We won’t gyp you Macarnie!
Here is some great blog-revelation through the verses below – great kick-start to the week.
Keep the poems coming …
Macarnie tells me that he writes poems all the time – drafts six a day and completes about two each day. He finds that it fills the gap in his life since he lost his wife four years ago. Here is a snapshot of how his life has developed into one that is all the richer for his poetry writing:
“I always wrote a few daft ditties , and the occasional poem swearing eternal love to my wife: you know the sort of thing: a bunch of flowers always seemed more complete with a little poem. It has now become my main hobby. I like to think of the thrusts against B liar as being useful, at least to me to vent the ire , without doing much good really. You asked about speed of writing : I tend to write the first line of maybe half a dozen possible themes during each day, and will then complete perhaps two a day. I do write quickly, with edits. I particularly like Boris’s style, and opposed to what some of the press seem to think, he has an incisive side which , I believe , he should show more.”
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Boris: dares utter what others think
Should it prove that there is a talent
For joining words up to make sense.
I’d gladly forego all those pleasures;
If I read someone climbed off the fence
The media would fain bury Boris;
They say that he’s prone to make gaffes
So what do they think about Tony,
Was the Black Watch a bundle of laughs?
Boris; the choice of the people
Dares utter what others just think
The simple, bald, truth of the matter
Our Country’s half way down the sink
Too many believe it’s just Boris:
Not so; there’s a Party somewhere.
If they’d only come in from the desert
One could see that there’s more than blond hair.
The last time: you voted for Tony,
Twas his teeth and his big boyish grin,
Now you see how he’s lied through the former,
Will you vote Bush’s Poodle back in?
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Twit My Family
I like to twit my family somewhat, as this will show:
Another week has come and gone, I wonder where time goes
It’s easy seeing where it’s been. I’m older and it shows.
At least that’s what the family says . I still believe I’m young
My joints may creak a little, but still lisssom is my tongue
A wee bit tart at times, I fear, tinged with acid ; poison tipped
I unleash it only seldom: If I think that I’ve been gypped
I’m told I should know better at my age: that’s hard to take
Since habits of a lifetime are so very hard to break.
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I miss the gentle banter, as it flitted to and fro,
I miss the clink of glasses, as the drink began to flow,
I miss those little meetings, we’d sit and have a chat,
I miss the mealtime gatherings, no apologies for that
l miss the little arguments, which happened now and then,
I miss the spoken word a lot, no need for ink and pen
I miss the human element; the touch; the glance; the kiss
I can’t describe the savage longing , for all those things I miss .
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So it isn’t just politics or love poems; I go where I fancy.
I’m retired, I live on my own and I have a dog for company.
That is more than enough from me.
Best blue blog regards