Creaky Bones

[Rincewind]

First page in my proposed book. First proof read done. Just need to know if it reads and sounds OK and flows with correct puntuation. Copy and pasting so the layout may be different on here to Word.

Sonnets

I wrote this a few years ago when I first did Creative writing classes. I used one of W. H Shakespeare’s sonnets and re-worked it until I felt it was right. It took several re-writes.

Mother

When all alone, quiet, and lost in thought,

I see again the times when I was young.

I smile for attention I often sought,

Knowing if I was sad then you would come.

You would dry the teardrops that then would flow,

Be my bedside nurse on a restless night.

A soothing word and I'd forget my woe,

Consoled that you were not far from my sight.

Your wrath confused me when I misbehaved,

Never believing I was ever wrong.

But now I see love through your stormy rage.

With your wise words I have grown, oh so strong.

So when I think of you, Mother and friend,

All regrets are over, all sorrows end.

[Webbo]

That's very good Ken. I don't know the original Shakespeare so I don't know how much you've changed it.

[Rincewind]

Think it was this one. It's a long time since I looked at the original.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought

I summon up remembrance of things past,

I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,

And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:

Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,

For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,

And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe,

And moan the expense of many a vanished sight:

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,

And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er

The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,

Which I new pay as if not paid before.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,

All losses are restor'd and sorrows end.

[Webbo]

At least I can understand yours.

[Rincewind]

page #2

Poems

I wrote this for my 60th year and getting a free bus pass. I had intended to try and publish my poems and launch at a party. But I became unemployed and the Government changed the dates for the bus pass so I could not do it.

Creaky Bones

Creaky bones,

I must be getting old.

Creaky bones,

But I will not be told.

Creaky bones,

Those stairs are hard to climb.

Creaky bones,

I will not moan and whine.

Creaky bones,

Bending to tie up shoes.

Creaky bones,

Waiting in those long queues.

Creaky bones,

Once young, now aging fast.

Creaky bones,

Soon I’ll have that free bus pass.

Creaky bones.

[Rincewind]

Page #3

Deirdre Blues

Oh Deirdre, Oh Deirdre,

what words can I say

to express how I feel

when you are far away.

But Deirdre, when you are close to me

and I think of the things you do,

my whole body starts to shake

and that's when I feel blue.

The sight of your gargoyle face

and the words that spit from your mouth,

make me break out in a cold, cold sweat

and I wish I was far, far south.

Oh Deirdre, it has to be said,

the taste of your cooking makes me ill.

Your under-cooked roasts are really vile,

as for your soup, well it's pig swill.

Your gas-like breath sends me to sleep.

Your toxic nagging drives me to drink.

I don't know how much more I can stand!

Oh Deirdre I'm dangling on the brink.

But 0h Deirdre, when I'm feeling low

Maybe all is not doom and gloom.

Your fortune will be mine if you die.

So Deirdre, my darling, please do SOON.

[Rincewind]

Created a new website. How long it will last I do not know. It's just for creative writing.

http://ken-duddle-crreative-writing.weebly.com/index.html

Not much on it. Just home page and one poem. Also a contact page May had pictures or drawings to brighten things up depending on copyright of course.

The contact page will be for comments book orders (whenit is ready) and maybe guests own work I want to try and avoid putting non-related stuff on it. I have a blog which was intended for similar but its been neglected.

[Rincewind]

#4

Childhood Games

The icy snow sparkles in the midday sun

as we glide down on cardboard toboggans.

Scarves wrapped thrice around our necks,

overcoats buttoned to the top.

We feel no pain as we tumble off,

just laugh, and run for another go.

In the distance other children are skiing,

planks tied to their feet, sticks in hands.

Younger children have built a snowman,

coal taken from parents' bunkers for eyes.

A by-pass now runs through our playground,

this vast green used for childhood games.

Traffic cones line our slalom run.

Cars skid where we used to slide.

Lorries drive between our goalposts.

where a fantastic goal was scored.

And where a superb six was hit,

road markings show us the boundary.

Progress has left us with childhood memories

the new generation will never see.

[OzFox]

Page #3

Deirdre Blues

Oh Deirdre, Oh Deirdre,

what words can I say

to express how I feel

when you are far away.

But Deirdre, when you are close to me

and I think of the things you do,

my whole body starts to shake

and that's when I feel blue.

The sight of your gargoyle face

and the words that spit from your mouth,

make me break out in a cold, cold sweat

and I wish I was far, far south.

Oh Deirdre, it has to be said,

the taste of your cooking makes me ill.

Your under-cooked roasts are really vile,

as for your soup, well it's pig swill.

Your gas-like breath sends me to sleep.

Your toxic nagging drives me to drink.

I don't know how much more I can stand!

Oh Deirdre I'm dangling on the brink.

But 0h Deirdre, when I'm feeling low

Maybe all is not doom and gloom.

Your fortune will be mine if you die.

So Deirdre, my darling, please do SOON.

Someone you're not keen on?

I like #4. Reminds me of Harrow where I grew up. The place is barely recognisable now.

[Rincewind]

No, never got to that stage. It is just my style of writing. Can't do anything without a touch of cynicism sardonic or satire in. Started off as a love poem then I thought sod it.

#3 is Leicester, Stocking Farm on one side of Belgrave Boulevard green. Mowacre Hill was on the other side. Lived there for around 20 years. A few years back I went by in a car with my brother and he pointed out our house. I never even realized the road had been built. The poem may not have been 100% accurate but games of football and cricket were played all the time in the summer and in the winter it was great for sliding down on cardboard.

[Webbo]

According to Countdown Kens Poems is an anagram of spokesmen.

I just thought I'd put that in here.

[Zingari]

According to Countdown Kens Poems is an anagram of spokesmen.

I just thought I'd put that in here.

i think "Poke SS Men" sound more fun

[Guest]

You should collaborate with Thracian.

[Rincewind]

Yes I have a book of his. Pretty good tbh.

Been updating mysite again. I have now linked to offsite blogs. May do it for a forum. The forum on the site is restricted as to what you can do. So looking for a reasonable to set up. Need a sign up for members and 4 or 5 topics and admin control.

[Rincewind]

I'm still the only one replying to this thread. This is the latest one. Mods you can merge the rest of the thread if you want now This has been found.

This is the revision of the poem I did in the how was your day thread. I think I have improved it.

Down Not Out

Recently I spoke to a young man.

Let’s say his name was John.

He told me of his life,

And the things he had done.

His childhood was not a happy one,

a broken home, abused by someone close.

It left him backward in reading and sums,

so his schooling suffered as a result.

He left school at 16 years old.

Joined the army, felt there was nothing else.

He was taught how to march, how to obey,

and how to kill. In self defence

He was told when to sleep.

When to wake up and when to eat.

He was feeling content,

felt his life was complete.

He then was sent to the Afgan war,

returned with anxiety and stress.

The army he loved he had to leave,

His nerves were in a mess.

He moved into a bedsitter flat,

with the remains of his army pay.

But soon fell behind with the rent,

and told he had to leave ‘Right-away!’

Not knowing where to go,

he walked the streets by day.

At night sleeping on cardboard.

In a secluded shop doorway.

Passer-by’s ignored his begging pleas,

muttering ‘He is on the dole,

will only spend money on drink and drugs.’

His medal worn with pride, some said he stole.

Then one night someone did stop,

helped him to his feet.

Took him to a sheltered home,

gave him something to eat.

He was taught how to read,

and enrolled on an IT course.

He was shown where to seek help,

and how to find some work.

Now he is a leader at the home,

helps others change their lives.

For those like he once was,

I asked if he had advice.

He said, my friend, believe in yourself,

never have self doubt,

say to yourself each and every day,

‘I am down not out.’

[dave the caveman]

Coming on strong - a poem not about the weather.

Life is all about choices

I could go for a nice long walk

Or i could read about unexplained noises on foxestalk

Or neither

I could grab some chalk and talk my way into a poetry thread

I could lay beneath her as she rolls her palm across my head

seductive

two layers of duct tape is enough to keep their arms bound

it's not what you saw, you bought or what you found

that causes those hounds to chase you

they're not out to embrace you only to kill you

ask yourself what it takes to fill you

with joy love and laughter

and put down the cigarette after

it's time for action

time to split from the faction

that proposes inaction

against the incapable captain

of the black roughed up vessel in which you lie captured

never to leave without several bones fractured

not that it ever mattered

you're dead now.

[Rincewind]

Anyone is welcome to submit stuff on my site. Even a comment or two would be nice. Well only if the comments are nice.

Anyway I've finished adding the poems I hope to put in a book. Got some stories but they may need editing and proof reading. Depending how much space I am allowed I will carry on putting stuff on. If my space is limited I can always set up another site with a link.

This is another plug promotion for the site http://ken-duddle-creative-writing.weebly.com/

[Rincewind]

Found this in a poetry magazine I had some poems published in. Some of the wording may be out of date (1996) though.

Apologies for 4th stanza.

It’ll Be OK

Don’t worry.

The head of British Gas

will take a pay cut.

Your favourite watering hole

will never shut.

There may be acid rain

because the ozone layer is kaput,

But someday

it’ll be OK

Don’t worry.

Elvis Presley will announce

that he is well and truly dead.

You will be given a wage

to stay in bed.

There may be squatters

in your garden shed,

But someday

it’ll be OK.

Don’t worry.

There’ll be a non-stop funfair

in your local park.

Granny muggers will prowl

the streets in the dark.

There may be need

to build a fall-out Ark,

But someday

it’ll be OK.

Don't worry

Leicester City will achieve

the Cup and League double.

Politicians will resign

when in trouble.

You may have to live

in a pollution-free bubble,

But someday,

it’ll be OK

.

Don’t worry.

Michael Jackson will become

the Antichrist (or Pope).

Cliff Richard will crack

and start smoking dope.

You may have to listen

to another Jim Davidson Joke,

But someday

it’ll be OK.

Don’t worry.

Footballers will not dispute

the yellow card.

Salman Rusdie will not need

an armed guard.

The next London airport

may be New Scotland Yard,

But someday

it’ll be OK.

[Rincewind]

This was on page 4. That will never do.

Reflections

Old man, face wrinkled with age,

moves slowly down bus,

walking stick in shaky hand.

Bus jolts, old man mutters

.Kindly hand grabs arm

.Fat lady, jolly face.

Aunt Betty when he was young.

Mirror reflections.

Old man sits down wearily

Woman in front, loaded with shopping,

and two young children.

One with runny nose

,other chocolate covered face.

Wife, children long ago.

Mirror reflections

.Old man gets off bus,

walks down road

.Lowered head, eyes sad.

Places newly cut flowers

by gravestones, three.

Family killed in blitz.

tears run down face.

Mirror cracked.

[Rincewind]

The General's Speech

A young man watched open-mouthed,

As he listened to the general's speech.

Who spoke of pinnacles of bravery,

That only a fearless man could reach.

The young man was given a uniform,

And a rifle placed into his hand.

He proudly stood on the ship's deck,

As it sailed to a foreign land.

Lying in a trench covered in mud,

He waited anxiously for the call.

Thinking about going over the top,

Where he would see the enemy fall.

At last the captain gave the order,

‘Righto chaps do your best.’

The young man ran but 20 yards,

Heedless of shells hitting his chest.

His memories spilled onto the ground,

Where his comrades were not far behind.

They trampled his short life underfoot,

Lost in the earth never to be found.

The young man was laid beneath the grass,

Where he used to run and play.

On his old school's roll of honour board,

Was added another young man’s name.

A young man watched open-mouthed,

As he listened to the general's speech.