When you need a break and want some fun, why not write your own poem or something and post it here? Does not have to be a brilliant literary piece, Here is mine to start it off.

.. Skin (Homage to Pam Ayres)

So glad I looked after me skin,
All manner of ills it holds in.
I've creamed it, steamed it
and caressed it with oils
My thanks for a lifetime of devoted toil.

My shape it is changing I have to admit but my
skin changes with me, no nagging critic.
Who calls it an organ? Horrible word!
My skin is so faithful and here to the end it
hides more secrets than the closest of friends!

I've scarred it with burns and cuts of all sizes
With a plaster or two and a stitch now and then
I know without asking that it is going to mend
How far can I go before it says no?
Can anything forgive like

....................your skin?

Waspy 2009
Original Post
Good idea, Waspy, and I liked the poem.

You've inspired me to post something I wrote this summer, while I was getting ready to move. It's based on actual events and it's written like a letter or email.

I'll bet you heard me yell

Hey Dad!

I woke up in the middle of the night--again.
Couldn't get back to sleep and the TV wasn't helping.
I turned on the bathroom light and picked up The Deathly Hallows.
Something briefly crossed my light so I flopped over to see what it was.
I didn't have my glasses on, so all I could see was a large brown blotch on the peach curtain--then it moved.
A BAT! A BAT! A BAT! A BAT! OH MY GOD!
CALL DAD! CALL DAD! Wait--it's three a. m.
WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?
I picked up the broom but didn't have room to swing.
WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?
Like a prospective tenant, the bat moved from room to room, making lazy figure 8's against the low ceiling.
It gave the living room one last look and fluttered into my bedroom as I dove into the kitchen, a scared fat lady in nothing but socks and a nightie.
I quaked just south of the flight path.
SCREEN DOOR! SCREEN DOOR! OPEN THE SCREEN DOOR!
I propped the door open with a metal cart.
From the safety of a corner, I felt better--they'd protected me from Barnabas and Angelique.
"Get the f*** out of here!" I'll bet you heard me yell.
The bat went out the back door and into the night.
Better not tell the landlady.
"I told you, Julie, NO PETS!"
Hi everyone

I’m afraid that I am no poet, so have posted this one instead. It’s one that I remember and have always liked from my student teacher days. Hope you like it. Wendy X

Poem for Everyman
By John Wood (1974)

I will present you
parts
of
my
self
slowly
if you are patient and tender.
I will open drawers
that mostly stay closed
and bring out places and people and things
sounds and smells, loves and frustrations, hopes and sadness,
bits and pieces of three decades of life
that have been grabbed off
in chunks
and found lying in my hands.
they have eaten
their way into my memory,
carved their way into
my heart.
altogether-you or I will never see them-
they are me.
If you regard them lightly,
deny they are important
or worse judge them
I will quietly, slowly,
begin to wrap them up,
in small pieces of velvet,
like worn silver and gold jewelry,
tuck them away
in a small wooden chest of drawers
and close.
This is fun isn't it? Here are 2 ditties about my husband!! Wink

The Colour Blind Gardener

Roses are beige
Violets are green
That may not be right
But that's what I've seen

I've planted some more
I think they are yellow
It's bound to be wrong
But I feel kinda mellow

That's torn it
They are all blue!

The Colour Blind Snooker Player

I cue with the pink
Then pot the white
My scoring's no good
'Nor is my sight

I play my own game
Don't care if I lose
Who is to say
Which colours to choose?

I always know black
But never the blue
I pocket the green
What matters the hue?

What are all these brown balls for?

Smiler

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