Poetry Corner

[Hilary B]

With all the rhymes we are writing and reading,
I wonder how many are behind with the weeding.


The weather's been mixed which for crops is quite good
but weeds grow better than anything should!
We moan and complain about British rain,
but when it is missing, we're moaning again!
Whatever the weather we want something new
Sunshine or thunder, what are we to do?
But one thing for which our weather is prime
Apples grow best in the British clime.
Places where summer is sunny all day
can't grow an apple with flavour I say!
So let us remember all the old apple trees
Which give us such treasure, certain to please!

[maytreefrannie]

Garden Sonnet

A garden is a lovesome thing God wot
With flowers, fruits and veg to greet the day.
And many aphids coming out to play,
And slugs and scab and mildew, mould and rot.
It’s easy to get knickers in a knot
When bindweed romps along its verdant way –
How come that weeds can flourish, come what may –
While many a veggie droops in many a plot?

As we brave the muck and cold and wet,
In days of wind and lowering clouds of grey
To check the humble spud and proud courgette,
We look for bursts of sunshine on the way.
Ah – in our hearts we know, no matter what,
A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot.

[OllieMartin]

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door —
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore —
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door —
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; —
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"— here I opened wide the door; —
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" —
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; —
'Tis the wind and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door —
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore —
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning— little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door —
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered— not a feather then he fluttered —
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before —
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore —
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never — nevermore'."

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore —
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite — respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! —
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted —
On this home by horror haunted— tell me truly, I implore —
Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil — prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting —
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!— quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted — nevermore!

—Edgar Allan Poe

[OllieMartin]

I think of things amidst the year,
like kitchen tools and garden gear,
and request when Christmas's near,
from my family.

But come the 1st of December,
Can I balls actually remember,
all the things I'd ask my vendor,
to please give to me.

[Pumpkin Becki]

From Bradford Yorkshire
To Bristol Temple Meads
You don't have to change your underwear
But you have to change at Leeds

(another John Hegley classic)

[Pumpkin Becki]

I saw something yesterday that reminded me of this thread. It was a road sign on the way into Canterbury that said:

'Cut the queues, travel in twos'

All I can think about now is how to expand it...so far I have:

'Like sticky buns? Travel in ones'
'Be a friend to Bees, travel in threes'
'End wars, travel in fours'
'Save lives, travel in fives'

...I think the heat must be getting to me!

[maytreefrannie]

Pumpkin Becki, I can't get your rhyme out of my mind since I read it, I hope you don't mind if I add my own bit of doggerel:

Cut travel fuss - take the bus
Use your brain - take the train
Best is to hike or use your bike
But if it's far - I guess you'll still take the car

Sorry - I'll get my coat.

[zebedee]

Roses are red
Violets are blue
and I got arrested for stealing knickers....

[Pumpkin Becki]

Pumpkin Becki, I can't get your rhyme out of my mind since I read it, I hope you don't mind if I add my own bit of doggerel:

Cut travel fuss - take the bus
Use your brain - take the train
Best is to hike or use your bike
But if it's far - I guess you'll still take the car

Sorry - I'll get my coat.

Brilliant! Well done MTF!!

[OllieMartin]

All Nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair -
The bees are stirring -birds are on the wing -
And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrightened, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without Hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And Hope without an object cannot live.

Work Without Hope - Samuel Taylor Coleridge

[HeyWayne]

Beans, beans, good for your heart
The more you eat, the more you want to grow.

Time is such a precious thing,
before you know it, here comes Spring.

I used to have some, time that is
But now it's gone, replaced by His.

Bean is him, and change him I'd not
I'd still be happy if he was all I had.

What?