Welcome to our Poems and Poetry section, where you are free to submit your own poems or samples of your poetry. We will be running on-going competitions with subsequent winners having their work included for publication. You are also welcome to discuss poetry writing with likeminded others and keep us up to date with your personal projects. Share it with a friend - join our online community.

ODE TO A ZEBRA

A blaze of orange and a flash of black,
I think I'll fake a heart attack?

Flutter, flutter, spiral, doof,
Another zebra hits the roof!

Now for my favourite time of day,
A bowl of water, in which to play!

I'll soak my feet and splash my wings,
Do you think he backed that, 'King of Kings'?

Am hungry now, 'n' their memory needs joggin,
But please, no broccoli, cos I think it's boggin!

I'll twitter and tweet and grind my beak,
Who knows, perhaps, one day, I'll speak?

They shout at me, 'SHUT UP!' when grumpy,
But I think it's cos their custard's lumpy!

Nobody wants to read poems any more,
Unless they don't rhyme 'n' are in metaphor.

So put this in your pipe and smoke it,
Cos I'm the little bird wot wrote it!

SPIDER IN THE CORNER
(c)Agnes 'n' Senga
 
Spied hur dain hur writin,
Spied hur ha'in hur tea,
Spied hur in the lavvy,
But she husnae yit spied me!

Am sat up in the corner,
She disnae ken am here,
Fur if she kent a'd seen hur,
She'd hae shat hursel wae fear!

Am only dain ma knittin,
Watchin oot fur aw ma weans,
An aw she's din this mornin,
Is moan o' aches an pains!

Noo she's tappin oan hur keyboard,
The ironin board's there tae,
The clais ur pile't up oan the flair,
Luiks like thur there tae stay!

http://www.agnesnsenga.co.uk
http://www.scottishwriters.co.uk

http://www.eddieelwood.co.uk

IN RESPONSE TO PENDLE GWYNNE

It's kind of difficult to say,
In any certain way,
What qualifies as poetry,
On any given day.

But I really must agree,
With your views on poetry,
It no longer flows or rhymes,
To any real degree.

What happened to rhythm?
What happened to rhyme?
Perhaps it was all phased out,
Over periods of time?

==========

How sad... if rhyming is the easiest way to remember, I guess poetry is becoming a forgotten art form.

Our latest £50 writing competition has been officially launched, details available on our 'COMPETITIONS' link at http://www.scottishmultimedia.co.uk/Writing/Competitions.htm

We are currently seeking sponsorship for future competitions, with sponsors benefitting from advertising within the printed edition of 'Now You Know'. anyone interested in adding to the prizefund should contact NYK Media by mailto:office@scottishmultimedia.co.uk

GET YOUR ENTRIES IN SOON! THIS COMPETITION IS OPEN TO ALL WRITERS, BUT CONDITIONS APPLY.

Back to http://www.scottishwriters.co.uk

PIANO FOR SALE

I have a tale of woe to tell
Of my piano which I must sell
Oh what a tragic sort of tale
Which tells of my piano for sale
For it has to go so I was told
Though I don’t really want it sold

So a new owner I must find
Someone appreciative and kind
Or to the garage go it must
To become a gatherer of dust
But I can’t keep it out of sight
So I’ll bid farewell to my upright

Why must I part with my dear friend?
But part we must though in the end
Creating extra space is sort
But what makes space of such import?
What makes this move so necessary?
Is the room changed to a nursery

The time has come to do the deed
To write the add for them to read
So how to frame the perfect add
To attract the good but not the bad
Piano for sale, is how I began
Piano for sale, only used for Chopin

TIMES UP

To my chest my
Hands I clasp
I deeply breathe
I wheeze and gasp
My temples throb
My mouth is dry
My heart beats fast
I’m going to die
My voice has gone
My throat is sore
My hands both shake
I can take no more
I lay my head
Upon my knee
Now blow the whistle
Referee

Random Symmetry
for S

He sits in one world and I in mine,
beneath us a cheese cloth of furrowed fields
drops from view as our eyes follow
the scattering paths of gulls, disturbed
by a cause outwith the common view
we share. The random symmetry
of their leaving a counter-balance
to our static imaginings, their wings
form signs we cannot read, they sing
of a freedom we can only watch.

My partial sight, his autistic understanding,
between us we see far more and less
than those behind us on the towpath
guiding their dogs away from the water’s edge
or slowing turning the wheels of their bicycles
like windmills against a Dutch sun.

We sit in the silence of our making
attempting to think the unthinkable,
reaching across the distance of ourselves
toward the other, the stranger
whose company we always keep
yet only recognize in the echoed
reflection of friendly eyes.

things change
things move
it's strange
it's a groove
people die
people live
some lie
some give
bombs there
bombs here
you stare
you fear
it's strange
it's a groove
things change
things move

The guilty and the innocent
The hellbound and the heaven sent
They ride the train together

The pretty girl with wavy hair
The unattended luggage there
They ride the train together

The child who doesn’t understand
The sorrow that somebody planned
They ride the train together

The evil mind without a care
The horror and the despair
They ride the train together

The hope that springs eternal here
The victory over those we fear
They ride the train forever

Edited by author 08-01-2005 11:33 AM
En manos de hombres pecadores...en los brazos de Dios


A Brazilian,
with seven holes in his head,
knows that looks can kill.

Jean Charles de Menezes,
our Josef K for the day,
he runs while we prey.

Put down like a dog,
we watch, face at the window,
his trial and our guilt.

A town black with tears,
Gonzaga is not London
but it bleeds the same.

Fear is a weapon
with a blade for a handle,
his wounds are our own.


http://www.theseerpress.com

four years now since it all got worse
four years now since osama's curse
four years now since the world changed
four years now has it seemed deranged
and in those years so many have died
and in those years so many have cried
and in those years so cruel and long
and in those years we see more wrong

*
she exploded

she prayed to allah for strength that day
she read the koran as the children played
the flowers pressed into her hair
came from the garden where her father lay

her underwear conveyed her emotions
her clothes were folded to hold explosives
the charge was shaped to mould her waist
her farewell tailored into its resting place

she exploded her final proposal
as the authorities tried to approach her
she lifted her skirts to display her wares
baring her intentions she blew them away

*

70 virgins for each young man
if he follows the leader
ignores the koran
70 virgins the reason why
they chose to kill
choose to die
70 virgins must come from afar
cos there ain't that many
from Hull to Stranraer!

*
tae tak’ the name o’ the lassies in vain
an’ mak’ fun o’ their morality
is fair enough if y’ve a stane fur a brain
and yer heid’s kept up wae y'r galluses

tae say there’s nae virgins atween hull ‘n stranraur
is takin’ things jist a wee bit too faur
hymen intactus micht be a foreign language
its jist a question o’ sexuality

if they’re pittin it aboot whaur’s the herm
it’s better th’n keepin’it ‘n their drawers
gies a swatch o’ yir tartan fanny
mak’ luv ! … no’ wars !

*

What Would Change?

Unblinking, I stare through polished glass,
Watching blankly, as life passes by,
But in my mind, that's not what I see,
For out there, I have no part to play.

Every day I look out, watching birds
As they flutter in the nearby trees,
But I'm not really the one watching,
For I am a million miles away.

I am a child of eighty years old,
Playing alone in summer sunshine,
Counting the magpies, one for sorrow,
Two for joy... I am happy today.

If I could turn back time, what would change?
I am without regret, for I loved,
I lived, followed my destiny's path,
And with fond memories I now stay.

If I could turn back time, what would change?
In honesty, not a single day!

http://www.scottishwriters.co.uk

you have no idea
of the destruction here
no concept of the sorrow
for you it's just another day
for some there's no tomorrow

whole towns erased
whole cities raized
the stench of death abounds
no hope left now for many
as one city slowly drowns

from Louisianne
to Alabam
the storm was so intense
so many places cease to be
the destruction is immense

*
Beslan

Child hostages held in classrooms
covered faces holding guns
wires strung across the ceiling
underneath the Beslan sun

Teachers implore with terrified eyes
their children to try hard not to cry
the pristine appearance of their assembly clothes
fading with the light of summer’s last gold

How to terrify children not to cry
you cause one or two of them to die
and as an example to all of the rest
you threaten to meet them with summary death

The children go where they are
god will love you his reach is great
government soldiers fall in behind
no concession to enemies of the state

the die is cast the dice have rolled
fate is settling the card’s been trumped
the children run from what’s behind them
into the tragedy of what’s in front

*
one year later the children know hatred
there is no god there are only soldiers
they make drawings of the gunmen in order to burn them
Brutalised by memories growing older

The children don’t fight themselves anymore
Even the little boys have become adults
Why is my brother not breathing ?
How to break the cycle of violence

I don’t know why my mother died
The terrorists said they came for revenge
Suffering children drinking urine
God kept the best of the children for himself

The hostages were told
to hand in their mobile phones
One little girl did not
the phone rang
and she was shot
The gun has grown
from what they have known
Revenge is not enough to assuage them

School number one is closed
Rock the world with tears and grief
The children died a terrorist prize
Good is strong bad is weak

*

Edited by author 09-24-2005 03:33 AM

hey bobby dylan
as the ink dries on the page
now that the times have changed
we were left wondering this...

who the fuck do we get in touch with?

Edited by author 10-22-2005 03:45 AM
for christ sake where has everybody gone ?
and why is the moon looking at me like that ?

REMEMBRANCE FOR UNCLE JOHN
John Holt 1887-1916

“Your country needs you”
We heard Kitchener say to us
We took the Kings shilling
Without any fuss

Lads and Pals all marched
Crowds cheering jubilantly
Then crossed the English Channel
To halt the advancing enemy

The distant we gain in battle
Against the loss of a comrade
Is measured in inches at best
As we play out Hague’s Charade

We came as proud young men
To halt the invaders advance
Only to live and die
In the mud of western France

In the cloying mud of France
Once rich and fertile soil
No longer appears like earth
And now is as slippery as oil

The mud colours everything
Even we try and fail to stay clean
Mud has consumed the landscape
And hides the dead unseen

Trenches have become home
Trench foot and rats our companion’s
Shellfire is our music hall
Mortars and rifles our musicians

We escape the daily horror
But only within our own minds
Where we explore familiar places
Far beyond the wars confines
 
The enemy are much like us
Their thoughts take them away
To a peaceful quiet land
On a peaceful quiet day

REMEMBRANCE FOR UNCLE JOHN
John Holt 1887-1916

“Your country needs you”
We heard Kitchener say to us
We took the Kings shilling
Without any fuss

Lads and Pals all marched
Crowds cheering jubilantly
Then crossed the English Channel
To halt the advancing enemy

The distant we gain in battle
Against the loss of a comrade
Is measured in inches at best
As we play out Hague’s Charade

We came as proud young men
To halt the invaders advance
Only to live and die
In the mud of western France

In the cloying mud of France
Once rich and fertile soil
No longer appears like earth
And now is as slippery as oil

The mud colours everything
Even we try and fail to stay clean
Mud has consumed the landscape
And hides the dead unseen

Subtle hints of another time
Some old Tree stumps remain
A jagged piece of wall sometimes
Will it ever be normal again?

Trenches have become home
Trench foot and rats our companion’s
Shellfire is our music hall
Mortars and rifles our musicians

We escape the daily horror
But only within our own minds
Where we explore familiar places
Far beyond the wars confines
 
The enemy are much like us
Their thoughts take them away
To a peaceful quiet land
On a peaceful quiet day

I sit in my muddy trench
My eyes closed to all but my wife
My sweet and beloved Tilly
The most important part of my life

Many fallen comrades lie
Where they fell upon the field
They saw no sense to fight
But still they refused to yield

After three long years
In the vile and muddy hell
I climbed out of my trench
And with my comrades fell

FATHER

I feel his hand on my shoulder
Reassuringly
When I am unsure of myself
Or hesitant
I see him watch me sagely
When I seek enlightenment
I see him smile with pride
When I succeed
Or with head inclined to comfort
When I fail
He is with me late at night
Watching Bogey and Bacall
I see his reflection on the lake
When I am fishing
And I hear him cheering loudly
Whenever we beat Australia
His smile sustains me
His words engage me
His strength supports me
His compassion inspires me
I shared joy with him
When my children were born
And sorrow when
My mother passed away
He stood behind me
In church on my wedding day
And beside me
At the reception when we toasted
At quiet moments I detect
The fragrance of old spice
Or the acrid tell tale aroma
Of his pipe tobacco
He is with me now
As I write these words
Though he has been dead
For nearly thirty years

UNWELCOME NEWS

At once she understood
When she heard the words
Their meaning clear
And in that instant
Her voice broke
And then in her throat
A lump formed
Behind her eyes
She felt the stinging
And a tear formed
Then rolled down her cheek
Followed by another
Then another
The salt taste was in her mouth
Her shoulders shook
Uncontrollably
And her mouth opened wide
But know sound escaped
Tears continued down her cheeks
And her nose
Then her legs buckled
And she fell to her knees
In total despair
Now the sound came
Uncontrollable
With her love lost
Her heart was broken
With her love betrayed
Her heart was discarded
But with all the weeping
She knew inside
That all her tears
Would never extinguish her love

BENEATH AUTUMNAL SKIES

Beneath autumnal skies
The suns strength diminishes
With each passing day
Then foliage turns slowly
From green to gold
And finally to red and brown
Before fluttering to earth
The gentle late summer breezes
Make them dance
And when breeze turns to raging storm
They’re sent swirling
As if court in some frenetic snow globe
The lucky ones escape this chaos
And ends their short lives
Trapped Beneath hedgerows
Or blown into quiet corners
The rest whirl like dervishes
Hither and thither
Until the winter rains
Turn them to mush under foot

PARTYING OR CLUBBING

Saturday night on the town
Either partying or clubbing
The object to get someone into bed
Some sights turn you on
Some just turn your stomach
While others turn your head

Long legged fillies
With a skirt so short
It’s little more than a belt
Loose gaping blouses
And breasts unrestrained
Looking like they’ve just been felt

When alcohol takes over
People are then attracted
To all that comes into view
The good looking and the fit
Say they never bed an ugly partner
But they wake up with a few

Each long slender beauty
Has a man on her arm
Or a short dumpy friend
As alcohol slowly takes its toll
It’s the short dumpy bird
Gets the bloke in the end

Edited by author 10-24-2005 07:45 AM
SIZE DOESN’T MATTER

Gnats as big as Bats
Bats as big as Rats
Rats as big as Cats
Fleas as big as Bees
Bees that eat the Trees
Trees that eat the Cheese
Fly’s that eat pork Pies
Pies that wear bow Ties
Ties that tell you Lies
I see with eyes blinking
Things to get me thinking
God I must stop drinking

Edited by author 10-24-2005 04:03 PM
THE PORT OF CUBAN SPRITES

The port of Cuban sprites
Is I agree
A nonsensical phase
Meaningless and just plain daft
But its is still more credible
And makes more sense
Than some judgements
Reached by
The court of human rights

To Stewart and Paul,
To one and all,
I wrote this poem,
In a shopping mall.

At first it was dire,
No passion, no fire,
So I started to think,
Like a hard-nosed buyer.

Getting paid to write,
That would be alright,
My only problem,
Is I write such sh*te.

So I sat on the ground,
With my last paper pound,
And hoped inspiration,
Was what I had found.

We all want paid,
Or so it was said,
But it isn't the same,
Since we lost McDade.

So I started to write,
Some more of this sh*te,
In the hope that one day,
I might get it right.

Then low and behold,
If the truth be told,
I'd doubled my money,
With a simple fold.

I called up the ed,
Who was still in her bed,
Said, listen to me...
Hungry people need fed!

"What do you mean?"
She asked, sounding mean,
"If it's money you're after,
I haven't a bean!"

No, no, my dear,
Please do not fear,
If I was a drinker,
I would ask you for beer.

Dazed and confused,
She blindly refused,
She misunderstood,
I was mildly bemused.

So, this was my suggestion...

If readers are hungry,
They will read what we write,
If they hunger for more,
Then the price should be right.

By writing our words,
All previously untold,
We print them on paper,
Then the paper we fold.

Dress it up fancy,
Give it a cover,
Fill it with dreams,
Then the costs we recover.

At the end of the day,
So the ed did say,
That's what it's about,
Here at N Y K.

Publishing is all about cost recovery: if writers have no financial costs, there is very little incentive to pursue financial recovery.

CHELSKI

Chelsea have won another match
They beat city two goals to one
They were a goal down though
Before they got the job done
Joe Cole scored the equaliser
Shot form twenty yards or more
It took one or two deflections
On the way, well actually it was four

Then Frank Lampard struck
From well outside the box
Wrong footing the keeper
After hitting the full backs buttocks
The ball deflected past the keeper
It hit both posts and the bar
Would it go in no one could see
until it hit the head of the referee

TO DRY GREENHOFF’S TEAR’S

1976, in May
Doc’s red army
Witnessed the young guns
Fail at Wembley
To that iffy goal
Scored by bobby stokes
When Coppell hill and co
Failed to beat McMenemy’s men
A motley crew
Of has-beens and nobody’s
The sick, the lame and the lazy
Won the day
2005, in May
The red army
Witnessed fergies men
At St Mary’s
By two goal’s to one
Relegate them
To the championship
The old division two
Almost thirty years
The saints were a thorn in United’s flesh
Finally the ghost of 76
Has been well and truly laid

sit down
sit down
if you're white
take a seat
stand up
stand up
if you're black
use your feet

but Rosa didn't want to stand on the bus
she didn't fight and she didn't cuss
she sat

thankyou Rosa for that.

WHAT DOES IT TAKE

Does it take the fuller figure?
To help you pull your trigger
Or is it those who kiss and tell
You require to ring your bell
Or does it take a total bitch
To really flick your switch
Perhaps its nurses on the ward
That actually pulls your cord
Is it lamb that’s really mutton?
You need to push your button
Must they wear the briefest thong?
To make you bang your gong
Ought they dress in something tight?
To really light your light
Must they act all prim and proper?
To help to pull your stopper
Must they wiggle when they walk?
To make you pop your cork
The truth is, unless I miss my guess
They need only answer yes

MISS RIGHT

I've been searching all my life
For miss right to be my wife
At last I find the one, I think
I’m wed before I’ve time to blink
Alas, regret for all my days
For her first name is always

GIRLS WHO WEAR GLASSES

Its said “that men seldom make passes
At girls who wear glasses”
But what if the girl is wrapped within
Such soft velvet like skin
Or she is full of vitality and vigor
Or has an hourglass figure
With a pinched waist and curvaceous hips
Or moist pouting lips
Perhaps she has milky white thighs
Or maybe come to bed eyes
What if her blouse struggles to repress
Her large heaving chest?
Maybe she has a dazzling smile that wins
Or has long slender pins
Would men ask out girls who wore glasses
If they had really nice arses?

*
Poor Wee Michael

His mother lies still and very quiet
He doesn’t know why she doesn’t talk
The postman’s hand so near so far
If he sends him a letter maybe he’ll come back

He’s too small to reach the lock
Why does his mother not respond
No one hears his cry at night
Its cold and dark and the heating’s off

Were the curtains open or closed
Was the power card in credit
Had the fridge melted to the floor
When sleep came what did he lie on

Surviving on pieces of fruit and crisps
and orange juice left in the fridge
the contents of which give a hint
about mother and child and care and provision

with nothing but bluebottles to keep him company
should he be worried about the smell from his mummy
why does he not want to lie beside her
why does he not want to give her a cuddle

one two three four
five six weeks alone
forty days and forty nights
left to fend left to fight

*

*
to eddie elwood the poet of the mall

to the poet of the mall you’ve said it all
the best thing to rhyme with sh*te is sterling
and when it comes to football or any kind of sport
profound is the word to best describe my ignorance

a simple fold can manifest
an idea worth six figures - no less
a load a’ money a treasure chest
a concept designed to write its own cheque

but resign yourself to being poor
don’t give up your day job yet
to make any money out of writing
you need good fortune and a modicum of wit

your wit you have already displayed
in the excellent reference to origami that you made
but in the words of the blues man after the fall
if it wasn’t for bad luck I wouldn’t have no luck at all

like a whore paying to sleep with a client
we come to the subject of vanity publishers
scribbling your missives on the toilet wall
doesn’t make you blind and exercises your muscle

*

THE TREATY

The eleventh hour
The T’s were crossed
And the I’s were dotted
The eleventh day
Books were balanced
Of the butchers tally
The eleventh month
Seeds were sown
For the Second World War
By the French at Versailles

REMEMBER, REMEMBER

Guy Fawkes and his friends
Despite meeting sticky ends
After a treasonous endeavor
They were the only men ever
Who entered our Parliament
With real and honest intent

Edited by author 11-01-2005 04:36 AM
THEY FELL

They fell
Like ripened corn
Cut with scythe’s stroke
In seasoned hands
They fell
Like cherry blossom
Set free
By an April breeze
They fell
Like skittles toppled
By a wooden ball
Skilfully played
They fell
Like mighty English oak
Cut in thousands
To build the mighty fleet
They fell
Proudly and unwavering
Before their enemy
Uncompromising in their duty
They fell
Like the valiant
Cut down before their time
A generation forever lost

HAS ANYONE SEEN BERNARD?
 
I can’t remember the last time to be truthful
I heard Mr. Matthew’s say they’re “bootiful”
You never see him smiling broadly on the TV
As he express’s the virtues of bits of Turkey
It’s not even Bernard’s voice on the Turkey ads
No it’s one of those clever impressionist lads
So then what’s become of the Turkey magnate
The police don’t suspect foul play at any rate
His tones still tell us his products are the best
But Mr. Matthew’s himself now has foul pest
Bernard no longer has any hair on his head
But a bright red comb grows on there instead
A crop grows on his chin and he even has a beak
He goes “cocka doodle” if you hear him speak
He rarely goes out and that must be quite hard
Unless it’s to have a scratch in his own back yard
So now he has feathers sprouting from his belly
And that’s why we never see him on the telly

I'VE SEEN BERNARD!

Since 1950, with a dozen eggs in a box,
Bernard Matthews has worked off his socks.
But since the turkeys satisfied that need,
(Thirteen million is a lot, indeed)
Mr Matthews is launching his quest for speed.

'Bootiful', she's called, named after his fame,
And beating 'Endeavor'has become his new game,
Chasing the speed record off the Norfolk coast,
Whilst languishing in profits from his turkey roast,
Speedy watersports is now what Bernard likes most!

A sixty foot cataraman with carbon fibre hulls,
Two cockpits, no rudder, at sea with the gulls.
Now here is my promise, made specially for you,
You can check the facts... they're all 'bootifully' true.
But perhaps this was something, you already knew.

http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk

To Stewart Findlay

Sometimes
It rhymes
Other times
It doesn't

Mostly
It's sh*te
Other times
I'm right.

Football's a game of two halves and he who pays the piper calls the tune...

This is an example of a 'Pro Fun Ditty' :)

http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk

all this talking of turkeys
it's so absurd.
who were the writers?
give them the bird.

Hey Derum...

That wan disnae rhyme right,
When ye spaik it in Scots,
An' it wisnae aw turkeys,
It wis catamarans an' yachts.

:-P

Senga,
Catamarans and yachts are fine to see
but not all of the time
and turkeys too are fine with me
but put them in poems that rhyme.....

What's all this fuss,
Over turkeys and boats?
Is it anything to do
With your sad lack of votes?

VOTE FOR EDDIE ELWOOD

http://www.eddieelwood.co.uk

if I had one vote to use
I would select,
yes I would choose,
with conscience clear
without regret
not a single poet here.

FOR DERUM

In response to your provocation,
I have interupted my vacation,
To join in this altercation.

From the story of boats,
Elwood mentioned the votes,
Through the Turkey King's abdication.

============

OK, that rhymes I think.... do I get any votes?

============

The writers' poll is live on several of the websites and has also been added to individual writers' pages. To vote for Derum, Paul or Eddie, see http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk

============

For The Ed

for wannabe witers
throughout the nation
don't rhyme like the ed
and end each word with "cation"

*

My head is full of last night’s bangs
And I am not alluding to sexual congress with my woman
But that useless bastard who couldn’t do the job
Whom the children in rhyme refer to as guy fawkes

*

*
a’m confused a dinna ken who’s who
an’ a dinna ken wha penned whit
a’ a hear is gobbledy gobbledy gook
an’ an asterisk that stauns fur shit

bernard bumpkin wis a wee roly dumplin’
that did everythin’ tae keep the unions fae his work
an’ the wey things’re goin’ wie the bird flu an a’
its gonna be cauld xmas turkey fur bernard an’ his chums

*

PIANO FOR SALE

I have a tale of woe to tell
Of my piano which I must sell
Oh what a tragic sort of tale
Which tells of my piano for sale
For it has to go so I was told
Though I don’t really want it sold

So a new owner I must find
Someone appreciative and kind
Or to the garage go it must
To become a gatherer of dust
But I can’t keep it out of sight
So I’ll bid farewell to my upright

Why must I part with my dear friend?
But part we must though in the end
Creating extra space is sort
But what makes space of such import?
What makes this move so necessary?
Is the room changed to a nursery

The time has come to do the deed
To write the add for them to read
So how to frame the perfect add
To attract the good but not the bad
Piano for sale, is how I began
Piano for sale, only used for Chopin

IS IT URGENT?

I awake unwell with swollen glands
With fevered brow and sweaty hands
I shake and shiver and cough and sneeze
I sweat and flush and choke and wheeze
I mutter and mumble and grunt and groan
As I struggle downstairs to find the phone
I first call work to let them know
To the office today I will not show
And then the doctor’s line I dial
A stern voice answers in a while
 “What name”? Is the curt response?
An appointment please I say at once
Well is it urgent? She retorts
Well I’m not dying just out of sorts
You can see a doctor in three weeks time
I hope to be better by then I chime
Shall I book you an appointment then?
No if I’m not better I’ll call again.
But I'll say to you without offence
If I’m still ill in three weeks hence
I’ll eat my hat till I eat my fill
For I will never have been so ill

IS THIS ART?

 
Martin Creed or Damien Hirst
Collins, Gormley which ones worst
A pickled sheep in formaldehyde
A light goes on and off inside
The truth about salt and paper crumpled
Painting by numbers and things untitled
A pile of bricks an unmade bed
Is this art or is art dead?

A poem about a piano
posted twice no less
it didn't make it better
i'm sorry to confess.

IN DEFENCE OF A PIANO

Apparently I have double posted
A fact, which did not go un-noted
For this error I humbly apologize
I was unaware, I did not realize
But then the poem itself was abused
Which on this site I was unused
The criticism levelled was not relative
And tended greatly to be negative
However while trying to be funny
He missed the mark considerably
I have broad shoulders though for that
But should I respond tit for tat
Normally I do not like to be offensive
And it’s in my nature to be passive
Perhaps to get a response was the intent
Maybe that was indeed what he meant
But this may reveal an insecurity
Saying more of him than it does of me

insecure?
fiddlesticks!
shall we be men
and compare dicks?
I simply wondered
how someone could
re-post a poem
that was not very good.
Only my opinion
worthless, yes I know
so respond to this with humour
let your writing flow!

*

Piano for Sale part 2

You should have thought about your eighty eighter
Before you played the Friday night creator
Piano for sale might consider exchange
A second hand fingerboard for a brand new wean

No more Polonaise
No more Polish mazurkas
But a Symphonie fantastique
Delivered in the form of your wife’s wee bundle

*
p.s.
To attract the good and not the bad
Try using one `d` instead of two when laying out the ad.

*

*

november

poppies gorged on the blood of the brave
The serried ranks of soldiers’ graves
Standing to attention as the bag-pipes play
the arbitary nature of the meaning of war.

A wreath of flowers for a life not lived
memories that keep those remembered within
november, november, hour day and month eleven
remember remember our deeds and just endeavours

The battle that rages on those saddened faces
eyes to the sky as the flags are raised.
The remembered faces of those faces
diminishing with each remembrance day.

Straining to find and comprehend
the meaning of war and what it all meant
november november hour day and month eleven
remember remember our deeds and just endeavours

*

A FURTHER DEFENCE OF A PIANO

I did say it was insecurity
Perhaps it should have been immaturity
“Shall we compare dicks?”
I haven’t done that since I was six
Posting twice was not my intent
And a repeat of this I’ll try to prevent
I didn’t think the poem was a bad one
I liked it well enough when it was done
If you don’t like it that’s alright
No need to bitch and moan or start a fight
I write for my amusement
Not to provoke an argument

this verbal jousting can be fun
but my words go over your head
If you want to know whats behind it
you'd better speak to the ed.

DERUM

Derum, sorry if I’ve caused offence
I will desist from this moment hence
I received instructions from the Ed
“Give as good as you get” is what was said

TURN ON COUNTDOWN DEAR?

I was watching Carol and "Twice Nightly"
Countdown with Vorderman and Whitely
When I told my wife where I am housed
That when watching Carol I got Aroused
I could tell that I had let down my guard
Her instant response was to slap me hard
She slapped me unconscious how absurd
And all I did was get a seven-letter word

(For Richard who's memorial service was held today)

paul curtis, glad you got the plot
instead of fighting like old tarts
let's kick some life into this board
and liven up these old farts.

ODE TO THE BOYS

Dear boys,

I would just like to say,
That, as of today,
I have invited the girls,
To come here and play.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dear Derum and Paul,
You two can be a hoot,
But that poor Stewart Findlay,
Disnae ken whit it's aboot.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dear Stewart Findlay,
These 'poems' are like a game,
LIke a literary 'stand-off',
Despite the words being lame.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dear readers,
These 'poems' are just for fun,
Please vote for their writers,
And decide who's number one.

=========================

PS: VOTING FOR THE ED IS NOT AN OPTION AS I HAVE NEVER, EVER CLAIMED TO BE POETICALLY INCLINED.

VOTE HERE >>> http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk

Wee Allie's playing, wee Allie's back ; Boy's yer as gid as an empty tattie sack!
Do what you want, do what you can...Poor the words make them rhyme but Ed & I will beat you hands down...Every time.

girls on top
girls underneath
girls from london
girls from leith
girls all curvy and inviting
girls good at talking
....not at writing

Edited by author 11-15-2005 04:31 PM

GIRLS ON TOP

Derum, I got YOU once before
Yes, you know it's true
I say, 'yer rubbish wae yer rhymes'
A sorry, is long over due.

One day you ran off in a huff
You were gone for months
But honey, you see my talent
And you're the classroom dunce.

Try and get me, oh try again
I'm laughing while you strain
You know it is so pointless
The girls will ALWAYS reign.

Don't make me laugh boys....literally!!!!!!!

Ladies, ladies......
stop your bitchin'
get your arse back
in the kitchen.

GILL 1 DERUM 0?

Dearest Gill,
I think you jest,
For Derum still,
Thinks he's the best.

============

IT'S SHOW TIME

Daggers drawn,
Verbal show downs,
Words at dawn,
Verbs and pronouns

Gaining votes
To win some fame,
Rocking boats,
To win this game.

===========

VOTE FOR EDDIE ELWOOD - http://www.eddieelwood.co.uk

Gill Gill Gill,
still.
you haunt me
Gill Gill Gill.
still,
you try to taunt me
Gill Gill Gill.
still,
you can't defeat me
Gill Gill Gill.
still,
need Eddies help to try and beat me.

Competitive poems to read
are interesting indeed,
but as far as I can see,
the only poet here


is me.

Edited by author 11-16-2005 06:23 AM
DERUM LUVS GILL!!


You jest, you think I need some help?
To bare my brilliant talent?
Your really are a mummies boy
Run off you naughty varmint.

My looks and genius won you o'er
Not all that long ago
Regretfully, you gave up then
For months you sat and mourned.

So give up while you can wee man
Before you will lose face
Face facts, you love me, don't deny
Move on loser in hast!

Took the bait....hook line and sinker honey :-)

WHIT A SCUNNER!

Whit the hell's goin on here?
Dis Agnes ken aboot this?
Am away the noo tae phone hur,
Fur this she shouldnae miss!

Derum an' Gill ur gaddin aboot?
This surely cannae be true?
Who has stertit sic a tale?
A heard it doon the b'roo!

A'll need tae tell oor Erchie,
Fur he aye likes tae ken,
Who's dain whit...
And where... and when!

Dinnae gang too far, noo,
This puzzle a must crack,
Jist as shin as a tell Agnes,
An' she gits aff hur back!

Derum, ur ye mad, man?
Yur droolin efter Gill?
An here we wur thinkin',
That you were ower the hill!

If a tell oor Agnes,
That Derum's fightin fit,
She'll slap oan hur lippie,
An efter him she'll git!

A'll be richt back... efter ma phone call!
(Dis the ed ken aboot this?)

http://www.agnesnsenga.co.uk
http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk

VOTING POLL UPDATE

The voting poll has now been updated to reflect the names of those actively participating in our poetry, riddle and rhyme boards 'show down'.

Both Stewart and Gill have both made it into our polling chart but it's still early days. Keep those votes coming and don't forget that anyone can take part online.

Also, please don't forget to add a link back to a voting page when you leave your message. The following is the main 'Now You Know' magazine page.

http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk

Calm down Senga, don't be concerned
it seems that Gill has still not learned
that casual conversation, fair and just,
should not be mistaken for lust
and then it became plain to see
that she had the hots for me
but in my heart, and yes its true
theres only room for Agnes, and you.

WHAT SMALL FEET

Why do women have smaller feet?
Smaller than men, small and neat
Why are they smaller do you think?
So they can stand closer to the sink

APPEAR EDUCATED
 
Women it is said
Pay far more attention
To their appearance
Than to their education
They don’t care about
Improving the mind
For many men are stupid
But very few are blind

HOW ABSORBING

Sponges are females I’d say
And the reason is this way
Because they’re squeezable
And soft and compressible
Come in all sizes like as not
And retain water quite a lot

LIGHT SOUND

Light travels faster than sound
A fact you simply cannot balk
This is why some people appear
Bright until you hear them talk

A WORLD OF MY OWN

I live in my own little world
Yes I do I’m quite sincere
I live in my own little world
It's ok though they know me here

THE BEST YEARS OF MY LIFE ARE BEHIND ME

I’ve just suffered my first mid life crisis
And its something I found quite profound
When I stood naked in front of the mirror
I could see my bum without turning around

DON'T DO IT DERUM!!

Lust is what you have for me
Don’t deny it's true
Those letters, mails and *smilies*
To name but just a few.

Valentines, you remember?
The card too big to send?
The Postie nearly popped his clogs
His life was going to end!

And the texts you sent to me?
Hundreds o'er the weeks
The mmmwaahhhh's to me (that's kisses)
That gave me such red cheeks.

Derum don’t deny, please no
You'll only break my heart
Agnes will give me an earful
Don't say we have to part?

You’re so harsh you sexy beast
Text me, email please!
We’re meant to be together
But make it private at least!!!


*Sobbing into my handkerchief*

Gill,
your words are sweet,
though a little twee,
but did not originate from me
I will search
to stop this aggravation
to find out who is doing
a derum impersonation

THE REAL TRUMPTON

There is to be yet another reality show
Including many celebrities we all know
With for example Bishop Desmond TuTu
Reg Varney and the myopic Mister Magoo
Little Ronnie Corbett and Dibble the copper
Keeper Bruce Grobelaar the shot stopper

The show will take place in a fire station
With a huge audience across the nation
It’s to be called Trumpton its been decided
And more names will no doubt be included
So I must recap the names, which is my job
Tutu, Varney, Magoo, Corbett, Dibble and Grob

I HOPE I’M A CELBRITY WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE

This Ant and Dec as far as I can tell
Are on TV a lot and doing quite well
I don’t really watch them much you see
Because they’re not really my cup of tea
Recently they were called in the press
Something that causes me great distress
The claim that has caused such concern
“Ant and Dec are the new Eric and Ern”
Well I’m sorry but I simply must disagree
There can never be a new Eric and Ernie
They won’t even replace Cannon and Ball
Little and Large or any double acts at all
It wont ever happen no matter who tries
But they may be the new Little and Wise

Gob smacked!!!

derum wins,
but there's no shame
just because your words
are lame
but now you know
it's plain to see
the only poet here
is me.

nope...just dont have time to play games this weekend. Will be back on Monday.....you haven't won yet sweetie :-)

DEAR DERUM

Dear Derum, now we know it’s true
Impersonations, another like you?
Never in a hundred years!
But, loving words are over due.

It broke my heart to hear the question
That anyone could teach ME a lesson
I’ll always win; it’s plain to see
But each day I’ll keep you guessin’

You’ll never win this game of words
I’m the best you’re so absurd!
Admit your love and my skill
Then you won’t look like a nerd.


*You know what I meant to write but I am a lady, and chose my words wisely :-)* lol Dear, dear Derum....

Help ma Boab!

Whit's all this hulabaloo
Wae Derum and ma pal Gill
Jist wait till ah get haud o' her
She'll get a earful, so she will!

Ah thought ah kent everythin
But naw she dinae tell
Aboot this wee man Derum
and aw their poems and hell.

It's like a daisy flower
He loves me, he disnae at'aw
Hell lassie, yer mental
Um share it's against the law!

Does Derum ken she's meerit?
Wae twa big laddies, it's true
They'd squash this wee crap poet
Leave him black and blue!

Ah tell ye Derum be careful
Bob u'll go bananas
When ah tell him of yer love fur her
Aye, OMG must tell Senga!

Oh Gill ye silly lassie
There's mare tae life than him
Get yer glasses oan hen
Yer better aff wae Jim.

(No that um tellin tales aboot Jim n'aw, but just rhymned; um rubbish at poems like.)

HELP YER BOAB???

Haw Agnes, whit ye oan aboot?
Gill an' Derum? A hae ma doots!
A cannae see it, ne'er a kin,
Fur Gill goat fat an' Derum's thin!

Well, noo a'll git it, wait an' see,
Fur Gill, she wull be mad at me!
An' as fur Derum, michty me...
Ye think he'll pit me ower his knee?!!!

Noo then, tell me, whit's the score?
Is it jist that you want Derum more?
A think masel, it's plain tae see,
Ye huvnae a chance wance he's seen me!

PS: How is Boab? Dis he need a wee haun?

PS - Dinae furget tae vote fur us at http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk

BARKING MAD!!

Oh Senga hen, you've done it now
How could you tell the truth
About my size, my weight, my girth
About my vast sweet tooth.
Okay I like my choccies
The odd poke of 'Soor Plumes'
But to spoil my chance with him
My grab at fading youth.

If that's not bad enough hen
It seems you want him more
The thought of you upon his knee
The man I truly adore.
How could you do it Senga
My buddy, best old friend
Okay I'm fat, but truth be told
He loves the e-mails that I send!!!! ;-)


Boab was fine last time I saw him; no doubt Agnes will be getting in touch!!!

GILL AND BOAB??????

Quote - Boab was fine last time I saw him; no doubt Agnes will be getting in touch!!!

===========

Michtie me, whit huv ye done?
A thocht these poems wur aw in fun?
But noo ye tell us Boab's there tae?
Nae wunner Derum's kep at bay!

If a wiz you, a'd stert runnin,
Fur efter you, Agnes is gunnin,
A've telt her time an time again,
Boab's nae guid, he's aye oot playin!

But a didnae ken he'd played wae you,
Thank Goad oor Agnes hisnae a clue,
Fur if she'd kent, a ken whit she'd say,
If she hud kent, a ken whit she'd dae!

Mind yer back, lass, it's plain tae see,
Derum disnae want ye, he jist wants me,
An if am wrang, a'll admit defeat,
But if a'm richt, ye'll ken yer beat.

Help ma boab, me'n' Boab?
Are you off your trolley?
With Derum,Jim and Bob taboot
Now wouldn't that be jolly!

I know there's loads of me to share
But then it gets confusing
With who and where and why me thinks
It would be so bemusing.

Derum is mine and not to share
Do come forth just tell me
If you don't I'll not sleep tonight
Come now Derum, don't feel guilty.

Just tell oor Senga where to go
Please say you love me still!
Before our Agnes gets mixed up
And starts sleeping with Gill!

AND by the way vote for Gill on www.nowyouknow.co.uk

:-) LOL

CAT FIGHTS?

What happened to Derum?
Have you chased the poor chap?
I really don't blame him,
After reading this crap.

What happened to the poets?
What happened to the others?
Have they all gone running,
Straight back to their mothers?

You folks should behave,
You folks shoud agree,
That less of the scrapping,
Causes less misery.

Sure, I cannot write a poem,
For all, that's clear to see,
But I'm pretty good at riddles,
And a riddle this may be.
========================

The ed, she said, that poems we must write,
Riddles and rhymes, they are also alright,
But working them out, that's what it's about,
So, I'm playing to win, that's without a doubt.

Paul is quirky, Derum is daring,
Gill excels, whilst the ed is despairing,
Agnes and Senga, those two are quite good,
But the one who will win, is Eddie Elwood.

VOTE FOR EDDIE ELWOOD AT http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk !!!!!

A PUBIC APOLOGY!

Dinnae fret yersel dear Ed
U've sortit oot ma friends
A call fae ma pal Jessie
and it's sortit my auld friend.
 
U've screamed at oor Senga
U've fallen oot wae Gill
Ma Boab's noo goat a shiner
Ma score is now three nil.

Um sorry dearest Durum
Fur the teasing we huv done
But in your hearts of hearts
You know it was just fun.

We've dun it wans again ye see
The Ed she isnae pleased
U've chased awa dear Derum
Um doon on bended knees.

U'll have to make some new friends
Let's see now, hoos here
Paul Curtis and Stewart Findlay
Naw, the willnae play....or wull they?

Hmmm time will tell :-)

disappeared? me?
you should all be so lucky
I watch with unabated glee
at your fighting, rather plucky
and still nothing to make me whimper
your words could not produce a simper
fight over me all you will
I guess that it's your only thrill
and ladies, take me one by one
you'll be in heaven before i'm done....

YES!! :-)

Oh My God Derum's here!
and I thought he was crumpled
With all our laughing and hee-haws
Instead he had us rumbled.
I do declare that he's no fool
Instead he's sitting watching
Waiting for our next daft move
While vying for affection.
Beware my love I must tell you
You must be told the truth
That Senga's not 'quite right'you know
You'll see she's so uncouth.
How can you tolerate Agnes
With her fags and has no teeth?
My Derum - tell the tale of love
of Gill, she is so sweet.
I cannot, will not share my love
you are my only one
take me to heaven 'n' back again
We'll have such naughty fun....

Slightly Risque...
ha ha


Senga, not quite right you say?
I think that may be true
'cos i've had her in the bedroom
and I know what she can do...
Agnes, toothless? no!
it makes it all the better
when she gives a blo. ...
Gill, you must compete,
learn a naughty trick or two
give me some excitement
tell me what you can do......

YOU WANT TO PLAYBOY??

Alas my drooling Derum
it's true my skills are many
but for the whole wide world to see?
Alack they are not ready.
Our world of gibes and taunting
make many smile and roar
but risking my probity
I'll sound just like a who...
So using 'a priori'
I choose my words with care
and compete with tender words
I feel it's only fair.
Since Agnes and fat Senga
will 'gutter talk' with glee
Therefore I win hands down my love
They can't 'talk proper' like me!

Hell that one is a sure thing for a vote, come on you guys vote for Gill!
http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk

PARDON MY RUDE INTERUPTION.

I'll hazard a guess,
Though I couldn't care less,
That it's I of whom one speaks?

But with my perfect grammar,
And no hint of a stammer,
I have scaled those literary peaks!

Albeit, I'll agree,
That my terrible poetry,
May lack a certain flair.

Just to set the record straight,
Derum has never been my date,
But I believe that the ed's been there!

VOTE FOR AGNES & SENGA - http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk

Poetry wars?

I cannot write in rhyme,
But I will try it this one time,
To invite you all to stop,
For a quick look at my shop.

It's Cyberdosh, you see,
Where we're all meant to be,
I read it only yesterday,
In Edition 12 of NYK.

It's at http://uk.ebid.net/stores/Cyberdosh

Edited by author 11-28-2005 11:10 AM
LOVE IS...

It's seems to me, unfortunately
Some do not get my humour
from Stirling, Europe or Italy
Don't you think it's peculiar?
Why would I send my love to him
In such an blatant way?
Since people know me more than this
My love would never stray.
But Derum is an easy catch
He likes to be adored
While I am laughing (he-haw he-haw)
He poetry gets me bored!
So have no fear, it is a game
To see who is the best
With rhyming words and taunting
My love is JUST IN JEST!!!

Just in jest you say, dear Gill
yet why do you get such a thrill
when you see my words on here?

Yes you know you cannot hide
what you feel, deep inside
is it your feelings you fear?

Enough of this silly talk
it's time for you to walk the walk
put your words upon this page!

I know that you can't compete
your words are like a dead end street
when derum takes the stage....

as for the Ed.
oh Senga dear,
there's nothing there
(I think she's queer)
though we did once sit and share
discussions about her underwear.

To Gill

My dearest Gill,
It's such a thrill,
To learn you are still here.

I asked dear ed,
What Derum said,
She made it perfectly clear.

Derum's all talk,
Not even full Jock,
And never gets into top gear.

He always tries,
And never lies,
But the ed, he never got near.

So there ye go,
Bit of a blow,
Nae gossip, again, this year.

PS - An whit dae ye mean by 'Fat Senga'????

DERUM

With stage talk,
This boat will rock,
When Gill digs in her oar.

Playwriting,
And word fighting,
She will be back for more.

http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk

once in every little while
I read something on here that makes me smile
it could be Senga's stunning wit
or Agnes' poetic charm
even Eddies words are sometimes fun
and the Ed. means no harm.
Paul and Stewart contribute
sometimes with good effect
but Girls on Top posted once
and ended up just wrecked.
And then there's Gill.
what can one say?
she's just a tease
who likes to play.

From the Ed.

I read these many submissions,
From copies sent direct,
I have the ultimate choice,
Whether to accept or reject.
No names do they show,
So I would never know,
From whom these poems are sent,
Until I visit the messageboards,
To acknowledge by consent.
But after months of reading,
Growing accustomed to each style,
I am proud of all the writers,
Who have made somebody smile.
I pride myself on knowing,
Whose words I read each time,
For style is what you all have,
Whether with or without rhyme.

http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk

SWEET DERUM


A tease? Moi? You think? Oh my
Since I place you on a pedestal so high!
I don't want to quarrel, or even to fight
Just ponder your phrenology, well into the night.

Now rhyming is not my 'thing' as the Ed knows
So a treat is now for you, a sight to behold
have a look at Gill's keen words, may even be tres light
Remember my Scriever friends, they are all copyright!


http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk

to paraphrase...

Gill, you are a poet
and we didn't even know it......

Ed,

it's easy to guess
who wrote what
theirs is a mess
mine hits the spot.

The Metro

Hoo many poor stupit papers and magazines
Like the ‘Metro’ in buses and train stations
Wull be forgettle of pomes, by the Scriever?
Wull they no be in body bags afore they ken it?
A wull gie ye forever
When nothing’ will be left o’ these days
And posh folk will be blithe tae live wae the poor
Gettin’ charity when they used tae gie enough ruise
Lassies wae their flooers no opened and wifies reading the pomes
Aye, they’ll like aw the crack that’s telt
Then yowl aboot no livin’ in those times
Tae huv seen ye and aw their tail-toddle ainly glore
So wull ye flee above those common rude folk
And ma everlasting song wull survive?
Gill K Bastock © 2004

Clearasil Tae the Rescue!!

Aw pet, huv ye goat acne? Here, and ah thought ye were such a bonnie laddie tae!
By the way, dinnae paraphrase Gill! Wur ye no meanin she's a paragon?? That's more like it :-)
Och it's too late fur me tae write a poem, rhymin or no!!

Sweet Dreams Derum xxx

Paragon?
Paraphrase?
Phrenology?
I've got your game!

Palindrome,
Paradigm,
Philology
It's all in the name.

No matter what way I look at it... you all need your heads examined and we need to move on from the letter 'p' in the dictionary! :-D

http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk

To all you poets

How many of you have submitted entries to the Wigtown Poetry Competition?

With £5000 at stake, it's surely worthy of a few entries from folks like yourselves?

Online entries accepted at http://wigtown-booktown.co.uk/poetrycomp/index.asp

Or back to http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk

Susan,
pick any of my submissions, they are all worth at least that amount.
Unlike the rest of the dross.
;)

Derum,

Don't sell yourself short...
Your words are priceless!

why does Gill want to feel my lumps?

po·em ( P ) Pronunciation Key (pm)
n.
A verbal composition designed to convey experiences, ideas, or emotions in a vivid and imaginative way, characterized by the use of language chosen for its sound and suggestive power and by the use of literary techniques such as meter, metaphor, and rhyme.
A composition in verse rather than in prose.
A literary composition written with an intensity or beauty of language more characteristic of poetry than of prose.
A creation, object, or experience having beauty suggestive of poetry.

po·et·ry ( P ) Pronunciation Key (p-tr)
n.
The art or work of a poet.

Poems regarded as forming a division of literature.
The poetic works of a given author, group, nation, or kind.
A piece of literature written in meter; verse.
Prose that resembles a poem in some respect, as in form or sound.
The essence or characteristic quality of a poem.
A quality that suggests poetry, as in grace, beauty, or harmony: the poetry of the dancer's movements.

poetry in motion Derum....I just wish I could read my dictionary as beautifully as you do!
*sigh*
Unfortunately your poetry reads more like a Pantomime. Pants to you sweetie:-P An Americanism is it not?
Okay Ed, no more P's but can we use our Q's?
I don't want to feel your lumps Derum but I think Agnes does.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh happy days, guess who got another commission today? Sweat, blood and tears are on the horizon :(

Re: "Oh happy days, guess who got another commission today? Sweat, blood and tears are on the horizon :( "

Why the sad face?

Click here to go back to http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk

Use our Q's??

Queen quelled quentins quest
quickly questioning quadrilles
quisquilious quotidian querulist
quidam querimonious quills.

Que?

HOOK

There is something puzzling me
As it doesn’t say in the book
Before his hand was taken
What did they call captain hook

It’s a difficult one to answer
Maybe he was evil captain fist
Or was he called captain two hands
Not really a very menacing list

And was it simply irony, mere chance
Or was his accident planned
For if not for the crocodile
He would have remained a deck hand

OH NO HE ISN’T

My great uncle John was an actor on the stage
Who was best known as a pantomime dame
Famous for his ugly sister and widow twanky
But not anymore which is a great shame

He has gone to that great pantomime in the sky
No longer will he don grease paint and his regalia
I will still see him though from time to time
Because he’s not dead he’s just working for Ryan air

NOSTALGIA AINT WHAT IT USED TO BE

We all think that when we were young the sun shone
23 hours a day
Not altogether true
But things always look better looking back
For example we didn’t have to endure
TV ads for sanitary products and pantie liners
Thrush medicine or hemorrhoid cream
We only had the three TV channels which was enough
And there was no such thing as daytime telly
And the network shut down at 10.30
So we knew when to go to bed
The soap of the day was Peyton Place
For the kids Noggin the Nog
Mr. Pastry or the Wombles
Captain Pugwash with seaman stains
And Roger the cabin boy
Comedy like Sykes, the good life
And Morecambe and Wise
Sid and Hattie in the carry ons
Grass hopper in kung fu
Land of the giants, Blake’s seven and Dr who
You could still watch sport on terrestrial
With Grandstand on the Beeb
And on ITV, Dickie Davis on world of sport
In the music world the Rolling Stones
Were closer to puberty than senility
The first record I bought was good news week
By Hedgehoppers Anonymous
You could buy LP’s, singles and audio cassettes
Even 8 track though not very long lived
Petrol was only five bob a gallon
While beer was just 10p a pint
Penny chews and sweets in a jar
Treats, opal fruits and spangles
Oh for the time when gay still meant happy
And everyone wore a ticka ticka Timex
When we all wanted to be in love
Like Celia Johnson and Trevor Howard in “brief encounter”
Or be suave and debonair just like Fred astair
And dance with panache and savoir fare
When Bette said “Gerry lets not ask for the moon we already have the stars”
Its not that I’m a cup half empty kind of guy
But things do look better looking back

CROMWELLIAN (CLERIHEW)

The lord protector Oliver Cromwell
Killed thousands, the truth to tell
Beheaded the king and closed hostelries
And he cancelled the Christmas festivities

HOW OLD? (CLERIHEW)

“How old are you next birthday dad?”
“I will be forty eight” I told the lad
“Do you have liver spots?” “No I don’t Ben”
“Have you had your midlife crisis then?”

I recognise that writing... Paul's back!
Am I right or wrong?

lucky guess.

There's no need to sound so happy about it.

HEY WAYNE

Bimbette, an unmarried mother
Went to claim benefit
And in front of a case manager
She was asked to sit
He asked her
“How many children do you have then?”
After a few moments
Bimbette finally replied “Ten”
Horrified and thinking this was
“One of those” claims
"Ten?" Said the case manager
"What are their names?"
Bimbette replied impatiently
“They’re all called Wayne”
“They’re all called Wayne?
Isn’t that a bit of a pain?
"Naah" she said
"If they’re out playing in the street
“I just shout, “Come in Wayne”
and it works a treat”
“It works at bed time
and when its time for dinner”
“But what if”
asked the manager in a perturbed manner
"You want to speak to one boy individually?"
He said
"That’s easy," she replied
"I use their surnames instead"

Well hello Paul
nice to see
a playmate for Derum
that's all we need!!

Here we go, here we go, here we go......(singing by the way) The lassies have put their war paint on, let the dance begin!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm happy really but I just have 3 months to write the play. Not long, you know how slow I type!

write early!
avoid the christmas rush!





it's like pulling teeth................

It's rather plain to see that there's nobody here except you and me...

Gill's writing another play,
Don't know what it's about,
I'm sure she'll tell us one day,
Of that, I have no doubt.

Roving Ronnie has gone,
Wandered right off the page,
Jordan, he never got on,
He's probably writing of 'Rage'.

An' whit about our Jim?
Never seen nor heard of here,
But with his eyes so dim,
His apology's sincere.

Shona Prophett, is she yet?
Perhaps, but she's no poet,
She'd rather keep a winning bet,
Than let us here all know it.

http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk

You are not alone really.

Just dont have time to play at the moment.
Too much work.
But I will be back as soon as I can.


MY JOB’S WORSE THAN PRISON

When you’re in prison
         You’re in a cell twenty three hours a day
But if you’re at work
         You’re trapped in a cubicle to earn your pay
When you’re in prison
         For being good you get time off I’m assured
But if you’re at work
         And you’re good more work is your reward
When you’re in prison
         You’re given three square meals a day
But if you’re at work
         Even if you get lunch you have to pay
When you’re in prison
         The wardens are often mean in the nick
But if you’re at work
         It’s the managers who are equally sadistic
When you’re in prison
         You get privacy with a toilet all to yourself
But if you’re at work
         You have to share with every bugger else
When you’re in prison
         Guard lock and unlock all the doors for you
But if you’re at work
         Your never alone as cameras have you in view
When you’re in prison
         You can watch TV or play games if you care
But if you’re at work
         You can get the sack for just playing solitaire
When you’re in prison
         They let your family come and visit regularly
But if you’re at work
         You can’t even telephone to friends or family

Edited by author 12-09-2005 05:55 AM
GOLF GENIUS...

Okay 2 minutes just to say
Yes another play
Of gowf and baws and fun 'n' at
It's winning that's the game.

It's called 'Golf Genius' now you know
of clubs and being smart
Will Stirling win, of course they will
If not, it's taking part.

But take time out to see the play
Then you'll soon find out
The game they play tiz not on the green
'Genius' is what it's about.
          ~~~~~~~~
The Smith Museum Stirling. 30th, 31st March, 1st April (matinee and evening) 2.30pm matinee and all evenings 7.30pm
Tickets £8.50 including wine, lite bites and a great night out!

Tae Gill,

Yur writin'a play aboot gowf?
Dae ye ken much about it?
Wae the sterter in thon wee howf,
An blokes, thur strokes gittin countit.


Noo Susan, she kens aboot gowf,
It's aw baws, tees an drivin,
She didnae jist sit in hur howf,
Fur handicap she wiz strivin!

Now You Know!

http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk

By the way, it's now is called 'Golfing Genius'! Definately, Golfing Genius.

ipod!

It wakes me every morning
in sync with the clock
on my bedside table
in it's little dock.
I drive with it beside me
transmitting to my tuner
no matter where my journey leads
I seem to get there sooner.
My office bare without it
I had to buy more gear
so on my desk a speaker set
so that the world can hear.
Attached to my arm each afternoon
when I am in the gym
the workouts go so quickly
helping me keep slim.
And almost every evening
at home through stereo
I listen to my music
where does the evening go?
My little white companion
with me day and night
my mp3 best buddy
this love just feels so right.

At last i have some time to spare
No more work until the New Year
Its nearly Christmas so beware
The weather's bitter so have a care
Peace and goodwill and never fear
A wish for one and all for the coming year

IT’S CHRISTMAS

People have been discovering
On a Christmas Morning
That the curse of Christmas
That’s causing the most fuss
Has been unanimously concluded
To be “Batteries not included”

VICTORIOUS CHRISTMAS PIE

In the nineteenth century
At Christmas time
The old queen, Victoria
Gave, to her senior staff
And closest friends
A specially commissioned
Victorian Christmas pie
An extraordinary example
Of culinary magnificence
The pie consisted firstly
Of a woodcock
Small and plump
Which, was then stuffed inside
A well hung and gamey pheasant
Which in its turn
Was stuffed inside
A fat corn fed chicken
As if this was not enough
The chicken itself was then
Stuffed into a huge Turkey
Until Finally
The great weight of fowl
Was placed upon a dish
Surrounded by special stuffing
And baked beneath
The richest pastry crust

HAPPY STRESSLESS

A good friend of mine
Does his Christmas shopping
In less than two hours
With decs for party popping
And Gifts for twenty five
Friends and family
All on Christmas Eve
Including a six foot tree

WHO’S THE NEW GUY?

A tenth reindeer flew in Santa’s team
One unknown pulling Santa’s sleigh
We know the names of nine of them
Including Rudolf leading the way
So who was the mystery number ten?
Twas Rudolf the brown nosed reindeer
Flew behind his red nosed brother
But he couldn’t stop as quick I fear

HAPPY CHRISTMAS AUNTIE PEGGY

For Christmas I bought my Auntie
A brand new wooden leg
I didn’t have it specially made
No I just got it off the peg
You may say it’s not a nice gift
Or even that it’s a killer
It wasn’t her main present though
It was just a stocking filler

MARTIN LUTHER BLING

There is a legend suggesting that Martin Luther
Who was a sixteenth century religious reformer
And founder of the Protestant church in Germany
Was the first to put candles onto a Christmas tree
It’s said he was walking home one winter’s night
When he noticed the stars were shinning bright
And through the tree’s he saw the twinkling light
And he was so impressed by this majestic sight
When he returned home he set up his Christmas tree
Decorating it with lighted candles for all to see

Don't forget to vote at http://www.nowyouknow.co.uk
The system is set to monitor voting patterns, so multiple votes from the same IP address are usually discared automatically.

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS

Well I only got a sweater for Christmas
Not the best thing to get for a dreamer
Because I got a sweater for Christmas
When I wanted a moaner or a screamer

JOSHUA, JOSHUA

“God with us,” or Emmanuel
“A savior”
In Hebrew called Joshua
In Greek the name was Jesus
“The chosen one”
In Hebrew called Messiah
In Greek named Christ
Jesus Christ
The Son of god
A Jew Born in the Roman Empire
Given by God to the world
For two thousand years
Not known by a Latin name
But known by all by his name in Greek

CROMWELLIAN (CLERIHEW)

The lord protector Oliver Cromwell
Killed thousands, the truth to tell
Beheaded the king and closed hostelries
And he cancelled the Christmas festivities

CHRISTMAS FAYRE

There has never been a good time to be poor
Certainly not Christmas
As Dickens wrote
“This time when want is keenly felt by the poor”
And there has never been a good place to be poor
Certainly not Victorian London
Now a wealthy Victorian family
Would dine upon a Christmas dinner
Of Vegetable soup
Oyster patties,
Roast turkey or goose,
Boiled leg of mutton with caper sauce
Followed by Port wine jelly,
Mince pies and plum pudding
Queen Victoria is known to have eaten roast swan
While in the country
A piece of Smoked bacon
Or rabbit pie was had
The poor in town or country
Dined upon what ever could be found

Edited by author 12-23-2005 11:42 AM
as I sit by my pool, where it's 80 degrees
and the sun glows so warm, with hardly a breeze
I think of britain, and wish you all well
as you shiver and freeze
in your icy hell.

merry christmas!

A new new year
another chance
to be heartbroken
or to find romance
a time of hope
for some, despair
a care free time
or a time to care
new beginnings
or end the old
a heart enlightened
or one grown cold
so many choices
for him and her
but i hope we all
have a happy new year.

HARBINGER OF YULE

The advent calendars
Are first to appear
Heralding the headlong rush
Toward Christmas cheer
On trees baubles reflect
Flickers of candle light
From Novembers end
Right up to twelfth night

A lonely seat in empty stands
A broken man, head in hands
A single tear comes to his eye
He sits and watches his club die

His spirit longs to be a part
Of new beginnings, brand new start
His soul yearning for relief
From this utter, constant grief

But still he sits for every game
The board and manager share his shame
But they won’t leave, and he must stay
For with this club, that is the way

But through the gloom one thing is sure
For a love supreme, there is no cure
One day, again, he will be proud
“Ha’way the lads” will ring out loud.

Cold and windy, Cloudy sky,
City streets passing by
First meeting, nerves and fear
Too late now, the venues near
And then you see her, From afar
Catch your breath, Catch a star
Breakfast table, Busy place
Enchanting eyes, Perfect face
Time goes quickly, you sit and talk
Conversation, worth the walk.
Time to leave, meeting done
Heading south, back to the sun
A brief encounter, a thought to store
A question asked, will there be more?

DARWINS DESIGN

There is, today, a fierce debate
Well in America at any rate
Darwinism is again causing friction
Some claim his work to be a fiction
And his “Origin of the Species”
Is likened to a pile of fetid faeces
Fossil evidence has caused the strife
Showing Random explosions of life
Evolution was not a gradual change
Thoughts we now must rearrange
Its not at all as Charles Darwin said
But Intelligent Design instead

FAREWELL CHARLES

Well they finally got rid of Kennedy
Who likes to drink quite liberally
I’m not sure that it’s fair or right
He didn’t start drinking over night
They knew what they were getting
A man familiar with whistle wetting
What seems to me to be Nonsense
From the party with a conscience
For a liberal party not withstanding
Isn’t the least bit understanding
I wonder now about the motivation
Hounding him out before the nation
It wasn’t his reputation as a Binger
He had to go because he was Ginger

WHAT DO YOU WANT BUD?

I saw a Buddhist monk today
At a hot dog stand
The cook stood at the griddle
Doing his thing
“What can I make you” was his
Gruff demand
The monk replied, “ Make one
With everything”

SAVIORS

When soldiers stand neath flags unfurled
Before going to war to do the biz
Be sure before they’re sent to save the world
They re happy with the world the way it is

A MAN FOR ALL SEASONS

Now once more
The year has turned
The advent candle
Long since burned
Hearts darken
As we count the cost
And the season’s spirit
Is all now lost
But it need not
All be dark and gloom
Light can again
Illuminate the room
So here is a philosophy
For all of us
God is for life
Not just for Christmas

HI

Hi

*
Hi yursel'

*


>From: QT - NYKMedia1@aol.com <qtopic+31-2MkvFZiNRPC@quicktopic.com>
>Reply-To: QT topic 31-2MkvFZiNRPC <qtopic+31-2MkvFZiNRPC@quicktopic.com>
>To: QT topic subscribers <qtopic+subs@quicktopic.com>
>Subject: Poems and Poetry
>Date: 15 Jan 2006 14:59:36 -0800
>

_________________________________________________________________ The new MSN Search Toolbar now includes Desktop search!
http://toolbar.msn.co.uk/
< replied-to message removed by QT >

FEAR NOT

There are many
Phobias and fears
Causing consternation
Jitters or tears
Like agoraphobia
Fear of open spaces
Parks and fields
And public places
They are by definition
Irrational by nature
Fear of things
Causing discomfiture
Angora phobia is
If I know no better
The irrational fear
Of a Mohair sweater

BEST OF A DECADE

The soundtrack of the sixties
Was by Lennon and McCartney
But it was little Georgie Best
Who did the choreography

I have a chapbook "Transfer," which is collection of 20 poems. If you're interested and want to check out some sample poems, please check out my website (http://myspace.com/alanking81). You can also purchase a copy of the chapbook through pay pal.

FROM THE SHADOWS

I stood in the shadows
As I had often done before
Out of sight, to see yet be unseen
To look upon that vision of loveliness
She talks with friends in the gardens
Unaware of me
Her skirt was long and green
From high waste to ankle low
Her crisp blouse of white
Enhanced to elegance of her neck
The long sleeves encasing her slender arms
Covered her fine boned wrists
Her hair was red
Red like burnished copper
Thick and full bodied tied back at her nape
Her eyes were the hue of polished emeralds
In a setting of perfect pale skin
No jeweller could ever hope to equal
Her mouth pale lipped, strong yet sensitive
When transformed into a smile
Illuminated her countenance
As if a light had been switched on
Perusal of every inch of her delicate frame
Returned echoes of a cultured creature
Dressed in the finest Edwardian elegance
More than a class above me
I step from the shadows
Returning unseen to my duties

ACROSS THE VOID

From a highly sophisticated civilization
Far in advance of our own
They crossed the great void of space
To make patterns in the fields we’ve sown
If that is their idea of fun
They must be the dullest aliens ever known

LOVE AT A STROKE

I saw her across the room
A vision of beauty to the beholder
I was struck, instantly
By her loveliness, by her elegance
The way she held herself
I was spellbound by the image
I was physically altered by her
Was this love at first sight?
Or mere infatuation
She was really lovely
And I doubtless felt something
What I saw was a rare beauty
A precious thing
Like a work of art
Treasured on a gallery wall
A painting seen from a distance
But what I felt wasn’t love
Not from the first sight of her
Desire yes, feelings of passion also yes
Want and need certainly
But real depth of love no
This comes later
After closer study
Examining the canvas
Every nuance, every brushstroke
Form, colour, composition, perspectives
Seeing beneath the beautiful façade
To find beneath the painted layers
To where true beauty resides
Only after this patient study
Can you find true depth of feeling
And claim to be in love

I CRY

A TEAR FINDS ITS WAY TO THE DEEPEST PART OF MY SOUL
BUT IT WILL NEVER FIND THE WAY TO MY EYE
IM TO PROUD TO BE EMOTIONAL
SO ITS THE INSIDE THAT I CRY MY TEARS
I FEEL I COULD DROWN THE WORLD
SO INTEAD THEY ARE DROWNING ME
ITS TWICE AS TOUGH TO BE DROWNED INSIDE
BUT AT LEAST NO ONE CAN SEE
THE TEARS THAT HAVE FOUND THEIR WAY
ARE NOW AN OCEAN
I SAIL ALONE FOREVER
MY EYE IS NOT A ROUTE FOR THE OCEAN TO ESCAPE
NOT NOW, NOT EVER.

poem site http://alishaspoems.site.with.us

NICE ONE HENRY

FIFA are on a mission
Racism in the game they want to defeat
An admirable ambition indeed
But first they need to stamp out cheats
Its spread from normal quarters
To Thierry Henry who to his disgrace
After a shoulder to the chest
Went down holding his face

CHARLES THE MARTYR

Charles the first of England
Walked through the snow
Wrapped up against the chill
So no shake would show
Parliament chose to kill
The rightful king of the land
An outrageous act at Whitehall
Perpetrated by the puritans
An axe man on the scaffold
Executing him matter of fact
The cold January snow
Almost purifying the act
A dignified monarch
Unwavering in his belief
His daughter Princess Elizabeth
Broken hearted died of grief

ZZ TOP

Zidane in Germany in 2006
Was given the golden ball
Voted the tournaments best player
The most outstanding of them all
A great reward for his foul conduct
Viciously head butting a rival
And before a global audience
Sent off in the world cup final
Was this the act of a great player?
Or of a thug that the world abhors
Was his behavior out of character?
Or has he now shown his true colors

AUTOMATIC PHOBIA

My wife has a phobia of automation
She doesn’t trust things robotic
At the hospital she wont use
Sliding doors because their automatic
We have to walk round the back
Circumnavigating the complex
To find a door we have to open
To accommodate her own complex
Then up sixteen flights of stairs
For she doesn’t like the elevators
Nor does she like travelators
And she doesn’t do the escalators
Up and up the stairs we go
No wonder my heart rate is so high
No wonder my pulse is racing
Why must hospital reach up to the sky?
I’m out of breath and tiring
Is it any wonder I’m in a state?
Because she’s a technophobe
I’m a heart attack candidate

Christal, Emma, Blake... A HIKE YOU MUST TAKE!


I am sick of reading all this nonsense and sick of people abusing free services such as those provided for the enjoyment of our readers. From now on, ALL spam and unsolicited efforts at free advertising will be deleted.

SAVE TORRENT!

Here's a little story,
About someone I know,
Who bought themself a racehorse,
And then they let it go.

Old "Torrent" could be pretty fast,
Old "Torrent" could be slow,
But when it comes to winning cash,
He could still steal the show!

For less than thirty quid,
He stands alone for sale,
Would anyone like to buy him,
Then tell us all the tale?

He's only got til Autumn,
This is his final year,
Then what of poor old "Torrent"?
This is my biggest fear!!

If you would like to help this horse, and have a little fun,
Simply click my link to buy a share, and you'll can watch him run!

SUPPORT TORRENT HERE - http://racehorse.at/nykmedia?DURL=http://w...?horsenameselect=29

Pray For All
Pray for all

Pray for day!
Pray for night!
Pray for the sun to shine bright.
Pray for loveones far and near.
Pray for the ones that you hold dear.
Pray for the ones that need it and,know it.
Pray for those who need it but,don't show it.
Copyright ©2006 Tosha Sue Hattendorf

wow you guys are "good" i wish i could suck as much as you

fags

The endless dance.
..................


The house contains
hidden mirrored darkness
and velvet vague
echoes within echoes, wanting
desperately
to be remembered.
Eyes within eyes
I can see,
over my shoulder
sepia tinted yesterdays
of magnolia memories,
scented sensations
and realisations
of far away
and long ago,
and faces that
I seem to know.


Somewhere in the distance
there is music playing,
such a haunting
and bittersweet
melody
comes dancing
through dust laden
hallways,
making lace draped
crystal chandeliers
quiver in ecstacy,
this ghostly gentle
symphony
that seems
to be
a part of me.


And then I sense you by my side,
slipping your hand
into mine
together once again,
and suddenly
I realise
in sweet delight
and soft surprise,
the eyes within
the eyes I saw
were memories
from a distant shore,
returning
with the summer rain
to kiss my soul
and heal my pain,
my darling
shall we dance again?...

Is there anybody out there, or am I just imagining it?

McDade?
Ronnie?
Gill?
Jim?
Bob?
Peter?
Jordan?
Anyone else who writes?

What happened to all the Haiku? We were supposed to be writing here!

There's a limit to what one can do with those seventeen syllables!

I'd just lke to say that I really enjoyed reading 'The Endless Dance' posted here by backstreetdreamer.

Rain

Could you listen to my heart beat
the unending crying of my soul
as if you weren't the causeing
the causeing of this hole

the waves crashing apon my feet
the coolness rippling thorugh my toes
the lightning striking in the distance
reflecting in my eyes

Could you listen to my crying
look at the emptiness of my eyes
the clouded over red streaks through the brown of those hued orbs

Take me out to the streets
let us listen to the rain
Claim my lips with yours
in the cooling rain that washes all the pain away
With you to let me know it's all okay

THE RUGGED ISLE

The channel glistened
With silver strands
Beneath the early summer sun
Its waves broke gently white
Below the green topped cliffs of chalk
The sky of azure blue
Was clear and appeared limitless
But on the distant horizon
Storm clouds gathered
Though these clouds bore no rain
And would not bring a summer squall
Storm and tempest were imminent
The sky became filled with sinister formations
Like foreboding flocks
Of migrating duck or geese
But these were not of natures sending
This malevolent swarm
Scarring the clear June sky
These were of mans conception
Heading for England’s shores
To cross its wondrous tapestry
Spread casually across the land
Like a vast quilted patchwork
And when upon this landscape
Easy on the eye
Did the bombs of evil fall
Shattering the peace
Of our rugged isle
Splitting the earth
And breaking bodies
Its spirit did not break
Its people stood firm
Defiant in Satan's face
Withstanding hells fire
And brimstone smoke
And spat in Hitler’s eye

PAYMENT IN KIND

On the seventh day
Of the seventh month
Londoners paid the price
The ultimate price
in blood and death
In part only they paid
On that July morning
For years of liberalism
Historically Opening our doors
To the world
Offering Succor
To every race and creed
And on July 7th
Our kindness was repaid
Not in like kind
But in bloody vengeance
By the terror of Islam
They bit viciously
At the hand that fed them
A hand offered in friendship
Torn to shreads
Instead of embracing us
And returning in kind
They choose instead
To embrace terror
We should beware
Of giving of our hearts
To the heartless ones
Who plot to destroy us
This was only a warning
They will come again

MOBILE COMMUNICATION

“I want to buy a mobile phone”
“No I don’t want a camera
Not even video
No I don’t want movie down loads
Screensaver’s, internet access
Or downloads of any kind
I don’t want WAP or WiFi
I don’t need 100 ringtones
10000 free minutes
Or unlimited texts at weekends
I don’t want to play games
I don’t need an MP3 player
I neither want nor need
Blue tooth
Sharks tooth
Hounds tooth
Or dog tooth
What I want is a device
To make and receive phone calls
And texts like wise
I just want to buy a BLOODY PHONE”
“Thank you that one will be perfect
Does it have a torch?”

THE MIRACLE CURE

Do you feel inadequate?
Or suffer from shyness?
Are you unable to be assertive?
Did you answered yes?
Then the solution is simple
Though a little distasteful
Get to a wine bar double fast
And get totally rat assed
Wine is the safest natural way
To bring you out of your shell
You will have new confidence
To tell total strangers to “go to hell”
Inadequacy will be a thing of the past
Shyness will be a forgotten thing
Assertiveness will be the new you
And you will be willing to do anything
This is not a quick fix solution
Regular doses should be taken
Try different drinks, experiment
This is a “for life” regimen
I must give a word of warning
Shyness and awkwardness
Will return to haunt you
So always carry a bottle in readiness

WHO IS THERE

Who is there?
In my darkest hours
When pain wracks my body
When dark thoughts plague me
Who is it who sustains me?

Who is there?
At times of anguish
When I feel so alone
When I feel all hope is gone
Who lifts me and guides me

Who is there?
In the depths of my despair
When I see no end
When I seek release
Who is it?
Who will take my pain

He is there
When the pain ends
When darkness is banished
In the light of love
My lord god will keep me

KEEPSAKE

I keep your beauty in my eyes
Your vision adorns my mind
I keep the taste of you on my lips
Your sweetness taints my pallet
I keep your fragrance in my nose
Where it pervades my senses
I keep your tender tones in my ears
Your laughter fills my heart
I keep the touch of you on my skin
The warmth of you in my fingers
I keep the essence of you in my soul
I keep your love in the haven of my heart

A NEW HORIZON

That first date, The Anticipation
Butterflies in the stomach
Would she come, would she stand me up?
Then the elation when I see her
Excitement tinged with fear
Nervous laughter punctuates nervous silences
Then relaxed conversation
The touch of her hand
Exchanged knowing glances
The end of the evening
A slow walk home, holding hands
At her door the first kiss
Then goodnight

Before our second date
The empty ache of longing
Stomach in knots, head spinning
The doubts and insecurities
Analyzing every second
Of our first meeting
Looking for signs, reassurances
Then the day came and all was well again
At a family function, her sisters wedding
Stolen kisses And Knowing looks

Then as the days past
More doubts, more insecurities
Should I say I love her Is it too soon
Does she feel the same as I?
Am I rushing it Will I scare her off
Then when we meet again
All my fears melt away
And on that first morning
We woke together
The touch of her hand
The warmth of her smile
I thought I would never doubt again
Then came the next day
When we weren’t due to meet up

CRUEL WORLD

My tears ran like autumn rain
When cupids love was slain
In my heart there was only pain
I turn my back upon the world

My world was shattered
When I lost all that mattered
And my dreams were scattered
I turn my back upon the world

My heart has been broken
Her love for me was only token
All her promises now forsaken
I turn my back upon the world

The loss of my hearts desire
Cold embers where once was fire
To love again I can only aspire
I turn my back upon the world

But with head high I went forward
Feeling not a little awkward
And I found my just reward
When I went again into the world

Though my love ended in tears
It’s never as dark as it appears
I’ve put aside my darkest Fears
And I must go again out into the world

Now back from the brink of madness
With Only distant memories of Sadness
My heart now resounds in gladness
Now I’m back again into the world

ATTENTION PAUL CURTIS

Can you email me as the address I have here for you is kicking back my emails. It's re: 'Paul's Corner' in NYK. Thank you :)

ARTISTS WANTED

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IMAGINE

I imagine the scent of you
Because you are far away
I imagine your hand in mine
Because you are out of reach
I imagine you in my arms
Because you’re no longer there
I imagine your sweet smile
Because now you look at me with scorn
I imagine your lovely voice
Because now you speak only bitter words
I imagine that you love me
Because your love for me is past
I imagine myself in your heart
Because you no longer love me

LOVE OF HER LIFE

Young and beautiful
She looked at the life ahead
With hope and optimism
But a life was planned for her instead
A loveless marriage
With a distant stranger
Arranged by her family
She decided was not for her

She gave her heart
To the love of her life

She listened to her heart
And not her fathers voice
She simply fell in love
With a man of her choice

She wanted too make a life
With the love of her life

The consequence of this love
So precious to her
Was shame on her family
And death for the dishonour

She risked her life
For the love of her life

Her cries for help
Went sadly unheeded
The cruellest punishments
For the love she needed

She gave her life
For the love of her life
Her father wanted to arrange her life
And cursed the love of her life
Her father took her life
Because of the love of her life
She wanted to live her life
With the love of her life
Make her safe in paradise
God protect her in the afterlife

TRIANGLES

It’s so good to be loved
To be essential to someone
To be the breath of their life
The beat in their heart
The fire in their blood
Seeing love in their eyes
Knowing you are the one
Being in their every thought
It’s so good to be loved
Except when you love another

NATURE’S CHILD

She was nature’s child
The most special one
Her smile as warm
As the summer sun
Yet Fragile and delicate
Like an early spring bloom
Bright as shaft of sunlight
Illuminating the gloom
Spectacular and exiting
As the days first dawning
Yet simple and refreshing
As a clear winter morning
Tempestuous like
An autumn gale blowing wild
The most special one
She was nature’s child

MOMENTS

A Life is merely moments
Interconnected
Like the links of a chain
Just moments
Some fleeting
Some lingering
Sometimes singular
Sometimes strung together
One upon another
To make experiences
In turn making a life whole
Life consists only of moments
Moments that comfort
Moments that elate
Moments of sadness
Moments of joy
Moments of pain
Moments of ecstasy
Moments to cherish
Some moments are finite
Others radiate through a life
Like ripples on a pond
Left by a rising fish
Others remain rooted in the past
Becoming distant memories
Yet some are perfect moments
And are easily recalled
In perfect clarity
You are my most precious moments

THE GRAND NATIONAL

Jockeys in bright coloured racing silk
Representing owners of every ilk
The horses fidget with ears pricked
Punters shout for the horse they picked
Ready for the off the tension mounts
A lot of money bet on turf accounts
they’re at the start now all in a line
The starter waits till all is fine
And they’re off, and the horses surge
Moving en mass like a cavalry charge

Powerful beasts of chestnut and grey
Doing battle on Grand National day
Hooves thunder hard past the rail
Who will win the race who will prevail

On they go riding at a steady rate
Five fences in the opening straight
Then the big one Bechers Brook
Some don’t fancy it when they take a look
Then the Foinavon fence before Canal Turn
Valentines is then the next big concern
Three more fences and the field is thinning
Across the Melling Road and turning
Over two more fences before the Chair
Then the water jump and halfway there

Powerful beasts of chestnut and grey
Doing battle on Grand National day
Hooves thunder hard past the rail
Who will win the race who will prevail

The crowd cheers loudly those who remain
As the magnificent beasts go around again
Along the straight five fences once more
Then Bechers Brook counts its score
Beneath them the ground seems to quake
The leaders leaving fallers in their wake
Then the Foinavon fence before Canal Turn
Valentines is once again the big concern
Three more fences and the field is thinning
Across the Melling Road and turning

Powerful beasts of chestnut and grey
Doing battle on Grand National day
Hooves thunder hard past the rail
Who will win the race who will prevail

Two more fences and the volume gets loud
Almost home to the delight of the crowd
Jump the last fence and land ahead
Keep your wits about you, keep your head
The finishing straight the end in sight
Across the finish line to the crowds delight
For the winner at the end of the road
The great sporting accolade is bestowed
A spectacle on an afternoon well spent
For those who witness the great event

THE TWENTY FIRST CENTURY PLAGUE

Getting your toe
On the property ladder
Is so difficult
It’s more of an escalator
Constantly moving
At best just out of reach
More often out of sight
With property values so high
Caused by a shortage
And the housing shortage
Is blamed on many things
Increased immigration
(All needed according to the government)
An ever ageing population
And increased single dwellers
Everything in fact
Rather than the truth
The real cause is greed
To many people owning too many homes
Second and third homes
Property which sit empty
50 weeks a year
Creating ghost towns
Across the country
Briefly inhabited by city dwellers
Who suck the life out of communities
And put nothing back
Shopping at their local hypermarket
Getting fuel on the motorway
And transporting everything they need
Buying nothing in the communities they invade
And the knock on effect
Is to fuel the house price inflation
Which increases the value of their properties
While excluding so many from getting on the ladder
They have ripped the heart from small seaside towns
And destroyed villages and hamlets
Even the great plague couldn’t kill

HEAVENS GATE

Teardrops stain my cheeks
Now my love you’ve gone
Gone to join the angels throng
As sad and lonely I live on

I am comforted to know
In my sadness and despair
I’m alone but you are with me
As I feel you everywhere

With my faith for strength
I wipe my teary eyes
Safe in the knowledge
That no one really dies

We will be together again
If my beloved you will wait
Beyond the golden portal
Just through heavens gate

GOLDEN HARVEST

The autumn leaves fall
Like flakes of gold
Drifting to earth like surreal snow
In the golden harvest
As they fall they dance
Wildly in the breeze
To autumns tune
Before coming to rest
Then on peaceful mornings
They gather in the quiet corners
That pepper the autumn landscape
Cast like a threadbare cloak
Spread by mother natures hand
And in the misty morn
The golden harvest
Lays deep and undisturbed
Like collected thoughts
In the corners of my mind
The watery sun slowly burns away the mist
And Illuminates the October landscape
Before the wind disturbs the peace
And chases the leaves away
Scattering them like my dreams

FALCON IN THE GARDEN

In the late summer sky
The falcon in majestic flight
Spied its unfortunate prey
Then swooped down from great height

With lightning speed
It took a pigeon on the wing
Then with much less grace and style
It performed a clumsy landing

In a quiet village garden
On the sunny patch of grass
The falcon went about its work
And performed the coup de gras

From the house a curious cat
Peered out with envious eyes
Through a window as the falcon
Devoured its pigeon prize

The cat crept through the cat flap
In its most stealthy way
The falcon though was off
But left behind its pigeon prey

The cat inspected the pigeon
Sniffed it and poked it with her paw
Found it a disappointment
And she strolled away once more

As she strolled back to the house
The falcon swooped to the ground
Snatched up his pigeon prize
Before the cat could turn around

The falcon had taken the bird
Leaving nothing in its place
Leaving only feathers on the lawn
And a scowl on the cats face

IF I

If I were inside your head
What would I see?
Through your blue grey eyes
How would I view me?

If I were in your heart
What would I feel?
Would it beat a little faster?
When I see me?

If I was in your skin
When we made love
Would I feel electricity?
When I touch you

If I were inside your head
What would I think?
Would I know I was the one?
When I look at me?

If I were in your heart
Would it be full?
Or have an empty space
For the one you seek

If I were in your mind
Would I feel content?
Would I see someone special?
When I look at me?

If I spoke to me
With your mouth and lips
And I said I love you
Would it be the truth?

JUST SAY

You can write it in a letter
In flowery words
On sweetly perfumed paper
And seal it with a loving kiss
You can write it in smoke
Across the clear blue sky
You can use dots and dashes
Like the old Morse code
Just say you love me

You can sing it in a song
Like a nightclub crooner
Honey covered words
Set to the music of love
You can beat it out in rhythm
On a set of bongo drums
Emblazon it on a banner
Trailing behind a biplane
Just say you love me

You can say it on the telephone
In dulcet tones
Your voice soft and sweet
To match the words of love
Say it in electric letters
On the side of an airship
Display it on a big screen
Before the match kicks off
Just say you love me

You can say it in dance
In the ballet tradition
With grace and poise
Moving like Darcy Bussle
You can send a signal in smoke
Like a Native American
You can say it in an Email
Just one line will do
You can say it in a Text
I luv u or u r m9
Just say you love me

I ALWAYS LOVED THE TIME OF YEAR

I always loved the time of year
Long before that perfect day
It was a perfect morning
The best of autumn
The sky the clearest blue
The air crisp and clean
The last remnants of mist
Burnt away by the rising watery sun
And there she stood
As if to improve on nature itself
A vision of perfection
Standing at the edge of the woods
From beneath her woolen hat
Flaming red hair fell
Then danced upon her shoulders
And caught on her scarf
Breath plumed from her smiling mouth
As she spoke to her dog
Then she began to walk
The hem of her long coat swung
With the rhythm of her hips
As she strode into the woods
The spaniel chasing a stick she had thrown
Her boots crunching leaves underfoot
Still crisp with frost
Where the sun hadn’t reached
“Come on Jimbo” I said
Letting the dog out of the car
And we followed her into the wood
I walked amidst the skeletal trees
Where Squirrels ran here and there
Still busily preparing for winter
I kicked through the carpet of leaves
Feeling like a schoolboy again
And birds settled in my wake
Feeding on insects in the disturbance
In a clearing I saw her again
Her red hair like fire
Illuminated in the sunlight
The dogs soon introduced each other
And we did also
Two dog lovers talking in a wood
Two people who would become lovers
Who both loved the time of year

AUTUMN REFLECTIONS

I stood on the wet sand
On that cold autumn morning
In the autumn of my years
With the breeze off the sea
Chilling my old bones
And gazed out across the bay
To the distant purple hills
Their edges blurred and softened
By the early morning mist
Their indistinct silhouette
Reflected on the moving water
The tidal water pulling at the reflection
As it moved inexorably to the open sea
And seemingly carrying with it
All of my unfulfilled hopes and dreams
With a shiver I turned from the scene
And made my way along the beach
My eyes were drawn to the hillside
Where the sparsely covered trees stand
With the last of the leaves falling
Each fluttering to the ground
Each leaf’s fall symbolic
Like the dates of a calendar
Being peeled off one by one
Ticking off the days of my life
As I head towards my winter

MONKS OF PEACE

Monks of peace, saffron robed
March with quiet dignity
Arm in arm with their countrymen
Marching for democracy
Joy written on every face
As they march to free Burma
From military dictatorship

Monks of peace, saffron robed
March to end the tyranny
Cheered loudly by the people
In the face of western hypocrisy
As they march to free Burma
From Than Shwe’s vicious regime

Monks of peace, saffron robed
March with quiet dignity
Marching for Aung Aan Suu Kyi
Hope in every heart
As they march to free Burma
From an unjust government

Then the peace is violently shattered
Tear gas grenades explode
And laughter turns to screams
Joy to terror
Hope to despair
Shots ring out
Volley fire over head
Then soldiers approach
Rattan batons in hand
Monks of peace, saffron robed
Stagger with bloodied skulls
Saffron stained with blood
Fear etched on every face
Screams ring out
As people run for safety
Before the Army’s advance

Monks of peace, saffron robed
March on with determination
Until the peace is shattered again
By rifles crack
And in the echoing percussion
Monks of peace lay dead
The peaceful to rest in peace
While tyrants live to kill again
And the west looks on in shame

ATTENTION ALL CYBERDOSHERS

Got my post, nice to see,
Read of the challenge, what's it to be?
Shona Prophett, showin' a loss?
Does anybody really give a toss?

Have to admit, if this is true,
I could be tempted, so could you,
Wouldn't it be cool, wouldn't it be funny,
If we all took part and we all made money?

Check it out, then let me know,
If you're taking part, I'll give it a go.

Details at http://www.cyberdosh.com