[mizzy25]

me and one other lass wrote it one day when we were very bored, cant remember doing it for the customers but we did for the other staff. i left there about 13 years ago but have kept in touch with trish who wrote it with me (im carole lol) and we have a few nights out per year. the rap we thought was long gone as we always thought i had it and i lost it, then lo and behold trish was sorting her cupboards/wardrobes out and she found it and as we were out on sat night she brought it along for me.

[Kizzy]

That's really great mizzy mmmmmm I really fancy a latte now haha!

[mizzy25]

found another one but this wasnt wrote by me it was wrote for me by a workmate. it was after delifrance and i worked as a cleaner in a school.

this ones called Wor Caz and was wrote for me by a workmate i worked as a cleaner in a school then.

she starts work @ 3pm in the afternoon
when the suns out and there isnt a moon!

as she come in she lets out a yawn
its afternoon, not the crack of dawn!

its time for work, we all muster
just to get carole to get her duster.

off to the cupboard she will trot
then comes straight back "something shes forgot"

she,ll spend all day trying to clean
the kids are about it makes her mean.

shes in the cloakroom mopping the floor
"is Dave about?" the mess in heres more!

At 5pm in the kitchen she is
making her pop without the fizz.

As were outside having a cuppa
she is talking about "chicken dippers for supper"

She sits and she laughs and an ear she will bend
she is funny "wor caz" from "whippet waarllsend"

[Ammi]

Originally Posted by mizzy25

found another one but this wasnt wrote by me it was wrote for me by a workmate. it was after delifrance and i worked as a cleaner in a school.

this ones called Wor Caz and was wrote for me by a workmate i worked as a cleaner in a school then.

she starts work @ 3pm in the afternoon
when the suns out and there isnt a moon!

as she come in she lets out a yawn
its afternoon, not the crack of dawn!

its time for work, we all muster
just to get carole to get her duster.

off to the cupboard she will trot
then comes straight back "something shes forgot"

she,ll spend all day trying to clean
the kids are about it makes her mean.

shes in the cloakroom mopping the floor
"is Dave about?" the mess in heres more!

At 5pm in the kitchen she is
making her pop without the fizz.

As were outside having a cuppa
she is talking about "chicken dippers for supper"

She sits and she laughs and an ear she will bend
she is funny "wor caz" from "whippet waarllsend"

......I hope you post more in here mizzy..I love that you write these for people you know..

[mizzy25]

that last one was wrote for me about me ammi, sorry i dont have anymore.

[DanaC]

Originally Posted by Ben

Just a little thread to post poems you have read or written yourself if you wish.


This poem is what got me into poetry when I was 14. It just touched my heart and mind in a way nothing else could do at that time of my life.

WILFRED OWEN

DULCE ET DECORUM EST

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.



http://www.warpoetry.co.uk/owen1.html

This was got me into poetry too! Loved it. Did it at school and it blew my mind.

[DanaC]

I write poetry from time to time. I have a little site for the ones I've done over the last decade or so and decided to keep. Some light, some dark some just observations or experiments, some political and some very personal. It's desperately in need of an update mind you

http://sites.google.com/site/danispoetry/


I'd like to share a few with you if that's ok


Starting with something quite light and fun: one I wrote for my eldest niece on her 18th Birthday:

For Amelia on the Occasion of her Eighteenth Birthday

A is for all the things you’ve done,
The artist’s eye and acrobatic cartwheels in the living room.
M is for the cards you made, the ones we’ve kept, the pictures saved.
And for all the madcap fun, the jokes and playfights in the sun.

E is for the evergreen, everlasting summer scene,
Evenings spent with trusted friends,
Hot tub parties, treehouse dens.

L is for your Mother’s little girl,
Learning how to walk into the world.
Also for the laughing eyes, lightning fists, your Daddy’s pride,
And for learning how to be your self.

I is for the innocent babe. Eighteen years ago this very day.
And for the inspired instigator, having fun with little sister,
In these altogether halcyon days.

And finally my dear, from your aunt, another A,
For all the things you know we seldom say.
All the love and all the cherish, all the pride and all the relish,
All my wishes babe, along the way.





And a darker, very personal one written when my Dad was becoming very ill:

Dad

I watch you as you walk.
Your footsteps, slower than before.
The dressing gown you wear,
hangs from you, awkward
and more than you need.

A momentary pain
crosses your face,
I see you wince.
Your mouth open slightly
as you struggle to breathe.

I try to cheer you up,
I talk about the programmes that
you watch.
The cop show, American and slick.
I foster interest. I watch the same show.

Something I say catches your ear,
You smile, a small grin.
And I see my brother there.
In the rope of muscles tensing down your arm,
Your stance, the way you lean against the wall.

Was that how you used to look?
So long ago, I didn’t know,
the way that this would go.
In the end, is this the way it all goes?
Echoes of a face that I once knew.

The hacking cough at night,
the sleeplessness.
The nurses cannot know, they’d never guess,
How neatly that you ate.
The way you’d fold the wrapper of a sweet.

I flatter you with memory.
I change you every time I think of you.
I take a decade off,
I change the view.
It shocks me every time that I see you.


A political/social observation poem next. Inspired by my Mum's work at the time with asylum seekers and refugees:

Asylum

Come on in, take a seat and don’t make a sound.
We’ll give the help that you need,
to return to where you’ll bleed on someone else’s ground.
Is that a child at your skirt, with her eyes blazing hurt?
Well that will never do.
There’s a doorway over there, it’s wet and stormy and you're scared,
but it’s the best that we can do.

Did you think that we would care?
Did you think we’d lay it bare? For a sufferer like you?
Tell your story in your sleep, there are rules we need to keep,
we have our own problems too.
We can hurt you if we want, we can hold you to account,
for the way that you arrived and the troubles you can count.

Tell me again, what they did to your men,
when they stormed through the night.
We’ll file it and say you’re a liar and anyway, you left it too late.
Did your son survive? Is your sister alive?
Prove your pain to us now, are those tears in your eyes?
Now tell us again, how many of them, did not survive?

Can you show us some scars? Can you prove who you are?
Did you think we would take it on faith?
You’re thin as a whip, you look dead and you sit like a long forgotten wraith.
And your eyes hold the colour of all that you lost,
your shoulders weighed with the unbearable cost, of how you got away.

We’ve reached our conclusion. Your scars aren’t enough,
we’re sending you home, your story’s a bluff.
The rapes never happened, the death toll’s a lie,
no one was tortured, nobody died.
You never were married, your son never lived,
your sister’s made up and the names that you give don’t exist.

It’s five in the morning. The runway is cold.
Your little girl’s crying, from eyes that look old.
The men who brought you, were rough and unkind,
they bruised you and dragged you and paid no mind
to the tears of your just-wakened child.
You wipe her eyes now, pull her red rain-coat tight
and tell her, you’ll make it all right.


And lastly, a little poem I wrote a few months ago and have yet to give a title:

Untitled Poem

Set your direction,
Choose your way.
Foot falling,
Heel to toe, heel to toe.

Your shadow leaps,
ahead of you.
Holds the ground,
Signposting indigo

Moving forward,
Through the trees.
Foot rising,
Impressions in the snow, heel to toe

Raindrops spatter,
Boreholes in the snow.
Where the snowbees build,
Their hives of ice and coal.

A sudden flurry,
Brittle wings.
Feathered fallings,
Crumple to the ground below.

The winding path,
in front of you.
Foot falling,
Heel to toe, heel to toe.

[DanaC]

Now I'm gonna go back through the thread and read all these wonderful poems. I've already spotted a few that are awesome.

[Z]

I Will Wade Out - E E Cummings

i will wade out
till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
Alive
with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
Will i complete the mystery
of my flesh
I will rise
After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

[Z]

Desiderata - Max Ehrmann

Go placidly amid the noise and 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 and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and 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 and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the 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 dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.


You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether 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 and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.


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

[Z]

Ernst Jandl - Ottos Mops

This poem is about a little dog (pug I believe) that causes a lot of mischief and stresses his owner out, it's written in German and it's more about the phonetics of the German language and the use of the 'o' sound. Lovely little poem and very clever too. Jandl liked to challenge language.

ottos mops trotzt
otto: fort mops fort
ottos mops hopst fort
otto: soso

otto holt koks
otto holt obst
otto horcht
otto: mops mops
otto hofft

ottos mops klopft
otto: komm mops komm
ottos mops kommt
ottos mops kotzt
otto: ogottogott

[DanaC]

Always loved Desiderata.

[Z]

Originally Posted by DanaC

Always loved Desiderata.

I think it's brilliant.

[Tozzie]

I'm so glad I've found this poetry thread, I love to write rhyming poetry and its nice to have somewhere to share it with my fellow forum friends. Now I have found the thread I'll share them with you daily, hopefully you will enjoy my poems. I've read some great poems here, keep them coming.

Here is one of my favourite poems that I wrote.

Heavenly Soldier

The soldier who died fighting
Now stood at Heavens gate
Would the Lord embrace him?
He waited for his fate

God now asked the soldier
Do you deserve a place
Here with these good people
From the human race?

The soldier thinks awhile
Then tells God his thought
No Lord I’m not perfect
But for my fellow man I fought


I carried a gun, I opened fire,
I threw a hand grenade
I didn’t want to kill him
I knelt by him and prayed

I did all this in the call of duty
Killing was not my choice
The army called me up to fight
Me, and many boys

See dear lord I am not bad
For my country I had to serve
I stood shaking, terrified
But I couldn’t lose my nerve

The Lord by now had heard enough
His judgement he had made
Come in my son walk through here
Come join the heavenly parade

So now the soldier marches on
Burdens taken from his shoulders
Happy in Heaven serving God
With other fallen soldiers

[DanaC]

That's really good Tozzie!

Very moving. I like the structure, too. It really works.

[Tozzie]

Originally Posted by DanaC

That's really good Tozzie!

Very moving. I like the structure, too. It really works.

Thanks Dana. Glad you liked it. I do write some quite sad poems but I also write some humourous ones, I'll post a humourous one tomorrow. x

[DanaC]

Originally Posted by Tozzie

Thanks Dana. Glad you liked it. I do write some quite sad poems but I also write some humourous ones, I'll post a humourous one tomorrow. x

I'll look forward to that!

[DanaC]

This seems an appropriate juncture to post an anti-war poem *smiles*

Written a few years ago after the initial invasion of Iraq, as we were told the war was over: an announcement which preceded a decade of occupation and further fighting.

Babylon Burns

The War is dead;
long live The War.
No hidden stash;
no secret store.

And in my name,
they sent the planes:
that dropped the bombs;
that brought the rain.

A million marched,
and were ignored;
voices drowned out,
by shock and awe.

They swagger on;
they know no shame.
How many dead?
How many maimed?

And in my name,
they broke it down.
Babylon burns.
Babylon drowns.

The War is dead;
long live The War.
And in my name,
they sent the planes.
A million marched,
and were ignored.
They swagger on;
they know no shame.

And in my name
they broke it down.
And in my name,
They sent the rain.
Babylon burns;
Babylon drowns

[DanaC]

This one is autobiographical. A scene from my childhood.

The Three Musketeers

The Three Musketeers, with their two trusty hounds,
Jumped into the car and sped into the night.
And the windows, still frosted, took moments to clear,
as the car nosed its way through the streets and the lanes.


And the Three Musketeers, sang stories of fear,
And the trembling and shake of the beasts that drew near
And the dogs looked uneasy, at a dark shape ahead,
So the Three Musketeers drew their swords and prepared.


But the shape was unmoving; just static and glowering.
The dogs grew more frightened, their growls growing louder
And the first Musketeer said ‘you know we must get out;
It could be a person, or a beast that’s been injured


Or an alien visitor crashed by the wayside’ and saying this,
Swift and decisive, she opened the car door, and slipped out to see it.
But just as she did so, she glanced back beside her,
and told her co-pilot, ‘look after your sister.’


The second Musketeer, with a flurry of motion,
Followed the first and approached the still roadblock
But the third Musketeer, stayed behind with the hound dogs,
Their tails all aquiver, their throats filled with growling.


A shout from the dark road, a yell and some laughter,
The shape, just the air-billowed round of a bin-bag
The two Musketeers clicked the clasps of their seatbelts
and smiled at the third as they whooshed down the night lane.


And all of the stories they told of their journey,
Come back down the years when the night sky is calling,
The Three Musketeers, with the two matching hound dogs,
off on their wild rides and night time adventures

[Tozzie]

Originally Posted by DanaC

This one is autobiographical. A scene from my childhood.

The Three Musketeers

The Three Musketeers, with their two trusty hounds,
Jumped into the car and sped into the night.
And the windows, still frosted, took moments to clear,
as the car nosed its way through the streets and the lanes.


And the Three Musketeers, sang stories of fear,
And the trembling and shake of the beasts that drew near
And the dogs looked uneasy, at a dark shape ahead,
So the Three Musketeers drew their swords and prepared.


But the shape was unmoving; just static and glowering.
The dogs grew more frightened, their growls growing louder
And the first Musketeer said ‘you know we must get out;
It could be a person, or a beast that’s been injured


Or an alien visitor crashed by the wayside’ and saying this,
Swift and decisive, she opened the car door, and slipped out to see it.
But just as she did so, she glanced back beside her,
and told her co-pilot, ‘look after your sister.’


The second Musketeer, with a flurry of motion,
Followed the first and approached the still roadblock
But the third Musketeer, stayed behind with the hound dogs,
Their tails all aquiver, their throats filled with growling.


A shout from the dark road, a yell and some laughter,
The shape, just the air-billowed round of a bin-bag
The two Musketeers clicked the clasps of their seatbelts
and smiled at the third as they whooshed down the night lane.


And all of the stories they told of their journey,
Come back down the years when the night sky is calling,
The Three Musketeers, with the two matching hound dogs,
off on their wild rides and night time adventures

you write really well, I've enjoyed reading the poems today, really pleased I found this thread. Its good when we find people we have things in common with. x

[DanaC]

Last one then I'll stop, I promise


Memory

Some
kind,
of strange day;

matters
are scattered,
every which way.

I
can't,
speak for the,
wind that,

blows through here;
with its,
savage roar, and

hungry jaws.

Scours
as,
it glides; takes
away
what it hides...

....impudent breeze.

[Kizzy]

Originally Posted by DanaC

Last one then I'll stop, I promise


Memory

Some
kind,
of strange day;

matters
are scattered,
every which way.

I
can't,
speak for the,
wind that,

blows through here;
with its,
savage roar, and

hungry jaws.

Scours
as,
it glides; takes
away
what it hides...

....impudent breeze.

I love this! your poems are great dana, amazon do publishing now?

[Benjamin]

Oh, not posted in here for a while. Will try get one of mine in here later.

[Tozzie]

Morning all, hopefully the poem I wrote about the menopause will start your day off with a chuckle. Enjoy.

Menopausal Times

Sprouting hairs on my chin
I’m looking like a man!
Flushes make one sweat like mad
Good job I have a fan!

Pounding heart, sweating palms
I think I’m going to die
This feeling of anxiety
It makes me want to cry

Angry, calm, happy, sad
My moods are topsy turvy
This bloody rotten menopause
Makes me feel all nervy!

Sneezing hard, yes you guessed
I’ve gone and done a trickle
When I cough, laugh or sneeze
It makes me want to pickle

Tender tits, dry down there
I've grown a 'tash and beard
My hairs gone thin I need a wig
My memory’s disappeared

Aching back, gaining weight
It happens every day
I’ll take my pills, potions too
And keep symptoms at bay

Where’s my aid, I’m going deaf
Its gone down the settee!
Pass my specs, there over there
I’m needing them to see

I guess I have to realise
The reason bones are creaking
Is simply nothing else
C’ept old age is a creeping

[Ammi]

..I think I'll give the menopause a miss then Tozzie, it doesn't sound the greatest...good poem though.....