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[Seen elsewhere, author not credited]   The outside toilet.   In deep midwinter freezing cold, Walked down the path, feeling bold, Needed to go, just couildn't wait,

Spotted this Pam Ayres ditty in another group and thought it might appeal to those in here what likes poytrie:   The missus bought a Paperback, down Shepton Mallet way, I had a look insi

Ha, ha ! It reminds me of the old tale of the general during WW1, who asked his radio operator to 'Send reinforcements, we're going to advance'. When the message passed through various stages, it fina

Very recent Loppy, can't yet see a way through the grief. I find reading poetry a comfort of sorts so thought that I would try to set out my feelings in my own efforts.Thank you for your thoughts.

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Commo, your poem so sad but is beautifully written. You have managed to convey your feelings in that lovely tribute. I struggle for words only to say, I hope you find peace and know that you have touched us with your poetry.

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Beautiful poem, Commo.  I think it does help to write your feelings down even though that can bring more tears .  Thinking of you xxx

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I am so sorry for your sadness, Commo. Words are useless and superfluous on such occasions. Memories bring comfort and solace. You will get through it, though the tunnel may seem endess and dark at present. Remember that no one is ever truly alone. Take care of yourself. There are good friends here for the asking.

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Life! we have been long together,  
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;  
  'Tis hard to part when friends are dear;   25
  Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;—  
  Then steal away, give little warning,  
        Choose thine own time;  
Say not Good-night, but in some brighter clime  

        Bid me Good-morning!

 

A favourite verse from Anna Laetitia Barbauld's poem 'Life'.

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my heart goes out to you Commo........but you found some lovely words.........life is cruellest when it takes our truly loved one's........you never get over it......but you do learn to live with it...........so they say..........all the best mate take heart from friends.........God Bless

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He decided to bike it, as he did not like it, and zoomed off doing a wheelie.

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I thought of several themes Phil, but declined the temptation !

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At this time of Remembrance I would like to share with you one of my poems, and trust that as my friends you will allow me this indulgence. I hope that you may understand my reasons but if not then in the words of my mate Radford Red, " I apologise in advance".

 

REMEMBRANCE

 

Eleventh hour, eleventh day, eleventh month once a year

we stand and we honour that brave fallen host.

Two minutes of reverent silence afford them,

shed tears with the bugler`s haunting Last Post.

 

Every hour, every day, every month of the year

a grief stricken devotion to my Love I pay.

Alone, with no bugle, sad memories to cling to,

my Act of Remembrance takes place every day.

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I WILL REMEMBER HIM

 

I wish I had met him, my unknown Grandfather, he died twenty nine years before I was born,

my Dad and my Uncle deprived of their father, so tragically leaving my Grandma to mourn.

I have only one photograph, just the one memory,

posing, in sepia, in gaiters and cap

in front of the bakehouse owned by his father

waiting to load up the pony and trap.

Did he meet Grandma one day whilst delivering the bread and the cakes from the back of the cart?

Whilst handing the loaves from the bakery basket,

I wonder if also he handed his heart?

Like so many then, never heard of the Archduke, but queued to enlist with his friends, forming rows.

Told he was needed by King and his Country,

By Jingo they'd bloody the damned Kaiser`s nose!

In nineteen fifteen placed in Army Reserve 

then assigned to the Cheshires before sailing to France,

then in March nineteen eighteen, dug into The Somme,

was hit by a whizz-bang and given no chance.

It wasn't a snipers clean bullet which killed him, nor disease in the trench laid him low in the ground,

but his death must have been so violent and dreadful for his poor blasted body never was found.

His name is inscribed with so many who vanished

regimented so sadly in Pozieres stone,

and in St Peter's, Radford, his brother beside him,

the Parish`s Fallen show they're not alone.

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This will be my last poem. I would like to thank those who have expressed an appreciation of my efforts. It was encouraging. As some of you will have noted, I like to write about romantic sadness and lost love, and my final effort is in this vein. Any further postings will be the works of other poets.

 

The chiffon scarf

 

Another year had past since, his dear Jane had died,

   It didn't get easier, no matter how he tried.

All those years together, they never were apart,

   But age and illness had shot, an arrow to his heart.

 

In times when he was cheerless, and lost in deep despair,

   His thoughts returned to seeing her, and what she liked to wear.

From a drawer he took out, his favourite Jane remind,

   A cornflower blue chiffon scarf, she wore when best inclined.

 

He pushed his face into its folds, and there within a trice,

   That well-remembered perfume, she always thought so nice.

Flooding back came memories, of her in navy blue,

   The lightness of the scarf gave, its complimentary hue.

 

The Freesia woke his senses, remembering happy times,

   Of dancing, dining, party nights, oft in foreign climes.

For this is what their lives were like, with ne'er an argued breath,

   How cruel the intervention of, the sting of selfish death.

 

But on this anniversary, his mind was clear of pain,

   The scarf and its scented gauze, took him back to Jane.

And in those magic moments, they were not apart,

   Perhaps not flesh-to flesh but, they were heart-to-heart.

 

And then the séance ended, the scarf had done its best,

   And there were two moist spots where, his eyes had been at rest.

He saw that there were two more spots, mascara tinged on rim,

   The Freesia scent was stronger now; he knew she'd been with him.

 

In this world of plenty, where one must have and hold,

   For some the simple things are, worth their weight in gold. 

Not for them the profit, the glory and the gain,

   For him the scarf and perfume meant, a moment with his Jane.

  

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Such a heart rending poem Chulla, I love your poems and will miss them. I'm very sorry you say it will be your last. Don't let it be. I am sure I am not alone with that wish.

Your poems do stir up memories and here are the thoughts it has stirred up for me.

 

When my lovely Mam was alive, her favourite perfume was 'Alisha Ashley Musk Oil'. Not the cheaper rather bland one that is around today! After she died, and we had the heart rending task of sorting her belongings, there was an empty bottle on her dressing table, I could have thrown it away, but it was so much about Mam, that I kept it. Since that sad day in 1997, I have the empty bottle on my dressing table, and every so often, I lift the lid and close my eyes and imagine. The perfume aroma over the years has evaporated, but  I can use my imagination  and I am sure I can feel her with me .

 

See Chulla. That is what your touching poem has done for me. So sorry that you say there will be no more.

 

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Don't like to pry, Chulla, but have you been disappointed in love at some point?

 

I understand entirely. I've been disappointed constantly. Been looking for a handsome bloke with a few million in the bank and one foot in the grave for years. Not found one yet. They're in short supply! :wacko:

 
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I agree with Carni.  Please keep writing your poems, Chulla.... it's good for you to keep writing, as well as good for us.  I did enjoy reading this one....

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