Road Trips

Road trips are fun, I think you’d agree,
Travelling the length of the country,
Sat-Nav gadgets are not for me,
Would rather a road atlas, upon my knee.
With route laid out easy to see,
No fear of a lane sending me up a tree.

Cheerfully we set off smiling, happy and free,
Nomadic life, yeah! That would suit me.
Passing wide open pastures green,
Pretty thatched cottages tantalise me.
Rolling hillsides an idillic scene.
It surely would be, living the dream.

Cities and towns wheezing by,
Villages are gentler on the eye.
Charming hamlets tucked away,
Quaint places for folk to stay.
Visits to the seaside on sunny days,
Sandcastles, rock pools, endless play.

National Trust sites on our list,
Agatha Christie’s not to be missed.
English Heritage now there’s a thing,
Of Ancient Castles, legends, Kings.
Forests and moorland so much to see,
Road trips are truly a must for me.

Breda Ware

“It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke

Dear poets,

do you like spring as much as we do? Write about it, express it, share it – we can’t wait!

Marie, Jarek, Adam

when I put on my shoes

I have to go to the city trough

I heard tap tap on sidewalk

someone called to me – funny sillywalk!

My different shoes

have a smalltalk

one of my

one of Stáňa

they are not paire

but it doesn´t care.

We start with breakfast a new day

in deligtfull office – MaryWay

my feet will be most freshest

and my shoes can fly away.

Dear Poets,

we think that our March topic “Breakfast” should be rewarded with a real breakfast so one of you will have an opportunity to spend a morning with English conversation and something nice and traditional to eat.

Write a poem about breakfast and post it in March! 🙂

Dear Poets,

we hope you had a lovely Christmas time! It would be nice to celebrate the start of the year by writing a poem about the symbol of this beautiful year season – SNOW.

We are looking forward to reading your poems!

M. + J. +A.

Ole McFly that funny old guy,
What a funny old guy is Ole McFly.
Now resides on the old church green,
In a brightly lit caravan, which gleams.
Locals mutter, ‘he’s dirty, unclean’.
Menacing, mean, a sight to be seen.

Ole McFly that funny old guy,
What a funny old guy is Ole McFly.
Came upon him once again,
In the cold and sheeting rain.
Enquire of his health; ‘nice to see you again’.
‘Where have you been, my dear old friend’?

Ole McFly that funny old guy,
What a funny old guy is Ole McFly.
‘Shall I walk with you for a while’?
Declare I saw a hint of a smile.
Not a word, like he hadn’t heard.
Left me thinking, how absurd.

Ole McFly that funny old guy,
What a funny old guy is Ole McFly.
All at once starts whistling like a bird,
Not a whimper, not a word.
So once again we silently walk,
No need for either of us to talk.

Breda Ware

Is that your ideology to kill and maim?
Shooting indiscriminately, to what aim?
Loved ones mowed down, your own slain.
All done, you declare, in his name!
Murdering innocents, your right, you claim.

Atonement for whom and what?
Listen well, you marauding, bigoted lot.
Languish in hell is where you will rot.
Aggrieved Angels will forget; not
Heed these words. IT MUST STOP.

Breda Ware

New Year 2015

2 quit

0r not to quit

1 often asks

5 times a day

2 start

0r not to start

1 often tries

5 times a day

while

2

0f us end up to be

1 for

5 days a week

plus weekends

Why do you stand weeping at my grave?

You have no right: as in life, you never gave me the time of day.
No call or message, that would have been nice!
Perhaps a chat or friendly advice.
Would that have been too much to pay?
Just to have acknowledge me for a day!

Why do you stand weeping at my grave?

You were oblivious to my pain: although I tried to explain.
Did I offend you in some way?
Or did you think ignoring me: was ok!
Why no attempt to meet with me?
Or a desire to speak to me?

Why do you stand weeping at my grave?

Was my leaving such a disgrace?
Did it contribute to a lose of face?
Why did you judge me so harshly?
It was not your place!
I loved you dearly: but things were said.
My heart has always ruled my head!

Why do you stand weeping at my grave?

Sadly I see no sorrow in your eyes.
It’s too late to explain or apologise.
Too late to put ills to right:  I’ve passed through the light.
If there’s the remotest thought for me: with respect walk away.

Don’t stand weeping at my grave.

Dear Poets,

our topic for September is a Poetic Letter  to anybody you wish to write to. It can be any kind of letter you want to write.

Enjoy writing and reading each other’s poetry.

Adam, Marie and Jarek