My little poem

That’s really good Purplepixie very evocative and moving, a Northern childhood.

A different poem. Our book group set "A poem with political leanings" for a recent meeting. My DH came up with something he wrote.

A Man Must Try, a Man Must Act

The State is great and powerful
And we are weak and small
It will crush us should we let it.
But our belief is our belief
And naught to do with Them.
So do I submit to their mighty power?
Or do I stand and fight?
I face a choice
I think I’ll stand
I wonder, shall I be remembered?

(Signed) Guido Fawkes, in the Year of Our Lord, 1605

Yours is really evocative of that era, Purplepixie. Thank you.

Really sums up growing up in a pit village.
Lovely poem. Hope you write more for us to read.

Purplepixie 👍

Thanks Purplepixie. I enjoyed that 🙂

Lovely Purplepixie I too went to school in a pit village.

I enjoyed reading that Purplepixie

Thank you all so much. I’m putting together a book of poems for my grandchildren.

Lovely poem, Purplepixie. Reminded me of writing essays at school in a grimy northern town. Essays were an escape from the reality of it. I still write essays, and poems. This is a poem based on an exercise of using words with only one syllable. It’s harder than it seems and gets the brain cells working. Worth having a go at.

A single syllable poem

Take a chair and sit a while
Where you can see plants.
Where the sun slants through the trees,
To cut the shade in bits
And lie like smashed glass;
Drops of gold on a cloth of grass.

Close your eyes and hear the song of birds.
They may lacks words
But charm us all the same
And we can name each one
By tunes they pour
From their hearts into ours.
In this whole world, what need we more?

Thank you Purplefixie for starting this poem thread. Here’s mine.

There was a round man called Crump
Who was known as a bit of a chump
He lived in a house in a far off land
Where visitors were often banned
He gave out his orders
And extended his borders
And crowned himself King of Greenland.

His complexion was tanned
But his wig was quite bland.
He dressed like a Toff
In the grandest of cloth.
And swaggered round town
Like a demented old clown

He ended his days
At a fun fare in Hayes
Where he sold sugar candy
Whilst slurping down brandy
That was the end of the Crump

🤣🤣!

Thanks for that. A lovely way to start the day.
I enjoy writing the occasional poem, mostly humorous. My last attempt was one on the different reasons for delayed and cancelled trains. It's quite a long poem!

Wow! Thank you for your great poems. It’s a great escape from these troubled times. I battle depression and they help.

That’s a great single-syllable poem Greyduster.

And by way of contrast NanKate’s humorous one about The Crump!

Bella my poem came third in my WI competition. However there were only 3 entries 😉

NanKate 😂

Keep writing your lovely poems, all

There's a World Poetry Day on 21 March.

Blackberrying.

Eating the last of the stored blackberries, in the dead of winter, is a sorrow,
As if someone has stolen what little sun remains to us.
Thus, you crave to feel it on your face, as when you walked in summer lanes.
Finding a prime patch, with berries as big as the ball of your thumb! A joy!
Claiming its bounty for your own, to defend against all who might come -
The blackbird, the squirrel, and the coy wood mouse.

They gleam like glass.
At each pass, the rich scent of them; and the way their juices stained your fingers as you took your greedy fill, a memory still;
Cursing at each precious jewel dropped, and each thorn that struck, drawing blood.
Sharing the good companionable silences.
Together but not together. My bush, your bush.

A song thrush, singing
One more, one more, one more…..

Thanks for sharing your great poems. 👍

🤗❤️👍

A few months ago, on the wonderful 'I'm Sorry I haven't a Clue' (Radio4, a series several times a year?) they did a new type of round, at least new to me. The panellists had to concoct a 'chant', performed by the likes of a prison chain gang, or perhaps an American Army Platoon. A leader does each line, repeated by the whole group.

But these were for civilian occupations, as in >>>
Thames Water Executives
(all to the sound of marching feet! -- and possibly best spoken/chanted out loud?)

We get paid for building drains –
We get paid for building drains –
That overflow each time it rains;
That overflow each time it rains;
Filling rivers day & night –
Filling rivers day & night –
WE get a bonus, YOU get shite!
WE get a bonus, YOU get shite!

You get the idea, not Tennyson or Wordsworth, but trying to lighten the daily news gloom from either our politicos, or the Orange Baboon.

AND >>>> a Sandringham Staff Memorandum (this was a day or two after the wretched Andrew lost his Princeness):-

To the Butler, maids, cook & va-let >>>
To the Butler, maids, cook & va-let >>>
Please don’t forget the switch today –
Please don’t forget the switch today –

“H.R.H” is now just “Mister” –
“H.R.H” is now just “Mister” –
And don’t let him anywhere near your sister . . .
And don’t let him anywhere near your sister . . .

The main thing a poem (or even doggerel) needs is rhythm. End rhymes don't matter nearly as much as rhythm.