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I am not a writer of poetry but I do have some favourite verses I've collected along the way.

If you have a favourite poem ,verse, or saying you'd like to share please email me.

 

 

Poets Corner

 

Cloths Lines
 A clothesline was a news forecast to neighbours passing by.
 There were no secrets you could keep  when clothes were hung to dry.
 It also was a friendly link for neighbours always knew
 If company had stopped on by to spend a night or two.
 For when you'd see the fancy sheets and towels upon the line;
 You'd see the company table cloths with intricate design.
 The line announced a baby's birth to folks who lived inside,
 As brand new infant clothes were hung so carefully with pride.
 The ages of the children could so readily be known
 By watching how the sizes changed you'd know how much they'd grown.
 It also told when illness struck, as extra sheets were hung;
 The nightclothes, and a bathrobe, too, haphazardly were strung.
 It said, "Gone on vacation now" when lines hung limp and bare.
 It told, "We're back!" when full lines sagged with not an inch to spare.
 New folks in town were scorned upon if wash was dingy grey,
 As neighbours raised their brows, and looked disgustedly away.
 But clotheslines now are of the past, for dryers make work less.
 Now what goes on inside the home is anybody's guess.
 I really miss that way of life, it was a friendly sign
 When neighbours knew each other best by what hung on the line.

 

"Your Name "

It came from your father,
It was all he had to give;
So it's yours to use and cherish,
As long as you may live.
If you lose the watch he gave you,
It can always be replaced;
But a black mark on your name,
Can never be erased.
It was clean the day you took it,
And a worthy name to bear;
When I got it from my father,
There was no dishonour there.
So make sure you guard it wisely,
After all is said and done,
You'll be glad the name is spotless,
When you give it to your son.

~ Edgar A. Guest ~

 

“In Grateful Remembrance of the Greatest of Fathers”

  • If with pleasure you are viewing, Any work a man is doing,
    If you like him or you love him, tell him now.
    Don’t withhold your approbation, Till the priest makes his oration,
    And he lies with snowy lilies over his brow.
    For no matter how you shout it, He won’t really care about it,
    He won’t know how many teardrops you have shed;
    If you think some praise is due him, Now’s the time to slip it to him,
    For he cannot read his tombstone when he’s dead.

    More than fame and more than money Is the comment kind and sunny
    And the hearty warm approval of a friend
    For it gives to life a savour, Makes him stronger, braver,
    And it gives him heart and courage to the end.
    If he earns your praise, bestow it, If you like him, let him know it,
    Let the words of true encouragement be said;
    Do not wait till life is over, And he’s underneath the clover
    For he cannot read his tombstone when he’s dead.

  • F. W. Brazier Poem:

    •  

    THE KITCHEN TABLE

    There an lots of things wrong with Australia today,

    And I would like to have something to say, if I may

    You know for sure the problem with youth,

    Untidy, ill mannered, untamed and uncouth,

    It's the fact that the home life is often unstable,

    And it's all for the lack of a kitchen table.

     

    Remember how once we would sit down as one,

    And wouId say grace when the carving was done.

    Our own serviettes from our own special rings.

    The elders would tell us of custom and fable,

    When we all sat around our kitchen table.

     

    They are now building mansions with four car garages,

    Our working lives mortgaged to interests and charges

    There’s less time at home for the tea too be made,

    And it is seldom today that the table is laid.

    There's room after room under roof-peak and gable,

    But there's not enough room for a kitchen table.

     

    At the weekends the parents are chauffeurs unpaid.

    No wonder they are tired and their tempers frayed

    As they  ferry their broods to arenas of sport,

    Where the culture of winning is intensively taught.

    And there's more on the telly, both free and by cable,

    So there's no time to talk around the kitchen table.

     

    Karl Marx called religion the drug of the people,

    But there's scant regard now for the church or the steeple.

    Just giv’em more sport and don’t let them think,

    And keep them away from the kitchen sink.

    We'll give more sport and the Culture of Babel,

    The throw-away culture that threw out the table.

     

    With ubiquitous coke and their baseball caps,

    There’ll soon be no fellers, no blokes, no chaps.

    When they all dress the same then it's little surprise.

    That the birds swear as much and as foul as the guys.

    So we grandparents must, just as long as we're able.

    Keep our culture alive round the kitchen table

     

     

    THE SIMPLE JOYS OF BYE GONE DAYS

    We met and we married a long time ago,

    We worked for long hours when wages were low,

    No TV, no wireless - times were hard,

    just a cold water tap and a walk in the yard.

    No holidays abroad, no carpets on floors,

    We had coal on the fire and we didn't lock doors.

    Our children arrived, no Pill in those days,

    And we brought them up without any State aid.

    They were safe going out to play in the park,

    And old folks could go for a walk in the dark.

    No valium, no drugs and no LSD,

    We cured most of our ills with a good cup of tea.

    No vandals, no muggings, there was nothing to rob,

    We felt we were rich with -"a couple of bob."

    People were happy in those far off days,

    Kinder and caring in so many ways.

    Milkman and paperboy would whistle and sing,

     A night at the pictures was our one mad fling.

     We all had our share of trouble and strife,

    We just had to face it, that was the pattern of life.

    Now I'm alone and look back through the years,

    I don't think of the bad times, the trouble and tears.

     I remember the blessings,

    Our home and our love,

    And that we shared them together.

    Thank God above. 

    Author  unknown.

    GRANDMA

    It’s good to be a grandma to see the children grow,

    And tell them all the folklore they always like to know;

    About their Aunts and Uncles, and Great Granny too,

    The many things that made the roots

    From which the family grew.

    Isabel Meekings

     

    HOW TO KNOW YOUR GETTING OLDER

    Everything hurts and what doesn’t hurt, doesn’t work.

    The glean in your eye is the sun hitting your bifocals.

    You feel like the night before but you haven’t been anywhere.

    Your little black book contains only names ending in M.D.

    You get winded playing chess.

    Your children begin to look middle aged.

    You reach the top of the ladder and find it leaning against the wrong wall.

    You join a health club but don’t go.

    You begin to outlive enthusiasm.

    You decide to procrastinate but then never get around to it.

    Your still chasing woman but cannot remember why.

    Your mind makes contracts your body can’t meet.

    A dripping faucet causes an uncontrollable bladder urge.

    You know all the answers but no one asks the questions.

    You look forward to a dull evening.

    Your favorite part of the paper is “25 Years Ago Today”.

    You turn out the light for economic rather than romantic reasons.

    You sit in a rocking chair and cannot make it go.

    Your knees buckle but your belt wont.

    You regret all the mistakes of resisting temptation.

    Dialing long distance wears you out.

    You’re  startled the first time you are addressed as old timer.

    You burn the midnight oil after 9PM.

    Your back goes out more than you do.

    A fortune teller offers to read your face.

    Your pacemaker makes the garage door go up when you see a pretty girl go by.

    The little grey haired lady you helped across the street was your wife.

    You get exercise acting as pall bearer for your friends who exercised.

    You have to much room in the house and not enough in the medicine cabinet.

    And you sink your teeth into a steak and they stay there.

     

     

    GRANDMA’S LAUNDRY

     

    I remember Grandma's laundry with a basket made of cane

    And lines that stretched from wall to wall to hang things when it rained.

     

    There used to be a copper out where Grandma used to toil

    It used to take forever to wash when the water reached the boil.

     

    There were twin tubs made of concrete with a wringer in between

    A wringer in a laundry now is hardly ever seen.

     

    Upon a shelf a little box of starch called "Silver Star"

    Kero tins for buckets, remember back that far?

     

    A dipper with a handle to help our Grandma cope

    And a little wire basket with a piece of Sunlight Soap.

     

    She used to have a washboard for scrubbing out the clothes

    You must be getting on in years if you used one of those.

     

    A saucer on the window sill with bags of Reckitt's Blue

    To make the white clothes whiter still and good for bee stings too.

     

    Some sandsoap and a scrubbing brush, for scrubbing all the floors

    And some firewood for the copper in a box behind the door.

     

    A tin roof and some guttering with a funny sort of sag

    And a heap of wooden dolly pegs in a homemade hessian bag.

     

    And out the back a clothes line not the kind that spins around

    But a clothes prop held the clothes up high from dragging on the ground.

     

    I wonder what would Grandma say if only she could see

    That wash-a-matic marvel where the copper used to be

     

    The dryer in the corner the tubs of stainless steel

    Hot water pouring from the taps I wonder how she'd feel.

     

    I think that Grandma would approve the changes made and yet

    There were things in Grandma's laundry that I simply can't forget

     

     

    AUTHOR: Poem published in the Caboolture Catholic Parish
    News of 29th July, 2006 which carries the words "(by Archie Bigg)"
    A search of "Books of Norfolk Island" describes Archie Bigg as "one of
    Norfolk Island Finest Bush Poets"
     

     

     

     

     

     

    If You Could See Your Ancestors

    If you could see your ancestors

    All standing in a row,

    Would you be proud of them?
    Or don't you really know?
    Some mighty strange discoveries are made
    In climbing family trees,
    And some of them, you know
    Might not particularly please

    If you could see your ancestors
    All standing in a row
    There might be some of them
    You wouldn't care to know.
    But here is another question
    That requires a different view.
    If you could meet your ancestors,
    What would they think of you?

    --Mable Baker

     

     

     

    YOU ARE UNIQUE
     

    Each second we live is a new and unique moment of the universe,

    a moment that never was before and will never will be again.

    And what do we teach our children in school?

    We teach them that two and two make four,

    and that Paris is the capital of France.

    When will we also teach them what they are?

    You should say to each of them: Do you know what you are?

    You are unique.

    In all the world there is no other child exactly like you.

    In the millions of years that have passed there has never been a child like you.

    And look at your body, what a wonder it is!

    Your legs, your arms, your cunning fingers, the way you move!

    You may be a Shakespeare, a Michelangelo, a Beethoven.

    You have the capacity for anything.

    Yes, you are a marvel.

     

    Pablo Casals

       

    TO:  GOD.COM.
     

    Dear Lord,
    Every single evening
    As I'm lying here in bed,
    This tiny little Prayer
    Keeps running through my head:         
    God bless all my family
    Wherever they may be,
    Keep them warm and safe from harm
    For they're so close to me.
    And God, there is one more thing
    I wish that you could do;
    Hope you don't mind me asking,
    Please bless my computer too.
    Now I know that it's unusual
    To Bless a motherboard,
    But listen just a second
    While I explain it to you, Lord.
    You see, that little metal box
    Holds more than odds and ends;
    Inside those small compartments
    Rest so many of my friends.
    I know so much about them
    By the kindness that they give,
    And this little scrap of metal
    Takes me in to where they live.
    By faith is how I know them
    Much the same as you.
    We share in what life brings us
    And from that our friendships grew.
    Please take an extra minute
    From your duties up above,
    To bless those in my address book
    That's filled with so much love.
    Wherever else this prayer may reach
    To each and every friend,
    Bless each e-mail inbox
    And each person who hits "send".
    When you update your Heavenly list
    On your own Great CD-ROM,
    Bless everyone who says this prayer
    Sent up to GOD.com

    Amen
              
                

                       
                      
                     
     

    We stand on the shoulders of those who came before us. They help us to see the future and they give us our identity in the present. To know them is to understand where we fit into the greater scheme of things.