Re: Poetry please.

Thanks !

I wrote one similar style about Joan of Arc while I was ON RETREAT in NORMANDY


SOZ CAP SHIFT KEEPS STICKING

Re: Poetry please.

SP, you are welcome as the flowers in May

Re: Poetry please.

What a lovely expression. X

Re: Poetry please.

Sweetie made me think of you!

Hepzibar Mary

Ribboned and gleaming
Bright coins cascading
Down by the river
Watch the birds wading.
Snares in the reeds
To catch the unwary
Silent dark sentinal
Hepzibar Mary.
Food for the pot
Nature often provides,
Acceptance of gifts
That are seldom denied.
Taking her dues
Giving thanks rarely,
The world is for living
Says Hepzibar Mary.

Re: Poetry please.

Rainbow bridge
Sorry will have to put up link ,it really gets to me

https://www.rainbowsbridge.com/Poem.htm

Re: Poetry please.

Thank-you Ciderz

Re: Poetry please.

Awwwwwww


Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

Author unknown...

Re: Poetry please.

CHAVSPEAK

Da long time gone past
Life was not to him a blast
Badass hoodies ran the turf
Yea man it couldna get worse
Da hoodies living on da front line
Giving it loads them don’t whine
Dese geezas were well tasty
Larging it eatin meat and taties
Olivas muvvers popped her clogs
Left him to the hoodie dogs
Even his farva legged y’know
So he had bo place to go
Dere he was dumped in workhouse
Cos da knows no uvver place,
Poor nippa ennit

Re: Poetry please.

You could be a rapper Young Robert. X

Re: Poetry please.

The Whistlepoem
He cut a sappy sucker from the muckle rodden-tree,
He trimmed it, an’ he wet it, an’ he thumped it on his knee;
He never heard the teuchat when the harrow broke her eggs,
He missed the craggit heron nabbin’ puddocks in the seggs,
He forgot to hound the collie at the cattle when they strayed,
But you should hae seen the whistle that the wee herd made!

He wheepled on’t at mornin’ an’ he tweetled on’t at nicht,
He puffed his freckled cheeks until his nose sank oot o’ sicht,
The kye were late for milkin’ when he piped them up the closs,
The kitlins got his supper syne, an’ he was beddit boss;
But he cared na doit nor docken what they did or thocht or said,
There was comfort in the whistle that the wee herd made.

For lyin’ lang o’ mornin’s he had clawed the caup for weeks,
But noo he had his bonnet on afore the lave had breeks;
He was whistlin’ to the porridge that were hott’rin’ on the fire,
He was whistlin’ ower the travise to the baillie in the byre;
Nae a blackbird nor a mavis, that hae pipin’ for their trade,
Was a marrow for the whistle that the wee herd made.

He played a march to battle, it cam’ dirlin’ through the mist,
Till the halflin’ squared his shou’ders an’ made up his mind to ‘list;
He tried a spring for wooers, though he wistna what it meant,
But the kitchen-lass was lauchin’ an he thocht she maybe kent;
He got ream an’ buttered bannocks for the lovin’ lilt he played.
Wasna that a cheery whistle that the wee herd made?

He blew them rants sae lively, schottisches, reels an’ jigs,
The foalie flang his muckle legs an’ capered ower the rigs,
The grey-tailed futt’rat bobbit oot to hear his ain strathspey,
The bawd cam’ loupin’ through the corn to ‘Clean Pease Strae’;
The feet o’ ilka man an’ beast gat youkie when he played –
Hae ye ever heard o’ whistle like the wee herd made?

But the snaw it stopped the herdin’ an the winter brocht him dool,
When in spite o’ hacks an’ chilblains he was shod again for school;
He couldna sough the catechis nor pipe the rule o’ three,
He was keepit in an’ lickit when the ither loons got free;
But he aften played the truant – ‘twas the only thing he played,
For the maister brunt the whistle that the wee herd made!
Charles Murray