April National Poetry Month

ronaldj

ronaldj

Senior Member
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writing a poem each day could be fun..
instead of procrastinating till day is done...
April is national poetry month you know...
let's make words that rhyme and than show..
just haw clever a piece you can create......
on the edge of my seat, I can hardly wait...
 

I'll bet you're a poet whether or not you know
And enjoy reading the stuff. On the other hand
I a poet not take a book in tow and can not find
the mojo available to you.
 
I really admire you Ronald, I find awkward prose is the best I'll ever do. Because I'm dyslectic I can't read poetry, but I can certainly enjoy it when someone recites it to me.
 

I use to play around with it, but mostly when in dark moods or once when I was writing back and forth with this guy that was truly excellent writer and poet we would trade love letters and ode to crappy poems. A couple of weeks ago, I came across a some really love sick sounding stuff I wrote two decades ago, I couldn't believe how really terrible it was and how good I thought it was at that time. Back then, I used to do a lot of writing, the bug sailed a long time ago. I wasn't ever meant to be a poet.
 
One of my favorite bits of whimsy, learned from my mother:

Oh, there once was a Puffin
Just the shape of a muffin,
And he lived on an island
In the bright blue sea!He ate little fishes,
That were most delicious,
And he had them for supper
And he had them for tea.But this poor little Puffin,
He couldn’t play nothin’,
For he hadn’t anybody
To play with at all.So he sat on his island,
And he cried for awhile, and
He felt very lonely,
And he felt very small.Then along came the fishes,
And they said, “If you wishes,
You can have us for playmates,
Instead of for tea!”So they now play together,
In all sorts of weather,
And the Puffin eats pancakes,
Like you and like me.

​
 
I should write a little something
for all to enjoy..
if I am to call myself...
a poetry writing boy.......
but I am not all that clever
certainly not that cool....
to think I could ever be a poet
for today I am just a fool........
 
my hammer has a broken claw,
my saw is dull as can be.....
my ladder has a broken rung,
cannot climb it now you see.....
my chisel is not sharp,
my plumb has lost its bob.....
and with my fellow workers,
I do no longer hob nob.....
but when I stop and think,
I would not change one thing,
for it is a perfect life I lead,
enjoying the retired days of spring...
 
Gone now are the Winter colds
Beneath the ground new life unfolds
Bulbs burst forth with shoots of green
and on the willow, catkins seen

Daffodils with golden heads
are adding colour to the beds
While crocus with their coloured cup
light the shady corners up

Wakened from their Winter freeze
buds are swelling on the trees
As yet they're curled up small and tight
but soon they'll burst forth in the light

Little birds are flitting round
picking twigs up off the ground
They'll build a nest and find a mate
now that it's time to procreate

With strength to pierce the skies of grey
the sun climbs higher every day
It bathes the ground with light and heat
and makes the season's change complete

The sodden ground is drying fast
The storms of winter are now past
It looks like Winter's in retreat
defeated by Spring's rising heat
 
sitting at the 'puter...not much to say.....
kind of reading this and that,just wasting away my day....
should be doing something maybe a little chore.....
instead of lol cats hanging on a door....
but it is raining on the outside and there is coffee on the in........
.I got time to read just one more weird story once again
 
Toes

Spring stretches,
shaking off the dust of winter
from her skin,
surging forward into green,
riding the honey'd sun
with sticky hands,
wiggling her bee-brown toes
laughing, nuzzling an inverted sky.
 
They ate strange things in days of yore
I'm glad those days are here no more
I don't think I could come to terms
with Pope Leo the Tenth and his "Diet of Worms"
 
Thanks Shalimar. I've been looking for somewhere on SF to post some of my rhymes. Here's another daft one ...

THE WORM TURNS

I'm waiting here within my my hole
Hiding from that big black mole
While up above me I have heard
the pecking of that damn blackbird

At night, to get some peace, I try
and then that hedgehog scurries by
I squirm away beneath a log
and bump into a big green frog

It's no wonder I'm afraid
of people digging with a spade
They never notice that I'm there
It really isn't very fair

With all these hazards to avoid
it's no wonder that I'm paranoid
The whole damn world seems to be
wanting to make a meal of me

Well, I have had about enough
It's time for me to cut up rough
Time for me to make a stand
and take this matter into hand

So in my hole I turn round
and tunnel back into the ground
I burrow up and then I see
the blackbird's got his back to me

He's completely unaware
of the fact that I am there
So very quietly up I come
and bite the bugger on the bum
 
The day we met
My little pet...
That day was cold
And dreary...
But in our hearts
Love flames
took starts...
And we were warm
and cheery...
 
Man loves to hunt it he thinks it's such fun
But give the deer a gun and watch him run

Give the deer a rifle with a powerful fancy scope
Now the deer has a chance so man loses hope

Hunting deer for fun is man's happy little game
If that deer had a chance would he feel the same?
 
One of my all time favorite poems is "Warning" and it goes like this.

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


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


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


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

Jenny Joseph

 
ARMADILLOS

The armadillo you must know
is a funny little critter
She curls up tightly in a ball
just in case you hitter

That is all I've got to say
about the armadillo
Except I 'spose, should you doze
you could use one for a pillow
 
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