Best Olde Poems
Ye Olde Classoom Days
Let us take a cruise to the great past.
Hold tight, it won't be an easy task.
Look here, pencils and erasers,
and books to hold, again!
Classrooms, no 'putters,
Loose leaf paper,
New crayons,
Rulers,
Clock
November 27, 2019
Welcome to the Hogs head
The local ye olde pub
The ale tastes like urine
And there's maggots
In the grub.
There's straw on the floor
A pee bucket by the door
And rats scurry in groups of ten or more.
The busty wenches serve the ale
And over the centuries
There's been spoken
Many a tale
Gossip soon gets far
Tankards flow with ale.
There by the fireside
Is a secret door where
Dick Turpin often hides.
Over by the bar is Robin Hood
And his merry men
Their very merry
And drunk again.
The place is a den of iniquity
Pickpockets and theif's
You can always get a
Stolen purse
or sheep real cheap before you leave.
The regular drinkers often burst into song
In a drunken stuper their often out of tune
And the words come out wrong.
The place is really smelly
And you have to watch your step you do
Just in case you step on and get pig poo on your shoe.
The place never closes
And all the posh folk
Turn up their noses
at such a hovel.
But your always welcome
Why not come on down
And give it a go
Or you'll never know.
Peter Dome.copyright.2014.June.
It may be dusty, gross or reek;
It’s sure to sell if it’s antique.
For Susan’s Antique contest
For Angie
The hallways rotated over and around me, maybe it was that aged smell of antiseptic affecting my equilibrium...
Trying to keep my feet, bracing the wall of the room she was assigned with my hand to gain my balance, I was overcome with
hot vibrations
of past voices, shrieking, pleading, crying out for lost loved ones at the time of their greatest need...
unanswered
Slumping to a chair, I felt the weight of despair
Nothing, nobody
My will to live had been broken
Shaking myself, I knew I needed to be released from this
Possession of my soul, so I began praying...
'God, grant these souls entrance to Your Kingdom, reach out with Your Loving Grace to hold them and keep them in Your Love'
Free at last, the orderly asked if everything was alright, I said No...he said, I'm sorry, I need you to sign these papers for Insurance, we have a patient waiting for this room and Housekeeping needs to finish some tasks
Angie's heart had given up, but the cause of death was listed as covid
I just got up from my chair, set the forms down, and walked out, the orderly pleading behind Me "sir, sir, the papers!"
Housekeeping brushed hurriedly past me as I hit the elevator
Down button, entered and
Released at the lobby floor,
Stepping out to the fresh air,
I noticed a Ruby Throated Hummingbird alight on a trumpet flower nearbye, sip, then pause to acknowledge me and spun straight-up...
Heaven awaited
11/12/21
There's an island paradise located in the blue Atlantic.
No place on earth is quite as charming and romantic!
A shangri-la where beaches are pink and everyone smiles.
The place whereof I speak are the quaint Bermuda Isles!
There are no streets with mundane names like Elm or Main,
But you will find Shinbone Alley and Old Maid's Lane,
Or Aunt Peggy's Lane and unique Featherbed Alley,
Where quaint shoppes welcome you for a spot o'tea!
Brave tourists straddle motorbikes to go for a spin,
Perhaps stopping for a rum swizzle at famed Swizzle Inn!
Or if it's something delectable they desire to munch,
May stop by the Hog Penny in Hamilton for a leisurely lunch!
If looking for a sheltered beach on which to cavort,
There's no finer than Tobacco Bay nigh St. Catherine's Fort!
Ah, to spend an evening at Ye Olde White Horse Inn,
Slurping Bermuda fish chowder and sipping tonic and gin!
At night the shimmering sea reflects the magnificent moon.
Dulcet calypso music wafts from across the glassy lagoon.
Bermuda is known for its lilies, onions and friendly blokes,
And for the beauty of its sunsets the Master Artist invokes!
Entry for Thvia Shetley's "Foreign Travel" Contest
A
silken
coat of arms-
hid a chain of
mail
I am a chestnut tree
Hard to crack!
“That olde chestnut.”
The hurricane
barks!
My leaves are green
With enormous veins:
Lizard's claws;
Grip tight
their victims.
Upon my bough
A patchwork nest:
A golden ratio nestled
In the centre;
Bustling with baby sparrows
Mama sparrow is picking
The warms
Loitering in
the undergrowth.
I am a chestnut tree
In the autumn;
My fruit brown
Harvested.
And burst open.
I am a chestnut tree
Who swing and sway!
My roots are steely
And fallen leaves are hay.
I am a chestnut tree;
A reliable witness to many
Centuries old stories!
Danny old boy carved a
Bleeding heart
On my bough.
His bestowed's
name is Mary
She is fair and ninety!
I am a chestnut tree
In a London park.
I stand tall and mighty
And am proud!
My heart is a sapling;
Bearing young loves!
Ye Olde Sweet Shoppe
Let's take a journey back in time to the 1900's
when children would delight in regular visits to
their sweet shop in England, they had a large
range of lollies and their eyes would all light up
at the sight of these delectable treats, they had
many different favourites like licorice and sherbet
that would melt in their mouth, mint rock, barley
sugar sticks, lollipops, humbugs, gobstoppers as
well as the famous hand made chocolates and
toffees and many more delicacies, the children
would drive their parents crazy until they got
their bag of sweets, in the end the parents had
to give in to their whims and they also bought
some for themselves to eat while relaxing at home.
We go back to the present and sweets are still on
display at the local supermarket, the nostalgia
has been replaced by commercial trading, turning
over huge profits for corporate business giants.
The good old days will never return as this is the
modern world of today's money hungry executives.
Written: 11th July 2013
a frayed brim,
jeans torn and worn
- faded by sun and sea;
a carefree beard,
not of fad nor fashion
but of living!
tears and tears for
truant truths
dried
like the salty stains
on a slicker and
the vacant hopes
of a stare...
I hear the bell like ex-wives voices nagging
Hanging,beneath the olde shoppe door ringing
When someone enters through
They have and I do
A swift little dance and a more ridiculous jig
To that stupid and silly sounding thing
Every time I hear it, it echoes in my head
As if far fetched fantasies
An ominous figure the tiny brass is introducing
In the black trench coat to appear instead
Along with hat that eclipses his face
There he'll be, standing
Eyeing all from beyond his place
Patrons inside slow turn in sync trembling in fear
As if death were choosing its next victim "right here"
It wouldn't be long before I could no longer hold on
From hysterics and laughter outward and in directions forthwith
Toward the harbinger announcments of cruel intentions
As the next candidate bound on hell train's transportion
And beneath the door prodding sounds once more
That stupid bell again starts ringing
And I'd think to myself " surely no angel has gotten their wings"
So under my breath laughing, then jump heel clicking, dancing a more ridiculous jig
Gone, long gone -
cast into the wistful yearning of yesteryear
the halcyon days of reminiscence and longing
of summertimes and certainties,
of niceties and neighbours and the joy of friendships
that were built of stronger stuff
Gone, long gone –
Words of wisdom from the wise and the weary
The sanctuary afforded to the fearful child
within the earnest custody
of the household of hope and the tight family circle
where retreat was absolute
Gone, long gone –
The sense of belonging to a sympathetic world
Benevolence and compassion lived in every home
Good will to all men, every day
Malevolence and cruelty, exception - not the rule
Crimes happened to other folk
Gone, long gone –
The handshake was king and contracts were to be honoured
Trust was a byword for Politician and Banker
Good people were all those we knew
And bad guys were those wore black hats in the movies
Or read about in the papers
Gone, long gone –
Prayers at school and teachers with Bibles on their desks
Learning of a God who loved the little children
It helped us sleep at night
And lightened the crippling load of Mums and Dads
who strove to give us their all
Gone, long gone –
the hope of a future long promised by governments
who have sold our birthright into slavery
and frittered our Faith away
What future for a Christian country where 'Christ' is nought
But a post-watershed curse?
Once upon a tyme, an old ladie,
Gallant, gay, in spirite and thought,
Would often go alone to market and shoppe.
Alas! One day, stroke fell upon that soule,
No oxygen for hours resulted in dispaire.
As she lay calling upon her God.
Brain crossed at neck,
A right side brain damage,
Left side dysfunction seen.
What a great loss of functione
Suffered this poor olde ladie!
Cleaning and clearing were too much for the heart.
But those who waited like David's non-followers,
Waited for signs showing no probable return!
Piles and piles of belongings drifted like woode!
The olde ladie alert and oriented,
Shakes her head "yes or no".
Don't "talk" her name, she quite understands.
Lost or diminished are some functions'
This being so, folks grab, grab, grab!
Those in close vicinity responds the most!
Publicly complaining of stressful care,
Haul all for selves as pay and don't care,
But call on far-away ones as scapegoats.
Interventions to coordinate, collaborate left up to "fools",
Their Kindness show up as being stupidier and stupidier.
As the foolish stupid-minded soule,
gets Raided instead of Shared Governance!
Items given during a general clear-up,
Recaptureth they back , how, considered too good!
A "cat-boil" is what they should really fight off !
But the Lord he sees in Secret,
As some who partake but do not Help,
Rewardeth He those secretly who ne're complain.
Performeth He wonders in lives that He touched
Hark! Touch not what they never gave,
For raideth thou wilt be all over again!!!
Doing what they love, all are welcome to try
Rhythms of passion fly in the night sky
Up and down the maddening notes dance
Many drink and sing as drummers are in a trance
Seducing beats are the soul of the Medieval camp
It annoys me so, from time to time,
When those Olde Hymns just don’t rhyme.
It seems a rather awkward move,
To rhyme words like “Love” with words like “Prove”,
And to rhyme “Lord” with the word “Word”,
To me it just seems quite absurd,
Is there not a word around,
Which will make a similar sound?
It annoys me so, from time to time,
When those Olde Hymns just don’t rhyme.
Maybe their aim was just to be,
A pleasing read aesthetically,
And the writer was too proud,
To change the word when read aloud,
But surely a hymn must be sung,
And those lines don’t trip off the tongue.
It annoys me so, from time to time,
When those Olde Hymns just don’t rhyme.
Perhaps they simply didn’t say,
Those words the way we do today,
And that once upon a time,
Those pairs of words did make a rhyme,
We know our language has evolved,
So should the writers be absolved?
But it annoys me so, from time to time,
When those Olde Hymns just don’t rhyme.
She
could not
bake the bread-
though she kneaded
dough.