz wrote:

    I can see,
    But there is nothing but blinding darkness.
    I can hear,
    But there is nothing but deafening silence.
    I can speak,
    But there is no one there to listen to me,
    I can taste,
    But there is only bitterness,
    Yet I can feel you,
    By my side,
    Holding me close.

    Don’t let go

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  • 204. At 12:46pm on 16 Sep 2008, judgespaul wrote:

    My passion is the Greek islands:

    A GREEK AFTERNOON

    nothing else to do
    on dreamy Lipsos

    for the bored young
    warriors of today

    other than to launch
    skywards, like a madcap

    Icarus, over the deepest
    part of the harbour

    while gnarled fishermen
    drink to remember

    all those lost
    years of bounty

    so many
    tiny fish

    scattering
    like exploding stars

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  • 205. At 12:50pm on 16 Sep 2008, REDBLOGMASTER wrote:


    I have always been interested in ships,
    here is my poem.

    THE DEPARTURE

    I thought this day would never end,
    but now at last it's here.
    Since daddy said that we could go each
    day seemed like a year.
    I've counted on the calender and now
    we've reached the tenth,
    the day our new adventure starts, my first
    real big event.

    We cought the train at Waterloo, the bustle
    and the steam,
    and dinner in the dining car went by just
    like a dream.
    The country looked so beautiful beneath
    the April sky,
    with nose against the window, I watched
    the view roll by.

    And when we reached Southampton docks
    the ship it seemed so big,
    I couldn't wait to get on board, I nearly
    danced a jig.
    Mummy said I must calm down, my mind
    was in a whirl,
    "You really must behave" she said "like a
    proper little girl"

    As soon as we are safe on board, our
    luggage stowed away,
    we find our cabin then explore along
    each passageway.
    And now the gangways are pulled back,
    not long before we sail,
    there's people waving from the dock and
    others on the rail.

    There's flags and bunting everywhere, the
    people laugh and sing,
    the band are playing Auld Lang Syne, and
    that a tear will bring.
    It's all been so exciting, i know we'll get
    there quick,
    we're sailing to A merica on board the
    Titanic.

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  • 206. At 12:54pm on 16 Sep 2008, wondrousDavesmall wrote:

    Andalusia

    In a forest of a thousand winbines
    eagles glide so wisely, on warm
    weather thermals, and down where
    white doves perch on olive sand,

    gypsy matadors dance in swirls
    with miura bulls. Flamenco girls race
    for red caskets, fingered by dust
    and the sky rejects all there is

    in this land, apart from solitude
    and lust. Clusters of breathing
    grape vine scatter, to bleed
    beneath mottled feet, and far

    beyond a field of orange, a grey
    stallion returns, in a cloak of dusk
    with aloof master, who paints
    pictures for his ancestral tienta.

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  • 207. At 1:13pm on 16 Sep 2008, wondrousDavesmall wrote:

    Andalusia
    In a forest of a thousand winbines
    eagles glide, so wisely on warm
    weather thermals, and down where
    white doves perch on olive sand,

    gypsy matadors dance in swirls
    with miura bulls. Flamenco girls race
    for red caskets, fingered by dust
    and the sky rejects all there is,

    in this land, apart from solitude
    and lust. Clusters of breathing
    grape vine scatter, to bleed
    beneath mottled feet, and far

    beyond a field of orange, a grey
    stallion returns, in a cloak of dusk
    with aloof master, who paints
    pictures for his ancestral tienta.

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  • 208. At 1:16pm on 16 Sep 2008, REDBLOGMASTER wrote:

    There is a certain singer who I really love
    to listen to, here is my poem.

    FRANK

    A barstool on a darkened stage, a skinny
    guy walks on,
    pushes back his hat and looks around.
    Stop to light a cigarette, breaths in deep
    and long,
    shakes his head and sits without a sound.

    Somewhere a piano starts a lonely melody,
    a spotlight finds the figure sitting there,
    He waits a while then starts to sing
    of love that used to be,
    a sad song of a broken love affair.

    He sings about the lonely people sitting
    on their own,
    drinking as the night slips slowly by.
    Talking to the bartender who just want to
    go home,
    another dawn, another lonely guy.

    As he sings he makes you feel that you've
    been at that bar,
    With just your thoughts to keep you
    comnpany.
    When happiness was knowing then that
    she would not be far,
    and like a fool you thought she'd always be.

    As the music starts to fade, he climbs down
    from the stool,
    turns and as he starts to walk away.
    The music stops, then silently like ripples
    from a pool,
    the lights dim but the memory will stay.

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  • 209. At 1:20pm on 16 Sep 2008, kclassbabe wrote:

    Are you afraid of the dark?


    Twisting and turning, longing and yearning,
    Torn asunder from a dreamless slepp.
    Watching and waiting, staring and hating,
    Around her the shadows begin to creep.

    Pleading and praying, hoping and sighing,
    She pulls the covers far over her head.
    Pounding and pulsing, beating and thumping,
    Her heart begins to fill with dread.

    Shaking and shivering, reaching and fumbling,
    She wraps her hand around the cord.
    Gripping and grasping, pulling and tugging,
    She send a prayer up to the Lord.

    Shining and shimmering, dancing and prancing,
    A golden light floods through the room.
    Glowing and gleaming, calming and warming,
    It chases away her impending doom.

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  • 210. At 1:23pm on 16 Sep 2008, kclassbabe wrote:

    By the way I wrote my poem, because I have always loved the way that brightness and light can chase away unhappiness and dread

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  • 211. At 1:28pm on 16 Sep 2008, davidmintman wrote:


    ARRY.

    Arry the aligator sat all alone in a great big
    pool of mud
    When quite by chance
    while enjoying a dance
    with a blue cockatoo
    wearing black leather shoes
    a Koala bear fell out of the air
    and landed on Arry Ker-thud !!

    The Koalablinked, but Arry just winked ,
    first with one eye, and then with the other
    and he said, very slow
    in a voice deep and low
    "Are you running away from your mother ?!"

    "Oh no !" said the bear, trying hard not to stare,
    "I

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  • 212. At 1:30pm on 16 Sep 2008, REDBLOGMASTER wrote:


    I've always been interested in the 1st world
    war, here is my poem.

    A WISH BEFORE DAWN

    As the stream becomes a river
    As the river joins the sea
    So my love for you grows stronger
    As I think each day of thee.

    As the winter follows autumn
    As the days change constantly
    So I long to hear your voice
    And hold your body close to me.

    As the moon shines in the darkness
    Lighting up the skies above
    So your love is like a beacon
    Lighting up my life my love

    Tough around me men are dying
    No one knows what lies ahead
    Remember that I'll always love you
    Even though I may be dead.

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  • 213. At 1:32pm on 16 Sep 2008, StuartRyder wrote:

    My passion is mountains, so here is one about Himalayan starvation:

    Of Himalayan Starvation

    I'll never forgetti the moment:
    the Yeti strode into view
    with a 'vuncular chuckle,

    roaming the snow slopes, slow,
    with spaghetti drooling bizarrely,
    his squashy swashbuckle redolent yet

    of a bistro Svengali famed for
    a Michelin-starred tamale restaurant
    (housed in an ancient,

    obscure,
    Pompeiian winehouse,
    named "Nonsequitur".)

    I get out my camping spoon,
    "feed me"-gesturing
    towar' his dribbling soup de jour...

    The ibex trots past like tumbleweed
    (as first cliched by troubadour
    on empty moor.)

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  • 214. At 1:34pm on 16 Sep 2008, hopeanddream wrote:

    My passion is my family,
    for what do we grow old?
    to see them all developing,
    As their lives unfold.

    A miracle before us,
    they form, once young now old.
    But life is not a dream,
    no wonder to behold.

    As age brings with it problems,
    of which we have no hold.
    Emotional, financial, physical and sin...
    too many to even think of,
    when their lives begin.

    So what do we all strive for,
    is my passion just a waste?
    as age before us stretches,
    moving closer at a pace.

    Before we even feel, the joy of life,
    death it draws us closer,
    till all we have are empty dreams,
    never did we fully nurture.

    Mistakes.......too late for amends,
    my old body, like someone elses,
    decays, it creaks it bends.

    It is no more, the flame goes out,
    my passion spent ,
    with no doubt.
    The memory to fade and die,
    as anothers passion
    awakes to fly.



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  • 215. At 1:36pm on 16 Sep 2008, StuartRyder wrote:

    And here is one more:

    Bocca di Laparu

    Some fifteen hundred metres
    above the dogfish-spotted seas,
    I plunge off the Usciolu ridge
    back into the leafy ocean –

    enchanted, where birds swim
    in a mist of cool humidity, of peace;
    then, descend through mulchy
    slabs of fern, mosquito marsh,

    roads of dust and mud,
    into the villages of rusty cars
    and marble mansions, of oak-like
    men splitting evening wood.

    This is the heart of Corsica,
    which beats with French passion,
    with Italian tenacity; which pumps
    the Mediterranean through all

    the sinews of its rooty trees, through
    the muscles of its mountains,
    while its skin of maquis moults in the breeze,
    releasing a wild, marjoram dust.

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  • 216. At 1:37pm on 16 Sep 2008, mysticdeb wrote:

    DREAM STALLION.
    Your eyes glow with pride,
    Your auburn mane flows down your back like a sea of amber,
    You toss your majestic head with arrogance,
    Your voice is soft yet deep and cajoling,
    So I go with you over the plains of indiference,
    The wind tearing through my hair,
    My cares and worries left behind,
    My brain is filled with the zest of life,
    My hopes and dreams unfulfilled,
    But with you my dream stallion,
    When we travel to the land of possibilities,
    Together we can say goodbye to past pain,
    Together we can smile afresh with the rising sun,
    And begin our lives again,
    With a positive flow of energy,
    And the renewed will to live.

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  • 217. At 1:37pm on 16 Sep 2008, Porthchap wrote:

    SHIFTER
    My bedroom window races over the faces of the clouds pushed along by a march wind

    I am riding my window across the sky
    A paperweight over a frozen lake

    The Sun rides with me

    My profile moves across the bed
    The water's edge of a pool of light

    Who am I to say
    What moves?
    What stays?

    Who am I?

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  • 218. At 1:38pm on 16 Sep 2008, Shevo82 wrote:

    The Dream

    I want to be a sportsman
    I want too play for England
    I want too be better than the rest
    I want too drink with George Best
    The impossible dream

    I want a girl in every town
    I want to feel up not down
    I want to be set free
    I want you to come to me
    The impossible dream

    I want to be a millionaire
    I want someone to help me share
    I want to run a 4 minute mile
    I want to relax for a while
    The impossible dream

    I want to go travelling
    I want too see the Northern lights
    I want too see all the worlds sights
    I want an end to the lonely nights
    The impossible dream?.

    I want my words to be read
    I want you to understand what I’ve said
    I want my words to be published
    I want to achieve all I’ve wished
    The possible dream


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  • 219. At 1:41pm on 16 Sep 2008, sofisticatedsolange wrote:


    The chestnut me.

    When I was young and did not precieve,

    when I was small and I believed,

    that the world was good and fair,

    I had a mighty horse a chestnut with shimmering mane and a tail like the lockes of a beautiful maid.

    He galloped with me wherever I went,by the side of bus and train.

    He would leap the bridges and fored the rivers
    hide behind hills and appear again,
    frolick in snow and play with the rain.

    There was nothing too high or wide or deep
    for my mighty chestnut friend.

    Now I have grown and I see the world with understanding eyes
    my dreams,my hopes,my chestnut me,
    are restrained in a prison of reality.

    my horse is far behind me he cannot keep the pace,
    bridges too high,rivers too deep,
    but over and over again the
    journey he begins,
    ever hopeful of going further with every gallient leap.


    Written on a bus journey by Solange Wilson.









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  • 220. At 1:41pm on 16 Sep 2008, dexter1958 wrote:

    The Old Hunter

    He leaned on the fence with a thoughtful stare,
    In his golden coat and long blond hair.
    His mind looking back at the scenes of his past,
    When his body was young and his paces fast.

    As he rested one leg and swished his tail,
    One ear cocked for the sound of his pail.
    He remembered the hunt on a cold winter's day,
    The baying of hounds as they entered the fray.

    And then, as he looked out over the land,
    He saw her coming, bucket in hand.
    A friendly pat, gentle scratch near his ears,
    He had no regrets for the passing of years.

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  • 221. At 1:42pm on 16 Sep 2008, mysticdeb wrote:

    My passion is to survive life and not give up so my poem dream stallion is about this.

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  • 222. At 1:43pm on 16 Sep 2008, missbic wrote:

    Goodbye to a son not knowing when I'll see him again


    I turn, you're there,
    A wave, a smile,
    Goodbye.
    I go,
    I know I have to,
    but dont know when or where.

    My third son James,
    so grown, so far away,
    I shed a tear as up I go
    into the blue toward the sun,
    and if I could I'd turn
    and run
    right back.

    A thousand miles,
    over the cold and snow,
    I cry,
    But why?
    I have a home, a dog, a man.
    I know I can
    return,
    and will.
    But its so far, so long,
    and you're so dear my lovely son
    and I'm so sad to go

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  • 223. At 1:43pm on 16 Sep 2008, Shevo82 wrote:

    Written In the stars

    Is our future already written?
    I’m going to the author
    To have it re-written
    Is it already in a book
    I suggest we take another look.
    Falling in and out of bars
    Its ok, it’s written in the stars

    Is there a God with our lives in his hands?
    Can’t he review his plans?
    A different girl in all my bars
    It’s ok, it’s written in the stars

    Was I meant to be the best man?
    As a part of your life plan.
    Beautiful girls and flash cars
    But it’s ok, it’s written in the stars

    Are we not supposed
    To achieve what we dream?
    As a part of a grand scheme.
    Falling in and out of bars
    Its ok, it’s written in the stars


    Shall we just laugh at the grand scheme?
    And think up a new dream
    So I look up and see her face
    I can see fate
    I just hope I’m not too late
    Falling in and out of bars
    It’s ok, it’s written in the stars

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  • 224. At 1:51pm on 16 Sep 2008, S Badger wrote:

    Solitude

    I crave the solitude of the night,
    Wherein all things unravel at my gaze,
    And thoughts come keenly in the dark,
    Of winter nights and summer days.

    Where once you held my hand and smiled,
    In meadows warm and thick with scent.
    And we knew loving till it died,
    Then felt the solace of passion spent.

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  • 225. At 1:51pm on 16 Sep 2008, oldjackblog wrote:

    Winter.

    I knew Winter had already come,
    furrowing your face and frosting your eyes
    to an ashen grey.

    Yet, dazzling horizons echoed
    in those last drowsy days,
    stifling the heart and evoking words

    to fill the world's recesses.
    And in these hours you left
    memories blue and yellow,

    sketching that silence where
    fog could not besiege the heart,
    nor sun dispel a season in which

    roses bloomed red on the frail slopes
    of dusk. Your heart defeated,
    the evening ravaged your blood

    in the persistent tide which
    distils its gift to soothe all pain.
    All that night I raged at your leaving,

    then released you to oblivion,
    saw a gentle dawn around your hair,
    and you, beyond the tricks of time.

    John Sugden.

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  • 226. At 1:53pm on 16 Sep 2008, rebelroy wrote:

    The One Show

    The One! The One!
    My Kingdom for the One
    But please don’t send me Adrian
    Or a shirt, made in West Brom.

    You can send me lovely Christine
    The bonny Irish lass
    I’m sure that she could care for me
    when they put me out to grass.

    I’ll even take young Tuffers
    With his spinners wily guile
    and his rakish personality
    Is sure to make me smile


    But I draw the line at Dom
    The one called Little Wood
    For I know he will just say to me
    Your poem?
    No bloody good!


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  • 227. At 1:58pm on 16 Sep 2008, twentynineandahalf wrote:

    TINYCUSS

    A nebulanaynianttinycuss
    Was sitting waiting for a bus
    Along came a fong with a vizz on his jong
    Poor nebulanaynianttinycuss!

    At first he was zizzed by the frizzle
    And then he got clugged on the mizzle
    That terrible fong picked him up by the scrong
    And threw him a mile through the drizzle

    He landed in goo from a crog that he knew
    And was green from his slig to his gribble
    He wiped himself down with a scrat from a plown
    Then set off for town on a fribble

    But when he got there the bus spot was gare
    As the bus had gone backwards to Triddle
    Undaunted our friend sought a happier end
    To his scrut with the fong in the drizzle

    So he danced in the street till his nood was complete
    For resetting his dotch a full bliddle
    And in lest half a nile he was corood in fyle
    By a bus that was well-doaked in Kibbal!

    Oh! Happy, Happy Tinycuss!

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  • 228. At 1:59pm on 16 Sep 2008, dorriemay wrote:

    THE MIDNIGHT GARDEN


    The night was warm and humid
    And in spite of the midnight hour
    I walked out into the garden
    And sat under the rosy bower.


    The breath of the flowers was heady
    The night scented stock so sweet.
    The air was still and peaceful
    Damp grass beneath my feet.


    The moon cast a silvery shadow
    On the glistening dewy lawn
    With such beauty all around me
    A feint new hope was born.


    A hope for a new tomorrow
    When peace and love would reign
    No wars, no strife, no suffering
    And relief from endless pain.

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  • 229. At 1:59pm on 16 Sep 2008, davidmintman wrote:

    this is ARRY. i HIT A WRONG KEY SO HAD TO SEND IT AGAIN !!!!!

    ARRY

    Arry the aligator sat all alone
    in a great big pool of mud !
    when quite by chance
    while enjoying a dance
    with a blue cockatoo
    wearing black leather shoes
    a Koala bear fell out of the air
    and landed on Arry Ker-thud !!

    Now as Aligators go Arry was quite slow
    and he opened one eye
    and he said
    "I'm glad you dropped in
    but I've run out of Gin,
    would you care for some fruitcake instead"

    The Koala blinked
    but Arry just winked
    first with one eye
    and the with the other,
    and he said very slow
    in a voice deep and low
    "Are you running away from your mother?"

    "Oh no!" said the bear ,
    trying hard not to stare
    "I was dancing you see,
    just up there in that tree
    with a blue cockatoo
    that wears black leather shoes,"
    then along came a breeze
    and took hold of my knees
    and I fell off the branch
    half way through the dance !
    and ended up sitting on you !"

    "A blue cockatoo !
    that wears black leather shoes !"
    Arry said with a look of dismay,
    "Yes here she comes now"
    the koala said,
    Arry looked up
    and over his head
    a blue bird flew
    wearing black leather shoes
    "Goodbye!" said the bear
    and he took the air !
    Arry quite vexed said
    "Whatever next "!
    and he slept for the rest of the day !!

    David Minty


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  • 230. At 2:04pm on 16 Sep 2008, cyberbaboushka wrote:

    poetry comp;
    Scottish Fayre;
    Bagpipes a skirlin'
    Kilts a whirlin'
    Sporrans swinging, Gaelic voices singing
    Highland games watched by Royalty
    How much longer Scottish loyalty
    "See you Jimmy" hats
    That's enough about that!
    Haggis bashed,
    Tatties and neeps mashed
    Scottish Fayre, beef and whisky
    Lamb on plates ---not so frisky
    Hill walking, deer stalking
    Blooming heather, forget the weather
    Munroes to climb--make the time
    Football barmy-- the Tartan Army
    1513 disater at Flodden
    1746 bloody Culloden
    Beaten in battle , but never bowed
    The Scottish spirit will always stand proud.

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  • 231. At 2:04pm on 16 Sep 2008, greeneyedladyhawk wrote:

    My passion is my grandson. I wrote this the day he was born. I had just left the hospital.

    First Sleep

    Asleep in the crook of my elbow,
    I stared at your perfect face,
    Not daring to blink.
    I didn't want to miss a thing.
    You slept, suspended in time
    And space, radiating peace.
    A blank slate not yet written on,
    Yet holding threads of wisdom
    Stretching back to a time
    Before time was measured,
    On the cusp of past and future
    Not yet touched by life,
    Only two hours old. You slept on,
    And still I dared not blink,
    Lest I should break the spell.
    I held you in the crook of my elbow
    And stared at perfection.

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  • 232. At 2:11pm on 16 Sep 2008, cyberbaboushka wrote:

    poetry comp.
    Life;
    Is this Life a reality or just an illusion
    Have I created a dreamlike state in my confusion
    Living moments of doubt, anger and pain
    Have we lived before?Will we live again?
    The shadows of human suffering are all around
    We cannot to the Past be bound
    Nor should we the Future fear
    Just live in the Present, each day of every year
    I like to think that truly nothing dies
    Beneath these, our earthly skies
    We change form , and live on, in another dimension
    But whilst here on Earth
    Peace , wisdom and Love
    Should be given our fullest attention.

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  • 233. At 2:15pm on 16 Sep 2008, mikepym wrote:

    1960's Apprenticeships


    Summer holiday camping trips and cycle rides to gravel pits,
    on makeshift bikes with missing bits, broken chains and tyre slicks,
    bringing us of on cobbled strips,

    The River Dove and skinny dips, climbing trees and comradeships,
    strawberry fields stained our lips, sleepless nights in a tent that drips
    and freezing hands and fingertips,

    Cold Heinz beans and endless quips, cuts and bruises and broken zips,
    catapults and home made whips, scaling Black Rocks with no slips
    and old lead mines and panic fits,

    Anchor Church, one up manships and homeward bound companionships,
    with few mishaps apart from rips, we’ll be home before our mother flips,
    at the end of our apprenticeships.

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  • 234. At 2:19pm on 16 Sep 2008, twentynineandahalf wrote:

    A Pre-Election Carousel

    Is this your first time in Fairyland?
    Says the man with wide eyes
    Who stands fatuously smiling
    In the H.Q. doorway sun.
    Your membership’s paid-up? - Well done!

    To be good in here, you’ve got to be
    A limbo dancer!
    Oh! – And something of an Artful Dodger,
    Because there’s quite a chance
    You’ll be lobbied by off-message codgers!

    Now in this land of make-believe,
    We’re ALL spellbound
    By MY clairvoyant visions, AND my sound!
    Is that not so? Says he, in an aside,
    And two hundred minions swell with pride.

    He sees through glinting eyes in rosy mists
    Another number added to his Addicts List
    And passing on: holds out his hand –
    Hello! – Welcome to Fairyland!
    Is this your first time?

    Now a shudder passes down my spine
    As memories of war-time childhood
    Come swirling round,
    With visions of flags and soldiers,
    When boots on concrete were the sounds.

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  • 235. At 2:21pm on 16 Sep 2008, saintMamamia wrote:

    Snails

    Their one simple aim, to reach the summit
    Of a tree, or a fence or a pot
    They’ll climb up for hours, then balance
    Perched precariously, right at the top

    They munch their way onward and upward
    The sky is the limit, or so they think
    A silvery trail sparkles behind them
    Then they’re flicked to the ground with a ‘plink’

    Undeterred, they start at the base again
    Slimy suction their tool of ascent
    Pre-destined and programmed for climbing
    To conquer the peak their intent

    This time their trek up is much slower
    Nibbling anything they find in their way
    Pointlessly pressing-on, regardless
    Unaware of this their last day

    Soon they weaken and just can’t continue
    Too late they realise their greed
    Intent on devouring every morsel
    The slug pellets were the snails’ last feed

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  • 236. At 2:23pm on 16 Sep 2008, twentynineandahalf wrote:


    Smoke?

    Child to teen
    Fag to mouth
    Day to day
    Tar to lungs
    Ash to tray
    Month to month
    Year to year
    Hard to stop
    Dimp to dimp
    Bloke to bloke
    Wimp to wimp
    Eye to eye
    Breath to breath
    Cough to cough
    Lungs to froth
    Want to live
    Soon to die
    Want to cry
    Life to death
    Ash to ash
    Dust to dust
    Wine to glass
    Toast to Ghost.

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  • 237. At 2:24pm on 16 Sep 2008, cyberbaboushka wrote:

    poetry comp.
    The Silver Birch;
    Swaying, tall and elegant is the Silver Birch
    As a gentle breeze through her canopy flirts
    Graceful, yet stately in her silver gown
    Wearing delicate leaves of green for her crown.
    Leafy boughs extended to the sky
    Proclaiming her majesty to you and I
    Shady woodland plants sheltering at her feet
    No wood without a Silver Birch would be complete.
    Towering over us, soaking up the summer sun
    Gathering that goodness until her time is run
    And then all too soon the breeze is stronger
    Now those once green leaves across my garden wander
    Against all winters storms she will withstand
    Bare, apart from her silver gown, as Nature planned
    She knows that soon enough it will be Spring
    and her beauty to our lives once more will bring.

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  • 238. At 2:25pm on 16 Sep 2008, myspacesboyuk wrote:



    thingy - love, life, death.

    She's with him now, no thoughts of you
    She's with him now, there's nothing you can do
    As a child did you guard so that favourite toy
    Possessions only goal is your soul to destroy

    Transient is a human beings heart
    It may travel with another until life or death part
    Let go of possession, understand your emotion
    Or suffer a mind filled with shock and commotion

    To be touched by another human soul in this life is a gift from nature, an like all natures gifts is temporary, to be enjoyed while you can. Don't cry when they're gone, they don't want your tears, say thank you instead, thank you for the times you made me smile, thank you for the sweet things you did for me, thank you for all that you've done that now cause me sorrow for their absence in my life.
    Be happy for the one you love when they're gone forever. Be thankful that they touched your soul, and if you're unable to let them go, they won't be able to go in peace. - that's what i reckon anyway.
    s
    x x x

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  • 239. At 2:25pm on 16 Sep 2008, HeyGazman wrote:

    AWKWARD LANDINGS

    Sparrow, sparrow
    You are very narrow,
    Not like a fridge
    Or a big brick bridge.

    But they can't land
    As you are able
    With such grace
    On your bird table.

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  • 240. At 2:26pm on 16 Sep 2008, myspacesboyuk wrote:



    thingy - canine teeth.

    I had a big thick steak for my tea
    And you know, it awoke something primeval in me.
    I had it with grown up chunky chips designed especially to have with steak, chips for consenting adults they were.
    As I sat there devouring my medium rare slab of animal, Winnie, the cat sat looking at me, as our eyes met and she licked her lips with envy, we both felt a deep carnivorous connection. She blinked slowly and I did the same and we both knew full well what was happening here as I decadently consumed my huge chunk of nuther living creature.
    In between mouthfuls of chip, cow and broccoli I drew generously from a large glass of rich, plummy Shiraz with wood undertones and it made me think of blood. And as the alcohol entered my bloodstream I welcomed the warm rosy glow it provided and felt like an all powerful, dominant species, easilly able to bury my face into a carcass and gorge with the rest of the frenzied beasts.
    If god exists he will be sending me straight to hell when I die, if mother nature exists she would be so proud of me for dominating the food chain.

    Although I got my steak from the butcher, if I had to kill the beast myself I could and would do.

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  • 241. At 2:27pm on 16 Sep 2008, HeyGazman wrote:

    I REMEMBER GAUGUIN

    I remember Guaguin
    And how he used to paint for me
    I remember Guaguin
    Down by the Azure sea.
    We both had puppy dogs
    One named Jeremy,
    The other one Lucy
    With a wobbly knee.

    Oh yes, I remember Gauguin.

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  • 242. At 2:27pm on 16 Sep 2008, saintMamamia wrote:

    Why are all these poems more than 20 lines long???

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  • 243. At 2:28pm on 16 Sep 2008, twentynineandahalf wrote:

    Bonsai Dog

    To train a little bonsai dog
    Trim all his toenails every week
    And cut his lovely fur quite short
    To keep him really small and neat.

    Make his special food and water
    Twice daily in good measure
    Then your bonsai dog will give
    Many barking years of pleasure!

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  • 244. At 2:28pm on 16 Sep 2008, myspacesboyuk wrote:



    Pastries of the gods.
    Current mood: hungry

    Oh my, he's a craftsman that baker in the old bakery, indeed a true artist he is.
    And who do you think he makes all the pies for?
    Why me of course, and his pies are to die for.
    Ahh the old bakery in Bretherton,
    If one of his pies was a snooker commentator it would sound like Clive Everton (all rich and velvety. . and a bit flaky)

    And you know something else?
    I long for it to be the Bakers wife who makes me my sandwich
    For she's susceptible to a little charm and some flowery language
    She appears quite stern, but in my hands she's putty
    And consequently . . . She'll make me one HELL of a butty.

    Dude, I can't even mention the cakes
    Just one little glance, that's all that it takes.
    What puzzles me though as I gorge till I groan
    I'm six foot two but still weigh well under eleven stone.

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  • 245. At 2:28pm on 16 Sep 2008, myspacesboyuk wrote:

    Emma’s cat Indy + sboy = TLA

    Oh Emma, will you ask Indy the cat what he's doing on Friday evening, I can feel myself on the turn for him.
    Ever since we met you see, all I've done is yearn for him.
    If the weather turns out to be kind next Friday night.
    I thought we might go for a leafy walk beneath the speckled sunset light.
    If the weather turns out to be not so fair.
    Well, we may get caught in the rain but we really wouldn't care.
    We'd seek shelter in a quaint country pub, and he would look so cute, his fur all wet and slightly bedraggled (I'm writing from the heart here and don't care that I can't rhyme the word bedraggled.)
    And we'd laugh together and share intimate body language over a delicious and slightly rustic chef's special fish supper.
    And afterwards . . . we'd go back to mine for a cuppa.
    Oh but then, the moment would come, and the moment would linger.
    Until I asked him to perform for me, a warm and sand papery lick of my finger.

    so please emms, please put in a word for me with Indy, if you don't I'll simply die.

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  • 246. At 2:29pm on 16 Sep 2008, HeyGazman wrote:

    THE DREADFUL CASE OF THE WRONG COAT.

    Petticoat, petticoat
    You are NOT
    A heavy coat.
    So please
    Don't hang around me
    This wintertime.

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  • 247. At 2:29pm on 16 Sep 2008, myspacesboyuk wrote:



    Thingy - Window shaped spotlight.

    I really love the way the sun shines in through my window in the morning
    I like to lift up my face to greet it, open up my arms, spread wide my legs, gape my mouth, flair my nostrils, peel my eyes and let the light flood into (almost) every opening.

    I love the warmth on my chest
    I like to feel the vitamin D being made in my epidermis.
    I can roll around under my window shaped spotlight in complete Ultraviolet ecstasy, soaking up all of that delicious, golden, crunchy nut goodness that make all living things go kaBOOM! Come on the sunshine, drench me, drench me like there's no tomorrow.

    And then, like a good quality lithium-ion camera battery costing around £39.95, I'm fully charged and ready to burn brightly through the inevitable cloudy days that lurk around the corner. Those days hold no worry for me, now that I've basked mightily under my glorious window shaped spotlight.

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  • 248. At 2:30pm on 16 Sep 2008, myspacesboyuk wrote:

    Poem - A question of when. (a completely over the top drama)

    I shall leave him in the springtime, when explosions of soft vivid blossom may cushion his tumbling soul and the scent laden breeze may just enter his respiratory system, be absorbed by the alveoli in his lungs, enter his bloodstream and bring back life, and a steady optimistic beat to his limp, shot peppered heart.

    I shall leave him in the springtime, when the sight of swallows flirting in the morning sunshine may just delight, and remind him that passionate, pure and playful connections are being made all over this planet and that one day the planet will scoop him up and throw a warm blanket of hush around the howling of his grief stricken belly.

    I shall leave him in the springtime, so that he may lie enveloped in a vast carpeted woodland under a kind sky, and thinkings of happy this and happy that, could dance a tentative, spidery dance of hope across his confused and pain boggled mind.

    I shall let the springtime look after my poor boy, so that she may lead him gently to a better place, where he need not be my boy anymore.

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  • 249. At 2:30pm on 16 Sep 2008, myspacesboyuk wrote:

    This comment was removed because the moderators found it broke the House Rules.

  • 250. At 2:30pm on 16 Sep 2008, myspacesboyuk wrote:



    poem - drink

    I drink to forget
    I drink to remember
    I drink from October right through to September
    Drink made from apple
    Drink made from grain, or grape or hops or sweet sugarcane
    Drink makes me sad
    Drink makes me laugh
    Drink when I'm cooking
    Drink in the bath

    Oh sorry my liver and the cells in my brain
    Apologies to the man at the end of our lane
    For he has in his garden, a failing shrub
    It's the one that I piss on coming back from the pub.

    I drink and I drink and my confidence grows
    It gives me the good stuff I need when I'm out
    The drawback of course is a big red nose
    Yellowing eyes and a bad case of gout
    Gout, gout, let it all out, these are the things I can do without, so come on, I'm talkin to you, so come on.
    cheers,
    sboy x

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  • 251. At 2:38pm on 16 Sep 2008, twentynineandahalf wrote:

    THE BARBECUE STAKES

    The last glimmer of red light
    Fades from the charcoal barbecue.
    Once more, reality failed
    To match expectation:
    We are over-full of dried
    Burned meat
    And they forgot the sauce.

    It is totally dark as we sit
    Under the umbrella
    Around the table
    In the garden,
    Making conversation and
    Fighting-off the midges.
    We wonder why we do it.

    When it’s over
    We will say how much
    We enjoyed it.
    We will remark on the cold night
    And say it didn’t matter
    About the wasp:
    It’s all protein anyway!

    On the way home
    We will think ahead
    To a week on Friday night
    When they are all back,
    Subject to fine weather,
    For a return match at ours
    And we’ll pray for rain!

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  • 252. At 2:40pm on 16 Sep 2008, twentynineandahalf wrote:

    Night of the Rabbits


    Darkness
    Soot-satin black
    Moonless
    Starless
    Night
    Hopeless
    Madness
    And rabbits on the porch
    Big rabbits
    Vicious, snarling
    Obscene, terrifying
    Killer rabbits
    Black and invisible
    In the night
    I scream
    But nobody comes
    No one has survived.

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  • 253. At 2:42pm on 16 Sep 2008, cyberbaboushka wrote:

    poetry comp. Quite pertinent in the environmental debate!!
    The Rainforest;
    Like a tongue of green I lick this land
    To help our world, trying to work hand in hand
    Whilst you admire my awesome beauty from points on high
    Listen to the wind, swaying my canopy,can you not hear my sigh?

    Why do you destroy our links to the past
    Walk through my cool underbelly, know that I should outlast
    This destructive hunger that you men need
    Please, preserve my body , against mans voracious greed.

    For Millennia around our world, without harm I stood
    Protecting, nurturing you my family, for our own good
    I teem with life that flies, creatures that climb and those that crawl
    Sustaining my family with shelter and food
    Safe in my leafy arms, I covet them all

    But for the last century dear brother, I have known the greatest fear
    My limbs are felled, like baby teeth, overnight I disappear
    My land that you have "tamed" is ravaged, scarred with channels of red
    Traces across the land, where my tears fell and my heart sorely bled.

    Gone forever will be my head, shrouded with mornings misty veils
    But images on paper, which I supply , ironically will tell the tale
    Take heed and listen well, for I have no need to lie
    I, am the Mighty Rainforest, lungs of this world
    Without me, we all die.

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  • 254. At 2:43pm on 16 Sep 2008, twentynineandahalf wrote:


    Patterned Shards



    Field furrows guide my eye
    To swirling grey horizons
    Where storm-cloud skies,
    Shear multi-bulbous nodes
    And loose their leaden loads
    Through broken rainbows.

    Close-by, weak sunlight shafts to earth
    Scattered in a thousand sparks
    From shards of pot up-thrown
    By ploughshares from the dark.
    Fragmented evidence of unrecorded lives
    Subsumed by time

    Did they share with me this scene
    And wonder for a thousand years
    Whose pottery fragments gleam?
    Did they ask as I, what souls have lived
    Their span below this sky
    And in the future, will they ask did I?

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  • 255. At 2:46pm on 16 Sep 2008, myspacesboyuk wrote:



    pain in the head

    I'm sorry.

    Here comes the dread.
    Here comes the clenching vacuum head.
    Here come my cries.
    Here come my helpless stricken eyes.

    His takes me, torture, spits and scowls.
    Contorts and twists, extracts my howls.
    His takes me, writhing, sweat and wretch.
    His goading will, my death to fetch.

    Vertebrate shocked, so rigid his hold.
    His burning my neurons while skin pale and cold.
    His laying catastrophe, merciless, blunt.
    I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but why me you unt?

    My skull and sockets, I must grasp and claw.
    Massage and poke and prod and paw.
    My fingers to penetrate, get hold of his pain.
    And tear him from my intolerable brain.

    His keeps me for hour and hour and hour.
    To defy his will punish, and shaking and cower.
    And slowly, so slowly his pressure release.
    And grants me an ebbing and tearful relief.
    Now I must sleep and sleep and sleep.

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  • 256. At 2:47pm on 16 Sep 2008, twentynineandahalf wrote:

    My Past Stares Out


    My past stares out
    From the newsprint.
    A diminutive eight-year old
    Biting his lip and standing
    On tip-toe to look
    As big as the others

    I see the headline:
    “Can you put the names
    To this school picture?
    This is the class of ’47.”
    There’s Graham grinning
    With a mouse in his cap

    There’s busy Ben
    Who’s now a millionaire
    And daft Danny
    The tree explorer
    Who fell on his head
    Climbing for conkers

    There’s Lawrence
    Of Acacia Avenue:
    Best at throwing cards
    And smoking Camels
    From the food parcel
    With the bad eggs

    And weirdo Wilf
    Dark haired, devilish
    And dangerous
    With his sharp sticks.
    The serial killer
    Of bird nestlings

    There’s beautiful Bekula
    Six inches taller
    Half-Indian -
    Olive-skinned Bekula,
    Mysterious
    And exciting

    And biased Mr Bellis
    “Like a house on fire!”
    My teacher: my tormentor.
    He kept me late
    For banging doors
    I didn’t bang.

    Oh yes!
    I can put a name
    To Mr Bellis.
    He told my Dad
    I would never be good
    At anything!

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  • 257. At 2:48pm on 16 Sep 2008, justbrawn wrote:


    MY GOODNESS HOW YOU HAVE CHANGED

    My goodness how you’ve changed,
    Just look at your bonce It's bald now where once,
    It was covered in curls which delighted the girls.
    My goodness how you’ve changed.

    My goodness how you’ve changed,
    Just look at your chin, it used to be thin,
    Now there are three that are puzzling me.
    My goodness how you’ve changed.

    My goodness how you’ve changed,
    It’s not like before, now you just snore.
    Then you went to the gym, where you tried to be thin.
    My goodness how you’ve changed,

    My goodness how you’ve changed,
    Yet I see you the same, not what you became,
    All through the years, with the laughter and tears.
    My goodness how we’ve changed,

    Written when my husband who has had two strokes and fractured his hip was down in the dumps. I thought it wiouldmake him laugh and it did.
    just madge


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  • 258. At 2:48pm on 16 Sep 2008, myspacesboyuk wrote:



    thingy - love, life, death.

    She's with him now, no thoughts of you
    She's with him now, there's nothing you can do
    As a child did you guard so that favourite toy
    Possessions only goal is your soul to destroy

    Transient is a human beings heart
    It may travel with another until life or death part
    Let go of possession, understand your emotion
    Or suffer a mind filled with shock and commotion

    To be touched by another human soul in this life is a gift from nature, an like all natures gifts is temporary, to be enjoyed while you can. Don't cry when they're gone, they don't want your tears, say thank you instead, thank you for the times you made me smile, thank you for the sweet things you did for me, thank you for all that you've done that now cause me sorrow for their absence in my life.
    Be happy for the one you love when they're gone forever. Be thankful that they touched your soul, and if you're unable to let them go, they won't be able to go in peace. - that's what i reckon anyway.
    sboy
    x x x

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  • 259. At 2:49pm on 16 Sep 2008, twentynineandahalf wrote:

    A Poem in the style of Korean Sijo

    Two Fingers

    These two fingers, twice broken, scarred, repaired,
    are wrinkled now by time.

    These two fingers share my memories,
    my loves, and my tears.

    Still active, they process these words:
    touch sensitive, sensational!

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  • 260. At 2:50pm on 16 Sep 2008, twentynineandahalf wrote:


    SNAILS

    Slanting sunset shadows see
    Snails, snails, snails,
    Searching, sliding, slimily,
    Seeking succulent snacks.
    Savouring salvias, sprouts,
    Sometimes saplings, secretly.
    Snails, snails, snails,
    Silently selecting stems.
    Stealthily scissoring stalks;
    Skilfully sucking sap.
    Serene, shadowy snails,
    Simply superb survivors:
    Seriously scary!

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  • 261. At 2:52pm on 16 Sep 2008, justbrawn wrote:

    HATS I HAVE WORN



    A baby, a toddler, a daughter, it began
    A student, a schoolgirl, a dancer and then,
    A singer, a worker, a sister, a friend,
    A girlfriend, a scorer, a wife, I attend.
    A gardener, a mechanic, a painter of walls,
    A cleaner of gutters, I comfort the falls.
    A driver, an actress, a grower of food,
    A help to the doctor, I mop up the blood.
    A walker of dogs, a maker of cake,
    A plumber, electrician, domestic engineer,
    Washerwoman, cleaner, a brewer of beer,
    A scraper of paintwork, a jumper to make.
    A carpenter, joiner, a knocker of nails,
    A craftwork designer, and empty the pails.
    A grandmother, a carer, and tend to the ill,
    The jobs are non ending, there are yet more still.


    One of my passions is poetry and this came to me when I was in the middle of a particularly fiddly job and the screws didn't want to behave.



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  • 262. At 2:54pm on 16 Sep 2008, cyberbaboushka wrote:

    poetry comp.
    Pensioners outlook;

    Single Mums with their prams, strolling by
    Stuffing a dummy in babys mouth if it utters a cry
    I shake my head, these girls seem so proud of it all
    This I observe from my seat in the Mall.
    Young men meet up and gather around
    Tattoos, piercings and designer clothes abound
    They do not care they have no job
    Better off on benefits, the culture of the yob.
    Nowadays, youngsters all seem to holiday abroad
    At their age I could never afford
    Travelling to foreign climes
    To bring back pseudo Rolexs and Calvin Kleins.
    I try to keep the years at bay
    Exercise and healthy eating might extend my life they say
    From "cradle to grave" I heard Governments preach
    But luxuries for pensioners today, seem out of reach.
    This modern techno.world
    Has become alien to me
    I never thought that I would see
    The day I felt old- fashioned at sixty three!

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  • 263. At 2:55pm on 16 Sep 2008, twentynineandahalf wrote:

    THE MODERN WOMAN

    The modern woman puts on wigs,
    Fake eyelashes and fingernails,
    And downs the wine at nightclub gigs

    Assorted make-up, blushes, creams,
    Botox, to confuse the males
    And padded brassieres fill her dreams

    She saves for implants when she can
    And then complains when cheating fails:
    I cannot find a REAL MAN !

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  • 264. At 2:56pm on 16 Sep 2008, myspacesboyuk wrote:

    Poem - purity and filth.
    All the filthy poems that I write I keep locked away in a tinbox.
    I should liberate one and send it to you to sully your delicate inbox.
    Shocked you'd be at first my love, then partly a little excited.
    You'd read it again, and that would be when, the fire in your belly ignited.
    But the guilt would come tugging and prodding and pulling, and for me, contempt and disgust.
    But your belly can't fight it, you'd have to re-light it, or not, i don't care, I'm not fussed.

    Here are some questions I get asked most frequently about filthy poems:-
    Do you really keep filthy poems in a tinbox? - No
    Did you need something to rhyme with inbox? - Yes
    Was it a toss up between fussed and lust? - Er, yes
    Which detergent to you recommend for getting my dirty poems clean? - Persil
    Are your whites whiter than white? - Yes
    And your greens? - Greener than green.
    Purples? - I don't write purple poems.

    sboy
    x x x

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  • 265. At 2:57pm on 16 Sep 2008, myspacesboyuk wrote:

    Poem - Messages in pink.
    It's time to boot up and awaken your screen
    like waiting to see if Santa has been
    Hit return on your password, waiting to load
    A spin of the mouse wheel, let the magic unfold

    "New message" it says, written in red
    Thoughts of a special one race through your head
    Pulse starts to bubble, surely not love
    Messages, oh messages they're like gifts from above.

    Glee, oh glee, oh glee of all glee.
    It's the profile picture you wanted to see
    Oh my, face is a little pink, gosh, phew
    They sat down and wrote something specially for you.- and it feels good doesn't it?

    I can't think of any more verses for this.
    Some people will think that I'm taking the (mickey)
    But i ain't coz i wrote this poem months ago, just thought it would be a nice time to dig it out and get it said.
    And if you can't relate to this on at least some small level, or at some point in time ever, check your pulse coz you either ain't human or you're dead.

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  • 266. At 2:59pm on 16 Sep 2008, myspacesboyuk wrote:

    This comment was removed because the moderators found it broke the House Rules.

  • 267. At 3:00pm on 16 Sep 2008, twentynineandahalf wrote:

    LAUDAMUS


    Slimyskinamus

    Pokytoothamus

    Littlelegamus

    Outsizebodymus

    Smellybottomus

    Hippopotamus!

    S
    P
    L
    O
    S
    H

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  • 268. At 3:06pm on 16 Sep 2008, cyberbaboushka wrote:

    Poetry comp;
    Treading softly.

    Following in your footsteps, I softly tread
    But as usual, you are one step ahead
    Just ahead, but out of sight
    I will catch up when the Time is right

    Throughout our lives you always led
    Striding out, purposefully ahead
    confident and sure, there was no fear
    Unaware that God had a different plan for you that year

    In Gods plan, everything happens as it should
    No matter if we are bad or good
    In His plan for you--we have been parted-- that is true
    Now, once again,you are just ahead and out of sight
    But I will catch up , when the Time is right.

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  • 269. At 3:07pm on 16 Sep 2008, twentynineandahalf wrote:

    TWO-DRIN STAR

    I wuz born under a two-drin star
    I wuz born under a two-drin star
    It’s better than a one-drin
    Not quite as good as a three
    But I guess a two-drin star
    Is more’n good enough fer me!

    I wuz born under a two-drin star
    I wus born under a two-drin star
    It’s far more’n I expected
    I’d rather’ve ’ad a three
    But I guess a little two-drin
    Is good enough fer me!

    I wuz born under a two-drin star
    I wuz born under a two-drin star
    It’s made me rather happy
    Not nearly as good as a three (would’ve)
    But it could’ve bin a zero
    An two’s good enough fer me!

    I wuz born under a two-drin star!

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  • 270. At 3:08pm on 16 Sep 2008, WarriorPrincess2 wrote:

    MOTHERS TREASURE

    for Rebecca

    I’m sure that if I root around the missing object will be found.
    A dozen other things I see, the quantity amazes me.
    Lipstick, makeup, brush and comb, I know it wasn’t left at home.

    A chocolate bar, that looks nice, it’s lucky that we don’t have mice.
    A leaky pen a dirty fag the bottom of my mothers bag.

    Somewhere somehow we will find, the object that is on my mind,
    Let’s stop and have a cup of tea, we’re never going to find that key.

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  • 271. At 3:16pm on 16 Sep 2008, justbrawn wrote:

    FEED ME DO



    With quivering wings and open beak “Feed me.” The little bird cried
    All alone in an expanse of green, the young bird looked each side.
    “Where is my Mother my sisters too, they left me here alone”.
    “Oh feed me, feed me, feed me do” “And then we can go home.”
    Little sparrow, small and round waiting patiently to be fed,
    Here comes Mother, sisters two, with worms from the garden bed.
    The big wide world is wild alright, there’s no denying that,
    “Oh do go away till I’ve been fed, you horrid ginger cat.”
    There’s one for you and two for me, I’ve waited long to be fed,
    The sparrows waited for their Mum, to take them home to bed.
    Wings quivered no more, beaks closed in sleep. Snuggled in the nest,
    Mum and chicks with feathers fluffed, serenely all at rest.


    Seen every day in the garden


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  • 272. At 3:22pm on 16 Sep 2008, myspacesboyuk wrote:

    myspace.com/sboyuk
    Have a read of my blog today
    You won't be offended in any way at all
    Except if you're stuck up with a mind that is small.
    sboy
    x x x

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  • 273. At 3:23pm on 16 Sep 2008, WarriorPrincess2 wrote:

    A Day at Home

    Home, a very special place, a place where you can set the pace.
    No rushing round to get things done, instead we should make each day fun.

    Our garden gives us so much joy, a grown-ups very special toy,
    to just relax and read a book, we’re out to lunch no need to cook.

    And then the children pay a call, not just one but one and all,
    lets play this game please, may I draw, grandma please sit on the floor.
    I need your help to get this right, “now children there’s no need to fight”.

    They’re going home, alone at last, I ponder then upon the past.
    When they were children just the same, we even played the same old game,
    the scrabble board in now antique and still the words are quite unique.

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  • 274. At 3:25pm on 16 Sep 2008, WarriorPrincess2 wrote:

    ROSES ARE RED, VIOLETS BLUE, SUGAR IS SWEET,MEMORIES TOO.

    We all remember happy times as children chanting skipping rhymes,
    the summer days were always hot, but logic tells me they were not.
    No computers no TV., but outdoor games we joined with glee.

    At Whitsuntide we wore new togs, I don’t remember wearing clogs, but others tell a tale or two of how they had to mend and do.

    I used to think that we were poor but we had carpets on the floor, and every weekend mum would bake, some scones, some buns or just a cake.


    These golden days are in the past, so we must make the memories last.

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  • 275. At 3:39pm on 16 Sep 2008, beautifuljeansusan wrote:

    DREAMS AND HOPES

    Wish and hope and wonder
    To make your dreams come true
    They are never far away
    If you can let your thoughts drift through
    Your dreams can all me there for you.
    If only you can see
    A thought a wish and prayer
    Can make a difference you see.

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  • 276. At 3:48pm on 16 Sep 2008, kozmik_komment wrote:

    NOBNUB NONSENSE


    When I die please bury me
    Under the shade of the nobnub tree
    Where often times my friend squirrel and I
    Would sit and talk of days gone by
    When he would climb in the courts of kings
    And I would walk and try many other things
    In pointed cap I would describe the scenes
    And drink from cups owned by un-named queens

    Failing this please scatter my bones
    Amidst warriors cries and princes thrones
    Between a spear of ash and a sword of air
    To know that I wearied of this despair
    To the sound of whistle, pipe and drum
    Let all who knew me quietly come
    To pick at stories and whiten lies
    And watch the day as the sunset dies.

    Or lay me to rest between day and night
    Find me a place between wrong and right
    Buried by the light of a daytime moon
    Near a place where maidens swoon
    Where sea and beach never meet.
    I have gone on winged angels’ feet
    Never more to laugh by your side
    A shame, an innocence that I had to hide.

    copyrights apply 2008.

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  • 277. At 3:52pm on 16 Sep 2008, carayus wrote:

    Skin is a wonderful thing
    Of that there is no doubt
    For our wonderful skin
    Although its quite thin
    stops our insides from falling out
    Its extremely tough and waterproof
    And heals itself when grazed
    So when I think of skin
    this thing I'm living in
    I simply am amazed
    It covers me all over
    From my toes up to my head
    And stays with me
    Throughout my life
    Even when I'm in bed

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  • 278. At 3:59pm on 16 Sep 2008, suziesingapore wrote:

    We Think We Own the Earth
    [By Sue Greenwood]

    We think we own the earth. It never belonged to us.
    We claim it, we buy it, we dig in it and we sell it.
    Who profits from it’s natural wealth?
    Can anyone replenish it, manufacture it or mend it
    when we have used it up? Who mends things?

    We think we own the snow-capped mountains, the oceans, the vast barren spaces of the deserts and the few remaining jungles. See the breadth of our human tracks.

    We think we own the earth.
    Who decides goes where? Who decides who gets what?
    Greed feeding itself on hunger.

    We think we own the earth. It never belonged to us. A loan. Can anyone pay it back?























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  • 279. At 4:02pm on 16 Sep 2008, carayus wrote:

    Its hard to stand by and watch someone in pain
    Standing there, helpless, and wishing in vain
    That you could take on the suffering despair
    That your loved one is bearing and you cant fully share
    Its hard to see the flesh of your flesh
    Detached: in the bowels of grief and distress
    When the grief that they feel cuts so deep, like a knife
    That your comforting words bring no comfort or life
    Its hard to stand by, just to be there, a token
    Not able to act, with your heart really broken
    You know you'll both soon pass on from this place
    But its still hard to stand by, just be there, in case
    Its hard to see tears that you'd rather weep
    But to love is to sow, and to sow is to reap
    "Let me bear this for you" comes my hearts strong cry
    But the words are aborted, I've a lump, my throats dry
    Deep inside I know this cups not mine to drink
    But its no consolation whatever you think
    And the pain quickly spreads as its ripples fan out
    Enough is enough I want to cry out


    God! dont you know what I'm going through?
    You would do if this ever happened to you.

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  • 280. At 4:18pm on 16 Sep 2008, Thorsic wrote:

    Swordplay



    En guard

    In the deft grasp of a rival
    words
    can be
    cutting
    lethal
    and sharp

    Used as a weapon to injure
    words
    prick
    stab
    pierce
    and harm

    Manipulated adroitly
    words
    thrust
    straight
    into
    the heart

    Touché


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  • 281. At 4:21pm on 16 Sep 2008, nicolino59 wrote:

    Take the following five random words and incorporate them into a piece of writing in any order: Springbok, Eagle, Paraphernalia, Volcano, Wellington Boots:

    (I decided to split the syllables in the words above and do a poem as a Tribute to Lewis Carroll's 'Jabberwocky'. Can you spot them?!):

    THE EAGLEBOK:

    'Twas caustic, and the slimey slugs
    Did writhe and wriggle in the boots:
    All chumsey were the springsies
    As they played their tinkling flutes.

    'Beware the Eaglebok, my girl!
    The beak that pecks, the talons that scratch!
    Beware the Vulcan Birds that whirl,
    O the paraphern with his match!'

    She took her trusted dagger in hand:
    And looked long days for the mingin' wretch -
    So she rested by the Alia bush,
    And pondered by her ketch.

    And as in welling thought she leant,
    The Eaglebok, with eyes of fire,
    Came flittering through the dreams she dreamt
    And landed by the mire!

    Won-ton! Won-ton! And in and out
    The Dagger's sharp went scritch-a-scratch!
    She left it numb and, feeling glum,
    She threw it over her back.

    'And hast thou killed the Eaglebok?
    Come to my breast, my curlish girl!
    O joyous day, woohoo, wayhay'!
    She giggled in her mirth.

    'Twas caustic, and the slimey slugs
    Did writhe and wriggle in the boots:
    All chumsey were the springsies
    As the played their tinkling flutes.

    A poem by Nicky Cooper
    (copyrights apply 2005)

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  • 282. At 4:28pm on 16 Sep 2008, david-owens wrote:

    A Dartmoor Hunt.


    The huntsman’s horn,
    It wails and cries,
    And the fox runs fast,
    Under bright blue skies.

    The hounds are plenty,
    And the foxes few,
    But the horses thunder,
    Through the morning dew.

    Now the fox he watches,
    And he sits and he waits,
    As the hounds jump frenzied,
    Around the old farm gate.

    The Buzzards circle,
    On thermals high,
    Now the clouds they are racing,
    Across the moorland skies.

    The fox lies low atop,
    The dry stone wall,
    He sees the huntsman,
    And he sees him fall.

    Beside the careless farmers,
    Old and rusting plough,
    The blood stained body
    Lies crumpled now.

    As the red coat rider,
    Breathes his last,
    The fox runs free,
    And swift and fast.

    While the hounds are lost,
    Over distant tors,
    And the hunters scattered,
    Across the open moors.


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  • 283. At 4:32pm on 16 Sep 2008, orangehottotrot wrote:

    JAM ROLY POLY DAY

    The recipe book is yellow with age
    and it opens each time at the very same page.
    There the memories lie, mid the splashes and spots
    Of ingredients past – generations of blots!

    My mind rushes back (put flour in the bowl)
    And I think of those days (add suet in the hole)
    When my sister and I would bike home from our school,
    The rain in our faces, the wind biting cruel.

    Mum’s jam roly poly would beckon us on,
    All pain of the ride in a trice would be gone.
    Our legs would be blue, our cheeks brightly red,
    Our hands in wet gloves might well have been dead.

    But, there at the table, once we’d settled inside,
    Our dinner was waiting, oh, down it would glide
    In anticipation of what next was to come –
    Mum’s jam roly poly, oh yummy, yum, yum!

    Out of the saucepan she lifts pud with a stick
    (Roll out on floured board to about one inch thick,
    Spread with home-made plum jam, rich red delight,
    Then boil in a cloth that’s all snowy and white)

    “This will stick to your ribs!” mother says with delight
    As she serves up the pud, all steamy and light.
    A dollop of cream from our friends on the farm
    Then we’re quiet as church mice as we fall for its charm.

    The ride back to school is taken more slowly, As we pedal along, full of jam roly poly.
    It’s sitting quite nicely, attached to our ribs,
    And we’re ready again to attack schoolwork with nibs!


    Petajane Charman

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  • 284. At 4:35pm on 16 Sep 2008, david-owens wrote:

    October Days

    Shafts of sunlight,
    Fall between the beech trees,
    And illuminate the mushroom picker,
    Who scuffs through a golden carpet,
    Her eager basket overflowing,
    With the seasons treats.

    Tired summer leaves fall,
    From outstretched limbs,
    On natures breath they drift,
    Covering deep the woodland floor,
    A squirrel dances atop the dry stone wall,
    Diving swiftly into an ocean of fiery cover,
    In search of hazelnuts,
    To line his winter larder.

    In a lane bordered by sentinels,
    Stand two school boys,
    Playing the conquerors game,
    Locked in mortal combat,
    They slug it out,
    Blow for thunderous blow,
    Until broken, one falls to ground,
    And a champion is crowned.

    Hazy sunlight shrouds the distant moors,
    The bright purple heather glows,
    Painting hillsides full of color,
    Where megaliths cast long shadows,
    That point the way towards,
    Winters pale horizon.

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  • 285. At 4:37pm on 16 Sep 2008, david-owens wrote:

    Below the weir pool

    In a peat coloured pool,
    So deep and cool,
    A thoughtful salmon lies in wait,
    Considering carefully upon his fate,

    Should he make the leap,
    That he’s blind to see,
    Into the deep green pool,
    Where the river runs free.

    Or just stay here,
    And jump for flies,
    In the strong hard current,
    Where the best food lies.

    With a thrust of his tail,
    He makes that call,
    And rushes forward,
    To jump the falls.

    Along the banks people cheer,
    As the valiant silver flash appears,
    In the air so full of grace,
    He makes his entrance,
    Then disappears without a trace.

    Through large grey boulders,
    The clear river runs,
    With effortless style
    So does he,

    Up stream, up stream,
    Now we are free.


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  • 286. At 4:38pm on 16 Sep 2008, poetlauraeate wrote:

    Gravitas and Gherkins

    Give me an imperious Romanesque building
    That looks down on me from austere portico-hooded eyes
    that issue their Orders, any day of the week
    Rather than a prefab glass ‘n’ steel gherkin
    That I can look down on and laugh at
    Where is the grandeur or permanence in that?
    I want to take my buildings seriously
    If of my times they’ll bear testimony
    Well you can have too much “inclusivity”
    Too much excuse for landscape blots
    ‘Disabled access’ is just part of the plot
    To demolish all that went before
    Leaving us history and heritage-poor
    I want to aspire to architecture
    Not have it bend down to design me in
    I want to marvel at buildings
    As I marvel at the stars
    I want them to be -
    God-like in their awe-inspiring ability
    Grandiose echoes of vastness
    Emphasising my littleness
    Monuments to craftsmanship
    Memorials to the went-before of humanship
    What’s so bad about Classical mausolea
    If they stop you taking life for granted,
    Urge you on and up to meet their greatness?
    So dwarf me, tower over me,
    Keep me in my place
    Dominate me, intimidate me
    Spare a thought for poor posterity
    We can modify you in sympathy
    With 21st Century needs
    Surely…?
    Buildings of a splendour rivalling countryside
    Sure beat the pants off a landscape backside
    If greenbelts must be tightened.
    But look at the pennies saved
    Spewing buildings short-lived as fashions
    For impressionists in substance
    Trapped in now egos

    © Laura King (aka The Poet Laura-eate)
    http://thepoetlaura-eate.blogspot.com






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  • 287. At 4:39pm on 16 Sep 2008, david-owens wrote:

    Punctuation

    All dots, commas, and colons.
    They confuse my eye,
    And fog my eager brain,
    How I try to understand,
    But fail and fail again,
    Until in a huff,
    I tear them up and,
    Start a new this fated game.

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  • 288. At 4:40pm on 16 Sep 2008, david-owens wrote:

    Synergy

    Before you came I was one,
    Then you arrived and I was two,
    But we were one,
    When you left I was none,
    But soon became one again.

    Now you are back,
    And we are two,
    If not for you I would be at one,
    I owe it all to you!

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  • 289. At 4:41pm on 16 Sep 2008, poetlauraeate wrote:

    Oh dear, your comment box format appears to have jumbled my punctuation somewhat!

    Is there a means of sending you the proper Word version?

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  • 290. At 4:41pm on 16 Sep 2008, angel34black wrote:

    entitled: forever longing

    Ever wished upon that star
    of hopeless dreams in misty forests;
    a fleeting glimpse through hazelnut branches
    of dancing spirits that hide and play
    round burning flames of tempting want.

    Thought felt seek, you stealth to catch
    elusive nymphs of impassioned embers;
    enchanted song heard near and distant, deceptive mischief that leads astray
    haunts echo along misguided paths.

    by A Black

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  • 291. At 4:42pm on 16 Sep 2008, david-owens wrote:

    The Estuary

    The mud calls before,
    A slowly receding tide.
    Large shimmering pools beckon,
    The long curved sweeping beak,
    Of the swift elusive Avocet,
    As the repeating mournful,
    Song of the Curlew calls,
    To the still shimmering,
    Breathless waters.

    Mergansers dive and ripple,
    The sparkling silver surface,
    Now submerged they reappear,
    Just a few yards down stream.
    Brent geese swirl and turn,
    Flying in to join the party,
    Calling, gaggling, chatting talking,
    Before peace returns again.

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  • 292. At 4:44pm on 16 Sep 2008, david-owens wrote:

    The King Fisher

    I see you my brightest friend,
    From the bridge above the stream,
    I watch your startling flight,
    Bright as a rainbow,
    On flowing edge you dart.

    Along the peaceful waters,
    Through the bending Alders,
    Beside the river Teign,
    You sit in quiet contemplation.

    Then through shafts of light,
    Strike the surface bright,
    To take the mindful trout,
    And return to perch again,

    The King of fishers

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  • 293. At 4:47pm on 16 Sep 2008, poetlauraeate wrote:

    To The Lighted House

    'Five hundred pounds a year
    And a room of ones' own'
    Was Virginia Woolfs’
    recipe for happiness.
    Then she saw the small ads
    For rooms among the Spires
    Worthy of writers.
    Five hundred pounds a month,
    (excl, and broadband extra)
    Filled her pockets with stones
    And walked into the nearest river.
    Perhaps God had a room going
    In one of his many mansions
    A little bit cheaper…

    LS King

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  • 294. At 4:48pm on 16 Sep 2008, blythbd wrote:

    Musiclerihews

    If Ives
    Survives,
    Cole Porter
    Oughter

    Could yer reach Mendelssohn
    By telephone,
    Would he oblige yer
    With another Elijah?

    Who but
    Schubert
    Is undiminished
    With his 8th unfinished?


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  • 295. At 4:48pm on 16 Sep 2008, angel34black wrote:

    Five a.m.

    As townspeople unknowing in their early morning slumber,
    the gold splintered sunbeams creep with silence; day breaks with travellers off to places far,
    to the sound of singing milk as it floats past.

    To those who know, the talking starts;
    in frenzied noise of flaps and beats, morning awakes.
    The conforming coo's of neighbouring pigeons
    signalling attention in ranking troop order.

    The majestic caw of her highness the crow
    silencing for a second, her grey suited army;
    alerted they stand in admiration for her reign
    a unison squawk in respect for her being.

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  • 296. At 4:49pm on 16 Sep 2008, david-owens wrote:

    Daffodils

    All summer long,
    They sleep beneath the earth,
    Listening to the muffled voices,
    Of children playing on the grass above.

    Then as dark winter storms,
    Rain down and the North winds blow,
    They begin to stir their shoots,
    Reaching up towards the light,
    To wave their cheerful,
    Yellow nodding heads,
    In bright defiance.

    The first herald,
    Of the coming spring.

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  • 297. At 4:50pm on 16 Sep 2008, blythbd wrote:

    Dementia of Daffodils

    A balmy Spring has brought this year
    A martial dementia of daffodils,
    Each golden helmet, each broad green spear,
    Raiding the verges, shanghaing the hills.
    Rank on rank they invade the nation,
    Requisitioning woodland glades,
    A yellow force of occupation,
    Storming the earth in secret raids.
    But their robust conquest is undaunting,
    And their advance we do not fear;
    Their presence with us is a haunting
    Promise of more attacks next year.

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  • 298. At 4:52pm on 16 Sep 2008, blythbd wrote:

    When?

    When the unknowable is divined,
    And the invisible is seen,
    Fully clad, we can walk naked,
    Holding up our heads in shame.

    When muteness is overheard
    And emptiness is grasped,
    We can flood the desert
    Of abundance with dry tears.

    When infinity is bounded,
    And the inevitable does not befall,
    Immobile, we can journey
    To an arid land of plenty.

    When we can deceive with truth,
    And curse with blessedness,
    Unarmed, we can embrace enemies,
    And kiss them with sealed lips.

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  • 299. At 4:54pm on 16 Sep 2008, david-owens wrote:

    Dartmoor

    I saw the moors today,
    From my car window,
    As I drove to work,
    They called to me,
    Those misty tors and open moors,

    They spoke of summer days,
    And drifting haze,
    Of miles walked on rolling hills,
    With friends good and old,
    Around open peat fires in a cozy pub,
    Before the journey home.

    I saw the moors today,
    From my car window,
    On my way to work.

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  • 300. At 4:56pm on 16 Sep 2008, jon32123 wrote:

    My passion is junk food!

    Golden Arches


    Rotund mums with tattooed bums
    drag push chairs down the street.
    Children whine “It’s dinnertime”.
    So it’s off to the arches to eat.

    Ronnie where have you gone?
    The establishment are too good for you now
    High class, high cholesterol, high price to pay,
    but I’ll be back to sample your wares another day.

    Golden arches – plastic paradise
    Over priced, over weight and over here
    An American invasion stirs my realisation,
    heart disease and death of a food loving nation.

    Big Mac, heart attack,
    Triple burger, 1st degree murder
    Give me that sugar hit please
    Bring our children to their knees!

    Have a nice day!



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  • 301. At 4:57pm on 16 Sep 2008, david-owens wrote:

    New shoes

    They smell so fine,
    The soles so clean and tidy,
    Tops so beautiful they shine,
    I simply love the way they feel,
    When I walk on toe and heel,

    As I inspect the soles,
    I see they are not full of holes,
    As my old shoes which fitted me,
    And were just so very comfy,
    But in the bin, they are now gone,
    And I have brand new, shoes on.

    But Oh they do so pinch,
    I wish they had another inch,
    Just for my toes to wriggle free,
    And stop the laces chaffing me,
    But I am happy I can not lie,
    Because my feet are warm and dry!

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  • 302. At 5:02pm on 16 Sep 2008, shellshamble wrote:

    Flowers are blooming out,
    Little children play and shout,
    Bluebirds and thrushes sing so gay
    little lambs are out to play,
    The daisies are so wild and free
    The lord above is watching thee.

    This poem is about spring my favourite time of the year. I won a book about birds for this poem when i was at junior school i must have been about ten. I am now 61, HAPPY DAYS.

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  • 303. At 5:04pm on 16 Sep 2008, Y-O-R-K-I-E wrote:

    Fairwell to Richard Whiteley.

    And we walk along without a care
    Not knowing if we,ll still be there
    Our path in life is so untrue
    With twists and turns and with no clue
    Its up to you to find your way
    To live your life from day to day
    There will be good, There will be bad
    There will be happy, There will be sad
    But the trials of life are what We make
    Its our choice to give or take
    Some choose to give-And thats my point
    Who care enough to make a joint
    Cos we,re not alone-And some do try
    To make us laugh-Or make us cry
    But there is few that come our way
    And bring us sunshine Everyday
    That make us laugh Until we cry
    And doesnt even need to try
    His place a void-He was unique
    No-one will ever reach his peak
    My thoughts to you this Christmas late
    To all who knew and participate
    In a life that Glowed with boyish fun
    Who cared enough- For Everyone

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  • 304. At 5:06pm on 16 Sep 2008, Y-O-R-K-I-E wrote:

    Fairwell to Richard Whiteley was placed in a card on where he lay on New Years Eve 2006

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  • 305. At 5:10pm on 16 Sep 2008, alien_silky wrote:

    The Futility of War

    Men and women go to war
    To fight another lands cause
    Sent by those who have never been
    Those who can’t imagine
    The things these soldiers see or do

    Bullets fly, bombs fall, Star-shell's flare
    Novices cautioned for peering over the parapet,
    Beyond the wire, stained with blood to rust, into No Man's Land.
    Soldiers die, children cry, still they have to be strong,
    Have to carry on, as if nothing is wrong

    The soldiers - mothers, wives, fathers and sons,
    Don’t always miss the bullets fired at them
    Soldiers sent home injured or dead
    Only to find no support for the broken
    Never to be the same person they were before.

    Bugler playing, tears streaming
    Soldiers stand tall and straight,
    Wounded inside and out
    Feel the pain, loneliness, loss of hope,
    Sharing the same nightmares –
    Day and night
    Yet another comrade
    Laid to rest.


    By Anna Bartlett

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  • 306. At 5:16pm on 16 Sep 2008, Y-O-R-K-I-E wrote:

    Happy Mother,s Day Mam

    Mam you mean the world to me
    Without your guide i wouldnt see
    You gave me life- and thats enough
    But You went on and filled it with love
    You stood by me through thick and thin
    But thats just You Mam-Never give in
    If Everyones Mam was just like you
    I wouldnt believe it-It couldnt be true
    Cos youre one in a Million-And Thats No Lie
    If i didnt have You Mam-I,d give up and die

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  • 307. At 5:16pm on 16 Sep 2008, Erskineflyblow wrote:

    Retail Romance

    We’ll excite the frozen haddocks
    And melt the marrow pea;
    Enrapture every meringue pie
    And waltz down aisle three.

    We’ll tiptoe by Caerphilly cheese
    Then Brie and Mont’ray Jack;
    While gliding past the deli bar
    Perform an ‘entrechat’.

    We’ll glissé through the fruit and veg
    Toward the cakes and bread;
    Hot samba past tortilla chips,
    Fox trot through sauces red.

    We’ll dance light supermarket steps
    Round products GM free
    And thus we’ll show the retail world
    The love I have for thee.

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  • 308. At 5:17pm on 16 Sep 2008, TheRamblingRosie wrote:

    Life's a bitch - or is it?

    Life's a bitch, or is it?
    Might it be more one's perception?
    You could view all the knocks with a jaundiced eye
    And dwell on the world's imperfection.
    But why let life's trials leave a negative vibe?
    Why not consider this view:
    Embrace all that happens - the good and the bad:
    It all goes to make you, you.

    If you look at yourself as a magnet
    Attracting all life has to fling,
    The more you're out there, the more you'll catch,
    And more richness to life you'll bring.

    The wisdom of age is special,
    Enhanced the more you've lived life:
    The way you've loved and the way you've lost
    And the way you've met challenge and strife.

    So are you a person who bends and breaks,
    Believing that life is a bitch?
    Or are you a person who bends, then walks tall
    With a life that's varied and rich?

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  • 309. At 5:20pm on 16 Sep 2008, TheRamblingRosie wrote:

    Done to a turn

    A fried egg sun as on china blue plate,
    The grill-like heat sealed his fate,
    A bacon landscape, crisped to a turn,
    His tomato red skin with third degree burn.

    Hash brown terrain, rough and unyielding,
    No mushroom cap shade from searing rays shielding,
    Alone in the desert he curled up and died:
    Like his last breakfast, the traveller was fried.

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  • 310. At 5:23pm on 16 Sep 2008, jjjcreber wrote:

    No Nonsense Poem

    I can't write weird poems:
    I only wish I could.
    The trouble with them is, you see,
    They're always understood.

    Jaberwocky, Kubla Khan,
    They all sound very grand -
    If only I could write something
    As hard to understand...

    So hat's off to the intellects,
    The scholars and the posh
    Who make a living churning out
    Unmitigated tosh!

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  • 311. At 5:26pm on 16 Sep 2008, TheRamblingRosie wrote:

    Weapon of Mass Destruction

    Dig around...make a mound...create big holes under the ground...
    Take the diamonds, gems galore, precious metals, useful ore,
    Exploit the Earth's beautiful store, treat her like a pimp a whore.

    Deforestation, denudation, devastation...consternation?
    What about a fuel source? There's always coal and oil of course!
    That's be right! Dig some more, do as you've always done before....

    After all, the Earth is ours - never mind acid rain showers,
    The ozone layer, greenhouse gases, polluted air like thick molasses,
    Ice-caps melting, sea level rising: it isn't altogether surprising!

    Gulf stream failing, patterns changing, effects on weather quite wide-ranging,
    Barriers breached, mammals beached, water where land once by sun was bleached,
    Of flooding and drought, reports don't stop; and constant failure of annual crop.

    Famine, disease - and what do you know? Round and round we all still go!
    The 'wmd' to fear the most, that will freeze to ice or burn to toast
    Is the carelessness of the human race - that's the 'wmd' we face!

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  • 312. At 5:29pm on 16 Sep 2008, geoffspere wrote:

    I like cats.

    If like me in your home you will find space
    for the feline creature of infinite grace
    If love you like to give and receive and your not the type who likes to deceive
    Your wife will not mind you will feel no remorse a four legged pussy won't cause a divotce

    My first love affair when still just a child was a chubby black tom who never was wild
    His unpretenious name was Pete with Persil shirt and four white feet
    He loved your hand to rub his head and didn't just come at the time to be fed

    But the thing that really set him alight and always caused Mum and me to fight
    He would jump on the bed and down through the sheets
    To snuggle up warm to my cold winter feet, his rumbling purrs would be heard down the stairs
    and my fate would be sealed by the clue of blck hairs.

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  • 313. At 5:47pm on 16 Sep 2008, Y-O-R-K-I-E wrote:

    Happy Birthday Mam

    If i could make a dream come true
    I,d make it happen just for You
    Cos ive looked behind into my past
    And see you Always put You last
    So many times You did without
    And in my mind-There is no doubt
    You gave us your life to make things meet
    If it wasnt for You we,d be on the street
    We didnt have much-But We didnt care
    Cos We Always knew our Mam was there
    Every tear shed was kissed away
    And in Your arms We,d want to stay
    We felt so loved and safe with You
    There wasnt a thing that You couldnt do
    So i,ll say for All-And i,ll say it Aloud
    We love You Mam-And We are so proud
    And if my life could start anew
    And as a child-Belonged to You
    As long as i was under Your wing
    I wouldnt change a single thing
    Cos i was so happy-And i,m being true
    When i say "Its All because of You"
    So close your eyes and dream away
    And i,ll make a wish for You today
    To give you All the things You missed
    And the nicest things are on my list
    Cos in This World there is No Other
    Can match My Loving Caring Mother

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  • 314. At 5:52pm on 16 Sep 2008, FOXY226 wrote:

    Why

    Why is she crying Ma?
    Her baby just died.
    Why did he die Ma?
    He had no food inside.
    Where is his Dad Ma?
    Killed in the war
    Why are they fighting Ma?
    Who knows what for.


    I originally wrote this in 1984 after seeing pictures from Ethiopia pity its still relevant.

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  • 315. At 5:53pm on 16 Sep 2008, Deliberation wrote:

    This comment was removed because the moderators found it broke the House Rules.

  • 316. At 5:53pm on 16 Sep 2008, Spamster66 wrote:

    Human/Cat Conversation

    Hello little cat, you've finally come home
    I know it's late, but I've had a good roam
    Where have you been until so late at night?
    Why? Were you worried? Did I give you a
    fright?
    Oh look at you darling, your fur is all wet
    Hey! I've been in five minutes and
    you've not fed me yet!
    Let's get a towel and dry off your fur
    Let's trade - you give me food, I'll give
    you a purr
    That's better now, you're all dry for
    your 'mummy'
    That's better now, I've got a full tummy
    Time for bed little girl, it's getting quite late
    Back in a minute - there's a tom at the
    gate
    I was nearly asleep when I heard you come in
    So I've had a good time - is that such a
    sin?!
    Oh no, not again! Not a dry patch in sight
    Oh no! I just want to sleep, but you've
    turned on the light
    There's an old human saying, and heed it you oughta
    I know what you're thinking, but this cat
    LIKES water!




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  • 317. At 5:56pm on 16 Sep 2008, Y-O-R-K-I-E wrote:

    I Love You Mam-Just thought i,d say
    Its cos of You i,m here today
    Loving,Caring-And uniqually kind
    A Mam like You is hard to find
    So when i say-"I Love You Mam"
    I,m try to say How Proud I Am
    That-You Are Mine-You Belong To Me
    Let the World be filled-With Jealousy

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  • 318. At 6:03pm on 16 Sep 2008, Y-O-R-K-I-E wrote:

    Happy Anniversary

    Fifteen years ago today
    I met a girl along my way
    I fell in love-At first sight
    For me i knew that girl was right
    That girl,s my Wife now and my friend
    My Love for her will never end
    And after all the years thats past
    I knew our Love would always last
    If i could go back to That day
    Knowing what i know today
    I wouldnt change a single thing
    And i,d still walk along that way


    Sadly-We split 3 years later

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  • 319. At 6:03pm on 16 Sep 2008, skiphitter wrote:

    The Hero

    His eyes look into distance to a place we'll never see
    His face is grizzled lined and grey
    He's had no food or sleep today
    His mouth in moving seems to pray
    His mind's in prison though he's free

    We told him he's a hero so very long ago
    But he knows not what we mean to say
    He's had no food or sleep today
    His mouth in moving seems to pray
    and in his mind no memories show

    He cannot tell where he's been and spoken
    and what had happened yesterday
    He's had no food or sleep today
    His mouth in moving seems to pray
    and so his mighty heart is broken

    They shook his hand and for a while
    His friends and loved ones made him smile
    but this hero though they said he's one
    Is nearly dead and nearly gone


    The Love of my life

    Into my life with her quiet smile
    Into a heart so soon beguiled
    Everything before no longer there
    Everything after in her gentle care
    and I loved her

    We maried in our church quite soon
    one stormy rainy afternoon
    Our friends and families came to see
    The girl who at last loved me
    and I loved her

    The months and years just came and went
    A house and children heaven sent
    She loved us so and gave her heart
    lest her dear family fall apart
    and we loved her

    She held her first grandchild in her arms
    vowing she would not be harmed
    She watched her grow and taught her well
    for this was her darling Danielle
    and we loved her

    She hasn't left just stepped out for a while
    and sooner than later I'll see her sweet smile
    I'll hold her hands and stroke her hair
    sitting together in that big old chair
    and again I'll love her

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  • 320. At 6:10pm on 16 Sep 2008, BizzyCook wrote:

    New York - The City That Never Sleeps

    People hustle and bustle as they go about their business.
    Watches are being glanced at as they hurry to their destinations.
    You, on the other hand, slowly wonder around in awe.
    Buildings on either side reach towards the sky,
    As if in search of Heaven.
    Your insignificance is emphasised by these monstrosities.

    As night falls, the city glows with neon light,
    It casts shadows on you as you carry on your journey.
    Almost aimlessly you meander between the buildings.
    The avenues seem the same, but somehow you're not lost.
    If you don't have a destination, how can you be lost anyway?
    The sheer awesomeness of the life in the city,
    Even at night, keeps you going on and on.

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  • 321. At 6:14pm on 16 Sep 2008, Cherrylynn wrote:

    When I moved to Sherwood Forest 8 years ago, the trees became my passion and I spent countless hours looking at them. They inspired the following poem:

    ENTERTAINING THE MASSES


    Sunlight filters through the canopy of green:
    A spotlight that's high up, to light the whole scene.
    Magnificent oaks are the stars of the show,
    Like veteran actors with nowhere to go,
    Craggy and rough, with their faces time-etched,
    Tall and impressive, commanding respect,
    They stand, with their limbs outstretched
    - Entertaining the masses.

    Oh, what audiences they must have seen,
    From King Richard and serfs, to our present day Queen.
    Bearing the brunt of arrows and spears,
    Standing out storms, over hundreds of years,
    Hollowed out boles, hiding highwaymen's hoards,
    Pricked in their trunks, used as notice-boards,
    And all without ever uttering words
    - Entertaining the masses.


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  • 322. At 6:21pm on 16 Sep 2008, skiphitter wrote:


    Grief

    How does life come so quickly to its end
    and leave behind such sadness that I die too
    from grief and never staying tears
    looking to the rest of years remaining without you

    A heart is broken in so many ways
    part mending scars that never heal
    Life so brightly lived has ended in these days
    so now I wait to see what future will reveal

    Youthful age when came and went romance
    matures to love and years so blessed spent
    in kissing holding laughinc crying tears
    then finally swaying to the ending dance

    We never really believed it you and I
    drinking our fill of passionate need
    loving and loving under a clear blue sky
    there was a price to pay for innocent greed

    I'd give my soul to hold you just once more
    ro hear your laughing protestations as we play
    then stroking the face as beautiful as yours
    so make the passing time to finally stay

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  • 323. At 6:22pm on 16 Sep 2008, BizzyCook wrote:

    Water, water everywhere, but no people

    Water surrounds you,
    No land in sight,
    You are alerted to the merkiness of the sea
    As you drift.
    Time could be passing quickly,
    But what is time when you have nothing to measure it with?

    Life floats by,
    Alone,
    You wonder if there is anyone but
    You.

    Perhaps the memories of other people are just dreams,
    Wishful thinking that you will find another person,
    But still there is more sea,
    Nothing else.

    Ripples form around you,
    Repetitive they agonise you,
    Oh for something different!
    A change from this monotonous existance.

    You crave companionship,
    Even the fish seem to be avoiding you.
    Do they even exist,
    Or are they part of your fantasy world?

    Longing to drift off into the security of a dream,
    You lie down,
    The movement of the waves lull you, cradle you,
    Like a baby trying to sleep.

    Slumber comes upon you at last,
    You dream of green meadows
    And sunny days,
    Playing with other people.

    People, people, do they exist,
    Or is there only
    You,
    Alone,
    In a sea of infinity?

    17/01/2000 12:00am

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  • 324. At 6:25pm on 16 Sep 2008, Cherrylynn wrote:

    FROM DAWN TO DUSK

    The sky is on fire:
    Crimson coals colour the gleaming horizon,
    Smoke spirals softly, a powdery pink.
    The sky becomes brighter,
    My mood more morose
    Knowing what shepherds and poets might think.

    The sky is ablaze:
    Bright orange embers heat up the horizon,
    And smoke disappears in the darkening sky.
    Red flames leap higher,
    And so does my heart,
    But only the shepherds and poets know why.

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  • 325. At 6:28pm on 16 Sep 2008, jillygt wrote:

    This is a poem written by my 14 year old son William

    Blue Water

    Blue water moves side by side,
    Stormy night.
    The waves hit the sides like cannon balls,
    Stormy night.
    The men are praying to our God,
    Stormy night.
    Lightning hits, the sails burn,
    Stormy night.

    The captain is frightened, out of his wits,
    The men scamper into their beds,
    Thunder bangs like a gun,
    Water goes on the stern,
    The men are getting water out.
    Finally, the storm has gone!
    The men shout, hooray!

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  • 326. At 6:36pm on 16 Sep 2008, lottie_lue wrote:

    perfection

    lying in the bed of perfection
    listening to its heart as it sounds
    my eyes they are searching
    taking in the wonder of beauty that surrounds
    passion like this
    for filling every emotion
    there I see it
    love, in slow motion
    A skin tight collision
    just one eternal moment
    searching to the soul
    rushing through the veins
    surging out of control
    perfection, it sings for me
    the lullaby of sweet love
    perfection, it swims for me
    and carries me above
    I refer to thee as perfection
    as no other, not even this
    can do justice
    to this feeling of incurable bliss
    for you my love
    you can never be put in words
    you are perfection no syllable can compare
    to you my darling Alistair

    lottie 18 Liverpool!!!

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  • 327. At 6:36pm on 16 Sep 2008, Cherrylynn wrote:

    Sammy

    The back of my skirt is all covered in hairs,
    As I've sat where you've groomed on my best dining chairs, And you've left muddy footprints all over the stairs,
    And yet you expect me to love you.

    The back of the sofa is tattered and torn,
    Where you've sharpened your claws, the cloth is all worn, And you've just dug a hole in my newly laid lawn,
    But still you expect me to love you.

    When I've gone without chicken to give some to you, As I've turned my back briefly, you've eaten mine too, And then brought it back in my favourite court shoe, Do you really expect me to love you?

    Don't purr so loudly when I'm wearing a frown, Or jump on my lap and nuzzle my gown,
    And insist that I stroke you until I calm down. You know that I can't help but love you.

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  • 328. At 6:37pm on 16 Sep 2008, libradancer wrote:

    Thought I'd put my poem in last night but cant find it so here goes again.

    Summer into Autumn

    The sun is shining down on the golden hay
    The children are a playing at the break of day
    The flowers are all a budding
    And the trees luminous green
    Are casting their great shadows o'er the fields
    How soon this scene will alter
    How soon the leaves will fall
    When Autumn spreads his windy hand
    O'er fields and trees and all

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  • 329. At 6:41pm on 16 Sep 2008, beneboyblue wrote:

    Adventures in life--finding love (part1)
    There are many paths leading into the woods and forests of life but whether any lead to the enchanted castle of love nobody knows. Only those with courage in their hearts walk the paths and find the truth.
    The more beautiful the wood the more the desire to explore in the hope of finding the enchanted castle.
    Once taken, the path may lead only to plain pastures but there is beauty in the courage of you heart for having made the journey. The path may lead to greater beauty but many dangers may urge you to return though with memories of a wondrous experience and still the chance to try again.
    Only fate knows what would have happened beyond danger and whether the enchanted castle was ever there.
    See part 2

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  • 330. At 6:44pm on 16 Sep 2008, lulabelletnt wrote:

    Life ,

    We suffer silly amounts of ups and downs ,
    In our journey which is life ,
    We live in an ocean of good times ,
    But suffer waves of strife .

    Good times outnumber the bad ,
    But we never forget pain ,
    We all love the sunshine ,
    But we talk more about the rain .

    Things get to all of us ,
    And we are all shrouded in self doubt .
    We all seek adventure ,
    Only the brave few try it out .

    The bad times hit us hard ,
    And shake us to the core ,
    For some of us it get's too much ,
    And we can't take anymore .

    I have seen the dark side ,
    I've also visited cloud nine ,
    I now live imbetween the two ,
    I'm finding it quite fine .

    I'm a positive thinker ,
    I live my life in hope ,
    If I didn't believe in the future ,
    I know I couldn't cope .

    I dream of happy ever after ,
    I believe that dreams come true .
    It it can happen to Cinderella ,
    Why can't it happen to you ?

    Andy Lewis

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  • 331. At 6:44pm on 16 Sep 2008, DavidLynz wrote:

    A click, that’s all it was
    An idle browse you see;
    A click upon the smiley face
    That you emailed to me.

    A click, that's all it was
    It set my heart on fire;
    A click and then a look,
    To fill me with desire!

    A click that’s all it was
    My mind set in a spin;
    A click and there’s the real you
    The girl I hoped I’d win.

    A click that’s all it was
    I waited for reply;
    A click, a hope for swift return
    Then a long week went by.

    A click that’s all it was
    I saw your late riposte;
    A click, and your reply revealed
    My love would not be lost

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  • 332. At 6:46pm on 16 Sep 2008, beneboyblue wrote:

    Adventures in Life----finding love(part2)
    I see such a wood before me, at once in glorious array of spring,summer,autumn and winter and my heart yearns to take the path into this wood.
    Alas, there is a gate across the path to the wood and I can't find the key or even discover if the key exists for me.
    You alone have the key.

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  • 333. At 6:51pm on 16 Sep 2008, Little-addie wrote:

    My favourite Van Gogh painting:

    The Potato Eaters

    Beneath the bare rafters of their dismal retreat,
    Five forlorn figures sit down to eat
    A plate of potatoes, their only subsistence
    Depicts a despondent and primitive existence.

    A faceless silhouette obscures the view,
    As the hunched, old peasant pours out the brew.
    Gnarled, weathered hands worn down to the bone,
    Rewards for their toil, tilling earth from the stone.

    The oil lamp burns brightly, to lighten the gloom,
    Like a beacon of hope in the dimley-lit room.
    The flickering flame, a warmth which it throws
    On caricature faces in natural pose.

    And in their abode, so dreary and dour,
    Hangs a wall-mounted time piece approaching the hour.
    Ceiling to floor, drab surfaces bare,
    Simply furnished with table and chair.

    The darkness knocks loudly at the window pane,
    Drawn by the light, like a moth to a flame.
    Ignoring its call, they gather around
    Encased in their dwelling, potatoes abound.

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  • 334. At 6:55pm on 16 Sep 2008, magicravenstar wrote:

    This poem is to remind myself not to over indulge in my passion for watching the T.V.

    From the glimmering
    chattering box there
    shined,
    many'a hypnotic wonder.

    That entered softly
    through my eyes and
    tore,
    my thoughts assunder.

    like the angel who left
    the sky,
    when silver luster found
    her eye,
    and when again she went
    to fly,
    to love her treasure o'r
    passers by,
    she shouted to her fellows
    high,
    but gave harsh croak
    instead of cry,
    and found her white
    wings, now were pie.
    Fooled by luster thus was
    i.

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  • 335. At 7:00pm on 16 Sep 2008, starsparklebaby wrote:

    The Gulf of Humanity.

    And still it grows,
    So deep and strong,
    You get pulled,
    Where you supposedly belong,
    The gulf wide and deep,
    The ever increasing gap between,
    The rich,
    And the poor.

    The rich,
    Swanning about in repugnant splendour,
    Flash their cash in peoples faces,
    In every opportunity,
    Wherever the place is,
    Their smug expressions say it all,
    Haughty,
    Untruthful,
    Or maybe just too vain,
    To think of their fellow man.

    Meanwhile,
    The poor,
    Live their pure lives,
    Day after day,
    Modest,
    Caring,
    Resplendent with unegotistical glory,
    For they do not boast over whom they are,
    Or indeed over what they have,
    Indeed,
    Ever ready to help their fellow ailing man.

    And whilst you observe this pattern,
    The gap erodes ever more,
    The haughty rich people,
    Float higher,
    And the poor,
    They stay on the floor.

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  • 336. At 7:18pm on 16 Sep 2008, hideousbrainiac wrote:

    I swore not to use a name but mine in this poem. (And I have failed):

    I've fallen for a girl, Alex,
    I didn't want it to end this way,
    Won't ever see you again,
    But I fight, and I try,
    Want to see you again, Future-
    destiny-Always some other way.

    Always me picking the most hopeless circumstances,
    Lowestoft airshow, that's what she said,
    Even the year when i was under the harrier,
    X-ray my head-Find the reason I need her.

    Somewhere out there, far from me,
    In Kent, "England's Garden", Canturbury.
    Mende in France was just the
    Opposite, being stalked by french girls who are
    Not who I want to see.

    Left with just a word, Goodbye
    And a handshake, finally touching you,
    Never again to touch hands with such beauty,
    Going on without you,
    Time will only tell,
    Our destined, Future-
    Never meet again

    -x-

    Alex.........

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  • 337. At 7:19pm on 16 Sep 2008, hideousbrainiac wrote:

    Factor 22:

    There is,
    But its rare and hard to come by but we all find Someone,
    Well not me
    Pobably,
    I have that feeling,
    A feeling I'm not supposed to.

    Like I know it when I find it,
    But I can never hold on,
    It slips away from me like time slips past,
    I cannot touch,
    I'm just looking,
    Endless with despair,
    Like the tapping of a small child on the glass walled tanks at the local aquarium.

    Like the Sun
    How it breathes It's rays upon the Earth's surface like my existance,
    Burns those it touches,
    People try to escape when there is too much of me,
    Seeing millions of people pass by me,
    Everyday,
    Still unable to reach out and touch Them,
    I'm just There,
    Orbiting them,
    Them orbiting me.

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  • 338. At 7:21pm on 16 Sep 2008, 6024kg wrote:

    A DIY poem - words marked by * may be changed at will.

    As I wandered home one day
    I met a deciduous dog
    It was followed at length by a hairy tree
    Disguised as a serpentine frog

    The river I crossed had a very rough bark
    I believe the dog had one too
    And since the dog was deciduous
    More likely than not this was true

    Perhaps the tree was a spaniel
    The dog may have been a tall beech
    Equally well it could have been a banana
    Or even a pendulous peach

    A stately home I passed on my way
    Owned a most magnificent bust
    It may have belonged to Napoleon or
    A lass from the National Trust

    The stone-built barn in the grounds
    Had a pile of stuff on the floor
    I'm not quite sure whether I saw some seed
    Or whether I seed some saw

    You may have gathered by now
    That my words have got in a twist*
    You may have even deduced
    That I'm utterly, utterly inebriated*

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  • 339. At 7:21pm on 16 Sep 2008, hideousbrainiac wrote:

    11 Agate to Desolation Exasperation

    Look through it,
    What do you see?
    Red,

    Lay in the park,
    Wind in the trees,
    Hair in my face,
    Blustering Leaves,

    Wait like a stone on the riverbed,
    Lonely and without course,
    Perish the thought,
    A fault of yours.

    Wonder aimlessly,
    In the dark streets,
    Under the rain,
    Words could describe my pain,

    But they won't,
    And they don't,
    Caring too much,
    Couldn't care -less,

    I live for your existance,
    Without you my life meaning -less,
    Life would end and still go on,
    And I'd be dead and feeling -less.

    Always with you,
    See you never,
    Loving,
    You,
    Never,
    Together,
    Dismembered,
    November.

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  • 340. At 7:23pm on 16 Sep 2008, hideousbrainiac wrote:

    To You, To The Capital

    To the capital,
    The compound of lust love-tied hope,
    Show you the way in the dead of night,
    Suspicious Maliciousness,
    I am the Target,
    Gold for Prize,
    Prize for Gold,
    Oh see the concentrics,
    The Iris of yours,
    I stare into the eyes of hidden meaning,
    Pupils of the Darkness-I take you to mine,
    Far away...

    See the boats, the Breeze,
    Happy Holiday Ices,
    Children Screaming-It's Me- The stuffed charity shop toy,
    "Tails", I win,
    We walk through the steep,
    The Good times and the Bad,
    Reach the peaking point of view,
    Past the Info tablet...

    Gaze forward until the horizon becomes a hazy blue,
    This Gold's My prize, though I don't own,
    I See,
    The Sunsets beckoning Me back to the Darkness,
    No-longer afraid I wait with open arms,
    It chills the air, but not Us,
    Moonlight Sky of Spirit,
    You're the Star in My eye.

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  • 341. At 7:23pm on 16 Sep 2008, Theyokel wrote:

    It seems to me that in regard to global warming the major culprit is rarely mentioned. Hence:

    The Servant.
    Am I product of the Devil, or a blessing from the Lord?
    Should my presence cause you to rejoice, or must it be deplored?
    Am I servant or your master? Am I no more than a tool?
    You will know my name as 'engine' and I run on fossil fuel.

    So many changes I have wrought since I began my reign.
    Naught else has brought so much to you, nor ever will again.
    I offered you your freedom, said your shackles could be lost,
    You siezed the opportunity, but questioned not the cost.

    The friends and neighbours of your youth, you thought were there to stay,
    Have disappeared, like Autumn leaves the wind has blown away.
    No village roots to hold you down, the Earth is yours to roam.
    How easily you left behind the place you once called home.

    There's nothing I have left untouched. I offer not that choice.
    Who knows a place in this wide world where you'll escape my voice?
    All countries veined with concrete roads, 'To bless our lives' the claim,
    As a million stranger's faces pass, each in it's metal frame.

    Of pride and envy, sloth and wrath, my patrons stand accused.
    The guilt is theirs! I bear no blame if I am so abused.
    The mighty 'Engine' I am more than just a love affair,
    For you choose to stand in silence as my poisons fill the air.

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  • 342. At 7:24pm on 16 Sep 2008, hideousbrainiac wrote:

    My profile blog poem: If the one i want to read this blog is reading this now....

    ..................................
    ..................................
    ..................................
    ..................................
    ..................................
    5 lines of dots shows my feelings for you,
    its not trust but honesty,
    my heart beats in solemn disgrace,-like
    the murkey, litter infected, river Thames,
    green, dismall and styrofoam clogs- my
    vertabral column and the spinal cord of a ,
    embarrassed, foolish, confused- heart,

    it burns, like flaming alcohol on a twenty pound note,
    its not pain it's torture-self conciously, self harm.
    But the pain in the torture is enough to kill any man a million times over,
    still i carry on, uncontollable and exhausting, these

    decisions, so many decisions- and yet
    i can't make one, like a cake, can't bake one,
    if death knocks i've gone fishing, however come back later for tea,
    i'm back at five,
    and all this means nothing, or something you tell me,
    self centred decisions make it all up, but whose

    identity is stolen-back and returned,
    stabbed and cold like my blood,
    and the last word is out of a closed vocabulary,
    take it for granted like life itself, so neverending

    unlucky, likable, longing truths,
    no senses needed, no sense to make,
    only your heart to break,
    and breaks not cares not,
    that word...................................
    .......................................
    .......................................
    .......................................
    .....
    sorry.

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  • 343. At 7:25pm on 16 Sep 2008, hideousbrainiac wrote:

    Home Guarding Friday (Ground War Party?)

    Like the line that seperates sea and horizon,
    There's a feeling,
    Like the one once for you,
    That things are drawn further apart,
    Then what was once believed by some.

    Real explorers,
    Make the grade,
    Pioneers of the gap in sea and sky,
    Like observers,
    Onlookers, drawing crowds like surf on a windy day,
    See that we are no closer than beginning,
    and End.

    Name spelt in the sand before me,
    I just look on like the rest,
    Your reputation,
    Fades like colours in the wash.

    I castaway my concideration,
    Like fishermen to their nets,
    And watch it being dragged hopelessly,
    Down into the gravel as it joins the gap.

    ***************************************

    Turn the page,
    Now night has fallen,
    Shattering into dust,
    Falls like stars burning out,
    Much like the passion,
    Your religion of fashion,
    Some words go together,
    Others are like us.

    The darkness suits me fine,
    Quiet and Calm,
    You took that step inside,
    The eyes that saw it stung,
    and Cried.

    You're not the same,
    As the words go,
    You've changed,
    You weren't who I thought I knew you were,
    And yet deep down I know,
    It's how you've always been,
    I ignored stories and rumors, but to stumble upon it,
    First Hand, First Person Shooter, Friendly Fire.

    You keep your Friday night,
    I'll keep mine.

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  • 344. At 7:26pm on 16 Sep 2008, hideousbrainiac wrote:

    Allisonnn Says: Plus how could he make a world and solar system in 7 days?

    I dunno,
    You tell me,
    Life is better lived when it's not under the control of others,
    Government is enough,
    Faith,
    Let faith be a choice so I can say no comment,
    And take a swig from my stainless steel heart,
    The hip flask of loneliness,
    To wash away the despair and confusion,
    Of a supposed empty world.

    Do not denounce or embrace faith,
    On the word of "man",
    For it is your decision,

    And your decision alone.

    But does that mean you should listen to me?
    I dunno,
    You tell me.

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  • 345. At 7:27pm on 16 Sep 2008, sandramoran wrote:

    Poem re My passion York Races

    You've been to the races
    Amongst lots of faces.
    Ladies with hats
    Very prettily sat.
    Men in suits
    With polished boots.

    The tic-tac men
    Signs one to ten.
    The horse's parade
    It's no charade.
    Their owners so proud
    Smile for the crowd.

    It's time for the off
    Men's hats do doff.
    Which one did you bet?
    Let's hope it did get
    1st, 2nd, 3rd.
    Last! Unheard!

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  • 346. At 7:35pm on 16 Sep 2008, sandramoran wrote:

    Poem re My passion Charity

    The turkey was hung, drawn and quartered.
    Christmas is over, we're all fed and watered.
    Think of the plight
    Of the children who fight
    For a morsel of food every day.
    Their teeth do decay,
    Not from sweets
    Or special treats,
    But from malnutrition.
    Which to us is not a condition.
    So, when you reach out
    For that second helping, have doubt.
    THINK
    of those in need of CHARITY.
    GIVE
    to those in POVERTY.

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  • 347. At 7:36pm on 16 Sep 2008, DESTRALA wrote:

    ODE TO A BREAD PUDDING

    I marvel at your virtues as anybody would
    the Souffle falls within your shade as does the Syllabub,
    I've had a Spotted Dick or two, enjoyed the random Tart,
    but you stand up a monument to the culinary art.
    The way you flop onto the plate inspires this love in me,
    how every Crumble must resent your moist consistency.
    The Brioche could not equal you, the Fool could not refute,
    what Bread and Fruit and Spices have conspired to produce,
    The Devils Cake can tempt me not, I leave it at a glance,
    Pavlova only leaves me cold in any circumstance.
    But you with flesh, Sultana-Rich, come served up with a Thud!
    ...small wonder then that I enjoy to pull upon my Pud.

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  • 348. At 7:42pm on 16 Sep 2008, sandramoran wrote:

    Poem re My passion playing the late John Wright Music

    My sorrow returns
    For my heart yearns
    As I hear your beautiful voice
    My only choice.

    When will my pain ease?

    You fly in the breeze
    Taking my thoughts.

    I'm so distraught.

    The trees sway
    As you pass my way.

    I feel a shiver
    Your words deliver.

    Stillness comes back
    That sensation I pack
    Until the day
    I come your way.

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  • 349. At 7:49pm on 16 Sep 2008, Howburn wrote:

    MARRIAGE MADE IN HEAVEN?
    An institution to have and to hold,
    It can turn your hair to silver from gold.
    Quick to achieve, but takes years to mature,
    Like a garden in bloom, there’s toil to endure.
    It can cause you sorrow, grief and pain,
    There will be times you’ll think you’ve gone insane.
    Burning with passion, heat and desire,
    As time goes by, a book by the fire?
    How long will it last? We just can’t tell,
    Just hope for the best, all doubts do we quell.
    Like a favourite old jersey that’s tattered and torn,
    Gives comfort and pleasure yet weathers the storm.
    At the end of the day it’s about partnerships,
    Champagne and oysters or fish and chips.
    Giving and taking, right from the start,
    To love and to cherish, till death do us part.
    One thing is essential to make it succeed,
    Faith in the Lord, Blessed indeed.
    Phyllis.

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  • 350. At 7:51pm on 16 Sep 2008, verseandworse wrote:

    The Swing
    The swing was silent but not still,
    A motion mindful of recent use
    To and fro and side to side, just slightly.
    Two long ropes from a cedar’s bough,
    the painted seat is empty now.
    Who had swung and left it thus,
    with evening sun in gathering dusk?
    A boy perhaps who touched the stars,
    A girl with a father’s gentle push.
    Two lovers sending it back and forth,
    like kisses blown across the room.
    And then from round the tree he came
    That silly cat,
    just playing games.

    Pousada de Santiago do Cacem
    Quinta da Ortiga
    Spain

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  • 351. At 7:54pm on 16 Sep 2008, bodyflite wrote:

    Passing Dragons:

    Out in a meadow
    by a tree
    I sat and watched the faerie shee
    and while the faeries danced around
    I heard a softly
    slipping sound
    the sound of softly rasping scales
    the sounds of dragons
    dragging tails
    and as a I sat they passed by me
    a wondrous sight
    for all to see
    out in the meadow
    by the tree

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  • 352. At 7:58pm on 16 Sep 2008, Dark-Angel-x08 wrote:

    Desire burns in your eyes, those eyes so deep
    The story behind them, before me, so saddening
    Your soul is alight with passion, so much to give
    That look you give me, I’ve never seen before
    The way you stare, oh how you look
    The way you look at me.

    My heart skips a beat at your words, words of love
    My stomach flips at your very touch, such a touch
    My skin tingles still hours after your gone, I wish I were still with you
    My heart it longs for you, your kiss, your love, YOU

    How am I to describe what you mean? Words are useless in such a case
    How am I to say how much I desire your company?
    Be honest now, I’ve never felt this way before, no not ever
    This is something knew

    You never grow old to me, no I never bore
    You aren’t like the others, no
    No your sweet and gentle, caring and true, funny and smart
    True to you, true to me, true to the world
    How is it I found you at your worst?
    How is it I shed such light on your life?
    How can you call me an angel? I have no wings nor halo
    How could I fall so quickly? Unsolved mystery of the world

    My dear, my beloved, my everything, yes its true
    My sweetheart, my love, my heart belongs to only you
    You didn’t steal it with force, but in such a loving way
    You affection brought me through, to trust myself, with everyone, and you
    You bring so many things, you may never know
    I love you my dear, yes I love you so

    I mean what I say. I love you with my heart and soul
    I become so numb when we are apart, together, I feel more than whole
    You do so much, you’ll never know

    My love, you truly are the one.


    -------
    Emily Kilpatrick

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  • 353. At 8:02pm on 16 Sep 2008, DESTRALA wrote:

    The Star-Crossed Moth

    The Moth, trapped within the lamps glow
    danced madly hot, but instinct drew him on.
    Ricocheted, then had another go, embraced the bulb, but couldn't quite hold on.
    Frenzied now, excited at the prospect,
    slow death awaited any soul returning,
    but blind with passion he could not resist, illuminated by his love died burning.
    Heroic, slipping to the ground descended,
    a victim to this tragic love he bore.
    His futile quest was brilliantly ended,
    Ah! Romeo himself could do no more.

    Steve .....Warrington

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  • 354. At 8:07pm on 16 Sep 2008, BritGuyinFrance wrote:

    I think I've run over your cat.
    Is it tabby, and fluffy, and fat?
    Does it wear a red collar that carries a bell?
    Well, it's lying down there now, quite flat.

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  • 355. At 8:13pm on 16 Sep 2008, Dark-Angel-x08 wrote:

    For that one maddening I thought I’d lost myself
    Confused what is real and whats fantasy
    How was I to know I’d fall so hard
    I hate to say it, but I dream of you

    The day you left, the rivers of emotion never ran dry
    The heartache I felt, it’s never went away
    It was so sudden, what can I say?
    Oh father, explain why you had to die

    It’s been four years yet the pains still fresh
    It’s just too hard to forget
    I hate other people now, showing such disrespect for their fathers
    I want to scream at them “You have no idea how lucky you are!”

    But my silence remains, and I prefer not to speak of it
    Its too hard father, too hard
    I want to believe your in a better place
    But to be separated so soon……
    Why? Why did it have to be you?

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  • 356. At 8:14pm on 16 Sep 2008, The-Castaway wrote:

    My Motorhome

    My Motorhome is a home from home, when I am far away from home
    It keeps me warm it keeps me dry when snow or rain is in the sky
    Or cool and free from hot sun’s rays when out on cloudless summer’s days
    It takes me places far away and finds nice spots for me to stay
    By town or village, sea or mountain, open field or stream or fountain
    Sometimes I like to go alone and leave behind TV and phone
    Instead to study plants and birds, or write a poem and play with words
    But other times it’s nice to meet one’s friends and sit and drink and eat
    And put the world to rights again or moan and whinge and, well, complain!
    It’s nice for chilling or relaxing away from work, ‘cos that’s too taxing!
    So I have penned this little ode: To Life, out on the open road!


    ©Phil Davison 2008

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  • 357. At 8:16pm on 16 Sep 2008, John wrote:

    From my collection of bug and flea

    Minister’s perpetually paralytic;
    spending all their time at the optic.
    Is this what they mean by democratic?
    Or is it called, taking the Mic’?

    The public services were chaotic.
    The buses and trains were erratic.
    The commuters were all going ballistic,
    and every day they tried a new tactic.

    Did the government think they could fool the public?
    With free eye glasses made from plastic,
    And free false teeth made from mastic.
    Well, they must have thought we were all thick!

    They were just not being realistic,
    and the Tories were plain sarcastic,
    while the Liberal Party policies were cryptic.
    So, the Bug and the Flea entered politics.

    They promised to cut out all the theatrics,
    and the new Minister’s would not be parasitic.
    There would be no more dirty tricks,
    and they would lock up political lunatics.

    The election turned out to be frantic,
    The voting at the polls was hectic,
    because the Flea’s policies were drastic.
    and their win was even more fantastic.

    The only law now is slapstick.
    All ladies get a free red lipstick;
    all Oriental’s get free chopsticks;
    and all pensioner’s a free walking-stick.

    The Bug and the Flea are now gigantic,
    and the Royal Family is more enthusiastic.
    Reductions in taxes are now automatic,
    and religious leaders can claim for every candle-stick.

    Summer holidays are free in the South Pacific,
    and sailing holidays are free in the North Atlantic.
    A grasshopper is the Minister for acrobatics,
    and the bee is responsible for aerobatics.

    All the political sceptic’s are now ecstatic,
    and the atmosphere in the Commons is electric.
    It’s all thanks to the Bug and the Flea antics
    and the government now sits in the knickers elastic.

    © John McDonagh

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  • 358. At 8:23pm on 16 Sep 2008, dexter1958 wrote:

    This one's a little special, I wrote it just after moving here from Zambia. I had to leave all my much loved pets behind and was feeling sad and blue, living in a rented house with a tiny garden when I met 'my mouse'. As I watched him and his friends over a few days, this poem came into being. So, even though I know it's a little longer than was required, I decided to submit it anyway. Animals are my passion :)

    The Mouse in My Garden

    There's a mouse in my garden, a big one for sure!
    I saw him tonight as I opened the door.
    He looked right at me with eyes bright and bold,
    As he nibbled on bread, thrown out of old.
    We nodded politely and seemed to agree,
    there was room in the garden for both him and me!

    A cat jumped down off the garden fence,
    It was large and white and on the offense.
    I got quite a shock as it flew right by,
    A blur of white that fell from the sky!
    It really was the most dreadful sight,
    And the mouse leapt up in a terrible fright,
    Then the cat rushed forward and banged its head,
    As the mouse scurried off and under the shed!

    This morning, when I looked out the door,
    first I saw one and then saw one more!
    And then, as I reached for my tea,
    I looked again and now there were three!
    What seemed so appealing now seems so no more.
    What if tomorrow I find there are FOUR?

    This morning I woke with some trepidation,
    stumbled downstairs in some hesitation.
    As I switched on the kettle, I looked out to see,
    only one, thank goodness, not four and not three!
    And, if I am honest, I felt rather mean
    as he looked right at me, "what, no bread to be seen?"

    And then, peering over the roof of the shed,
    was that a big, white, furry head?
    Ears pricked with intent and whiskers aquiver?
    I looked at the mouse and felt myself shiver!
    I need not have worried, that's one clever mouse,
    As he ran under the shed, I stepped back into the house!

    No mouse this morning, I do feel bereft.
    I imagine he's cross and so he has left.
    He's packed up his bags and gathered his friends,
    sadly it seems that here my tale ends!

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  • 359. At 8:27pm on 16 Sep 2008, quiteNortan wrote:

    Left Behind

    He sits there, silently, alone
    The only movement is in his lips
    As in silent language they intone
    The tales of his apocalypse.

    He's in his private universe
    So no one cares - they daren't converse.
    They don't want the problems of someone who's mad
    But - he could be a dreamer and might be glad
    If someone could just pause a while
    To offer him the briefest smile
    Acknowledge that he does exist
    In a world that he cannot insist
    Owes him a living, for the State has decreed
    That he can live without the need
    Of publicly funded institution.
    He doesn't suffer persecution,
    But society ignores him, unaware
    That he's dreaming he belongs......somewhere.

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  • 360. At 8:28pm on 16 Sep 2008, Dark-Angel-x08 wrote:

    Pain, anger, hurt
    Feelings we all experience, every so often
    But you my dearest friend, you come across them regularly
    Your old rivals, no less

    I want you to understand that you are not alone
    No, never alone, I know how you feel
    To have you heart ripped out of place
    My friend, have no fret, I won’t allow it to happen again

    I know it hurts now, but pain isnt forever
    I promise you hunny, it will go away in the end
    I promise I’ll always be here for you, through think and thin
    That’s what true friends are for, you’re like family

    You can talk to me, no matter what, I wont turn my back on you
    No, never, I will keep to my word and stay by your side
    I’ll help you get through this
    You’ll see, I can help to find your ever so pretty smile

    Real friends stick together. Real friends never end
    True friends forever
    That’s us, and I promise, I’ll not let you feel such pain again.
    Not without a revenge.

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  • 361. At 8:35pm on 16 Sep 2008, quiteNortan wrote:

    We're An Old Village Choir

    We love to sing in our Choir
    Though we're short of tenors and basses
    But we sing all our notes with gusto
    And the strain of it shows on our faces.
    When”The Messiah’s” Handelian arpeggios
    Leaves us valiantly fighting for breath
    We stagger our gasps in rotation
    But it scares our conductor to death.

    Our repertoire's showing it’s limits
    ((The library stocks are depleted)
    And we have to pay singers from London
    When the solo parts leave us defeated.
    With our audiences small ( but selective )
    We never can cover the cost,
    So our annual subscriptions are rising
    And our pension increases are lost.

    We're convinced that our voices are heavenly
    Well, some say we're like nothing on earth
    Our vibrato technique's in a class of it's own
    And we use it for all it is worth.
    But we'll carry on singing, regardless
    And we're really not looking for fame
    Just a long as we feel that a few of the locals
    Will give us some sort of acclaim.


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  • 362. At 8:41pm on 16 Sep 2008, BrainDancingNige wrote:

    Crash and burn

    You’ve an appetite for murder
    Irresistible
    it draws you in
    To another evening’s
    violent orgy
    Of unarmed combat
    And self-destruction

    Paranoia lives next door
    To remind you of
    the night before
    This punishment is unrelenting
    Self-perpetual
    In its grieving

    You need to escape
    Free your mind
    Love yourself and
    Keep your nose clean

    Your accomplice is your brother
    Lover, sister
    Wife, your mother.
    Faceless prostitutes
    And bankers
    Corporate greed
    to keep it flowing

    Your body’s smashed
    Upon the floor
    Your mind is reeling
    You gag for more
    Tie me up, love
    Tie me down,
    Without restraint
    I’m gonna drown

    I’m not invincible
    in the morning
    I need the strength
    of an angel
    To guide and cradle
    help me find an alter ego
    Get me through
    this car crash lifestyle

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  • 363. At 8:42pm on 16 Sep 2008, BrainDancingNige wrote:

    Self Destruction

    My insatiable thirst for self destruction
    brings me to confront the precipice of Psyche;
    fear, guilt and self-loathing.

    Unleash the four horsemen of the apocalypse
    to systematically destroy
    everything I hold precious.

    When I want to make love with you
    all I make is war.
    The brink of self destruction, my darkest moment
    throws shadows into every corner.

    But even the darkest night brings the
    promise of a new dawn.

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  • 364. At 8:44pm on 16 Sep 2008, laughingbigbird wrote:

    thou grilling of the zestful orb
    that glittered round the sea
    a violent swinge of feathered fiends
    did sprangle on my knee
    in fucias pain my woe began
    I waggled up the beach
    with torrid eye I glazed above
    and reached up for a sneetch
    my foot did glide a glutty snipe
    oh smeary...
    so I had to wipe
    this glooby mess from my big toot
    for this I used a soggy root
    I pushed my toot in roary flame
    and rubbed and rubbed till I was lame
    I was a sore and worried mess
    a wrinkled, torn and slumly dress
    so after that, I decided to go home!

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  • 365. At 8:44pm on 16 Sep 2008, BrainDancingNige wrote:

    Doors

    If one door opens
    when another one closes
    Why do I find myself trapped
    naked on the landing?

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  • 366. At 8:45pm on 16 Sep 2008, beatakorabiowska wrote:

    Connection

    Between oceans there is land
    The past has brought us presence
    There is the Rain forest and dry sand
    Crazy at times we can lose the essence

    The valuable recognizes loss
    Freedom makes us creators
    Inviting love is down to us
    Like good art draws spectators

    Your love for me is my bliss
    Sad moments are easier overcome
    The happiness I give you, you can cease
    There is plenty of joy for everyone

    A single mind full of love is as strong
    When I can feel what you feel is good
    When sharing with others you can't go wrong
    And it's down to you my celebrating mood

    So thank you

    By Beata Korabiowska

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  • 367. At 8:45pm on 16 Sep 2008, BrainDancingNige wrote:

    There are roaches in the kitchen

    In paranoia corner
    The knives are out

    Kick the bucket and
    Drop the bong
    We’re going on a stoner
    All night long

    Short term memory loss
    - I’ve lost my thread
    a fit of the giggles
    has gone to my head
    Can’t make the stairs,
    I’ve lost my legs
    There are strangers asleep on my bed

    I’m gonna sit in the garden
    - it’s just like Ibizia
    and eat all the ice cream
    in the freezer

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  • 368. At 8:48pm on 16 Sep 2008, John wrote:

    From my collection of bug and flea poems

    The Hollywood stars were looking glitzy,
    as they arrived for the Oscar ceremony;
    All the actors were dressed to kill
    and all the actresses dressed to thrill.

    The red carpet was rolled out
    and let’s not forget
    that the cameras were rolling
    and the stage was now set?

    It is not about the actor;
    who smokes the biggest cigar;
    who drives the longest car;
    who spends most at the bar?

    It’s all about the Oscar!
    (A statue the size of a jam jar),
    that costs less than a chocolate bar,
    but is proof, that the holder is a star.

    So if you’re bitten by the acting bug
    and you know that you’re really good?
    Pack you’re bags; don’t be a mug,
    and head for Hollywood.

    I hear they’re making a big movie?
    You can audition for the part.
    It will be the first of many,
    if you’re lucky to get a start?

    The audience now jumped to its feet;
    there was not one bum on a seat
    and not because of all the glee,
    but because of the Bug and the Flea.

    Each of them was a nominee,
    and there was a possibility
    of winning the coveted trophy,
    for the parts they played in ‘Lassie’.

    Everyone was now anxious to see;
    who would win in the final category?
    Would it be the horsefly and stinging bee;
    or the ‘Daddy Long Legs Trilogy’?

    Other nominee included a rabbit called Herbie
    and a well known mouse called Mickey,
    but the best supporting roll went to the Bug
    and the coveted Oscar went to the Flea.

    © John McDonagh

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  • 369. At 8:50pm on 16 Sep 2008, charcoal08 wrote:

    Wildflower Passion :)

    I walk and see you smile at me
    By roads and fields and river
    All shapes and sizes, no winners no prizes
    A truthful, graceful giver

    You breathe and grow and feed and sow
    And bend and dip and sway
    No sound you utter
    But your colours they flutter
    Like a palette, from the studio of Monet

    Your scent is from Heaven
    My senses spill over
    A rainbow just arched cross my sole
    May you always be with me
    And conjure within me
    A world that is perfectly whole

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  • 370. At 8:53pm on 16 Sep 2008, Dark-Angel-x08 wrote:

    There you go again, thinking your all it
    Treating every girl you cast under your spell like whores
    Let me tell you this babes, your nothing!
    You couldn’t keep your hold on me

    I may be nothing but a ghost to you now
    But just you wait…
    Oh sweetie, you’ll be sorry you ever laid eyes on me
    After that short fling, angers been building ever since

    Oh hunny, your obvious to whats coming
    Oh babes, did you forget me?
    Not surprised with all the girls you pick up
    Then leave after a week

    But you didn’t fool me, I knew what you were
    I know more now, I can’t even pity you
    You don’t deserve it, no, you don’t deserve dirt
    Your nothing but a waste of oxygen, which could have gone to better use

    The time draws closer for the deed to be done
    I have you in my sights, keep telling myself to be patient
    You will make him remember, you will make him pay
    Evil flows through my veins, venom flashes in my eyes

    The seconds tick away the last moments of your life
    I wait by the window, waiting for you to arrive home
    Sweetie what a surprise I have for you
    Night draws in and you climb into bed, no idea of my presense

    I switch on the light, oh yes, your see me know
    Nothing will stop the deed now
    You have little time to react
    But your face is priceless, picture perfect if you may, the look of pure terror

    My knife plunges into the space where your heart would have been
    I bring it up then back down, twelve or so times
    You can’t get to them now, babes, no never again
    I’m happy to say it hunny, your good and dead

    Your crimson poison may stain your sheets, but never my hands
    I shall never feel guilt for tonights events
    You had it coming sweetheart, it was enevitable
    Your life was futile, from its begin, up to where I put an end

    Now to stand at your grave, a smile spreads across my face
    Its our little secret, babes, you can’t open those liars lips again.

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  • 371. At 9:00pm on 16 Sep 2008, BrainDancingNige wrote:

    You


    I love
    the way your smile
    lights up your face
    when you laugh

    your intelligence
    and wit
    your beauty
    and erotic curves

    your independence
    and way of thinking
    your strength and
    calmness in adversity
    and your contradictions

    I long to be the man
    to make you laugh
    to smile
    to run a tender hand across your thigh
    to hold you when you cry

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  • 372. At 9:02pm on 16 Sep 2008, stevie6foot8 wrote:

    What,Knots

    I wander amongst a crowd of Scots
    who live their life's surrounded by what,knots.
    And this the life i dream of day and night without fright.
    For i,am a Scot in the crowd of Scots as we wander in our lives of what,knots.

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  • 373. At 9:02pm on 16 Sep 2008, laughingbigbird wrote:

    going through changes

    menopausal symptoms is what they say I've got!
    my skin has gone all wrinkly and my memory's not a lot
    my boobs and bum are now an inch, and way below my knees
    my tummy's not so far behind
    oh someone help me please!
    I wake up stiff and achy and my moods are not my best
    and now I seem to wee a lot, and need to wear a vest!
    my hair has lost its colour, and is a sort of gray
    so now I'm really fretting with nerves that want to fray
    I have a cunning plan you know, to save me from this woe
    I'll nip and tuck my wobbly bits and polish till they glow!
    I'll take to eating soya and vitamins as well
    and perhaps some trill will give me bounce and save me from this hell!
    I'll get my hair dyed midnight blue or even vibrant red
    or perhaps some blond extensions, no better stay with red!
    I want a different toy boy to take me out each day
    we'll go to trendy wine bars or anywhere thats gay
    I'll wear my sexy number in sparkly pink thats tight
    and then we'll go out clubbing it yes, each and every night
    I'm not sure if my other half would really mind...
    or would he laugh?

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  • 374. At 9:05pm on 16 Sep 2008, Scapstherabbit wrote:

    Indigo Brindigo

    Indigo Brindigo was Ceroc’s finest
    The girls around him would flock
    Dressed in black was his stock in trade
    But his dance and style was no charade
    The well stacked always caught his eye
    You would describe him as somewhat fly
    And far from shy

    Indigo Brindigo on the floor moved with consummate grace
    Slow or fast he move at perfect pace
    The girls didn’t mind that he was hot and sweaty
    Or that he was hairy like a yeti
    They just dreamed of him and confetti

    One evening barely Mary caught his eye.
    He was smitten and moved in like kitten
    Mary surmised his strategy
    This would be no one night tragedy
    Right on cue she came over coy
    Indigo Brindigo would have to revise his ploy

    Up strutting Indigo Brindigo homed in
    Moving like Cheetah he knew he had to keep her
    Smiling sweetly she melted his heart completely
    She said she didn’t like to dance
    Come to my bed if you want to prance
    Arm in Arm they left the floor never to return
    So ended the story of Indigo Brindigo

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  • 375. At 9:12pm on 16 Sep 2008, macanerak wrote:

    Down My Way
    Down my way, my garden is the place to be
    My sanctuary
    A place for sipping early morning cups of coffee
    And an evening glass of wine (or two).
    Knock and enter if you wish and you can see
    This garden through my eyes.
    Meet the robin who stops a while to chat
    As I, always in a hurry, throw the washing over the line to dry,
    And the neighbourhood cats and scurrying squirrels
    Not quite sure what to make of this new green fence - with trellis.
    And last, but not least, the fox who gives me the eye as if to say
    That I should know as well as him that he was here
    Long before me and this garden is his territory
    Not mine.
    Come and view the colony of green caterpillars
    Thriving on my once glorious rambling rose
    And the aphids who appear so grateful that I have chosen, most thoughtfully,
    Every variety of plant on their top ten favourite list,
    This garden, small and not yet perfectly formed
    Has been my sanity now for five springs and six summers
    It has come through its various tranfigurations until now
    It stands with fashionable rooms and subdued lighting
    A monument to those very first Groundforce days.
    But still in its imperfection
    (The hill that needs levelling
    The bed that needs weeding
    The lawn that needs returfing)
    My garden is the place where I can be
    Me.

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  • 376. At 9:16pm on 16 Sep 2008, Burrcifer wrote:

    Robbie

    I sit and watch my son go crazy
    he loves to laugh and shout, but maybe
    when he grows he will learn
    it was only the energy he had to burn

    I call his name but he fails to hear
    Does it matter? - no I fear
    He flaps his arms and squeels in glee
    I look at him and see some of me

    He eats for two or maybe three
    I should make him diet but what colour would it be?
    As he grows he gets smarter and funnier
    But he could'nt make his mum's world any sunnier

    You can hear him half way down the street
    A boy who knows with great big feet
    You will never forget him theres no doubt
    As he will make you smile from the inside out

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  • 377. At 9:17pm on 16 Sep 2008, jj_creber wrote:

    This comment was removed because the moderators found it broke the House Rules.

  • 378. At 9:17pm on 16 Sep 2008, cadence_falls wrote:

    My second attempt- my first was too long! My passion: dance. Pure and simple. Inspired by my own experiences and by Darcy Bussel.
    Also good luck to Christine on Strictly Come Dancing!

    Nothing Compares

    She waits in excited anticipation
    Adrenaline coursing through her veins
    Practicing her smile as the wings billow
    Lycra clinging to her every curve.

    The silent audience tenses as she runs out
    Onto the empty stage, the lights paled
    She commands the theatre with her presence
    The applause thundering as she settles.

    Her feet ripple across the placid stage
    Silent as teardrops with crystalline beauty
    Eyes lifted to heaven, feet pointed to hell.
    Heart hammering in time to the lift of music.

    She stands on the magnifying glass on her soul
    Her every muscle straining to please
    All thoughts whisked away, the music her mistress
    Her only care, as her feet caress the floor.

    The stage is her canvass, to paint with her toes
    Shoes blackened with effort her hands kiss her humble feet
    Her spirit lifted with applause, her life filled with music
    And love, for her affair with the ballet.

    By Sofy Bevan 16yrs

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  • 379. At 9:19pm on 16 Sep 2008, Scapstherabbit wrote:

    The Green Umbrella

    Delia carried the Green Umbrella
    Whenever she fancied a fella
    Opening it a spell is cast
    Holding the strongest guys fast
    Thinking of running?
    There’s no escape for the cunning
    Even if you see her coming

    She opens the green umbrella
    And with it casts her matching gaze
    Even the reticent this will faze
    The assured, the bored will be captured
    Previous relationships fractured and cast aside
    With the green umbrella open they must abide

    Delia to dinner they will take
    Jewellery they bestow
    To the Green Umbrella they fall in tow
    Bank accounts fall open
    From which emerge no idle token

    Sucked dry the Green Umbrella is closed
    Why I am here is the common question posed
    Delia frowns as she counts her crowns
    Looking around for the next round pound
    She says,” Can’t help you there fella pass me my umbrella”

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  • 380. At 9:22pm on 16 Sep 2008, stevie6foot8 wrote:

    Period of availability

    I sit and stare from my plastic chair whilst having a num bum,
    the wall,s are blank and tables bare but still i must sit and stare,
    this plastic chair does cut me bare as the hours do pass,
    the class of the windows misted by my baited breath as i sit and stare waiting for an end to my period of availability.

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  • 381. At 9:24pm on 16 Sep 2008, randomorion wrote:

    Let's Go Missing


    Here's a key that doesn’t open any door.
    Let's go missing doing insane things!
    Don’t enjoy "normal" anymore.

    Did you have the nightmare too?
    That same dark room, with shapes
    reaching out for you?

    Life is much too serious for pleasure.
    We should distract ourselves from reality
    to minimize the pressure.

    We'll write a script to play out our lives.
    Let's go down to the twilight shore again
    and laugh once more as the tide arrives.

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  • 382. At 9:24pm on 16 Sep 2008, poppyday1 wrote:

    Passionate Gardener

    Lavender florets suckled by bees
    Candied Cyclamen shivering under trees
    Nestling in nooks, Robert's Foot and Tansy
    Whispering "I Love You" to Peony and Pansy
    Roses uncurl their soft velvet robes
    Fragrancing the air to flirt with my nose.
    Magic begins as the Columbine weaves
    Twisting and tightening around branches and leaves.
    Bluebells, Delphinium shout loudly in blue
    Whilst Yellow Gorse and Broom speak in a different hue.
    Come lay with me amidst my flowery friends
    In a secret garden where broken hearts mend

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  • 383. At 9:27pm on 16 Sep 2008, laughingbigbird wrote:

    This is How Life Really is

    my mum chucked me out last year
    and though she never shed a tear
    she said she'd lost control of me
    but as far as I could see
    she'd got herself a brand new life
    a brand new man, she's now a wife
    hey, he didn't want a kid
    where he'd have to spend a quid...or two
    I was only fourteen though
    she kicked me out, and just said go!
    I felt frightened,scared, and so alone
    and the cold of the night, cuts through to the bone
    one night while I was curled up tight
    some men came, I tried to fight...
    they abused and threatened me
    they hurt me, but I could not flee
    they ran off, said they'd be back
    they came,and fed me coke and crack
    one guy gave me some weird stuff
    said take it, and you'll feel real tough
    I took it then, I took lots more
    I slept around, from door to floor
    I live on the streets and I'm sick and cold
    I'm only young,but I'm really old
    I see you through my numbing haze
    but you don't stop or even gaze
    I'm in the corner of your eye
    unpleasant like a festering stye
    I'm no one that you'd want to know
    so on your way now, go on, just go!

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  • 384. At 9:28pm on 16 Sep 2008, randomorion wrote:

    The effects of causes

    We were so young in our delirious cages,
    we accepted danger as rage against aging.
    Play a melody of uselessness,
    a symphony of apathy.

    A fragment of an antique song flashes into consciousness:

    "Barely legal in their lethal tavern,
    cavemen in their licensed cavern."

    The memory evokes cinematesque sadness.

    The whiteness blinds us
    as sunlight tricks morning
    brightness to bleach bleak mourning.
    Light so vivid to wake day dawning,
    sunrise was a long time coming.

    We were young, we were eternal.
    That for us, was cause enough.

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  • 385. At 9:31pm on 16 Sep 2008, poppyday1 wrote:

    Sky Diving

    Pale denim blue,
    Peach, warm translucent rose.
    Soufflé lemon
    Embroidered with violet hues.
    Blended and morphed
    By a stirring breeze,
    Snow white clouds whipped in
    Lightening, softening.
    Grey diamonds drizzling down
    On forgotten moors,
    Then rising on rainbows
    To giddying heights
    Where the bluebirds soar.
    Coloured skies hug our world
    Like a jewelled shawl
    Stolen from a gypsy queen.
    When the sun sets majestically
    Gold and orange come into play
    Before the colour of the day
    Begins to drain away
    And thoughts turn to sleep.

    The sky today is not ours to keep.

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  • 386. At 9:34pm on 16 Sep 2008, Scapstherabbit wrote:

    Viennese scooter rider

    The Viennese scooter rider is a legend in Vienna
    His helmet the colour of henna
    He used to be a thief with total belief
    People would stop and stare as he flew by
    And startled pigeons would take to the sky

    The Viennese scooter rider was such a thief
    Renowned and revered and a little bit feared
    Reaching for a cigarette there was the silhouette
    A lorry pulling out ahead, he could be dead
    Now the Viennese scooter rider would be sorry
    He swerved but unfortunately mounted the curve
    And with six months in a hospital he’d lost his nerve

    With no verve or nerve the Viennese scooter rider didn’t thrive
    Pizza delivery was no way to survive
    While he didn’t thieve he felt his life slipping off his sleeve
    He still rides his scooter which still has its over size hooter
    Mercy mercy my lord give me the nerve and verve to thieve again he prayed
    It isn’t to be and pizza delivery is now his major play
    Looking a bit fey the Viennese scooter driver will deliver pizza to you today

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  • 387. At 9:34pm on 16 Sep 2008, randomorion wrote:

    Fragile magic

    Rumour, brimstone converse of nectar,
    Heathen-magic blend a spell.
    Heretic, shaman, weave in hell,
    the darker a heaven the brighter brave star.

    Bring our kill-fix for the day
    our very atoms split in neutron-nuclear age.
    The .............................. rage
    this ............... hellish energy.

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  • 388. At 9:36pm on 16 Sep 2008, moordykechampion wrote:


    Tattered (Reunited)

    My Darling ponder, wonder no more,
    Tattered souls spirits revive and regroup,
    Waves of love within my heart,
    Cause high tides of passionate heat,
    Roaring warm tempestuous winds,
    Will melt your snow-capped mountainside,
    As I hope your mind melts in forgiveness,
    My whispering spirit caresses your body,
    I want to grast your dove like serenity,
    Within my loving arms,
    And pray you do not bid me gone.

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  • 389. At 9:39pm on 16 Sep 2008, Johnnyspangle wrote:

    Moo-Cows

    Come sit beside me son
    And tell me of your dreams.
    Rest your head and wonder of things that might yet be.
    While I will search for moo-cows within your flaxen hair
    Yes I will hold you tightly whenever I am near.
    If fear shall fill your sleep babe,
    Or torment test your night.
    Then I will search for moo-cows
    And all will be just right.
    So lay your head beside me
    Sleep without the “fear”
    For I will search for moo-cows whenever I am near


    But mother you have left me
    You lie cold in a bed
    No longer do you search for
    Moo-cows in my head
    Your hands now search for judgement
    Your lips they utter prayer
    Yet selfishly I long for
    Just to have you near.
    To feel your silk skin on me
    To taste your mothers breast
    To shower me with praise
    And tell me I am best.
    To smile and laugh and shout at me
    And not lay there still and dead
    But hold me by your side mum
    And search for moo-cows in my head.



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  • 390. At 9:43pm on 16 Sep 2008, emublogger wrote:

    THE GAS LEAK

    The pilot light was out,
    That was plane to see,
    So I struck a match to investigate ...
    And that was the end of
    m e e e e e e e e

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  • 391. At 9:45pm on 16 Sep 2008, moordykechampion wrote:


    Secrets

    Sweeping views, intense blue skies,
    Just a hint of feathered cloud,
    Brilliant sunshine blazing heat,
    The hills are crystal clear,
    I wander, withdrawn lost in thought,
    I see the birds, I hear them sing,
    And feel the world smiles down on me,
    Cos love is in my heart,

    Heaven knows you are the girl,
    Constant I have a yearning for,
    You're not with me, yet you are here,
    Enchantress, seductress both,
    So I will pick my secrets up,
    Take a path no man has trod,
    Journey far beyond Earth's clouds and skies,
    Ne'er to be heard again.

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  • 392. At 9:46pm on 16 Sep 2008, emublogger wrote:

    NUFF SAID


    Besotted,
    Beloved,
    Be brave,
    Betrothed,
    Be wed.

    Be kind,
    Be loving,
    Be faithful,
    Be happy,
    Nuff said.

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  • 393. At 9:48pm on 16 Sep 2008, Dark-Angel-x08 wrote:

    Me:

    I am me, no one else, I never will be
    I’m your angel, your devil, your lover, your carer
    I’m a bitch, I’m a saint, I’m nothing far from obscene
    I’m gothic, I’m proud, I’m help, I’m hell
    I’m your nightmare, I’m your best dream
    I live by your side, I’m alive in you heart, I’m remembered ever so clearly in your memories
    I’m not ashamed that you, and you alone have figured me out
    That you love me for me, and my many sides
    I allowed myself to love you, with all the hope and love returned
    Baby, you know you wouldn’t want me to change for the world.

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  • 394. At 9:51pm on 16 Sep 2008, emublogger wrote:

    INGENUITY


    "Did you see the Injen-who-hit-he?",
    Custer asked me at Little Bighorn,
    Me with an arrow stuck in my bum,
    Wishing now, that I'd never been born!

    "No" I answered.

    Perhaps 'twas because of the Injen's
    Legendary stealth, speed and cunning,
    Or 'cos I was facing the wrong way
    And also 'hell for leather' - running!


    PS.
    I became Custer's scout by mistake;
    I somehow misunderstood his plan!
    I thought he said : "Will you help me to
    Try and track down both Sue and shy Anne?"


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  • 395. At 9:54pm on 16 Sep 2008, charliehorner wrote:

    Whenever I see a Butterfly,I know that Marys near,
    Whenever I see a Butterfly,I'm afraid I shed a tear.

    She said the sun would always shine whenever they flitted by,
    So when I see those gentle things,I have to question why,

    Just why she had to leave us so,just why the fates conspired,
    To take her now before her time,
    That girl I so admired.

    She's never very far from me when I am in the garden,
    I pull the weeds or trim a shrub,my resolve I try to harden.

    The roses that she loved so much dont seem so fragrant now,The blossoms somehow have lost their sheen,But I have made this vow,

    No matter what the future brings,she'll always be my mate,
    The one who gave so much to me,So I can surely wait,

    Just like that summer butterflywhose presence gives me heart,
    I know that we will meet again,never more to part....

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  • 396. At 9:55pm on 16 Sep 2008, emublogger wrote:

    ILLUSION


    Although Mother Nature
    Has been raped and abused,
    Her basic laws ignored,
    So misread and confused,
    Our living world remains
    A most beautiful place,
    A jewel that stands out
    From the darkness of space,
    Help her to recover;
    Nurse her back to full health,
    For without her, how empty ...
    The illusion of 'wealth'.

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  • 397. At 9:57pm on 16 Sep 2008, kermit0702 wrote:

    I See You In This Sunlit World

    A dream hovering and teasing the mote of my eye,
    An image tantalising with fondness as I sigh,
    A love lingering immortal in passion as I lie,
    An obsession twinkling in the twilight as life goes by.

    A sliver of excitement in the moist sweat on my skin,
    A rustle in the breeze whispering fires from within,
    A journey unbidden into depths of carnal sin,
    A union of souls' hearts flying with angelic wings.

    An allure locked into kinetic movements of desire,
    A passion entranced with sensual servants of fire,
    A touch betraying the heart's beating as I travel higher,
    A glimmer bursting with the rays of the sun ever brighter.

    A reflection rippling in azure lakes of the soul, so bold,
    A kiss breathing on lips when I see you in this sunlit world,
    An embrace of perfection glistening in pleasure untold,
    A dark filled with brightness, fighting back the cold.

    A fantasy hidden in the depths of thoughtful mind and flesh,
    A pattern of glowing smiles, winks and sways to guess,
    A euphoria of warming wiles and traps to enmesh,
    A laughter pealing across the skies to rapture and bless.

    A dream hovering and teasing the mote of my eye,
    An image tantalising with fondness as I sigh,
    A love lingering immortal in passion as I lie,
    An obsession twinkling in the twilight as life goes by.

    (c) Craig Gilbert 2008

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  • 398. At 9:57pm on 16 Sep 2008, emublogger wrote:

    STATE-OF-MIND


    Happiness is a state-of-mind,
    It cannot be made or bought,
    Tranquillity of attitude, and
    Flexibility of thought.

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  • 399. At 9:58pm on 16 Sep 2008, mollieandeddie wrote:

    Here lies the body of a sad old man
    Who was once a dedicated football fan
    On saturday afternoon when the clock struck three
    He'd be sat in the stand, row 7 seat 3
    To see his team play was all that he craved
    Through the rain and the snow-all weathers he braved
    For the great games passion burned bright in his soul, from the walk to the ground, to the soup and the roll.

    But a cancer was eating his favourite game
    The spitting, the cheating, things just weren't the same
    The stamping, the kicking, the verbal abuse,
    Were choking the game with a tightening noose
    So he began to reflect what to do with his life, go shopping on match days along with his wife?
    The game he once loved was in mortal decline, so he stayed at home Saturdays and made his own wine.

    And now his time nears he lays down to die,
    He gasps his last breath and heaves a great sigh
    For he's not all alone, there's a dream at his side
    It's the game that he loved, but it also has died.

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  • 400. At 10:01pm on 16 Sep 2008, emublogger wrote:

    PRAY FOR THEM


    The muggers,
    The rapists,
    The murderers,
    The paedophiles,
    The confidence tricksters -
    Pray for them.

    The weak,
    The naïve,
    The young,
    The old,
    The inadequate mixers -
    Prey … for them.

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  • 401. At 10:03pm on 16 Sep 2008, charliehorner wrote:

    This poem and the one above were written after the death of my beloved wife Mary. They are sad of course but time is a great healer but still hard to take in.

    I'll never see her face again,I'll never see her smile,
    I'll never make her laugh again,
    Well ,not for quite a while.

    I'll never hold her hand again,
    And kiss her gently on the cheek,
    I'll search in vain for ever more,Past happiness I seek.

    She made me feel important She made me feel so great,
    I pray that we will meet again,But I can hardly wait.

    The house no longer welcomes me,
    When I unlock the door,
    Aimlessly I look around, What am I looking for ?

    I look across to where she sat,
    Her chair is empty now,
    I must accept that she has gone,
    For Gods sake tell me how.

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  • 402. At 10:03pm on 16 Sep 2008, pamelabeynon wrote:

    A DREAM OF A HOLIDAY



    No need for passports, visas and planes.

    No need for ferries, luggage or trains.

    While my holiday dream at the end of the day

    Is waiting for me just a stairway away.

    For the land of Nod is my favourite place.

    Full of silky soft pillows and gossamer lace.

    Where I'm hushed along on lullaby clouds

    Up from the noise and the bustling crowds.

    Wispy white duvets swaddle the ground

    As slender necked swans glide past without sound

    To softly make circles on waters once still

    While the hazy old sun slides over the hill.

    Drowsy and drifting, floating in fluff.

    Living my life on a pink powder puff.

    Such a sorrowful feeling when I realise

    I can only go there when I close my eyes.


    Pam Beynon

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  • 403. At 10:05pm on 16 Sep 2008, emublogger wrote:

    YOU’LL KNOW


    No mathematical formula
    Can define ‘love’ on a page,
    No statistician can measure it,
    There exists no such gauge.

    Love cannot be ordered,
    Nor can it be planned,
    Not pulled out of a hat
    By deft sleight of hand,
    Impossible to touch,
    But it can be felt,
    It is best when it’s shared
    But it can’t be dealt,
    Invisible to all;
    Gives no peacock show,
    Has no shape, size or form,
    But yes - it can grow,

    In spite of this -
    When you’re in love, be assured ...
    You’ll know ... you’ll know.

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  • 404. At 10:06pm on 16 Sep 2008, jon32123 wrote:

    Footy hooligan

    Like Zacchaeus hiding up a tree
    I could see you there, peering at me
    I wanted to fight, spit and swear
    But I felt your haunting presence there.
    “Go away”, I would angrily shout
    Team mates wondering what I was on about
    A proud dad there to cheer his son
    I just wanted you to go back home
    I’d gone over to the dark side
    The opposition I’d gladly goad and chide
    Disappointed eyes piercing my soul
    Would upset my objective, destroy my goal
    So go home dad and make some tea
    There’s nothing here for you to see

    Jon Roberts

    Inspired from a certain poem about railings Roger !

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  • 405. At 10:07pm on 16 Sep 2008, jon32123 wrote:

    My Throne

    Sitting on my throne,
    I wonder what it would be like …
    to be a millionaire,
    to have a lot more hair
    and to eat steak, bloody and rare.
    To be faced in the woods by a grizzly bear
    or amongst life’s troubles, not to have a care.
    In an exam room, to fall off my chair
    And find myself trapped in Shelobs lair!
    To wear an enormous gold chain and become the Mayor
    Then I just stare…
    And smile…
    I’ve been here quite a while
    Must get up so I don’t get piles!

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  • 406. At 10:14pm on 16 Sep 2008, emublogger wrote:

    IF I COULD ...


    If I could stop a battle which,
    Then helped to stop a war,
    If I could stop a terrorist which
    Then helped to stop a score.

    If I could design a flag
    Under which all could proudly stand,
    If I could amalgamate all nations,
    As if they all came from one land.

    If I could stop the acid
    Which falls to earth as rain,
    If I could stop all pollution;
    Make our planet green again.

    If I could make great thinkers think,
    Perhaps help them break the code.
    If I could help the sad and lost,
    Point them on salvations road.

    If I could help turn the world away,
    From the brink of self-destruct,
    Or is it all much too late for that ...
    Are we already ...?

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  • 407. At 10:14pm on 16 Sep 2008, charliehorner wrote:

    I was a Postman and one day I received a smack in the face from an overgrown tree in someones front garden. This is the poem I put through their door. They did not take offence and the tree was pruned the next day

    Dea Mrs. S, I do my best
    To get the mail to you,
    But have you seen that big green tree,
    That must have come from Kew?

    It stands there eight foot high or so,
    Like butter wouldn't melt,
    I cast my eyes away a 'sec'
    And got a big wet belt.

    I've fought vicious dogs, a spitting cat,
    And sometime past,a Goose
    I've never seen a plant like that,
    Marauding on the loose.

    I'll admit my eyes were downward cast,
    Lke a virgin with her beau,
    But the kiss I got from that there plant,
    Was swift, unfair and low.

    Raindrops were falling on my head,
    Distel he knows the score,
    Next time I bring the mail to you,
    I'll bring a bloody saw !!

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  • 408. At 10:15pm on 16 Sep 2008, Dark-Angel-x08 wrote:

    In the darkness, you brought light
    In the bad times, you brought hope
    When I cried, you dried my tears
    When I hurt you held me close, so close

    To hear your heartbeat, faster, faster
    To see your smile, oh your smile
    To feel your touch, it never left
    To be in your arms, such comfort

    Please, never cease loving me, and I shall never cease to love you
    Oh how our love grows

    Please, never change who you are, and I shall never cease to be who I am
    Oh how I love you so

    Please, never let me go, and I shall stay with you, even after death
    Oh never lose grip, don’t let me go!

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  • 409. At 10:15pm on 16 Sep 2008, pamelabeynon wrote:

    BUT ONLY SOMETIMES


    Sometimes it's nice to be on my own.
    Sometimes I just feel like being alone.

    There are times when I seem to get tangled inside
    And feel I'm on stage with no place to hide.

    Everyone asking me questions it seems.
    Picking my brains, probing my dreams.

    Once in a while I'll escape to my room
    Where I don't have to talk and I don't have to bloom.

    I can lay by myself letting everything slide
    Sprawled out on my bed while the feelings subside.

    Rushing to school, dashing to town.
    Days when my boisterous friends get me down.

    Sometimes I know that I'm pushing too hard.
    Forcing the laughs, playing the card.

    Once in a while it's nice to have space.
    Stop and be still, slow down the pace.

    Sometimes it's nice to be on my own.
    Sometimes I just feel like being alone.

    Not to be heard and not to be seen.
    Not always….but sometimes…. You know what I mean.



    Pam Beynon

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  • 410. At 10:25pm on 16 Sep 2008, pamelabeynon wrote:

    WHO WOULD I HOLD?



    He's the last face I see as I whisper goodnight
    and the first face I see in the cool morning light.

    As I rush down the stairs to catch the school bus
    I must leave him behind but there's never a fuss.

    He knows he must spend the day all alone.
    He knows he must wait until I come home.
    And then we will talk and it might sound absurd
    he'll sit and he'll listen
    and not say a word.

    Mum says that it's time that I gave him away
    But who would I hold at the end of the day?
    Who else would hearken to all of my fears
    and then not repeat the things that he hears?

    Sometimes when I'm sad he'll sit and just listen
    I could swear that I've noticed his dark brown eyes glisten.

    Is that a tear?
    Can it really be true?

    Teddys don't cry! - or maybe they do.


    Pam Beynon

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  • 411. At 10:29pm on 16 Sep 2008, triles wrote:

    On Being Green

    One day Red Fox assessed life's worth
    And sought to make friends of the earth.
    Henceforth on trips to Greenwood farm
    He brought the chickens no more harm
    But left the hens to lay in bed
    Whilst poaching fresh young eggs instead.

    Once slinking slyly from the hunt
    Our convert felt a stricken want
    To write complain about the sport
    For huntsmen four-legged creatures ought
    Not suffer with such moral slip -
    Their horses should be spared the whip!

    So Red's awareness grew and grew
    Until he met someone who knew
    That wearing fur was thought bad taste.
    Guilty Fox complied with haste
    And, by a form of suicide,
    He skinned himself - and promptly died.

    Here lies dead Fox, once red-brushed sheen,
    Now self-styled, self-willed martyr green!

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  • 412. At 10:36pm on 16 Sep 2008, fastwelshdragon wrote:

    AUTUMN

    Autumn is a glorious season
    The leaves are falling for a reason
    It signifies the end of summer
    Even though the trees are full of colour

    The wind is creating an Autumn breeze
    Gently rustling through the trees
    The leaves are dancing in the Autumn sun
    Creating a rainfall of coloured fun

    Autumn leaves carpet the groung
    In reds, russets and rich browns
    The leaves are crunchy underfoot
    Creating a lovely musical note

    Autumn will soon fade away
    Into the long winter days
    Therefore enjoy the Autumn season
    Creating a wondrous yearly occasion.

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  • 413. At 10:40pm on 16 Sep 2008, pamelabeynon wrote:

    I USED TO JUMP OUT OF MY SKIN


    I used to jump out of my skin

    It was fun jumping out

    It was fun jumping in

    I’d fold up my skin on the floor

    And leave it behind as I walked out the door


    I’d run round the garden and then

    I’d go and jump into my skin once again


    One day I was running outside

    When my mother appeared and my skin she espied

    She put it inside the machine

    And onto the hot wash so that it would get clean


    The wash was too hot and so now

    My skin is too tight and I just can’t think how

    I’ll ever be able to bend down again

    …. And I worry in case I get caught in the rain


    PAM BEYNON

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  • 414. At 10:55pm on 16 Sep 2008, fastwelshdragon wrote:

    TO AN ADOPTED CHILD

    We did not bring you into the world
    'twas not our destiny
    But we choose you for ourselves
    our own dear child to be

    our name to bear
    Our lives to share
    A blessing from above
    To be the darling of our hearts

    To cherish and to love
    Someday you will know the truth
    The story we must tell
    But I pray you'll understand

    And love us just as well
    God be god and make us wise
    With strength to carry through
    Our hopes, our dreams and plans for you

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  • 415. At 10:56pm on 16 Sep 2008, pamelabeynon wrote:

    MY KITE AND I


    Up on the hillside over the trees
    I catch my breath as it catches the breeze.

    Jaunty and jerking my kite pulls away
    To leave me behind with the cares of the day.

    Watching it climb I can feel my heart sing
    As my kite urges me to let out more string.

    Higher and higher it soars to be free.
    Riding the wind. How I wish it was me.

    Dancing and diving, looping the loop,
    Kissing the clouds, watching it swoop.

    Tugging and taunting and still on it's spree
    Full of itself! Look at me! Look at me!

    Higher and higher I feel my heart pound.
    My kite in the air and me on the ground.

    All of a sudden the wind seems to drop.
    The mighty performance has come to a stop.

    It falls to the ground and it lies at my feet.
    A motionless object, Imposter and cheat!.

    Dance like you did, Like you did in the air!
    But my kite's lying still and is going nowhere.



    Pam Beynon

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  • 416. At 10:57pm on 16 Sep 2008, Ktarcus wrote:

    Loving you

    The pages of my diary filled,
    Like my senses,
    With the perfume of your aroma;
    Soft heavenly wafts of delicate fragrance herald your closeness in the morning,
    The dew fall, reflected in the azure blue of your eyes is dimmed in comparison by the brilliance of your smile.

    Angels mourn the passing of daylight lest it deprives them of your presence, for which they are eternally grateful:

    As for myself?

    My thoughts stray to the incredible;

    Surely; there must be some mistake!
    For someone as special as yourself to want to spend time in my humble presence;

    I am constantly overwhelmed by the amount of love you exude from such a small and tender frame;
    The exquisite feelings of rapture I may only capture briefly when in your company I shall savour for eternity if I am aloud to dream that long.

    If this is in fact a dream then I do not want it to end,
    If it is in fact reality then praise be that I have been chosen for such a worthy honour as your love,
    And if it is indeed a fantasy then let me remain within my own madness that I may yet believe that one so divine may still exist.

    I guess through all of this what I am trying to say is…



    I love you.

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  • 417. At 10:59pm on 16 Sep 2008, Ktarcus wrote:

    I am your's
    Should the moon and stars be mine to give,
    I would lay them at your door,

    Gold and silver butterflies a platinum sheaf of wheat,
    I will lay with rose petals on your floor, worship at your feet.

    All of these things and more my love,
    I will dedicate to you,
    If the Lord would also sanction it,
    I would even die for you!

    My heart my soul my burning desire,
    You are the one for me set my heart on fire,
    Without your love life would be just dire,
    How did I live before you came along?

    Endorphines released so happy I feel
    Slap myself three times a day in case it's not real.

    Felt I could fly with no need of a plane,
    When you told me that day, that you felt the same.
    All of my life, now every breath that I take
    Is filled with your feelings, every desicion I make.
    If you left I would waste;
    Die with heartache.
    And yet I would do it if you asked for your sake.

    You are the only thing I live for now.

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  • 418. At 11:02pm on 16 Sep 2008, Ktarcus wrote:

    Earth waltz
    The moon,
    Weaving its weary way upwards,
    Through the remnants of empty storm clouds;
    Greying now with age as their journey is at an end.

    On the opposite side,
    To the North West the last struggle of sunlight,
    Its shafts of silver sparkle through singlets of mist atop the hillside.
    Moths, their desires stretched and divided!
    Waltz in a wafting breeze,
    tempting fate;
    As the hum of the hunger of a myriad of pipistrelle bats nears the dance floor,
    How delicate the interplay, between them,
    It is perfection to be seen each and every day.

    What right has humanity to stifle such beauty?

    Longer lived than man shall ever be!
    She will have her world returned slowly;
    Precisely;
    Yet unquiet, her resources gathering pace;
    Typhoon here,
    Hurricane there, minor tremors,
    Erupting volcanic residue slipping ever upwards,
    Toward final destination.

    Fate comes to all who wait patiently,
    Mother Nature is imbued with ample patience to see off mortal man.
    A pity she can't save all who will perish before her might;
    But; rest assured;
    Something more worthwhile shall take of humanities place.
    Perhaps?
    Another species of moth
    To entertain in their twilight romance,
    As they face the moon and dance.

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  • 419. At 11:02pm on 16 Sep 2008, fastwelshdragon wrote:

    AN ODE TO WALES

    Our father, who art at the Millennium
    Hwyl be thy name
    Thy Grand Slam come
    tries will be done
    By Jones, Peel and Williams
    Give us this day our Bread in Heaven
    And forgive us our offsides as we
    Ruck those who trespass against us
    And lead us not into bad discipline
    But deliver us from ENGLAND
    For Wales is the kingdom, the dragon and the daffodil

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  • 420. At 11:03pm on 16 Sep 2008, missjenniferblogs wrote:

    Sneakers

    Two lovers on the stoop
    Lazy, warm, and interlaced.
    Battered and worn, but still together
    Talking now,
    All day they’ve been walking –
    Traipsing trails and tracks
    Footpaths and fields
    Loosing the world that’s close at their heels
    Splashing and sliding
    Skipping and sneaking
    Leaving their print,
    Keeping their grip.
    The perfect fit.
    Arched on the mat,
    Two lost soles fallen in step,
    Poised on the tips of their toes for a kiss,
    A match. A pair.
    Identical.
    Opposite.

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  • 421. At 11:09pm on 16 Sep 2008, Ktarcus wrote:

    Morning Dew
    Above the bluebells faeries fly
    whilst down below the pixies cry
    in joy at all the things they weave
    with faery dust which abound to leave

    In tree the twit-twoo of owl's
    keeping elves a hidden fast by cowels
    will not detract from faeries flight
    until once more comes mornings light

    Such time is short cannot deny
    the time that faeries have to fly
    many claim to see, but very few
    have watched them lay the morning dew.

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  • 422. At 11:10pm on 16 Sep 2008, fastwelshdragon wrote:

    I'M IN GOD'S BACKYARD

    In God's backyard, the puppies play
    They're out there having fun all day
    In God's backyard there is no pain
    No experiments or pain

    Each precious cat gets loving hugs
    And all the dogs get belly rubs
    There's millions there, both large and small
    In God's backyard, there's room for all

    All dogs just bark with joy
    No crabby neighbours to annoy
    And every angel is a vet
    They can cure anything, I bet

    No the dogs don't growl, the cats don't hiss
    For there's not one thing amiss
    All are happy, all are loved
    Somewhere in the skies above

    I hear there's no more suffering
    No loneliness or wandering
    No more need for them to roam
    For, at last, they all have homes

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  • 423. At 11:10pm on 16 Sep 2008, countrydudeuk wrote:

    CAT

    Through silent eyes, a deep long stare
    A life without worry, a life without care.
    Ears twitching as the world goes by,
    The buzz of a bee, the drone of a fly.
    The breezy leaves rustle, the whispy grasses sway,
    Another dawn, another lazy cat day.

    A brush of the whiskers, wash breakfast away,
    All cleaned up, now where to lay?
    Under a bush, the sun-soaked lawn,
    Feet under the chest and a big, deep yawn.
    Eyes half close, enough room to peep,
    As drowsiness prevails, follows by sleep.

    Eyes wide open, ears pricked and tall,
    A sudden noise, a bird’s alarm call.
    Stalking to the bushes, on silent feet,
    To find the source of the rather loud tweet.
    Irritation of being woken, grows in amounts,
    A wiggle of the bum, he’s about to pounce….

    Marty Strutt

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  • 424. At 11:17pm on 16 Sep 2008, petrinat wrote:

    This came out of the many night duties as a nurse looking at grown up children holding a parent's hand as the parent slipped away. Their faces and gestures spoke volumes but they just couldn't vocalise their feelings.



    Rite of Passage

    I hold my father’s hands in mine
    And flinch at how frail and small they have become.
    I remember them as strong safe hands which threw me up into the air as I screamed with delight then caught me in a gentle warm hug.

    I stroke the split nail on his thumb which never grew out.
    A scar caused by a flare of fear as he looked up to see a toddler
    Running towards him on the roof of our house which he built.
    I would stroke it after each childhood misdemeanour and whisper
    I’m sorry.

    It would cut me to see it in my teenage rebellion as I heard the anxiety in my father’s voice after each act of risky defiance.
    Too angry to make eye contact and see the fear there but always it was that split nail which conveyed the hurt I caused.

    The lines and veins stand in random recess and relief to mark all the years since.
    I hold his hands in mine;
    My strong safe hands which do not want to let go.

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  • 425. At 11:18pm on 16 Sep 2008, carlpoems wrote:

    Fantasy Yoga Rap Stuff

    In my dreams I’ve got this fantasy yoga teacher
    In her leotard she is some creature .

    She’ll take this class , and I’ll get to attend
    To twist and grunt and stretch and bend .

    And she’ll twist me up , and bend my bones
    To a series of grunts and pops and moans .

    She’ll make me breathe , and respirate ;
    I’ll suck it up , and I’ll clear the plate .

    I’ll rest on the mat and visualise ,
    Lie on the floor in a wild surmise
    And ponder the growing size of my thighs .

    And my pulse rate will be getting higher and higher
    As my pectorals burn with a raging fire
    And I’ll relax , and stretch away my desire .

    The ladies around me will be panting for more
    But my bridge position will sink lower and lower .
    Could something drop through my pelvic floor ?

    But just when it’s all getting too intense ,
    My fantasy teacher will start to relent .

    We’ll all breathe deeply , it’ll come to an end ,
    One last twitch , a penultimate bend .

    We’ll roll up our mats , it’s time to go home ,
    Pausing only to let out an elongated Ommmmmmmmmmmmm .

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  • 426. At 11:18pm on 16 Sep 2008, Ktarcus wrote:

    [ bits and pieces ]
    Your eyes look quiet now,
    almost serene,
    Unlike I have seen them before,

    perhaps it was the madness !
    (yours or mine Who cares)
    that stopped me from appreciating just how soulful they were.

    At least they stayed where they belong,
    inside your head,
    Unlike your brain which is lying here in front of me.
    Try as I might I can still not see where you hide your logic?.

    To say that you would rather die than go out with someone like me!
    well at least I have helped you achieve your ambition,
    which must,
    I think,
    be in with your logic.

    Perhaps I missed it when I disembowelled you!

    Don't go anywhere,

    I will go and check..........................

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  • 427. At 11:20pm on 16 Sep 2008, carlpoems wrote:

    Your Smile

    The length of the corridor
    Between us, but still
    Your smile reaches out , calls for
    Some return , the crackle
    Of the non-verbal riposte.
    A bridge of broken span
    Or some lost clawing
    At what once was ?
    Now tearing, now flailing .
    My hands twitch , but cling
    Deeper to my pockets .
    No help there .
    So I flick
    At jaw muscles , snap
    The sociable smile :
    Friendly but aware (of
    The distance now between us) ;
    Short in travel
    And duration .
    Yet as its formality
    Seeps away
    I can't help but
    Belie its tight
    Oneness with a long, slow
    Developed yearning ;
    Even as your eyes
    Deaden and I note
    The whiteness of your teeth.

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  • 428. At 11:22pm on 16 Sep 2008, Ktarcus wrote:

    Please

    Hidden beneath your soul
    I saw the flowing colours of your warmth
    holding inwardly the one thing I desired.

    You gave me everything;
    I had nothing left to call my own,
    now all that I have is your's,
    please;

    Dont take it back!

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  • 429. At 11:27pm on 16 Sep 2008, Ktarcus wrote:

    parsnip pixies


    Do you know of the parsnip pixie's

    they live under the ground

    doing good things for the community

    You will know if their around!



    Each parsnip seed thats planted every carrot seed thats dropped

    must be checked out by the pixies So that tragedies are stopped.

    They make certain that their heads are up, their bottoms facing down

    Before they can relax and have a drink out on the town

    And although you may not believe me

    You may think that they are not there

    Have you ever seen a parsnip grow with its bottom in the air?

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  • 430. At 11:29pm on 16 Sep 2008, Ktarcus wrote:

    [ Horn swag land ]

    Beware all little greebles,
    as darkness draws nigh
    For the hornswags are watching,
    way up in the sky,
    when you fall asleep,
    you're dreams they will find
    and come of the morning,
    they'll take of your mind.

    Oft in the past,
    when the moonlight was pale
    hornswags would taunt us,
    fear would prevail,
    now take of you're medicine,
    like good greebles do,
    for nesstleberry juice,
    is what makes you get through.

    One day in the future,
    perhaps maybe soon
    a saviour will find us,
    and maybe for one dubloon,
    he'll take of the hornswags,
    and merry we'll be
    and sleep once more safely,
    without nesstle berry.


    Somewhere over the rainbow,
    as the mist of dawn subside,
    The Greebles meet for breakfast,
    neath the oak where they abide,
    some they talk in whispers,
    hoping this day will be their best,
    that at last they'll beat the Hornswag,
    and put their town to rest.

    For in the place that they call home,
    they are never free to roam,
    while the Hornswag in the night preys on the young,
    as the elders struggle to keep,
    their young ones as they sleep,
    with nestleberries wrapped around their tongue.

    Its the only way to calm them,
    as they know that it wont harm them,
    like a sleeping draught,
    it blankets out their dreams,
    For the Hornswag while he's flying,
    never ceases trying,
    to hone in on all ideas and schemes.

    Twenty years now and still countin,
    since they dislodged him off the mountain,
    While mining froobie gems,
    to sell at crickle mart,
    Like a winged avenger beating,
    searching children memories for the eating,
    Tis a good job the Greebles are all heart.

    Now the waiting it is over,
    for they found a friend in rover,
    he comes this day to set the world to right,
    ever fearless never tiring,
    he will stop the beast from flying,
    it was to be an all out awesome fight.

    First one,
    and then the other,
    had control,
    or was in bother,
    rolling,
    biting,
    scratching,
    kicking in the hay,
    Then a Greeble with shot clear,
    unleashed the silver spear,
    the Hornswag would not see another day.

    Somewhere over the rainbow,
    as the moon was slowly rising,
    The Greebles met for supper,
    promising kids they'd have a lie-in,
    They shout with joy and laughter,
    frighten rooks from out the rafter,
    With the Hornswag now defeated,
    they could live here everafter.

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  • 431. At 11:43pm on 16 Sep 2008, Waylander_TC wrote:

    Some times I wonder and some times I know,
    What to do and where to go,
    But always thinking of you,
    Do you want me? do you care?
    Are you thinking of me as you sit there,
    So far away the distance so great,
    But only a moment will it take,
    To send an e-mail or pick up the phone,
    So what do I think and what do I say,
    To my true love so far away.

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  • 432. At 11:54pm on 16 Sep 2008, jamjardog wrote:

    ONE PASSION

    I was born and brought up in the Black Country, Cradley Heath in fact, and my dad used to take me to our local big football club. Yes, I blame my dad for my lifelong passionate attachment to West Bromwich Albion. So here is my poem, not in praise, but in despair, of West Brom (Adrian will understand):

    WEST BROM

    West Brom make me happy, West Brom make me sad
    Sometimes bring me good times, more often bring me bad

    The team are called the Baggies, and called the Throstles too
    Or on a bad day ‘What a useless load of tripe are you’

    I’ve sussed the problem with West Brom, I know just what we’re like
    Our defenders can’t defend, our strikers just can’t strike

    We have our little moments when we just might win the game
    And then our midfield goes to sleep and it ends up just the same

    There’s nothing like the pain, the searing pain that cuts through me
    When West Brom score two perfect goals but the other team score three

    West Brom slice my nerves to shreds, I dare not watch the game
    And only hear the commentator say ‘West Brom have lost again’

    Despite my better judgement, I know through thick or thin
    I’ll support the Albion, if they draw or lose or win

    At least when we’re promoted I’m sure of one good thing
    We’ll stay up for four seasons - summer, autumn, winter, spring!



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  • 433. At 00:48am on 17 Sep 2008, CROSSWORD-DECODER wrote:

    MY HUSBAND


    We met at the Cathedral Bell Tower pulling ropes
    And then went to the Pub to watch someone else pulling pints.
    Then moved from West Wales to Hampshire, but one morning
    My head explodes like a volcano and getting
    Rushed to the Hospital, not knowing how the future would change,
    But 'hubby' was brilliant and didn't panic, but followed the blue light ahead,
    After phoning my two children and seven sisters, who could phone my four brothers, as well.

    The diagnois was 'Aneurysm', which can be fatal,
    The fact that he'd given me tablets that
    The Doctor had prescribed me tablets two days earlier
    And these kept the 'bleed' going and therefore saving my life.
    "It's a miracle" all my family cried, as they travelled to comfort me then
    and they all managed to attend our Wedding and Blessing in the same
    Cathedral we'd met 10 years, almost exactly from the day that we met.


    True story.

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  • 434. At 08:18am on 17 Sep 2008, lesblog wrote:

    Salsa

    We met in our eyes
    And played in a glance.
    We said our goodbyes
    And moved in a dance
    Where the beat was a look,
    Where the rhythm was slow
    And we swayed to a gaze.
    With the lights turned down low.

    We talked without words
    And circled the floor.
    I held you so close
    With my eyes lost in yours.
    I swam in the pools
    That sparkled and shone
    In your face and your looks
    And we became one.

    Our tempo was perfect,
    We danced till the day
    When the salsa was over
    And you looked away.

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  • 435. At 08:19am on 17 Sep 2008, lesblog wrote:

    FAT BOY


    I climb upon the bathroom scales,
    Besides a poster saying all males
    Of five foot eight should be,
    No more than twelve stone three!

    How I curse those callous calories
    Which have ignored my plaintive pleas.
    But turned my shape rotund,
    And left me moribund.

    Oh! I scoffed the roly-poly pud
    And spotted dick (which did no good),
    Sausage, bacon, beans and fries,
    Doughnuts, cream and large steak pies.

    But…I’d rather weigh more than a half a ton
    Than look just like a skeleton.
    For happiness to me, you see,
    Is breakfast, dinner, lunch, and tea.

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  • 436. At 08:20am on 17 Sep 2008, lesblog wrote:

    Fear of Falling

    It’s not much fun to be high
    upon this wall. A fly upon the wall.
    Afraid that it will fall down to the floor
    where it will surely be crushed underfoot
    by hobnailed boot. Or awfuller than that
    be eaten by a cat with sharpened claw.
    Or on the floor be swept up by a vacuum cleaner.
    Worse! Even meaner become the prey
    of a spider who’s jaws grow wider
    when it comes for me in dead of night.
    It really gives me such a fright…

    Why could I not have been a mouse?
    Who’s feet within this house
    are firmly on the ground
    behind the skirting boards.
    I hang on grimly knowing dimly that
    I must let go despite this vertigo
    that makes my brain rotate
    And
    before it is too late
    I have to
    do it
    N
    o
    w
    w
    w
    w

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  • 437. At 08:21am on 17 Sep 2008, lesblog wrote:

    TRIANGLES



    Sidelong Glancing
    Phone romancing
    Whispering
    Sending Flowers

    After Shave
    Underclothes
    Just A Fling
    Stolen Hours

    Appointment Books
    Hotel Rooms
    Getting Dressed
    Love Bites


    Working Lates
    Deep Debates
    Feeling Tired
    Late Nights


    Found Out
    Avoiding Glances
    Separate Rooms
    Telling Lies


    Solicitors
    Slamming doors
    Goodbyes
    Children’s Eyes.

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  • 438. At 08:27am on 17 Sep 2008, lesblog wrote:

    North-West

    Blackpool towered
    Runcorn bridged
    New Brighton began to rock.
    All the kids wore Cilla black
    And we saw old Albert dock.

    Victoria Wood(would)
    And Diddy…Did he?
    Manchester was united
    Coronation had parties in the street.
    And Myra darkened Hindley

    Fleetwood Mac
    Wigan peered
    Phil became harmonic.
    Ted was a ray and Charlton did play.
    Willaim’s words worth a tonic.

    Labour laboured

    Preston pressed on

    The Beatles beetled

    Gerry ferried

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  • 439. At 08:31am on 17 Sep 2008, lesblog wrote:

    Sonnett to a Flea

    I was sitting on the toilet bowl
    Feeling unwanted and feeling old
    When down I looked between my knees
    And on the floor spied several fleas.

    Their little legs scrabbled on the floor
    And tried to take them to the door
    Where lay the dog in sleepy haze.
    Their passage to some better days.

    One large foot crushed little Jim
    Well that’s the name I’d given him
    ‘Pon which his mates looked up in fear
    And I could not disguise a tear

    For Jim had only his life you see
    And I’d decided God was me.

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  • 440. At 08:32am on 17 Sep 2008, lesblog wrote:

    Guarding



    Cogs turn like clockwork.
    Another notch….
    Remorseless….
    The ratchet turns and tears
    And takes a bite from what is left.
    So we guard the remains

    Eventually the greater becomes the smaller
    The cup half full becomes half empty
    And we become jealous and guard
    It like Scrooge and his money

    We lose the moment
    Guarding what we cannot guard
    We spend our time preventing what is not preventable
    And so in guarding we do not keep
    But simply guard.

    The secret is to live and not preserve
    What is left
    For in preserving we do not live
    And only guard.

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  • 441. At 09:12am on 17 Sep 2008, dianecarey wrote:


    Wandering in wonder, pondering my blunder,
    drifting in and out of consciousness;
    my feet are cold, thirteen years old, I need my Mothers warm caress.
    She’d gone for good, I knew she would, to escape my Fathers fist;
    our sad eyes didn’t meet that day, we never even kissed.
    I didn’t cry, I don’t know why; at least the fighting now would end...
    ...that is until she asked for me in the letter she’d promised to send.
    I wanted to be with mum, but stay with dad as well; I didn’t want to leave my home, my school and all my friends.
    Mum kept her word, the letter came, she was trying to be kind;
    but did I want to live with her and leave my Dad behind?!
    So how could I choose, which one should lose, my choice they both would fear;
    it really would be easier if I simply wasn’t here.
    My hand was still, I took the pills, I found it hard to swallow;
    my thoughts were with the peacefulness that surely was to follow.
    Wandering in wonder, pondering my blunder, I’m scared and start to cry;
    my feet are cold, thirteen years old and just about to die...

    44444444

    ...With suicide there is no fame, there isn’t any glory;
    I know that now, I’m all grown up and lived to tell the story!

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  • 442. At 09:23am on 17 Sep 2008, dianecarey wrote:


    Grandma and The Big Bad Wolves
    Written by Diane Carey
    580 words
    Copyright 2004

    On the edge of a dark dark forest where big bad wolves roam free
    Grandma lives in a cottage with her cat for company.
    Now on this particular morning she had something to celebrate
    so she decided to go into the market to buy herself a cake,
    she put on a bit of lipstick and tucked her hair into her hood
    then she took out her trusty binoculars and focused them onto the wood;
    she checked all around for big bad wolves, the coast looked reasonably clear,
    she could only see Wilf, the toothless wolf and he was nothing to fear.
    She looked at her watch she was running late she had only five minutes no more
    but in her hurry to catch the bus she forgot to lock her front door!
    “Good morning” said Grandma as she rushed past the wolf, Wilf smiled and waved his hand
    but unbeknown to Grandma the wolves were making plans!

    The big bad wolves were hiding they watched from behind the leaves
    and even before Grandma had got on the bus they were starting to come out of the trees;
    each wolf was carrying something that they’d need for a fabulous feast
    but they didn’t seem to have any food or that’s what it looked like at least!
    They carried side plates, dinner plates, knives forks and spoons,
    wine glasses, candlesticks and twenty one balloons
    then came the table cloth, a bottle of wine, the candles and the matches,
    a carving knife, the tooth picks and a wire to lift the latch with;
    they sneaked up Grandma’s path and opened her front door
    they didn’t even wake the cat as they tiptoed across the floor,
    then quietly they put down their wares and uncorked the ginger wine-
    they’d better get a move on they didn’t have much time!
    They rearranged the table and lit the candles to get into the mood
    now all they were waiting for was the arrival of the food!
    Then one by one they hid themselves in a variety of places
    and just for a little extra fun the wore masks to hide their faces!
    Now all this time Grandma’s cat had been awake behind the curtain,
    something fishy was going on this he knew for certain,
    “a party without food” he thought, ”whatever would they eat”?
    Then a horrible feeling came over him as he saw Grandma walk back down the street;
    he rushed out to try and stop her by getting under her feet
    but Grandma thought he was hungry she said “let’s go inside and eat”!
    Little did Grandma know she was in for a big surprise
    and when she opened her red front door she could hardly believe her eyes:
    “Happy Birthday Grandma”
    sang the wolves as they came out to greet her
    then a delivery man appeared at the door carrying a party size pizza;
    there was more than enough pizza for everyone, even the cat had a slice
    then they all finished off with a piece of cream cake which the wolves thought was terribly nice;
    they all ate a lot, they danced till they dropped, Grandma’s house was really rocking
    and from now on she won’t be scared when she goes out to do her shopping!
    Grandma’d had a brilliant time, she’d really had a ball,
    and now she thinks that big bad wolves aren’t big or bad at all!!

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  • 443. At 09:34am on 17 Sep 2008, Janiecobweb wrote:

    A KIND OF NIGHT

    It was a gentle sort of night,
    A hooting owl and such,
    The kind of time we cuddled
    And I kissed you far too much,
    A star-lit precious night,
    Of shadows and a moon,
    We melted both together,
    And dawn would come too soon.

    It was a wholesome sort of night,
    Your fragrance in the air,
    And watching spirits envied
    The way we learned to care;
    And when we touched like angels
    Gossamer light and fey
    The moon withdrew a moment,
    It blushed and looked away.

    It was a special sort of night,
    And when we closed our eyes
    Time suspended all its ticking,
    Hours bid their own goodbyes,
    And when I moaned a moment
    And whispered soft your name
    There wasn't a creature anywhere
    With the will to scorn or blame.

    It was an always sort of night,
    Yesterday and tomorrow,
    No time for doubt or questions,
    No space for hurt or sorrow,
    The kind of night for lasting
    Forever and a day,
    For being soft together,
    The game we like to play.

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  • 444. At 09:37am on 17 Sep 2008, Janiecobweb wrote:

    SO I GUESS WE'RE ONE, MY LOVE

    There's a rumour in the rooftops
    Down Chingleberry way,
    A whisper from the rodents,
    A murmur on the day,
    A tiny bit of wisdom,
    A nugget square and true,
    A little bit of learning
    Concerning me and you.

    They're saying in the rooftops
    Down Chingleberry way,
    The rodents and the spiders
    And the clergymen that pray,
    That you're an angel, darling,
    And angel wild and free,
    An angel lacking wisdom
    For whispering to me...

    And when the nights are poorly
    With raindrops all around
    And the rustle in the rooftops
    And a splashing on the ground,
    I take you by your hand, my love,
    I kiss you on your mouth
    While the clouds blow off with morning
    And a breeze blows from the south.

    And sunshine lights the rooftops
    Down Chingelberry way,
    It shines on thatch and mildew
    Like on every other day,
    And we are one, my darling,
    The knowing creatures say,
    One with the basking morning,
    One with the world at play.

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  • 445. At 09:53am on 17 Sep 2008, violetatkinson27 wrote:

    Power of Objects

    Snuggly duvet, keep me warm,
    through winter's coldest nights.
    Icy water, keep me cool,
    through temperature's greatest hights.
    Grass grow tall, to hide my shape,
    when we play hide and seek.
    Converse mirror, stretch my body,
    to reach the highest peak.
    Bright rainbow, shine for me,
    so you can see my happy smile.
    Melted snowman, cry for me,
    stay standing for a while.
    True friend, comfort me,
    when i am feeling down.
    Frightfull foe, leave here now,
    create a smile from my frown.
    But all the time i'm frowning,
    deep thoughts fill up my head,
    and any time i'm laughing,
    it's something friends have said.

    Charlotte B, 24 May 2008 (20 lines)


    The greatest gift on earth

    No matter if it's a brand new bike
    Or an MP3 in pink,
    I don't care what you give me as a gift
    Because i don't care to think.
    I don't want your petty lies,
    Or your birthday cash.
    If i get a seventh birthday gift
    I'd have a room of trash.
    I don't want a huge fat cheque,
    I don't need some plants,
    And i don't care about a shiny badge
    That flashes as it chants.
    I don't want a big white cake,
    Because i prefer blue.
    But i know the greatest gift on earth,
    Is for me to have you!

    Charlotte B, 5 June 2008 (16 lines)


    A single tear

    I look at my arm where the scar lies
    From where i cut it on those desperate times.
    I see above me the cloudless skies.
    Listening to people with their innocent rhymes,
    The wind blows by softly and calm
    And it is cotton wool to the touch.
    As young girls put on mascara and lip balm,
    I notice how i look to them, is not much.
    Suicidal thoughts play like a film in my mind
    And i am desperate to escape those clips.
    The tree towers above me, alone but kind,
    And paper walks along in strips,
    for a gust of wind blew them along.
    I listen to the criticism of passers by;
    They assume naturally that i am wrong,
    So i continue to watch the small birds fly.
    As one flew to the scaffolding and landed,
    Another flew into the wall, but it did not disappear.
    And alone i am in a deserted dream stranded,
    And only in my pain of life, i let out a single tear.

    Charlotte B, 07 May 2008 (20 lines)

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  • 446. At 10:12am on 17 Sep 2008, Janiecobweb wrote:

    FOR DOROTHY

    (In Herculaneum we saw and marvelled at a display cabinet that held a coil of 2,000 year old rope that had somehow survived the massive destruction caused by the eruption of Volcano Vesuvius in 79 AD)


    Separate strands intertwined
    In a coil of ancient rope,
    Preserved from antiquity
    By a life-stealing flow
    Of murderous mud.

    You're not ancient
    Nor do you hail from antiquity
    But we are intertwined
    Preserved for our own eternity,
    You and I in our Heaven
    Made on Earth.

    And now and then, my love,
    Volcano day will come
    As if we could help our hearts
    And the eruptions that they bring,
    For ours is the love of days,
    The kiss of all our honest ways,
    The warmth of suns and healing rays,
    The shining light, the heaving blaze...

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  • 447. At 10:31am on 17 Sep 2008, MIX1009 wrote:

    Homage to Custard

    A smoothly silky yellowy treat
    That topsy swirley roundy sweet
    From canny powdery milky heat
    A glowly warmly meal complete

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  • 448. At 10:36am on 17 Sep 2008, courteoustabitha wrote:

    I so love a blank page
    It's pureness, there so plain
    It's beauty of nothingness
    Then ink flowing,shapes erupting
    Expressions comming forth
    Feelings shown in any form
    What beauty in such a ordinary form, yet not
    Free for everyone
    A silence that instills a souls expression
    Effertless yet so full
    Peacefull yet so enigmatic

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  • 449. At 10:56am on 17 Sep 2008, whitehorsepoet wrote:

    My Cat

    She comes and lays beside me in the night
    And brings with her the scents of earth or hay
    Or water-mint that tell
    Of secret places where she spends her day.

    Beside the stream or hunting in the grass,
    Strange magic places where I cannot go
    Nor even half imagine,
    Mine to guess at, only hers to know.

    I cannot own her, though I call her mine,
    This independent spirit, wild and free
    Who roams her world alone.
    Though I need her, she has no need of me.

    I touch her gently as she curls to sleep
    And feel the misty dampness on her fur
    Of smokey Autumn rain.
    She stretches and I hear her gentle purr.

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  • 450. At 11:24am on 17 Sep 2008, Ambertadpole wrote:




    SALISBURY PLAIN


    The distant hills, grey smudges against a pearly sky
    Animals grazing amongst dew-drenched grass
    Far above a vapour trail proclaims the outside world

    Not a sound can be heard


    A spider, busy with its web, darts to and fro
    Garnering the harvest from the night
    The silken seductress quivering in pale sunlight

    Not a sound can be heard


    The cows, heads down amongst the sodden turf,
    Progress, unhurried, in some pre-conceived direction
    Tails hanging limp; no flies to trouble them today

    Not a sound can be heard


    This is the Land that I remember as a child
    When once we picnic-ed freely at Stonehenge
    I come again to steep myself in distant memories

    Not a sound can be heard

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  • 451. At 12:09pm on 17 Sep 2008, Fibrofighter wrote:

    Fibromyalgia

    For years and years
    I was in pain
    Before a doctor
    Referred me
    On, oh
    My, oh my, what joy I felt, I know that
    You will all
    Agree, at
    Last I found my pain to be
    Genuine, not in my head
    I'm not insane, oh what a thrill
    All of this time, I was really ill

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  • 452. At 12:17pm on 17 Sep 2008, glennncullen wrote:

    Through the silent Racket

    And so I dot my i’s and cross my t’s, and sit to write my masterpiece.
    This silence that holds in me, the power of and intruder; a skeleton key.
    It opens doors and passageways that I, in time, might tread noiselessly, Shapelessly,
    Formally,
    As it does itself through these perfect plains.

    The silence that’s engulfing me, seduces me and points me thus,
    That I might see what eyes can’t see, but what hearing can, if sound permits;
    To follow like, and intentionally,
    Listen to the silence; silently.

    Phantom sound all lie on me, and I let be what’s going to be.
    The silence it seduces me, weakened knee,
    Expectantly, waiting or wishing hopefully,
    For an angel that breaks intensity
    Of soundless noise and noiseless sound.

    Of soundless noise and noiseless sound I’m feeling the elevation of heaven’s profound.
    Like blanketed fields covered in snow, I feel the draft of an unplayed cello.
    I hear the bitter remarks so unsungly sung, of a piano’s envy of the unstrummly strummed;
    While a clarinet makes music with no sound,
    Upon this ghostly band,
    I do fully stare.
    There’s a bird on a sill with a deathly glare who knows as well as I do that all sound is bare,
    For the bird is tranquil and for the sake of tranquillity, this journey spends its last days
    Silently.

    But time being time the noise comes inevitably, but it’s not the sound of a piano key melody.
    It’s not the gaunt yelp of the brass section, nor the weeping guitar harmonising contradiction.
    It’s not demons singing sad songs and lamentations, nor the softly spoken screams of the Gregorian,
    It’s coming from up, down, every direction,
    It’s the one true sound of perfect perfection, it’s the only good sound to mask up the quite,
    It’s wisdom and my soul is rebelling to tell it.

    I could sit without instrument and write a symphony,
    ever since Easter brought it’s otherworldly epiphany!
    And although it was silent I’m glad that I caught it;
    And heard the truth,
    Through the silent racket!

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  • 453. At 12:18pm on 17 Sep 2008, viking-poet-UK wrote:

    The Rose of the Shires.

    Down country lane and wooded ride,
    Beside rivers and trickling streams
    I retraced steps long forgotten;
    Recalling memories of childhood scenes.

    Before my eyes all beauty lay
    In countless hues and shades,
    Quilted fields in random forms
    With rustic hedgerow frames.

    I climbed up high to better view
    Over rolling hills I peered,
    At a fertile earth with heavy crop,
    Standing tall like driven spears.

    Blankets of gold swayed in the breeze,
    Cattle stood in grass to the knee;
    Clear waters reflected like a Monet,
    On it's never ending journey to the sea.

    This land; this beautifull land!
    "The Rose of all the Shires"
    Bequeathed for us to cherish;
    To protect, preserve and admire.

    The Rose of the Shires
    "Northamptonshire"

    By: viking-poet-UK
    17/09/08


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  • 454. At 12:18pm on 17 Sep 2008, eaghra wrote:

    MY SAVIOURS

    ONE KISS ONE HUG THIS IS UNREQUITED LOVE

    ONE LAUGH ONE CRY WE MAYBE EVEN HAVE A SIGH

    ONE STEP ONE FALL THIS IS THE BEGINNING OF IT ALL

    ONE WORD ONE DAY FOR IT IS A
    MOMENTOUS SAY

    ONE BURP ONE MAYBE HAS HAD ENOUGH

    ONE DAY THEN ANOTHER MOTHER AND FATHER ARE IN CLOVER

    ONE CAN WIN THE EARTH CARE NOT DO WE

    AMPLE RICHES IN ABUNDANCE OUR OUR'S FOREVER

    FOR CHILDREN ARE SOMETHING AS GOOD AS TREASURE

    THE DARKEST HOURS OF MY DEMISE HAD SLIPPED AWAY AWHILE

    HOPE SHOWED THROUGH MY BEING

    NEVER DIMINISHING THE LOVE OF THEM

    SO AT LAST I COULD ENJOY YOU

    FOR THIS I SAY THANKYOU

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  • 455. At 12:21pm on 17 Sep 2008, thepoetrydragon wrote:

    Pig Tales

    I live in a pig sty, but my sty's very clean,
    My pigs are quite little, if you know what I mean.
    I've got pigs in my bathroom and under my bed,
    Friends seriously think I've got pigs in my head!

    There are pigs in my garden, and pigs on my chairs,
    There are even two more on the turn of the stairs.
    My mugs and my dishes have all got pigs faces,
    There's pigs on my quilt and on my pillowcases.

    There's one that's a box that I fill up with money,
    And another that grunts, and he's really funny.
    I've got pictures of pigs on my sitting room wall,
    And a pig telephone that I keep in the hall.

    So I don't have a teddy tucked up in my bed,
    I've got soft fluffy piggy's to cuddle instead.
    Well now what do I do if I can't get to sleep?
    Bet you think I count pigs, well I don't I count sheep!

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  • 456. At 12:25pm on 17 Sep 2008, rob_aitchison wrote:

    Longest Day

    Do not call me hero,
    When you see the medals that I wear,
    Medals maketh not the hero,
    They just prove that I was there.

    Do not call me hero,
    Now that I am old and grey,
    I left a lad, returned a man,
    They stole my youth that day.

    Do not call me hero,
    When we ran the wall of hail,
    The blood, the fears, the cries, the tears
    We left them where they fell.

    Do not call me hero,
    Each night I stop and pray,
    For all the friends I knew and lost,
    I survived my longest day.

    Do not call me hero,
    In the years that pass,
    For all the real true heroes,
    Have crosses, lined up on the grass.

    Rob Aitchison

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  • 457. At 12:26pm on 17 Sep 2008, Draytonlady wrote:

    They'll be off very soon
    Just a few more orbits of the moon
    One to a new home
    One in a while to take on a student loan

    Our home will not be so busy
    All 4 then gone, I won't be so dizzy
    At Last we can take time
    For ourselves, if we still have a dime.

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  • 458. At 12:36pm on 17 Sep 2008, nothinggrinner wrote:

    This comment was removed because the moderators found it broke the House Rules.

  • 459. At 12:38pm on 17 Sep 2008, artfulwench wrote:

    The Traveller

    I've got a third class ticket through life,
    but I'm travelling in a rich mans seat,
    and although it may rain upon my head,
    I see a rainbow across the street,
    And when I walk in darkness,
    The stars still shine so bright,
    I also know the light of day,
    will surely follow the night.

    Although I have a poor mans pocket,
    I have a rich mans dreams,
    and when my burdens feel too heavy,
    I know it's just the way it seems.
    When I think about my family and friends,
    and the people I've yet to meet,
    I may have a third class ticket through life,
    but I'm travelling in a rich mans seat.

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  • 460. At 12:52pm on 17 Sep 2008, DavidLynz wrote:

    My Rotherham Girl

    Oh I am passionate about
    A girl from Rotherham,
    And if you ask me how I feel
    I’d say in love I am.

    Her golden hair and flashing eyes
    They stole my heart away,
    Gave hope within my longing heart
    That we would meet some day.

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  • 461. At 1:04pm on 17 Sep 2008, Dark-Angel-x08 wrote:

    For so many years I felt nothing but hurt, such pain and worthlessness
    Oh I felt so worthless, not worth my life
    Not worth worth the air I breathe...

    There used to be a black hole where my heart should have been, because my heart had been broken by someone else, whom I thought I loved...
    Nothing buts lies to myself...
    I would look in the mirror and see bruises from your hand, for years, they never faded.
    I thought, for some reason, it was a gesture of love, oh how deluded I was.
    I had believed your million lies, I had believed that good ran through your veins. I was younger then, I was stupid, afraid, that if I told the beatings would worsen..

    Till 5 months after I fianlly saw the truth, you for what you really were. I stood up for myself for once in those months.
    "Sweetie, I know who you are"
    You raised your hand as you always do. But I was quicker this time
    To grab your wrist and twist it round
    "Try hurting me now"
    I walked out and told the police, they came and took you away. I felt no grief, no pity at all
    I came through before the fall
    Before the fall that would have killed me so...
    You didn't get away with it, and never will again, but I will not lie, I shant pretend, that I nights I cry, when I think back.
    I'll look into the mirror once again, to see those bruises you left behind.

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  • 462. At 1:08pm on 17 Sep 2008, Dark-Angel-x08 wrote:

    Oh how the miles keep us apart, how it hurts to leave
    The tears roll down my face, though I keep telling myself "Soon, Emily, Soon"
    I know its not long till we can be together again, but it feels a lifetime, and when it comes it feels to short... and the numbness takes me prey again...
    I love you, I really do! I cannot lie, you are the one
    But it gets so hard, your always on my mind, I cannot eat, I cannot sleep, I cannot live without you
    Never in my life has one person had such impact, I never allowed it before
    And now soon enough, we'll be dragged apart. Yet my love for you lives on.

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  • 463. At 1:19pm on 17 Sep 2008, sunnycornish wrote:

    The Soul of The Harbour

    By Sunni Age 9

    Hear the sea horses whinney and cry
    Their pearly manes whip the fresh air

    Boom!
    Soggy hooves meet the ground before melting away
    Air so fresh almost burning your throat

    Crispy sand sifts through the sea's grip
    Shhh!
    Seaweed crackles as the sea creeps up.

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  • 464. At 1:23pm on 17 Sep 2008, sunnycornish wrote:

    Sunrise in the Heathland

    By Sunni Age 9

    I see a dainty field mouse nibbling at a seed
    All the gorse and heather taking over weed.

    Peeping through the mist the early morning sun
    Casts long shadows where the rabbits run.

    Gently to one side I brush a bush of heather
    A little gang of shrews huddling all together.


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  • 465. At 1:47pm on 17 Sep 2008, poeticlife wrote:

    Take a walk by the sea
    Have a roll in the hay
    Whatever you're passion, do it today!
    For tomorrow, you're life may be full of regret
    If you fail to indulge in, what you love to do best

    See the Sahara
    Swim in the Nile
    Eat Oysters from Galway
    Hike for a mile
    Live life to the full
    Be fruitful and free
    Strive for the good life
    Be all you can be
    For tomorrow may not allow that sweet pleasure
    Live life today
    And keep the memory forevor.

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  • 466. At 1:59pm on 17 Sep 2008, lostChrissie wrote:

    Oh no! not again
    Look out of the window
    its teaming with rain
    I would love just to stay in bed
    But, l have my job,
    and a full day ahead.

    Oh! whats this l spy
    The tiniest ray of sunshine braking through that cloudy sky
    Just maybe, the day will be good after all
    Up to me, I really must try
    Life is what you make it
    I am late for work!!
    Got to fly
    '

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  • 467. At 2:18pm on 17 Sep 2008, CollectorSimon wrote:

    FROM ANOTHER PLACE

    On my own I’m lost in thought
    about this place that I am brought
    The cities I have never been
    and places I have never seen
    The faces all around me shine
    of lives that are more fun than mine
    The travelers with tales to tell
    and businessmen with lies to sell
    Whose home is thirty thousand feet
    reclining in a club class seat
    But far below like silent bees
    long boats churn the muddy seas
    Their pilots shout a secret code
    to confound their human tourist load
    These people who come took their space
    These people from another place

    Back in the city the traffic heaves
    and satellites send and receive
    The news of what best shares to buy
    for the people who work in the sky
    Who live in air con luxury
    that never sees the misery
    Their children taught in private schools
    and learn to swim in their own pools
    But down below on the busy streets
    are people hiding from the heat
    Washing dries in the poisoned air
    in the open spaces that they share
    With a dozen other families
    whose only purpose is to please
    These people who come took their space
    These people from another place


    On my own I’m lost in thought
    about this place where I am brought
    A land of opulence and money
    a fortune made of milk and honey
    Where deals are stuck in marbled halls
    by people who already have it all
    A life of rich resplendent wealth
    where children are in perfect health
    Its people have such different needs
    they have no opportunities
    All their hopes and all their fears
    All their dreams - so far so nears
    We people who come took your space
    We people from another place
    We people who come took your space
    We people from another place

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  • 468. At 2:24pm on 17 Sep 2008, greatSillyblogger wrote:




    Words

    What were the words found from within.Was that the beggining or the end of what I had thought.

    The thing which was created, spread along the paper by letters from a list of a-z.

    Meaning everything that was once a revalation, in an otherwise bored existence.

    And now, that which will be examined and pulled apart, by ravenous minds.

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  • 469. At 2:27pm on 17 Sep 2008, anipani wrote:


    A love affair

    At age ten, I scuffed knees on bark,
    An apple tree encapsulated
    spirit of adventure,
    Occupying another part
    of that old orchard, ripped apart
    And domesticated,
    a pear tree majestically reigned. I watched
    a woodpecker visit, wheedling out
    termites . It was my only sighting.

    ‘Look at the trees!’ my mother’s cry
    on interminable car journeys.
    (What did that mean? I was
    bemused, bored, passionless.)

    Much later then, a decade or more,
    a love affair with arboreal nature
    began, blossomed, continues
    to bear fruit.


    Bark will stop me in my tracks,
    the salsa of leaves lifts my mood,
    dancing with merriment,sashaying
    through the air.
    I stand , entranced, rooted
    in companionship, loving
    these co- inhabitants , beloved
    of earth, and air.



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  • 470. At 2:39pm on 17 Sep 2008, lostChrissie wrote:

    l wonder if there is life on mars
    l wonder this, as l gaze at the stars
    twinkling diamonds set in the midnight blue sky.
    Is there another world out there
    the same as ours
    I stand there fascinated and stare in awe
    then l get a crick in my neck
    and fall on the floor!!

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  • 471. At 2:58pm on 17 Sep 2008, andrewaldridge wrote:

    Blood Red Rose (by Andrew Aldridge)

    The sky is wrapped around like cellophane
    And the stars are making patterns out of plain
    She's dancing like a rainstorm through these dusty streets
    A blood red rose that grows
    Through the cracks in the concrete

    The chimes of time smash across the still
    With only the cold to keep me warm against the winters' chill
    She's a whisper of light through a broken window pane
    A blood red rose that grows
    Even more beautiful in the rain

    The confetti clouds drift in a churchyard sky
    And then melt into raindrops to wash away the dry
    She moves like she's a flickering flame in the fire
    A blood red rose that grows
    Twisted around all of loves' barbed wire

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  • 472. At 3:06pm on 17 Sep 2008, TrudyYeardley wrote:

    A Good Marriage

    The wedding’s about vows, photo’s and rings, The marriage involves many different things
    To make a good marriage you need lots of love, But by itself, this isn’t enough.
    You need true commitment, someone who’ll care, A friend to confide in, who’ll always be there,
    A shoulder to cry on, an ear to bend, Someone on whom you can always depend.
    A person who gives as well as takes, Someone who’ll comfort when your heart breaks,
    A friend by your side who makes you laugh, Someone to support you through times that are sad.
    A friend who’s loyal, honest and true, A lover whose eyes shine only for you,
    The one whose smile can melt your heart, The one from whom you’ll never part.
    The friend who brightens the dullest days, Whom you’ll cherish, for always
    They’ll hold your hand, stay by your side, Speak in actions that fill you with pride.
    They’ll want you despite your various flaws, Delighting in foibles they see as all yours.
    The ally to lift you when you are down, To make you smile instead of frown.
    The friend to catch you if you fall, The one who’ll help you scale the wall,
    The friend who’s absence brings loneliness, The one who nurtures, guides and protects.
    The person forgiving, when you’ve done wrong, The one with whom you know you belong,
    The lover whose arms keep you safe at night, The one for whom you’d lay down your life.
    The friend who fulfils you, makes you feel whole, Whom you love completely, heart, body and soul.
    The only one who can make your heart race, Your partner for life, your true soulmate.
    A good marriage is friendship, contentment and fun, With two loving hearts beating as one.
    A bond that will last eternally, Like this love that’s unique to you and me.


    Trudy Jones, May 2008

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  • 473. At 3:07pm on 17 Sep 2008, TrudyYeardley wrote:

    IMMATERIAL


    I want your love
    Not a diamond ring
    Your friendship means
    More than material things

    I don’t need a palace
    No fancy cars
    Your caring and sharing
    Is worth more by far

    I don’t need a paper
    To make me your wife
    The love in my heart
    Weds us for life.

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  • 474. At 3:08pm on 17 Sep 2008, TrudyYeardley wrote:

    SOULMATE

    You make me feel happy
    You make me feel sad
    You make me feel guilty
    You make me feel glad
    You make me feel empty
    You make me feel whole
    You make me feel timid
    You make me feel bold
    You make me feel awful
    You make me feel great
    You make me feel all things
    ‘Cos you’re my soulmate

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  • 475. At 3:09pm on 17 Sep 2008, TrudyYeardley wrote:

    BABY

    A night full of joy
    Made a baby boy
    A swollen tum
    When his life begun
    His first cry loud
    Made parents proud
    Sleep through the day
    Cry night’s hours away Gurgling then talk
    Crawling then walk
    From bottle to meals
    Rattles to Wheels
    Nappies to Knickers
    Booties to Kickers
    Through warm days and cool
    He did well at school
    Now that he has grown
    He’s got his own home
    But he’ll always be
    My baby to me.

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  • 476. At 3:11pm on 17 Sep 2008, TrudyYeardley wrote:

    FRIENDS

    A friend tells you the truth,
    Even when it hurts,
    They laugh with you
    through good times,
    And help you through the worst.

    They share in your
    achievements,
    Pick you up when
    you are down,
    They wipe your tears with tissues,
    Help you smile instead of frown.

    When you’re hurting
    they’re a tonic,
    When you’re happy, they smile too,
    That’s why I’m proud to say,
    I’ve got a friend in you.

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  • 477. At 3:11pm on 17 Sep 2008, TrudyYeardley wrote:

    TOGETHER

    Happy with each other
    Sharing love and life
    New things to discover
    Morning, Noon and Night

    Always and forever
    Walking hand in hand
    Glad to be together
    Making lifetime plans

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  • 478. At 3:12pm on 17 Sep 2008, TrudyYeardley wrote:

    MUSIC

    Music’s my balm
    When feeling low
    Listening or playing
    Tension soon goes

    Strum the guitar
    Tinkle on keys
    Music works magic
    Stress levels eased

    Soothing my nerves
    Calming me down
    Mysterious wonders
    In music I’ve found.

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  • 479. At 3:13pm on 17 Sep 2008, TrudyYeardley wrote:

    LOVE

    When you’re not looking,
    Love comes your way,
    Its arrival can’t be planned
    It just finds you one day.

    Married or single,
    Whether young or old,
    When true love fills your heart
    You don’t need to be told.

    Whatever the season,
    Morning, noon or night
    Real love will show up
    And you’ll know that it is right.

    Wrong circumstances -
    Well maybe that is so
    But once true love has found you
    It’ll never let you go.

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  • 480. At 3:13pm on 17 Sep 2008, TrudyYeardley wrote:

    JEALOUSY

    The love that we two share
    Has helped me to feel whole
    But there’s another emotion
    That now I must control.
    It grips me when I’m tired
    Or feeling a little low
    It has no rhyme or reason
    I mustn’t let it grow.
    I’m feeling very jealous
    Can’t let you know my mind
    I’m aware I’m being stupid,
    That my thoughts are so unkind.
    It’s nice to see you chatting
    It’s good to hear your laugh
    But I’m struggling to ignore
    These nasty thoughts I have.
    I know that they’re unfounded
    It’s good that she’s your friend
    So I carry on just smiling
    I’ll get past it in the end.
    I’m just feeling threatened
    Because I love you so
    I’ve got to stop believing
    That one day you will go.

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  • 481. At 3:14pm on 17 Sep 2008, TrudyYeardley wrote:

    MOTHER

    She had nothing to give
    Yet gave a lot,
    She went without
    To ensure that we got,
    Struggling through,
    Feeling alone,
    Does she know I admire her,
    Now that I’m grown?
    Her love is so treasured,
    True value is felt,
    Her hugs and her kisses
    Make your heart melt.
    How can I thank her?
    What can I do?
    How can you repay
    A love so true?

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  • 482. At 3:14pm on 17 Sep 2008, TrudyYeardley wrote:

    WOUNDED

    Words said in anger,
    Sever bonds like a knife,
    Causing more pain,
    Ruining your life,
    Creating regret,
    A heavy heart,
    Why did we argue?
    How did it start?
    Too late now,
    To take back the words,
    Damage is done,
    Hearts have been hurt.

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  • 483. At 3:15pm on 17 Sep 2008, TrudyYeardley wrote:

    BARNEY- BEAR

    You are my relation,
    My cousin, it’s true,
    I’m so glad to know,
    You’re a good friend too.
    You share your home
    When we visit your town,
    Your hospitality
    Knows no bounds,
    You relieve my stress,
    You’ve an ear I can bend,
    And my inner thoughts,
    You comprehend.
    Our morals and values
    Reflect our two lives
    Lifestyles and family
    Stand side by side.
    How can I explain?
    No words are enough,
    To express my thanks
    Or show you my love.

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  • 484. At 3:16pm on 17 Sep 2008, TrudyYeardley wrote:

    TILLY


    Man’s best friend,
    Tilly proves that phrase,
    Her presence and antics
    Light up my days.
    She asks for attention,
    To know that she’s loved,
    Insisting on cuddles,
    When my emotions are rough.
    She offers real comfort,
    Inducing a smile,
    Her effect is amazing,
    She’s like my child.
    I’d be lost without her,
    My four-legged friend,
    A companion on whom,
    I’ve come to depend.

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  • 485. At 3:25pm on 17 Sep 2008, jeannieus wrote:



    The jewel of Norwich
    a tall spire piercing a blue summer sky
    the tinkling river Wensum flowing quietly by
    Cool shady cloisters, so long and so strait
    A quiet place, arestful place
    to sit and contemplate
    The light airy nave, and the choir, and the chancel
    vibrant stained glass windows throught which the sun's rays enhance all
    built by clever craftsmen with great skill and greater knowledge
    The cathedral, a jewel
    In the very heart of norwich

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  • 486. At 3:50pm on 17 Sep 2008, bisou_nours wrote:

    I posted this before, but it's disapeared!

    `SOMETIMES SUMMERTIMES

    The summer breeze filled the room
    Like lungs breathing in and
    Out
    The lazy yellow afternoons
    In the still humid sky the seagulls
    Shout.

    Life is a beach
    And we are grains of sand
    Tiny insignificant alone
    But if together we stand

    Combined and united sand turns to stone
    Steadfast together...
    love will bring us home.

    By Olivia Perkins

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  • 487. At 3:53pm on 17 Sep 2008, Bobbymunro wrote:

    A warning for others following an accident.

    An elasticated canvas, strung atween fower poles,
    Balanced high on sturdy legs, wrapped wae nettin' fou o' holes.
    They call this toy a plaything, for kiddies young and old,
    Where fearties jiggle up an' doon, much higher if they're bold.

    But for me this toy's a deathtrap, sure to do you harm,
    For if you land gie awkward, you could break your bloomin' arm!!
    But the chances o' an accident...and this I swear is true,
    Are twa hunner times higher, if ye try it when yer fou!!

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  • 488. At 4:05pm on 17 Sep 2008, rangerpowerfamily wrote:

    If my body went on holiday

    If my body went on holiday
    I know what it would do,
    so I wrote it in a poem
    for me to read to you.

    My hands would swing in palm tree's
    and eat fish fingers for tea,
    My brain would go to the Bahamas
    as it does so much for me.

    My feet would go hiking
    way up in the clouds,
    my ears would go to a concert
    and listen to Girls Aloud.

    My eyes would watch a movie
    in Hollywood city,
    my belly would go to Mac Donalds
    Oh what such a pity!

    If my body wen't on holiday
    I know where I'd be,
    I'd be in a graveyard
    I hope i doesn't leave me.

    By my daughter meg aged 10.

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  • 489. At 4:10pm on 17 Sep 2008, BrilliantLauraB123 wrote:

    Home

    A home is a place that you call your own
    A home is a place where your never alone
    A home is a place where you never are sad
    A home is a place with a mum and a dad

    Where mum's in the kitchen cooking your tea
    And dad's on the sofa watching TV
    Where there's fun and there's games
    And memories galore
    You know your safe when you walk through the door

    A home is a place where your tucked in at night
    A home is a place where there's nothing called fright
    A home is a place where you like to be
    A homes what you share with your family.

    By Laura

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  • 490. At 4:11pm on 17 Sep 2008, BillHew wrote:

    The Pop o’ the Cork

    Pickup control and place order. stop
    The price of a stool and a soda pop
    Walk, Don’t Walk
    It’s celebrity talk
    At the Pop o’ the Cork
    Bar and Coffee Shoppe

    At the Pop o’ the Cork
    The Owner’s the jerk
    In a helmet and fishnet tights
    So cool, so long
    And deceptively strong
    His drinks shrink you
    And put out your lights

    It’s a place, it’s a scene
    Like nowhere you’ve been
    Don’t be nervous, the bouncers smell fear,
    Be hip and be cool
    As you sit on your stool
    Sipping an iced German beer

    When the shampoo’s afizz
    The celebs of showbiz
    Leave their condos in limos not cars
    To go down to the Pop
    Where they drink till they drop
    While they smile and rub shoulders with stars

    © billh

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  • 491. At 4:16pm on 17 Sep 2008, geniusopelgt wrote:

    Renewal

    I am ...
    She is ...
    Somewhere ...

    She feathers her hand across my brow
    And beads of sweat dissolve
    Into showers of early morning dew
    Again and Again and Again.

    Something in the way she lifts my head
    Like she knows
    The pain that fires behind the quietness of closed eyes.
    Something in the way she smells
    Her scent marrying with mine
    Until I breathe as she breathes
    Until I am bathed in the sunshine of her smile
    Until all the wretched cruel discordant fire of my mind ... dies
    And my lonely heart sings out: satiated, strong, newly wise!

    She feathers her hand across my brow
    And beds of sweat dissolve
    Into showers of early morning dew
    Again and Again and Again.

    I was ...
    She was ...
    Somewhere.

    Now I am whole and She is everywhere; She is Everything.

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  • 492. At 4:23pm on 17 Sep 2008, ariddler wrote:

    I really love my computer,I wouldn't be without it,
    But sometimes it makes me,oh!! so mad I have to write about it.
    Most times my Grand-kids are polite when I tell them of my plight.
    They say"Nan use your mouse" or "click that key".
    I wonder is it only me, who swears at it,
    Gives it abuse until I realise,
    It's no use............

    So I sit back, relax and quietly think...
    Yes, I'll have a cup of tea to drink...
    If a cuppa doesn't do the trick,then I'll get some paper and a pen.
    Sit at my desk and write a letter....
    Then I'll feel a whole lot better.......

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  • 493. At 4:25pm on 17 Sep 2008, emmacharlottenichols wrote:

    seize the light

    If I went out into the mist
    To find my falling star
    Id wait and remain to capture the haze
    The soul and spirit sparely flowing afar

    “Afar”, I say afar away and outlying
    But in the vicinity
    Cupped hands for the emerging
    Through the atmosphere of sanctity

    “Sanctity” I say the sanctity and pure
    Reflects my falling star
    I see the above dawning nearer with a blaze
    I have Nor found but stumbled across my own afar








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  • 494. At 4:28pm on 17 Sep 2008, emmacharlottenichols wrote:


    My tree


    I stand in the quiet shadowed woods
    Am no figure at this place
    Empty sound around me
    No ones ears to listen or anticipate
    So when my tree falls
    Can anyone hear
    The thump, the shudder
    Nothing?
    Is it a sound
    when there’s no one
    here to hear it

    But await the trees are a part of my soul
    So they must sense and fell
    To listen is to feel
    The precious excepted sound of fall

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  • 495. At 4:29pm on 17 Sep 2008, emmacharlottenichols wrote:

    Life as a race

    Life is a race in my eyes
    Were people run up, grow wise
    As they encounter bumps and sharp bends
    no curve or corner has an end
    You just get up and learn from this
    And keep going on trying to miss
    All hurdles in life big and small
    You get other them it becomes possible
    Some peoples race gets cut of short
    But this is only luck blame it not
    Some people are as lucky to run
    A life as long as a marathon
    But some still suffer and only sprint
    But had a life that was worth living
    You run this race learn
    that everyone wins
    if they take place

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  • 496. At 4:32pm on 17 Sep 2008, emmacharlottenichols wrote:

    I stand

    I stand at a height that is not seen
    I crawl inside and look with in
    The world not as a planet area or place
    But as a garden for animals and the human race
    But as I see each lives wasted away
    Its moving on through the endless year, month ,day

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  • 497. At 4:34pm on 17 Sep 2008, emmacharlottenichols wrote:

    Everday the same

    Conscious thought surrounds me , life
    The murmured blur of social character
    I await the sound to change the repeated
    It rings, I repeat the cycle of today
    Today and everyday the same

    “Why not evolve
    The further cycles?”

    The conscious thought surrounds
    I stay conscious
    cycles are my comfort
    My life repeated today ,The Same
    repeated cycled words surrounds me

    Conscious is my comfort
    That is why we carry on

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  • 498. At 4:38pm on 17 Sep 2008, fireyRodneyB wrote:

    GRANDAD SAYS THAT HE'S A SCOT
    (by Peter Deegan, now nearly 87 years old)

    [Peter's ancestors came from Ireland and his wife, Jeanie, had been born in Paisley]

    Grandad says that he's a Scot
    But Grannie says he's bloody not!
    He'd never ever wear a kilt
    With Bowly legs the way he's built.

    But Grandad says that's not the point,
    He cannot help the bones or joint.
    But he's a Scot from o'er the sea
    That gave us the pipes and the grand whiskey,

    For Scotia once was Erin's name
    From where the Gaelic speakers came.
    Their journey here was very hard
    And they made their home at Fort Dunnard.

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  • 499. At 4:45pm on 17 Sep 2008, daveallen88 wrote:

    Parting Poem,

    They were on board but now they're off
    this old boats crew with hopes aloft,
    venture out on they're own ways,
    to fight they're fights, make they're own days.
    The tales that were cast on board,
    remembered fondly far abroad,
    with memories of making friends, poking fun, making amends.
    Now these have passed as things go by,
    but sailors keep your spirits high,
    as we will somehow meet again,
    for parted friends are friends the same.

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  • 500. At 4:47pm on 17 Sep 2008, RuthieP85 wrote:

    You Don't Belong To Me

    The first time I saw you, I didn’t have a clue,
    That in time I was going to fall for you.
    The way we felt, it was impossible to ignore,
    There was something there, we both wanted more.
    It started off a bit of fun – I knew the score,
    You belonged to someone else; it was to be nothing more.

    My feelings towards you changed and grew more deep,
    Although I knew you were on loan and weren’t for me to keep.
    I fooled myself into thinking we could be together,
    You’d leave her and we’d run away forever.
    The time we spend apart I think about you so,
    And when we are together, I don’t want to let you go.

    You and I are just a dream, we could never be,
    Because I keep forgetting, you don’t belong to me.
    In time we will have to come to an end,
    What is the point of being involved in something that’s pretend?
    I’ve known it had to end, since the night we met,
    The longer we leave it, the harder it will get.

    I don’t have the strength to say goodbye,
    We’ve come too far, I don’t know why?
    Each time we meet, we are prolonging the end,
    The longer it goes on, the more time my heart will need, to mend.
    When it finally comes to an end, and we cease to be,
    I will just have to face it, you don’t belong to me.

    By Ruth Powell

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