General Chat

What, no poems since 10.23, Then I guess the next one had better come from me. It's great to see the talent flowing from your pens, And to learn the deepest feelings of this inspiring group of friends, Some sad, some happy, some flippant, and some humorous, No matter just how primitive our talent it may be, It seems theres always room for us, To add our poetry, To dear Ray's Pot. So thanks a lot, To Colin too, For starting off this thread anew. Di.

Ray. . . . The finishing line does as follows :- " But you never saw her bare "

2 more from Charlotte Fish Fish live in the sea Not like a bumble bee! If I lived in the sea I wouldn't be able to say ... YIPPEE!! Mable's Table Mable has set up the table Mable's table is very big But that doesn't mean that you have to eat like a pig!! Of course you don't get the benefit of the lovely illustrations. Charlotte is going to be an art teacher when she grows up!! Maz. XX

Write a poem they said Its easy to do Write a poem they said You can write it in the loo Write a poem they said Its simple to do it Write a poem they said Even you can't stuff it (up)

This is a contribution by my 7 year old daughter Charlotte Crocodile Chocodile Crocodile chocodile floating in the lake Crocodile chocodile seeing lots of things to eat Crocodile chocodile is it meat? Crocodile chocodile is it ME? She is VERY excited to be in print!!

Good old Colin saved the day and came to rescue dear old Ray. A lovelly new pot did Colin start So GC friends could play their part Not for toffee can I write But for Ray,maybe I might Excuse the shortness of my poem I have tried ,and that will show'em With my apologies and love to you all Brenda

As it is nearing Rememberance day i thought i would put this poem back on. In Flanders Fields. In Flanders fields the poppies blow beneath the crosses row on row, that mark our place;and in the sky the larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard the guns below. we are the Dead. Short days ago we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, loved and were loved, and now we lie in Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: to you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If you break faith with us who die we shall not sleep, though poppies grow in flanders fields. (Lt. Col. John McCrae, 1872-1918) There is a soldier's cemetery close to Ieper (Ypres) where the powerful image of poppies growing among the graves is portrayed in the poem In Flanders fields. It is beleived to be the location where the Canadian Army Doctor Lieutentant Colonel John McCrae wrote the poem on the 2nd May 1915 after he had buried his friend Lieutenant Helmer. His grave was subsequently lost and he is now commemorated on The Menin Gate Memorial to the Missing. Terri Morrow.

And this one, for the ladies, by Jenny Joseph aged 64 years. When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple With a red hat which doesn't go and doesn't suit me. And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves And satin sandals and say we have no money for butter. I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired, And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells And run my stick along the public railings, And make up for the sobriety of my youth. I shall go out in my slippers in the rain, And pick the flowers in other peoples gardens And learn to spit. You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat, And eat three pounds of sausages at a go Or only bread and pickles for a week. And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes. But now we must have clothes that keep us dry And pay our rent and not swear in the street, And set a good example for the children. We must have friends to dinner and read the papers. But maybe I ought to practice a little now? So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple. Sorry guys, but I think we're going to have a lot more fun than you!!

May I add this one by Robert N McWilliam. When I am an old man, I will wear plaid trousers, Let my shirt tail hang out on one side on Tuesdays, And wear ties that clash with everything. I'll carry a cane whether I need it or not, To waggle at people who ask stupid questions And poke pretty girls. I'll have my ear pierced, the one that says you're gay (whichever that is) And grin if someone mentions it. I won't smile on Thursdays, even if I'm chuckling inside; I'll never be angry on Sundays, Except in months when the sun doesn't shine. Maybe I'll shave and maybe I won't, Depends on which eye I open first in the morning. I'll spit in public places, but not on peoples shoes, Unless they deserve it, And belch from both ends when the spirit moves me. I'll eat tacos for breakfast, ice cream with salad, Drink tea with honey, coffee with maple syrup, And rum with nothing at all. I'll stare everyone straight in the eye, Give my opinion of everything under the sun- If I'm asked, and especially if I'm not. I'll forget how to spell "rules", but not "integrity", "obligations", but not " responsibility", "Expectations", but not "honour", I'll speak to God direct, Help Him out when He needs it, But gently, cause mainly He does good work, When people leave Him alone, that is. I'll cry at movies and funerals, Laugh at my own mistakes, if I make any, Hug my sons and daughters every chance I get, Raise my hat to any woman wearing purple. I think I'll have more fun Saying what I think, Being who I am, Staring at the stars, When I am an old man, wearing plaid trousers.

Jack and Jill drove down the hill And Jill was driving - phew. There's a nasty bend down near the end: I'm alright Jack - are you ? Len

I thought this was appropriate: the smile that i wear when i read what you write lightens my heart makes life more bright you are a friend in whom kindness abounds this is something im greatful i found Sherry Gilles ©

Poor Ray you lost Poets Plot That was a crying shame He pressed the wrong key and lost the lot Surely to him it was only a game Grandchildren really are the best And I’m sure we all forgive the child No doubt on him you’ve now impressed The importance of not being so wild! ann Glos

The Poets Pot had gone Everyone was forlorn But all was not lost For, out from the sad mist Ray's daughter had made a disc So Thank the Lord And forget the forlorn Now is the time to scribe a rhyme And given time We'll reach 999 First attempt Kathy

My Ancestor by 'Anon' Your tombstone stands among the rest, Neglected and alone, The name and date are chiseled out, On polished marble stone, It reaches out to all who care, It is too late to mourn You did not know that I exist, You died and I was born, Yet each of us are cells of you, In flesh, in blood; in bone; Our blood contracts and beats a pulse, Entirely not our own. Dear Ancestor, the place yo filled One hundred years ago, Spreads out among the ones you left, Who would have loved you so. I wonder if you lived and loved I wonder if you knew, That someday I would find this spot, And come to visit you. (This is a re-entry from the original PP - bought it at a Family History Fair and it now sits above the puter - kind of why I do it really)

I'm sitting here looking at the screen, My wife is near with her sewing machine. My son is upstairs still and asleep I'll make this short so you don't weep!! Original - could you tell? I'll try harder next time. :o)

There was a young bard from Japan Whose limericks never would scan When they said it was so He replied yes I know But I always try to get as many words into the last line as I possibly can. I remember that from my school days and it still makes me chuckle!

Hello Ray - thank goodness you are back Does that grandson need a good slap?? My mind was all squewiff I thought you'd had a tiff So pleased to see you back again Hope you're as rite as rain?? Jude:)) x

when the good lord gave out faces to the dogs long ago he found ,when he had issued them there was still one dog to go. "wheres this dogs face"he called out loud,"i know i must have made it there must be someone hereabouts who's clumsily mislaid it" a shy young angel then stepped up"forgive me lord" he said. he stuttered and he stammered and he turned a little red. "i never thought it was a face-it fell out of your bag, so i thought you had discarded it as just a piece of rag. so i promptly went and used it for so very many things, like polishing the halo's and waxing up the wings. its creased and crumpled as you see-in truth its a disgrace i dont know how my dearest lord,you can use it for a face. i realise its all my fault,and theres no one else to blame. i trust you can forgive me lord,my hearts so full of shame" "of course i have forgiven you,but here we've got a mess, so i'll make amends to this poor dog and him i'll truly bless. he'll be called a "british bulldog",thats about the only place, where people are so silly as to love an ugly face. but he'll be kind and gentle and of courage he'll be full- as well as love and loyalty-the ugly lovely bull" and that is how ,my children,in that long gone year of grace the dear old british bulldog got his lovely,ugly face

Hi There Ray Welcome Back Got any poems we need a stack Together we can rebuild the Pot Lets give our all see what we have got and lets get Poets Pot back on top......... ..... In order to read all poems in the pot it is necessary to click Start with Earliest Reply...