Tweaky's Poetry, but please post your own as well.

I'm not surprized it won a competition. It really is terrific. Puts mine to shame. But hey...no worries. I love people who create things.

 

Not all Tweaky, I love your poems. I must try and get some more of my stuff onto the pc.

 

O'Malley's Spirit

When the wind blows down through the valley
and the ground is covered in leaves,
to be sure it's the spirit of O'Malley,
for whom only a Republican grieves.

For it is his soul that can find no rest
in the heaven that is meant for the good,
for on earth he gave of his very best
doing things that nobody should.

For O'Malley he worked for the I.R.A.
making bombs in his back room,
until that terrible fateful day,
when his home became his tomb.

Bricks and mortar and clouds of dust
his home came tumbling down,
for as they dug his rescuers cussed
as bits of his body they found.

His funeral was fit for a hero,
compliments of the I.R.A.
But it did not help his soul though
as it finds no place to stay.

So when you walk through that valley
be sure not to go all alone,
as the restless spirit of O'Malley
Will chill you through to the bone.

So come all you budding young rebels,
with young hearts for old Ireland so true,
sure you'll only add to her troubles
and book a place with O'Malley for you.


Written at the height of the troubles!

 

Again, lovely as a poem, but I do not have any sympathy with O'Malley I'm afraid....

 

No, neither do I but had he existed there would have been a lot who would have sympathized I am sure.

 

I agree Moyra, there would have been.

My Gran came over to England and then to Scotland, from Ireland and her father used to sleep with a shotgun under his bed. They lived right on the border. Funnily enough, the village that they lived in, is no longer on the map. Unless you go back into history, it never existed.

 

Oh my, poets! I thought they were all extinct! Well found friends!
Moyra, I loved the O´malley poem, and the writer poem. Yep there is that wretched key on the pc, lol.
Must translate some of mine into english. Watch out for some mangled grammar in the near future, lol.

 

Tweaky and Moyra that was brilliant give us more :thumb: :D :D

 

I am amazed at the talent of people on this site, Moyra, your writing talents are immense, you too Tweaky, and thank you for starting this thread. Well done everyone.

 

Tweaky , i just read the 24hrs. in the life of a ward poem of yours , absolutely brilliant reading

 

I'm glad people are enjoying this little section. I think we can all write and if you haven't done so yet, then have a bash when your in the mood. This is not a critique thread so everyone please enjoy and add to it whenever you would like.

Morya is very talented which is very obvious..me, I just write things now and again. Might not be called poetry as such, just rhyming verse. But its nice to post them especially if others enjoy them. I'm sure you can all do it. Maybe start off with your favourite subject, or your pets, or your veg etc.

Here is one I wrote when I met someone who suffered with Reynard's, think that's how you spell it....its a condition that can be quite disabling in cold weather. Something to do with blood circulation...they really suffer with the cold.

==========================


In winter time my loves alone
A shadow existing in the home
Empty eyes and shoulders leaden
Her soul and bones know Armageddon
Where ere she goes she goes alone
Adrift and cast on rocks
Droplets like sea spray on stone

As if by magic come the spring
Her hopes rise as the light
Travels further on the wing
A tiny spark from nowhere seems
To expose a hidden depth within
Like a torch beam in the darkness glows
She lifts her head to recompose
Her thoughts which had vanished
Like the snows which buried treasure low
With the first snowdrops her spirits grow
Slowly she begins to dawn
From darkness into the light
She emerges like a butterfly
From a chrysalis and bye and bye
With the hedgerows showing small green shoots
She starts to plan to come alive
Testing her wings for when its time to fly

Then comes the time when morning light
Soft breezes whet her appetite
Radiating inner warmth the summers here
Her times returned
Burdens which drooped her shoulders down
Miraculously fall to the ground
Head held high she sings her praise
To the flowers birds and sunshine plays
Upon her soul once more
She feeds upon the seasonâ??s lure
No longer feeling tired but sure
Her energy it knows no bounds
The chains removed she floats around
Like a cloud no longer earth bound

Alas the time is very short
Autumn creeps without a thought
Slow and cunning step by step
Reminding her of what comes next
And as the light begins to dither
Her soul and spark begin to wither
The summer just a distant dream
She returns to shadows a silent scream
Alone again her tasks unfinished
The sparkle once there starts to diminish
She'll hide now deep inside once more
It seems forever to her i know
When darkness comes no lights aglow

But when the sun begins to climb
Once more into the sky sublime
And little birds begin to sing
Heralding the spring
Her head will lift her spirits soar
As summer time returns once more.

 

That is very beautiful Tweaky. I don't know about cold but I get horribly depressed in winter, soI can really appreciate it in a very personal way.

This is a stanza from a long love poem that I entitled "A Chlorophyllian Ode". That's what happens when gardeners fall in love, God help us all, lol.

__

Hydrangea involucrata ‘Mihara Kokonoe Tama’
Its white flowers
Bouquets of trembling white foam
Like my deranged heart
Its large leaves
Hard and rough
Like your cheeks at dusk

Rickardt
I loved you in the glory of a blooming hydrangea
I planted you like a living seed
In the black earth of my days

___

 

Tweaky, that is incredible. It really picks up on the frustration and defeat the sufferer feels in the winter time.

Ivory, I loved yours too.

I do not think I can justify some of the remarks made about my poetry I feel unworthy...... I write it mainly when I am depressed and fortunately I have not been that depressed of late. I think mood can play a large part in the writing of poetry.

 

Nice one Ivory.

Funny you should say that about depression Moira...that is also when my writing is best...but I don't think that's unusual is it.

A lot of the songs I have written were wrought out of me through depression, although the songs themselves are not depressing.

 

The Airport Motel Receptionist

She sees them all as they come and go,
Executives, salesmen and many others.
Those whose wives, as yet, do not know
they're away for the night with their lovers.

Business men who are using their stay
to set against their taxes
bring their lonely wives away
and while he works, she relaxes.

What a combination it all makes
with foreigners of all nationalities,
Americans, Japanese and Arabian sheiks,
away from their principalities.

Overnighters who must vacate by noon,
off to the airport, shortly to fly.
The bridal couple on their honeymoon,
oblivious of others passing them by.

The poor hikers rained out of their tent,
laughing now their troubles forgot.
The young couple who are resident
a young stewardess and her pilot.

The chefs in the kitchen are good fun,
the waiters and also the porters,
they chat up the young girls off to the sun
and to the parents with teenage daughters.

She knows those who have stayed before,
but this young man's an exception.
Her eyes light up as he comes through the door
and her husband gets her warmest reception.