Maybe it's time to renew your poetic license?

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.
 
BlunderWoman said:
A Berry Sad Story
Click to expand...

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.
 

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.
Click to expand...
 
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.


2hrpxc4.png
 
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". :)
 
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”!
 
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
 
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
 
Maywalk, I have heard that they lay in a supply of yellow jackets, just for that purpose! :)
 
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
 
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
 
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]
 
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!
Click to expand...
Yes I think it certainly does count, a very clever and funny poem.
 
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)
 
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.
 
“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
 
[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
 
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!
 
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"

 
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.
 
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
 

You must log in or register to reply here.

Back
Top