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In my opinion anyone who writes poetry has got 'issues' and is quite probably a bit potty!
Through ageless time as if in rhyme the seasons do unfold
Isn't life's brief course, in it loves great force, a treasure to behold.
Young blood doth bring perennially spring from within the trodden sod
From within the heart, love has forged a part as did for thy love thy God.
And the glory to see is the food ate to be and yet poison to holy growth.
For with summer sun's dawn sweet innocents forlorn the future is past present and both.
With cherishing gaze through time clouded haze the summer bears fruit soft and sweet
The taste shall be savoured for seasons less flavoured if not warmed by the summertime heat
From whence it did come will retreat the sun time will conquer but ensue the fight
The rules of the game will pallor and tame as will life by the autumn light
Winters winds call through bare trees of the fall but yet tarry although so near
The final indignity an onlookers tragedy but the wise will not shed such a tear
For snow covers the signs of good acts so fine that the winter will not bring them cold
Rest dear at heart and not rest apart from their course springs new life yet and bold
Through ageless time as if in rhyme the seasons do unfold.
The sun shines down pon yonder hill
Where to wander is my will
But rest me a while upon this spot
For distant light makes darkness not
And should I walk on grass that greener be
Would not my home be such sweet misery
So shield me this light from unguarded eyes
And lay me on contented guise
For he without should see within
That when it's done tis time to begin
The seasons come yet but to go
But the light undone will always glow.
Mine Is Not (Lifes
Loves Labours Lost)
Mine is not the gift of the written word but would to god it were
Hours thus have I toiled so hard to chasten off the burr
But words of measure cannot be found within my mortal soul
To free the spirit of restless toil tis this t'would be my goal
You speak of acclamation upon a passed death
But deaths hes lived a thousand times before his parting breath
A marriage of convenience his life upon this earth
The pen will be his mistress, of him words his only birth
For rain within the river will surely ner be seen
Save for he without and lonely beyond the main stream
It is by contamination of his purest wife
That lays to this man a pen at hand as if a severing knife.
Mine is not for they have kissed that which I do so much fear
I'll remain steadfast and not embrace lifes loves parting tear
As man of men would that I know that which ere was costly sought
But I have not the price yet paid for that so honestly bought
My grave may lie yet close at hand the headstone but uncast
For time will etch as fortunes want would that I eat of lifes food my fast
So rest the understudy not his part for act he sometime may
But could it be to tarry the lines the actor rewrite his play
Of if twer thus that men of a crowd but alone could tell of their time
Bequeathed to sons and lover bound up in ageless rhyme
But rhyme is without reason forsook will be their lot
For this have I thus written? Pray God that mine is not.
A Little Boy And A
I've bought myself a little car I drive it near I drive it far
It didn't cost me all that much I think it's got a dicky clutch
It's got a bit of an oil leak, I put a gallon in once a week.
It also loses a lot of water. I wonder if I should really have bought her.
But I don't suppose I can really complain for that amount of money they're always the same.
It's had a bang it's got a bit of a dent, but to me I'd say it's heaven sent.
I used to have to walk to work but now I drive I feel less of a birk.
I cruise around just about every night, burning rubber and seeing the sights.
I call it 'the circuit' cruising round town, all the others there drive like a clown.
I've got a musicassette in my car. You can't beat driving round four beats to the bar.
Gary Numan he had it right. Driving in cars is out of sight.
So if you're thinking of buying some shoes, buy a car instead and go for a cruise.
The dew drifts lightly born upon the days first, breath moistening the air as though by nights parting tear.
No such sorrow felt by the birds aloft in trees laid bare by young winters grasping hand.
For theirs is this moment when the day is welcomed by songs of life and the joy of lives to live,
And not of deaths lament for those that sing no more, born witness by feathered apparitions beneath the treading foot.
No sorrow spared for such ungracious ends, for from that grave will spring new life.
And when the river of that life has run its meandering course, so too will it return. Nothing lost and nothing gained, the world is as it was.
Or so would it be if not for cancerous impurities introduced to natures perfect plan. Surely out of reason was man conceived.
Such glimpses of responsibility are cast aside like the fallen leaves for I have a purpose along this way.
The hedges close on either side diverge to embrace the field of open green.
Like a motionless sea of shimmering jewels the morning light is captured and caressed by each and every blade.
And drifting cows pass like ships upon the sea my presence unnoticed in their purpose.
But through this ocean green, the waves as though parted by godly hand, appears a deep and darkened scar.
A river passes by this way as has it done for lives before. A course of nature's blood unkept, this spot as yet untouched by callous hands.
For this did I leave my bed of warmth, and cold endure, to feed the spirit and soul of what is pure.
And there upon its bank dressed as though hewn from the earth itself we stand as church bells toll in distant lands.
It's me and dad gone fishing down Keynsham!
I know an old lady but she doesn't know me.
She lives on her own some say in a tree.
I don't think she's all quite totally there.
She has a full head of fine wispy grey hair.
Her skin has the texture of an old dead leaf.
I heard last week she swallowed her own false teeth.
The reason I write and it's a shame to tell,
She doesn't half exude an awful smell.
Post Office Counter
I am a P.O. counter clerk for better or for worse
So I thought I'd tell you how it is and set it into verse
Now every morning stroke of nine the doors are opened wide
Except for Friday's training session, so H.O. did decide
They said we'll give you half an hour to learn what must be done
And then you'll do the work of two, oh wont life be such fun
At opening time the lucky clerk with keys unlocks the door
Without a word a grunt or two he's trodden to the floor
The first in line is always the same of that you can be sure
To beat the queue and be in front he gets up at half past four
A pension book. It's not been signed. Oh dear it's not your own
I'm sorry but the rule's quite clear you'll have to go back home
A green Giro you'll get, you bet, but no can prove I.D.
I'm sorry sir I cannot pay. ' Oh F*** you silly B******!'
The form's quite plain but look just here you haven't done it right
'I'm sorry can you do it for me I'm a little short on sight!'
'Alright I'll shout . . .ONE HUNDRED POUNDS if you cannot hear'
'Ssssh not so loud I'm only old I don't want to be mugged my dear."
A 'meter' next must be checked out upon the telephone.
'No time at all, it's really great, oh dear you've all gone home!'
Your dinner break you have a rest from 'Morning ....what bad weather.'
But your main course is 'docket tapping' you feel so little better
Your belly full your mind refreshed, you're ready for the next
It's smelly Lotty what a pong it puts your stomach to the test.
Nothing To Say
I thought I'd write a letter, just the other day
But when I sat and thought about it I had nothing much to say
So I put my pen to paper and set about a rhyme
But sitting now and readin it, it was a bloody waste of time.
When thinking of buying costly Christmas presents, I came to the realisation
They say it is the thought that counts, so instead I'll do some meditation.
Full Of It
When people near are getting to you,
Just imagine them sat on the loo.
I've sat and thought and I think I've thought all the thoughts I'll think today.
See what I mean !!!! Thankfully this is all old stuff so I think I may be better now . . .
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