Poetry please - post yours

Hobbies & Pastimes Hobbies & Pastimes: Chat / Discussions
101

Infatuation

I can’t believe I was taken in
By all those flirty games we’d played.
I thought he’d meant the things he’d said,
His feelings genuine and displayed.

I craved his company every day,
When he’d not arrive I was heart sore,
Then he’d be there and with spirit high,
I’d joyously greet him at the door.

Sometimes he took me out to dine,
Or to a show, bought me gifts gallore
And said he loved me, seeming sincere,
But as time passed by, I learnt the score.

The fateful last time he went back to sea,
As I saw him off on the train that day,
“It is all over!” He said to me,
I cried as he turned and walked away.

Seven years pinned on hopes and dreams,
Now was the time to start a new life,
So hard at first, but I found the strength,
When a kinder man came, I became his wife.

I still do wonder about my first love,
Where is he, what is he doing now?
How has he aged? He is older than me.
But never look back should be my vow.

102

Thank you very much Mags.

103

:023: Tiff

104

Tiffany you do have a wonderful talent.
Thank-you so much for sharing it.:slight_smile:

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105

LETTER TO A STRANGER.

Dear Familiar Stranger,

For so you are.
I cannot see your face, or ask your name,
but I know your touch very well.
Light, firm, and impersonal.
Cool liquid. Smooth and faintly scented.
Massage; Routine; Always the same;
left foot, left leg, right foot, right leg.
I was a dancer, you know, before …
Did they tell you or can you tell?
Can you feel it in the muscles you sustain?
I was a dancer and I was good, oh, so good.
I wish you could have seen me then.
Left hand, left arm, right hand, right arm.
Arms that once held my lovers - and my
children. Lifeless now.

Where are my children? Do they still come?
I cannot tell for sure unless they speak.
People come, and sit, and look, and go.
I wish that you would speak,
I would love to hear your voice again.
Do you not realize that I can still hear?
I know you are soon to marry,
you told a nurse, yesterday, and your
voice was soft, warm with love.
I wish you every joy, I wish that you
may love and be loved all your life.
Ah, I can smell starch and masculinity,
the doctor must be here again.
Are his scrubs blue, or green
as in ‘Casualty’ or ‘’Holby City’?

Something else I will never see again,
Television. Not a great loss
but the radio, now, I do miss that.
No-one thinks to put headphones on me,
I am not supposed to be here.
Nothing hurts, or hungers, or moves.
Graphs, green and glowing, monitor
a discarded empty shell,
but, yes, I can still hear; and just
now I wish that I could not.
Click - off, click - off, click …
flat-line whines into nothingness.
So - today is the day.
Goodbye then, dear stranger,
thank you for your care.
Remember me.

© 2017

106

Silver Tabby that has made me cry.
It is So moving.

107

Oh dear - maybe I should not have posted it !

108

I had tears too reading it, dying like that must be dreadfully lonely.

109

Yes, you should. It was moving and makes us think, life is VERY precious. You have reminded us of that, and thank-you.

110

That’s very good ST, full of emotion and probably so true…

111

HE SLIPPED THE NET

The old man was found dead on the kitchen floor
He’d been dead for a week, maybe much more
“ I hadn’t seen him out for quite a while”
Said his next door neighbour, with a nervous smile

“ I suppose I should have knocked on his big white door
But that would only make him turn his radio up more.”
His dog stopped barking two weeks ago
“You’re not supposed to have them here you know.”

© Robert Jnr.

112

There is some wonderful stuff here, especially the “own work” poems. I wish I had that kind of talent.

113

This poem is on the noticeboard of my Mum’s nursing home. Alas it is unsigned. It makes me cry, but I think it is so important to understand what it’s like to forget.

When I wander,
Don’t tell me to come and sit down,
Wander with me.
It may be because I am hungry, thirsty, need the toilet,
Or maybe I just need to stretch my legs.

When I call for my mother,
(even though I’m ninety,)
don’t tell me she has died,
Reassure me, cuddle me, ask me about her,
It may be that I am looking for security,
That my mother once gave me.

When I shout out,
Please don’t ask me to be quiet … or walk by,
I am trying to tell you something,
But have difficulty in telling you what,
Be patient. Try to find out what.
I may be in pain.

When I become agitated or appear angry,
Please don’t reach for the drugs first.
I am trying to tell you something,
It may be to hot, too bright, too noisy.
Or it may be because I miss my loved ones.
Try to find out first.

When I don’t eat my dinner or drink my tea,
It may be because I have forgotten how to,
Show me what to do, remind me,
It may be that I just need to hold my knife and fork,
I may know what to do then.

When I push you away,
While you’re trying to help wash me or get dressed,
May be it is because I have forgotten why,
Keep telling me what you are doing,
Over and over and over,
Maybe others will think,
You’re the one that needs the help.

With all my though and maybes,
Perhaps it will be you,
Who reaches my thoughts,
Understands my fears,
And will make me feel safe.

Maybe it will be you,
Who I need to thank.

If only I knew how.

114

On a mug I used to own.

The wondrous live of a beautiful male,
and the love of a staunch true man,
and the love of a baby, unafraid,
have existed since life began,

But the greatest love,
The love of love,
even greater than that of a mother,
Is the tender, passionate, infinite love,
of one drunken sod for another.

Didn’t see that coming did you.

115

Written by me in the Winter of 1991, to go out with parcels for the troops during Operation Granby whilst I was working away from home.

In a far flung outpost called Pyestock,
A district near Farnborough ye know,
There’s a team of Lads and a Lass,
Up to their armpits in snow.

They come from a factory in Bristol,
'Cept one Lad from Derbyshire way,
To work on an aeroplane engine,
That’ll power a fighter one day.

Some of 'em’s worked on engines,
For Harriers, Tornados, and Sea Kings,
'Cept Lad whose come down from Derby,
Who does wonders with submarine things.

Some’s even worked on Concorde,
As well as the Hawk and the Jag,
So despite not being there with you,
They’re doing their bit for the flag.

They’ve robbed hotel rooms in Farnham,
The one they are staying at,
Of coffee, and shampoo, and tea-bags,
And sugar and things like that.

They’ve also been down to Waitrose,
A hazardous task you’ll agree,
To buy you a few little goodies,
During the OAP trolley Grand Prix.

Now they’re getting their prezzies,
Together ready to go,
Out to you in the desert,
From the Homeland all covered in snow.

They’re not the only ones at it,
There are thousands of others that do,
A little extra shopping,
Just to show they at thinking of you.

116

For those interested in poems, I’m sure Robert won’t mind me giving you the link to the first of his threads of his own poems which he started posting 4 years ago … :slight_smile:

http://www.over50sforum.com/showthread.php?t=32449

Good to see you still sharing your talent with us Robert :slight_smile:

117

Some good poetry on this thread.

118

Fruitcake, the first one in the OAP’s home should be on every wall in every room in every home, just to remind the carers.
Your last poem I liked very much, see you can write poetry.

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119

ALF, THE ELF.

Alf, the Elf, was afraid of himself,
which made his life quite scary.
He disliked gnomes, and mobile ‘phones,
and anything remotely hairy!

He hated fog, and if he saw a frog
it could make him sick for a week -
but there was no cure, he just had to endure
the havoc that living could wreak!

He couldn’t eat cheese - it made him sneeze,
and nothing that had ever had legs
could be put on his table, and he was quite unable
to even contemplate eggs.

He would not have rice, or pickled dormice,
no pasta, no toast, or potatoes.
No peas, no plums, and no currant buns,
no rabbit, rhubarb, or tomatoes!

His faddy diet nearly caused a riot,
and his behaviour drove everyone crazy,
for he was known to be rude, incredibly crude,
intolerant, and totally lazy.

Then the Elf Queen decreed “Enough indeed,
our reputation is being defamed!
Give him some work and don’t let him shirk.
This wilful elf has to be tamed!”

So Alf was made to take up a trade.
and was given a mobile store
to run for one year - on routes far and near,
to see if that could be a cure.

He worked every day to make the store pay,
and started a night-shift beside.
but, unused to such strain, it exploded his brain,
and sadly one night Alf just died.

Filled with remorse the Queen said “Of course
we must send for a priest in a surplice
to lead us all in prayers for Alf’s soul -
and we’ll call it a National Elf Service !”

© 2017

1 Like
120

Wow, I am just too excited that this thread has sprung into action.
Thank-you so much I just love poetry.:slight_smile:
I will have to find some time to read all the latest posts, then thank each of you personally.:slight_smile:
Sweetie x

1 Like