June 15, 2020

It's poetry to entertain you this week. Enjoy.


A calves life by Tara Turner


It was like a jamboree

Except it was not jolly

For this is my end

And that of my friend

We were born together on the same farm

But torn from our mothers and put in a barn

We did not get to feel the warmth of our mothers love

We are the ones to be disposed of

We can hear our mothers call

The pain of loss hits like a wrecking ball

I want the hermit of a farmer

To look deep inside and take down his armour

We are as delicate as an orchid in the morning sunrise

We want to enjoy blue skies

We want to live our lives

Not come under humans knives

We think, we feel, we communicate

We don’t deserve to be classed as freight

But alas the end is near

I try to control my fear

One last look at my friend

We nuzzle as we get shoved round the bend

Further down the killing shute

This human is a brute

I call for my mother I call for my friend

I'm only a week old, I panic I don’t want my little life to end

I get prodded and poked

It hurts, I'm held fast, I'm choked

Then ……………………..



Henry V111 – by Rick Haynes


Henry the eighth was a nasty old king

Full of spite and rotten to the core

He’d make many a choir boy sing

But you’d never see him anymore


Henry would smile and then he would glower

For his lust was endless, his size twice as big

As he’d wander around his greatest tower

And waddle and reek, as fat as the fattest pig


None of his wives were particularly happy

For he promised much but never delivered

Like a smelly child with a well soiled nappy

Henry would cry out as he dithered and slithered


His gout was a problem, the pain out of control

His mind often wandered, his eyes would close

Yet we must never forget, the terror in his soul

As he tried hard to sleep, yet could only doze


A king of mighty England, a man of massive bulk

Often evil, often sly, but never ever his fault

He’d spend so many hours with one big sulk

And all the time was thought after thought


Which girl would he take to his very large bed

And which one would become his new radiant queen

So many were chosen, a few lost their head

And some disappeared, were missing, never seen


And when Henry died from a wound in his leg

His body was laid in a huge wooden coffin

Much relived, his friends did smile over a keg

But no hats were thrown, nor even were doffing


For the King had died, yes, he was dead.

But who would now dare to rule in his stead?

Long live the King.



NEVER TOO OLD by Rick Haynes


It’s summer, and the day was long.

Too hot to dance and sing along.

The tune so loud, it hurt my ears,

The memories, from all those years.

I wandered empty on a whim.

My head well down, my chin tucked in.

The past has gone I breathe a sigh.

My dreams are lost I wipe my eye.

With leaden feet I take the walk.

Too old I shuffle, too weary to talk.

The sky is bright, I see the sun.

My days are gone, I cannot run.

The light retreats, I say a prayer.

I’ll defy you god, I stand and stare.

The dark can wait, I feel my power.

I’m not dying yet like a wilted flower.

My life is long I’ve reached the ton.

So stand aside, for there’s more to come.

As all I need is a little fun.






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