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LEST WE FORGET

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Lest We ForgetHave we forgotten their ultimate  sacrifice?Of these men and women who died in their  millions?Brave and true, without question,proud to be British,  not ashamed to be Christian.So many years have past,it  seems our memory doesn’t last.Forgetting these courageous people to our  shame.

Why can’t we remember their names?

How short is our  memory?

That we have forgotten them already.

Died in their  millions fighting for our freedom,

believing in our free democratic  ideology.

What does it take to wake up this country,

to  rise once again from its complacency?

How much more do we take, before we  decide to fight,

for our beliefs, our traditions and our  liberty?

by Simon Icke, Buckinghamshire.  UK.

Lest we forget


Have we forgotten their ultimate sacrifice?
Of these men and women who died in their millions?
Brave and true, without question,
proud to be British, not ashamed to be Christian.

So many years have passed,
it seems our memory doesn’t last.
Forgetting these courageous people, to our shame.
Why can’t we remember their names?

How short is our memory?
That we have forgotten them already?
Died in their millions fighting for our freedom,
believing in our free democratic ideology.

What does it take to wake up this country,
to rise once again from its complacency?
How much more do we take, before we decide to fight,
for our beliefs, our traditions and our liberty?

by Simon Icke UK

 

Bonfire night memories

It’s bonfire night and  the sky
is full of crackles and bangs,
brightly coloured lights.
The  damp November air;
full of gunpowder and
the smell of fires
and  smoke
everywhere!
.
Oh how I love this atmosphere.
If only I had  someone to tell about
‘our penny for the guy’
or the terrific bonfires  we built.

I have the honour of lighting it,
with lighted match,  hands shaking,
searching for dry paper.
Then little fires start to build  inside;
the first smell of smoke
as wood starts to light,
this is  just the beginning alright.
‘It’s lit! it’s lit!’ everyone shouts.

I  remember the flames,
that licked the sleepers dry,
swirling bright  yellow flames,
leaping higher and higher,
‘can’t you just feel that  fire!’
The heat on my face,
‘ look my coat is steaming!’

Excited  faces all around,
Dad saying ‘be careful son.
‘Don’t get too near that  fire
or that air bomb that didn’t go off,
it could explode at any  second!’
Don’t worry Dad, I’m alright.
(never felt better in fact)
This is definitely the best night,
It is just so brilliant it is.

Oh if only I was still a kid,
I’d be outside right now with my friends,
eyes wide open trying to take it all in,
ears primed; ready for  the big bangs,
deciding which firework to light next.
Not sitting here  enjoying my memories
of November the fifth’s gone by—
Just sat at my  computer, writing this.

by  Simon Icke. copyright  2009

more of Simon’s poem can be found on the Tring People website:
http://www.tringpeople.co.uk/Poetry-group-Tring-People/story-12982944-detail/story.html

Urban breakdown

Urban breakdown, society in
turmoil,
we used to live simply, off the working man’s toil.
Communities
stuck together, in good times and bad,
Good family values are what we had.

Then life became too busy, chasing materialistic ideals,
no time
to talk to each other; over family meals.
Greed and selfishness crept in,
and living together was no longer a sin.

Money and false
celebrities became the gods,
and going to church was no longer mod.
People
became indifferent
and good friends distant.

Now we have so many lives
in a muddle,
with so many young mums left to struggle.
What happened to
free love, the 60s dream?
Why did our lives turn out so mean?

How sad
to see so many relationships fail.
No one said the liberal life, would have
such a sting in the tail.
Whether you live in the country the city or town,
we are all paying the price of the urban breakdown.

By Simon Icke

More of my poems can be found on the Tring People websitehttp://www.tringpeople.co.uk/Poetry-group-Tring-People/story-12982944-detail/story.html

‘My upside down inside out girl’

You’re my upside down inside out girl.
Left is right and right is left.
‘It’s toast on cheese and toast on
egg’;
stop it falling with a peg!
It’s inside when you mean outside
and outside when you mean inside.
So you are out when you you’re in
and in when you’re out!
It’s no wonder I start to doubt.
Go down when you mean up
and up when you mean down.
Such information makes me frown;
especially when we arrive in the wrong
town!
‘Is it left or right?’
‘I don’t know!’
Well it makes life interesting,
wondering which way to go.
‘I know being dyslexic
means you can’t be specific
but I think one of these days,
we’ll end up in the Pacific!’
by Simon Icke
More of Simon’s poetry can be found at
:
www.forcespoetry.com
www.footballpoets.org
www.poetreecreations.org

How do you know how it feels to be me?

Press Release
It seems my poem: How do you know how it feels to be me? has
struck a chord with the judges of Poetree  Creations; an up and coming UK poetry
website based in Nottingham England..apparently it has won their 2010 National
Poetry Award..the poem is dedicated to people everywhere who have suffered (on
the ‘inside’), whether it be due to illness; physical/mental or even emotional;
perhaps broken-hearted; hurt by someone they loved
or perhaps something really tragic that has happened in their life. Whatever the
reason this poem was written for them; in the hope that others around them,
especially their friends and family might show a little more love and
understanding.
NOW THE POEM 
How do you know how it feels to be me?There’s a lot more to me
than what you see.Have you felt the same hurts and pain?We’ve
lived different lives,we are not the same.I’m simply trying to rebuild a life worth having; in this hard world.

I’m surviving the trials
of everyday living.

Oh why can you not be more
forgiving?

Your careless hard words, if only you knew,

how
they cut me through and through;

even though I make no judgement on
you.

I wonder if you realise,

just how much you
offend,

with your cruel words; that you sometimes send.

I would
just love to be well, like you my friend;

I really hope that I’m on the
mend.

And that my painful journey is near its end.

by Simon Icke
Aston Clinton Buckinghamsire
UK.

The Thin looking Ghost

123456789One night I met a ghost.

He was looking for a friendly host. 

I said,’ You are looking very thin,

you had better come on in.’ 

‘Would you like a piece of toast?’ 

He replied, ‘I’d rather have a Sunday roast’ 

So there we sat, trying to get him fat, 

a three hundred-year-old ghost called Nat. 

We had a beer and he came over queer, 

and he quickly began to disappear. 

So that was the end of Nat; 

who never did get fat!

 
 
By Simon Icke, 

Footnote: I don’t believe in ghost but my father once said I bet our Simon will never write a poem about ghosts as he doesn’t believe in them. So after he had gone to bed I wrote this amusing little poem just for my dad. It made him smile when he read it. So this is dedicated to his memory: George R. Icke 1914-2000. Who was born in Salford & lived most of his life in Little Hulton, Salford)

 

Depression

robbie

Down, down I feel so low.
Trapped in a tunnel, with nowhere to go.
Cut myself off from all my friends,
I’ll work this out in the end.
Dark, dark that feeling inside,
Nothing looks good; I just want to hide.
There must be some people in whom I can confide,
Understanding friends, who are on my side?
One day at a time is what I hear,
No need to live life full of fear.
Do you really need that anti-depressant pill?
With hindsight every mountain becomes a molehill.
Don’t give in to this dark mood,
Fun and laughter can be your food.
Love yourself and say, ‘I am what I am.’
Ignore this hard world you know you can.
Just take the time to work this out,
To overcome a life full of self doubt.
God loves you, the way you are.
You are unique, you’re a star.

In memory of the Hollywood genius Robin Williams 1951-2014: he made us all laugh so many times yet was often suffering from depression on the inside:
I hope this poem helps more people understand this terrible condition of the human mind:
Depression
by #SimonIckeUK

TEACHINGS

memories
Time will pass People will be born
We will grow old And then we die.
But memories will go on
And we will go on after….
On the long road of life
We meet people.
And they too, will grow old and die.
And the memories will go on.
The footprints we leave behind
The impressions we leave on life
Will help others learn:
Learn to live
Learn to grow
Learn to die.
And that is what we do today
And everyday.
We go through challenges in life;
We may fail,
We may succeed.
Either way we are learning.
And with our knowledge we teach others.
And even though we will die.
Our memories, impressions, and our footprints,
Will help others grow.
Had a bit of clear out today with old papers and came accross this poem  that someone sent me years ago ,
all I know they called themeslves “Megumi”…. its called Teachings… I thought it was worth sharing:
Sent in by Simon Icke

Love One Another

THE BIRTH OF CHRIST XXXXXXXXXXX

Give love and a smile;
It will take you and others that extra mile.
For what you give you will receive,
No better time to give, than Christmas eve.

Imagine what a world it would be,
If I loved you and you loved me.
If we multiplied this love to everyone we know;
It wouldn’t be long before it started to grow.

Jesus came into the world, to show us the way;
To love one another every day.
At Christmas time, we celebrate His birth,
So let’s try and remember why He came to this earth.

by Simon Icke

Lest We Forget – 100Yrs Ago

 100

Have we forgotten their ultimate sacrifice?
Of these men and women who died in their millions?
Brave and true, without question,
proud to be British, not ashamed to be Christian.

So many years have passed,
it seems our memory doesn’t last.
Forgetting these courageous people, to our shame.
Why can’t we remember their names?

How short is our memory?
That we have forgotten them already?
Died in their millions fighting for our freedom,
believing in our free democratic ideology.

What does it take to wake up this country,
to rise once again from its complacency?
How much more do we take, before we decide to fight,
for our beliefs, our traditions and our liberty?

 

By Simon Icke, copyright 2010

What Wonder is this?

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I stand so small in this big wide world.
Looking up to the heavens; stars in vast array.
What wonder is this too much to contemplate?
Does my life matter in this amazing creation?
Where does my destiny lie? Where will it end?
How can my mind take in this infinite wisdom?
To think man in his arrogance can ignore all this.

I stand here in awe of God,
Just a speck of dust in the universe,
Just one person in the sea of humanity,
Yet, what I do and say, does make a difference.
What wonder is this mysterious paradox?
One day all my questions will be answered,
All will be revealed in eternity.

What have I learnt in 58 years on this earth? Simple: ” the humility to know that I do not have all the answers to life”… I wrote this poem a few years ago and my view has not changed :

What Wonder is this?
by Simon Icke Uk

Copyright Simon Icke @ 2013

PLEASE PLAY TUBBY JONES

Here comes Tubby Jones
Bringing out the cones.
‘Will Tubby be playing today?’ His mother said.
‘It all depends on how much he’s been fed!’

I felt such a nit,
When I told her he wasn’t fit.
‘I would love to play him in a game,
If the other lads didn’t hold him to blame.’

‘He stands still on the spot,
When he could have had a shot.’
Poor Tubby Jones does his best,
But he can’t run like all the rest.

‘You must play him’ says Mrs Jones,
‘If you don’t his father moans!’
‘Oh Mrs Jones why do you feed him so?
If you want him to make it as a pro.’

‘I’d love to put him in a team,
You probably think me ever so mean,
But I have to be fair to the other lads,
Who run and run like their dads.’

‘You need to help your son get fit,
Encourage him to run not sit,
Vegetables and salads are what he needs,
Instead of all those massive feeds.’

‘If you love your Tubby so
And want him in the team to show.
Please listen to what I say,
And he should be playing by next May!


© Simon Icke 1998 Aston Clinton, Bucks. UK.

Footnote : As someone who has managed children’s football teams for a number years in the past, I know the pressure placed on managers by parents who think their son should be playing centre forward even though he is not good enough to make the sub bench. It is always difficult to be fair to all boys and everyone should be made welcome to training sessions and given the same opportunity to improve. However, in my experience at managing successful junior teams, when it comes to selecting the team, you have to choose the best lad for each position irrespective of who the parents are and the pressure they place on you to see their boy as centre forward!…but most clubs have a reserve team or a B team to help players improve or improve their fitness. I always believed in the three things when it came to coaching kids football: Encourage! Encourage! Encourage! and that football should be fun as you will read in my football poem: Touchline Shouting.
This poem was first published in Aston Clinton Primary School’s Anthology of football poems; seehttp://www.footballpoets.org/p.asp?Id=721&biog=yes  Titled Poetry in Motion Football! Football! Football! Published Nov 98 by Simon Icke. It is now out of print but you can find some of the poems from the book at: www.footballpoets.org and many more amusing football poems by hundreds of different authors. It was the world’s first and only dedicated football poetry website; based in Wiltshire, England.

 See also about healthy eating in:Let’s let off steam( Eat your fruit and veg) at:www.poetreecreations.org
Written by Gillian Sims.Taken from The Manners book see:www.waterstones.com

Oh Jemima!

 

pondxxxxxxx

 

 

 

 

 

A funny old ryhme my mother used to sing to us does anyone else remember it or know its origin:

” Oh Jemima look at your uncle Jim,
he’s in the duck pond learning how to swim,
first he does the breast stroke, …
then he does the side,
but now he’s under the water
swimming against the tide”…

Dedicated to my mum Josie Icke (nee Lomas) 11.11.1923- 20.10.93
Originally born Tideswell, High Peak but lived in Coniston Avenue, Litle Hulton, Salford 1952 -1993.

And my friend Nigel found another version of the same rhyme/tune.. was this a second verse or the original rhyme that was changed for fun?

“Oh Aunt Jemima, look at your Uncle Jim
Scrubbing out the passage with water, soap and vim.
First he kneels on his left knee
Then he kneels on his right
Now he’s knelt on a bar of soap
And skidded right out of sight”

Sent to you by Simon Icke #SimonIckeUK

I’ve Got One In (A tribute to Albert a Fulham fan)

beerxxxx

‘Mine’s a light and bitter’, Albert would say.
‘I’ve got one in,’ before the fray.
I’m here in my corner, reading my paper,
Checking that life’s still in order.
Ready to talk to my many friends,
Never thought it would come to an end.
‘I’m from Battersea Dogs Home’ Albert would say.
My manor was Fulham, every day.
On my “bi-cycle”, the black and whites way.
Came to Aston Clinton, with only a few quid.
Married my wife Pauline, I am so glad I did.
As ‘Peter the Painter’ I plied my trade,
And soon became known, far and wide.
So many memories I had to share,
So many stories plucked from the air.
Never boring with Albert our mate,
Always had the time to talk, till late.
I didn’t think I would be leaving quite so soon,
Thought I had time for another tune.
But that’s life, never goes as you plan.
So I hope when I get to heaven,
‘I’ve got one in’!
Thank you for being my friend
Thank you for being with me to the end.

By Simon Icke Aston Clinton, Bucks. UK copyright 2008

I am what I am, just an ordinary fan.

footballxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I am not your modern day footballer
who collects his wages in a hay loader
from the Premier League pay loader;
aided by Sky TV and now BT money bag dream makers;
so happy to pay ‘the fakers and the takers’ on and off the field.
and so happy to take hard earned brass from the working class.

I’m just an ordinary fan;
“I am what I am”.
What happened to the working man’s game?
hijacked by those who just seek money and fame,
which just isn’t funny;
to those who follow the game,
it’s a crying shame,
to forget your roots like that!

No I’m no trend setter,
no go getter,
no position seeker,
no power climber.
no football cheater
no racist banter
no foul mouthed ranter
no ‘prima donna’.

I’m no crowd pleaser just a word teaser,
no people pleaser, who’s trying to fool ya.
Just a football fan, that’s who I am.
Perhaps a word rhymer,
a letter writer,
a campaign fighter,
maybe a ‘fire starter’,
or a motivator.

The power is in the written word; mightier than all the chairmen of the board.
No streets here paved with football gold;
paid for by the fans, I’m told;
even the poor families and their grandads and grans.

No money to line my pockets,
no gimmicks,
no greedy agents
with slimy tricks,
no hangers on,
no football politics;
just an ordinary fan.
So please don’t exploit me!

by Simon Icke, copyright 2013  UK.  Author of Touchline Shouting, The Sound of Children’s Feet, Young versus Old in Irwell Road and other Football poems: See http://www.footballpoets.org

Lest We Forget

lest-we-forget.mmmmmmmm

Have we forgotten their ultimate sacrifice?
Of these men and women who died in their millions?
Brave and true, without question,
proud to be British, not ashamed to be Christian.

So many years have passed,
it seems our memory doesn’t last.
Forgetting these courageous people, to our shame.
Why can’t we remember their names?

How short is our memory?
That we have forgotten them already?
Died in their millions fighting for our freedom,
believing in our free democratic ideology. 

What does it take to wake up this country,
to rise once again from its complacency?
How much more do we take, before we decide to fight,
for our beliefs, our traditions and our liberty?

Armed Forces Day in the UK 
Lest We Forget
by Simon Icke UK

I am what i am By Simon Icke

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