Hey diddle-diddle,
The cat had a piddle,
The cow blew up on the launching pad,
The little dog pharted,
As the cow departed,
And the dish made inappropriate comments on Zoom.
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Hereâs one I wrote in the style loosely of Edgar Allen Poe, for a competition.
Dark the ancient woodland pathway,
leading to I knew not where,
Something drew me ever onward,
strange power had me in itâs spell
Terrified I fought against it,
tried my will against itâs might.
âWho are youâ? Demanded loudly,
"Bent on sending me to Hell.
âWhy wonât you say why Iâm hereâ?
âThis pain Iâm going through is Hellâ
But no answer, none would tell.
I didnât win, but was highly commended. 
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Another oneâŠ
Silver Surfers.
They call us all silver surfers,
Though my hair will never be grey,
I have it dyed frequently brown,
It will always be that way.
Silver Surfers are people like me
Who came to the net rather late,
Not clued up to use it you see,
Ignorance was nearly our fate,
But we struggled like mad to master,
Modern technology we could get,
With practice we soon got faster
The twenty first century we all met.
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And yet anotherâŠ
Forgotten Library
There, on shelves lie never read,
Novelists and childrenâs books,
Forgotten poets now long dead,
In this room where no one looks.
Comfy chairs, an open fire,
Peaceful quietness, cold within,
The place they once went to retire,
Has only lonely ghosts of kin.
Adults have no time to read,
Children, have the net, you see,
Itâs sad they havenât got the need,
This room, it craves their company.
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An overdose of my poetry
Autumn Night.
The air is still above the field
A hunters moon hangs in the sky
The harvestâs safely gathered yields
Are now stored in the barn to dry.
I stand amongst the stubbles sheath
Gazing across at the field beyond
A pale shadow flitting in relief
The barn owl is quartering, ghostly and blonde.
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Infatuation
I canât believe I was taken in
By all those flirty games weâd played.
I thought heâd meant the things heâd said,
His feelings genuine and displayed.
I craved his company every day,
When heâd not arrive I was heart sore,
Then heâd be there and with spirit high,
Iâd 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,
âIt is all over!â 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.
I am posting these because I donât want to lose them. They were all written some years ago & I havenât written any for ages.
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This one was also a challengeâŠa long time agoâŠ
Lasting Friendship
Just like our lives, many changes
With friends, as they move around,
But then, perhaps, maybe only once,
A lasting friendship is found.
No matter how you have met,
Right there from the start,
This person will have a special place
Deep within your heart.
Which lasts for years
Through everything,
The rough, the smooth,
Far distancing.
Youâll hold on to this friendship,
The storms youâll both have weathered,
For friendship like this, in one lifetime,
Is a miracle to be treasured.
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Knitting.
My Mother in the evenings would sit in front of our old T.V.
With clicking clacking needles and her knitting on her knee
Row on row of plain and purl
Fairisle too, which needs a swirl
Just a glance to see how itâs doing
Then turn back to the T.V. viewing.
Sadly now her hands wonât let her do the task
Arthritus has claimed them and knitting a thing of the past
But I can still remember the sound that those needles made
At the end of a Winters day, the memory doesnât fade.
Particularly happy I found this one as it reminds me of my Mother.
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Naughty Me!
When I was a small kid
At my party I wanted rid
Of this girl, such a pain
Who drove me insane
Into our pond I pushed her, I did.
She screamed and then she lied
Now my goose it really was fried
âNaughty girl, go to bedâ
My stern Father said
To explain to him,Oh, how I tried.
âNot my faultâ, I did say,
âShe provoked me that wayâ.
But it did me no good,
Fathers orders they stood
Was my 8th birthday, crime does not pay.
These are all the poems I can find that I posted on the old forum. I did write many more, mostly bad ones, like these, but I havenât posted those anywhere.
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SELF DAMNATION
Sometimes loneliness is filled with screams
Voices in my head invade my dreams
So loud they are deafening and painful
My mind punishes me as if I am pitiful
Too much time alone, lost in the emptiness
Heart and soul broken but fight the nothingness
Passion still flows within, longing to share
Hoping he finds me soon, put an end to this nightmare
Kiss deprived lips whisper on the wind my desires for you
This hunger is tormenting my spirit, depleting and askew
No answer to my plea, unheard or unwanted, left in desolation
Night comes yet brings no rest, it never ends this eternal damnation
9-22-21
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Sorry Tiff, there is a lot of structure, in your good stuff. 
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These are all very good; such variety in both content and style. Well domne everyone.
I prefer to write in rhyming couplets and actually find other formats much harder to do.
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What can you see?
Roof tiles and chimneys,
With pots short and tall,
From my bedroom window,
I can see them all.
Trees of green,
And many of brown,
A gap in the row,
Where one was blown down.
Satellite dishes,
Aerials galore,
A half open window,
A half closed door.
Sounds of traffic,
A train nearby,
A man at the bus stop,
Waving goodbye.
The bus nearly empty,
âMasks must be worn,â
A funeral procession,
Someone to mourn.
Hills in the distance,
Wales over there,
The Severn between us,
Mist in the air.
The Postie in shorts,
Braving the cold,
People out walking,
Both young and old.
A leaf on a branch,
Refusing to fall,
From my bedroom window,
I can see them all.
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I wrote an incredibly bad poem once. It came to mind when I was brushing my teeth and a blob of toothpaste fell off my brush:
A tiny blue blob landed in my sink
He gave me a nod and gave me a wink
Said âhey there girl, I see youâre kinda blue
What can I possibly do for you?â
I looked at him in utter surprise
He stared right back, big wide eyes
I said âwhat on earth are you, some kinda fish?â
He said âno, sweet lady Iâm a Blue Wishâ
I said âAh, right, now I understandâ
So I thought of things that I had planned
I said âmake me famous, make me richâ
He replied by giving a nervous twitch
âCanât do that, its too much workâ
He stared at me with an evil smirk
âYou had one chance, now its a waste
All I am now is blue toothpasteâŠâŠâ
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That isnât bad poetry, that scans, bad poetry doesnât scan & besides which, that poem is a comic one.
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What do you mean by âscanâ, Tiff?
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I agree with Tiff. It is a good poem.
âScanâ means it flows properly as you expect it to.
It doesnât suddenly,
Stop and start on a different, line part,
way,
through and has proper spellâng and.
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Good poem Pixie, it has a Ring of Confidence about it. 
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Ahh thank you FruityâŠthatâs helpful to know. 
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I belong to a forum that has a creative writing thread, they do short stories ,flash fiction plus the odd poems etc but sadly the input is almost zero. This is a villanelle I had a go at some time back. Maybe not to everyoneâs taste but here it is.
We who always seem to stand and wait
In queues we linger for what we need
Killing time and resigned to our fate
The queue we shuffle in we cannot hate
With need to shop to supply our feed
We who always seem to stand and wait
Trying to decipher use by date
But not always caring what we read
Killing time and resigned to our fate
With baskets filled we increase our gait
And head for the door with undue speed
We who always seem to stand and wait
The barcode beeps at alarming rate
Our bags we must fill with price agreed
Killing time and resigned to our fate
yet itâs seldom we will deviate
From weekly chore never to be freed
We who always seem to stand and wait
Killing time and resigned to our fate.
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