London (change)
17 messages
17/09/2013 at 14:28

I know it is very hard to outshine Birdy's effort at writing poetry so I have decided not to try. Instead I shall offer John Keats's take on an autumn day. Ahem, ladies and gentlemen, I give you:

To Autumn. 1820. by John Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For summer has o'er-brimmed their clammy cells.



17/09/2013 at 14:47

and I give you....I walked out in my coat of pride and looked about on everyside....forgotten the rest.

17/09/2013 at 14:51

Oh dear, sorry. Didn't mean to sound snotty nosed. Just liked the words.

17/09/2013 at 14:56

no,lovely poem,....I myself love poetry ..just I cant remember the lines these days.

17/09/2013 at 14:59

 Me neither. And so often the lines that I remember go round and round in loops instead of straight on to the end.

17/09/2013 at 15:14

I love 'To Autumn' and I'm not really a peotry person. Just a few I like

17/09/2013 at 16:25

I won't bore everyone with the next two verses! I have limited poetry capacity myself.

17/09/2013 at 20:06

Slowly silently now the moon, walks the night in her silver shoon

This way and that she peers and sees, silver fruit upon silver trees

One by one the casements catch, her beams beneath the silvery thatch

Crouched in his kennel like a log, with paws of silver sleeps the dog

From their shadowy cotes the white breasts peep of doves in a silver feathered sleep

A harvest mouse goes scampering by, with silver claw and silver eye

And moveless fish in the water gleam of silver reeds in a silver stream

I was tought this at school many (MOONS) ago






17/09/2013 at 20:23

I edited this poem but couldnt insert it on here, doing something wrong obviously


oops it worked

17/09/2013 at 21:09

high waving heather neath stormy skies

17/09/2013 at 21:20

Tomstattyead, you obviously had a very effective teacher. Can you remember the teacher? Can you remember who wrote the poem?

Archiepem, is that your own?

17/09/2013 at 21:23

emily jane bronte

17/09/2013 at 21:27

It's been a bit Wuthering here today.

18/09/2013 at 18:07

One of my most clear childhood memories is of a picture on the wall at home, which had upon it the verse:

The things I sow, somehow don't grow

I'm sorely disenchanted.

But, oh, what luck I have with things

I never even planted

18/09/2013 at 22:35


The poem was by Walter De La Mare, yes I do remember my teachers. I love poetry even had ago myself, but mine are more rymes than poems..


18/09/2013 at 22:53

I got some statistics on line about the angel of the north and wrote a little rhyme based on them


Four double decker busses would not exceed his hight.

He's one of Englands icons, a most impressive sight.

Can jumbo jets outspan him, this angel of renown

He doesn't wear a halo, and his skin is reddish brown

He's loved by all who know him, no one can guess his worth

 He is our special angel

The angel of the north

19/09/2013 at 08:25

I'm pretty bad at poetry, but one that has always stuck with me was called "two cats of kilkenny"

There were two cats of Kilkenny,

and each thought there was one cat too many,

so they fought and they fit,

they scratched and they bit,

until instead of two cats... there werent any..

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