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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 abideWith fork and spade a trowel hoe and barrowI patrol the paths some broad some narrowProdding poking dead head an odd weedEverything done slowly no need for speedThe tweeting of birds the humming of beesThe soft waft of scent on a murmuring breezeAway from the mad rush continuous bustleListening to the leaves as they gently rustleThe constant rush Diaries always fullRemind me of china shops and a very mad bull
My garden my refuge I am at peace with the worldFinished the combat the flags are all furledA seat in a corner that sheltered and brightDream 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.
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
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.
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.
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
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.
Don't ever think I will be Poet Laureate Frank. Thanks though.
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.
Head on pillow perchance to dreamIn my head I am setting the lovely sceneMoon like a glitter ball hangs on highSurrounded by stars in the distant sky.
The Locarno's and Palais dance halls of oldThose wondrous places all vermilion and goldLive band with its leader dressed to the ninesRaised baton keeping all in perfect time.
The announcement is made for the next danceLook around the hall with questioning glanceThere is Karen and Heather Lilia tooWhich beautiful Lady is the one for you.
Looking around you really can't chooseCherie Lisa Ola Flavia Erin you museSmiling you say could I please have this danceIn the back of your mind the thought of romance
The time passes away as you dance with them allThe New Zealand Heather and Heather SmallWith Karen and Lilia Erin Ola you hopThe Samba the Waltz and a bit of bebop.
The night passes as the sun starts to beamYou awake with a shock it was only a dreamOn Saturday night the SCD you viewForget their partners they are dancing with you.
I wish, Frank. Not Browning but who cares.
Here's a stab at it then, Frank. Just stream of consciousness, no attempt at rhythm or rhyme.
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.
One day soon
Maybe no more gloom
But for now
I have an iPad
Nice one, figrat.
Some real hidden talents being revealed here !
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.
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!
Tina the night is for our plans and dreamsThe awakening of nefarious schemesTo cause havoc among law abiding folkThen say Ok people it was just a joke
The brains works in weird waysDevising ways to enliven our daysStuck in a work place with other slavesBlack holes often resembling caves
Where monsters who are power dressedStand and watch over the deep depressedBut in your dreams you can overcomeAnd give them a right kicking up the B@#
A soldier loves the night and darkness Tina, out of sight out of mind.
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.
Well here's one to shock you, written on another board, about me.
A sonnet to David KI fill my pots with compost And arrange them all in rows Then push the seeds in firmlyAnd wait to see them growThe days fly by so swiftlyI watch with baited breathWill my shots grow healthy?Or condemned to early deathThe days are getting longerThe soil outside is warm I carry my seedlings carefullyLike a mother with a new born.I dig a trench so deeplyAnd fill with muck and peatThen into little holes I plant themCovering up their tiny feet.The spring turns into summerMy plants begin to growThey scrabble up the wigwamJust watch those B*****’s growI tie their arms in firmlyAnd my heart begins to thudI remember the happy feelingWhen I see my very first budI watch with trepidationAs over the frame they towerI am so excitedTo see my very first flowerI know I’m just a noviceTo say different I wouldn’t dareMy sweet peas are truly amazingBut to yours there’s no compare
Hope you sought the author's permission David
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.