• Video & Verse

Read Me An Old Poem

Read me some verses, some thoughts from the past,
That somebody shaped into words that might last.
That somebody sweated and nursed into being,
To their way of thinking, to their way of seeing.
A secret that perhaps, they were privy to hold,
And now, as you speak, their story is told.

You cannot read poetry? But yet, you can talk,
So yes, yes you can! - as natural as walk.
Speak slowly and strongly, do not hesitate,
Freeing the words from their imprisoned state.
Your days up to now have prepared you, my friend,
Have shaped your own voice, to uniquely blend
A colour, that no other human’s has found,
The poem lives again, set free by the sound.
The way that you phrase and pronounce is your own,
Nuanced by experience and the wild-oats you’ve sown.

So read out a poem clear and true every day,
You need not an audience to hear what you say.
Releasing the words to the air is the thing,
That they may resoundly take over and sing.
And whose verses to read, whose words to release,
For me, always Kipling, a veritable feast.

The Editor

 Simple Things

Walk the dogs on the hillside
Take the kids to the sea
Hold the hand of your true love
Bounce a baby on your knee.

Trek your way ‘cross the county
Ride your bike till you drop 
Swim as far as you’re able
Run until you have to stop.

Speak the truth when it matters
Hold your tongue when it counts
Simple things are really what
This life is all about.

Muffin66

I Wandered

I wandered lonely as a sheep,
Rejected by the flock.
I wandered without tune or beep,
My mobile I’d forgot.
I wandered where I should not go,
Was quickly shown the door.
I wandered down to Beachy Head,
I’ll wander there no more.

Muffin66

The Bellaminski Rose

The Bellaminski rose from their bottomless pit,
And they climbed to the top of the furthermost spit;
Then they dropped to the ground with a noiseless weeee,
And jumped to their feet, of which they had three.

They turned to the east and they turned to the north,
Spun round about, then sat down and thought;
Then jumped to their feet with a thumb in each mouth,
Pulled at their ear, and walked to the south.

Then they took to their heels, and raced to the west,
Rolling down mountains… but stopped for a rest;
When they took out a sandwich of mustard and bacon,
And pink lemonade, which they drank through a straw.

Then they made up a plan by the light of a star, 
That shone through a cloud, that had followed them far;
And without more ado, they all burst into song,
Telling tales of their childhood, and where they belonged.

Now they raced to the west at incredible speeds,
Swimming through deserts, and jogging through seas;
Till again they stood, under that very same spit,
Returning with joy, to their bottomless pit.

When the nights are long and the moon is clear,
There’s a “k” in the month, and three nines in the year;
You may spot the Bellaminski, as they search for the sun,
But don’t try and count them, because there are none.

Old Harry