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31/03/2013 at 14:33

 

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

31/03/2013 at 14:40

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

31/03/2013 at 15:12

Oh yes, Frank, I remember it well. 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. 

 

31/03/2013 at 15:58

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.

31/03/2013 at 16:20

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

31/03/2013 at 16:29

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.

31/03/2013 at 16:45

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

31/03/2013 at 17:01

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.

 

31/03/2013 at 18:16

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.

31/03/2013 at 18:35

GG

31/03/2013 at 19:22

Weather's bad

I'm sad

One day soon

Maybe no more gloom

But for now

I'm glad

I have an iPad

31/03/2013 at 19:48

Nice one, figrat.

31/03/2013 at 19:57

Some real hidden talents being revealed here ! 

31/03/2013 at 22:09

G/G, well done and how to do it let it pour out, I found that going back trying to improve ended in frustration and well disaster so got scrapped.
Figrat again that is how you feel, in fact how we all feel after this long winter and write it from the heart.

Frank.

31/03/2013 at 22:34

I should get off this blooming machine and tiptoe to my bed

But something draws me back again there's so much to be said

The sky is black no stars to see the quietness is unnerving

I hate the night, the solitude, the time when thoughts run riot

So I sit for hours, whiling the time until the dawn is breaking

For then I know I've made it through for another day of jawing!

Sorry

31/03/2013 at 23:02

Tina the night is for our plans and dreams
The awakening of nefarious schemes
To cause havoc among law abiding folk
Then say Ok people it was just a joke

The brains works in weird ways
Devising ways to enliven our days
Stuck in a work place with other slaves
Black holes often resembling caves

Where monsters who are power dressed
Stand and watch over the deep depressed
But in your dreams you can overcome
And give them a right kicking up the B@#

A soldier loves the night and darkness Tina, out of sight out of mind.

Frank

01/04/2013 at 10:39

Morning Frank.  I am and always have been a night owl. What I said was true, it was really dark last night!  No stars, no moon, really eerie. Was waiting for the vampires to dance around my bed.

Don't seem to have any takers Shame.  It was fun on the Beeb forum.  Everyone had a go.  Never mind. 

01/04/2013 at 10:59

Well here's one to shock you, written on another board, about me.

 A sonnet to David K

I fill my pots with compost
And arrange them all in rows
Then push the seeds in firmly
And wait to see them grow


The days fly by so swiftly
I watch with baited breath
Will my shots grow healthy?
Or condemned to early death

The days are getting longer
The soil outside is warm
I carry my seedlings carefully
Like a mother with a new born.


I dig a trench so deeply
And fill with muck and peat
Then into little holes I plant them
Covering up their tiny feet.

The spring turns into summer
My plants begin to grow
They scrabble up the wigwam
Just watch those B*****’s grow

I tie their arms in firmly
And my heart begins to thud
I remember the happy feeling
When I see my very first bud

I watch with trepidation
As over the frame they tower
I am so excited
To see my very first flower

I know I’m just a novice
To say different I wouldn’t dare
My sweet peas are truly amazing
But to yours there’s no compare



01/04/2013 at 11:10

Hope you sought the author's permission David

01/04/2013 at 11:26
TinaTurner wrote (see)

Hope you sought the author's permission David

 

Not subject to any copyright as far as I know..and I'm sure she'd be delighted to share it with you.    

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