yeah, n1 Sammy...hope ya kicked that opium habit..say hi to Willy

Inbread........(nothing to do with The Mighty Hovis)

Many many years ago,
when i was twenty three.
i got married to a widow,
who was pretty as could be.

this widow had a grown-up daughter,
who had hair of red.
my father fell in love with her,
and soon the two were wed.

this made my dad my son-in-law,
and changed my very life.
my daughter was my mother,
for she was my fathers wife.

to complicate the matters worse,
although it brought me joy.
i soon became the father,
of a bouncing baby boy.

my little baby then became,
a brother-in-law to dad.
and soon became my uncle,
though it made me very sad.

for if he was my uncle,
then that also made him brother.
to the widows grown up daughter,
who, of course, was my step mother.

father's wife then had a son,
who kept them on the run.
and he became my grandson,
for he was my daughter's son.

my wife is now my mother's mother,
and it makes me very blue.
because, although she is my wife,
she is my grandma too.

if my wife is my grandmother,
than i am her grandchild.
and every time i think of it,
it simply drives me wild.

for now i have become,
the strangest case you ever saw.
as the husband of my grandmother,
i am my own grandpa.




not mine but i thought i would share it ... it's mental

My Uncle used to love me but she died ...
a chicken aint chicken till its licking good fried ...
keep on a sunny side ...
my uncle used to love me but she died ...

This makes me think of my now dear departed dad. Still brings a lump this ovoid's throat:
Dylan Thomas - Do not go gentle into that good night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PyWiE1vNSxU

This is beautiful please read


A drunk man in an Oldsmobile

They said had run the light

That caused the six-car pileup

On 109 that night.


When broken bodies lay about

And blood was everywhere,

The sirens screamed out eulogies,

For death was in the air.


A mother, trapped inside her car,

Was heard above the noise;

Her plaintive plea near split the air:

Oh, God, please spare my boys!


She fought to loose her pinned hands;

She struggled to get free,

But mangled metal held her fast

In grim captivity.

Her frightened eyes then focused

On where the back seat once had been,

But all she saw was broken glass and

Two children's seats crushed in.

Her twins were nowhere to be seen;

She did not hear them cry,

And then she prayed they'd been thrown free,

Oh, God, don't let them die!


Then firemen came and cut her loose,

But when they searched the back,

They found therein no little boys,

But the seat belts were intact.


They thought the woman had gone mad

And was traveling alone,

But when they turned to question her,

They discovered she was gone.

Policemen saw her running wild

And screaming above the noise

In beseeching supplication,

Please help me find my boys!

They're four years old and wear blue shirts;

Their jeans are blue to match.

One cop spoke up, They're in my car,

And they don't have a scratch.

They said their daddy put them there

And gave them each a cone,

Then told them both to wait for Mom

To come and take them home.

I've searched the area high and low,

But I can't find their dad.

He must have fled the scene,

I guess, and that is very bad.


The mother hugged the twins and said,

While wiping at a tear,

He could not flee the scene, you see,

For he's been dead a year.



The cop just looked confused and asked,

Now, how can that be true?

The boys said, Mommy, Daddy came

And left a kiss for you.

He told us not to worry

And that you would be all right,

And then he put us in this car with

The pretty, flashing light.

We wanted him to stay with us,

Because we miss him so,

But Mommy, he just hugged us tight

And said he had to go.

He said someday we'd understand

And told us not to fuss,

And he said to tell you, Mommy,

He's watching over us.



The mother knew without a doubt

That what they spoke was true,

For she recalled their dad's last words,

I will watch over you.



The firemen's notes could not explain

The twisted, mangled car,

And how the three of them escaped

Without a single scar....

But on the cop's report was scribed,

In print so very fine,

An angel walked the beat tonight on Highway 109.

He who has a thousand friends has not a friend to spare.

This morning when the Lord opened a window to Heaven,

He saw me, and he asked: 'My child, what is your greatest wish for today?'


I responded: 'Lord please, take care of the person who is reading this

message, their family and their special friends.

They deserve it and I love them very much. '


This message works on the day you receive it.



Let us see if it is true20ANGELS EXIST

but some times, since they don't all have wings, we call them FRIENDS.


Pass this on to your true friends.

Something good will happen to you at 11:11 in the evening; something

that you have been waiting to hear.

Hovis - this is the complete version. I'll record it and post link when done.

Here in the graveyard
Evryone's gone to sleep but me
Noone put pennies on my eyes
Nobody loves you when you die.
I was a good boy
never a murmur, ate all my greens
Didn't have TV on too loud
Didn't do things I wasn't allowed.

CH
I feel pretty cramped in this suitcase
The flowers above tickle my nose.
It's not true that I was a fruitcake
I was just friendly, everyone knows.


Mum didn't love me
Right from the first she wanted a girl
Someone to dress up put plaits in their hair
Someone to wash up when mum wasn't there.
I was a good boy, Didn't have fights like regular guys
Didn't take girls down to the wood
Tried hard at school though I was a dud.

CH
I feel pretty cramped in this suitcase
The flowers above tickle my nose.
It's not true that I was a fruitcake
I was just friendly, everyone knows.


I shove up my hand through the clay in the dark
Grab someone's coat as they walk in the park
Hardly a struggle Barely a mess,
Down here below they lay with the rest.
Here in my suitcase I play with my friends
It's not true when they say I'm round the bend
All of my playmates are here fast asleep
I'm waiting to see if just one of them peeps

CH
I feel pretty cramped in this suitcase
The flowers above tickle my nose.
It's not true that I was a fruitcake
I was just friendly, everyone knows.

So that's it in it's entirety. make of it what you will.

Of course if you think that's weird. What about another one I wrote entitled you shouldn't play with matches. It was a long, long time ago so not sure if I can remember it but it goes something like this:

Oh it's cool down here in the basement
Now that everybody's gone home.
Noone there to admonish or abolish,
Ask me just what's going on.
I turn out the light, stare into the candle
There's something happening to my eyes.
As the kerosene was lapping round my ankles
I never even realised that

You shouldn't play with matches in the house
When there's noone there to hear you shout
As the flames reflecting in the windows
Are stopping me from getting out


Got a bit of a block now perhaps as well, eh?

Poetry has many reflections, i can almost imagine studying a poem like the ones you've written egg in GCSE english (GCE's to you older generation.)

Not sure how to take that one Joey but thanks.............I think

Here's another excerpt from my writings. prose this time..

"I'll take that as rejection then," Egg thinks to himself, feeling his heart plummet as the love of his life so carelessly plunges him into despair. With tear-filled eyes, he approaches and unlocks the gun cupboard, carefully selects a 12 bore over under and inserts two cartridges into his left jacket pocket. The gun is slipped over his shoulder and Egg walks, head bowed, out of the front door, which he leaves open and strides purposefully into the woods.
He is seemingly unaware of the thorns and brambles shredding his trousers, unconcerned by the deep lacerations on his calves and thighs. Purposefully he forages deeper and deeper into the undergrowth, humming a melancholy tune to himself yet mouthing strangely inappropriate words, "Oh I'm H.A.P.P.Y., Oh I'm H.A.P.P.Y. I know I am, I'm sure I am, I'm H.A.P.P.Y.......
He is gone for a full 20 minutes before the muffled sound of the shotgun is heard in the distance. Birds are sent reeling high into the sky and the rooks and crows caw raucously as if traumatised by the scene of carnage below.
Then all is still as the sky darkens. The blackbird is the first to sing before a whole chorus of songbirds resume their bright evensong calling.
Time passes slowly before a rustle is heard in the bushes. Is it a fox or badger? No; too big, too noisy, cumbersome almost.
Into the clearing Egg emerges, gun broken across his right arm, whilst from his left hand hangs the corpse of a rabbit, eyes bulging, it's fur showing spots of blood where the pellets had entered and crimson droplets ooze from it's mouth to stain the grass underfoot.
'Rabbit for tea!' he calls to Mrs. Egg in the kitchen. He cleans and puts away the gun, takes a single cartridge from his left jacket pocket and places it in the cabinet drawer. "That's for another time," he says, a quiet menace in his voice and a knowing smile playing on his cracked lips.


I think therapy may be the order of the day.

Lol I meant it only as a compliment. I was tryin to explain when I was at school and when I read those poems in GCSE english in complete awe in amazement how words could be put in such a way to get such imagination buzzing around your head.

joey - you're a star. starting a thread, which is all-inclusive as it can be contributed to or taken from, hopefully leaving all who visit feeling enriched

thanks

I feel a bit out of my depth now, got plenty more but not sure if i can compete with some of the stuff on here, infact im sure of it! Kinda feel like a plant amongst trees :S No worries Egg mate.

whats realy long......?
...takes too much effort ...?
and most people cant be bothered with?

yer posts !

:P

a riddle shark???

oh lol i thought this topic said riddles
my bad

i feel so gay reading all this !!

oh what i'd do if i could if were so silly
is pull my foreskin over hy head
and dissapear
into my willy!
Sorry thought it was gattin a bit heavy!

Many years ago, while reading a literary review magazine, I came across a sponsored contest for up and coming poets. The rules were quite simple: the poem had to have a rhyming scheme, it had to be more than one line, and it had to appeal to the most people possible.

Here is the winner (I wish I had written it).

Pay
Day