Programme Poems | Examples

STARSTRUCK

I first beheld her in a play;
The  leading lady on that day.
And every entrance caused a stir.
In a play I first beheld her.

By curtain call I knew for sure
That I would love her evermore.
For me there was no doubt at all.
I knew for sure by curtain call.

I kept the programme by my bed,
With her name underlined in red.
I vowed I would become a ham.
By my bed I kept the programme.

I joined next day the drama group,
To be a member of the troupe.
I thought she might be mine that way.
The drama group I joined next day.

Despite my plans I’m on the shelf.
Her co-star has her to himself.
Last week, in church, they called the banns.
I’m on the shelf, despite my plans

I ALMOST TOSSED IT OUT

I always hated that wretched vase,
Ugly and past it’s best.
A bit like me if I’m honest.
(That was my wife’s favourite jest)

But she loved us both, especially the vase,
Which her grandfather left when he died.
And she was always his favourite,
So the thing was displayed with pride.

But when she passed, though feeling disloyal,
I hid it out of sight.
I didn’t have a use for it
But I thought the Red Cross might.

Then, watching an antiques programme,
You’ll never guess what I saw.
They had a vase just like my wife’s,
Worth ten thousand or more.

Did I tell you how I love that vase;
How I proudly display the thing?
And the first thing I tell my visitors is
“This beautiful vase is a Ming.”

My list words and Phrases that do my head in

INEVETABLE,

COLLATERABLE DAMAGE,

NOBODY CAN TELL ME WHAT TO DO,

MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY,

EXPERT,

FINE PRINT,

NON DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT,

COMMERCIAL SENSITIVITY,

THE PRICACY ACT SAYS .. 

NOT YOUR PROBLEM,

TEXT ME,

DID YOU KNOW YOU CAN DO IT ON LINE,

YOUR PROGRAMME WILL RESUME IN 51 SECONDS,

WHO NEEDS A LANDLINE THESE DAYS,

THIS IS AN AUTOMATIC REPLY,

DUE TO . . . 

THE NUMBER AHEAD OF YOU IN THE CUE,

WE NO LONGER STOCK THAT ITEM,

KILLS 99.99 PERCENT OF GERMS,

DON'T WALK ON THE GRASS,

NO CAN DO.

THIRTY-NINE MINUTES

When the doctor gave me his diagnosis,
He didn’t deliver a happy prognosis.
He told me I had just twelve months to go.
Not really the news I wanted to know.
Now almost a year has passed since that day.
I’ve just thirty-nine minutes to while away.
A final meal? Put the kettle on.
And I’ll boil an egg. That’s four minutes gone.
I’ll wash it down with a nice cup of tea
And, while I’m eating, I’ll watch T.V.
There’s a programme that lasts for thirty minutes
And, if I’m lucky, I’ll see all that’s in it.
It’s almost finished: just 2 minutes more.
But now I hear a knock at the door.
Ah, the credits are rolling; I’ve just survived.
My time is up. The Grim Reaper’s arrived.

Freedom for Some

In the Mansion House
On a January day
The framework of the nation 
And its future did lay

Deputy Johnson
Brought forth his brand-new assignment 
If the Democratic Programme did pass 
T’would alter our social alignment

Yet, Johnson and Labour
Were met with strict opposition 
Economic democracy
Was not the Gaelic League’s mission

Instead, fix the language 
And paint the letterbox green 
To feed the bootless children 
They were none too keen

A state of ‘freedom’ being 
Rhetorical and flowerful
All that changed was
The colour of the flag
And the accents of the powerful

Mirage

O search not for a rare applause,
Beware, life is a thankless stage—
It's vain, a loud uproar to cause
On this voyage of pilgrimage,
A puppet you are, caught in cage.

Vain to think you’re a great actor,
You know the plot, nor script nor end,
Watch out, Fate’s a poor director,
As clown, no great role shall ye land,
As puppet, pulled by unknown hand.
________________________________ 
Musings | 05.09.2015| Quintain 

Poet’s note: We might think we are great actors, while in truth we are no more than clowns in the eyes of a spoilsport called Fate, Fortune, or Destiny. Man is then no more than a clown who hopes to hear applause on life’s stage that proves a vague hope, a mirage. For, life offers no programme; the director of the stage-play gives no script; the destiny provides no prompt. And still, he must perform in hope for an applause that seldom materializes.

Fake Is Awake

FAKE IS AWAKE

Is nature becoming unnatural
Some may think it could be so
What words or images are real
Levers pulled to make one feel
As the metaverse will still grow
One almost needs an epidural

A.I is close to that singularity
As no-one knows what is true
And if left to its own devices
Brings us ever closer to a crisis
All accepting the current view
And will recognise no disparity

Whether political or academic
Arguments cannot be resolved
Big Brother is now the only way
Follow the programme for today
Even raw truth has now evolved
As fake news becomes endemic

Some may recall what nature was
Not just the land, oceans and sky
But also things we all understood
Not forced to accept it was good
Now, few care if you start to cry
Failing to meet the Wizard of Oz

Jordan Peterson

HELLO SO CALLED FREE WORLD.!! Canada is a
Crown country...So is Australia..For the time being!
Melbourne was put under house arrest for twelve
Months..! For no crime whatsoever..Think on this!
Where is the fair governance?? Is there a valid one?
In Britain the originator of colonial law, Caroline
Farrow is under survaillance for speaking her thought
Jordan Peterson is being shoehorned into a programme
Of so called ( re education ) these people don't know
One another I presume.? What are we witnessing in
The case of the large sized lady shown in sports illustrated
What are we suposed to gather ? Its a sports publication
Are they a beauty magazine? Well I suppose in academic
Summation yes.' As you need a slim and resiliant body
To compete athletically..Yes?? So sports oriented peiople
Would intuitivally think a more leaner body more attractive
To compete, that then affects perception overall,  whether
I or whoever sees the wider senario of beauty is not relative
In this context.! Which brings us too, why this cover page
In a sports oriented publication? Or was it just an entrappment ploy.? In both cases what is going on.?

The Real Me

I’m sitting at my keyboard
Just ranting and abusing
Which my long suffering wife
No longer finds amusing.
I’m both dyslexic and dyspraxic
Which is why I swear and curse
Because for a creative person that 
Combination  couldn’t be worse.

To make matters harder I Have 
a keyboard that judy can’t spell
And predictive text just
Can Make my life hell.
I bought a dictation programme,
Money very badly spent.
It just can’t cope with
My East Yorkshire accent.

So if my rambling is at time
More than usually absurd
Full of errors and  typos
And the odd little non word
Please be a little forgiving 
For what you are getting to see,
With all those helpers switched off
The unaided uncorrected real me.

Smothering the Health Bomb

2010 initiative N H S decide programme we see
On halving stillbiths; and injury, quite sensible it
Appears to me ' yet now 2023 has come to be
Its being shelved, what could we see? There must
Be a reason (just what might that be?) Some type
Of connection umbilically, of 2010 and 2023 ?
I wonder if to put it simply; there is so much better
Just come to be.? That theres a humbleness to avoid
The publicity? that such results and records would
Engender if seen specially experts (who would be keen)
To build on any progress, that whould improve the scene
Of natal care, what woult that mean? There must be a
Trail of better results? Over more than a decade so
Whats the shout.? I can't see why its been sidlined? as if
Its inception and work was almost, a heineous crime.!

Lonely

 LONELY					
Cooking for one is not much fun
There doesn’t seem much point.
The smallest saucepan’s far too large
And if I cook a Sunday joint
It’s still around mid-week.

The supermarkets seem so vast
And I’m not catered for.
Although they have the things I want,
They’re all in packs of two or more.
And you’re no longer here.

Remember when I cooked for us
And ate by candlelight
Our favourite pasta recipe
You always said I cooked just right?
I never eat that now.

My dinner’s on my lap these days.
The television’s on.
I tune our favourite programme in,
Then realise once more you’ve gone
And let the image fade.

That tear? It’s just the onions.
You know what onions do.
It’s force of habit I suppose
That made me go and chop up two.
But you’re no longer here.

15th March 2023
Writing Challenge - 'L' words poetry contest
Sponsor - Constance La France

The Question

Looking out of a window
onto the world, you wonder
if there is an awareness 
that soaks each living cell, 
something that sews together 
all life into a symphony 
playing to the score written
by a single entity.

Or is everything a random
throw, discrete forms let loose
within a mindless programme 
loaded with a bias 
to survive, a world where
even charity and love
are attributes selected 
to give the species 
a social advantage, a trick
to win the game.

What then art, a sublime
song sung by the human
soul or something made
in the workshop
of a brain to keep
the human species entertained,
nothing more 
than an evolutionary pill 
to save us from going insane
whilst welded to our purpose.
Yet so much seems superfluous 
to the mere act of breeding,
that we create books, galleries 
and concert halls to store,
the evidence we could be more.

Sentinel Ii

In a timeless time
In an unmeasured space
It observed and regulated
From Its appointed place.

There were twenty seven universe
To which It held the key,
Twenty seven parallels where 
It was obliged to be.
And It moved from plane to plane
Instantly changing form
Automatically choosing
The current plane norm,

Carrying out adjustments
 Making the odd repair
Adjusting ecosystems
As required here and there.
In some planes It was suspected,
Hailed as a prophet or a god.
Worshipped and revered
But thought this nothing odd,

Just carried out Its duties
As Its programme said
For in all Its form It had
No thoughts in any head.
A mechanic of the intellect
Passing from plane door to door
Conscious only of Its tasks and need
 To recharge to perform once more.

It felt no heat,
And It felt no cold,
And in measureless time,
It was immeasurably old.
!

Celebrity

They were watching always watching
Although he didn’t even know
As he lived his life from day to day
He was the star of his own show.
They watched his every move,
How he lived with his mate,
How well they both adapted 
To their isolated state.
They seemed to cope so well
Never seemed to have a care
So long as each of them knew 
The other was near somewhere.
They made love so delicately
With lots of tender sighs
Unknowingly watched eagerly
By hordes of alien eyes.
Any offspring was awaited.
A hoped for event.
A rebirth of the species
Was the watcher’s intent.
It was prime time viewing.
Every single hour of their play
Being watched and edited 
Before selected airing every day.
The programme always started
With the sign on their enclosure door
*****Sapiens (Cloned Versions) -
Not extinct anymore;
DNA extracted from fossils 
Found on the ruins of the Earth
Destroyed by this very species
That didn’t appreciate its worth.
They were watching always watching
Although he didn’t even know
As he lived his life from day to day
He was the star of his own show

Kids Comics

With The Dandy, The Beano
The Eagle and Dan Dare
Dick Barton on the radio
The Goon Show on air
Riders of the Range
Journey into space
We kids of the fifties
Had our special place
Glued to the wireless
No screens in sight
The Third Programme the
Home Service and the light
When Sunday night came
Waiting patiently about
For Radio Luxembourg 
Fading in and out.
Carters little liver pills
Horace Bachelor’s tips
For winning  the Pools
Fish and four of chips
Salt and vinegar Splash
Newspaper wrapping
Listenining to the music
Feet quietly tapping
Playing in the fields
Hours out in the wild
This was the life of
A fifties poor child.
No time to be miserable
Deprived or dull
With such a childhood
So active and full.
Dennis the Menace Desperate Dan
Biffo,  Ace Detective Harris Tweed 
From the Eagle Dandy and Beano
All those comics we used to read

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