Poet's Corner

Stand closer to the glass when pouring
Slumber? Nay, can't stand you snoring
As for a frolic, I've seen the day
Now I'm fragile, old and gray
It is on the computer that I spend my day
Conversing with friends living far away
My life is full and never boring
Ideas lift me up and send me soaring
Metaphorically up that is
A life full of zest, intrest an whiz!

When left alone to my own device
I converse with kitchen tools...they're nice
My closest friend has a hook-ed claw
And smiles at me from the kitchen drawer

Oh ye tool with the hooke-ed claw
Lying there in the kitchen drawer
You have been a friend to me
What shall we have, today, for tea?

Let us scan the cans in the cupboard there
And make our choice from that varied fare,
What would I do if it weren't for thee
To open up these delights for me?

You, coupled with the microwave
In all honesty my life did save,
For in things culinary I have not a clue
Such arts are what I watched others do.

With flour on their nose and hair
They performed such mystic rites with care,
Whilst I stood and watched with an inane grin
The measured ingredients, that they put in.

In that heated hell, which was their domain,
They performed these miracles, time and again.
It's different now there's just you and me
Speed is the essence, when preparing tea.

No planning ahead, no need to know
For those canned delights are stacked in a row.
I just reach into the kitchen drawer
And consult ye the tool with the hook-ed claw.

daffyd wrote:........and so to bed, what thinketh thee
Doest thou think I'm Zebadee..........(Magic Roundabout)
I'll have you know, yes... eeh by gum....
I've supped my share of Navy rum
For years I sailed the seven seas
When ships were made of oaken trees
Spiced the mainbrace many a time
Sang saucy songs in shanty rhyme
Hollow legs and an empty head
Saw my shipmates fold instead
Last man standing, clear of head
What was that you said about..... going to bed?

So...I've been to bed and now arise..
Yet silly and no better wise....
And I've not supped my share of rum....
So why's?? my head's so overcome?
With woozey, aching, throbbing pain
Is it that my rhyme's drive my head insane?!!!!
DaffyD ..you challenge poets (or so-called)
To extent that you don't know it!!
How can I reply to you?
Genius like you...there are few!

And so ....'til later with my "novice" response!!

daffyd wrote:When left alone to my own device
I converse with kitchen tools...they're nice
My closest friend has a hook-ed claw
And smiles at me from the kitchen drawer

Oh ye tool with the hooke-ed claw
Lying there in the kitchen drawer
You have been a friend to me
What shall we have, today, for tea?

Let us scan the cans in the cupboard there
And make our choice from that varied fare,
What would I do if it weren't for thee
To open up these delights for me?

You, coupled with the microwave
In all honesty my life did save,
For in things culinary I have not a clue
Such arts are what I watched others do.

With flour on their nose and hair
They performed such mystic rites with care,
Whilst I stood and watched with an inane grin
The measured ingredients, that they put in.

In that heated hell, which was their domain,
They performed these miracles, time and again.
It's different now there's just you and me
Speed is the essence, when preparing tea.

No planning ahead, no need to know
For those canned delights are stacked in a row.
I just reach into the kitchen drawer
And consult ye the tool with the hook-ed claw.

DaffyD!!...you're something else!!
I smiled throughout your poem...and you must be going about your day in poetry and rhyme!!
Bet that you're the happiest person that I've ever "met"...yet I know that....you can write in the saddest of words..

Sure do love your poetry DaffyD!!

Willows

Pay ye no heed to what I say, 'tis but with words that I do play. An abstract thought floats through the air, I capture it and with loving care, proceed to fashion it into a tale, sometimes success, but I often fail.
Satisfaction lies in a completed ode, but there are many mishaps on that literary road. The joy lies in the poem's creation, and we have many poets in our great nation. It's just that we have poetic 'wallflowers' too, afraid to publish, alas that's true.
So if my verse just one poet inspires, it will fulfill my earnest desires, to see new writers coming through, having creative thoughts as great poets do.

Inspire me...you surely do..
So I can write a line or two
About whatever comes to mind
No matter what or any kind
Where would my wandering mind begin?
"Twer not it for our poetic friend?

The Eternal Wanderer


Consider this yea men of learning as an answer to that mortal yearning.
Of what happens to us when we die, do the age old answers satisfy?
In my musings I have pondered thus, there is more to this than just being us.
One must first understand that one is a soul, so let’s put aside other rigmarole.


Fix these two things deep in your mind, you are a body, with a spirit of the eternal kind.
As the body changes from child to man, the spirit is unchanged in this time span.
The soul is unborn, eternal, undying, it has but one aim and is constantly trying, to re-enter the abode of the Heavenly Host, to be at peace and at one with the Holy Ghost.


The body, a mere vehicle to carry the soul, be that body a man, a mouse or a mole
Now think on these things for you know that it’s true, the spirit oft attempts what the body can’t do.
Delve deep in your mind and think of your youth, your soul’s still as young, now come, tell me the truth!
Your body has aged and your limbs may feel sore, but the spirit within you wants to do more.

The Spiritual soul has one major quest that is to qualify in order to rest, t hus it moves on from its bodily host, searching, aye searching for what it needs most, and so as this frail body breaks down and dies, the soul and that spirit to another womb flies.

To develop once more in the natural way, such is the role our soul has to play.
Then that life and that force emerges again, to take temporary abode in the bodies of men.
And so it will be until we understand, our destiny’s ruled by His Divine Hand.
We must divest ourselves of materialistic need, only then can that restless Spiritual seed
Cease to travel that eternal road, and rest in peace within His abode.
The first step to heaven is what we must learn, it’s not, what can I get, or how much can I earn.

There’s YOU and the body you wear like a coat, the two things are separate and this you must note.
As the coat wears and it comes time to discard, YOU move into another, comprehension’s not hard.
It’s the acceptance of logic and life’s natural law, it’s learning new concepts never spoken before.
It is treading a new path to reach the same goal, it’s the realisation, that YOU are your SOUL.

The body we inhabit is a temporary shell, it is what we do in it that creates Heaven or Hell.
The stage that we’ve reached now in the body of man, is a stage far removed from when YOU first began.
In each of those separate, yet different lives, your soul went on searching and still yet it strives,
For Spiritual perfection somewhere on that road, so that it may return to His Heavenly abode.



Daffyd.

A wise and ever so poetic summary, DaffyD!

Loved it and thank you for sharing your poetic insight with us.

A soliloquy of a sort, inasmuch that I reminisce on thoughts of yesterday....

Introduction... to.... Angus. D.D.T. (Dandie Dinmont Terrier)

As I write this poem to him
He sits nestled at my feet
Content to rest in the interim
And in repose, he looks so sweet
But beware of resting Dandies,
Do not disturb this lad, for sure
Not even doggie candies
Would be strong enough a lure

You see he has had his walk
He has today traversed the glen
He has put to flight the sparrowhawk
As well as a score or more greyhen
He has trailed the scent, espied the fox
And drunk from the mountain streams
He has dicovered the setts of sleeping brocks
But disturbed them not in dreams.

He has crossed the purple heather patch
He has inhaled that sweet clean air
Once onto a scent he's hard to catch
Highland creatures. best beware.
He' a Dandie out o' Cumbria
Audrey Heaton's clan ye ken?
Whilst I hail frae Northumbria
Near old Danie Dinmont's glen.

So it's as ah telt ye
Leave the poor wee dug tae rest
Let his dreams be carefree
And may good breeding stand the test
For Angus is no a 'toon' dug
He's mair at hame wi' heather
A peat fire to keep his wee hoose snug
Irrespective o' the weather


Audio..
[You must be registered and logged in to see this link.]

[You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]

My Heilan Dug

I have a friend called ANGUS
He’s a bonny heilan dog
He walks the moors in all weathers
In rain, in snow, in fog.
He is sort of, on the shortish side
Eleven inches to the shoulder,
A great big heid and a peppery coat
And for courage, there’s nowt bolder.

He runs and barks at birds and beasts
As we trek the heathered hill.
He’s inquisitive, a nosey dog
And rarely standing still.
His busy little hairy legs
Complete wi’ heilan gait,
Cover the ground at amazing speed.
He has nae time to wait.

For this time is HIS prime time
When he’s free to run and roam.
A Dandie Dinmont on the loose,
Though not so far from home.
For Dandies are fond of comfort,
A wee place by the fireside,
Or a chair I’ve just vacated,
Is a place he likes to bide.

Big soft brown eyes in a face of grey
Watches every move I make
I groom him to perfection,
Only to watch hime do the ‘shake’
He rolls around and messes up
All the grooming I have done
If at the SHOW he’d behaved himself
I’m sure WE would have WON.



AUDIO... [You must be registered and logged in to see this link.]

[You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]

Audio.. [You must be registered and logged in to see this link.]

[You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]

Its Booster Time

ANGUS watched the postman
As he trudged up to the door.
Then rushed to check the morning mail
As it cascaded upon the floor.
AILSA joined him in this romp,
This puppy pantomime,
And pounced upon a postcard
Which proclaimed, “It’s Booster Time.”

“Booster Time” for Dandie Dinmonts
Means a visit to the vet.
ANGUS, he had been before,
AILSA, she was too young as yet.
So the reminder, it was for ANGUS,
Addressed to him, through me.
An invitation to a party,
For it was “Booster Time” you see?

The vet always held a party
So that his ‘patients’ could all meet,
It was usually in his surgery
So that the owners could have a seat.
The ‘patients’ enjoy the ‘tit -bits’
And play with toys in the surgery.
Then it’s into the vet to have their jab,
For it’s “Booster Time” you see?


[You must be registered and logged in to see this link.]

What about Tomorrow
IF TOMORROW NEVER COMES .


If I knew it would be the last time that I'd see you fall asleep,
I would tuck you in more tightly and pray the Lord, your soul to keep,
If I knew it would be the last time that I see you walk out the door,
I would give you a hug and kiss and call you back for one more.
If I knew it would be the last time I'd hear your voice lifted up in praise,
I would videotape each action and word, so I could play them back for days.
If I knew it would be the last time,
I could spare an extra minute or two to stop and say "I love you",
Instead of assuming, you would KNOW I do.

If I knew it would be the last time I would be there to share your day,
Well I'm sure you'll have so many more, so I can let just this one slip away.
For surely there's always tomorrow to make up for an oversight,
And we always get a second chance to make everything right.
There will always be another day to say our "I love you' s",
And certainly there's another chance to say our "Anything I can do's?"
But just in case I might be wrong, and today is all I get,
I'd like to say how much I love you and I hope we never forget,
Tomorrow is not promised to anyone, young or old alike,
And today may be the last chance you get to hold your loved one tight.

So if you're waiting for tomorrow, why not do it today?
For if tomorrow never comes, you'll surely regret the day,
That you didn't take that extra time for a smile, a hug, or a kiss,
And you were too busy to grant someone, what turned out to be their one last wish.
So hold your loved ones close today, whisper in their ear,
Tell them how much you love them and that you'll always hold them dear,
Take time to say "I'm sorry," "please forgive me," "thank you" or "it's okay",
And if tomorrow never comes, you'll have no regrets about today.


Daffyd

Very sad Daffyd.

Reminds me of my own memories.

DaffyD....these are some of the most poignant and sentimental words that I've ever heard or read. I don't know if you are speaking to someone in particular, but if you are.........my heart is with you.

If you are writing sentimentaly...your writing is ever so beautiful and it should really be set to music!! What a beautiful song your words would be!!

Teacher of Righteousness 100- 53 BC

Let me tell you of a story of an era long ago wherein there lived a Teacher, the Scrolls, they tell us so. These Scrolls contained the Law of Moses and were the Chronicles of the Jews. A history of the Essene sect is included in there too.

This Leader of the Essenes born one hundred years B.C. features in these ancient writings, known as the Scrolls of the Dead Sea. He lived by a Manual of Discipline and taught the Law unto His own, the Teacher of Righteousness, or the Messiah, as he was known.

His teachings were of Love and Peace, of sharing with a brother. He was the first to teach these ways, before Him there was no other. He was Martyred for His cause by Aristobulus Mark II. His teachings did survive His death and were chronicled by a Jew.

Such writings recorded within the Scrolls are there for us to see, impairing authority of the Masoretic text, they are withheld from you and me. The uniqueness of Christ is now at stake, was he an Essene student too? Yes, for thirty years he learned His trade to pass His findings on to you.





[You must be registered and logged in to see this image.]

FOR SHE BELIEVES IN ME



I am the centre of her universe, I am the sun that warms her day,
I am the love that fills her heart, but I have feet of clay.
In her eyes I can do no wrong, no matter what I do or say
I watch the tears well in her eyes when I have to go away.
I take her gently in my arms and dry those eyes so she can see
In my heart I know that I've been blessed, for she believes in me.

She watches me with those soft brown eyes, attentive and alert
With an unassuming tenderness that I've no wish to hurt.
I'm placed upon a pedestal that she has created in her mind
Because she fell in love with words, of the poetic kind.
Words I'd written in my youth of love and ecstasy.
Words she believes in to this day, for she believes in me.

Yet I'm no Casanova, no Don Juan sent to fill her dreams
It's only that the words I write make life better than it seems.
Her love is for the fantasy that my poetic words create
The rhythm fills her heart with love, it is the Bard who is her mate.
Beyond the Bard is the frail man as one day she will see
But until that day I'll enjoy her love, for she believes in me.

Meanwhile we'll share together the time of our allotted span
Perhaps one day the veil will lift and she will love the man.
The Bard is but a facet, a small part of what is me,
This she will discover if only those warm brown eyes could see
Beyond the pulsing rhythms of the Bard's anthology.
It's the man that really loves her, because she believes in me.

The Song Within

There is poetry in each one of us
Maybe not the written word
But in the rhythm that flows through our being
In a song that's not always heard
Not all of us are 'published' poets
But we have that rhythm in our soul
If we would but shed our fears
We could easily reach that goal.

Poetry is in its self a therapy
That frees restraints of the mind
It is boundless in its vastness
A bounty to mankind
Poetry is an inner echo
Of what your psyche would love to do
So do not doubt your 'poet's heart'
Let your visions come shining through.

Ugggghhh!!! DaffyD

Re......FOR SHE BELIEVES IN ME


How profound...the ending...and how frustrating...the beginning!.

but in the end......she believes in him.

hmmmmm...

+
----
-
The Song Within

There is poetry in each one of us
Maybe not the written word
But in the rhythm that flows through our being
In a song that's not always heard
Not all of us are 'published' poets
But we have that rhythm in our soul
If we would but shed our fears
We could easily reach that goal.

Poetry is in its self a therapy
That frees restraints of the mind
It is boundless in its vastness
A bounty to mankind
Poetry is an inner echo
Of what your psyche would love to do
So do not doubt your 'poet's heart'
Let your visions come shining through.

....DaffyD wrote this in a post before mine.


No truer words were ever said....

Willows

Adrift, on an Ocean of Loneliness



No man is an island, I've heard the learn-ed say
Inferring that we keep in touch, in an abstract sort of way.
No man can do what he has to do if he's entirely.... alone,
Every one of us reaches out and asks that they be shown.
The firm grasp of friendship, the caring touch of love,
We reach out to the brotherhood, we pray to God above.

What happens if the answer is a silence we can't bear,
What happens if our fellow man and God, hears not our prayer?
We are set adrift in an ocean of loneliness and gloom,
We are left to our own devices in a pathetic little room.
Be still, it could be a mansion of twenty rooms or more,
But the area is of no consequence, when no one comes to the door.

No man is an island when contact can be made,
But in the aftermath of Death, it's the survivors we evade.
Embarrassment, intrusion, we excuse ourselves this way,
But do we really understand bereavement, day after gloomy day?
Unless you have experienced it, a child or at worst your wife,
Then friend, you have not sunk as low at anytime in your life.

Adrift upon that ocean, of loneliness and despair,
Distress is your companion, for who else is there to care?
Waves of silence crash around you, storms rage in your heart,
When the only one that you have loved, at last has to depart.
The emptiness surrounds you, photographs stand and stare,
Is there anybody out there, doesn't anybody care?

Such is the state of loneliness, adrift and all at sea,
Anger, fear, frustration, culminate in apathy.
Indulgence in self pity manifests in leaps and bounds
For you are reminded of your loneliness by your everyday surrounds.
The loney just need contact, a word from day to day
This is the role they ask of you, a role we all can play.

This thread is becoming so professional that I thought I would post the recessional.



God of our fathers, known of old—
Lord of our far-flung battle-line—
Beneath whose awful Hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget, lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies—
The captains and the kings depart—
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget, lest we forget!

Far-call’d our navies melt away—
On dune and headland sinks the fire—
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget, lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe—
Such boasting as the Gentiles use
Or lesser breeds without the Law—
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget, lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard—
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding calls not Thee to guard—
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!

Robert Kipling

Wow!!
Much appreciated Wuzfuz!

R & R

Ah'm ah pullin up sticks
Gonna hit the road
Thought ah'd do it
Afore it snowed.
Got a hankerin
Tuh go abroad
Leaving mah horse
Taking the ole T Ford.
So iffin you don't hear
From me in a while
You'll know ah'm off travellin
And ah'm doing it in style.
Don't y'all worry none
Fer ah'll be back
With a passel o' anecdotes
In mah gunny sack.

Ole Daffyd.