When is a poem a poem?

Thank you all, I'm

Falconbird , don't mind at all! Flattered and grateful, actually!

I thought you were quoting a poem, Phoenix. Very impressed that it's your own work.

Thank you, FarNorth !

Phoenix Did you write that? It's really poignant.

That's really nice phoenix.

Eloethan & jings yes I did, and thank you both!

Oh Phoenix you are a brilliant wordsmith - there must be a way of turning your talents into dosh.

A poem is a poem when the language is fine
The images clear even if it don't rhyme.
When it's made up of sentences, even though it all flows
You know that what you reading is prose.

phoenix Why not send it to Mslexia or enter it for a competition? Not that publication makes it any more worthy but it is a nice feeling to see your talents recognised.

Perfect Soutra!

Any more poems by grandparents? I'd love to see them.

Here's one of mine.

Grandchild.

When he was born,
I thought for a second or two
That he was my own.
I loved him more than words can tell.

I helped care for him,
Prepared bottles and cuddled him
I applauded when he took his first steps,
Caught him when he fell.

Then his mother found a new life far away.
Communication lessened, faltered faded.
I try not to text too much, cry too much.
I miss him more than words can tell.

Lovely Falcon. It sums up the fragility of the thread of contact grandparents have.

That's very sad, Falconbird, but very lovely. Here's one to cheer us up.

PRISCILLA AND DRUSILLA

Running down the sunny bank, see the children play
Tag and pirates, you-can't-catch-me, all the long bright day
Pick the leaves and smell the roses, find a caterpillar
Two old ladies in the house, Drusilla and Priscilla
Watch the children weave and wheel, play their childhood games
Smile and nod and sometimes wave, never know their names

Rainy days and sunny days, both are just the same
Priscilla and Drusilla nurse their aches and then their pains
Carers come and carers go, some sweet and some so surly
The manager, a Mr Sid, is loud and course and burly
He sees the window on the garden, says its health and safety
Decrees it must be covered up to stop it being draughty

Drusilla and Priscilla with their view of garden gone
Sulk close together muttering, complaining on and on
They ask for knitting wool and needles, scissors and some yarns
Cast on the stitches, rheumy fingers, waiting for their chance
Take up the scissors, quickly snipping, make a hole, now two
Priscilla and Drusilla have at last regained their view.

Ah Falconbird ....... My heart goes out to you

It's not written from personal experience nannieroz.

I see my 3 grandchildren reasonably often but I've read all the stories about grandparents who maybe will never see their grandchildren and wrote it for them.

Not Too Old - did you write Priscilla and Drusilla? It's a fun poem.

I did write it, Falconbird. It was originally for the poetry module of my OU course.

Well that's good news falconbird so happy you are able to see your grandchildren when you wish. Your poem nevertheless touched my heart. Keep up the good work.

I have noticed this forum has several talented "artistic" grans. How I wish I was one of them. Maybe now I have plenty time on my hands, I could learn something new.

Hi nannieroz - I liked your comment that I could see my grandchildren when I wish - like most grandparents I have to wait for the mums and dads to tell me when I can see them - only fair I guess