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Category Archives: More poetry Thomas Sims

St George and Smokey Joe

St George he had a dragon

 

He called him Smoky Joe

 

He used to cough and splutter

 

And blows smoke wherever he would go.

 

One day he drank some water

 

And steam came out his ears

 

This made old Smoky wither

 

And brought poor George to tears ,

 

But George still pretended he had slain all the dragon’s

 

But did he slay them all ?

 

They say there are some in England,

 

With lot’s of spiky scales

 

But the myth is that they live somewhere

 

But maybe somewhere in South Wales.

 

By Thomas Sims


HIDE AND SEEK

The grand – children have arrived

For their chocolate surprise

Easter eggs lined up

For everyone

Around the house

Play hide and seek

Grandad hide’s and children seek

Then they’re given their Easter treat

By Thomas Sims

Mummies poem


PHOTO

BY KIND PERMISSION FROM

Abbe Cutforth

2012

Gigi gaga goo goo

This poem I write for you,

I love you mummy I really really do

I am only a little baby,

So gigi gaga goo goo

This poem mummy is just for you,

You feed me in the morning

And burp me like you do,

You change my dirty nappy

So gigi gaga goo goo,

I cry, you make me smile

And put me to bed at night,

So all I have to say to you

Is gigi gaga goo goo,

Roughly translated;

Mummy I really do love you.

 

By  Thomas Sims

 

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY

Dinasaur dave

HOME ALONE

I sit at home

So lonely,

No-one there but me,

The house is dark I’m frightened

There is no electricity.

Mum has not paid the bill

I wish my mum was here

I can’t stop these rolling tears,

All I can see is an empty bottle

On the table in front of me.

The clock strikes twelve

She must have lost track,

Because mum is not back.

Once again

Mum’s hitting the Gin.

It’s not fair life like this

Because I’m only six.

My father left some time ago

Because he didn’t wont to know,

I can’t really blame him

He tried but couldn’t stop mum from drinking,

So I’m home alone once again

Living the pain and loneliness.

Thomas Sims

Battle of britain by Thomas Sims

This little old house by Thomas Sims

We can turn your poetry into a video

Just send them to poetreecreations@yahoo.com

Make a video

A man with no name

Clint had a glint in is eye

Eastwood my name

With stubble on his chin

Black Stetson and poncho

And a colt 45 strapped to is side,

Fast on the draw

He wasn’t good, bad, or even ugly

With a fistful of dollars

The man with no name,

He would blow cigar smoke

Right into your face

He would play cards

And pull out an ace

Or you can try a magnum for size,

He is a high plains drifter

A man with no name

Who knows,

Dirty Harry, Josey Wales,

And an orang-utan Called Clyde

Play misty for me Clint

And make my day,

He sits at the bar in ‘Hogs breaths inn’

Look here comes the honky-tonk man

Have you seen the film’s,

City heat or Firefox

So what’s your name?

Rowdy Yate’s, Dirty Harry, Josey Wales

Or are you the man with no name?

No it’s Clint Eastwood

The mayor of Carmel

In the U.S.A.

Thomas Sims

Dead Mans Hand By Thomas Sims

The last Gunfighter

A strange old man stood at the bar

He wore an old black frock coat

And a black Stetson to match

A  rusty gun was strapped to his hip,

He turned and looked straight at me

With a smile and a wink,

He said “buy me a drink.”

He had a scar from ear to ear

That looked like he had a permanent grin,

”So  buy me drink” he said

With a cheeky wink,

He’s the local drunk

Who lives in the past of the old Wild West,

He says he’s a gunfighter the last of his breed,

So buy him a drink and lend him an ear

And he will tell you a tale about is past

When he rode with the best

Jesse James and Billy the kid,

Across the wild west

He’s says he’s a gunfighter the last of his breed

Then he walked to the door and into the street

He looked side to side

As  he goes for his gun

He’s caught by the sun,

Now he lays dead on the ground

A gunfighter the last of his breed

And  a  ghost from the past

Thomas Sims

Tribute to the late Johnny Cash

(February 26, 1932 – September 12, 2003)

 

GOOSE FAIR BY MALCOLM BRADSHAW AND THOMAS SIMS

Windmill

BROKEN BROLLIES

 

Where are all the broken brollies?

They have all been left in the streets

In Nottingham, all bent and broken

After all the snow,rain and wind has gone

I saw a Council man with a trolley

Picking up all of those broken brollies,

So now I know where they have all gone

The Council man picked up every one

They say in London

The streets are paved with gold,

In Nottingham the streets are filled

With broken brollies

The shops are empty

The brollies have all been sold

Now what will shelter us

From the rain and the cold?

Abbe, Tom, and Gillian

BANK HOLIDAY

Bank holiday has come

We’re off to seaside

To have some fun,

 Let’s get sand in our shoes

Bucket and spades

Pick up the lemonade

 Sand castles are made,

The seafront is paved with

Fish and chips and candy floss,

Let’s spend our money

 in the penny slots,

Paddling pools and donkey rides

Bank holiday has come

 We had some holiday fun,

So on the bus and homeward bound

How many seashells have we found?

By Thomas Sims

Soldier boy By Thomas Sims

titanic

Our dog Pringle

Just a dream

fire-ballfire-ball

I am an infantry man

I do the best I can,

With my musket cap and ball

I stand proud and tall,

I keep my powder dry

I’m so frightened I will die,

With musket balls flying by

Just like rain drops in the sky,

And I see solders not intact

So I must get ready for another attack

There’s smoke and bodies all around,

Lot’s of friends I have lost and found

Whilst the enemy stands there waiting

He’s anticipating,

It’s just like a game of chess

He’s putting me to the test,

He’s waiting for my move

Who will win or lose?

There are muskets and cannons firing

This battle is so tiring,

I feel my head hit the ground

There’s just this deafening sound

Then I realise it was all a dream

Replaying the life I have seen.

 

Thomas Sims

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