Poetry Corner

[Ragged Robin]

We have done stray dogs, water meters, driving , hunting, and various moans about the country we live in. For a change can we have a Poetry Corner here? After all it can't be contentious, can it? Here is one by one of my favourite poets. Does it ring any bells? Any other favourites?, doesnt have to be highbrow, even limericks, provided you keep it clean and me out of trouble with the mods!

COSTA BLANCA


By John Betjeman

SHE:

The Costa Blanca – skies without a stain
Eric and I, at almond blossom time,
Came here and fell in love with it.

The climb under the pine trees up the dusty lane
To Cassa Kenilworth
Brought back our honeymoon when I was in my prime

Goodbye democracy and smoke and grime,
Eric retires next year, we’re off to Spain.

We’ve got the perfect site beside the shore
Owned by a charming Spaniard, Miguel,
Who says he’s quite prepared to sell
and build our Cassa for us, and what’s more,
Preposterously cheaply. We’ve found
Delightful English people living round.


HE (Five years later):

Mind if I see your “Mail”?
We used to share our “Telegraph” with people who’ve returned
the lucky sods.
I’ll tell you what I’ve learned.

If you come out here put aside the fare to England.
I’d run like a b****** hare, if I’d the chance.
And how we both have yearned to see our Esher Lawn.
I think we’ve earned a bit of what we had once over there.

The dago caught the wife and me alright.
Here on this tideless, tourist littered. Sea
We’re stuck. You’d hate it if you were me.
There’s no piped water on the bloody site.

Our savings gone, we climb the stony path
Back to the house – and scorpions in the bath.

[fatsam]

Unlucky Brian

In London zoo a lion escaped
They forgot to lock his cage
It disappeared into the night
Hungry, filled with rage

Poor old Brian had lost his job
His life had hit the skids
His wife moved in with his mate
She also took his kids

He hit the bottle pretty hard
He started to get ill
His grandma died, he got the call
Turns out she had a will

She had millions in the bank
And she left it all to Brian
But on his way to cash the cheque
He was eaten by a lion.....

...........................................................(by: Glen Saggs)


fatsam

[fatsam]

I like the poetry corner, therefore I couldn't help but to end my evening with one last one before I bid you all a very good night

This is me now..


Recycled

When I was an infant tucked in my crib,
I nursed from a bottle and spittled my bib.

Then as a toddler, before I knew it,
My foot was so wide they hardly could shoe it.

Kindergarten was a wonderful place,
I learned with others to share the space.

Going to Middle School in my teens,
Prepared me for High School and chili-beans.

I went to the service to win a war,
As so many others had done before.

It was a wife and the kids following that,
With plenty of grand-kids to love and pat.

Alas! Now I'm old and tucked in my crib,
I nurse from a bottle and spittle my bib.

....................................................................( by: Lloyd E. Lawrence Sr)

good night and sweet dreams
fatsam

[fatsam]

Here is something before I bid you goodnight

Small and Early
When Dorothy and I took tea, we sat upon the floor;
No matter how much tea I drank, she always gave me more;
Our table was the scarlet box in which her tea-set came;
Our guests, an armless one-eyed doll, a wooden horse gone lame.

She poured out nothing, very fast,—the tea-pot tipped on high,
And in the bowl found sugar lumps unseen by my dull eye.
She added rich (pretended) cream—it seemed a wilful waste,
For though she overflowed the cup, it did not change the taste.

She asked, “Take milk?” or “Sugar?” and though I answered, “No,”
She put them in, and told me that I “must take it so!”
She ’d say “Another cup, Papa?” and I, “No, thank you, Ma’am,”
But then I had to take it—her courtesy was sham.

Still, being neither green, nor black, nor English-breakfast tea,
It did not give her guests the “nerves”—whatever those may be.
Though often I upset my cup, she only minded when
I would mistake the empty cups for those she ’d filled again.

She tasted my cup gingerly, for fear I ’d burn my tongue;
Indeed, she really hurt my pride—she made me feel so young.
I must have drunk some two score cups, and Dorothy sixteen,
Allowing only needful time to pour them, in between.

We stirred with massive pewter spoons, and sipped in courtly ease,
With all the ceremony of the stately Japanese.
At length she put the cups away. “Goodnight, Papa,” she said;
And I went to a real tea, and Dorothy to bed.
......................................................................................By—Tudor Jenks

fatsam

[Ragged Robin]

I am so glad that at least one other person appreciated the subject fatsam! To follow your rather depressing ode on the subject of aging, the following is slightly more upbeat!


Time
Joyce Grenfell

When I was a girl there was always time,
There was always time to spare.
There was always time to sit in the sun;
And we were never done
With lazing and flirting,
And doing our embroidery,
And keeping up our memory books,
And brushing our hair,
And writing little notes,
And going on picnics,
And dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing--
When I was a girl there was always time to waste.

Thank the Lord.

When I was a young woman there was always time,
There was always time to spare.
There was always time to walk in the sun,
And we were never done
With going to weddings,
Our own and our friends',
And going to parties,
Away at weekends,
And having our children
And bringing them up,
And talking, talking, talking, talking--
When I was a young woman there was always time to enjoy things.

Thank the Lord.

And when I was an elderly woman there was no more time,
There was no more time to spare.
There was no more time to sit in the sun,
For we were never done
With answering the telephone,
And looking at the TV,
And doing baby-sitting,
And talking to our friends,
And shopping, shopping, shopping, shopping,
And washing-up, washing-up, washing-up,
Writing letters, writing letters
Rushing, Rushing, rushing,
And we were always hurried,
And we were never bored.
When I was an elderly woman
There was never time to think.

Thank the Lord.

But now I'm an old old woman,
So I want the last word:
There is no such thing as time--
Only this very minute
And I'm in it.

Thank the Lord.

[harita]

FIFTY SHADES OF GREY BY PAM AYRES

The missus bought a Paperback,
down Shepton Mallet way,
I had a look inside her bag;...
T'was "Fifty Shades of Grey".

Well I just left her to it,
And at ten I went to bed.
An hour later she appeared;
The sight filled me with dread.

In her left hand she held a rope;
And in her right a whip!
She threw them down upon the floor,
And then began to strip.

Well fifty years or so ago;
I might have had a peek;
But Mabel hasn't weathered well;
She's eighty four next week!!

Watching Mabel bump and grind;
Could not have been much grimmer.
And things then went from bad to worse;
She toppled off her Zimmer!

She struggled back upon her feet;
A couple minutes later;
She put her teeth back in and said
"I am a dominator!!"

Now if you knew our Mabel,
You'd see just why I spluttered,
I'd spent two months in traction
For the last complaint I'd uttered.

She stood there nude and naked
Bent forward just a bit
I went to hold her, sensual like
and stood on her left tit!

Mabel screamed, her teeth shot out;
My God what had I done!
She moaned and groaned then shouted out:
"Step on the other one!!"

Well readers, I can tell no more;
Of what occurred that day.
Suffice to say my jet black hair,
Turned fifty shades of grey!!

[johnerebus]

3 Nonsense Poems for Kids

Goodnight

Towards evening
The sun is leaving
While we still play
In the park
"Where are you going?”
We ask
“That’s my secret"
Says He
And with "Goodnight"
He leaves us
All in the dark.


La, La, La, La, La, La, La,

The child yelped with delight
Bounced on her mother's knee
Tried to utter big words
Although not yet three
Mum taught her a new one
She repeated it with glee
Climbed down from mummy's lap
Singing
La la la la la la la la la la la la la la!


Elephants

The elephant's nose goes where the elephant goes
And always leads from the front
The elephant's grey not yellow or black
And its tail hangs down from its back.

The Elephant's clever
The eldest the leader
Elephants have
Birds on their back

Birds that eats bugs
Creepy crawlies and slugs
They keep their elephants clean
Elephants....
The cleanest mammals
You've ever seen.

And.... One for Procrastinators. (I wrote this cause I'm a Life Coach and see so many people putting off or not doing the things they'd truly love to do)


Someday Isle

You say you're gonna do it
But you've put it off again
You say you're gonna change
Yet you've remained the same
You say I'll try and
"Someday I'll"
But that's just where you live
You expect us to forget
You want them to forgive
The things you haven't done

Your tomorrow's almost here
Your day has nearly come
Still not too late to gather stars
Or reach out for the sun
Forget the winter's downside
Please remember to forget
Time past has disappeared
Cast aside your gravity of regret

In the house of your life's mess
You forgot to clean your room
Used the old excuse
I didn't have a broom
I'll do it all tomorrow
Promise I'll do it when
I've moved from "Someday Isle"
Then all my tomorrows will begin.

JR Esentepe, Northern Cyprus 2014

[Hedge-fund]

I'll read the last one tomorrow JR.

[johnerebus]

You comment made me larf out loud Hedge Fund. Like it.

[fatsam]

Here is something different


Food Attitudes


Some foods just don't go together;

Their attitudes and natures clash.

No one needs to question whether

Chateau Rothschild wine belongs with hash.

Shrimp and crab should not be placed

Without their shells on a bed of rice.

If served that way they'd be disgraced,

"No shells, in someone else's bed? Not nice!"

So be aware when you plan a meal

To keep from doing culinary wrong.

Consider how the ingredients feel

And make sure that they can get along.

............................................................... By; Marvin Brandwin

fatsam

[dippersgirl]

Warning

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
Jenny Joseph

[fatsam]

Here is something about Criminal little jimmy.

Little Jimmy

Little Jimmy Tattersall
A small time, petty criminal
Began his life of crime before,
He'd reached the tender age of four.

In nursery school he'd nick the toys
Of all the other girls and boys.
He'd also take their cakes and sweets
And any other dainty treats.

And on the bus he'd steal the fares
Of all the children sitting there.
He also made a tidy packet
Running a protection racket.

Until the school staff felt compelled
To get the little thug expelled.
Who, now left to his own devices
Indulged himself in other vices

His parents warned him of their fears
And told him "It'll end in tears.
It's time you changed your ways!" said Ma,
"One day, young Jim... you'll go too far!"

And sure enough one fateful day,
Disaster came the young lad's way.
When only twelve years old, he went
And stole a dumper full of cement.

Of course, at just twelve years of age,
He'd never read a single page
Of how to drive upon the road
As stated in the 'Highway Code'

So down the highway Jimmy sped
Oblivious to what lay ahead,
Speeding recklessly he went.
With twenty ton of wet cement

Alas poor Jim, he met his end
Negotiating a bend
But didn't feel a thing at all
When finally he struck that wall.

'Cos like an arrow from a bow
Jim left the dumper truck below.
And as he flew, it crossed his mind...
'That concrete must be close behind!'

Next morning policemen found the heap
Of solid, rockhard, grey concrete
And from the very top there peeped
A pair of size six, plimsoled feet.

So children, don't be like this kid
And try to do the things he did.
'Cos Little Jimmy Tattersall...
Is now a hardened criminal.
............................................................... By: Paul Wilkinson

[fatsam]

My fellow poet enthusiasts. just to let you know I enjoyed reading your "choice" of piece of poems.

Sorry I cant point out one favourite piece, as I found each tickle my imagination, and make me look for more poems to share with you...

carryon poetry.
fatsam

[Ragged Robin]

Roundabouts and Swings
It was early last September nigh to Framlin'am-on-Sea,
An' 'twas Fair-day come to-morrow, an' the time was after tea,
An' I met a painted caravan adown a dusty lane,
A Pharaoh with his waggons comin' jolt an' creak an' strain;
A cheery cove an' sunburnt, bold o' eye and wrinkled up,
An' beside him on the splashboard sat a brindled tarrier pup,
An' a lurcher wise as Solomon an' lean as fiddle-strings
Was joggin' in the dust along 'is roundabouts and swings.

"Goo'-day," said 'e; "Goo'-day," said I; "an' 'ow d'you find things go,
An' what's the chance o' millions when you runs a travellin' show?"
"I find," said 'e, "things very much as 'ow I've always found,
For mostly they goes up and down or else goes round and round."
Said 'e, "The job's the very spit o' what it always were,
It's bread and bacon mostly when the dog don't catch a 'are;
But lookin' at it broad, an' while it ain't no merchant king's,
What's lost upon the roundabouts we pulls up on the swings!"

"Goo' luck," said 'e; "Goo' luck," said I; "you've put it past a doubt;
An' keep that lurcher on the road, the gamekeepers is out."
'E thumped upon the footboard an' 'e lumbered on again
To meet a gold-dust sunset down the owl-light in the lane;
An' the moon she climbed the 'azels, while a night-jar seemed to spin
That Pharaoh's wisdom o'er again, 'is sooth of lose-and-win;
For "up an' down an' round," said 'e, "goes all appointed things,
An' losses on the roundabouts means profits on the swings!"

[Ragged Robin]

Roundabouts and Swings
It was early last September nigh to Framlin'am-on-Sea,
An' 'twas Fair-day come to-morrow, an' the time was after tea,
An' I met a painted caravan adown a dusty lane,
A Pharaoh with his waggons comin' jolt an' creak an' strain;
A cheery cove an' sunburnt, bold o' eye and wrinkled up,
An' beside him on the splashboard sat a brindled tarrier pup,
An' a lurcher wise as Solomon an' lean as fiddle-strings
Was joggin' in the dust along 'is roundabouts and swings.

"Goo'-day," said 'e; "Goo'-day," said I; "an' 'ow d'you find things go,
An' what's the chance o' millions when you runs a travellin' show?"
"I find," said 'e, "things very much as 'ow I've always found,
For mostly they goes up and down or else goes round and round."
Said 'e, "The job's the very spit o' what it always were,
It's bread and bacon mostly when the dog don't catch a 'are;
But lookin' at it broad, an' while it ain't no merchant king's,
What's lost upon the roundabouts we pulls up on the swings!"

"Goo' luck," said 'e; "Goo' luck," said I; "you've put it past a doubt;
An' keep that lurcher on the road, the gamekeepers is out."
'E thumped upon the footboard an' 'e lumbered on again
To meet a gold-dust sunset down the owl-light in the lane;
An' the moon she climbed the 'azels, while a night-jar seemed to spin
That Pharaoh's wisdom o'er again, 'is sooth of lose-and-win;
For "up an' down an' round," said 'e, "goes all appointed things,
An' losses on the roundabouts means profits on the swings!"

[Ragged Robin]

sorry about the double posting. Ive tried twice to cancel the second one, by getting edit and clicking on "cancel" but it doesnt seem to work.

Glad you have enjoyed the thread, fatsam. It doesnt have to be a favourite poem - I couldnt say which was my favourite, all depends on the mood I am in.

Keep them coming.

[Ragged Robin]

Flanders and Swan always make me laugh: this is one of my favourites of theirs.. Obviously it is about English weather,but February feels very like it at the moment!

January brings the snow
Makes your feet and fingers glow
February's Ice and sleet
Freeze the toes right off your feet
Welcome March with wintry wind
Would thou wer't not so unkind
April brings the sweet spring showers
On and on for hours and hours
Farmers fear unkindly May
Frost by night and hail by day
June just rains and never stops
Thirty days and spoils the crops
In July the sun is hot
Is it shining? No, it's not
August cold, and dank, and wet
Brings more rain than any yet
Bleak September's mist and mud
Is enough to chill the blood
Then October adds a gale
Wind and slush and rain and hail
Dark November brings the fog
Should not do it to a dog
Freezing wet December then:
B****y January again!
.
-- Michael Flanders

[Hedge-fund]

At school my teacher used to give us difficult words and ask us to put them into a sentence. One day it was "fascinate." Little Shamus came up with the following:-

I've got a duffle coat
I tink it's really great
It's got nine buttons
but I can only fasten eight.

[fatsam]

Hedge-fund my friend,
I was just about to publish the shortest piece of poetry in the "Poetry corner",.... Shame you beat me to it.....
Good one, I like your duffle coat, I must say "good one my friend"....
Still, I must publish mine, as second shortest.


Snowball :

I made myself a snowball ,
As perfect as could be,
I thought I’d keep it as a pet,
And let it sleep with me,
I made it some pyjamas,
And a pillow for its head,
Then last night it ran away,
But first .... it wet the bed.

.................................................By: ??????

fatsam

[Ragged Robin]

One of the shortest, attributed to Ogden Nash, although a bit early in the year for it:

The Spring is sprung,the grass is riz,
I wonder where the birdies is?

The bird is on the wing - Don't be absurd ,
I thought the wing was on the bird.

[Keithcaley]

I wasn't very old when a teacher told us this verse.

At the time, it appeared to me, to be a salutary warning about road safety, with an amusing rhyme attached.

Looking at it now, I see that it can be regarded as a caution against dogmatism, or as advice to consider the context in which you 'stand by your principles' - advice which you might think that some would have done well to heed, given recent sad events...

Anyway, enough of that, here is the cheery little poem, entitled:

'Epitaph on a Scooterist's Grave'

Here lies the body of Emily May
Who died defending the Right of Way
She was Right - Dead Right, as she sped along
But she's just as Dead as if she'd been wrong...

Anon.

[fatsam]

Here is the shortest poem written it was delivered by: the great boxer Muhammad Ali.

Delivered by the great boxing champion at a Harvard lecture in 1975, this couplet was introduced as the “shortest poem ever written on what it’s like to be as great as Ali.” Sports journalist George Plimpton was in attendance and claimed to have submitted it to Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations as the shortest poem ever.

Me
Whee

I guess I never can beat him.
fatsam


Ali focused & emphasized the need for unconditional friendship.
"One learns friendship by being one. If a man extracts in return all he does for a friend then it is business, not true friendship," he said.

[fatsam]

Here is something for the Chinese New Year.


Chinese New Year

The dragon is in the street dancing beneath windows
pasted with coloured squares, past the man
who leans into the phone booth’s red pagoda, past
crates of doves and roosters veiled

until dawn. Fireworks complicate the streets
with sulphur as people exchange gold
and silver foil, money to appease ghosts
who linger, needy even in death. I am

almost invisible. Hands could pass through me
effortlessly. This is how it is
to be so alien that my name falls from me, grows
untranslatable as the shop signs,

the odors of ginseng and black fungus that idle
in the stairwell, the corridor where
the doors are blue months ajar. Hands

gesture in the smoke, the partial moon
of a face. For hours the soft numeric
click of mah-jongg tiles drifts

down the hallway where languid Mai trails
her musk of sex and narcotics.


There is no grief in this, only the old year
consuming itself, the door knob blazing
in my hand beneath the light-bulb’s electric jewel.
Between voices and fireworks

wind works bricks to dust—hush, hush—
no language I want to learn. I can touch
the sill worn by hands I’ll never know
in this room with its low table

where I brew chrysanthemum tea. The sign
for Jade Palace sheds green corollas
on the floor. It’s dangerous to stand here
in the chastening glow, darkening

my eyes in the mirror with the gulf of the rest
of my life widening away from me, waiting
for the man I married to pass beneath
the sign of the building, to climb

the five flights and say his Chinese name for me.
He’ll rise up out of the puzzling streets
where men pass bottles of rice liquor, where
the new year is liquor, the black bottle

the whole district is waiting for, like
some benevolent arrest—the moment
when men and women turn to each other and dissolve
each bad bet, every sly mischance,

the dalliance of hands. They turn in lamplight
the way I turn now. Wai Min is in the doorway.
He brings fish. He brings lotus root.
He brings me ghost money.
.........................................................................By Lynda Hull

fatsam

[jofra]

Scintillate, scintillate, globule vivific,
How I conjecture your nature specific;
Poised up on high in the ether so spacious,
Strongly resembling a gem carbonaceous.
(Translation - Twinkle, twinkle, little star, ......)

.........................................................

Medusa, Medusa, in days that were olden
Did you touch up your snakes, turning silver to golden?
Though snakes through the ages have never turned grey
They're known to get hungry, they seek after prey.
Snakes do tend to wander, they slither when wet
Did you envy your victims their permanent set?

..........................................................

And two from Maddy Prior (of Steeleye Span) -

Fred had a most luxurious head;
It grew through the top of his hair,
And most of the day he wore a large Stetson hat,
Otherwise people would stare.

Now Fred worked all day in a newspaper shop,
And he hoped one day to make big,
But he knew that successful have good heads of hair,
And he couldn’t afford a wig.

But lucky for Fred, a friend of a friend
Knew a most obliging Greek,
So Fred bought a wig on the never-never
With a little toupee every week…

...................................................

On the wild domain of the African plain
Lives a rare and unusual yak,
With baleful eyes and horns twice its size,
And a long woolly mane down its back.
Now this African yak with its long woolly back
Is subject to fainting and fits,
And if perchance you should kill it one day,
You should chop it up small into bits.
If these bits are stewed, a love potion is brewed;
Once taken, there’s no turning back;
The beast is well-famed, and therefore thus named –
The Afro-dizzy-yak……

[dippersgirl]

Tarantella

Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
And the tedding and the spreading
Of the straw for a bedding,
And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees,
And the wine that tasted of tar?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers
(Under the vine of the dark veranda)?

Do you remember an Inn, Miranda,
Do you remember an Inn?
And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers
Who hadn't got a penny,
And who weren't paying any,
And the hammer at the doors and the din?
And the hip! hop! hap!
Of the clap
Of the hands to the swirl and the twirl
Of the girl gone chancing,
Glancing,
Dancing,
Backing and advancing,
Snapping of the clapper to the spin
Out and in--
And the ting, tong, tang of the guitar!

Do you remember an Inn,
Miranda?
Do you remember an Inn?
Never more;
Miranda,
Never more.
Only the high peaks hoar;
And Aragon a torrent at the door.
No sound
In the walls of the halls where falls
The tread
Of the feet of the dead to the ground,
No sound:
But the boom
Of the far waterfall like doom.

Hilaire Belloc

[dippersgirl]

Matilda Who told Lies, and was Burned to Death

Matilda told such Dreadful Lies,
It made one Gasp and Stretch one's Eyes;
Her Aunt, who, from her Earliest Youth,
Had kept a Strict Regard for Truth,
Attempted to Believe Matilda:
The effort very nearly killed her,
And would have done so, had not She
Discovered this Infirmity.
For once, towards the Close of Day,
Matilda, growing tired of play,
And finding she was left alone,
Went tiptoe to the Telephone
And summoned the Immediate Aid
Of London's Noble Fire-Brigade.
Within an hour the Gallant Band
Were pouring in on every hand,
From Putney, Hackney Downs, and Bow.
With Courage high and Hearts a-glow,
They galloped, roaring through the Town,
'Matilda's House is Burning Down! '
Inspired by British Cheers and Loud
Proceeding from the Frenzied Crowd,
They ran their ladders through a score
Of windows on the Ball Room Floor;
And took Peculiar Pains to Souse
The Pictures up and down the House,
Until Matilda's Aunt succeeded
In showing them they were not needed;
And even then she had to pay
To get the Men to go away,
It happened that a few Weeks later
Her Aunt was off to the Theatre
To see that Interesting Play
The Second Mrs. Tanqueray.
She had refused to take her Niece
To hear this Entertaining Piece:
A Deprivation Just and Wise
To Punish her for Telling Lies.
That Night a Fire did break out-
You should have heard Matilda Shout!
You should have heard her Scream and Bawl,
And throw the window up and call
To People passing in the Street-
(The rapidly increasing Heat
Encouraging her to obtain
Their confidence) - but all in vain!
For every time she shouted 'Fire! '
They only answered 'Little Liar! '
And therefore when her Aunt returned,
Matilda, and the House, were Burned.
Hilaire Belloc

[fatsam]

Here is something about advertising, yet doesn't "rhyme"

Isn’t it funny?

Man wakes up in the morning,
after sleeping under an advertised blanket, on an advertised mattress;
takes off advertised pajamas;
takes a shower in an advertised tub;
shaves with an advertised razor;
washes with advertised soap;
powders his face with an advertised powder;
dons advertised underwear, hose, shirt, collar,
shoes, suit, handkerchief;
sits down to breakfast of an advertised cereal;
drinks advertised coffee; puts on an advertised hat;
lights an advertised cigar;
rides to his office in an advertised car on advertised tires;
where he refuses to advertise on the grounds that advertising does not pay


Why is it?
A man wakes up after sleeping
under an advertised blanket,
on an advertised mattress,
pulls off advertised pajamas,
bathes in an advertised shower,
shaves with an advertised razor,
brushes his teeth with advertised toothpaste,
washes with advertised soap,
puts on advertised clothes,
drinks a cup of advertised coffee,
drives to work in an advertised car,
and then, refuses to advertise,
believing it doesn’t pay.
Later when business is poor,
he advertises it for sale.
..................................................by;whimsy and hope

fatsam

[Ragged Robin]

Did you think North Cyprus was the only place with problems with builders or that they were new?

And the Lord said unto Noah,
"Where is the ark I commanded you to build?"


And Noah said

"Verily I have had three capenters off sick,
The goffa wood supplier hath let me down,
Yeah , verily , though the goffa wood hath been on order
for nigh upon twelve months. The damp course specialist hath not turned up"

And God said to Noah

"I want the ark finished before seven days and seven nights"

Noah said "It will be so"

But it was not so.

And the Lord said unto Noah

"What seems to be the trouble this time?"

Noah said "My subcontractor hath gone bankrupt. The pitch for the outside of
the ark hath not arrived. The glazier departeth on holiday to Majorca,,
yeah, even though I offered him double time
Lord, I am undone"

And the Lord grew angry and said

"What about the animals also. Two of every sort I ordered to be kept alive.
Where, for example , are the giraffs?"

And Noah said

"They hath been delivered to the wrong address, but should arrive by Friday"


And the Lord said unto Noah

"Where are the monkeys, and the elephants and the zebras?"

"They are expected today"

And the Lord said

"Where are the unicorns?"

Noah wrung his hands and wept.

"Lord, oh Lord, unicorns are a discontinued species. Thou cans't not get
unicorns for love nor money. Thou knowlest how it is".

And the Lord said "Noah , my son, I know. Why else does thou think I have
ordered a flood?"

[fatsam]

Ragged Robin my friend,
I think we are heading to the ragged road, while seat belt not on, and a collusion is immanent.
Noah dilemma a bit too much for me... hmmmmm .

I need time out to think of something matching your "humour".....

time out, yet not defeated.
fatsam

[Ragged Robin]

: You dont have to "match" anything, and it doesnt necessarily have to be humorous - the idea is for people to put anything that amuses, pleases, touches or even angers them, or that seems to express something most of us cant express as well. Or just remind someone else of something they had forgotten (as a couple of Dippers girl's above did for me.

Poetry does not have to rhyme - most of the modern stuff doesn't anyway! It doesnt even have to be poetry (perhaps I mislead with the title): your favourite bit of well written prose can be included. Personally I generally prefer to classics, but I havent put any yet, as I thought it might put some people off How about a bit of Shakespeare?

I thought the Noah piece was funny and clever, as it reminded me that most of the problems we face today are not new! I dont know who wrote it, but of course it was some time ago in the UK

[Ragged Robin]

Shakespeare's "take" on an earlier poem posted by fatsam:

The Seven Ages of Man

Poem lyrics of Seven Ages Of Man by William Shakespeare.
All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players,
They have their exits and entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then, the whining schoolboy with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden, and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice
In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws, and modern instances,
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide,
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

[Keithcaley]

Oh well, if it doesn't have to be poetry, then I quite like the following excerpt, where the subject has been mulling on the nature of life and death, and can't work out why no one else seems to be bothered about it...

"With blinding clarity he realized that everyone was frolicking blindly in a summer meadow surrounded by a dark and impenetrable forest, waiting for that grim day on which they were dragged into the dark beyond the trees and individually butchered."

Sweet dreams

[ttoli]

Quenching his passion

He grabbed me by my slender neck
I could not yell nor scream
He took me to his dingy room
where we could not be seen

He stripped me of my flimsy wrap
and gazed upon my form
for I was wet, cold and damp
while he was eager and warm

His feverish lips he pressed to mine
I gave him every drop
He drained me of my very self
I could not make him stop

He made me what I am today
that's why you find me here
a broken bottle tossed away
that once, was full of beer .

Richard Ilott 1960 ( My late Dad )

[fatsam]

Onions the only veg I hate.


The Onion

Peeling an onion.
with fingers so sore.
Cried lots of tears,
like never before.

The first layer weathered,
cracked and so brittle.
A disguise of what's tender
enclosed in the middle.

The next layer yielded,
tough but still sweet.
A little bit dry
and not quite complete.

Each layer a discovery,
much deeper more tender.
More juices were flowing.
More tears did it render.

As if in a dream,
deep down in the middle,
a song wafted out
as played on a fiddle

Eyes cleared, now seeing,
this onion bestows.
At the heart of it all
there sat a red rose.

The pedals crept open
to take in the light.
At once a young butterfly
took to its flight.

In profound amazement,
all tears now gone dry.
This task now completed.
It's time now to fly.
....................................................... Poetry By: GFJones


fatsam

[Ragged Robin]

One Perfect Rose


A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet -
One perfect rose.

I knew the language of the floweret;
'My fragile leaves,' it said, 'his heart enclose.'
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.

Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose

Dorothy Parker

[fatsam]

This is the mood for tonight.

My Wage

“I bargained with Life for a penny,
And Life would pay no more,
However I begged at evening
When I counted my scanty store.

For Life is a just employer,
He gives you what you ask,
But once you have set the wages,
Why, you must bear the task.

I worked for a menial’s hire,
Only to learn, dismayed,
That any wage I had asked of Life,
Life would have willingly paid.”

-----------------------------------------------Jessie B. Rittenhouse

fatsam

[Ragged Robin]

The year’s at the spring
And day’s at the morn;
Morning’s at seven;
The hillside’s dew-pearled;
The lark’s on the wing;
The snail’s on the thorn;
God’s in His heaven -
All’s right with the world!
~Robert Browning

[Ragged Robin]

The first day of spring was once the time for taking the young virgins into the fields, there in dalliance to set an example in fertility for nature to follow. Now we just set the clocks an hour ahead and change the oil in the crankcase. ~E.B. White, "Hot Weather," One Man’s Meat, 1944

[dippersgirl]

The man in the jar

I once knew a man who lived in a jar,
for a stranger sight you'd have to go far.
I asked him once, why he lived in a jar,
he grimaced and said, how bizarre you are.

My jar's so cozy, warm and bright,
even in the full moonlight.
The only drawback is you see,
is getting out quickly, when I have to pee.


Irvin Mercer

[Ragged Robin]

Yesterday upon the stair
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
I wish, I wish he’d go away
When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn’t see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don’t you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door
Last night I saw upon the stair
A little man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away
"Antigonish" (1899)[2]