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Post by don on Oct 2, 2024 18:29:40 GMT
I don’t think of my writing this as Poetry but I can’t think of any other way to describe it. So here is some of my poetry:- Do any other people write poetry? This piece i titled Twelve Months
Time is packaged into convenient little packages
Seconds make minutes and they make hours
Hours made of minutes become days
Days turn into weeks and then when you get the right amount of weeks and days this becomes a month. Months all differ for some reason but take the twelve individual months and you have a year!
I have had sixty two of these packages of weeks months seconds days and hours and I have filled them with memories.
Some I remember others I forget, some I choose never to think of again. Some I am proud of others not so.
How can I remember all that has been done why can I not forget some?
Having these packages of time is useful but what about the future will that be packaged.
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Post by don on Oct 2, 2024 18:32:20 GMT
I must have written this seven years ago as I’m 69 in eleven days time. Time really does fly
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Post by don on Oct 9, 2024 13:50:56 GMT
Nobody else writes any poetry then?
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Post by spinno on Oct 9, 2024 14:32:10 GMT
Nobody else writes any poetry then? Only that that's only suitable for toilet walls... |
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Post by kate on Oct 9, 2024 14:41:22 GMT
Nobody else writes any poetry then? You can probably guess when I wrote this one. Where is this place? Where is this place I find myself? I’m lost in a sea of normality Trying to see where I fit in And failing. I smile, I talk, I do the things We used to do The air is no longer clear and bright But full of mists And I lose my way. Some part of me has gone with you The rest has lost its way In this calm sea Rudderless and pointless I look but don’t find The way ahead. |
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Post by don on Oct 9, 2024 15:54:40 GMT
Nobody else writes any poetry then? You can probably guess when I wrote this one. Where is this place? Where is this place I find myself? I’m lost in a sea of normality Trying to see where I fit in And failing. I smile, I talk, I do the things We used to do The air is no longer clear and bright But full of mists And I lose my way. Some part of me has gone with you The rest has lost its way In this calm sea Rudderless and pointless I look but don’t find The way ahead. ❤️❤️👍 I love to write ✍️ my feelings down or rather I did but my Multiple Sclerosis has taken my ability to do any legible writing anymore, so tapping away on my iPad or more usually talking to it. But I really miss actually writing ✍️. But Hey Ho I’m not moaning just saying, there’s many people unable to do the things that I manage. |
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Post by don on Oct 9, 2024 15:56:04 GMT
Nobody else writes any poetry then? Only that that's only suitable for toilet walls... Give us some examples of your talent 👍👍 |
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Post by dorsetmike on Oct 9, 2024 16:55:54 GMT
I always thought poetry had rhymes
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Post by MJB on Oct 9, 2024 17:08:17 GMT
I always thought poetry had rhymes Rhymes have rhymes. All rhymes are poems, but not all poems are rhymes. |
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Post by Kath on Oct 9, 2024 17:29:44 GMT
I always thought poetry had rhymes William McGonagall certainly seemed to think so, but then his poems were famously very bad. |
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Post by spinno on Oct 9, 2024 17:30:48 GMT
Only that that's only suitable for toilet walls... Give us some examples of your talent 👍👍 There was a young lady from Ealing But the rest escapes me |
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Post by gray1720 on Oct 9, 2024 17:31:28 GMT
I always thought poetry had rhymes Rhymes have rhymes. All rhymes are poems, but not all poems are rhymes. Brian Johnston used to quote the example "There was a young batsman nameded Walls who was hit a terrible blow on the thigh" which is, of course, prose, but had he been hit higher... |
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Post by kate on Oct 9, 2024 17:32:58 GMT
Poems are those,
the author knows.
They might be rhymes
but sometimes prose.
They tell a tale
they laugh or wail
Cry out to you
and if they fail
then that's ok
they're not for sale.
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Post by aitch on Oct 9, 2024 18:37:26 GMT
Sir Terry read this out, (well, the 1st, 3rd and 5th verses at least) during his last week on the R2 breakfast show...
Lines on the Departure Of Terry Wogan from His Morning Show
Sir Tel is leaving the breakfast show,
he say's it's time; he has to go.
That could be true, but I don't know.
Oh well.
He'll be replaced by Ginger Chris,
I may have to give the new show a miss.
Are the board of governors taking the p!ss?
Do tell!
He's getting a weekend show, they say.
As presenters get older, that's always the way.
Less time on the air and therefore less pay.
Poor Tel!
No more Boggy, Charlie or Lynn,
or Janet and John to make me grin.
No more records from the bargain bin.
Oh hell!
So it's auf wiedersehen to Togmeister Tel,
as he leaves, free at last from his breakfast time hell.
And the last thing he'll hear is a concerted yell:
Farewell!
25th November, 2009
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