Poetry

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Poetry
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Having noticed a few profiles that refer to poetry I thought it might be a good idea to have a group in  which we could share or comment on each other offerings or just discuss the subject of what often seems to be the Marmite of literary forms.

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Hi,

My name is Peter Hill (I noticed that I am not the first nor only person of the same name to join this group).

A little about me….

Born in the village of Haydock formerly in West Lancashire, the second eldest of four children to working class parents Leslie and Shirley Hill. Earliest influences came from an Uncle who was a published poet and gifted artist in oils. After an 8 year hiatus began writing poetry again during the early part of 2021. Inspiration for poems drawn from people, life, events and all things related to being human and the human condition.

I have recently been published in the anthology New Beginnings by Renard press. I have had pieces published on line and in the local press.

I am part way through the second of a series of childrens story books in verse and am searching for an agent and / or publisher who might take my work forward.

thank you 🙏

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Trying my hand at a different type of poetic form. The last part is welsh for "all waiting"

A bloody hell, blinded heart

Man of nothing, moan thy part

Of no respect, for fine spir't

The kind that loves, finds merit

That lies breathless, brands sorrows

All peers bemoan, pob ymaros

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So, how did you get through the New Year? We watched Jools Holland for the actual countdown, then a couple of minutes later switched to BBC1 to see the fireworks, and the drones. To be honest I was more taken with the drones than with the fireworks, but that's because I've not really seen a full drone display before. It was good, and I hope we get them every year from now on as well as the fireworks. After that we switched back to Jools, then watched Glastonbury Legends till nearly 3.30am. By then we were all pretty jaded, so it was time for bed and leave the mess till morning!


The party's over

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New Year party poppers litter the floor
the glasses are empty but what to do now
do I offer more drinks or show them the door
don't want to be stingey but I don't know how

to get them to leave coz I'm so very tired
my eyes are so sore and my head is a brick
from the music so loud like a cannon's been fired
right next to my ears my brain feels so thick

should have gone to bed early, should have retired
and let them get on with it, not overexerted
my old aching body my joints are on fire
I dread the new morning I won't be alert

I'll still be just dozing up there in my bed
so pleased New Year's Day's a bank holiday now
that wasn't the case when I was a lad
when we staggered to work goodness knows how

but we did it for years till they gave us a break
so we can just rest and recuperate now
till our senses recover, our limbs cease to ache
and we look back on yesterday's stupid mistakes

the headache reminds us of our need to slake
our thirst with the liquor while trying to make
intelligent comments and wisecracks so witty
that everyone laughs till their tummies all shake

and their faces go red if they haven't already
from the booze and the leftover Christmas cake
who knows how they do it but each year they do
and you know that of course I'm referring to YOU!

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So New Year's Eve rolls round again. Another year to take stock of what we've learned and what we've lost, and a chance to rally in time for the madness that will be 2022.


The Madding Crowd

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The clock strikes twelve and now it's gone
the year behind us falls away
a new one beckons, calls us on
to wake and greet a brand new day

so what's been lost and what's been gained
by all the months that slid so fast
the time that can't now been regained
and all those things that didn't last

the friends we've lost and those we've made
all crowded into consciousness
that fill our minds and now parade
before our eyes, never the less

we still have time to ponder on
our lives till now, we can reflect
on what we must focus upon
and where our life force to direct

for times are changing all the while
as we drink in the coming year
we raise our glasses as we smile
at those who've joined our party here

and soon the evening slowly winds
down into sleep and peaceful dreams
the fleeting thoughts pass through our minds
life's not so bad, or so it seems

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Not exactly a humorous ditty, but I remembered the Coca Cola convoy of trucks ad and wondered about a circus type event in which one of those trucks has a Santa sitting on his high backed chair set up in the back of it. Then children can run up a ramp at the back of the truck, and go to see Santa in his mobile grotto and ask for a present. As to who pays for the present? I'm not saying, just read the poem and enjoy, or not, your choice.


The Santa Circus comes to town

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The festive trucks roll into town
all big and shiney red and brown
the first one slows and gently stops
right outside the Christmas shops
the driver lets the side walls down
as curious children gather round
and when the work at last is done
there sits Santa on his throne

the children rush to get there first
excitement makes them fit to burst
he smiles upon the scene below
the lowering ramp is oh so slow
but finally it's all in place
then just watch the children's faces

as they race to climb the ramp
lit by many coloured lamps
then line up like they'd won the Lotto
to wait to enter Santa's grotto
and one by one they sit upon
the old man's lap and then begin
to tell him all their secret wishes
the latest games to Lego bridges

as each child speaks he bends to hear
the things they whisper in his ear
the mic in Santa's hat's so near
it sends the signal loud and clear
to waiting packers out of sight
who get the toys and check they're right
for the child who's just now climbing
from Santa's lap and then in line
awaits his present from the elves
so let's just hope it's on the shelves
and when it's ready he'll be pleased
to run away desires appeased

when it's over and they've all gone
Santa lays his hat upon
the arm of his chair then he rises
tomorrow they'll be in Devizes
where he'll do the show again
an endless round of aches and pains
he's not a young man by any means
the travel kills his back and knees
and so he slowly leaves the lorry
but with good cheer, he's never sorry
to send the children off with presents
those memories will all be pleasant

and so the circus packs and goes
headed for the distant glow
of other towns across the nation
in convoy to their destination

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Merry Christmas!!

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This one's burned up a few brain cells and calories to produce. I think I need a ball of pure gold to at least help me retrieve some of my losses!


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So there it was, the strangest sight
on the pavement a ball of pure gold
it slowly rolled from left to right
its progress was slow (it was very cold!)
but roll it did and eventually
it reached the kerbside and there it fell
into the gutter and I could see
it wasn't happy, I could tell

it first rolled one way, then rolled the other
trying to avoid the rubbish there strewn
and managed it too without too much bother
but then a storm drain hove into view
the ball began to hesitate
as though it was thinking of what to do

should it proceed or try to reverse
but this was something it couldn't rehearse
so on it went and reluctantly
it fell into the storm drain while I stood and cursed

for I could have saved it had I been quicker
but sadly my brain was in spectator mode
and I never thought to act while I lingered
watching the scene as it slowly unfolded
it was rather sad and after I pondered
on thoughts of telling others what I had seen
but who would believe me?

would you if I'd wandered
into your office or shop and declared
a gold ball had just dropped into a storm drain
and vanished from view, you'd think I was insane
and of course you'd be right for who but the mad
would see a gold ball and not try to grab it
it wouldn't be lost forever if I had
but instead would be warm and dry in my pocket


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To anyone who's a fan of Jimmy Carr I make no apologies. I don't find him funny, just annoying and crude. The following poem mentions him and my take on his brand of humour.


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Funny men and not
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The door creaks open a draught sweeps in
"Ooh! It's cold!" I hear you say
"Shut that door!" now there's a thing
Larry's catchphrase brought into play
A gentle soul now long departed
still his words can linger on

the opposite of  "Oi, who's farted!"
Jimmy Carr can smell the pong
he tries to keep his deadpan face
he stands it but for just so long
he knows but tries to hide it's smelly
then finally his nerve gives out
he laughs like a drainpipe on the telly
while wrinkling his famous snout

no humour and no love of place
no gentle rise, no measured pace
he butts his head into the bowl
to dredge his brand of stinking foul
excuse for humour that he's peddling
I wish he'd leave and stop his meddling

There I've said it I'm no fan
I think he should retire forthwith
give up the stage to those who can
make us laugh with gentle wit
have the good ones gone forever?
come back Morecombe come back Wise
we need you here now more than ever
to bring tears of laughter to our eyes

I could go on about the rest
the giants who shared their love of fun
we knew they'd always be the best
like Tommy Cooper, who had a good run
but when the curtain falls it seems
that even those who laughed at death
must take their final bow and leave
I even heard his final breath

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I happened to be watching Tommy Cooper on telly as he did his act live on stage in front of an audience. Suddenly he collapsed, but as he was wearing a radio mic I could hear his breathing, hear the death rattle in this throat, then silence. The audience at first thought it was part of the act, but when they heard his dying breath they too became silent. A comedy giant had passed, doing the thing that made his life worrh living, and the last sounds he heard as he slipped away would have been the audience laughing.

What a way to go?



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So there I was, in the kitchen, making coffee for me and the missus. She said she was thinking of what to have for lunch. I suggested she have a banana. "I've got a banana in my bag" she said. I thought, what an interesting name for a song or poem.


"I've got a banana in my bag"
she said
it's been there for several days
I guess it's gone soft and started to sag
who knows the time it's wasted away
and all the time the fruit both long and yellow
has waited patiently
for someone to rescue it from where below
it's hidden from what we see
so if she forgets it's lying slack
and plonks her bag down hard
it could break the poor banana's back
and stretch it's skin so far
that finally it breaks and then
I wonder what we'd see
yellow muck spread wide and thin
a total catastrophe!

the moral of this story
if such indeed were true
is eat your banana while it's fresh
or it could make a mess of you

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I'll try to keep up the output, but struggle occasionally to think of what to put on the screen, so whatever appears is what's just tumbled from my brain and through my fingers onto the keys.


So where's the day gone, it was here but now no more
the dark has consumed it, today's gone forever
with tiredness chasing me across the floor
I slowly climb stairs tired beyond measure
but hey
it'll soon be a new day
new lightness and form that follows the night
with brand new shafts of energy and light
perhaps I'll feel better in the morning sun
or will I blink and moan and instead
and just pull the covers over my head
to hide from the light as I always do
"it's far too early!" I'm telling you
far too early to be bouncing and bright
for me it still feels like the middle of the night
so leave me to rest
for me it's the best

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Here's something for you to read. It's not very good, and was written in less than 10 minutes, but I was bored and tired, so just wrote whatever came into my head at the time.


It's getting late and you know I hate it
when I get this tired
I've tried all day to bat away
the feeling that's transpired
but knowing this you know I miss
the work now I'm retired
the work was mine to do and fine
but now I feel I'm mired
in what to do now that I'm through
with work though not been fired
but instead I'll rest my head
just here till I'm inspired
to write more lines, but that takes time
and thought to be desired
when tapping keys so let me please
write words that are admired
and after all, I'd be appalled
if circumstance conspired
to make me fail I'd want to bail
but knowing I'd misfired
I'd struggle on till thought was gone
and my poor brain was wired
I'd try to link, and yes to think
that I was still required
but knowing this I guess I miss
those poems I have sired
so let me sleep no doubt I'll keep
on writing till rehired

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Here's another ditty for the day

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Another day

It's another day today
not like it was yesterday
when the sun shone weakly through
the high clouds obscuring the view
for then it was a typical winter's day
not that it's winter yet I hear you say
that's not till December's almost gone
when autumn leaves us cold and drawn
and the year end looms ahead
and another year falls down dead
while new life hides inside the ground
waiting for spring to come around
to shoot aloft into the air
and dispel our despair
at never seeming to grow at all
while all the time the hidden wall
of secrets hides the future from us
waiting to spring them all around
when they burst forth from out the ground

so don't despair when winter comes
it'll soon be gone and when it's done
we'll all feel better in ourselves
the sap will rise the blood will course
through veins that creak from lack of use
but with some use they'll soon be supple
letting us move with sinewed muscle
loosening our winter bonds
as the new year brings new life upon
the world we see and the world we hear
and as the darkness starts to clear
we see at last the hidden light
from whence all our thoughts seem to right
the world's most out of kilter sight
the lack of balance hanging there
for us to wonder at but not despair
for though the world may seem at odds
it's not for us but for the gods
to deal with as and when they can
for they're quite busy I understand
dealing with the day today
not like it was yesterday
when the sun shone weakly through
and I could barely even see you
though you stood right there
in front of me
and smiled

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Added a post  to  , Poetry

Here's a ditty for the day.

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Dreams

Monday morning, dull but clear
this is where we sell dreams here
dreams of fortune dreams of fame
to me they all seem quite the same
but for others living different ages
some of whom are wise like sages
yet some are still quite bright and young
hoping for a dream to come along
and sweep them off their feet to fly
for them the time slides slowly by
while looking up and looking outward
they still hope for a message about
how they should change their lives to be
more successfull than you and me

for them the time will never come
because their dreams can never run
like a river flowing onward
always further always moving
slowly yet inexorably
from here to there and now to then
as time itself flows fluidly
and lives bend with it willingly
to shape and guide us as we age
from bright young thing to wizened sage
yet for all the pain and loss and sorrow
there's always today and always tomorrow
so don't give up on your dreams yet
they're still to live for and you bet
as long as there's a dream to live
there's someone somewhere happy to give
that dream a go and try for size
as though t'were meant for their own eyes

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