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but I liked an old nag called Fred,
he looked sort of eager and flighty,
as the bookmakers odds span around in my head,
and sweet Aphrodite went into the red,
and I wished that I was back home in my bed,
not here with these blokes rich and skitey.
“A hundred to one” said the fellow,
I decided to give it a go,
“Fifty dollars on Fred” was my bellow,
And all of the guys who were well in the know,
Sniggered and said I was doin’ my dough,
“Fred couldn’t outrun a three-legged crow,
On his back is a streak – and it’s yellow!”
And then all the horses flew past,
There was only two furlongs to go,
I stood there watching, aghast!
Fred was the leader, but starting to slow,
Five thousand dollars was there on the go,
And then it was over, and what do you know?
Fred came in motherless last.
My world turned from silver to black,
Aphrodite had killed them, of course,
My money would never come back,
And I slowly drove home from that devilish course,
full of repentance and full of remorse,
And the next time I put all my dough on a horse,
It won’t be a useless old hack!
In slow emotion
Or too much
(Perhaps not such a good day.
Tomorrow is a new start.)
Father on our life’s journey,
We are tested by many things,
We don’t always get what we desire,
Just accept what fate it brings.
We can’t always have fame and fortune,
We can’t always be a star,
We can’t always do the things we like,
We just have to accept who we are.
Accepting the gifts that we have,
Using them to help mankind,
Then we shall know we are someone,
For we have helped to open another one’s mind.
There is more to life than the material,
A force so powerful and bright,
It transformed a nobody,
In to someone with spiritual light.
It’s not wrong to set your sights high,
So long as you remember to do,
The things you do for others,
Would be the things you would do for you.
Malcolm G Bradshaw
a lab rat
by a trickster
do the rite
but no help
and no light
and no ladder
a dreary cloud over
the brain and the face
is it you
is it me
which one out of place
I’m fine how are you
to knock down
to restore back to grace
no maze meant for you
but to enjoy
build a home
watch it grow
share the shelter
not a maze meant for you
but paths of amazement
to lead me to You
A poem composed for you, dear,
Is what I am offering here.
Instead of a purse,
You’re receiving some verse
As your present for Christmas this year.
The people from a nation of note
Elected to office a goat.
“He’s not nearly as bad
As the humans we’ve had,”
Said those who for that creature did vote.
A man whose behavior’s absurd
Insists he’s becoming a bird.
“In Rome, by the sea,
A card’nal I’ll be”
Says that man whose behavior’s absurd.
My reply when a man once did ask
To imbibe a few drops from my flask
Was, “There’s nothing to drink,
But the wife will now think
I’m too drunk to perform any task.”
There was a man who knew not our God
And was thought by the people quite odd.
To teach him of love,
They gave him a shove
And beat on his head with a rod.
A man who had broken some hearts
Decided to sell them at marts.
“Though unable to beat,
There’s no tastier meat,”
He’d say when promoting those parts
:http://paulwhitberg.wordpress.com/selected-limericks/%5D I hope you all enjoy them:)
The music played on
The champagne followed
The conversations punctuated by soft laughter
And the evening progressed to its logical starter
This is the song for happy times
Or a mood setter for the melee, one day fine
So many things to tell compressed within a short time
And the life was again back to like nursery rhymes
The hurt he had caused her, she so wanted to take revenge
The consummated pain just dragging her one step back
As the story unfolded, she couldn’t take it any step further
And the war she had struck with herself retaliated within her
Was the story a figment of her imagination to hurt him
Or it was a sour truth she believed in real
As the pain seared through her on hearing his low voice
She tried to repair everything back to jolly line
She wasn’t a cheap floozy
Just a woman high on passion
And her imagination high on testosterone
But she was going to make everything close to perfect
So the music still played on
The dining towards an end
The conversations on the edge of punctuation
And then the night progressed to its logical start
Note: A friend asked me the definition of poem. According to me, a poem is a simple expression, not of love, anger etc etc, but of self, things that strike a chord in your heart/mind and you have to write it out fast before it festers and turns into a mind numbing disease.
~Alka Ranjan (India)
An Elizabethan Sonnet
This drinking tea to empty out a cup
And doing tasks to cross them off our lists
Directs the eyes to what is coming up,
Although what’s here, and nothing else, exists.
If sewing only to complete a dress
With thoughts of only what will next arrive,
Then shadows and a deathly emptiness
Accompany all moments we’re alive.
Are woven presents filled with ghostly dreams,
And threads of faded “Now” that we’ve amassed
Will hold together Future’s fraying seams.
To always look behind or play the seer
Exchanges “is” for “is not truly here.”