Grimsby Poets Forums

WORDS

Words are beautiful;
They traverse a virgin page
Like water cascading over pebbles in a stream,
Each chosen for its elegance,
Mimicking precious gems in a necklace.

Thats great John, and do post your poetry magazine name and where we can buy it !!

Hello GrimDad
Thanks for the message. The magazine is called LONGFORD WRITERS' I'm the editor but the magazine belong to the Quakers and only goes out to subscribers. The annual cost is £20. The magazine will be full of poetry short stories and articals. Thought the Quakers sponcer the magazine their is very little reliegious poems in the mag. We also don't bother if the poetry is good or bad, as long as you can express yourself, that is all that matters. Any one wishing more information, please email me. John

Does the name Longford Writers connect with Longford in Ireland and its various poets and writers ? Or maybe some other connection ?!

No GrimDad, It was named after Lord Longford as the lady that started it all five years ago corresponded with the Longford Famiely. When he died she named the poetry club after him. A few months ago she talked to me about doing a magazine and this will be it ,when it starts in September.

The following poem is a structured poem and is called a Ballade. In the sixteenth century the poem of the day was the Ballad and could be as long as 100 verses, each verse being four lines long. As you can see the Ballade is much shorter. and has a rhyming system of ABABBCBC.

Where Warm Thermals Flow

Down in the hollow that's know as The Dell
The Ash and the Oak are blooming in spring.
Forest floor painted with nature's bluebell
While high in the branches birds nest and sing.
Out of the nest there peeks a small fledgling
Not ready for flight though craving to go,
With wings open wide in blue skies soaring,
To be in the air where warm thermals flow.

On terra firma where man has to dwell
Stand a young boy who's hoping and wishing,
To fly on high with a sleek philomel
That's turning and soaring, dipping and gliding.
Facing the sky where soft winds are whispering
He gazes in awe with his face all-aglow.
Feet rooted in clay eternally longing,
To be in the air where warm thermals flow.

Descending through clouds he spinningly fell
The wind rushing past him loudly screaming,
With joy in his heart he lets out a yell
Plummeting downwards no longer dreaming.
Akin to an Albatross gliding on wing,
Beneath a white canopy he swings to and fro,
Drifting to earth he's no longer speeding.
To be in the air where warm thermals flow.

Like dandelions' seeds, he parachuting
Floating on up-draughts above earth below,
Ambition at last blossomed this morning,
To be in the air where warm thermals flow.

A philomel is the old English word for a Nightingale

I love the poem John, and assume its a modern poem following an old classic structure ?
The Earl of Longford was I believe associated with Ireland, though not Lord Longford ?

Hi Clare, I wrote the poem in 2002 and believe it or not, I wrote it in about half an hour. Over the next three or four weeks I made about six or seven alterations. The next burning question is, does any one on site write short stories?

Here is one of my humorous poems Taken from the Marriott Edgar Monologue 'The Lion and Albert' performed by Stanley Holloway. This is writen from the lions point of view.

WALLACE ON DEATH ROW

There’s a famous place called Blackpool
That's noted for fresh air and fun,
However, I'm waiting on death row,
For I'm to be shot with a gun.

A Lancashire lad named Albert
Stuck a walking stick into my ear,
I asked him politely to stop,
And go for a walk on the pier.

But Albert being a Ramsbottom
He took no notice of me,
Still poking wi' his 'orse head 'andle
Saying "Oi, I'm talking to thee."

I will not let him annoy me
For I'm starting my yoga trance,
I'm oh so calm with my karma
I know that he hasn't a chance.

However, the wife's getting angry
And building up quite a rage.
Reaching out with her claws
She dragged Albert into her cage.

Now that my yoga is over
I'm back in my cell all-alone.
I open my eyes and I'm shocked,
To see a blooded cap and a bone.

They blamed me for eating Albert
Though the wife she though up the plan,
I know I couldn't have ate Albert
For I'm a vegetarian

INSIDIOUS HUNTER
(Read to the hymn tune: (‘He who would valiant be’.)

Cats hunt where’re they will
In grass or water,
Stalking out their kill
Out they’re to slaughter.
It is the natural way
To forage for their prey
And bring to your doorway
Bird fish or mammal.

They teach their young their skill
By playful teaching
Pouncing upon their kill
Not over reaching,
This skill cannot be bought
It only can be taught
The prey it must be caught
Bird fish or mammal.

Cats lying down to rest
Roll into a ball,
Their meal to digest
Dreams they recall,
Now happy and content
Their day it has been spent
Hunting without relent
Bird fish or mammal.

Very good John. It clearly reminded me of the fox that I saw one night last week running past my front door carrying some prey in its mouth !
I see that a link has been added on the website Grimsby Poets Corner to the Gainsborough Folk Club website - do you ever go their sessions ?

In answer to your question, yes I do use the Gainsborough Community Online web site and I go under the name of 'jandezi'.

Looked at your Gainsborough Community Online site John, and liked it.
Did your competition poem on there intentionally include the <o:p> html bits ? I am sure html is an emerging bit of language in our computer age !
Hope your writers group goes well.

Hi GrimDad. I don't know where the <O:P> came from I didn't type it.

Here is one of my war poems with a difference

GRANDMA’S WAR

On Mondays
Attired in;
Floral pinny,
Knotted headscarf,
Sleeves rolled to elbows,
Grandma prepared for war.

Armaments consist of;
Dolly tub,
Posher,
Washboard,
Scrubbing brush,
Long green bar of Fairy soap.

War zone.
Steaming hot water
Fired by coal
Ladled from copper boiler.

Woad,
In Dolly Blue Bags,
Prepared the battleground.

Arms aching from mangle turning,
Grandma brush back wisps of grey hair
With wet forearm.

Battle over,
Enemy surrendered to the clothesline.
Awaiting torture by hot iron on Tuesdays.