Poetry Corner.

[Dong]

Just made for Corona ?

‘E'd spread along the mistled moor
A’gaggin as e’d gone
E weren’t no fripper to be led
No prizes to be won.
E scagged the rut, ‘is heel all clod
’Is craken head aflame
‘E’d make his timber , knew ‘e not
Before the beldam came.
She’d come in belts of flikky fire
She’d come in scathes of smoke
She’d optimise through coily wreathes
All mortals so to choke.

Dong

 

[Dong]

The end?

A way is found, at the end;
As it always is.
A key to hasten the end
Will now face the trend
To circuses and flowers.
In a side room
A small gathering assembles;
We will never know who
Pulls the switch; for closure.
And then, with a sigh
It is over. Not the tears
Nor the grief, nor the doubt!
They will never be done.
Science versus love!
Who won?

Dong

 

[Dong]

And something lighter?

When you're gagging for a p
And there's nowhere you can see
To go...go find a tree.
It's very big circumference
Will help with your encumbrance
And you can be relieved: Quite privately.

 

[AGirlHasNoName]

There was a young woman from Ealing,
Who had a peculiar feeling,
She lay on her back,
And opened her crack,
And pissed all over the ceiling

 

[Enraged_Anarchy]

If your bottom burps in public,
Try to say intime,
Goodness gracious what a whiff,
It doesn't smell like mine.

 

[sudds]

I dig
You dig
They dig
We all dig

....Its not much of a poem but its deep!

 

[Dong]

There was a large lady from Harrow
Who plied her trade from a barrow
As she bent to her work
She discovered a quirk
For the barrow from Harrow was narrow!

 

[Claire8]

Lost in a world of bewilderment and confusion,
Happiness seems like such an illusion,
Spiralling out of control,
Inside a void, an empty hole,
Constant thoughts that just won't cease,
Struggling to find that missing piece,
Overwhelmed by the darkness,
Having to carry on regardless,
Trying so hard just to be okay,
Longing to go back to yesterday,
Surrounded by people, but oh so alone,
Always the one lowering the tone,
Misconstrued and so misunderstood,
Floating aimlessly like lost driftwood,
In the darkness, in the shade,
Worn out, drained, all edges are frayed,
Nothing seems to be in its right place,
Putting a fake smile upon my face,
Locked in the prison, the prison in the mind,
Self critical, judgemental, and always unkind,
Crumbling and falling apart,
Not knowing where to begin, where to start,
Time is ticking, running out,
Full of uncertainty and self doubt,
Missing something, so incomplete,
People feel the need to be better, to compete,
Forgetting we all are struggling in our own ways,
Just trying to get through the difficult days,
Living our lives as hard as they maybe,
Churned up and dying internally,
Inner demons won't let us be,
Uphill battle, uphill struggle, trying to be free,
Searching for the switch to turn on the light,
Fumbling around, left and right,
One day maybe the pieces will come together,
In the future maybe we will survive any kind of weather.

 

[Dong]

That is as good as any commentary on Coronavirus I have come to yet.
I an now going to self-isolate forever.

 

[megs233]

A POEM THAT SOME CAN RELATE TO

I remember the cheese of my childhood, And the bread that we cut with a knife,
When the children helped with the housework,
And the men went to work not the wife.

The cheese never needed a fridge,
And the bread was so crusty and hot
The children were seldom unhappy
And the wife was content with her lot.

I remember the milk from the bottle,
With the yummy cream on the top,
Our dinner came hot from the oven,
And not from the fridge; in the shop.

The kids were a lot more contented,
They didn't need money for kicks,
Just a game with their mates in the road,
And sometimes the Saturday flicks.

I remember the shop on the corner,
Where a pen'orth of sweets was sold
Do you think I'm a bit too nostalgic?
Or is it...I'm just getting old?

I remember the 'loo' was the lav
And the bogey man came in the night,
It wasn't the least bit funny
Going "out back" with no light.

The interesting items we perused
From the newspapers cut into squares,
And hung on a peg in the loo,
It took little to keep us amused.

The clothes were boiled in the copper
With plenty of rich foamy suds
But the ironing seemed never ending
As Mum pressed everyone's 'duds'.

I remember the slap on my backside,
And the taste of soap if I swore
Anorexia and diets weren't heard of
And we hadn't much choice what we wore.

Do you think that bruised our ego?
Or our initiative was destroyed?
We ate what was put on the table
And I think life was better enjoyed.

 

[Words]

Nobody in the lane, and nothing, nothing but blackberries,
Blackberries on either side, though on the right mainly,
A blackberry alley, going down in hooks, and a sea
Somewhere at the end of it, heaving. Blackberries
Big as the ball of my thumb, and dumb as eyes
Ebon in the hedges, fat
With blue-red juices. These they squander on my fingers.
I had not asked for such a blood sisterhood; they must love me.
They accommodate themselves to my milkbottle, flattening their sides.

Overhead go the choughs in black, cacophonous flocks—
Bits of burnt paper wheeling in a blown sky.
Theirs is the only voice, protesting, protesting.
I do not think the sea will appear at all.
The high, green meadows are glowing, as if lit from within.
I come to one bush of berries so ripe it is a bush of flies,
Hanging their bluegreen bellies and their wing panes in a Chinese screen.
The honey-feast of the berries has stunned them; they believe in heaven.
One more hook, and the berries and bushes end.

The only thing to come now is the sea.
From between two hills a sudden wind funnels at me,
Slapping its phantom laundry in my face.
These hills are too green and sweet to have tasted salt.
I follow the sheep path between them. A last hook brings me
To the hills’ northern face, and the face is orange rock
That looks out on nothing, nothing but a great space
Of white and pewter lights, and a din like silversmiths
Beating and beating at an intractable metal.

fancy a blackberry crumble

 

[Dong]

Crowned

When Corona came we were clean;
Untroubled by virus and cure,
Ne'er did our thoughts wander
To our world becoming unpure.
We were Crowned in the earliest Spring
Where we struggled to comprehend
That beyond the heartening sunshine
Our world was near to an end.
Ne'er were our spring flowers so sightly
Ne'er our heavens so blue
Ne'er the threat hanging over
That some saw as justly our due.
The battle is on at this moment
And a conclusion may be nigh
Mankind will probably live:
And many futures will die.

 

[LadyOnArooftop]

There is sight
In the eyes now closing
A light
Which none others can see

And it guides unbelievers
And other self-deceivers
To a place
Where they had never thought to be.

 

[Dong]

I'd rather be in
With a bottle of gin
Than queuing at Durdle Door.

The day may be fair
But the whole world is there
All waiting their turn to get in.

If they do reach the beach
They'll sit within reach
Of others, all breaking the law.

And all gentle breezes
Wil not hide the sneezes
Of those stricken
At Durdle Daw.

 

[TwoWhalesInAPool]

Stand ye calm and resolute,
Like a forest close and mute,
With folded arms and looks which are
Weapons of unvanquished war.

And if then the tyrants dare,
Let them ride among you there;
Slash, and stab, and maim and hew;
What they like, that let them do.

With folded arms and steady eyes,
And little fear, and less surprise,
Look upon them as they slay,
Till their rage has died away:

Then they will return with shame,
To the place from which they came,
And the blood thus shed will speak
In hot blushes on their cheek:

Rise, like lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number!
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you:
Ye are many—they are few!

-Percy Bysshe Shelley

 

[Dong]

Stand ye calm and resolute,
Like a forest close and mute,
With folded arms and looks which are
Weapons of unvanquished war.

And if then the tyrants dare,
Let them ride among you there;
Slash, and stab, and maim and hew;
What they like, that let them do.

With folded arms and steady eyes,
And little fear, and less surprise,
Look upon them as they slay,
Till their rage has died away:

Then they will return with shame,
To the place from which they came,
And the blood thus shed will speak
In hot blushes on their cheek:

Rise, like lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number!
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you:
Ye are many—they are few!

-Percy Bysshe Shelley

And if the many are weak,,,and the few strong?

 

[BasildonBond]

The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours.

The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours.

A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause.

For the peace of my years
In the long green grass, will be yours and yours and yours.

 

[Dong]

Curtains.

The theatre of Earth is dying,
The curtains are falling now
Drawing ever closer
With death for every brow.
Gaia has been forgiving
Watching her children grow,
Rueing their depredations;
More than she should allow.
Now Covid is the wind
That reaches every place
Diluting all the people
Country, Nation, race.

Dong.

 

[LadyOnArooftop]

Lockdown finds oneself all alone
What is a person to do?
One could put up a shelf, or please oneself
It's really up to you.

There's no one about,
The kids and spouse, are not in the house
Why not knock one out?

Taking the self-guided tour,
Knocking out a crafty one, before the moment's gone,
You'll feel better for it I'm sure.

 

[BasildonBond]

Lockdown finds oneself all alone
What is a person to do?
One could put up a shelf, or please oneself v1
It's really up to you.

There's no one about,
The kids and spouse, are not in the house
Why not knock one out?

Taking the self-guided tour,
Knocking out a crafty one, before the moment's gone,
You'll feel better for it I'm sure.

I'm not sure knocking out an IKEA shelf really cuts the mustard, but if that's what floats your boat........or have I misunderstood?

A very poignant poem. Made famous by the movie 'Carve her name with pride'. It was issued as a secret poem code to the British spy Violette Szabo, who was captured, tortured and executed by the Nazis.

Oh you ARE a clever woman. Well spotted!