Post a poem. (8)
The thrill of the chase
With a wink from her eye
and a lick on her lips
she throws him a smile
and blows him a kiss.
daring him on
she lifts up her skirt
if you want me my sweetie
ya gotta catch me first.
Heart beating wildly
he's determined to win
this wild crazed creature
will belong to him.
jumping to his feet
it's time that i catch her
or i am not who i am
the almighty hunter.
Becoming breathless
she leaps over rocks
laughing running scared
in fear of been caught.
adding to the excitement
she leaves a trail as she goes
one by one
she rips off her clothes.
He follows her laughter
he picks up her garments
with a whiff from them
he now has her scent.
taking to his feet
he rips off his shirt
i'll catch this so called witch
who seems to have me cursed.
Stillness and silence
to be heard not a sound
he pounches and leaps
capturing her to the ground.
she struggles to escape
resisting and fretting
she wants oh" she wants
but she cannot let him.
Parting her lips
she welcomes him with a smile
he smirks to himself
victorys mine.
felt trapped in a corner
she lashes a claw
starteld he stumbles
she's escaped once more.
Wounded and shatterd
in looseing his prey
he goes home defeated
tomorrow's a new day.
she returns where she came from
a cave full of fear
knowing not to be ones prey
she won't become the hunter.
With a wink from her eye
and a lick on her lips
she throws him a smile
and blows him a kiss.
daring him on
she lifts up her skirt
if you want me my sweetie
ya gotta catch me first.
Heart beating wildly
he's determined to win
this wild crazed creature
will belong to him.
jumping to his feet
it's time that i catch her
or i am not who i am
the almighty hunter.
Becoming breathless
she leaps over rocks
laughing running scared
in fear of been caught.
adding to the excitement
she leaves a trail as she goes
one by one
she rips off her clothes.
He follows her laughter
he picks up her garments
with a whiff from them
he now has her scent.
taking to his feet
he rips off his shirt
i'll catch this so called witch
who seems to have me cursed.
Stillness and silence
to be heard not a sound
he pounches and leaps
capturing her to the ground.
she struggles to escape
resisting and fretting
she wants oh" she wants
but she cannot let him.
Parting her lips
she welcomes him with a smile
he smirks to himself
victorys mine.
felt trapped in a corner
she lashes a claw
starteld he stumbles
she's escaped once more.
Wounded and shatterd
in looseing his prey
he goes home defeated
tomorrow's a new day.
she returns where she came from
a cave full of fear
knowing not to be ones prey
she won't become the hunter.
On Raglan Road
On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.
On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay -
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.
I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that's known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May
On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay -
When the angel woos the clay he'd lose his wings at the dawn of day.
Patrick Kavanagh
On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.
On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay -
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.
I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that's known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May
On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay -
When the angel woos the clay he'd lose his wings at the dawn of day.
Patrick Kavanagh
Unheard prayer
Good morning my darling
are you still there laying, waiting for me
heavens" but what am i thinking, where else would you be?
seems lastnight he was needed elsewhere
reasons for again, my unheard prayer.
as i open your curtains i wonder
do you even feel the rays of the sun
how must it feel to be you, my silent quiet one.
what if you were to wake suddenly
me with shaver in hand' would you recognise us both?
heavens heres me again" another day in wonderland.
i'll have to be going now my love
our son is calling tonight
and the beautiful girl he will have with him
is to be his soon to be bride.
the joy' you should be sharing in this
know that i miss you, as i leave you with a kiss.
know, your side of the bed is still empty
with still your pj's under your pillow
just incase a miracle happens
and your returned back to me
the man i love and used to know...
but if not' il pray instead
release him, let his soul be
bring him on home to heaven
unsuffer him... unsuffer me.
Good morning my darling
are you still there laying, waiting for me
heavens" but what am i thinking, where else would you be?
seems lastnight he was needed elsewhere
reasons for again, my unheard prayer.
as i open your curtains i wonder
do you even feel the rays of the sun
how must it feel to be you, my silent quiet one.
what if you were to wake suddenly
me with shaver in hand' would you recognise us both?
heavens heres me again" another day in wonderland.
i'll have to be going now my love
our son is calling tonight
and the beautiful girl he will have with him
is to be his soon to be bride.
the joy' you should be sharing in this
know that i miss you, as i leave you with a kiss.
know, your side of the bed is still empty
with still your pj's under your pillow
just incase a miracle happens
and your returned back to me
the man i love and used to know...
but if not' il pray instead
release him, let his soul be
bring him on home to heaven
unsuffer him... unsuffer me.
roses are red
violets are blue
most poems rhyme
but this one doesnt
violets are blue
most poems rhyme
but this one doesnt
roses are red
voilets are blue
teases thread has
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voilets are blue
teases thread has
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The Harp That Once Through Tara's Halls
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The harp that once through Tara's halls
The soul of music shed,
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls,
As if that soul were fled. --
So sleeps the pride of former days,
So glory's thrill is o'er,
And hearts, that once beat high for praise,
Now feel that pulse no more.
No more to chiefs and ladies bright
The harp of Tara swells;
The chord alone, that breaks at night,
Its tale of ruin tells.
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,
The only throb she gives,
Is when some heart indignant breaks,
To show that still she lives.
Thomas Moore
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The harp that once through Tara's halls
The soul of music shed,
Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls,
As if that soul were fled. --
So sleeps the pride of former days,
So glory's thrill is o'er,
And hearts, that once beat high for praise,
Now feel that pulse no more.
No more to chiefs and ladies bright
The harp of Tara swells;
The chord alone, that breaks at night,
Its tale of ruin tells.
Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,
The only throb she gives,
Is when some heart indignant breaks,
To show that still she lives.
Thomas Moore
Give us your money..Goodwill to men
by Pam Ayres
It was Christmas Eve on a Friday
The shops was full of cheer,
With tinsel in the windows,
And presents twice as dear.
A thousand Father Christmases,
Sat in their little huts,
And folk was buying crackers
And folk was buying nuts.
All up and down the country,
Before the light was snuffed,
Turkeys they get murdered,
And cockerels they got stuffed,
Christmas cakes got marzipanned,
And puddin's they got steamed
Mothers they got desperate
And tired kiddies screamed.
Hundredweight's of Christmas cards,
Went flying through the post,
With first class postage stamps on those,
You had to flatter most.
Within a million kitchens,
Mince pies was being made,
On everyone's radio,
"White Christmas", it was played.
Out in the frozen countryside
Men crept round on their own,
Hacking off the holly,
What other folks had grown,
Mistletoe on willow trees,
Was by a man wrenched clear,
So he could kiss his neighbour's wife,
He'd fancied all the year.
And out upon the hillside,
Where the Christmas trees had stood,
All was completely barren,
But for little stumps of wood,
The little trees that flourished
All the year were there no more,
But in a million houses,
Dropped their needles on the floor.
And out of every cranny, cupboard,
Hiding place and nook,
Little bikes and kiddies' trikes,
Were secretively took,
Yards of wrapping paper,
Was rustled round about,
And bikes were wheeled to bedrooms,
With the pedals sticking out.
Rolled up in Christmas paper
The Action Men were tensed,
All ready for the morning,
When their fighting life commenced,
With tommy guns and daggers,
All clustered round about,
"Peace on Earth - Goodwill to Men"
The figures seemed to shout.
The church was standing empty,
The pub was standing packed,
There came a yell, "Noel, Noel!"
And glasses they got cracked.
From up above the fireplace,
Christmas cards began to fall,
And trodden on the floor, said:
"Merry Christmas, to you all."
by Pam Ayres
It was Christmas Eve on a Friday
The shops was full of cheer,
With tinsel in the windows,
And presents twice as dear.
A thousand Father Christmases,
Sat in their little huts,
And folk was buying crackers
And folk was buying nuts.
All up and down the country,
Before the light was snuffed,
Turkeys they get murdered,
And cockerels they got stuffed,
Christmas cakes got marzipanned,
And puddin's they got steamed
Mothers they got desperate
And tired kiddies screamed.
Hundredweight's of Christmas cards,
Went flying through the post,
With first class postage stamps on those,
You had to flatter most.
Within a million kitchens,
Mince pies was being made,
On everyone's radio,
"White Christmas", it was played.
Out in the frozen countryside
Men crept round on their own,
Hacking off the holly,
What other folks had grown,
Mistletoe on willow trees,
Was by a man wrenched clear,
So he could kiss his neighbour's wife,
He'd fancied all the year.
And out upon the hillside,
Where the Christmas trees had stood,
All was completely barren,
But for little stumps of wood,
The little trees that flourished
All the year were there no more,
But in a million houses,
Dropped their needles on the floor.
And out of every cranny, cupboard,
Hiding place and nook,
Little bikes and kiddies' trikes,
Were secretively took,
Yards of wrapping paper,
Was rustled round about,
And bikes were wheeled to bedrooms,
With the pedals sticking out.
Rolled up in Christmas paper
The Action Men were tensed,
All ready for the morning,
When their fighting life commenced,
With tommy guns and daggers,
All clustered round about,
"Peace on Earth - Goodwill to Men"
The figures seemed to shout.
The church was standing empty,
The pub was standing packed,
There came a yell, "Noel, Noel!"
And glasses they got cracked.
From up above the fireplace,
Christmas cards began to fall,
And trodden on the floor, said:
"Merry Christmas, to you all."
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Created: Dec 2011
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The Charge of the Light Brigade
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
1.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
2.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
3.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
4.
Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.
5.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
6.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.
Copied from Poems of Alfred Tennyson,
J. E. Tilton and Company, Boston, 1870