POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek

[keithgood838]

PENITENCE

So August is productive after all;
he gave us Karl quick-passing moons ago.
I should not the month into question call
for he also gave great laughs here on show.

[karl]

[Eman]

Nicely done Keith!!

[Marian]

Hi Keith, hope you'll forgive me having a try at an August one.

CURIOSITY
In August,
A month of Olympic hopes and dreams,
A Nasa rover landed on a planet of rocks and dusty places.
The same red planet
Where the curiosity some decades earlier had awakened
Boys and girls with shining Sunday faces.
Their hero Dan Dare had landed then
On the self same planet of rocks and dusty places.
How strange if evidence reveals
Their ficticious images of comic book world,
Would open some decades later
More unsolved cases,
And will prove that life did in fact exist on Mars mysterious surfaces.
Curioser and curioser....

[keithgood838]

Nice effort Marian. Love the correlation between
fiction and possible fact. Old August is determined
to show us his poetic nature:

TURTLE TURNING

Strange if a children's comic should presage
space exploration of a later age;
turning on its head the proposition
that fact must be more prescient than fiction.

[Marian]

Thank you Keith.

[Eman]

Marian - Awesome poem

Keith - as always, you always amaze me with your writing.

[Gray]

Lovely writing, Marian.
I enjoyed reading your verse.

[Marian]

Thank you Keith, Eman and Gray. You're very kind.

[keithgood838]

Marian, I think you have a predisposition for verse writing;
ie recording, and thereby sharing, an emotion in memorable
form. As Wordsworth put it: 'Emotion recalled in tranquillity.'
When I find my verse on the subject I'll post it.
In the meantime here's a bit of advice: next time you write
a birthday message present it by adapting the recipient's interest
or hobby as your analogy. You'll be surprised at how easy it is.
Here is a masterpiece by a great American poet whose inclusion
our Matt would strongly approve of:

THE SINGERS

God sent his singers upon Earth
With songs of sadness and of mirth,
That they might touch the hearts of men,
And bring them back to heaven again.

The first, a youth, with soul of fire,
Held in his hand a golden lyre;
Through groves he wandered, and by streams,
Playing the music of our dreams.

The second, with a bearded face,
Stood singing in the market-place,
And stirred with accents deep and loud
The hearts of all the listening crowd.

A gray old man, the third and last,
Sang in cathedrals dim and vast,
While the majestic organ rolled
Contrition from its mouths of gold.

And those who heard the singers three
Disputed which the best might be;
For still their music seemed to start
Discordant echoes in each heart.

But the great Master said: 'I see
No best in kind, but in degree;
I gave a various gift to each,
To charm, to strengthen, and to teach.

These are the three great chords of might,
And he whose ear is tuned aright
Will hear no discord in the three,
But the most perfect harmony.'

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(1807-1882)

[Eman]

Ketih, Longfellow, nice. I loved reading him in college!!

[keithgood838]

Eman, I had you in mind when I posted it.
Snowflakes, an alien concept to you Californians,
is another favourite Longfellow poem of mine.
Marian, the following is the advisory piece I
mentioned; by the way rhyme is not a prequisite
of poetry:

POEM

To me the word has always meant
emotional reaction;
soul-deep sense is aroused,
then one launches into the liberating air
of literary action,
and afterwards wallows in the womb-warm glow
of satisfaction.

Keith Good

[keithgood838]

Following his success (by a stunning eight shots)
in the USPGA yesterday, Rory McIlroy is the youngest
golfer to win two major tournaments since Seve Ballesteros.

TWO OF A KIND
(le Roi est mort, vive le Roi!)

By earnest cognoscenti we are told
that when the divine designer created Seve
He discarded the mould.
I remain unconvinced.
With due deference to the maestro,
I maintain that a strong case
for a striking pretender to his podium place
can clearly be evinced:
the copious youth-coiffeured hair;
the same eyes-reaching smile,
by temperament cavalier;
deft yet swashbuckling style.
A God-fearing, own-grounded boy -
our Rory McIlroy.

Keith Good

[Rob H]

A published poem by my daughter in a book titled ' Playground Poets' Young Writers 2005 Poetry Competition. Expressions from Scotland Vol 11

MY SPECIAL PLACE

I have a secret place,
It's not that noisy,
Just think,
Your hear the great outside,
And there's nothing but
Little sounds of birds
Nesting in my pear tree,
And there are a few creaks of the wooden floors,
It's secret to me,
It's cosy, it's warm
And there's not great harm,
A dash of sunlight through the window,
It's the perfect place to be,
I feel happy and
It's my secret
Wendy house
To me.

NIAMH HUMPHRIES (10)

[ROBERT M.]