Best N.B. Poems
I wish I’d had the courage to ask you
why you treated me so differently to my sibling
You gave her private education at Norland -
yet I did the same course but at the local technical college
You purchased a house for her -
yet I had to save up with my husband to buy our own
You paid for her driving lessons, bought her a car
whilst I had 5 casual jobs and paid for my own
You gave her money on tap
yet I’ve have had to work for everything we own
At the end of the day
you never treated me like I was your daughter.
Since you died …
Mum’s intimated you weren’t my father …
I wish I’d had the courage to ask before you died
NB Neither myself or mum have grieved in the five years since he died - as for my sister I have no idea, as she cut all contact with the family after she inherited part of dad's estate from me and mum.
Norland is a private college in Berkshire - it's where the Royal Nannies come from
awarded poem of the day 9/10/20
awarded trophy 9/29/20
Previously received n/a in courage Contest
Sponsored by Chantelle Anne Cook
09/09/20
Categories:
n.b., confusion, father,
Form:
Free verse
With the end of days upon them
Nears the time of final battle
In the halls of high Valhalla
Asgard senses its death rattle
In the forest crows the rooster
In the sky the sun does darken
In the cave the hound is howling
To these signs the Aesir harken
Heimdall blows the Gjallarhorn
Dark the rainbow bridge is turning
Vivid lightning cleaves Yggdrasil
Then the central tree is burning
Aesir watch in fascination
See volcanoes spew like fountains
See the heavens splitting open
See the oceans climb the mountains
See the continents convulsing
See the forests burn to ashes
See the sons of Mim awaken
In the fatal lightning flashes
As the winds consume the wasteland
From the south Surtr advances
With his minions tearing corpses
Bright his sword and sharp his lances
Aesir then prepare their weapons
Eyes are clear and arms are steady
The Midgard serpent Jörmungandr
Upon the battle plain is ready
With his heavy hammer Mjolnir
Strides the mighty god of thunder
To do battle with the serpent
And to rend the world asunder
June 30, 2014
N.B. This poem is an Epyllion, a brief narrative poem with a romantic or mythological theme. It is written in trochaic tetrameter, like some of the ancient Eddas.
Glossary:
Ragnarök - Final battle and death of the Aesir
Aesir - The Norse gods
Asgard - one of the Nine Worlds and home of the Aesir
Valhalla - a majestic, enormous hall located in Asgard, ruled over by the chief Norse god Odin
Heimdall - A Norse god who blows his horn to signal the beginning of Ragnarök
Gjallarhorn - Heimdall's horn
Midgard- Middle Earth, or the world of humans
Bifröst - the burning rainbow bridge between Midgard and Asgard
Yggdrasil - The sacred Norse central tree that holds the Nine Worlds
Mim - an Asian renowned for his knowledge and wisdom who has been beheaded. Odin carries around Mím's preserved head and it recites secret knowledge and counsel to him.
Surtr- a fire troll with a flaming sword who sets the world on fire.
Jörmungandr- The world serpent or ouroboros that surrounds the earth and grasps his own tail. When he lets go, the world will end. Jörmungandr's arch-enemy is the god Thor.
Thor - The Norse god of thunder
Mjolnir - Thor's hammer and principal weapon
Categories:
n.b., weather,
Form:
Epyllion
NB: This is a repost, originally deleted.
The vermillion sunset has long dissipated
Over the marine persimmon horizon afar.
In the deep subterranean silence of the charcoal night.
Obfuscation confuses the illogical mind,
And conjures titanium dreams or harlequin volitions.
I feel your power descend upon me,
Subjugated surrender becomes inevitable
As I become malleable like puce plasticine.
I discern my wife approach, shimmering in thin air,
Dressed in a dark turquoise threadbare gown, in the pale rays
Of the chartreuse moonlight, resembling an enigmatic ivory ghost
Drawing near in a flimsy wisp of a nocturnal mist.
Come closer, come, I want you near me,
Sing an echoing mesmerizing mermaid melody for me,
Or slide into an enticing dance macabre.
I thrive upon such inexplicable endeavors,
Where nocturnal indigo sprites whisper dreamy antics
So pleasing to the provocation of the mind,
Combine to please the sybaritic nerves
Of this old and senile useless mind of mine.
Categories:
n.b., 9th grade,
Form:
Free verse
Just where have the weeks gone
Another year has whizzed past
No New Years resolution, I'd only break it
Unless it’s to meet George Clooney
Ah fiddlesticks he’s married now!
Romance is off the cards
Yeah, but a girl can dream!
January Acrostic Contest
Sponsored by Michelle Faulkner
NB I have never made a New Year's Resolution, this is just a standing joke with my husband
1/1/19
Categories:
n.b., celebrity, humorous, new year,
Form:
Acrostic
If you judge food with the quantity put before you
Then my first choice will be the Victoria Hotel*.
On Sunday lunch, food is too plentiful, makes you blue.
There we will eat so much it will make our tummies swell.
In my travels, I had times when food was super great.
Like when in sunny Ireland we drove up a high hill.
Fragrant smell of seafood, an inevitable bait,
And who cared about driving, chilled white wine was a thrill.
Athens and the Acropolis, a sight to explore.
We descended on foot and found a farm that served meals
We poured some white wine I had never tasted before,
Various cuts of lamb tastefully spiced, worth the deals.
One surprise was in Switzerland, on a mountain high.
My wife and I opted for a trout for the first time.
It was deliciously tasteful, we could almost fly.
We shared a second helping, costed many a dime.
I suppose there are other good times when food excelled,
But Urk in Holland was my biggest surprise of all.
A shack near the sea served food but not even a smell
We ate the finest fresh sole, the chef we had to call.
But the worst food I partook in was in old Brazil
Only meat and hormone-fed chicken, cooked with no skill.
NB The Victoria Hotel is situated in Sliema, Malta, not far from where I live. The food there is always first class, except for the wine :)
Categories:
n.b., food, travel,
Form:
Rhyme
The robin redbreast is hardly afraid,
He is not afraid of cemeteries,
Seeing me, he lands on the grave of the Bouvier family,
Looks at me, then flies on that of Cécile Kerneis,
Since he is Breton, the bird waits for me a little,
And flies again to the tomb in black marble of a man named Brélivet,
The robin redbreast is not afraid of graves, nor of me,
All the dead are his friends, like saints,
He flies again and lands on the stone of François Le Gall,
Then happily jumps on the gray tomb of Alexis Kerbaol.
He watches me, like a small soldier with medals,
He prays religiously on the white stele of Madame Coat,
The little robin is not afraid of cemeteries, nor of me,
On the tomb of Hervé Jaouen, he finds his pride,
In the cemetery, all the dead are his friends.
NB names are from Brittany
Categories:
n.b., bird, death,
Form:
Free verse
A great genius named Albert Einstein
At the physicist's ball had too much wine
Effecting a photo-electrical stance,
Energetically emcee'd the square dance
May 26,2014
NB: Einstein received the Nobel Prize for
discovering the photoelectric effect. His
Special Theory of Relativity is famous for
the formula E=mc². Puns intended.
Categories:
n.b., humorous, science,
Form:
Clerihew
All round the ring of Kerry’s highways, people point and cry
It’s 4 o’clock on the very dot and Mick’s rig is passing by,
It has glistening sheens of yellow, with cinnabar spots in red
Rich lozenges of orange complete the livery, as this butterfly forges ahead!
She’s kissing those dew damp breezes, on a morn like an Irish dream
As the sun’s rays like golden spokes
Steal silently; through oaks of emerald green.
lighting up a meadow’s buttercups, that border a hillside stream.
She hauls her load of butter, fresh from the herds of ‘Kerry’s spreads’
To sweeten the taste of a million slices, of European bread!
She’s making good time this morning in passing the various towns,
By 9 am she makes Letterkenny, to lay her cargo down.
Mick checks his trusty wristwatch
He needs to be back in Clonakilty; to make a special call
For by, begosh and begorrah ‘tis Father’s Day ‘n all. and
His sweet Molly will be waiting there, by an ancient rock built wall!
So he spins the painted lady round, to take the south west route,
Tooting to folks he recognises; as along that road he shoots.
At 1 o’clock he’s made it back, and parks the painted lady up
He wanders up the dusty track; just a Dad in working gear
Straightening an aching back, now his destination’s near
He searches the milling kids all around, many colours their faces show
And then he picks out his Molly. as those raven curls she throws!
She runs to greet him at his call, raising her face to be kissed
And she had chosen a painted lady, sure.. He felt how he had been missed!
He swings Molly up on high and they head back to the farm
She showers him with sweet butterfly kisses
As rabbles of the creatures unravel, in clouds and colours of charm!
NB the Painted Lady is an Irish species of Butterfly
Categories:
n.b., beautiful, butterfly,
Form:
Rhyme
The farmer’s cock rises each morning
It signals a new day is dawning
His wife ignores him in bed
Says she’s got a bad head
Perhaps she requires pre-warning
NB I BREAK NO RULES POSTING BAWDY LIMERICKS - THE FORM IS BY NATURE ALLOWED TO BE RIBALD AND I GIVE WARNING THE POEM MAY CONTAIN INNUENDO
07/08/21
Categories:
n.b., humorous,
Form:
Limerick
When Betty hit the menopause
her symptoms all came on at once,
with her brain fog; she feels a dunce!
At night in bed, the hot sweat pours
and her nightie is soaked right through
she changes; then runs to the loo!
Bill tries to speak and Betty ROARS
as her mood swings are quite severe,
he grits his teeth and says ‘yes dear’!
She nags at him without just cause,
and Bill’s wants are quickly dismissed…
there’s no sex, it’s right off her list!
He wished there was a get out clause
but they’ve been wed for many years
Bill understands, copes with her tears
When Betty hit the menopause
at night in bed, the hot sweat pours.
Bill tries to speak and Betty ROARS
she nags at him without just cause …
he wished there was a get out clause!
Inspired by Constanza Contest
Best rhyming poem October to December 2017
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Entered on 07/28/20 into Old or New Constanza poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
NB This poem was written by an English poet - so to the 'British ear' the rhyme is correct
11-19-17
Categories:
n.b., age, body, humorous, women,
Form:
Rhyme
The joy of birth, the growing up,
leads us to adore our lovely babies.
But not, alas, without the toils of life.
Because we experience a lack of sleep,
contend with baby vomit,
or idiotically putting on his boxer shorts
completely the wrong way around.
Yet all is part of being loving
to a newborn child. Sometimes
I get the weird, unworldly feeling
that I'm the worst grandpa of all.
Perhaps it's just that I'm getting old.
Try lifting the chubby scamp a little while
and oh my poor back simply aches.
And if he cries I must find out
what ails the urchin, my dearest pet.
A dirty nappy? Someone take care,
mother or granny, it's their job I'm afraid.
But if it's a bottle of milk he wants,
or nibbling a few small pieces of cereal,
then I am game. Bring on the glorious food.
And when he sleeps, I'm just in heaven,
contemplating the profound miracle of life.
For though he's not directly mine,
he's the continuation of my genetic line.
And so I worry if he coughs or wheezes,
or falls whilst crawling, adding to his bruises.
Awake he's smiling, a gurgling bundle of joy
that makes me proud, he's Nicholas my boy.
NB Nicholas, my grandson, is now 18 years old, studying dentistry at University (first in class) and has a driver's licence too.
Categories:
n.b., grandchild,
Form:
Free verse
All things can tempt me from picking up my pen,
but the most demanding is housework and men!
I sit at my desk, I’m all geared up to write
Son begs please wash my jeans, I need them tonight!
I grab dirty clothes, pile them in the machine -
He will hang them outdoors when they are all clean!
Son retreats to his room, soon he’s sound asleep
I’ll hang out his laundry – my writing can keep!
He bounds in the room asking ‘mum what’s for tea’
I’ll prepare a meal - then write my poetry!
NB . My son has flown the nest - fictional poem for contest
All Things Can Tempt Me Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Beth Evans
11 syllables each line
2/20/20
Categories:
n.b., house, humorous, mother son,
Form:
Rhyme
Spring's arrived at last, she wears her green dress
as I go rambling on lush verdant hills
This season's so special I will confess
I pick some beautiful gold daffodils
their xanthic colour relieves any stress
after depressing days of winter chills
Fluffy newborn lambs gambol in the fields
I love the rebirth that spring always yields
Spring Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Regina McIntosh
NB poetic licence used ... I never pick wild flowers just ones growing in my garden
02/20/21
Categories:
n.b., spring,
Form:
Ottava rima
Hi dear friends, I’m back after a bad shingles attack and straight after that bronchitis verging on pneumonia.
Little Robin red breast bobbing up and down,
Would take away with glee, anybody’s frown
And friendly buzzing Mr Bumble bee delights,
Us one and all, he does not sting, it’s not his thing.
He visits flowers , red, yellow purple , pink and blue,
Which attract him, loves their pollen and alluring hue.
One day bumble bee and little robin decided to be human,
So prepared for tea and pancakes, without the gluten,
They saw Katy the caterpillar crawling on the lawn,
And invited her to join them, the following morn at dawn,
They all met for this fun occasion by the nearby river,
But an uninvited visitor arrived with shiny wings, such a diva.
A Hadeda elegant and loud of call thought she was an opera
Singer, had one thing on her mind, which was Katy Caterpillar,
She slowly walked on her stalk like legs towards this prickly
Little insect, wanting to swallow Katy who was so wiggly,
Down her gullet, but Robin red breast said no no, no,
And Bumble bee agreed and said, I think you ‘d better go
So with his wide spread wings the Hadeda flew away,
Leaving Bumble bee and little Robin to enjoy their day,
How wonderful was their idea for pancakes and tea.
Another visitor arrives, so famous, known to you and me,
Can you guess who.
He wears a top hat, mutters crazy sayings,
And carry’s a full tea pot , ‘do you want a cup of tea,
Oh dear, oh dear, my or me, he or she or maybe you.
He takes his watch out of his waist coat pocket and says,
‘I’m late, I’m late for a a very important date, no time to
Say hello goodbye I’m late I’m late I’m late’
‘It’s time for me to go,
Au revoir from your dizzy beau.’
It was the Mad Hatter, of course,
An Alice in Wonderland source.
What happened to Katy caterpillar, well fearing
For her life, Katy crawled under a nearby bush,
Did not intend to be a snack, or mealtime mush.
NB – THE WORDS UTTERED BY THE MAD HATTER – are both from the book Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll and some of my own.
HADEDA IBIS - referred to in South Africa as only Hadeda.
Categories:
n.b., life,
Form:
Rhyme
NB This is not a literal translation of the famous choir "Va Pensiero" from the Nabbucco, but just what I felt as when many, many years ago I was in a choir and sang this lovely aria.
********************************************
Listen to our pitiful pleas, Oh Almighty God.
Let them be heard from every mountain and vale.
Let my prayers ascend to Heaven above
That we may one day cross the Jordan
And return to our promised land,
A place of milk and honey and fragrance
Dispersed throughout our sweet native land.
We acknowledge our sinful nature, Lord.
We dared adore other pagan gold and stony idols,
And left you so far away from our laws.
We lament our sins and accept our punishment.
Slavery in pagan Babylon, condemned
To death and other painful beatings.
Yet, if we are not to be allowed to go back to Zion,
At least Almighty God, teach us to endure our sufferings.
Categories:
n.b., hope, prayer,
Form:
Free verse