General Chat

What's happened to my poets Oh dear, Oh dear, Oh dear, Has Muffy sent 'em in the house So they can't come on here.

Hi to all and Jeff from Lancs will start off first by saying thanks. A place to dabble and post a poem, here at my puter,in my home. Now let me see, what i shall i say Bonjour,Hello, and of course G'day. Its great to sit and read this thread and say what pops into my head. We come from a land on a dusty plain so dry with drought we pray for rain. Its summer here there is no thunder an Island some folk call downunder. Our neighbours are our Kiwi mates Our land divided into states. Wer'e on the boards while the U.K Zzzzzz's your night is our day whilst you warm your beds. So good morning from us, and good evening to you. There are Ozzie's on board,and Kiwi's too. Tony Oz....:>))

Hi Tony from Oz How are you mate, Nice to hear from you It really is great. Haven't been up long Just got out the tub, Looked at my watch Bet you're down the pub. Just looked out the window It's cloudy again, Don't think I'll be moving If it starts to rain. Looks like I'll spend The day in the house, Sat at the puter Just me and the mouse. Just realised Your dark is our light So you Aussies and Kiwis I'll bid you goodnight.

Hi Jeff i am back some fine poems i see seems we all have the nack if we have time that's free I hope this thread will run and run like my A to Z of rhyme More people later they will come and we all will do just fine Just to say good luck to you Pop into mine and write some lines all of you are welcome too you might even get some wine. lol

This rhyme of mine was written in days gone by When I was new to the boards, and oh so shy It’s to these boards that we do come When we’re feeling sad and rather glum When we’ve had a big row with our old Mum And we’re feeling so bad we’re almost numb It’s to these boards that we do come With questions that are sometimes dumb When someone’s rude ‘bout the size of our bum And we’ve reached the end of a bottle of rum It’s to these boards that we do come They’re more addictive than that nicotine gum They stay in our minds like that tune we hum And give us great comfort, like food in our tum So It’s to these boards that we do come To find our family and maybe a chum And if perchance we’re feeling glum It’s to these boards that we do come

TWO WOMEN. I know two women, and one is chaste As cold as the snows on a winter waste, Stainless ever in act and thought ( As a man, born dumb, in speech errs not ), But she has malice toward her kind, A cruel tongue and a jealous mind. Void of pity and full of greed, She judges the world by her narrow creed ; A brewer of quarrels, a breeder of hate, Yet she holds the key to 'Society's' Gate. The other woman, with heart of flame, Went mad for a love that marred her name ; And out of the grave of her murdered faith She rose like a soul that had passed through death, Her aims are noble, her pity so broad, It covers the world like the mercy of God. A soother of discord, a healer of woes, Peace follows her footsteps wherever she goes, The worthier life of the two, no doubt, And yet 'Society' locks her out. Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

I'm relying on you Brits to post And the reason is becos, The other lot will be in bed, All them that live in Oz. So come on do your very best, Sit down and scratch your head, Then add a poem to the pot Before you go to bed. We've had some lovely poems, To put in our little jar, But yet we still need lots, lots more, We've not enough so flah. I can't write this without a flah, I haven't got the guts, I'm in GRs Big Brother house And it's driving me quite nuts.

Its saturday morn and the sun is up, a wave from the neighbour who's walking her pup. The Cockatoo screeches up high in our tree, and the Wattle bush flower calls out to the bee. The old cat's stretched out on the window sill, not a care in the world he has eaten his fill. And the grandfather clock that stands in the hall, is chiming eight bells with a beckoning call. There's chores to be done and the garden needs weeding, the dog want's a bone and the chickens need feeding. So il'e grab a clean towel and fill up a bath, but i must draw the curtains or the Kookaburra's laugh. Then out in the garden with pitchfork and spade, and sit under a tree so to all....a good-day. Tony Oz...:>))

A poem i wrote for my wife some years ago. Both her 2x Greats were Irish Convicts sent to Australia. A time long ago, in a land far away, a wee Irish lad was all but to stray. His pockets were empty no crown for a meal, he moved up to Dublin and there he did steal. He fondled a pocket while riding a coach, he was only 13 and his name was James Roach. His actions were seen and his ear it was flicked, and grabbed by a copper James Roach had been nicked. Now the Judge said young fellow as the lad held back tears, its off to the Colony for you... seven years. He was sentenced in Dublin as he stood in a pew, on the 5th of November Eighteen forty two. The ship was North Briton that sailed away, and James Roach awakened in Botany Bay. But there back in Ireland for doing a crime, a young Anne McDonogh Eighteen forty nine. And the Judge said.. young Annie as she held back her tears, its off to the Colony for you... seven years. She was sentenced in Galway there was no appeal, for killing a cow with intention to steal. The ship Duke of Cornwall that sailed away, and young Annie awakened in Botany Bay. Now seven years past, young James found a life, it was Annie McDonough he took for his wife. They settled in Tassie in an old timber shack, produced seven children and never looked back. Tony Oz..:>))

Tony from Oz - brilliant made me smile:o) jude sarf wales

Keep them coming Tony, mate Your little stories, they are great. I hope there'll be some more like you Who'll post a little verse or two. Jeff

Rocking Chair. Echoes the memories of tears once shed, Old lady through silent waters led, She rocks in the stillness, her youth ,unheard laughter,deaf! she sits in the dark to cry, this forgotten face ,too old to dry,time passes,like love passes,by! Too old,silent waters,tears to cry, tired heart,alone tonight,left behind. Rocking chair,her souvenier of life, grief,loss of friends,arthritic side, her pain is much,its there--- but nothing like the echoes in her rocking chair. Moulded to its back,wooden and worn the tapestry flap. Alas! she alone controls the picture shows, as she sits in the freezing winter cold. Empty within,without those little cries, photos of the lost ,her child. Gone,she smiles,rocking chair,and laughs she ,at love with such despair. And friends,the voices,everyones gone! Rocking chair,I believe you creak at the memories you keep!

Thank you Suz for that little gem, I hope you'll keep on sending them, There's plenty room left in the pot So keep that pen of yours red hot. Jeff xx

So many gods, so many creeds, So many paths that wind and wind, While just the art of being kind, Is all the sad world needs. Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

Nudge June ..

PERSEVERE. Brother ! choose the path of duty, Keep that path and have no fear ; Life will show thee all its beauty If thou wilt but persevere. When dark clouds are hanging o'er thee And thy way seems dim and drear, Think of Heaven that lies before thee Strive for that, and persevere. Grieve not, though thy lot be lowly And thou toilest year by year ; Christ's own toil made labour holy, Do thy best and persevere. Be thou Statesman, Artist, Poet, Hold thy own vocation dear ; Thou hast genious ! Toil will show it, Help thy brethren, persevere. God has given all his creatures Duties, loving, true, and clear, Every state has noble features, Choose thy own, and persevere. Make each day in life a witness, Spreading tidings far and near Of the glory and the fitness Of the watchword - Persevere. George Hull.

I'm often feeling down, so I often look around for a pick me up thats quick, that is why GR board I pick. You are all such lovely folk, and like to share a joke, but also there for me when I am low so please folk, stay do not go. corney or what-I know.

Jennifer, There is nothing corny about putting your true feelings into print. Jeff xx

One of my Favourites A Bush Christening......A.B ( Banjo ) Patterson On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few, And men of religion are scanty, On a road never cross'd 'cept by folk that are lost, One Michael Magee had a shanty. Now this Mike was the dad of a ten-year-old lad, Plump, healthy, and stoutly conditioned; He was strong as the best, but poor Mike had no rest For the youngster had never been christened. And his wife used to cry, 'If the darlin' should die Saint Peter would not recognize him.' But by luck he survived till a preacher arrived, Who agreed straightaway to baptize him. Now the artful young rogue, while they held their collogue, With his ear to the keyhole was listenin'; And he muttered in fright, while his features turned white, 'What the divil and all is this christenin'?' He was none of your dolts -- He had seen them brand colts, And it seemed to his small understanding, If the man in the frock made him one of the flock, It must mean something very like branding. So away with a rush he set off for the bush, While the tears in his eyelids they glistened -- ''Tis outrageous,' says he, 'to brand youngsters like me; I'll be dashed if I'll stop to be christened!' Like a young native dog he ran into a log, And his father with language uncivil, Never heeding the 'praste', cried aloud in his haste 'Come out and be christened, you divil!' But he lay there as snug as a bug in a rug, And his parents in vain might reprove him, Till his reverence spoke (he was fond of a joke) 'I've a notion,' says he, 'that'll move him. 'Poke a stick up the log, give the spalpeen a prog; Poke him aisy -- don't hurt him or maim him; 'Tis not long that he'll stand, I've the water at hand, As he rushes out this end I'll name him. 'Here he comes, and for shame, ye've forgotten the name - Is it Patsy or Michael or Dinnis?' Here the youngster ran out, and the priest gave a shout -- 'Take your chance, anyhow, wid `Maginnis'!' As the howling young cub ran away to the scrub Where he knew that pursuit would be risky, The priest, as he fled, flung a flask at his head That was labelled 'Maginnis's Whisky'! Now Maginnis Magee has been made a J.P., And the one thing he hates more than sin is To be asked by the folk, who have heard of the joke, How he came to be christened Maginnis! Tony Oz..:>))

Cheers Tony, love the christening poem, keep 'em coming mate. I hope there are some more on here Who'll show the same devotion, Because to fill our poet's pot We need poetry in motion..