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National Poetry Day...
**helen**
Deactivated Posts: 9,235 Supreme Poster
So, it's today and I'd usually go and do something, but this year have failed miserably...
But, I have been thinking about limericks and I know you guys them
There was a lovely lady called Meg, who discovered a magical egg
She cracked open the shell, then cast a magic spell
So she could fly and bounce around on one leg.
(For MeganM)
Your turn!
But, I have been thinking about limericks and I know you guys them
There was a lovely lady called Meg, who discovered a magical egg
She cracked open the shell, then cast a magic spell
So she could fly and bounce around on one leg.
(For MeganM)
Your turn!
0
Comments
Recipe for Salad:
To make this condiment, your poet begs
The pounded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs
Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen-sieve
Smoothness and softness to the salad give
Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl
And, half suspected, animate the whole
Of mordant mustard add a single spoon
Distrust the condiment that bites so soon;
But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault
To add a double quantity of salt
And lastly, o'er the flavoured compound toss
A magic soup-spoon of anchovy sauce
Oh, green and glorious! Oh herbacious treat!
"T would tempt the dying anchorite to eat
Back to the world he'd turn his fleeting soul
And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl!
Serenely full, the epicure would say
Fate can not harm me, I have dined to-day!
by Sydney Smith
So I decided to rhyme her name with Magellan,
Though this rhyme isn't that good,
She's so nice, she understood.
There once was a young man named Mr G
Who professed to be terribly twee
He went to join the army,
And luckily came to no harmy
And now he's enjoying his leave.
This wall is red
The other one's blue
This poem is pointless
Poo.
They're painting the walls this weekend, RIP the poem!
Nina x
But they don't always make sense
refrigerator
How sweetly sing the trees,
As the pitter patter of rain tease,
How sweetly sing the trees,
Along with the buzzing of the bees.
How sweetly goes their song,
In the hot summer sun,
How sweetly goes their song,
In the days short and long.
How silent they cry,
As the wind rushes by,
How silent they cry,
Reaching far into the sky.
xx
There was a young lady called hmmm7
Who would drink a cuppa or seven
When she got cold
A cuppa she would hold
Then she would feel like she's in heaven.
keke
Brilliant!
Funny that you found that graffiti poem Nina - now you've immortalised it by posting on these boards :d
clementine - adore the word harmy in your limerick for G!
AND...you recipe for RS reminded me of a poem I wrote yonks ago. Not my best work, but here it is:
Poetry Pie
See how I’ve spread out the fresh words on the worktop
Some solid nouns for our base, essential half-rhyme
and a sprinkling of verbs to spice-up the taste.
We’ll dust the surface with flowery expressions
Then take a pinch of personification
Combined with metaphors to be stirred
And sifted into a crumbly composition
Sprinkles of alliteration, help mould in good measure so that it all clumps together
Ready to be rolled; we’ll knead in the beats briefly until it’s firm but not over-worked.
Now we’ll need to leave it, just for thirty minutes, to stop it shrinking
And to stop us overthinking.
Meanwhile, we’ll prepare the middle filling with some full-flavoured verse
Adding hearty cuts of the finest lines placed in a large pot of churned up words.
Finally we’ll add stock to the stanzas
Ready to combine with the rest and bake till it’s golden
Time is ticking and we don’t want it to burn
I’m ready with my hands padded by punctuation to lift our creation
Stop and take in the sounds wafting from the stove. It’s going to be a taste sensation, a pie to eat slowly, savouring each sentence’s slice.
Awww, thanks hun xx.
It was six men of Indostan
To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the Elephant
(Though all of them were blind),
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind.
The First approach'd the Elephant,
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:
"God bless me! but the Elephant
Is very like a wall!"
The Second, feeling of the tusk,
Cried, -"Ho! what have we here
So very round and smooth and sharp?
To me 'tis mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant
Is very like a spear!"
The Third approached the animal,
And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
Thus boldly up and spake:
"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant
Is very like a snake!"
The Fourth reached out his eager hand,
And felt about the knee.
"What most this wondrous beast is like
Is mighty plain," quoth he,
"'Tis clear enough the Elephant
Is very like a tree!"
The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,
Said: "E'en the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most;
Deny the fact who can,
This marvel of an Elephant
Is very like a fan!"
The Sixth no sooner had begun
About the beast to grope,
Then, seizing on the swinging tail
That fell within his scope,
"I see," quoth he, "the Elephant
Is very like a rope!"
And so these men of Indostan
Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion
Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right,
And all were in the wrong!
MORAL.
So oft in theologic wars,
The disputants, I ween,
Rail on in utter ignorance
Of what each other mean,
And prate about an Elephant
Not one of them has seen!
That sat on their computers like mad hatters,
They had no social lives,
A few of them had wives and they all looked after one another like people do at football matches.
(Okay that was really really bad but fook it!)
Bravo :hyper:
Realising that the city is alive with sounds and sights galore,
The crowd entertainers, the one man flashmob, the little things in life,
Kind of help you forget why you came here, to relax away from strife.
The busier a city is, the easier it is to become lost within,
Just sitting there and letting the world go by is a good place to begin,
I'm sure of where I've come from, not quite sure of how I'm here,
Though even in London, like the rats, you're always within 100ft of someone sincere