He’s always referred to as ‘Alfred, Lord Tennyson’ – I don’t know why. (‘Sebastian, Lord Coe’? Naeh, it doesn’t sound right. But I digress. This is a post about pomes, not poetry in motion.) Alfred is an easy poet to enjoy, not just for his aphorisms, but for his metre too – like these: Continue reading “The next poetry competition – “Lost love””
We hovercrafted over to France
This was an end of term school trip
Having a right merry song and dance
We were going to let it all rip Continue reading “When in France”
Totally non contentious post. No other mention of Norway, Roma or cricket.
I did watch some of the Republican National Convention last night, I thought for a moment I had stumbled on “America’s got talent” by mistake. The last man to think that the Presidential election is NOT a popularity contest was Richard Nixon and look what happened to him.
We have four entries for the poetry comp. (from three regular contributors) nothing yet from the Dream Team, but there are a full twelve hours left to enter (even allowing a full thirty minutes for uploading and formatting).
All aboard!
Waking to stillness
Wide-open windows
Whiff of seaweed and spindrift Continue reading “Impressions of a holiday”
A villa on the edge
My daughter swimming laps.
I lose count after 200,
she’s not best pleased.
For my penance I take her down the cliff
to the rocky beach.
She snorkels in the pools.
I dread the journey back;
she beats me by a mile.
“It’s a nice class o’ sand ‘ere at Scarb’rough,”
Said me Dad as he marked out the pitch.
“Uncle Silas likes Brid for ‘is cutters;
But I really can’t tell which is which.” Continue reading “Holiday pome”
By the time August draws to a close the holiday season will almost be over, London streets may be returned to the overtaxed residents and even the French will be back at what passes for work.
Our subject will be “My Summer Holiday”. It does not have to be this year’s event, just something memorable to the participant. Some of my most remembered are the annual Sunday school day trips to Porthcawl via GWR in the fifties. (It always rained).
If you really did spend your hard earned at the Olympics, (or watching cricket) that’s OK but your offering will be judged accordingly, as will entries submitted on currency or negotiable instruments.
Any form or scheme. Closing at midnight EDST on August 31.
I wandered lonely in the crowd
Whose breath with patriotic fever held
When all at once I saw a cloud
A host, of golden medals held.
Beside the lake, upon the seas
Our standard fluttering in the breeze Continue reading “What daffodils? for Mr. Mackie”
An entry for JM’s poetry competition. A duet.
* * * * *
Four years of dedication
Pain barriers, niggles, frustration
The time has come
Bang goes the starting gun Continue reading “The Stasi years”
Boadicea's Chariot 
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