POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek

[Marian]

I agree, very good Keith.

[ROBERT M.]

What angers me is that they have to use a towel after EVERY point they play................even after an ace (just one shot)

[Lena & Harry Smith]

I know what you mean Robert, and no utterance of thanks to those boys who are trained like robots.

[keithgood838]

Thanks folks, because it's new I've had to tweak it slightly.
Among so many endearing aspects of this fine forum, I love
the editing facility.
L&H and Robert, I agree with you; I certainly wouldn't take kindly
to having a sweat-soaked towel thrown at me every few seconds.
However, I have to say that Wimbledon makes for exciting viewing;
so good luck to Andy Murray today. Maybe he will restore some
British sporting pride.

[Marian]

He's on Court 1, so could have a some interruptions for showers! Good luck anyway Andy.

[Marian]

The computer swallowed Grandpa,Yes, honestly it’s true!He pressed
'control and 'enter'And disappeared from view.
It devoured him completely,The thought just makes me squirm.He must have caught a
virus or been eaten by a worm.
I've searched through the recycle bin and files of every kind; I've even used the Internet, but nothing did I
find.
In desperation, I asked Mr. Google my searches to refine.
The reply from him was negative, not a thing was found 'online.'So, if inside your
'Inbox, my Grandpa you should see, please 'Copy, Scan' and 'Paste' him, and send him back to me.
This is a tribute to all the Grandmas & Grandpas, Nannas & Pops, who have been fearless and learned to use the
Computer.........They are the greatest!!!
We do not stop playing because we grow old; We grow old because we stop playing .
NEVER Be The First To Get Old!

[Sandra]

Love it!

[Lena & Harry Smith]

That's really good Marian.

[keithgood838]

Other forumites please follow in Marian's
poetic footsteps. Here's a little verse that
takes me back to my days spent in the work-aviary
of the Accounts Department:

INVOICES
(as viewed from Bought Ledger)

In continual mass migration
from the Channel Islands, Continental Europe,
and other more far-flung feeding grounds,
they land on our desks and speak
of resources spent on ensuring the Company's survival.

Some proudly display pretty markings;
others seem concerned solely with rapid settlement,
while the inevitable casualties arrive
in need of careful, correcting treatment.

In a work-insecure world
they are always a welcome sight;
each a mercenary Mercury proclaiming:
'Mission accomplished'; collectively harbingers of, we hope,
better things to come ...

Keith Good

[keithgood838]

Here are some images of what our rain-sodden July
should be like, courtesy of a favourite poet of mine:

JULY

Naught moves but clouds, and in the glassy lake
Their doubles and the shadow of my boat.
The boat itself stirs only when I break
This drowse of heat and solitude afloat
To prove if what I see be bird or mote,
Or learn if yet the shore woods be awake.

Long hours since dawn, - spread, - and passed on high
And deep below, - I have watched the cool reeds hung
Over images more cool in imaged sky:
Nothing there was worth thinking of so long;
All that the ring-doves say, far leaves among,
brims my mind with content thus still to lie.

Edward Thomas (1878-1917)

The thought occurs that if he were living today
in certain parts of England, the great poet would
need his boat to go about his daily business.

[Eman]

Nice on Keith!! Rain in July huh? Here it's overcast and foggy in the morning and burns off by mid-day. Though the sun comes out, I believe the first thing you see sets the tone of the day. I hope it burns off soon and that the rain stops for you all. Gee this is supposed to be summer but some days it doesn't feel like it!! Hope to see a original poem soon!!

[keithgood838]

Thanks Eman, here's a somewhat 'downcast' one:

SAD SUMMER

First April, May and June, and now July;
the regular rain continues to pour;
the skies cry and make us all want to cry -
heartless Jet Stream has much to answer for ...

Keith Good

[Eman]

Keith, nice one and I totally agree.

[keithgood838]

Hi Eman, I am presently writing a poem
about walking our next door neighbour's dog.
I hope to post it soon. In the meantime, especially
for the rain-soaked sufferers in this part of the world,
a reminder of what summer is really like, courtesy
of great nature poet John Clare whose birthday
is tomorrow, 13 July:

SUMMER

Come we to summer, to the summer we come,
For the woods are full of bluebells and the hedges full of bloom,
And the crow is on the oak a-building of her nest,
And love is burning diamonds in my true lover's breast;
She sits beneath the whitethorn a-plaiting her hair,
And I will to my true lover with a fond request repair;
I will look upon her face, I will in her beauty rest,
And lay my aching weariness upon her lovely breast.

The clock-a-clay is creeping on the open bloom of May,
The merry bee is trampling the pinky threads all day,
And the chaffinch it is brooding on its grey mossy nest
In the whitethorn bush where I will lean upon my lover's breast;
I'll lean upon her breast and I'll whisper in her ear
That I cannot get a wink o'sleep for thinking of my dear;
I hunger at my meat and I daily fade away
Like the hedge rose that is broken in the heat of the day.

John Clare (1793-1864)

[keithgood838]

I offered to take our neighbours' dog for a weekly
walk/run, partly to enhance my fitness but also to afford
them some respite from the daily early morning run.
It has turned out to be a remarkably rewarding experience:

DOG-WALKING DUTY

Coco is my chocolate-curly pal;
my walking-out once a week dating gal;
curls on the curl of that aneroid tail -
we strive to perambulate without fail.

It ignites when I step inside the door
of thirty-six; we're blest at thirty-four.
I'm welcomed by the overjoyed presence
of hurtling-round-the-room exuberance.

With carefree tread we climb King George's Fields,
which views of new Olympic structures yields;
her cocker-spaniel genes make her explore;
poodle ones make her easy to adore.

Down Hadley Green Road history-steeped grand
where Livingstone's and Trollope's houses stand;
we speed through Monken's graveyard her to please -
I fellow-feel Coco's sixth sense unease.

On the lush Common chase-the-ball we play
while I gaze wistfully down Camlet Way,
(after Coco has wolfed down tasty feed,
which coincides with coming off the lead).

We enter atmospheric Hadley Wood,
long-canopied with myriad supports;
I note the soul-nourishing solitude -
she runs through her repertoire of field sports.

We emerge near Pymmes Brook's welcoming gate
unlike the golf course awaiting to its fate,
then feel far from the madding crowd again
as the Trail resembles a country lane.

Contrasting with the walk's escapist cool,
we mix with kids out of Livingstone School,
then skirt the expanse of Victoria Park,
and win the race home well before the dark.

Keith Good


Notes for guidance: Camlet Way is the Millionaires' Row
of Barnet; no house there is valued at less than several million
pounds. Pymmes Brook Trail is a lovely long woodland walk
that ends in Cockfosters.