# Maybe it's time to renew your poetic license?



## Meanderer

It is said that deep inside each of us, is a poet waiting to turn from Bard to Verse.  I have dabbled at writing poems...usually in dribs and drabs...splashes and spurts of inspiration...and then like the tide, it recedes.  I have let my poetic license expire on occasion, but eventually find myself in line at the Poetry Vehicle Department to have it renewed.  (No photo ID....they use 1000 words!).
I have written what I call String-cheese poems...that just meander along the page to their own drummer.  How about you?  Do you have a poem that you wrote that you would want to share?  


THE TURNING OF A PAGE by Meanderer

What in the world is age?  It’s like the turning of a page.
Day after day, years send age our way.  Our yearly odometer numbers cannot lie.
In the words of a Godless sage, life without God, is all the rage.
What is life?  According to the bard, a stage Sometime Just around the bend, life will end.
Life without God is only a cage, but beyond the gates, Life awaits!


What in the world is time? It’s like the rolling of a wave.
Wave after wave, time comes our way causing the commotion of aging.
Time washes over us, leaving erosion and jetsam of emotion.
The time will come, when time will go away.  It will eternally be no more, and forgotten.
Standing still with God, timeless, on a wave-less shore, with fruits that never rotten.


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## Justme

I have written a good number of poems and some have been published. I had put one on-line concerning the 9/11 horror, and was surprised and gratified to have an e-mail form the Pentagon Fire chief asking if he could put it up in his office!


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## Meanderer

*The Night Trip*

THE NIGHT TRIP by Meander

THE NIGHT PASSED LIKE A SLOW TRAIN...
NOW LEAVING THE TOWN OF FRIDAY…ALL BOARD!
THE CLOCK’S HANDS DRAGGED ALONG THE TRACK.
SNORES AND WHISTLES, ABOARD THE “SLEEPER TRAIN”.
EVERY STOP …JUST A SHORT TRIP DOWN THE LINE.
NO SPEED OR RATTLE, TRACK FILLED WITH SHEEP, NOT CATTLE.
TIME SPENT DOING THE AUSTRALIAN CRAWL, JUST DOWN THE HALL.
DESTINATION “NEWDAY”!  NEXT STOP THE TOWN OF SATURDAY!
…ARRIVED RUMPLED, A LITTLE STEAMED, BUT RESTED AND FULL OF HOPE.


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## Capt Lightning

There is a popular womans' magazine in the UK called 'The Peoples Friend'.  It is so truly cringeworthy that it is a bit of a cult mag.  
The poetry is pretty dire - a whole order of magnitude  worse than yours Meanderer.

Now, if you want really truly awful poetry, then read the words of Scotland's second great bard,  William Topaz McGonagall.

As a small sample from one of his more famous poems - The Tay bridge disaster.

...Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.


I just love those last two lines !!

I would not make a good poet
and I know it


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## Meanderer

Capt Lightning said:


> I would not make a good poet
> and I know it



I take it your feet are not Longfellows?


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## Mirabilis

I admire anyone who can write a beautiful poem because I can't for the life of me.


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## Meanderer

*Suffering without rhyme or reason*

_An Irish Air-man Foresees His Death _by W. B. Yeats.
"The poem was written in 1918, the final year of World War I. The Irish Uprising had been brutally suppressed by the British two years earlier. While Ireland was still seething with discontent at British rule, there were also plenty of Irishmen in the British Army. The poem explores the ambivalence of an Irish combat pilot in the Royal Flying Corps, who knows that his death is not merely likely, but assured. It's a poem about fate."

http://www.theage.com.au/comment/suffering-without-rhyme-or-reason-20140411-36ipp.html


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## CPA-Kim

THE MAILBOX

She can’t hear the truck pull up these days
Even when the brakes squeal
The hands on the old wall clock are hard to see
But the sun on the porch tells her it’s time

She takes a while to get out of her slippers
Thank goodness for sneakers without laces
Trading her cane for a walker she slowly creeps across the damp grass
Finding it hard to catch her breath

Each day her journey seems more tiring
The destination farther
Still she has hope
Of beautiful cards, long letters, and such

As she approaches, her excitement grows
Shaky hands reach for the key
The lock turns and the door opens
The dark, empty mailbox stares back at her

Slowly she returns to her tiny apartment
Trying hard to keep her footing
The sadness she feels won’t last
Tomorrow the truck comes again 

Titus 06


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## Meanderer

*"I Watched The Moon Around The House."*

A WONDERFUL poem! Who - besides *Emily Dickinson* - can write a SO fine poem just about "watching the moon"?


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## Meanderer

*Make My Death a Canticle for Peace*

_*Make My Death a Canticle for Peace
by Nicholas Gordon

Make my death a canticle for peace.
Evil has no greater friend than anger,
Making ready converts to its cause.
On me think but of beauty as you pause,
Remembering the service of a stranger
In giving life to purchase your release.
Armies live according to their art.
Love of life at times requires death,
Defending what would else find hungry jaws.
As you enjoy the gift of every breath,
Yet mourn for me with morning in your heart.




*_


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## BDBoop

I have written a very small amount of poetry. Most of my writing is novel-related (nothing published, haven't even finished one yet, only started actually writing a few years ago) ... but this? This is my favorite poem, for which I have to thank the actor who relayed it to me. I doubt that I would have recognized the depth of emotion without him.


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## BDBoop

This was my first attempt (as it relates to a 'next generation' family member who hurt me deeply).

An Epiphany (of sorts)

Admiration and respect
are not meant to be given freely
like love.
People are not meant for pedestals.
If someone makes a concerted effort 
to keep me at arms length,
it behooves me to return the favor.
Even though it hurts.


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## CPA-Kim

One Child

One child wakes up in her warm bed
Another child wakes up in a cold, dusty cave

One child hears her mom sweetly say “breakfast is ready,dear”
Another child hears planes buzzing overhead, the sound ofbullets randomly pelting the ground, and remembers her mom is no more

One child puts on her new dress and jumps in daddy’s car forchurch
Another child is warned never to pray in front of strangers

One child’s face is clean, bright, and hopeful
Another child’s face is dirty, tear-stained, and hopeless

One child will grow up, go to college, get married, and havechildren of her own

                                                                               Titus 08


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## Meanderer

*And In Between*

And In Between  By Meanerer

He left a hero, and came home a hero…and in between…he was heroic. 
According to the roster…  it was his turn to be a hero, so he was.  
Don’t cry…heroes are never in short supply…and they all get to fly. 

He was brave when he left, and came “home” brave…and in between he walked bravely.  
It’s hard to tell, but when he fell…he fell bravely.  
So add our yell…of “Bravo”....to all who gravely tell …of bravery.

He rode out a chief, and returned a chief…and in between… he chiefly saved the day…  
He led the way.  His eye was clear, and shadow long.  
But some would say…”he’s had his song”…they would die wrong. 

He was born of God, and died of God…and in between…he lived of God.  
His goal, along the way…was to obey. Some would say, 
for him there was “no other way…to love”…true and faithful …to the end.


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## Meanderer

*OH, I WISH I'D LOOKED AFTER ME TEETH*

Pam Ayres

(Click on the red arrow to the right of her picture to hear Pam read her poem)

http://www.poetryarchive.org/poem/oh-i-wish-id-looked-after-me-teeth


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## Ina

When I was 19, I ask my mother what help her through the pain that life put on us.  She pulled a worn piece of paper out of her wallet, and handed it to me. I painted it on the door of my bedroom. It has helped me on many occasions.


DESIDERATA

Go placidly amid the noise & haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly & clearly; and listen to others, even the dull & ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud & aggressive persons; they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain & bitter; for always there will be greater & lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity & disenchanted it is perennial as grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue & loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees & the stars; you have a right to be here. And weather or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors & aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery & broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy.


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## Meanderer

Thanks Ina,for sharing your Mom's poem.  I have always liked Lorne Greene's reading of it.


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## Meanderer

The Reach of Speech  By Me

…we note the first word….and the last…aghast.  A thousand yaps are worth one pic…we love to squawk.   
At first we imitate adult’s …baby talk….later please them with a word…of our own.

Never taught to listen…ever.  For now, our words do not…fall on deaf ears…this will go on for years.  
Until one day we speak alone…in company with other’s words…mixing as one…noise.  Boys will be noise.

…at last we find a can of ‘word polish’….and apply with a tongue…liberally.  Vocally…we are “there”.  
 Soon, we are skilled at speech…eager to talk…to teach …the world’s masses…gathered in classes.

Until comes old age…the last stage of …speech…. no longer within reach.  
One day…what we have to say becomes….irrelevant to the world’s ear. 
Sad, but true…they do not want to hear me squawk…baby talk.


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## Meanderer

_*Graduation Is a Time by Nicholas Gordon*_


*Graduation is a time
When our thoughts turn naturally
To vandalism, sex, and crime,
Now that we at last are free.

**Our teachers think we're well prepared
To make decisions on our own;
But now, perhaps, they're running scared
As they listen to this poem.

*
*Don't worry, folks, we aren't crazy,
Though sometimes we look that way;
Just annoyed, bored, and lazy
As we make it through the day.

*
*So just like birds out of a cage
Or slaves set free from toil and pain,
We aim to try to act our age
And be for now a bit insane.

*
*For life too soon will close its doors,
And then as we grow old in years
We'll teach our own kids to be bores,
But hopefully they'll stuff their ears
And do as we dream, not as we do,
Facing life a tad askew.*


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## Sunny

Still I Rise
By Maya Angelou
 You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you? 
Why are you beset with gloom? 
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken? 
Bowed head and lowered eyes? 
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you? 
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you? 
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs? 

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise. 						     


					    						     Maya Angelou


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## Meanderer

WOW!  Thank you Sunny!


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## Meanderer

_At Evening the Boats Crowd Towards Shore_
_By Nicholas Gordon_

_At evening the boats crowd towards shore,
The yachtsmen eager for a night of talk
In bars and cafes, weary of the wind.
At dawn they drift back into the harbor
And sail loosely scattered into the bay._
_From shore there is nothing more beautiful:
A schooner moves reluctant with the tide,
Sails taut, yet trailing the current,
Hung as if absorbed in meditation;
Or a sloop leaning into the water,
Ropes groaning, skin cracked in salt and sun--
Why does it do battle with the wind?_
_In winter, white with moonlight, the harbor
Holds nothing in the darkness of its arms.
The boats await the coming of the yachtsmen,
Who once again will fill the bay with grace._


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## drifter

I have no poetic license to renew.


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## Meanderer

drifter said:


> I have no poetic license to renew.



Well said!


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## Meanderer

View attachment 7319

Author unknown


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## Meanderer

The Reach of Speech  By Me

…we note the first word….and the last…aghast.  A thousand yaps are worth one pic…we love to squawk.   
At first we imitate adult’s …baby talk….later please them with a word…of our own.

Never taught to listen…ever.  For now, our words do not…fall on deaf ears…this will go on for years. 
 Until one day we speak alone…in company with other’s words…mixing as one…noise.  Boys will be noise.

…at last we find a can of ‘word polish’….and apply with a tongue…liberally.  Vocally…we are “there”.   
Soon, we are skilled at speech…eager to talk…to teach …the world’s masses…gathered in classes.

Until comes old age…the last stage of …speech…. no longer within reach. 
 One day…what we have to say becomes….irrelevant to the world’s ear.  Sad, but true…they do not want to hear me squawk…baby talk.


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## Maywalk

*The Marital Bed.*

For Gawds sake move over and let me get in
Its not very warm and my nightie’s quite thin
Panting and pushing to get him over the line
I only want half the bed the part I call mine.

I’m just dozing off to sleep when my calves go in a clamp
I jump out very quickly because I have the ruddy cramp
I can hear my other half snoring well in the ‘land of nod’
While I’m limping up and down thinking ‘you are a lucky sod’.

The cramp is slowly subsiding so I try my luck once again
More pushing shoving and heaving he really is a pain.
I close my eyes and let my mind drift like a rowing boat
When suddenly I’m choking with an elbow in my throat.

After being rudely awakened I settle down once more
Oh strewth! its started up again that never ending snore.
I bury my head in the pillow with the cover over my head
I’ve had this nightly torture since the first day that we wed.

I give him a dig to make him stop and turn the other way
Oh blow me down! here we go! he’s taken the whole duvet.
I pull it back with very much force, I have to be quite tough
So he turns over with it and puts his knees right up my duff.

I settle down once more to sleep the rest of the night through
When suddenly the bedclothes go back he has to visit the loo.
I turn to look at the clock, the hands say half past three
“Oh Lord!” I pray “let me get some rest, please be good to me”.

My other half gets back into bed shaking me back to life
I think I deserve a medal for being an understanding wife.
I hear the clock chime four o’clock I guess God never heard
I may as well get out of bed and do yesterdays crossword
*

                                           Copyright © - Maisie Walker 2001 - All rights reserved*


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## Justme

Remember Our Innocence

(Reflection on WW1)​
Eagerly they accepted the King’s shilling,​
Fresh-faced youths responded to the call.​
Most caught up in fervent patriotic naivety,​
Keenly anticipating a glorious adventure. ​
Soon nationalistic fantasy confronted grim reality,​
Youthful idealism was swiftly obliterated​
Amidst a Hellorama of mud, screams and gore.​
Those  long dead boys call to the living,​
When our war is a dusty recollection​
Our motives misrepresented and misunderstood,​
Please Remember Our Innocence.​
RJG​​


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## CPA-Kim

The Migraine

Flashing lights announce the pain
Please, God, no…not this again
Throbbing veins beat in my head
shaking body feels like lead

tears now slowly start to roll
each slow movement takes its toll
darkened room begins to spin
Why did this cursed hell begin

pills refuse to make it quit
nothing pulls me from this pit
only time will make it fade
wasted day is what I paid
               Titus 12


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## Meanderer

Headin' In​​​Some fellers favor sunup
just before their day begins,
while others favor eve'nin
when their day is at an end.

But this old cowboy's dif'rent
it's the way I've always been,
cause the time that gets me smilin'
is the time for headin' in.

With a day of work behind me
and before the sunset ends,
it's a quiet and peaceful feelin'
on the trail while headin' in.

There's a breeze that often comes up
as a warm, southwestern wind,
and a glow across the prairie
as I'm slowly headin' in.

Above a hawk is wheelin'
swoopin' down then up again,
as if he wants one final look
'fore he too is headin' in.  

My saddle pal don't say much
but he tells me with a grin,
he feels about the same as me
with our ponies headin' in.

Someday this'll all be over
just the prairie, grass and wind,
I hope He'll let me pass this way
when it's time for headin' in.

© Rod Nichols, All rights reserved

​


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## Justme

Deleted​​​


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## Capt Lightning

Kidspoem/Bairnsang 

it wis January 
and a gey driech day 
the first day Ah went to the school 
so my Mum happed me up in ma 
good navy-blue napp coat wi the rid tartan hood 
birled a scarf aroon ma neck 
pu'ed oan ma pixie an' my pawkies 
it wis that bitter 
said noo ye'll no starve 
gie'd me a wee kiss and a kid-oan skelp oan the bum 
and sent me aff across the playground 
tae the place A'd learn to say 
it was January 
and a really dismal day 
the first day I went to school 
so my mother wrapped me up in my 
best nay-blue top coat with the red tartan hood, 
twirled a scarf around my neck, 
pulled on my bobble-hat and mittens 
it was so bitterly cold 
said now you won't freeze to death 
gave me a little kiss and a pretend slap on the bottom 
and sent me off across the playground 
to the place I'd learn to forget to say 
it wis January 
and a gey driech day 
the first day Ah went to the school 
so my Mum happed me up in ma 
good navy-blue napp coat wi the rid tartan hood, 
birled a scarf aroon ma neck, 
pu'ed oan ma pixie and' ma pawkies 
it wis that bitter. 

Oh saying it was one thing 
But when it came to writing it 
In black and white 
The way it had to be said 
Was as if you were posh, grown-up, male, English and dead. 

Liz Lochhead


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## GeorgiaXplant

I couldn't get a poetic license...applied but was turned down...so can't renew

But I can bake a cake from scratch. Does that count for anything? Anything at all?


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## Meanderer

GeorgiaXplant said:


> I couldn't get a poetic license...applied but was turned down...so can't renew
> 
> But I can bake a cake from scratch. Does that count for anything? Anything at all?



It counts for everything!!

[h=1]How to Bake a Cake From Scratch[/h][h=2]By Lisa Nohealani Morton[/h]*1 February 2010*
First, create a universe. It needn't be
infinite; you only have to ensure that you'll have
enough space to work in.
The noise will settle down to a background hum after the first few microseconds.

You will need:

1 planet
1 medium-sized sun
4.5 billion years
A standing mixer

Preheat the oven to 350.
In a superheated ball of gas, fuse hydrogen for heat and light.
Stir in carbon, hydrogen, oxygen and nitrogen in your preferred configurations.
Season to taste with trace elements.
Mix well, striking occasionally with lightning.

Once you've got evolution started,
don't worry about the mess; these things have a way of self-limiting.
Grease an 11"x9" pan. Avoid large asteroid strikes if possible, but remember:
mass extinctions are an inevitable part of the process.

Pour the batter into the pan as evenly as you can. By now,
your planet should have evolved intelligent life.
This is a good time to send out your invitations,
unless they are bad conversationalists.

Bake for 30 minutes, or until a knife inserted into the middle
comes out clean. Serve with a glass of wine,
so you can toast the first clumsy ships
sparking off into the cosmos.

Copyright © 2010 Lisa Nohealani Morton​


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## GeorgiaXplant

She left out a heaping cup of love  Except for that, it's the recipe I use.


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## Meanderer

FINNIGIN TO FLANNIGAN

   by Strickland Gillilan

Superintindint waz Flannigan;
Boss av the siction wuz Finnigin;
Whiniver the kyars got offen th' track
An' muddled up things t' th' divil an' back
Finnigin writ it to Flannigan,
Afther the wrick wuz all on agin:
That is, this Finnigin
Repoorted to Flannigan.

Whin Finnigin furst writ to Flannigan,
He writ tin pages-did Finnigin.
An' he tould jist how the smash occurred;
Full minny a tajus, blunderin' wurrd
Did Finnigin write to Flannigan
Afther the cars had gone on agin.
That's th' way Finnigin
Repoorted to Flannigan.

Now Flannigan knowed more than Finnigin-
He'd more idjucation-had Flannigan;
An' it wore 'm clane an' complately out
To tell what Finnigin writ about
In his writin' to Muster Flannigan.
So he writed this here: Masther Finnigin:
Don't do sich a sin agin;
Make 'em brief, Finnigin!"

Whin Finnigin got this from Flannigan,
He blushed rosy rid-did Finnigin;
An' he said: "I'll gamble a whole month's pa-ay
That it'll be minny an' minny a da-ay
Befoore Sup'rintindint-that's Flannigan-
Gits a whack at that very same sin agin.
From Finnigin to Flannigan
Repoorts won't be so long agin."

Wan da-ay on the siction av Finnigin,
On the road sup'rintinded be Flannigan,
A rail give way on a bit av a curve
An' some kyars went off as they made th' shwerrve.
"there's nobody hurted," sez Finnigin,
"But repoorts must be made to Flannigan,"
An' he winked at Mike Corrigan,
As married a Finnigin.

He wuz shantyin' thin, wuz Finnigin,
As minny a railroader's been agin,
An' his shmoky ol' lamp wuz burnin' bright
In Finnigin's shanty all that night-
Bilin' down his repoort was Finnigin
An' he writed this here: "Muster Flannigan:
Off agin, on agin,
Gone agin.-Finnigin."

View attachment 7454


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## Meanderer

[FONT=&quot]Mornin' onthe Desert 
[/FONT]John R. Nielson.
[FONT=&quot]
Morin' on the desert, and the wind is blowin' free, 
And it's ours, jest for the breathin', so let's fill up, you and me.
No more stuffy cities, where you have to pay to breathe, 
Where the helpless human creatures move and throng and strive and seethe.

Mornin' on the desert, and the air is like a wine, 
And it seems like all creation has been made for me and mine.
No house to stop my vision, save a neighbor's miles away, 
And a little 'dobe shanty that belongs to me and May.

Lonesome? Not a minute: Why I've got these mountains here,
That was put here just to please me, with their blush and frown and cheer.
They're waiting when the summer sun gets too sizzlin' hot, 
An' we jest go campin' in 'em with a pan and coffee pot.

Mornin' on the desert-- I can smell the sagebrush smoke. 
I hate to see it burnin', but the land must sure be broke.
Ain't it jest a pity that wherever man may live, 
He tears up so much that's beautiful that the good God has to give?

"Sagebrush ain't so pretty?" Well, all eyes don't see the same,
have you ever seen the moonlight turn it to a silvery flame?
An' that greasewood thicket yonder -- well, it smells jest awful sweet, 
When the night wind has been shakin' it -- for its smell is hard to beat.

Lonesome? Well, I guess not! I've been lonesome in a town.
But I sure do love the desert with its stretches wide and brown.
All day through the sagebrush here the wind is blowin' free. 
An' it's ours jest for the breathin', so let's fill up, you and me.[/FONT]


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## Meanderer

[FONT=Arial, Helvetica]Ragged Old Flag
(as sung by Johnny Cash)[/FONT][FONT=Arial, Helvetica]I walked through a county courthouse square,
On a park bench an old man was sitting there.
I said, "Your old courthouse is kinda run down."
He said, "Naw, it'll do for our little town."
I said, "Your flagpole has leaned a little bit,
And that's a Ragged Old Flag you got hanging on it."

He said, "Have a seat", and I sat down.
"Is this the first time you've been to our little town?"
I said, "I think it is." He said, "I don't like to brag,
But we're kinda proud of that Ragged Old Flag.

"You see, we got a little hole in that flag there
When Washington took it across the Delaware.
And it got powder-burned the night Francis Scott Key
Sat watching it writing 'Oh Say Can You See.'
And it got a bad rip in New Orleans
With Packingham and Jackson tuggin' at its seams.

"And it almost fell at the Alamo
Beside the Texas flag, but she waved on through.
She got cut with a sword at Chancellorsville,
And she got cut again at Shiloh Hill.
There was Robert E. Lee, Beauregard, and Bragg,
And the south wind blew hard on that Ragged Old Flag.

"On Flanders Field in World War I
She got a big hole from a Bertha gun.
She turned blood red in World War II.
She hung limp and low by the time it was through.
She was in Korea and Vietnam.
She went where she was sent by her Uncle Sam.

"She waved from our ships upon the briny foam,
And now they've about quit waving her back here at home.
In her own good land she's been abused--
She's been burned, dishonored, denied, and refused.

"And the government for which she stands
Is scandalized throughout the land.
And she's getting threadbare and wearing thin,
But she's in good shape for the shape she's in.
'Cause she's been through the fire before,
And I believe she can take a whole lot more.

"So we raise her up every morning,
Take her down every night.
We don't let her touch the ground,
And we fold her up right.
On second thought I do like to brag,
'Cause I'm mighty proud of that Ragged Old Flag."
[/FONT]


----------



## Justme

Ominous Quiet Water



Flowing with swift placidity

The surface softly undulating

Stealthily increasing its volume

Slowly but perceptibly the level rises

The darkness hides the imminent danger

Its defences are overwhelmed

The river’s banks breached along its length

Releasing the ominous quiet water.

RJG


----------



## Justme

Enigma
(Reflections on a miscarriage)

Our beings were entwined for such a short time
Your life force soon vaporised into the ether.
The separation caused me physical and emotional trauma,
Memories are prompted by chronologically significant dates,
Sadly, I think of what might have been.
Will our souls be reunited in a celestial hereafter?
Until then your gender and nature will remain an enigma.

RJG​


----------



## Meanderer

A very poignant offering Justme, Thank you.


----------



## Justme

Meanderer said:


> A very poignant offering Justme, Thank you.



Thanks.


----------



## Capt Lightning

Warning by Jenny Joseph.

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat that 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 am 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 the 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 beer mats
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 will have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practise 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_


----------



## Meanderer

*Jenny Joseph reads her poem 'Warning'*


----------



## Meanderer

*The National Cowboy Poetry Gathering: "Purt Near!" with Randy Rieman*


----------



## Meanderer

Make Me a Cowboy Again for a Day
​Backward turn backward oh time with your wheels
Bicycles, wagons, and automobiles
Dress me again in a big Stetson hat
Spurs, flannel shirt and slicker and chaps
Put a six-shooter or two in my hands
Show me a yearlin' to rope and to brand
Out where the sage brush is dusty and gray
Make me a cowboy again for a day.

​Give me a bronc that knows how to dance
Blue roan in color and wicked of glance
New to the feeling of bridle and bit
Give me a quirt that will sting when it hits
Strap on a blanket behind in a roll
Toss me a lariat dear to my soul
Over the trail let me gallop away
Make me a cowboy again for a day.

Thunder of hoofs on the range as you ride
Hissin' of iron and the sizzlin of hide
The bellow of cattle and the snort of cayuse
Longhorns of Texas as well as the duce
Midnight stampedes and the millin' of herds
Yells of the cowboys too angry for words
Right in the midst of it all I would say
Make me a cowboy again for a day.

Under the star-studded sky so vast
Campfires and coffee and comfort at last
Bacon that sizzles and crisps in the pan
After the roundup smells good to a man
Stories of cowboys and outlaws retold
Over the pipes as the embers grow cold
These are the tunes that old memories play
Make me a cowboy again for a day
​© from Don Edwards' _Saddle Songs—A Cowboy Songbag_​​


----------



## Meanderer

The Pirate
by Shel Silverstein 

Oh the blithery, blathery pirate 
(his name I beleive is Claude) 
his manner is sullen and irate, 
and his humor is sullen and broad 

he has often been known to imprison 
his friends in the hold dark and dank, 
or lash them up high on the mizzen 
or force them to stroll down a plank 

he will selfishly ask you to dig up 
some barrels of ill gotten gold 
and if you so much as just hiccup 
he'll leave you to fill the hole 
he may cast you adrift in a rowboat 
(he has no reaction to tears) 
or put you ashore without NO boat 
on an island and leave you for years 

he's a rotter, a wretch, and a sinner, 
he's foul as a fellow can be 
but if you invite him to dinner 
Oh, please sit him next to me!

View attachment 7991


----------



## BlunderWoman

Warriors Dance © 2008




I waste no thoughts of love on you
I do not cry in my pain I dance
and for every evil you do me
I hold myself from wishing pain and darkness befall you
I hold my anger
I place my anger in my hands and blow it away
like a dandelion weed
and I dance
I let the dance wash over me
You send me poison
and I dance
I dance an ancient warriors dance
guarding my heart from
bitter darkness
I am relentless
you cannot harm me
because I know
that when the dance is over
a bloom will be found
at the bottom of my pain
a snowy blossom
beautiful
unfolding with new found
light it will
blanket me
and I will have one moment
of perfect joy
so I dance


----------



## MaryB

I'm glad I found this thread, I have written lots of poems, sad, funny, you name it. Here is one of my favourites I wrote recently. I have enjoyed reading all the others that have been posted too.

ARE YOU HERE?

Are you here, are you here? he shouted, into the empty night
with worried frown he peered around in the pale moon's light.
And with crackling leaves and branches on the hard frost ground
˜Neath his feet, he listened , to the night owls mournful sound.

Are you there, are you there? he whispered;
 Please say you are - and yet
Are you teasing, hiding, still playing hard to get?
And his breath grew raw and ragged as the winterer's wind did moan
And he stood there yearning, hoping - but still he was alone.
And far away in her room, his pampered lover lay
She thought of him there waiting and then of yesterday
Of promises she gave to him and plans that they had made
Of thrilling days that they had spent in that forest glade.
But she was born to luxury and with his love she'd toyed
no scruples and uncaring, his hope she'd now destroyed
You're  not here, he whispered and never will you be
And now you'll never know my love what you have done to me.

And so he left their meeting place and walked until the dawn
The river deep it beckoned him his reasoning was torn
He looked around and shouted loud  'I knew she'd not meet me
So now I won't be there for her and never more will be..'
Hardly a ripple showed there on the river's deep dark sheen
Not a trace to show just where his last life's breaths had been
That is except the footprints,there etched upon the snow
That started in the forest's glade with no-where else to go.

PMB (C)


----------



## Ina

MaryB, Very good, although sad...


----------



## MaryB

Thank you Ina


----------



## BlunderWoman

A Berry Sad Story © 


I love berries
dark and sweet
berries to drink
berries to eat
I found myself 
spending
a good deal 
of time
lusting for berries
fresh
off the vine
and in the cool
of autumn
oh the plans 
I made


I sent for 
bushes
not just 
any bush 
would do
bought me
top top
berry bushes
from the 
countryside
they grew
so it was 
the Fall 
I planted
and I dreamed
from Fall
til Spring
of berry cakes
and juice
and shakes
and berries
with
whip cream


Then with
the warming
of the sun
came the blossoms
bright
on every one
from happy little
blossoms
the berries
they grew
I smiled
each day
as they 
deepened 
in hue


It was 
in the summer
I heard
the blackbird cry


Look my brothers
what the earth
did bring
rest us here
eat dance
and sing
it will not 
cost us
anything
a feast
come one
come all


They left not a 
berry
every berry plucked
I was so berry berry 
(inconvenienced?)
Then quickly up
dashed up to fly
and find a nesting
for the night
I watched them 
til they flew
quite far
they left
their droppings
on my car.


----------



## Meanderer

BlunderWoman said:


> A Berry Sad Story



Also a berry disappointing tale.  We bought a half of a blackberry pie the other day and finished it off that day....I figure the blackbirds got the other half.   We don't mind sharing.


----------



## BlunderWoman

My blackberries I grew then have died off. I decided to grow blueberries in the front yard ..where the cats hang out 



Meanderer said:


> Also a berry disappointing tale.  We bought a half of a blackberry pie the other day and finished it off that day....I figure the blackbirds got the other half.   We don't mind sharing.


----------



## Maywalk

Thankyou all for the various forms of poetry. I have enjoyed reading them all and some very profound. 
I like comical poetry and all my poems are written round true tales, whether they are about everyday life or through the war years. 
Yes they have been published and read out on the radio.
This was a tale that happened some years ago when I went to pick my granddaughter up from school. This little lad is now a father himself and he has kept this poem to pass on to his own child/ren.


----------



## Meanderer

That was a dandy! Children are a great source of truth and innocence, eh!  The last line reminded me that I do have God's phone number in my black book.  It is  JER 33:3: "Call to me, and I will answer you, and show you great and mighty things, which you know not".


----------



## Meanderer

Two in Line By Jim ©

…pride came rolling in, ten feet wide…and ten feet tall…before the fall.  Blinded by his sense of 
right…the low and humble road … out of sight…before the night.  He was going places…right on past 
those many faces…turned to God… after all; he was chosen to go to the head of the line.  Who the 
chooser was, was never made quite clear…but he was destined to be near…”The rear”. 

…humility brought a magazine to read….in line at the rear…to wait to see what would be.  Quite content 
for another to be sent….further up the line…. until an usher’s call.  “Someone with a name like mine”,     
he thought…allowing others past… no thinking of being first…or last.  “My name again?”…the usher 
beckoning… it was the Master of the feast…with an upgrade…”For me?”.   “Come on up…and sup”!


----------



## BlunderWoman

Nice poem Maywalk reminds me of innocence


----------



## Maywalk

*Childhood Logic.*

On a crisp and sunny February morning quite a few years ago
My three year old granddaughter very much wanted to know
Why a big furry bumblebee was lying dead down on the ground?
Her curiosity was very intent on this insect that she had found.

We said that the sun had woken the bee because it was so bright
But the frost and ice had settled and had frozen the bee overnight.
She was most concerned that we take it and bury it in the earth
This was duly done by granddad while trying to contain his mirth,

I told her I would wrap her up warm and take her on the swings
This was to focus her mind off the bee on to pleasanter things.
Later while putting on her scarf because it was bitterly cold
She was chatting about the day and remembered what she was told,

She looked very thoughtful as I pulled her hat upon her head
And then she said, "Are all the other bees tucked up warm in bed?
Because if the one that had died today had put on a coat and hat
It would be in bed with the others and not finish up like that."

I marvelled at her reasoning and how she had pondered all day
Over a poor frozen bumblebee that had finished up that way.
So if by chance you see a bee fly past dressed up in winter gear
Just remember this tale of mine and give a little cheer. 

Copyright....... Maisie Walker 2000 - All rights reserved


----------



## BlunderWoman

Cat Comeuppance © Sharon


Though this tale might
throw doubt in you
we who saw it
know it's true


A braver one never
graced our house
who could have known
it'd be a mouse?


Our cat came from alleys
She's hard as they come
She's a dirty street fighter
spends her nights on the hunt


She's fast and sleek
Keeps herself on her game
Loves stalking and hunting
she'll do it for days


How patient she is
you'd never know
saw her stalk the same mouse
three days in a row


It was the end of three days
She sat there in wait
like a motionless statue
awaiting her prey


Then like a coil
in the kitchen she sprang
she had him in clutches
she had him in pain


It seemed a nasty fate 
lay ahead for our mouse
She was a devil in her triumph
as she tossed him up and down


Helpless under paw 
brown mouse had tried to run
and then at once stood up to her
brown mouse had had enough


Standing proud 
in his tiny place
He slapped our cat
across the face


And she so shocked 
by his audacity
forgot herself
and set him free


A moment free
was all it took
he ran to freedom
behind the nook.


So when you feel small
and life's got you down 
Remember this tale
about Mousey Brown


----------



## Meanderer

Maywalk, I have heard that they lay in a supply of yellow jackets, just for that purpose!


----------



## Meanderer

*Fourth of July Night*

​
*Fourth of July Night*
_The little boat at anchor in black water sat murmuring to the tall black sky
A white sky bomb fizzed on a black line.
A rocket hissed it's red signature into the west.
Now a shower of Chinese fire alphabets,
A cry of flower pots broken in flames,
A long curve to a purple spray, three violet balloons---
Drips of seaweed tangled in gold, shimmering symbols of mixed numbers,
Tremulous arrangements of cream gold folds of a bride's wedding gown---
A few sky bombs spoke their pieces, then velvet dark.
The little boat at anchor in black water sat murmuring to the tall black sky. 
Carl Sandburg_


----------



## Meanderer

View attachment 8365
author unknown


----------



## MaryB

Meanderer said:


> View attachment 8365
> author unknown



I really enjoyed this poem and the one before it, lovely to read.


----------



## MaryB

I AM

I am a cat a very fine cat 
Although my legs are three 
I lost my other leg last year 
T’was trapped beneath a tree 
It fell down and squashed me flat 
One very windy day 
My leg was trapped alas but 
The rest of me got away 
I was sore for quite a while 
And I got spoiled a lot 
Sat on my velvet cushion 
I didn’t care a jot 
Although my wound was painful 
It soon was right as rain 
And as I hop along these days 
I don’t feel any pain 
So yes I am a lucky cat 
I lived to see the day 
And I’ve another eight lives left 
So I’m happy every way. 
So if you ever see me 
Don’t feel sad I pray 
I am a fine and happy cat 
And that’s all I can say.

--------------

The Organ Grinders Monkey 


‘I want to speak to the boss,’ he said 
‘He’s away’, she said with a smile 
‘I don’t believe you,’ then he said 
‘I’ll just wait here a while.’ 
‘He’ll not be back today .’she said 
‘He’s out of town all day.’ 
‘I think you’re having me on,’ he said 
‘You’re saying what he said to say.’ 

‘Can I help you I’m sure I can?’ 
She said whilst looking quite twee. 
‘I want  the organ grinder,’ he said 
‘Not the Organ Grinders monkey!’

by PMB


----------



## Davey Jones

Admit not much for poems but I found a funny one...that count?


[h=1]My Computer[/h]by Burmah M. Teague 
[h=2]My computer has a language
That is foreign to me
It speaks of RAM and Gigabytes
And what could ROM be!  

I don't understand the Windows
My computer says are there
Nor the Gem Clip at the side of my page
With eyes that blink and stare!  

I don't understand the cures
That maintenance wizards do
It's called defragmenter, scan disk,
And virus cleaning too!  

Yet, computer and I work hand and eye
With a mouse to translate
The tasks that I want it to do
While it points out my mistakes![/h]


----------



## MaryB

Davey Jones said:


> Admit not much for poems but I found a funny one...that count?
> 
> 
> *My Computer*
> by Burmah M. Teague
> *My computer has a language
> That is foreign to me
> It speaks of RAM and Gigabytes
> And what could ROM be!
> 
> I don't understand the Windows
> My computer says are there
> Nor the Gem Clip at the side of my page
> With eyes that blink and stare!
> 
> I don't understand the cures
> That maintenance wizards do
> It's called defragmenter, scan disk,
> And virus cleaning too!
> 
> Yet, computer and I work hand and eye
> With a mouse to translate
> The tasks that I want it to do
> While it points out my mistakes!*


Yes I think it certainly does count, a very clever and funny poem.


----------



## Meanderer

A Prayer

It is my joy in life to find 
At every turning of the road, 
The strong arm of a comrade kind 
To help me onward with my load. 

And since I have no gold to give, 
And love alone must make amends, 
My only prayer is while I live,—
God make me worthy of my friends!

Frank Dempster Sherman (1860-1916)


----------



## Meanderer

The advantages of a draft e-mail by Jim 

We can walk all over our draft…tracking muddy footprints
And making muddy arguments and cutting rebuttals….all day long…if we want.
We can burn up words that are themselves …made up of fire.
We can weave clever , biting word-plays and set delicious word-traps.
We can drain our black cartridge dry, painting more and more words.
…and then we call the proof-reader….and then un-sent, hit delete
…and write again in cooler ink.


----------



## Meanderer

“The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say” 
― J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Fellowship of the Ring_


----------



## Meanderer

[h=3]Ma dug Bonnie[/h]Ma dug’s name is Bonnie. Her hair is yella. Her lugs are quite lang. They dinney hing doon. Her tongue sometimes hings oot. She ayways sits on her bahookie. She loves tae chase efter a ba. She ayways slevers on me.
A wak the dug roon the scheme and also doon the herbour. On oor walk we meet craws, cats and people. Ma dug loves tae chase the craws and pull me aff my feet. When I tak her aff her lead, she gans aff bonkers. She rins roon chasing her ba and also after a cat.
Whun we get doon the herbour we see the flowing water and the swaying trees. She jumps in the water and puddles roon. Whun she gets oot o the water, she shaks a ower me. Whun we get hame she needs a rest in her bed.​By Shaunnii Brown P7, Wigtown PrimarySchool, Dumfries and Galloway


----------



## Meanderer

*Address To The Toothache*

by Robert Burns
11 September 1797.


My curse upon your venom'd stang, 
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang, 
An' thro' my lug gies mony a twang, 
Wi' gnawing vengeance, 
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, 
Like racking engines! 

When fevers burn, or argues freezes, 
Rheumatics gnaw, or colics squeezes, 
Our neibor's sympathy can ease us, 
Wi' pitying moan; 
But thee - thou hell o' a' diseases - 
Aye mocks our groan. 

Adown my beard the slavers trickle 
I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle, 
While round the fire the giglets keckle, 
To see me loup, 
While, raving mad, I wish a heckle 
Were in their doup! 

In a' the numerous human dools, 
Ill hairsts, daft bargains, cutty stools, 
Or worthy frien's rak'd i' the mools, - 
Sad sight to see! 
The tricks o' knaves, or fash o'fools, 
Thou bear'st the gree! 

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell, 
Where a' the tones o' misery yell, 
An' ranked plagues their numbers tell, 
In dreadfu' raw, 
Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell, 
Amang them a'! 

O thou grim, mischief-making chiel, 
That gars the notes o' discord squeel, 
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel 
In gore, a shoe-thick, 
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal 
A townmond's toothache!


----------



## Meanderer

*Did You Ever Play DJ For Your Parakeet*

*Lyrics - SifuPhil
Music - Johnny Cash


Did you ever play DJ 
For yer parakeet
Tryin' to teach thet little feller
How to prop'rly speak

You played thet rotten record
Over thirty thousand times
And all yer bird had learned was
How to sing yer smart-phone chimes

[Chorus]
Oh, did you ever play DJ 
For your parakeet
He never learned to talk, but man,
How thet lil' bird could tweet

You played thet record 'til the grooves
All melted and caved in
But Budgie was still silent as
A bishop filled with sin

So one day you loaded Budgie
In yer trusty pick-up truck
Ol' Blue was in the back-seat
As you drove 'em through the muck

And finally, a-top a hill,
You set ol' Budgie free
That's when he hollered out the words
That truly rattled me

He said,

"Thank you, Man, for teaching me
These words that I now sing
It's just a shame that you're to blame
For clippin' both my wing

So now, if you don't mind,
I'll just get back into yer truck
'Cause now I'm here to stay
And you're a little out of luck"

*


----------



## Meanderer

Snack Time
Robert Arthur Miller, USA


May i intrest you
in some snacks,
popcorn,peanuts
or cracker jacks.

Hostess cupcakes
twinkies too,
the list goes on
of snacks to chew.

There's cheez-it crackers
potato chips,
that taste great
with their dips.

I have pretzels,cheese puffs
and cheese curls,
or vanilla cookies
with chocolate swirls.

Whats your pleasure
what do you enjoy,
i have snickers,mounds
or almond joy

No mood for chocolate
thats ok,
there are other snacks
you can choose today.

I have gummi worms
and gummi bears,
oranges,apples
and ripe pears.

Bananas,grapes
fresh plums too,
those are just the fruits
to name a few.

I even have donuts
that are filled with jelly,
i have so many snacks
to fill your belly.

Choose what you want
i don't care,
my house is full
of snacks to share.


----------



## Meanderer

*The Elephant* 

What explanation for my heroic courtesy? I feel
          that my body was inflated by a mischievous boy.

I was the size of a falcon, the size of a lion,
          once I was not the elephant I find I am.

My pelt sags, and my master scolds me for a botched
          trick. I practiced it all night in my tent, so I was

somewhat sleepy. People connect me with sadness
          and often rationality. Randall Jarrell compared me

to Wallace Stevens, the American poet. I can see it
          in the lumbering gait of his tercets, but in my mind

I am more like Eliot, a man of Europe, a man
          of cultivation. Anyone so ceremonious suffers

breakdowns. I do not like the spectacular experiments
          with balance, the highwire act and cones.

We elephants are images of humility, as when we
          undertake our melancholy migrations to die.

Did you know, though, that elephants were taught 
          to write the Greek alphabet with their hooves?

Worn out by suffering, we lie on our great backs,
          tossing grass up to heaven—as a distraction, not a prayer.

That's not humility, you see, on our long final journeys:
          it's procrastination. It hurts my heavy body to lie down.

by  Dan Chiasson


----------



## AprilT

I used to dabble, I've lost the touch and or motivation, same goes for other writing endeavors.  I don't know, I think I just started to bore myself of something.  ha, ha, ha.

But after I go off to read/listen to, my awaiting book, I'm going to be sure to come back and read all the, I'm sure wonderful writings of what the lovely folks in this spot have shared.  For now, I'm ready for a nap so off to let the lull of the voice from the book on tape help me nod off.


----------



## Meanderer

Recessional
BY RUDYARD KIPLING
1897


God of our fathers, known of old,   
   Lord of our far-flung battle-line,   
Beneath whose awful Hand we hold
   Dominion over palm and pine—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,   
Lest we forget—lest we forget!


The tumult and the shouting dies;
   The Captains and the Kings depart:   
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
   An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,   
Lest we forget—lest we forget!


Far-called, our navies melt away;
   On dune and headland sinks the fire:   
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
   Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!   
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,   
Lest we forget—lest we forget!


If, drunk with sight of power, we loose   
   Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe,   
Such boastings as the Gentiles use,
   Or lesser breeds without the Law—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget—lest we forget!


For heathen heart that puts her trust   
   In reeking tube and iron shard,
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
   And guarding, calls not Thee to guard,   
For frantic boast and foolish word—
Thy mercy on Thy People, Lord!


----------



## Phoenix14

OLD FATHER TIME (by Phoenix14)

Old father time took up his scythe, his cloak was worn and grey
his weary limbs rejoice to see, the end of his final day.
His tired old eyes,once bright - now had grown quite dim
his beard in unkempt strands, fell down the front of him.
He trudged along, a well worn path, of those who'd gone before
not sad to leave this world behind, he wanted it no more.
The time he gave was not well spent,  his moments quite abused
Every precious second that he gave, saw them badly used.
We'll never get them back again, they've gone and what a waste
His work on earth was done, and walked off quite disgraced.
The midnight door lay just ahead, and twelve, the clock was striking
his hand upon the handle turned, this world was not his liking
but there before him stood New Year, with a face that's all aglow
just as he had stood there anxiously, no more than a year ago.
His wrinkled hand reached out to greet, this young bright New Year
a forlorn smile upon his mouth and in his sad old eyes, a tear.
Good luck my friend,the Old Year, said as they momentary met
This world does not deserve the gifts you bring, this is the worst year yet.
The New Year looked up and said, I can offer hope, with all my heart
and one year to make good use of it, before I too must part.
This New Year has given hope to us, and time to make amends
it's up to us to use these gifts, on this our life depends.
Wishing one and all a guid New Year, for health and hope abound
Let's greet this New Year with a smile, that hope and peace be found.


----------



## Rob

I've 'dabbled' with rhyming for the last 5 years, ever since I retired and found it a source of some recreational value. It's not great poetry, just thoughts and observations set to rhyme. I wrote this one a couple of years ago just as winter was approaching ...

*ALONE*


It was born in the spring with hundreds of others
with always the closeness of sisters and brothers
As days passed by it grew bigger and stronger
and grew to maturity, a youngster no longer


Days turned to weeks as it basked in the sun
Its colour was beautiful, second to none
Weeks turned to months it now was full grown
and then it produced offspring of its own


Its offspring grew larger and then left the nest
to further the species with all of the rest
Its job was now over its colour was fading
Old age and disease its body invading


And then came the autumn of its short life
A life so productive and full of much strife
Now it was weary its life nearly over
Soon will be time to lie in the clover


As winter approached its kin were all dying
They couldn't hang on despite all their trying
Fewer and fewer of its companions were left
and now it was feeling completely bereft


So now its alone, its companions all gone
Where there were hundreds now there's just one
Now it hangs on alone waiting to die
Its life nearly over 'twill be gone by-and-by


I saw it this morning still hanging around
awaiting its end under the ground
A life full of happiness, sadness and grief
On a tree in the garden hangs the last lonely leaf


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## oakapple

Very good poem Rob!


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## oakapple

I don't write any poetry but enjoy reading it. My favourite poem is 'Poem In October' by Dylan Thomas.


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## Rob

Thanks, Oakapple

*LEGEND*

I'm moored securely to the pier
just waiting to get out of here
The crew has just now come aboard
Soon we'll be sailing off abroad


The ropes are wound in tidy piles
We won't need those for many miles
Now we leave the harbour side
The sea before us, blue and wide


The trade winds catch and fill my sails
and water's hissing past my rails
One hundred miles we've gone today
Bermuda is now far away


Night descends, the crew does sleep
except for one, a watch, does keep
I hear a scream and then a splash
and from their bunks the crew does dash


On my deck writhe monstrous coils
The sea beside me foams and boils
From the sea a shape does rise
with wicked beak and cold dead eyes


Tentacles are everywhere
They're lifting men into the air
Into the sea it does, them, throw
to where the black beak waits below


One by one the crew are slain
until not one of them remain
The monster sinks back down below
What happened here, no man will know


Red stained waves wash over me
from the tainted, bloody sea
The stink of death hangs in the air
as I sail away from there


I sail on crewless through the night
until a schooner comes in sight
They board me and are filled with fear
of what disaster happened here


And now my name forever will be
synonymous with maritime tragedy 
My name by now you must have guessed
The brigantine, 'Marie Celeste'


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## Meanderer

oakapple said:


> I don't write any poetry but enjoy reading it. My favourite poem is 'Poem In October' by Dylan Thomas.


Have a listen!


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## Lon

Here is my original poem written when I was a teenager.

"A Lovely Little Bird"

I awoke one morning and left my nice warm bed and went to my window to view my lovely homestead. I looked and spied a pretty little bird with a bright yellow bill. I beckoned it to come and sit upon my window sill. I offered and it accepted my humble crust of bread, and then I slammed the window and crushed it's little head.


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## Rob

PILGRIMAGE


The hill is steep, the way is long
but I know I must be strong
Though I may stumble, even fall
I will recover and walk tall


As I journey I might well find
that distractions may confuse my mind
But with single minded concentration 
I'm sure I'll reach my destination


If thorns should tangle up my feet
I'll struggle on and not be beat
Through bog and mire and deep morass
I'll keep the faith and safely pass


Through howling winds and driving rain
my determination will not wane
And though my will may sometimes falter
my destination will not alter


An ache consumes my very soul
To reach Nirvana is my goal
That place of happiness distilled
where all my needs will be fulfilled


There is an instinct I obey
so I will never lose my way
And even if I slightly stray
I know I'll get there by mid-day


Let Bacchus be my guiding light
until, at last, my goal's in sight
With his help, despite my qualms
I know I'll reach 'The Maltsers Arms'


(Rob ... April 2013)


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## Meanderer

The Phantom Ship
*Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882)*

IN Mather’s Magnalia Christi,    
  Of the old colonial time,    
May be found in prose the legend    
  That is here set down in rhyme.    

A ship sailed from New Haven,     
  And the keen and frosty airs    
That filled her sails at parting    
  Were heavy with good men’s prayers.    

“O Lord! if it be thy pleasure,”—    
  Thus prayed the old divine,—     
“To bury our friends in the ocean,    
  Take them, for they are thine!”    

But Master Lamberton muttered,    
  And under his breath said he,    
“This ship is so crank and walty,     
  I fear our grave she will be!”    

And the ships that came from England,    
  When the winter months were gone,    
Brought no tidings of this vessel    
  Nor of Master Lamberton.     

This put the people to praying    
  That the Lord would let them hear    
What in his greater wisdom    
  He had done with friends so dear.    

And at last their prayers were answered:—     
  It was in the month of June,    
An hour before the sunset    
  Of a windy afternoon,    

When, steadily steering landward,    
  A ship was seen below,     
And they knew it was Lamberton, Master,    
  Who sailed so long ago.    

On she came, with a cloud of canvas,    
  Right against the wind that blew,    
Until the eye could distinguish     
  The faces of the crew.    

Then fell her straining topmasts,    
  Hanging tangled in the shrouds,    
And her sails were loosened and lifted,    
  And blown away like clouds.     

And the masts, with all their rigging,    
  Fell slowly, one by one,    
And the hulk dilated and vanished,    
  As a sea-mist in the sun!    

And the people who saw this marvel     
  Each said unto his friend,    
That this was the mould of their vessel,    
  And thus her tragic end.    

And the pastor of the village    
  Gave thanks to God in prayer,    
That, to quiet their troubled spirits,    
  He had sent this Ship of Air.


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## Meanderer

*A Psalm of Life*






[FONT=founders_grotesk_textlight]*Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807 - 1882*

[/FONT]
What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
   “Life is but an empty dream!”
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
   And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
   And the grave is not its goal;
“Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
   Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
   Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
   Finds us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
   And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
   Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,
   In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
   Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
   Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,--act in the living Present!
   Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
   We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
   Footprints on the sands of time;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
   Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
   Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
   With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing
   Learn to labor and to wait.


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## MaryB

I have enjoyed looking back and reading all these lovely poems, another of mine you might like

Light at the End of the Tunnel


Have you ever felt so broken hearted?
That you walked around crying inside
And when you woke up every morning
You wished in the night you had died

When your chest deep inside feels like lead
And you have no wish to survive
When you feel you’d be better off dead
In fact you’re more dead that alive

Well I felt like this it was dreadful
But I’d others depending on me
For their sakes I couldn’t give in to my grief
I’d to just hope and pray that I’d see

A light at the end of the tunnel
A way up from that bottomless hole
And yes time does heal eventually
And you will find respite for your soul

One day you will grasp you feel lighter
The heaviness starting to fade
You start to have feelings that you used to have
And remember the plans that you made

For life does go on and when in due course
You start to feel cheerful again
Then you’ll remember the good times you had
And forget all the grief and the pain.

So take heart from this I can promise
That no matter how bad or how raw
Mother nature and God will heal all your wounds
And you will be happy once more.


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## Meanderer

Hi Mary B.   I'm glad to see your still around and still writing poems.  I re-read your "Organ Grinder's Monkey" poem and found it quite funny!  Thanks for renewing your Poetic License for 2017!nthego:


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## MaryB

Thank you Meanderer, glad you like my poems and lovely to be back again


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## Meanderer




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## hauntedtexan

Dragon
By: Haunted Texan
　
I need to see a dragon,
Too much magic's disappeared.

We, as people, all too grounded,
In daily grinds and constant fears.

We, as spirits, all too fragile,
as life forgets we're even here.

Just need to see a dragon,
a rugged scale or ragged tooth

To know the soul now lost to me
Can soar across the skies

Her timeless beauty and flowing gown
Atop that graceful wurm

 I just need to see a dragon
A fleeting glimpse to know it's there.


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## SeaBreeze

Deep into the canopy
Light streams guide the way
Sounds of unseen creatures intrigue
Scampering through fallen leaves
Songbird speaks to me from high
Searching, I see not him or sky
Embraced by earth and pulse of life
Nature is my companion
Never alone and always at peace
I walk deeper and deeper within


SeaBreeze


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## Meanderer

Clock
by Amy LV


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## Meanderer

Follower - Poem by Seamus Heaney

My father worked with a horse-plough,
His shoulders globed like a full sail strung
Between the shafts and the furrow.
The horse strained at his clicking tongue. 


An expert. He would set the wing
And fit the bright steel-pointed sock.
The sod rolled over without breaking.
At the headrig, with a single pluck 


Of reins, the sweating team turned round
And back into the land. His eye
Narrowed and angled at the ground,
Mapping the furrow exactly. 


I stumbled in his hob-nailed wake,
Fell sometimes on the polished sod;
Sometimes he rode me on his back
Dipping and rising to his plod. 


I wanted to grow up and plough,
To close one eye, stiffen my arm.
All I ever did was follow
In his broad shadow round the farm. 


I was a nuisance, tripping, falling,
Yapping always. But today 
It is my father who keeps stumbling
Behind me, and will not go away.


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## exwisehe

Very good! I enjoyed that.  (love the accent)


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## hauntedtexan

The wings of the giant tucked in close to it's side.
He inched his way towards her, she was pale as a ghost.
Not sure what would happen, she trembled.
　
Nowhere to run, would it help if she did?
Only in here by  accident, a pathway was missed.
She hoped that the dragon saw into her soul,
The legends all said that they could.
　
Closer, so close now... She hoped it was quick.
He went to one knee,  and quietly asked for a kiss.
Your soul, he whispered, makes my world seem so bright.
　
She smiled, then, at him, the great noble beast,
Leaned closer, a kiss gently placed on both cheeks.
Calmly venturing forward,  laying cradled by him
His soul he had opened, their lives now intwined
　
I know you can't stay, forlornly he said,
Our lives are so different, our worlds far apart.
His eyes shed a tear, knowing now she must go,
But deep in their hearts, they knew she'd return.....


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## Meanderer

Salty Tears by Tea Lady Mel

(Inspired while drinking a Longjing) 


"If Mr. Dragon cries, his tears would be salty
After all, he has spent thousands of years flying over
Oceans and heartbroken people – it’s only natural that
Mr. Dragon would feel like earth after a while
Legend has it that if you collect all Mr Dragon’s tears
And drink one cup of this elixir, you will never cry again
Your soul will become immune to sorrow
And your body will merge with the sea"


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## hauntedtexan

I died today... you gonna miss me?
We laughed and fought and laughed some more
Our days were full of lifes sad endings
But triumphs reached would make us soar
　
My laugh was weird, you used to say
But you still worked hard to make me
You cried and said to go away
But my heart would never let me
　
Now our time for sad goodbye has come
Every one of us must go away
I know that most of me must go
But a bigger part, we know, will stay


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## Meanderer

A poem by Emily Dickinson


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