My gentler poems.

And if any man
Should ask us for a dance
We'll smile and sweetly say
'sir, I have to answer "nay"'
For. Dancing with a granny
Is a gallop, not a prance

Next?

our dancing years behind us
we'll sit and reminisce
of gallant swains and maidens shy
and ariadne taking the p*

gracesmum has summed it up -
And Ian, overwhelmed,
Sits out this dance
And looks askance
At Ariadne sweetly smiling!

Actually I fell over
two left feet hover
from shining floor
must get out the door.

Well tried, young man.
I'll help you if I can
But I feel that my feet
would land me on my seat
And I don't like bruising
To my fan(ny)

Here is another one, hope you like it?

A View from a Rock.

I sit on a rock
on a mountain
contemplating
what I can see
an ocean is visible
cool and inviting
a sandy desert
hot and uninviting
various trees
a roaring river
to waterfalls cascading.

Fervent musing
all very amusing
as the rock becomes
uncomfortably hard
as I focus on
the landscape
surrounding all
I observe. Fascinated
deliberately
meandering
over the open spaces.

Night falls
the sunsets
I can hardly see now
all that I saw
earlier in the day;
better move on
before I lose my
way. Home from
this rock where
pondering and
not wandering
from all that I
surveyed.

Not bad!

You do not know me;
You never will.
And so I wait
Quiet and still.
I may laugh,
And I may cry,
But I will love you
And you won't know why.
Still I'll stay
And still I'll smile
So you might know me
For a while.

Excellent!

Ariadne, that made me tingle!

(In a good way )

Here's my contribution to last week's U3A Writers' Group: I actually wrote it years ago, but it feels the same today. Soppy though. Sorry:-

Twisted pain

Far from the English winter sky is my home,
Far from the pale yellow-white morning light,
That glistens and gleams in ice-cold delight,
As hands, feet, and faces feel the first bite.

Far from the softly shimmering summer sun,
Seeping through the dusty lazy haze,
While stark black mills and rolling meadows laze,
In the short sweet season of its warming rays.

Far from the seeping smoky autumn mists,
Gold brown woodlands and spiky shorn fields,
As the wildflower display of the hedgerow yields,
To the promise of soft falling snow.

But this twisted longing has to slip away,
And let Australia feed my dreams today.

Not soppy - evocative!

Oh, start yer own threads!

Don't elbow in on Ian's!

Thats okay, it was very good, I'm not an ogre feel free to contribute your own poems, only one condition you have to pen them yourself, I'll even allow a parody of someone else's.

Ariadne Joan Ian jeni

Soop [tea]

I remeber a wonderful soulful Scottish ode from my youth
(for translation, refer to Gally/Bags/Soop/Em /Annobel etc)

"On a hill there stood a coo'
But it must have deid
For it's no' there noo"

Thanks, Ian I appreciate your thoughtfulness.

....that's my kinda poem, gracesmum.....[how I wish I could do accents]

gracesmum

My six year old GS has started doing accents. He is really good! .

Just came out of school one day and said, "I'm Irish".

He was Scottish on the phone the other day.

jo4 'tis good to be multi-cultural!