POET'S LAIR - Page 6




 
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POET'S LAIR
 
August 22nd, 2007  
Del Boy
 
POET'S LAIR
OK guys - you have got it coming. When I get the time I am gonna hit you with some stuff!

Enjoying Donkey's work.
August 22nd, 2007  
Del Boy
 
What dreams are made of.


I dreamed that I lived in a country
Where even the poor were proud.
Where locked doors were for darkness.
Where heroes stood out in each crowd.
Where mugging had not been invented;
Was never imported at all.
Where all streets were safe for our children.
Where police would respond to a call
And were keen to stand up for a victim.
Where burglars would go to the wall.


I dreamed that I lived in a country
And everyone there could afford
A roof to cover their head;
Their daily soup and their bread;
And they lived side by side in accord.
Where church bells peeled out every Sunday.
Where fair play and justice prevailed
And freedom was treasured like diamonds,
With all that such freedom entailed.

And then I asked someone to pinch me
And found that I wasn’t asleep.
I had lived in that dream in the England
Politicians neglected to keep.
August 23rd, 2007  
bulldogg
 
 
Absolutely brilliant.
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POET'S LAIR
August 23rd, 2007  
CrazyLilCajun
 
 
Nice!!!......
August 23rd, 2007  
Donkey
 
 
Nice Del

I started thinking of like a medieval time period English fairy tale setting...then I read the last lines...brilliant!
August 23rd, 2007  
Del Boy
 
Appreciated guys, and Donkey, you are very kind. The memory is the one I have of my country - long gone now I fear. Cast aside.

Incidentally, it is the country which your great American poet, Frost, would have known when he lived in Dymock, Gloucestershire, pre WW1 with the group of other great poets, like Wilfred Owen. My Dad's era. I inherited that set of values, adjusted of course by WW1 and then WW11.
August 23rd, 2007  
Del Boy
 
Somerset farm - WW11. Small boy and dog guarding seed in wheat-field.





My crystal ball remembers all,
Of furrowed fields and wheat-ears tall;
Of chasing starlings from the seed,
Repulsing their piratic greed.
Birds’ expertise beats dog and call.

Deep and steep ploughed furrows run;
Tough going for a little one.
The dog enjoys the frantic chase;
The birds fly high from place to place;
The boy brings out his wooden gun.

The birds aren’t scared, they know the game,
Shouts and shotguns, all the same.
High and fast, from end to end;
Telephone wires the starlings’ friend.
No starlings leave, they all remain.

Ploughman’s lunch arrives at last;
Crust, cheese and cocoa, consumed fast.
Dog stands by and smiles a smile.
He’s keen to chase on for a while;
When spring has sprung the chase has passed.

A simple dream that I recall?
My crystal ball remembers all.
August 26th, 2007  
Padre
 
 

Quote:
Originally Posted by Del Boy
What dreams are made of.


I dreamed that I lived in a country
Where even the poor were proud.
Where locked doors were for darkness.
Where heroes stood out in each crowd.
Where mugging had not been invented;
Was never imported at all.
Where all streets were safe for our children.
Where police would respond to a call
And were keen to stand up for a victim.
Where burglars would go to the wall.


I dreamed that I lived in a country
And everyone there could afford
A roof to cover their head;
Their daily soup and their bread;
And they lived side by side in accord.
Where church bells peeled out every Sunday.
Where fair play and justice prevailed
And freedom was treasured like diamonds,
With all that such freedom entailed.

And then I asked someone to pinch me
And found that I wasnít asleep.
I had lived in that dream in the England
Politicians neglected to keep.
that's a good one DB.
August 29th, 2007  
Del Boy
 


OK guys, just keeping the Poets' Lair charged.

Advice to Daydreamers.


If you should go to sea, my boy,
Leave school and ship - ahoy, my boy,
Your motherís pride and joy, my boy,
Thereís something you should know.


Donít throw your weight around, my boy,
Or you will run aground my boy,
Retribution bound, my boy.
Thatís one thing you should know.


And never lock the chief cook, boy
In the shipís meat freezer, boy.
Heís such a massive geyser, boy,
Heíd kill you with one blow.
So donít forget you left him there,
He carries a meat cleaver, boy
And when heís in a fever, boy,
Heíll send you down below.


If you should go to sea, my boy,
Donít linger there too long.
The seaís a passion to enjoy,
But sings a siren song.



September 1st, 2007  
philam15
 
 
ok this poem isnt very deep but it was the first poem I REALLY liked

Smile

She smiled at a sorrowful stranger.
The smile seemed to make him feel better.
He remembered past kindnesses of a friend
and wrote him a thank-you letter.
The friend was so pleased with the thank-you
that he left a large tip after lunch.
The waitress, surprised by the size of the tip,
bet the whole thing on a hunch.
The next day she picked up her winnings,
and gave part to a man on the street.
The man on the street was grateful;
for two days he'd had nothing to eat.
After he finished his dinner,
he left for his small dingy room.
(He didn't know at the moment
that he might be facing his doom.)
On the way he picked up a shivering puppy
and took him home to get warm.
The puppy was very grateful
to be in out of the storm.
That night the house caught on fire.
The puppy barked the alarm.
He barked 'til he woke the whole household
and saved everybody from harm.
One of the boys that he rescued
grew up to be President.
All this because of a simple smile
that hadn't cost a cent.

Barbara Hauck, age 13
 


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