Clare Poems - Poems about Clare

Gather round all you little kiddies Got a story I'd like to share Bout a tiny mouse named Bartholomew And a dirty big bear called Clare! Now Clare wasn't the least bit happy His name sounded a wee bit girly Had a wee mousey friend Bartholomew Who's name sounded strong and burly! So hulking big Clare the unhappy bear Asked his mousy friend Bartholomew If...

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John Clare 'I AM ' G E i ...

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Going wild about Clare Where hills lay barren, and bedrock’s stripped bare let me take you away to county Clare Huge cliffs climb sheer, dwarfing waves underneath ...

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Northampton peasant John Clare penned verse sans a care His teenage love Miss Mary Joyce ever his poetic first choice...

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Gather round all you little kiddies Got a story I'd like to share Bout a tiny mouse named Bartholomew And a dirty big bear called Clare! Now Clare wasn't the least bit happy His name sounded a wee bit girly Had a wee mousey friend Bartholomew Who's name sounded strong and burly! So hulking big Clare the unhappy bear Asked his mousy friend Bartholomew If...

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I do salute your Irish gall. 'You' have the balls, I should say, Among Western hens that lie down false super-cocks to obey. Let them cluck, wear beards, have moustache to pretend they, too, are men. 'You' and the likes of 'you', Lady, mold the future peace today. Let others think of their bellies and what they have beneath...

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For two and half centuries standing lone witnessed how people's thought process have grown; Decades of sighting made me to discern the way people behave made me perturb. Is it that the human value system debased; what about the old tradition? Respect for tree missing, they're destroying nature too, creating its annoyance. Migrating birds are avoiding to fly how they'd live, don't know why...

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Here sits Clare, a lonely sole the outer self, long gone Her human spirit departed her, as did her lover, John John left Clare for a younger lass, he left her for a wench Now she sits out her lonely days, on a lonely old park bench Yellowed bone is all that’s left, all that’s left of Clare ...

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Basking in Moonshine, Translation of Paul Verlaine’s Claire de lune (Translation of Paul Verlaine’s « Claire de lune » by T. Wignesan. Again I try to keep to the original syntactic patterns and visible layout, but I must admit I could produce other renderings which could equally do justice to the probable « intention »...

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Gather round all you little kiddies Got a story I'd like to share Bout a tiny mouse named Bartholomew And a hulking big bear called Clare! Now Clare wasn't the least bit happy That his name sounded quite a bit girly Had a wee mousey friend Bartholomew Who's name sounded strong and burly! So hulking big Clare the unhappy bear Asked his mousy friend...

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These nights that he told me He had to work late He was out having drinks With secretary Kate! She drove through the night Past the old Starlight Inn Where she noticed Jack's car As he wallowed in sin Stalking the rooms Wife crept like a mouse With secret intentions Of shooting the louse In room number three She peeked through the crack And naked as a jay Was her...

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Twas the night before Christmas And Jack wasn't there He was out with a blonde With long flowing hair His wife Clare arranged for six neighbours to dine But Jack and his gal were sipping red wine Wifey had visions of Jack falling lame Never suspecting he was out with some dame The snow kept a falling As time tick tocked on As Clare sat...

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