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15 minutes ago, Jill Sparrow said:

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



Not really, I'm just a soft old sod.

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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

As a new reader of this thread I have to confess to not liking the 'maudlin' style and much prefer Jills efforts. The subjects matter of Beyond Redemption was obvious to me without being told.

Not wishing to offend but some of it is depressing and at my age I want to laugh more and cry less. Different strokes for different folks I suppose and no, I don't write poetry, I don't have a creative bone in my body.

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Fair enough, Brew. You can't please all the people all of the time. I have written a number of light-hearted poems on the thread - the three Dancing Competition ones featuring our members are examples. There are others. I varied my subject matter to include not only humour but also everyday life, some of which illustrated the sad side. Humour is very subjective - what some people would fall about laughing about others would not see an ounce of humour. On the other hand the serious stuff hopefully makes some people reminisce or appreciate a situation. 

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I thought I would have a look through the poems on this thread just to refresh them in my mind. So many poets among our members, so many different styles of writing. Afraid It would be a long wait before I could make anything rhyme, to contemplate adding to them, (unless it's a rude little ditty, quite good at that kind, but I don't want to get thrown off NS, so I will not add them!)


Thoroughly enjoyed reading back through the thread. Thanks to all our Poets for sharing, I have gone back one page at a time, and it is  time to get myself up  now, so I have decided to end for now on one that has made me chuckle. Best to start the day on a happy note. See what happens from there.


Chullas poem. 'At the Hop',  is a light hearted one to start the day. Page 7.  :biggrin:

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Thanks Chulla, as you know this resonates so strongly with me and although I understand some may find this sadness difficult to bear with, when you are in the slough of bereavement the task of trying to express your grief by both writing and reading is for me necessary and to some small extent comforting in my loss.

I have not posted much of my writing as I am aware of the effect it may have on others more fortunate to still be with their life long partners. If you want to pm any more of your writing to me please do, but don't stop writing even if you stop posting them.

Thanks again mate.

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I understand why you find poetry such a help, Commo.


Among my favourites are Eden Rock by Charles Causley and The Prophet, by Gibran. Don't know whether you are familiar with either of them..


I also like this, by an unknown author




Perhaps, if we could see the splendour of the land

To which our loved ones are called from you and me,

We'd understand.


Perhaps, if we could hear the welcome they receive

From old, familiar voices all so dear,

We would not grieve.


Perhaps, if we could know the reason why they went,

We'd smile and wipe away the tears that flow,

And wait - content.

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When I read of your sad loss, Commo, it did pass through my mind that you might have read my poems concerning bereavement and its effects and you might have considered them inappropriate. 

   I wondered, did you get some solace in knowing that there are people who can appreciate the emptiness that has entered your life, or, perhaps, did you think I was intruding on private grief? It pleased me to know that you appreciated the former's sentiment. Thank you.

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  • 5 weeks later...

I recently saw a book of poems by D H Lawrence. I did not know that he wrote poetry. Skimming through the poems I did not reckon much to them, except for one, written in his local dialect. Here it is.


The Collier's Wife


Somebody's knockin' at th' door,

   Mother, come down an' see!

I's think it's nobbut a beggar,

   Say I'm busy.


It's not a beggar, mother, hark,

   How 'ard 'e knocks!

Eh, tha'rt a mard-arsed kid,

   E'll gie thee socks.


Shout an' ax what 'e wants,

   I canna come down.

'E says, is it Arthur Holliday's?

   Say Yes, tha clown.


'E says Tell your mother as 'er mester's

   Got hurt i' th' pit -

What? Oh my Sirs, 'e never says that,

   That's not it.


Come out o' th' way an' let me see!

   Eh, there's no peace.

An' stop they scraightin', childt,

   Do shut thy face.


'Your mester's 'ad an accident,

   An' they ta'ein' 'im i' th' ambulance.

'Ter Nottingham' - Eh dear o' me,

   If 'e's not a man for mischance.


Wheer's 'e hurt this time, lad?

   - I dunna know.

They on'y towd me it wor bad -

   It would be so


Out o' my way, childt! dear o' me wheer,

   'Ave I put 'is clean stockin's an' shirt.

Goodness knows if they'll be able,

   To take off 'is pit-dirt.


An' what a moan 'ell make! there niver,

   Was such a man for a fuss,

If anything ailed 'im; at any rate,

   I shan't 'ave 'im to nuss.




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DHL is one of my favourite poets, Chulla. I prefer his poetry to his novels. I can see why his work wouldn't appeal to you but, nevertheless, it is thought provoking and masterful. Very like the poetry of Thomas Hardy, which I also love. 

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  • 4 weeks later...


I am falling in love
with my imperfections
The way I never get the sink really clean,
forget to check my oil,
lose my car in parking lots,
miss appointments I have written down,
am just a little late.

I am learning to love
the small bumps on my face
the big bump of my nose,
my hairless scalp,
chipped nail polish,
toes that overlap.

Learning to love
the open-ended mystery
of not knowing why

I am learning to fail
to make lists,
use my time wisely,
read the books I should.

Instead I practice inconsistency,
irrationality, forgetfulness.

Probably I should
hang my clothes neatly in the closet
all the shirts together, then the pants,
send Christmas cards, or better yet
a letter telling of
my perfect family.

But I’d rather waste time
listening to the rain,
or lying underneath my cat
learning to purr.

I used to fill every moment
with something I could
cross off later.

Perfect was
the laundry done and folded
all my papers graded
the whole truth and nothing but

Now the empty mind is what I seek
the formless shape
the strange, off center
sometimes fictional me.

- Elizabeth Carlson


Found this piece of blank verse on Facebook and it really struck a note with me (apart from the hairless scalp!)

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We had another good session at the Poems in the Pub night in Bulwell Wetherspoons. I gave them a couple of sad ones so they could cry into their beer. Here I am performing. Pictures taken there will appear on a City Council Facebook forum, so I am told.




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Thank goodness I wont there miduck  or they would have needed canoes to gerr om. Of course we will have to check the 'City Council Facebook Forum', for our NS poets fizzog. Well done Chulla. You could give us a peek at yer poems ya know ?:)

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3 hours ago, carni said:

Thank goodness I wont there miduck  or they would have needed canoes to gerr om. Of course we will have to check the 'City Council Facebook Forum', for our NS poets fizzog. Well done Chulla. You could give us a peek at yer poems ya know ?:)


The poems were Delighted, slighted, unrequited, and The chiffon scarf, which I have posted on NS in the past.

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Did this for my granddaughter, years ago (apologies to George R Sims). There's a couple of awful rhymes where I used to repeat the last couple of words and pause as if I was thinking of the next line .. she loved it! Hope it meets with your approval Metremeister Chulla!


‘Twas  midnight in the warehouse an’ all the mice were there

Crowded in the hallway, an’ sitting on the stair.

They'd gathered for a reason, they'd come to make a plan

Of how to get rid of t’warehouse cat, whose name was Hairy Stan.


Now Stanley were a clever cat, he captured lots of mice

And sold them on to all his mates at a reasonable price.

The mice were all fed up with this. They didn't like the fuss

Of escaping from these other cats, and coming home on’t bus.


The meeting went on day by day, it went on night by night

A young mouse said "We've been here weeks, and still no end in sight!

This meeting's gone on far too long, we can bring it to a close if (close if!)

We agree to make a dummy mouse and stuff it with explosive!"


The mice were all fed up by now, and accepted youngster's plan

They made the mouse, an’ set it down, and waited for old Stan

It were only there a little while, they di’n’t have long to wait,

Then Stanley came, and Stanley saw, and Stanley took the bait!


He sold it on to Ginger Kev who took it ‘ome for tea

Saying "Roasted mouse and a bit of bread!, ooh that'll do for me!

Now, shall I have it roasted, or put it in a pie?"

But he put it in the oven, an’ he turned the gas up high.


"Now, what to do while waitin’", Kevin mumbled in a mutter

I know I'll have a slice of bread with loads of lovely butter"

Now Kevin liked a bit of bread and went to cut some more off (more off!)

But there came a FLASH and then a BANG, which blew his oven door off!


And as he sat there dazed, in the ruins of his house

He said "Now I come to think of it, I think I've gone off mouse!"

The news soon spread around the town that Kevin's house was busted

And more than that, though nicely priced, Stan's mice could not be trusted.


So with his customers all gone, Stan decided he'd retire.

He spends his time in’t kitchen now, curled up in front o’t’ fire.

And life goes on for all the mice, much as it's always done

But, truth be told, without old Stan, it isn't half the fun!




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  • 1 month later...

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 inside her bag;...
T'was "Fifty Shades of Grey".

Well I just left her to it,
And at ten I went to bed.
An hour later she appeared;
The sight filled me with dread.

In her left hand she held a rope;
And in her right a whip!
She threw them down upon the floor,
And then began to strip.

Well fifty years or so ago;
I might have had a peek;
But Mabel hasn't weathered well;
She's eighty four next week!!

Watching Mabel bump and grind;
Could not have been much grimmer.
And things then went from bad to worse;
She toppled off her Zimmer!

She struggled back upon her feet;
A couple minutes later;
She put her teeth back in and said
"I am a dominator!!"

Now if you knew our Mabel,
You'd see just why I spluttered,
I'd spent two months in traction
For the last complaint I'd uttered.

She stood there nude and naked
Bent forward just a bit
I went to hold her, sensual like
and stood on her left tit!

Mabel screamed, her teeth shot out;
My God what had I done!
She moaned and groaned then shouted out:
"Step on the other one!!"

Well readers, I can tell no more;
Of what occurred that day.
Suffice to say my jet black hair,
Turned fifty shades of grey!!


[Pam Ayres]

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