Autumn in Sussex. A Poem

As it’s now Autumn, officially, I thought I’d post a poem about that season. I think I’ve already posted it previously, but I’ve new followers who haven’t seen it before.

So here it is.

The Downs are wreathed in mist, like smoke
From a dying fire.
The leaves are turning red and gold
Like flames upon a pyre.

Spring’s little lambs are grown to sheep
The swallows they have flown.
The blossoms that the summer brought
Their petals all have thrown.

Now autumn’s bounty fills the woods,
The hedgerows are ablaze
With hips and haws in colours bright
The senses to amaze.

The smoke from wood fires fills the air,
The scent of autumn true.
The autumn sun is cooler now
And mornings filled with dew.

The cobwebs shine with dewdrops bright.
The spider in her lair
Thinks nothing of the rainbow hue
That scatters in the air.

And children kick the fallen leaves
As laughingly they run
To gather conkers, shiny brown,
Gleaming in the sun.

We gather blackberries from the hedge
And apples from on high.
Up in the tree they ripen now
To turn into a pie.

But autumn sometimes has a kick
And the rain it lashes down.
The wind, it howls within the eaves
And through the trees doth moan.

England. A poem

I almost entered this into a contest a year or two ago, but in the end chickened out. I thought I’d share it with you. I hope you like it.

England

That misty isle across the sea
Will always be a home to me.
The cliffs of white that guard our shores,
The rolling Downs, the bleak, cold moors,
The skylark with his liquid song
Soaring high above the throng
Of hikers, picnickers and such,
Whose hearts he never fails to touch.

The little streams and brooks do run
Through woodlands, glistening in the sun.
The little fish are swimming here;
A kingfisher is always near.
A flash of blue above the stream,
A dive, then gone, that silver gleam
Of minnows, gone to feed his brood
In holes, all waiting for their food.

In cities where the pigeons fly
The wind-blown litter flutters by.
The cars and buses, cycles too,
Line up at lights, forming a queue.
The city’s clamorous roar assaults
The ears, but never, ever halts.
The busy folk all rushing past.
They never slow, time goes so fast.

The little market towns do snooze.
The slightest little thing is news.
In pretty villages with greens
Are cottages with oaken beams.
The church bells echo o’er the fields
Calling us with merry peals
As they have done for many a year
Bringing hope and lots of cheer.

This land does not a climate boast.
Just weather blown from coast to coast.
All in one day, this land can get
All four seasons, sun and wet.
Though no extremes do us attack,
Do not go out without a mac
For rain can come at any time,
Though rarely with a gale force nine.

The English folk are stubborn, too,
As we showed in World War 2.
We do not push, but stand in line,
Waiting patiently till it’s time.
We do not wail and wave our arms
We think such behaviour has bo charms,
But when we’re roused, then just watch out
We’ll demonstrate, wave flags and shout.

And so my country is unique;
Its people never really meek.
An upper lip that’s stiff conceals
A wicked humour that reveals
Our lack of deference for power,
Our love for bird and bee and flower.
Abroad may have its charms, it’s true,
But England’s magic’s ever new.

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Poetry Month: Warlord of the Forgotten Age #fantasy #adventure

Cover Art by Jason Pedersen

Champions
Facing their destined foe
Enduring scars

CONTINUE READING HERE

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Limericks

The origin of the Limerick is uncertain. I read that it was around in the thirteenth century, but the rhyming sequence was different, and so I ask, “Can they be called Limericks?”

Some sources say it came from an Irish soldiers’ song called “Will You Come up to Limerick.” People made up verses as it was sung.

They may also have been a way for people to remember things. It’s easier if there’s a known rhythm .

It was made popular in England by Edward Lear who wrote his “Book of Nonsense” in 1846, although he did not call his poems limericks, but Nonsense Verse.

Wherever the name and the poems came from, they are an important part of our culture, and the form appears from nursery rhymes to songs.

Limericks were typically rude and bawdy, but as this is a family-friendly website, I’ve kept mine clean. I hope you enjoy these two.

I was inspired to begin to write this form of poetry by reading many written by Kevin Morris, who seems to be the Edward Lear of today. Thanks Kevin.

So without more ado, here are my poems.

Image by Tharindu Nanayakkara from Pixabay

One day as I played my violin
The door opened and Mother came in.
She said with a frown,
“Please put that thing down.
Nobody likes your vile din.”

Image by athree23 from Pixabay

Difficult maths is my pride.
I can solve it when others have cried.
Cone volume divining,
Circle area refining.
I think you can say it’s pi-eyed.

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the river dee

I‘ve shared some of my Mum’s poetry with you before, so I thought I’d post this one of hers about the River Dee. The one in Wales, not the Scottish one!

Just imagine you’re with me
Along the banks of the River Dee.
Such beautiful sights you then will see
From Bala Lake to Connah’s Quay.

Gracefully she flows along
From her source at Bala Lake
On through the beautiful ‘Land of Song’
Her journey she doth make.

On she goes through Corwen Town
Her ripples quietly stirring,
As slowly, majestically, she moves down
To the foaming falls at Berwyn.

A wonderful scene which doth never fail
To convey a calm and sweet repose
As through the beautiful sunlit vale
And under Llangollen’s bridge she flows.

Tirelessly on o’er Cefn’s smooth rock
The viaduct and aqueduct are here.
On to pretty Erbistock
Past its Inn, Church, Mill and Weir.

Overton Bridge, what a lovely sight.
Here you hear wonderful tales
Of how, for salmon, they had to fight,
The fishermen of Wales.

Historic Bangor she now leaves
Here the monks fought their foes.
Serenely weaving her way she goes
Through green Worthenbury meadows.

The place which she now comes upon
Was surely made for fairies.
Lovely Holt and quaint Farndon
Famed for their strawberries.

Leaving the scenery of Wales
For the land of the ‘Gentlemen Merry’
To see the launch that daily sails
And turns at Eccleston Ferry.

Past the vast estates of Westminster
The banks they look so pretty,
As busily she enters Chester;
The ancient cathedral city.

Twisting around the famous Roodee
Back to Wales again she goes.
Queensferry Bridge, Shotton, Connah’s Quay
And into the estuary she flows.

Where e’er you go in this whole, wide world
By car, coach, sea or rails.
Like the river, you will return and say,
“There’s nowhere quite like Wales”

I hope you enjoyed my Mum’s poem. Although born and bred in England, she always had a love of Wales. She lived many years on the border, on a farm not far from the River Dee. In fact it flowed through the farm lands. We used to take a picnic down to the river in the summer.

For some of the distance the river marks the border between England and Wales, and when we had our picnics, we were in England, but the other side was Wales.

I heard a story that during the ban on travel from England to Wales, a person drove across the bridge in Farndon to pick up a takeaway just on the other side. Sadly that was in Wales and they got fined for crossing the border!

If you enjoyed my Mum’s poem, please leave a comment in the comments box.

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change the way you see me.

World4women has posted this lovely way of representing women. Click on the link to read the post.

 The Way You See Me

MARCH 1, 2021WORLD4WOMENCOM

woman-nature

Dear Society,

You see me as tears, saga of a broken beaten self. But I am a rain drop that has many rainbows hidden in its embrace.

You see me as dust that can be swept under the carpet of your fallacious ego. But I am the earth from whose lap life emanates.

Change The Way You See Me – world4womencom (wordpress.com)

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a poem about a storm

I was staying in Germany, near Leipzig a few years ago in order to go to a concert in the Thomaskirke. On our way back to the hotel, there was a tremendous thunderstorm. I was inspired to write the following poem.

The Storm

A lovely day, the sun was warm
It had shone on us since dawn.
The heat oppressed us all the day,
Even as in bed we lay.

We went to Leipzig in the heat.
In Thomaskirke we took our seat
To hear St John by J.S.Bach.
It did not end till after dark.

When we emerged it was in rain.
We rushed to find our car again.
The thunder rolled across the sky,
The lightning flashed, but now we’re dry.

We drove toward Chemnitz and saw
O’er Dresden, flashes like the War.
Was it ’45 again
With bombs falling like the rain?

The lightning flashed, the thunder boomed.
We thought that we were surely doomed’
It must at least be Armageddon,
Such brightness in a sky so leaden.

The storm went on for several hours
Showing nature’s awesome powers
And even though it scared us some
We were impressed. It struck us dumb.

3 haiku about fog

Image by Götz Friedrich from Pixabay

FOG

They called it Pea Soup
Thick and yellow, blinding all.
Traffic has stopped.

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

MIST

The mist curls all around
Swirling like smoke in the air.
All colour has flown.

Image by Benjamin Balazs from Pixabay

Autumn brings the mist.
Dampness fills the morning air.
Dewdrops on cobwebs.

3 Haiku about snow.

Probably not the best time of year to remind you of the cold, but here are 3 snowy haiku.

Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay

SNOW

Flakes drop gently down,
Turning all the land to white.
A magical sight.

Nothing can be seen.
Earth and sky blend into one
In the blizzard’s rage.

Waking in the dawn,
Mysterious light shines in.
It snowed in the night.

review of Light and shade (serious and not so serious poetry) by Kevin Morris

I recently welcomed Kevin Morris to my blog where he kindly told us a bit about himself. I have read his latest poetry book, and here is my review.

Kevin writes what I call ‘real’ poetry. I don’t like the so-called free verse that most poets seem to write nowadays. Free of what? Rhyme and rhythm. Both are what make a poem. Without those, it might just as well be a piece of prose, albeit in arbitrary lines.

Kevin’s poems rhyme, by and large, and they have rhythm. The poetry in this book is beautiful, and makes you think.

As implied by the title, the poetry is both serious and amusing. I love Kevin’s limericks. They are always witty and sometimes a bit naughty.

The serious poems are lovely and have deep thoughts behind them. This is definitely a poetry book to read many times over,

I have given it 5*