I've never been interested in this, not one bit. I've always thought of it as a bit.. 'meh'. Something that people would take the Michael out of, but a friend asked me for advice on her poems and they were really.. well.. nice! I think that's the best description for them really. They were nice to read and well thought out. So I made one of my own, admittedly, inside 5 minutes. She thought it was really good and that I should write more.

So I guess the thread is about, do any of you write poetry and if so, what do you like about it? Feel free to share some that you've written.

Post your poem FactualFrank!

Here's one I composed a few years ago about Ralph Coates inclusion in the provisional squad who travelled to Mexico in 1970.

It's called "Ralph Coates Inclusion in the 1970 Provisional England World Cup Squad"

Ralph Coates Inclusion in the 1970 Provisional England World Cup Squad

Ralph Coates went to Mexico
He didn't play
Why did he go?

No Rowls... you'd laugh!

I could easily improve it.

I've written a lot of poetry in the past particularly when, for several years, I was suffering from quite bad depression. I found it helped a great deal. I never showed it to anyone and never re read most of my attempts. I didn't throw them out for many years either.
I tended to write about things that made me feel good, if only for a short time. There's nothing wrong with poetry writing it or reading it. If you want to write more then go for it.

FactualFrank wrote:No Rowls... you'd laugh!

I could easily improve it.

Maybe we wouldn't laugh?

Maybe some eejits might but perhaps the majority of people would applaud your efforts at creating something and expressing yourself artistically?

You won't know unless you post it and put it forward but I completely understand if you don't want to - poetry is very personal.

Rowls wrote:Maybe we wouldn't laugh?

Maybe some eejits might but perhaps the majority of people would applaud your efforts at creating something and expressing yourself artistically?

You won't know unless you post it and put it forward but I completely understand if you don't want to - poetry is very personal.

It's only one verse, but in my defense, it took less than 5 minutes. I could write more.

Time passes at such a pace that we forget who we are.
It travels faster than a speeding train or even a supersonic car.
But remember you are the pilot, you can direct time where you wish.
So spend more of it with family and give them all a kiss.

It's a good start frank. I like it.

Rowls wrote:It's a good start frank. I like it.

Thanks Rowls. I may bore you with more in the near future!

Look forward to it!

Good poetry gets you thinking. It takes the mundane out of the mundane.

True bfcjg. I think it helps both the writer and the reader. The writer gets to express their feelings. The reader is reminded about things in life and life in general.

Russian dolls and Russian trolls march on in reign
Pedestrian Spaniards join the Prussian blue and Silva silver two
That's the penalty of caution, nought on crosses, tiki-taka foe

UTC!

Poetry by Tarks and Lowton

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_4_RDUiqLIY" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

Tarks loses at Rhyming

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6mvafRT8txU" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

A valiant attempt by Tarks, but soundly beaten.

You can see a hint of his strong competitive desire to win though, in a good way.

It's like the Tarks and Lowton Christmas Cracker Challenge video all over

All I've learned so far is SpadesClaret either doesn't like me or doesn't like my attempt. Going off (1) so I won't give up! I'll come out with a few over the coming weeks.

Oh Frank, what have I done to suggest I don't like you? There is only one poster on this board who I don't like and it's not one of the usual suspects, either.

Maybe it's because I didn't give your poem a 'like'? Well, to be honest, I wasn't too keen on it. Not exactly Keats, is it?
However, I wouldn't dream of criticising it unless I am prepared to offer my own efforts. I'm not.

I love you to pieces, actually

FactualFrank wrote:All I've learned so far is SpadesClaret either doesn't like me or doesn't like my attempt.

spadesclaret wrote:Well, to be honest, I wasn't too keen on it.

Gut instincts and all that?

Sometimes, (actually most of the time) I can just tell.

However!... You have brains. I think a lot of you too, and it's all good fun at the end of the day. Respect I certainly give.

There was a naughty boy.

I like poetry.

And I like yours. For a first go.

The thing that I like is that it starts out quite deep and philosophical, yet has a punchline “give them all a kiss” which is almost childlike (intentional or not ?!)

Also - kudos for posting it. It’s easier not to.

I hear Vogon poetry is quite good.

Violets are blue;
Roses are red
score a goal
Or I'm off to bed
Oops

Duffer_ wrote:Russian dolls and Russian trolls march on in reign
Pedestrian Spaniards join the Prussian blue and Silva silver two
That's the penalty of caution, nought on crosses, tiki-taka foe

UTC!

Nostradamus?

gawthorpe_view wrote:Nostradamus?

Nah, The Simpsons.

http://www.google.co.uk/amp/s/www.indep ... html%3famp" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

UTC!

Poetry is a
Difficult form of writing
But Haiku is fun.

Portugal out
Spain are too
Croatia still in
England stew

Do Limericks count?

I know England Stew.

Right - let's see if people on here can be serious about this! Here's one of mine. Now that I'm getting on a bit I thought I would write something about wishing I could be a boy again.

Returning Boy

Destined for greatness, but unaware of his potential,
The boy clambered deliciously towards his fate,
Foolishly sneaking fruit from next-door’s walled garden,
Determined to escape retribution but somehow fated to lose.
A deep respect and affection for his parents served him,
Yet staggered and unnerved him until, fit to fail,
He caught the fleeing serpent by the tail;
An unexpected development, averting a crisis once more,
And, causing all portions of his life skills to soar,
One which could have consequences for his career,
A veneer for his emptiness revealed in light.
Unknowingly, unwaveringly stubborn in success,
He stumbled again, despising easier paths.

Forgive me, for I have dared to disturb you.
Are you angry? Is your rage directed at my devilment?
Now be pacified, tranquilise your battle armour
And come home with me; I ask for your kinder self.
Be patient, help me as I try once more to find myself,
I was the boy and I need to be the boy just once more.

How can you clamber deliciously?

I assumed you'd shaggged the daughter of the next door neighbour, felt guilty about it amd then wanted to bang her again. Maybe not. I'm not good with poetry. Most of it is like doing a crosswordas far as I can make out.

Quite like Ovid though.

Roses are red
My name is not Dave
This poem makes no sense
Microwave

There once was a woman from Lunt.....

There seems to be two types of poetry: the la-di-da type, where it has a rhythm and usually rhymes, more suited to music lyrics perhaps. Then there's the serious type, with no rules that I can detect. Here you can write anything in any way. The former is fun, the latter beyond my understanding.

I was once moved by a poem however. I heard it on the radio, read over some music which I also liked. It was about love, by Laurie Lee, and the classical music was by a Swedish composer called Anderson. So affected was I that I went down the library and got a book of Laurie Lee poems. I read that one on love but it did nothing for me. Undaunted, I went to the record shop and got the record with the Anderson tune on it. Well, it was crap! Why not put the two together again. I did, but still nothing! My emotion from poetry was just a fleeting one, never to reappear it seems.

Now I find the la-di-da poetry OK and it can be a bit silly (which is OK too), but the serious stuff comes across as a bit pompous.

All was not lost though. On the Anderson record was this Ernst Bloch music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qyNS7kImwGY" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

Now that gets to me.

I absolutely love poetry, from the fun limerick-

There was a young man from Darjeeing
Who boarded a bus bound for Ealing.
It said on the door,
"Do not spit on the floor,"
So he lay down and spat on the ceiling -

to the immensely moving -

He wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
Poem

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

William Butler Yeats

To express oneself
In seventeen syllables
Is very diffic

Squarepusher wrote:To express oneself
In seventeen syllables
Is very diffic

Love it.

spadesclaret wrote:Love it.

Wish I could take credit, but I think I stole it from John Cooper Clarke.

Squarepusher wrote:Wish I could take credit, but I think I stole it from John Cooper Clarke.

It doesn't matter.
It's fun. It raised a chuckle.
Cooper Clarke won't mind.

I mainly write songs, but I did write a poem once, about the elephant in the room, but one that no-one knows about.

The Irrelevant Elephant
Stood in his element
Alone, in a corner of the room.

As he stood there unnoticed
The host and the hostess
Tucked into dessert with their spoons.

They showed no concern
That a large pachyderm
Was looming behind their shoulders.

Nor that he seemed vexed
As he stood silent nex
To two elephent's foot unbrella holders.

Yes, the silence increased
As they all ate the feast
And our friend did nothing to break it.

Though he could pick them all up
In his large curly trunk
And wave them around or shake it.

But he did no such thing
For he was the king
Of subtle and still subterfuge.

Yes, his skill was unmatched
So he just stood and watched
And besides, he didn't want to intrude!

A night out in Roppongi in Tokyo in 1990.

Speeding down the line with the Japs all worried. Henna gaijin on a rush. Two days off, long night ahead. Bursting down the platform through the weekend revellers. And it's over the ticket barrier with the man in uniform shouting after you, but you're laughing, not giving a ****. Kicking empty cans around, making a big noise, shouting the odds. Up the steps two at a time, Tart City revealing itself, a technicolour dream. And the Jap girls are out in force. Lipstick and long black hair. A northern boy's fantasy. Shame about the tits and teeth, but you're working the illusion. James Bond on heat, bursting to unload.

How's the poetry going Frank ?

There was a young woman from Crewe,
Who remarked, as the Bishop withdrew,
The Vicar is quicker and thicker and slicker,
And two inches longer than you!....

I have a favourite poem about the river Wenning in Yorkshire that begins.
By sloping banks again I trace,
And shall at times for ever.
Though far from thee my sojourn be,
My own dear native river.

Each nook and corner still I know,
Mute pool and blatant shallow,
What fields were grain and which had lain.
In ever lasting fallow.
Thirteen more verses follow, well worth reading if you can find it.

Poem or ode
Some seem in code
Some make you smile
Some make you think
A is for apple
Z is for zinc