I'll Put a Spell on You.... by marge.

I’ll put a Spell on YOU…. By marge.

If you don’t do as I say:

I am a Witch you know.

A Witch in every way.

Do as I say,

Behave and I can make Snow.

I can make it your Birthday.

If you like it could be Christmas so,

Just do as I say,

I am a Witch you know.

Invictus. By William Ernest Henley.

Out of the night that covers me,

    Black as the pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

    For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

    I have not winced or cried aloud,

Under the bludgeonings of chance

    My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

    Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

    Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

    How charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate,

    I am the captain of my soul.

NOTE: I thought that as the games are

taking place in Australia, you might like

to see the inspiration for their name.

The Inquisitive Mind of a Child. Anon.

A Poem for Remembrance Day

Why are they selling poppies, Mummy?

Selling poppies in town today.

The poppies, child, are flowers of love.

For the men who marched away.

But why have they chosen a poppy, Mummy?

Why not a beautiful rose?

Because my child, men fought and died

In the fields where the poppies grow.

But why are the poppies so red, Mummy?

Why are the poppies so red?

Red is the colour of blood, my child.

The blood that our soldiers shed.

The heart of the poppy is black, Mummy.

Why does it have to be black?

Black, my child, is the symbol of grief.

For the men who never came back.

But why, Mummy are you crying so?

Your tears are giving you pain.

My tears are my fears for you my child.

For the world is forgetting again.

Author Unknown

Note: The first version of this poem I saw
was in a Charity Shop window written on
a Tea Towel. It was not for sale. I searched
the Internet until I found an illustrated
version on The Anzac Remembrance Day
website.

Keys, the Bane of my Life. By marge.

In our house, for keys, we have a place for each set.

BUT, are they in their place, NO.

I carefully return the keys to their designated place.

BUT, does the husband, No.

I am supposed to guess, they are in his trouser pocket.

In his dressing gown pocket.

Are the garage keys in the place that the car keys live?

No, they are on the dining room table.

Are the Conservatory door keys in place on the radiator?

No, they are by the kettle.

He was planning to make a coffee.

Why, oh Why are the front door keys on top of the shoe cupboard?

Why weren’t they left in the lock?

God help us if we have a fire.

All I can say is, “It is a good thing that all keys have spares

In the safe”. Or are they, has he been in there too?

Keys, such a simple thing, are the bane of my life.

Writer's Block by marge.

Writer’s Block.  

                                  

For eighteen months,

I have written every single day.

Little poems, epic poems,

Tumbled from my brain

Onto paper, without thought,

Without effort, almost

Writing themselves.

Little stories, epic experiences,

Written simply, written quickly.

Then, without warning:

The flow, it stopped, it went.

I was reduced to staring

At Blank paper, pen poised.

Blank paper and a blank mind.

My brain disengaged, its power lost.

My thought processes

Held in suspension.

My brain turned to mush,

Empty of ideas or, inspiration.

Will it come back?

Or, has it gone forever?

There is only one way to sort it.

Like when I was young

My mum said,

“You’ll sit there until you eat it!”

So, with my pad and my pen,

I’ll sit here until I write it.

If I can write a word,

A line, a Stanza.

Slowly my brain,

May see the light.

Might my writers' block free itself?

Before I know it,

My poem once started,

Will have a beginning,

Middle and a triumphant end.

Wale by marge.

What a beautiful creature is the Whale,

Using the fin as a sail.

He glides through the water

Just like he ought to,

Such a glorious species to see

Bringing delight to you and me.

I have called him a HE

But there must be some who are she’s.

I have not even seen one for real,

There are T.V., programmes that reveal.

The underwater life that they inhabit,

Free in the sea, or so we thought.

Until Sir David Attenborough showed

The unholy mess we have created.

Many plastic drowning creatures

How ashamed are we when we see.

In our rush for plastic covered products

What the effects the Supermarkets causes.

Lady Depression Hovers! by Jan Holliday.

I can feel it like a noxious cloud.

Threatening to envelop and enslave,

I must take action, or drown.

Please, I beg treat yourself with respect:

Do what has to be done,

Walk away from the rest.

Dust doesn’t hurt, or eat anything.

Dishes in the sink, washing in a pile?

Dunk them in hot water,

Dormant, to soak until later.

Shower, bathe with scented lotions,

Dress up a bit, beads and lipstick

Perfume to give you a lift.

Go out, walking like royalty,

Head up, breathe in, blow out.

Look all around and about.

Shoulders back, pace evenly, at your pace.

From the door, down the path to the gate,

You’re unique, be brave, think proud

Go somewhere, it’s your world.

It belongs to you.

A Cafe, have a coffee, smile,

Smile at a stranger, say “Hello”

You may have met a friend,

That you don’t know yet

BIOG: I am 70 + Was made redundant, became depressed (again).

Went through self-neglect and all the rest. Started at a Writing Group,

After much encouragement and never looked back (I wish) but things

Are much better. Jan.

I Can See Clearly Now by mauveone, 10.10.2018.

When I first started driving,

I had to have glasses,

I was

Twenty three years of age.

Now, at 80 years of age,

and two Cataract operations

later, the Optician has said

“Your vision is so good,

You are now 100% legal to

Drive night or day,

without glasses”.

Absolutely fabulous!

How crisp. How clear the

ridge tiles of the houses

opposite, the hedges,

fences and dogs.

How brilliant the sky is,

What a wonderful thing,

That after a few minutes of

discomfort….

Have created my new world,

Gone is the yellow fog

Now I do not need glasses

Well yes, I do, for reading,

I do read and write a lot.

BUT how happy am I?

Yippee, I can See!!

Pretty Ugly by Abdullah Shaqib.

Some One by Walter de La Mare.

Some One.

By: Walter de la Mare

Some one came knocking

At my wee, small door;

Some one came knocking;

I’m sure-sure-sure;

I listened, I opened,

I looked to left and right,

But naught there was a stirring

In the still dark night;

Only the busy beetle

Tap-tapping in the wall,

Only from the forest

The screech-owl’s call,

Only the cricket whistling

While the dewdrops fall,

So I know not who came knocking,

At all, at all, at all.

NOTE: I learned this poem at school,

then forgot it, I am happy to have

found it again today.