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PostPosted: Wed Jun 30, 2004 3:47 pm
by GrimDad
Yes good John, a bit First World War-ish with humour ?

I wonder if a modern Washer/Drier-Machine version could work that well !

PostPosted: Wed Jun 30, 2004 5:29 pm
by John A Silkstone
Thanks GrimDad, More humous ones if you want to see them? John

PostPosted: Thu Jul 01, 2004 7:47 pm
by GrimDad
Yes I do love your poems John, and another humerous one would be great. I am hoping this weekend to get some time to try to write something myself other than just typing words off the top of my head !

PostPosted: Fri Jul 02, 2004 1:37 pm
by John A Silkstone
Saint George and the Dragon

Once long ago in the days of the dragon
When maidens were tied to a stake,
A knight would ride for many a mile
And still arrive there to late.

Now a very young knight called Sir George
Set out one day on a quest
He went to hunt the last dragon
And in a fight he would do his best.

One day he came to a village
‘was somewhere up Yorkshire way
And there he found the dragon
The dragon he wanted to slay.

He thought he’d killed the last dragon
So merrily went on his way,
Though the dragon still lives on Yorkshire
You can see Nora Batty today

PostPosted: Wed Jul 07, 2004 8:43 am
by GrimDad
Yes that is a very good one John. Just hope Nora Batty doesn't read it and sue !!

PostPosted: Fri Jul 09, 2004 8:31 pm
by John A Silkstone
SAM SMALL OF MONOLOGUE FAME

You’ve ‘ear of Sam Small, of Monologue fame
Who wouldn’t pick up his musket, till Duke ‘ad came
‘E then went to battle, against Napoleon’s crew
T’ show ‘em just what, a Yorkshire man could do
It were twenty to one, on Napoleon’s side
But Sam wasn’t bother, he'd soon turn the tide
‘E gave them old frogies such a terrible time
They all set off home, to sup up their wine
Duke Wellington was pleased, and to Sam he said
“You’ve done well today lad, so go off to bed,
And then in morning, wi’ all lads on parade.
I’ll give thee a medal for making my day.
And far in the future they’ll all know thee name
When they talk of Sam Small, of monologue fame.”

PostPosted: Fri Jul 09, 2004 8:39 pm
by John A Silkstone
The Kiss

Hard
Marble
Creating
Eternal love.
Outstretched arm embraces ice cold shoulder,
While the right hand caresses a smooth thigh.
Ridged stone lips
Osculate
Passion
True

PostPosted: Fri Jul 09, 2004 8:40 pm
by John A Silkstone
MY SLIPPERS AND I

I’ve seen crabs with nippers
Dolphins with flippers
Plus smoked fish that mongers call kippers.

I’ve seen ships known as clippers
Piloted by skippers
All out at sea with day-trippers.

Though the best sight of all,
that I can recall,
Is me with my pipe and my slippers.

PostPosted: Wed Jul 14, 2004 10:55 am
by GrimDad
Your poems are a joy to read John, and your short stories !
The slippers poem I especially like.

PostPosted: Thu Jul 22, 2004 9:20 pm
by John A Silkstone
Hello GrimDad, The slippers poem was written in a writing group. We were give ten minutes to write a poem of not more than ten lines and it had to include the word slipper/s That is what I wrote and I’ve never changed a word. He’s another funny one for you

ENCOUNTER
(In Lea Village, Lincolnshire)

Rambling by the village of Lea
I was lost, as lost could be.
Then walking down a country lane
I spied a man with a walking cane.
He appeared to be a local type
In farming clothes and an old clay pipe.
I thought that he would know the way,
So I asked his advice, this very day.
“Why come o’er to bother me
When there’s a milestone by yon tree.”
I told him plainly as we spoke,
“I cannot read and that’s no joke.”
He shook his head in great dismay,
“Y’ canner read!” I heard him say,
“Then it’s just for you, that milestone yon.
For it’s one o’ them sort, wi’ nowt written on.”
:lol: :lol: :lol: :lol: :lol:

PostPosted: Thu Jul 22, 2004 9:28 pm
by John A Silkstone
As I schoolboy one of my favourite poems was the Village Blacksmith. There are not many of these tradesmen left, so I wrote the following poem.

LAMENT
To the Village Blacksmith
By
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Under the spreading Chestnut Tree
The smithy stands no more
His large and sinewy hands
Now sweep rubbish from the floor.

The muscles on his brawny arms,
Once akin to iron bands,
Are now soft and flabby
As by a machine he stands.

No hammering on the anvil
No hot metal being wrought
Stands there pushing buttons
Without any skill or thought.
:cry: :cry: :cry:

PostPosted: Fri Jul 23, 2004 10:54 am
by GrimDad
Yes John, I do like your latest two countryside poems, Encounter and Lament - you do seem to have a strong country streak in you !!

PostPosted: Tue Jul 27, 2004 9:59 pm
by sal
yoohoo clare i found you!

here it is then, the poem about my students last year...


Beautiful Kids

these kids, these kids, these beautiful kids,
if only, we say, if only.
non-starters, we call them, not a hope.
do we know what it is to be lonely?

do we know what it is, us makers of rules
to be dumped by our own flesh and blood,
do we know what it's like, us makers of rules,
if they could show us, they would.

these kids, these kids, these beautiful kids,
they shine like stars in the mire.
these babies, these darlings, these beautiful ones
they are stronger than you or I are.

these rejects, these wasters, these takers of drugs
they are the future, take heed.
these kids, these kids, these ungrateful kids,
they respond in our hour of need.

so next time you mutter or curse at these kids
please bear one thought in mind,
they have come through it, they are still here
so let your next thought be kind.

PostPosted: Tue Jul 27, 2004 10:09 pm
by Clare
Hi Sal,
I love the poem and do get fed up with adults that should know better being unreasonably critical and suspicious of kids who are largely good.

PostPosted: Thu Jul 29, 2004 7:48 pm
by sal
at last! someome who understands!