Post a poem here!

Of course, in my stranger moments I come up with stuff like ...

A REAL Bedtime Story

Care Bears cavorting ‘neath bright morning sun
Kittens and puppies all having their fun
Flowers do sway to the music so nice
Courtesy of the twelve fiddling mice


Curtsy and bow as the dancers all do
Trip the fantastic – a new waltz or two
Rainbows appear in a cloudless blue sky
Lions and lambs all together do lie


“Thank you” and “Please” are the words of the day
No one need tussle to get their own way
Lollipops grow on the branches of trees
When the snow falls, we seem never to freeze


Every day’s bright with it’s magical fill
Everyone’s healthy, no one can get ill
Women are gorgeous, the men are all sleek
Seven days loafing makes up our work week


(*looks around…*)
…I think the youngsters have been lulled to sleep…


Suddenly Hell came to rule once again
Bringing back sorrow and worry and pain
Eating the puppies and slaying the cats
Throwing Care Bears into bubbling vats


Stomping on flowers and poisoning mice
Using the bones of the dancers as dice
Polluting the rainbow and darkening sky
Slaying the lions and lambs as they lie


“No, Master, NO!!!” are the words that they love
There’ll be no salvation from Heaven above
Lollipops sodden with toxic decays
Snowflakes are plague-filled, just like the old days!


Eternal darkness is what we do see
I can’t save you and you cannot save me
Women are demons, the men are much worse
Our work week is endless, our Satanic curse


(*Oops – the kids are waking up…*)


And so did the children live out their glad days
Exploring the world and its wondrous ways
It’s lunch time, I think – have a hot dog or two
You really love me, and I truly love you!


Good night, boys and girls…
 

Now that sir, is my kind of poetry.
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I am no good at writing poetry or versing them but I do like poems of all sorts.. mainly
character ones like Australian Bush Ballads.. Man from Snowy River its my favourite ..I had an
uncle who could sit and recite it word for word.. what a memory he had.. also he remembered and
recited a longish poem its called How many legs has a caterpillar got.. probably about a 6 page poem.. it
was a delight to listen to him but sadly he has passed on .. now here is a little ditty I found , no doubt you
all have seen it one way or another on the net or emails.. but its true and I think it applies to us all..

Friends Without Faces

We sit and we type and we stare at our screens,
We can't help but wonder what all of this means.
With mouse in hand ...we roam through this maze,
On an infinite search...lost in a daze.

We chat with each other, we type all our woes
At times we'll band together to gang up on our foes.
We wait for somebody, to type out our name
We want recognition, but it is always the same.

Soon friendships are formed - but - why we don't know,
But some of these friendships, will flourish and grow.
We give kisses and hugs, and sometimes we'll flirt,
In IMs we chat deeply, and reveal why we hurt.

Why is it on screen, we are so easily bold,
Telling our secrets, that have never been told.
The answer is simple, it is as clear as a bell,
We all have our problems, and need someone to tell.

We can't tell real people, but tell someone we must
So we turn to our 'puters ...and to those we can trust.
Even though it sounds crazy...the truth still remains,
Most of my "friends" have no faces...and odd little names.

By Laura.
 
One of my favourites by Australian Authors..
CJ Dennis..
Wot`s in a Name.!!
Wot's in a name? -- she sez . . . An' then she sighs,
An' clasps 'er little 'ands, an' rolls 'er eyes.
"A rose," she sez, "be any other name
Would smell the same.
Oh, w'erefore art you Romeo, young sir?
Chuck yer ole pot, an' change yer moniker!"

Doreen an' me, we bin to see a show --
The swell two-dollar touch. Bong tong, yeh know.
A chair apiece wiv velvit on the seat;
A slap-up treat.
The drarmer's writ be Shakespeare, years ago,
About a barmy goat called Romeo.

"Lady, be yonder moon I swear!" sez 'e.
An' then 'e climbs up on the balkiney;
An' there they smooge a treat, wiv pretty words
Like two love-birds.
I nudge Doreen. She whispers, "Ain't it grand!"
'Er eyes is shining an' I squeeze 'er 'and.

'Wot's in a name?" she sez. 'Struth, I dunno.
Billo is just as good as Romeo.
She may be Juli-er or Juli-et --
'E loves 'er yet.
If she's the tart 'e wants, then she's 'is queen,
Names never count ... But ar, I like "Doreen!"

A sweeter, dearer sound I never 'eard;
Ther's music 'angs around that little word,
Doreen! ... But wot was this I starts to say
About the play?
I'm off me beat. But when a bloke's in love
'Is thorts turns 'er way, like a 'omin' dove.

This Romeo 'e's lurkin' wiv a crew --
A dead tough crowd o' crooks -- called Montague.
'Is cliner's push -- wot's nicknamed Capulet --
They 'as 'em set.
Fair narks they are, jist like them back-street clicks,
Ixcep' they fights wiv skewers 'stid o' bricks.

Wot's in a name? Wot's in a string o' words?
They scraps in ole Verona wiv the'r swords,
An' never give a bloke a stray dog's chance,
An' that's Romance.
But when they deals it out wiv bricks an' boots
In Little Lon., they're low, degraded broots.

Wot's jist plain stoush wiv us, right 'ere to-day,
Is "valler" if yer fur enough away.
Some time, some writer bloke will do the trick
Wiv Ginger Mick,
Of Spadger's Lane.
'E'll be a Romeo,
When 'e's bin dead five 'undred years or so.

Fair Juli-et, she gives 'er boy the tip.
Sez she: "Don't sling that crowd o' mine no lip;
An' if you run agin a Capulet,
Jist do a get."
'E swears 'e's done wiv lash; 'e'll chuck it clean.
(Same as I done when I first met Doreen.)

They smooge some more at that. Ar, strike me blue!
It gimme Joes to sit an' watch them two! '
E'd break away an' start to say good-bye,
An' then she'd sigh
"Ow, Ro-me-o!" an' git a strangle-holt,
An' 'ang around 'im like she feared 'e'd bolt.

Nex' day 'e words a gorspil cove about
A secret weddin'; an' they plan it out.
'E spouts a piece about 'ow 'e's bewitched:
Then they git 'itched ...
Now, 'ere's the place where I fair git the pip!
She's 'is for keeps, an' yet 'e lets 'er slip!

Ar! but 'e makes me sick! A fair gazob!
E's jist the glarsey on the soulful sob,
'E'll sigh and spruik, a' 'owl a love-sick vow --
(The silly cow!)
But when 'e's got 'er, spliced an' on the straight
'E crools the pitch, an' tries to kid it's Fate.

Aw! Fate me foot! Instid of slopin' soon
As 'e was wed, off on 'is 'oneymoon,
'Im an' 'is cobber, called Mick Curio,
They 'ave to go
An' mix it wiv that push o' Capulets.
They look fer trouble; an' it's wot they gets.

A tug named Tyball (cousin to the skirt)
Sprags 'em an' makes a start to sling off dirt.
Nex' minnit there's a reel ole ding-dong go -—
'Arf round or so.
Mick Curio, 'e gets it in the neck,
"Ar rats!" 'e sez, an' passes in 'is check.

Quite natchril, Romeo gits wet as 'ell.
"It's me or you!" 'e 'owls, an' wiv a yell,
Plunks Tyball through the gizzard wiv 'is sword,
'Ow I ongcored!
"Put in the boot!" I sez. "Put in the boot!"
"'Ush!" sez Doreen ... "Shame!" sez some silly coot.

Then Romeo, 'e dunno wot to do.
The cops gits busy, like they allwiz do,
An' nose around until 'e gits blue funk
An' does a bunk.
They wants 'is tart to wed some other guy.
"Ah, strike!" she sez. "I wish that I could die!"

Now, this 'ere gorspil bloke's a fair shrewd 'ead.
Sez 'e "I'll dope yeh, so they'll think yer dead."
(I tips 'e was a cunnin' sort, wot knoo
A thing or two.)
She takes 'is knock-out drops, up in 'er room:
They think she's snuffed, an' plant 'er in 'er tomb.

Then things gits mixed a treat an' starts to whirl.
'Ere's Romeo comes back an' finds 'is girl
Tucked in 'er little coffing, cold an' stiff,
An' in a jiff,
'E swallows lysol, throws a fancy fit,
'Ead over turkey, an' 'is soul 'as flit.

Then Juli-et wakes up an' sees 'im there,
Turns on the water-works an' tears 'er 'air,
"Dear love," she sez, "I cannot live alone!"
An' wiv a moan,
She grabs 'is pockit knife, an' ends 'er cares ...
"Peanuts or lollies!" sez a boy upstairs.
 
Framed

My eyes opened
coming out of a dream
when I noticed something strange.

I wasn’t looking out the window
the window was looking at me.

An examination,
black ledges and lines,
window sills, glass,
everything staring.

I filled the corners and the cracks
and the crevices and the holes
in the eye of the window
and the window frame.

I am on display.
Undressing, eating, sleeping, aging,
a piece in a museum.

http://poetry360.wordpress.com
 

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