Wednesday 28 February 2018

A Trio of poems for a Snowy Day.

SNOW.

Oh! Look - snow.
It's no joke
For old folk.



Hungry birds,
Gathering on the wall
Different species.
Both large and small.
Little birds
Eat nuts from a feeder.
No food today for
Birds any bigger -
they will go hungry.


Snowflakes,
No two the same
Flutter slowly,
Wind blown ones
Hurtle passed
The window.
Indoors the
Heating is on
Through the
Windows, we
Watch and wonder
At the SNOWFLAKES.

The Road not Taken by Robert Frost..


The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves, no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
    I took the one less traveled by,
    And that has made all the difference.

Tuesday 27 February 2018

If your life is to mean Something...

'If your life is to mean something, it is up to you.


You cannot influence the movements of the planets.
You cannot live forever.
You cannot affect the entropy of the universe.
All you can do is make this moment -- your moment -- better.
You can affect the lives of others around you, and you can affect your own life.
You can ease some suffering...'

(The Universe Doesn't give a Flying F**k About You), Truant, J.(date not printed)

Monday 26 February 2018

Snowdrops by E. Sirell

Snowdrops.     By E. Sirrell.

Always remember,
That if a small, delicate flower
Can find strength
To push its way
Through hard frozen ground
Year after year.
The the possibilities
For humans are endless.

We have so much more
Strength
And
Potential
Then we realise
We need to learn,
How to use it the correct way.

Sunday 25 February 2018

A few Verses not meant to be Taken Seriously!!

Verses on Flu and Flew.

To Spain, we flew
For a week or two,
For rest and relaxation.
Back home we flew,
Guess who came too
What? The Flu!!
Atishoo.


What can you do?
When you’ve got the flu
Sit it out with a tablet or two
Keep warm with plenty of tissues!


A bird down our chimney flew
Rattle, bang, crash, and squawk.
It landed behind our gas fire
Roy, not liking birds, was no help
What was I to do, what was I to do?
Well nothing, I couldn’t help it
poor dead bird, to heaven - it flew.


What to write about flew and flu,
I puzzled what to do, to do?
My head, unthinking, zippo
What can I write, what can I do
I don’t know, it’s up to you!!


And to finish:

A haiku to write
About atishoo, cough!
Pass me tissues !!



Saturday 24 February 2018

MESSAGES. A poem written by a WWI Soldier.

Messages.

“I cannot quite remember……
         There were five.
Dropt dead beside me in the trench
         And three
Whispered their dying messages to me…..

Back from the trenches, more dead
         Than alive,
Stone deaf and dazed, and with a broken knee
He hobbled slowly, muttering vacantly.

I cannot quite remember…..
         There were five
Dropt dead beside me in the trench
          And three
Whispered their dying messages to me…..”

Their friends were wondering
        How they thrive
Waiting a word in silence patiently…..
But what they said, or who their
         Friends may be.

I cannot quite remember…..there
         Were five
Dropt dead beside me in the trench
  • And there
Whispered their dying messages to me

Poem by Wilfred Wilson Gibson  (1905-1925)

Notes: The returned soldier, losing his memory
Partially deaf and dazed haunted by the memory
Of those who whispered to him before they died.
His was maybe the first known case of PTSD.

The spelling of "Dropt" is as the poet wrote it.

Friday 23 February 2018

The story of birds in my garden.

Tit birds in my garden.
My next door neighbour, Ray, has always
fed the birds, we have always watered them.
Then, one morning, Ray was run over by
an unlicensed, uninsured person in the
Library Car Park, The feeders soon emptied.
I thought I had better take over his job.

I went and bought a selection of food
and the holders, some suet squares.
Filling them up, I came indoors and waited.
No birds arrived, it took a few days before
the jeweled coloured Blue tits came.
They turned out to be so shy, if they
saw a movement in the kitchen
they hid in the dormant Hawthorne.

We were to be visited by Great tits,
long tailed tits, dull brown Sparrows,
the odd Blackbird fluttered frantically
trying to emulate the dainty Blue tits.
They ate so much, I had to quickly
restock the holders. It is such a joy
to watch the antic and jealous spats.
The squirrel joined in the feeding frenzy.

I saw Ray outside with a crutch, filling
his nut holders. He told me he “had
let me borrow his birds while
he we was out of action so I
could keep his birds a little longer”.
For a little time, we are sharing
His birds!!

Wednesday 21 February 2018

The Magpie.

THE MAGPIE.
Oh! What an elegant bird
So good to look at,
Wearing his formal clothes
But then,  they make that awful sound
That is so bad to hear.

Oh! What an imposing bird
Did you know, that when
He takes a wife,
it is for life BUT
he is so noisy to hear.

Oh! What an iridescent bird
Known as the Devil’s bird who
Sat on the cross of Christ
And unlike the Dove, shed not a tear.
His shrieks are shrill to hear.

Oh! What a superstitious bird
They collect in trees.
In Nursery Rhyme books we
Count them to see if we are to
Lucky or unlucky!
It is just his sound, so awful to hear,

Magpies, One for sorrow
              Two for joy
              Three for a girl
               Four for a boy
               Five for silver
               Six for gold
               Seven for a secret never to be told
               Eight for a wish
               Nine for a kiss
               Ten for a surprise you should be careful not to miss
               Eleven for health
               Twelve for wealth
               Thirteen beware, it’s the Devil himself.

(We saw 14 in a nearby tree - from our bedroom window.)



Saturday 17 February 2018

Low GI Bread, poet unknown.

'Low GI Bread'

Down at the bakers, I’ve heard it’s been said,
There’s an excellent special offer on of Low GI bread.
So I put on my coat and set off down the road
For something to lower my glycaemic load.

And there in the window in prominent view
Was a sign confirming what I’d been told was true:
‘Live your life healthy, for you’re a long time dead –
Come in and sample our Low GI bread!’

The devil inside me said ‘I wonder if they know?
They say ‘Low GI’, but what makes it so?’
So I questioned the counter girl, would she comply?
She looked somewhat puzzled, then gave this reply…

‘Well, the ‘Low’ means there’s less, and the ‘I’ means ‘Inside’,
But as for the ‘G’, I can’t decide…
Could it be Garlic or Ginger or Goat?
Or (scraping the barrel!) a Gloucestershire stoat?’

‘Or Gherkins or Grapefruit, or maybe Goose fat?’
I suggested ‘Glycaemic?’ – ‘No, I don’t think it’s that –
Gammon? Or Gumbo? Or Guava? Or Gin?’
(She was beginning to wish that I hadn’t come in!)

Then a lady beside me said ‘Why would I pay more
For bread that has less of what went in before?’
That caused the girl’s listing of ‘G’ things to stop,
So we both turned around briskly and vacated the shop!


Friday 16 February 2018

Burning Desire. 2 x  Short Poems.

1.
Burning Desire, your hearts; on fire!
You are waiting for him coming.
Is that him there? Heart beats higher.
No, that’s not him. Emotions draining.


2.

The toddlers’ burning ambition is
to walk. Holding both of mums hands
he totters across the room. Then,
Bump, he bounces down to the carpet.
Mum hauls him back onto his feet.
Now with daddy sitting in the chair,
holding his arms out to his son.
An anxious mum nervously lets
their precious toddler, take his
first steps unaided….
Straight into daddys’;

waiting arms.

Thursday 15 February 2018

Day 10 The Snowman by Wallace Stevens.

Day 10.  The Snow Man by Wallace Stevens.

One must have the mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow,
And have been cole for some time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces enough in the distant glitter
On the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of new leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.