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Poetry Thread

PalaisglidePalaisglide Posts: 3,414
in The potting shed

 

How about starting a poetry thread for people who would describe their garden or anything else in verse. We did this on another board and people said I am no good at that and within a week you could not get a word in.

 My garden is my refuge the place I go to hide,
From phones cold callers and others I cannot abide
With fork and spade a trowel hoe and barrow
I patrol the paths some broad some narrow

Prodding poking dead head an odd weed
Everything done slowly no need for speed
The tweeting of birds the humming of bees
The soft waft of scent on a murmuring breeze

Away from the mad rush continuous bustle
Listening to the leaves as they gently rustle
The constant rush Diaries always full
Remind me of china shops and a very mad bull

 My garden my refuge I am at peace with the world
Finished the combat the flags are all furled
A seat in a corner that sheltered and bright
Dream of the past will my tomato's miss the blight.

 I am starting you off with my lousy doggerel knowing there are some real poets out there lets hear it.

Frank

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  • Ryan LloydRyan Lloyd Posts: 395

    Thats amazing Frank! I'm rubbish at poetry, so here goes...

    Roses are red,

    Violets are blue,

    Gardening is my passion,

    And I hope it's yours too!

    Basic, but effective haha image

  • Val40Val40 Posts: 1,377

    Oh yes, Frank, I remember it well. image I remember writing some rather odd ones, not in the same league as you, I hasten to add, but I think I got a silver star for trying. 

     

  • PalaisglidePalaisglide Posts: 3,414

    Ryan, it all counts limericks rhyming or none rhyming verse you get into a flow and soon you will be up there with Browning Wordsworth and who knows even Shakespeare get cracking on the plays.

    Tina yes I had you in mind and it was gold stars, from the cry of "I cannot possibly do that to I cannot possibly stop doing that" took how long a week was it?
    I hope it stirs some of those who also think it is not them to get cracking.

    Frank.

  • Val40Val40 Posts: 1,377

    Here you go Frank.  Not up to your standard. At least I get a coloured star for trying.

     

    I sit out on my patio, my coffee in my hand

    My face turned to the sunshine

    A breeze upon my face

    Tis what makes life worth living

    To view my handiwork

    To feel pride in my accomplishment

    To savour my hardwork

    It has been my saviour

    Tranquility is mine

    I wish that all could find this path

    To give them peace of mind

    The End image

  • PalaisglidePalaisglide Posts: 3,414

    Tina you said it from the heart and that is what counts in poetry, it is how you feel what you think and it flows. Of course poetry buffs who dot the I's and cross the T's will say we are both naff, I say who cares about what they think, words straight onto paper with feeling beats all the correct prose ever written.

    Frank.

  • Val40Val40 Posts: 1,377

    Don't ever think I will be Poet Laureate Frank.  image Thanks though.

  • PalaisglidePalaisglide Posts: 3,414

    Tina Poet's Laureate have to create to order and on that point I doubt I would even want the job, it has to pour out as did this one after watching SCD.

    Dream On.

     Head on pillow perchance to dream
    In my head I am setting the lovely scene
    Moon like a glitter ball hangs on high
    Surrounded by stars in the distant sky.

     The Locarno's and Palais dance halls of old
    Those wondrous places all vermilion and gold
    Live band with its leader dressed to the nines
    Raised baton keeping all in perfect time.

     The announcement is made for the next dance
    Look around the hall with questioning glance
    There is Karen and Heather Lilia too
    Which beautiful Lady is the one for you.

     Looking around you really can't choose
    Cherie Lisa Ola Flavia Erin you muse
    Smiling you say could I please have this dance
    In the back of your mind the thought of romance

     The time passes away as you dance with them all
    The New Zealand Heather and Heather Small
    With Karen and Lilia Erin Ola you hop
    The Samba the Waltz and a bit of bebop.

     The night passes as the sun starts to beam
    You awake with a shock it was only a dream
    On Saturday night the SCD you view
    Forget their partners they are dancing with you.

     I wish, Frank. Not Browning but who cares.

     

  • Gardening GrandmaGardening Grandma Posts: 1,746

    Here's a stab at it then, Frank. Just stream of consciousness, no attempt at rhythm or rhyme.

    My garden.

    Small, unprepossessing patch of wet Wales,

    Flat, oddly shaped, crowded by houses,

    I love your rich earth, your sheltering walls;

    I love the green shoots thrusting gently

    Breaking the dormant cold of winter

    Springing forth like resurrection.

    Here, poised at the turning of winter to spring,

    I dream of the bounty to come,

    The plants tumbling and billowing

    Flowering in succession,

    Ancient names singing in my heart -

    Snapdragon, Sweet William, Marsh Marigold,

    Babies Breath, Bee Balm, Bird of Paradise -

    The long, long afternoon of the year,

    Drowsy, contented, voluptuous.

    Then the long sadness of decline

    As flowers fade and odd roses linger

    Berries burst forth and birds fly away

    And I retreat to hide from the cold air

    And  sadly dream of spring.

    And Tenerife.

  • Val40Val40 Posts: 1,377

    GG image

  • figratfigrat Posts: 1,619

    Weather's bad

    I'm sad

    One day soon

    Maybe no more gloom

    But for now

    I'm glad

    I have an iPad

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