Coventry Poetry

That's REAL poetry!

That's a KHVIII education late 50s/early 60s for you

Lovely poetry. It never ceases to amaze me to see more prose about winter than the summer months. Perhaps winter has more going for it with it's beautiful changing scenery. Thanks Morgana. (Soon be Chrissy) !

I love these informative poems, well done.

I'd missed this one Johnnie Walker... loved it.

Thanks JB and Tricia! I enjoy writing these ditties, and I never dreamed that I would ever publish anything, but it's likely to happen in November - just a few weeks to go. I will be one of only three "poets" (actually, I should only refer to myself as a "poet" with inverted commas, the other two are REAL poets!) to perform at the Major's Creek Music and Poetry Festival, and my first book - "The Loaded Doggerel" is to be launched - if we can get it from the printers in time! Here's another one............... I Only Needed Milk! The missis took a break last week, and left me on my own. She left the pantry well stocked up, so I had no cause to moan. The fridge was full of beers, and she had ironed all my shirts, So things went well for several days, but then turned for the worst. It seemed like such a simple thing, at least it did to me, To put a bit of milk into my breakfast cup of tea! But I must have left the milk jug out, 'cause next day, just my luck! I poured the milk into the cup, and out came lumps of yuck! It really didn't taste too good. But how hard can it be To venture down the shops and get some milk for morning tea? I never do much shopping, 'cause the wife sees to all that, But still, I thought, I'd just pop down - be back in minutes flat! It wasn't quite as quick as that. As I said just now to you, The wife does all the shopping, and I hadn't got a clue! I tried the haberdashery, and they were quite polite. And showed me to the big shop, round the corner to the right. I found the dairy shelves, no sweat, but then I got a scare, With forty different brands of milk up on the shelving there. There was skimmed, organic, lactose free, low fat and high omega. There was some from Gippsland, some from Dubbo, and lots of it from Bega. I asked the staff - "I just want milk!". They laughed and left me to it. So I looked in vain for something that would help me puzzle through it! Is soymilk what the missis buys, or milk that's been condensed? Homogenised or pasteurized? It didn't make no sense! I just gave up - it seemed too hard - and found a little place With breakfast on the menu and at last a smiling face! A crispy bit of bacon and an egg or two would be A perfect way to rescue me from this catastrophe! She said she'd be delighted to, she was such a charming lass! How do you like your eggs today, she very sweetly asked, Over easy, sunny side up, soft boiled, poached or hard? And cooked in butter, margarine, or olive oil or lard? An omelette, or frittata? Fried or scrambled, hens or goose? At this point, quite confused, I made some meaningless excuse. Oh, sorry, love, I've changed my mind. I'll have some tea instead. I thought that there could be no risk, but this is what she said: "Green tea, black tea, herbal tea, oolong or rooibos?" At this point I was speechless, and was really getting cross! What happened to the good old days when eggs and milk and tea Were simple foods we knew and loved, like they're supposed to be! I just cracked up, I went berserk. Went screaming through the Mall! I must have been quite scary, as they gave the cops a call. The missis bailed me out, but now there's one thing we agree. It's she that does the shopping when we need milk for our tea.

Some poem. some wife.

A poem worth reading for the 11TH He was getting old and paunchy And his hair was falling fast, And he sat around the Legion, Telling stories of the past. Of a war that he once fought in And the deeds that he had done, In his exploits with his buddies; They were heroes, every one. And 'tho sometimes to his neighbours His tales became a joke, All his buddies listened quietly For they knew where of he spoke. But we'll hear his tales no longer, For ol' Joe has passed away, And the world's a little poorer For a Soldier died today. He won't be mourned by many, Just his children and his wife. For he lived an ordinary, Very quiet sort of life. He held a job and raised a family, Going quietly on his way; And the world won't note his passing, 'Tho a Soldier died today. When politicians leave this earth, Their bodies lie in state, While thousands note their passing, And proclaim that they were great. Papers tell of their life stories From the time that they were young But the passing of a Soldier Goes unnoticed, and unsung. Is the greatest contribution To the welfare of our land, Some jerk who breaks his promise And cons his fellow man? Or the ordinary fellow Who in times of war and strife, Goes off to serve his country And offers up his life? The politician's stipend And the style in which he lives, Are often disproportionate, To the service that he gives. While the ordinary Soldier, Who offered up his all, Is paid off with a medal And perhaps a pension, small. It is not the politicians With their compromise and ploys, Who won for us the freedom That our country now enjoys. Should you find yourself in danger, With your enemies at hand, Would you really want some cop-out, With his ever waffling stand? Or would you want a Soldier His home, his country, his kin, Just a common Soldier, Who would fight until the end. He was just a common Soldier, And his ranks are growing thin, But his presence should remind us We may need his likes again. For when countries are in conflict, We find the Soldier's part Is to clean up all the troubles That the politicians start. If we cannot do him honour While he's here to hear the praise, Then at least let's give him homage At the ending of his days. Perhaps just a simple headline In the paper that might say: "OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING, A SOLDIER DIED TODAY."

Food for thought, its politicians that cause wars.

Thank you for the poem Wearethemods, it sent shivers down my spine. We should never forget our soldiers.

If anyone's REALLY desperate for a Christmas present this year, I will have books and CDs available after next weekend. I'm launching the book - The Loaded Doggerel - at the Majors Creek Music and Poetry Festival (http://majorscreekfestival.org/performers/). You might have read some of the poems in this website - the full list is 1. Introduction 2. The Orange 3. The L-Plated Poet 4. The Scents of the Bush 5. I Watched the Moon Turn Rusty Brown 6. Did You Learn to Read Music? 7. Great Grandad's Feat 8. A Piece of Canvas and a Little Bunch of Keys 9. The Grand Final 10. We Bought Ourselves a Bush Block 11. The Night at the Motel 12. Demons 13. Late Onset Clarinet 14. What Does a Poet do in his Spare Time? 15. The Pope Goes to the Dance 16. Take Me to Your Leader 17. In the Beginning... . 18. On Being the First Living Creature 19. Why do We Have Kneecaps? 20. The End . I haven't even worked out a price yet, but I'll have a good idea when I get the bill from the printers next week.

It seems such a shame,yet who was to blame. This day they were fated to die. While the song of a bird,on the wing was heard, aloft in the clear blue sky Yes alas it was true, and the sky was blue, and everything looked so bright Like birds of a feather, they huddled together, uplifting their faces so white. Then they nodded farewell as bravely they fell, and sweet was that summers morn Off came each head,the daises were dead As the mower passed over the lawn.

While wandering where the water flows, towards the Bell Green ridge I came upon a restful spot, a little rustic bridge No engineering wonder this, with panoramic views of now, But just a shaky wooden bridge, that spanned the Wyken slough I thought how many men would live, and die, and fail to find That little bridge across the slough, and perfect peace of mind