Poetry

A message to Ray...re- pEotry

 Keyboards are frequently anti-social... though I have to admit the slip of the fingers had gone unnoticed.

 Harry

Hi Karen,

Thank you for your kind words. I hope you enjoyed the story.

Regards, Ray 

Memories

Summer
Of summer on the farm in England
Of sitting high on Clydesdale’s back
Of playing cricket on the green
Of picnics under oaken trees
Of catching fish in secret creeks
Of swimming in the river’s pool
Of eating home-made bread and jams
Of Mother’s culinary delights
Of walking happily to school
Of all the things we did when small

Autumn

Of autumn leaves and changing colours
Of evening walks through golden woods
Of the days becoming shorter
Of cooler days and longer nights
Of chestnuts cooked on dying embers
Of Aurora Borealis
Of Father pruning roses
Of small birds migrating south
Of beating friends at playing conkers
Of putting away the summer clothes

Winter

Of the smell of fresh sawn timber
Of the warmth of winter fires
Of the aroma of stews and roasts
Of icy winds and cold of snow
Of the wearing of warmer clothes
Of reading books and playing records
Of Jack Frost upon the window
Of the drawing of heavy drapes
Of skating on frozen ponds
Of sinking deep in woollen blankets

Spring

Of the return of warmer days
Of the call of spring’s first cuckoo
Of bluebells, crocuses and snowdrops
Of Easter eggs in silver wrappers
Of hard boiled eggs with painted faces
Of the return of swifts and swallows
Of catching tadpoles in glass jars
Of the ladybird’s arrival
Of all those things, as I grow older
Of life in all those wonderful days gone by

And, as they say, now for a change of pace...

                   A Day and Night in the Life of Children  - A Sestina

                    Little twins play in spring shower
                    Splashing puddles at one another
                    Mother watches from a window
                    As they frolic in the shallow pools
                    Oilskin coats of buttercup yellow
                   And rubber boots of glistening red

                    As one cloud passes, then another
                    Comes the sun, now golden yellow
                    Final raindrops run down the window
                    Reflecting the children’s cheeks, cherry red
                    Their sparkling eyes are as little pools
                    Of water formed from the recent shower

                    Mother calls her children from an open window
                   For their evening meal of eggs white and yellow;
                   Followed by hot chocolate, forming swirling pools
                    In china drinking mugs of blue and red
                    Warming tummies after spring shower
                    Happy to be with one another

                    Mother stands beside the window;
                    Children's bedtime, but first must shower
                    Steaming water, skins scrubbed red
                    Wrapped in fluffy towels of yellow.
                    On the bathroom floor are little pools
                    One wet footprint followed by another

                    Now beneath bed covers of shades of red
                    They shine little torches - flashing pools
                    Of light upon the darkened window
                    Mother confiscates one, and then another
                    Moonlight shafts as of a shower
                    Like butter, soft and creamy yellow

                    Beyond the drape covered window
                    Where distant Mars revolves, silent, red
                    And stars fall to Earth – a silver shower
                    Of light in the darkened pools
                   The new-days sun awaits – a hue of yellow
                    Day following day, and yet another

                    But now, as the yellow moon sends down its lightened pools

                    And another comet shoots sparks of red

                    A shower of insects  taps gently on the children’s window
                   

For the uninformed, a Sestina is a difficult but challenging style of poetry.

Six chosen words used in six verses, each word is then place in a different order - this, six times, followed by three lines each with two of the chosen words.

I'd be interested to see others renditions

A Fly to the Spider



Spider, spider, on the wall
Who’s the ugliest of them all
Eyes of evil, legs of hair
Why do you watch me, sitting there
Are you waiting for me to move?
To frighten me, just to prove
That you’re a hungry, vicious beast
And it’s my body on which you’ll feast
I’m not usually arachnophobic,
I’ll fly away in just a tick -
And don’t think to you’re web I’ll stick
My legs are strong and very thick
If you think I’m dinner you are wrong
To your pantry, I don’t belong
I also have ingenious ways
Of avoiding man-made insect sprays
I take off backwards for a start
Then through the window, I depart
So what makes you think that I am yours?
There are no insect laws
That say that you can tie me up
So that later you can sup
To bind me with you’re silken thread -
(The very thought fills me with dread)
I’d rather suffer an untimely fate
To die with dignity would be great
Being swatted, would at least be quick
But dying your way would make me sick

A sequel...

The Spider’s Prediction
Aha! Fly, I see you weren’t swatted
The poised, rolled up paper you spotted
You think that you are really smart
Because you made a rapid start
To avoid the lady of the dwelling
She still thinks that you're repelling
But because she didn’t squash you
Don’t think you’re one of the chosen few
For you, there is no future existence
You’ll get your dues for your persistence
Very soon you’ll be dead
And I’ll be eating you instead
You may live yet another day
But now, I think that you should pray
I have an enormous appetite
And your body looks just right
Your end will come, I’ll make you proud
You’ll look enticing in a shroud
One quick lunge and you are mine
I’m sure your legs will taste just fine
You’re fate you won't appreciate
When you end up on my dinner plate
But for the next few days I shall fast
To prepare me for my next repast
No more will you enjoy the mood
When trampling all over human’s food
Or making them extremely dizzy
At a time when they are busy
I’m a spider – I’m their friend
I bring pests like you to a sudden end
Musca domestica Linnaeus
No longer will you annoy us

Thanks for the poetry Harry. I have just switched on and haven't read them yet.

Hi andy. Just returned from bike ride to Sywell. RISK was flying today.

Ray. 

Sywell, eh? Ray...I am Moderator of  a Mariestuart discussion Group (internet).  A`recent question was asked by one of our members --"Did`Marie`Stuart at any time stay at Sywell Hall?"  The question remains unanswered...Any knowledge of this??

 Regards,

Harry