15-11-2017, 10:05 AM
111
Re: Poetry please.
HE SLIPPED THE NETThe old man was found dead on the kitchen floor
He’d been dead for a week, maybe much more
“ I hadn’t seen him out for quite a while”
Said his next door neighbour, with a nervous smile
“ I suppose I should have knocked on his big white door
But that would only make him turn his radio up more.”
His dog stopped barking two weeks ago
“You’re not supposed to have them here you know.”
© Robert Jnr.
15-11-2017, 01:29 PM
113
Re: Poetry please.
This poem is on the noticeboard of my Mum's nursing home. Alas it is unsigned. It makes me cry, but I think it is so important to understand what it's like to forget.When I wander,
Don’t tell me to come and sit down,
Wander with me.
It may be because I am hungry, thirsty, need the toilet,
Or maybe I just need to stretch my legs.
When I call for my mother,
(even though I’m ninety,)
don’t tell me she has died,
Reassure me, cuddle me, ask me about her,
It may be that I am looking for security,
That my mother once gave me.
When I shout out,
Please don’t ask me to be quiet … or walk by,
I am trying to tell you something,
But have difficulty in telling you what,
Be patient. Try to find out what.
I may be in pain.
When I become agitated or appear angry,
Please don’t reach for the drugs first.
I am trying to tell you something,
It may be to hot, too bright, too noisy.
Or it may be because I miss my loved ones.
Try to find out first.
When I don’t eat my dinner or drink my tea,
It may be because I have forgotten how to,
Show me what to do, remind me,
It may be that I just need to hold my knife and fork,
I may know what to do then.
When I push you away,
While you’re trying to help wash me or get dressed,
May be it is because I have forgotten why,
Keep telling me what you are doing,
Over and over and over,
Maybe others will think,
You’re the one that needs the help.
With all my though and maybes,
Perhaps it will be you,
Who reaches my thoughts,
Understands my fears,
And will make me feel safe.
Maybe it will be you,
Who I need to thank.
If only I knew how.
15-11-2017, 01:35 PM
114
Re: Poetry please.
On a mug I used to own.The wondrous live of a beautiful male,
and the love of a staunch true man,
and the love of a baby, unafraid,
have existed since life began,
But the greatest love,
The love of love,
even greater than that of a mother,
Is the tender, passionate, infinite love,
of one drunken sod for another.
Didn't see that coming did you.
15-11-2017, 02:03 PM
115
Re: Poetry please.
Written by me in the Winter of 1991, to go out with parcels for the troops during Operation Granby whilst I was working away from home.In a far flung outpost called Pyestock,
A district near Farnborough ye know,
There's a team of Lads and a Lass,
Up to their armpits in snow.
They come from a factory in Bristol,
'Cept one Lad from Derbyshire way,
To work on an aeroplane engine,
That'll power a fighter one day.
Some of 'em's worked on engines,
For Harriers, Tornados, and Sea Kings,
'Cept Lad whose come down from Derby,
Who does wonders with submarine things.
Some's even worked on Concorde,
As well as the Hawk and the Jag,
So despite not being there with you,
They're doing their bit for the flag.
They've robbed hotel rooms in Farnham,
The one they are staying at,
Of coffee, and shampoo, and tea-bags,
And sugar and things like that.
They've also been down to Waitrose,
A hazardous task you'll agree,
To buy you a few little goodies,
During the OAP trolley Grand Prix.
Now they're getting their prezzies,
Together ready to go,
Out to you in the desert,
From the Homeland all covered in snow.
They're not the only ones at it,
There are thousands of others that do,
A little extra shopping,
Just to show they at thinking of you.
15-11-2017, 03:36 PM
116
Re: Poetry please.
For those interested in poems, I'm sure Robert won't mind me giving you the link to the first of his threads of his own poems which he started posting 4 years ago ....
http://www.over50sforum.com/showthread.php?t=32449
Good to see you still sharing your talent with us Robert
15-11-2017, 05:56 PM
119
Re: Poetry please.
ALF, THE ELF.Alf, the Elf, was afraid of himself,
which made his life quite scary.
He disliked gnomes, and mobile ‘phones,
and anything remotely hairy!
He hated fog, and if he saw a frog
it could make him sick for a week -
but there was no cure, he just had to endure
the havoc that living could wreak!
He couldn’t eat cheese - it made him sneeze,
and nothing that had ever had legs
could be put on his table, and he was quite unable
to even contemplate eggs.
He would not have rice, or pickled dormice,
no pasta, no toast, or potatoes.
No peas, no plums, and no currant buns,
no rabbit, rhubarb, or tomatoes!
His faddy diet nearly caused a riot,
and his behaviour drove everyone crazy,
for he was known to be rude, incredibly crude,
intolerant, and totally lazy.
Then the Elf Queen decreed “Enough indeed,
our reputation is being defamed!
Give him some work and don’t let him shirk.
This wilful elf has to be tamed!”
So Alf was made to take up a trade.
and was given a mobile store
to run for one year - on routes far and near,
to see if that could be a cure.
He worked every day to make the store pay,
and started a night-shift beside.
but, unused to such strain, it exploded his brain,
and sadly one night Alf just died.
Filled with remorse the Queen said “Of course
we must send for a priest in a surplice
to lead us all in prayers for Alf’s soul -
and we’ll call it a National Elf Service !”
© 2017
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