After such a long absence I think that our blog might have found a new lease of life - hopfully. I have been e-mailing Bill Guy in South Australia to see if he might have a go and deposit a few verses for our enjoyment. Other than that, if anyone else can muster the courage, interest or enthusiasm to throw in a poem or two, that would be appreciated.
I had thought that the Blog might have been discontinued by Google. Thankfully it was there when I sought to put on my effort for St Columba Day. Well that's it for now. I do look forward to seeing something new very soon.
Thank you everyone.
Adrian.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Ode to Saint Columba
We are here today to sing the praise
Of a daring Irishman who set his world ablaze
By sailing far from old Eire’s shore
To convert the pagans by the score
He took to the sea without much care
And with his mates did keenly dare
To forage in a new land where he wished to be
Spreading God’s blessing for all to see
But word of this great man’s new deeds
Without much effort him precedes
To far off lands where now he’s known
And where over time his fame has grown
Columcill he was called when just a boy
But changed his name in a cunning ploy
And as Columba he’ll be widely known
For that’s the name this priest does own
And in Tassie there’s a waterfall where you can go
That bears his name for all to know
So get you there and have a look
At the might work nature undertook
So every time you see this sight
Be it a gentle flow or in its might
Just think of that great Saint beyond
Who did not from his Scottish isle abscond
And sail across the world to view
Those falls, that have been named anew
For if he had, the truth be known
The Aborigines might have turned to stone
When they saw that man all dressed in green
As an Irish priest would have surely been
He’d call to them, in Gaelic broad
But he could not strike a willing cord
For they would know, he was here to stay
To spread the gospel each and every day
While in the waters that now bear his name
He’d wash them for the Christian game
And turn them from their own belief
And steal their culture like a thief
Before he would quietly slip away
To collect his sainthood as a worthy pay
Well now my story is at an end
Has it sent you round the flipping bend
But truth to tell, it’s easy just to say
Saint Columba’d wish you well this happy day
Of a daring Irishman who set his world ablaze
By sailing far from old Eire’s shore
To convert the pagans by the score
He took to the sea without much care
And with his mates did keenly dare
To forage in a new land where he wished to be
Spreading God’s blessing for all to see
But word of this great man’s new deeds
Without much effort him precedes
To far off lands where now he’s known
And where over time his fame has grown
Columcill he was called when just a boy
But changed his name in a cunning ploy
And as Columba he’ll be widely known
For that’s the name this priest does own
And in Tassie there’s a waterfall where you can go
That bears his name for all to know
So get you there and have a look
At the might work nature undertook
So every time you see this sight
Be it a gentle flow or in its might
Just think of that great Saint beyond
Who did not from his Scottish isle abscond
And sail across the world to view
Those falls, that have been named anew
For if he had, the truth be known
The Aborigines might have turned to stone
When they saw that man all dressed in green
As an Irish priest would have surely been
He’d call to them, in Gaelic broad
But he could not strike a willing cord
For they would know, he was here to stay
To spread the gospel each and every day
While in the waters that now bear his name
He’d wash them for the Christian game
And turn them from their own belief
And steal their culture like a thief
Before he would quietly slip away
To collect his sainthood as a worthy pay
Well now my story is at an end
Has it sent you round the flipping bend
But truth to tell, it’s easy just to say
Saint Columba’d wish you well this happy day
Thursday, August 12, 2010
ExStanza is having a break - sort of!
Hello everyone,
As all can see who read this Blog, precious little has been posted to it since April this year. That is because we have pulled the blinds down for a while to let some of our members do other things.
Do not be disheartned, I am sure that we will be back as good as new in the not too distant future. In the meantime, the Blog is available for any and all our members to post a poem. The fact that we will not be gathering to share it in person ought not matter. The important thing is to keep on writing poetry. Allowing your work to be read by all is a benefit to both the writer and reader.
My recommendation is, therefore, get with it and compose so that we might be able to share your words and thoughts.
Adrian.
As all can see who read this Blog, precious little has been posted to it since April this year. That is because we have pulled the blinds down for a while to let some of our members do other things.
Do not be disheartned, I am sure that we will be back as good as new in the not too distant future. In the meantime, the Blog is available for any and all our members to post a poem. The fact that we will not be gathering to share it in person ought not matter. The important thing is to keep on writing poetry. Allowing your work to be read by all is a benefit to both the writer and reader.
My recommendation is, therefore, get with it and compose so that we might be able to share your words and thoughts.
Adrian.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Kym's Limericks
1.
There once was a man named Adrian
Who was Irish and not a Bavarian
Twelve limericks he asked
I tended to gasp!
A task not very Herculean.
2.
There once was a poem called the limerick
A ribald verse written as a gimmick
Popularised by Lear
1846 was the year
Now that we know we can give this ditty the flick!
3.
The grey nomads are on their adventure
Before the onset of dementia
A group of girls were all talking-
They've gone off a-walking
So my limerick is read in absentia.
4.
There once was a lass turning fifty
Who pulled off a most marvellous swifty
She got back to her roots
By walking in boots
And declared that this was really quite nifty!
5.
A great group of friends once gathered
For Easter, nothing else mattered
The fish it was ling
Such a beautiful thing
A feast where the taste buds all lathered.
Kym Matthews.
There once was a man named Adrian
Who was Irish and not a Bavarian
Twelve limericks he asked
I tended to gasp!
A task not very Herculean.
2.
There once was a poem called the limerick
A ribald verse written as a gimmick
Popularised by Lear
1846 was the year
Now that we know we can give this ditty the flick!
3.
The grey nomads are on their adventure
Before the onset of dementia
A group of girls were all talking-
They've gone off a-walking
So my limerick is read in absentia.
4.
There once was a lass turning fifty
Who pulled off a most marvellous swifty
She got back to her roots
By walking in boots
And declared that this was really quite nifty!
5.
A great group of friends once gathered
For Easter, nothing else mattered
The fish it was ling
Such a beautiful thing
A feast where the taste buds all lathered.
Kym Matthews.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Limericks by AK
1
There was a young boy from Rinanna
Who was sent out to buy a banana
He could only find sticks
So went off to the flicks and when
He got home told a bunch of lies to his mamma.
2
There was an old man from New Jersey
Who wanted to swim ‘cross the Mersey
He took a high dive in the water
But then thought that he oughta
Get a boat to the Island of Gurnsey.
3
There once was a fat dancer from All Hallows
Who did her steps in the shallows
She was seen by the queen who
Let forth with her spleen
And sent her quite quick to the gallows.
4
There was a young man from the city
Who often thought it a pity
To ride on a bus
Without making a fuss
Of the folk who keep it so pretty.
5
There was a young maid from Galfairy
Who worked every day in a dairy
She milked all the cows
With the help of some Fraus
And gave the ice cream to sweet Mary.
6
There was a young man from Bombay
Who travelled to Rome in a quick way
He crossed all the mountains and lakes
With every short cut that it takes
To see why it was not built in a day.
7
I would dearly like to compose
A great work of poetry or prose.
I sit long into the night
But am quite unable to write
So it will never be done, I suppose.
8
The trees are all green with deep shade,
The ideal resting place for a young maid
Who wants to know more
Of the forest’s greats lore
And how on earth to get laid.
9
To save Tasmania’s old trees,
And bring that horrid Gunns to its knees,
We will do it with honesty by voting,
Which will put a stop to their rorting,
Because deep down we are Greens
10
A Limerick it takes ten seconds to read,
With some doing it less if at speed,
Now I have asked you for twelve,
So into the format you’ll delve,
And hopefully that’s all we will need.
11
There’s a wonderful group called ExStanza,
Whose main aim in life is to organza,
A verse that might rhyme,
If given the time,
Then the members will have a bonanza.
12
Now Jan runs a local book group,
Once a month they discuss in their coupe,
All the stories they choose,
With the talk that accrues,
Makes this a most formidable troupe.
13
Ian Matthews rides a bright red machine,
Around the streets of St Helens so keen,
Each day he’ll prevail,
To deliver the mail,
On the nippiest motorcycle to be seen.
There was a young boy from Rinanna
Who was sent out to buy a banana
He could only find sticks
So went off to the flicks and when
He got home told a bunch of lies to his mamma.
2
There was an old man from New Jersey
Who wanted to swim ‘cross the Mersey
He took a high dive in the water
But then thought that he oughta
Get a boat to the Island of Gurnsey.
3
There once was a fat dancer from All Hallows
Who did her steps in the shallows
She was seen by the queen who
Let forth with her spleen
And sent her quite quick to the gallows.
4
There was a young man from the city
Who often thought it a pity
To ride on a bus
Without making a fuss
Of the folk who keep it so pretty.
5
There was a young maid from Galfairy
Who worked every day in a dairy
She milked all the cows
With the help of some Fraus
And gave the ice cream to sweet Mary.
6
There was a young man from Bombay
Who travelled to Rome in a quick way
He crossed all the mountains and lakes
With every short cut that it takes
To see why it was not built in a day.
7
I would dearly like to compose
A great work of poetry or prose.
I sit long into the night
But am quite unable to write
So it will never be done, I suppose.
8
The trees are all green with deep shade,
The ideal resting place for a young maid
Who wants to know more
Of the forest’s greats lore
And how on earth to get laid.
9
To save Tasmania’s old trees,
And bring that horrid Gunns to its knees,
We will do it with honesty by voting,
Which will put a stop to their rorting,
Because deep down we are Greens
10
A Limerick it takes ten seconds to read,
With some doing it less if at speed,
Now I have asked you for twelve,
So into the format you’ll delve,
And hopefully that’s all we will need.
11
There’s a wonderful group called ExStanza,
Whose main aim in life is to organza,
A verse that might rhyme,
If given the time,
Then the members will have a bonanza.
12
Now Jan runs a local book group,
Once a month they discuss in their coupe,
All the stories they choose,
With the talk that accrues,
Makes this a most formidable troupe.
13
Ian Matthews rides a bright red machine,
Around the streets of St Helens so keen,
Each day he’ll prevail,
To deliver the mail,
On the nippiest motorcycle to be seen.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Myths and Legends
History's pages are littered with legends
They come from land and sea
Their feats achieved from the much maligned
Or fearless gallantry.
Sailors huddled together
Taking comfort from the fire
Reading Greek classics
And absorbing mythological tales -
Of Jason and The Argonauts
Plying different dimensions
Homeric proportions.
Camping beneath canvas -
The sails of their sailing ship
In a quiet cove of water
Beyond the reach of the gale.
A warrior chief watches from afar
As these pale spirits enter his realm.
He meant to save his people
By meeting with their charge
Only to meet a tragic fate
Far away from his sacred land.
Few of their names are here
Though a little seeking will reveal
Their mark has left its trace.
A solitary rock to Kunnanara Kuna -
A memorial in place.
Hesitantly a township grew
Around that gentle bay
Emerging into a brave new world
With nomenclature intact.
There is Medea Cove
Along with Homer and Jason Streets
Argonaut can be found-
The sailors' stories and histories
Etched upon the landscape.
Myths and legends can blur and blind
One a tale of imagination
Explaining away the cause of our being
In a dreamtime beyond all knowing.
The other a thing to be read
Known and studied -
A collection of lives traditionally told
To further our own morality.
Me, I prefer another definition
Recounted by a modern Scottish bard
Legend is rumour plus time
That will do me fine.
Kym Matthews
6th February 2010
They come from land and sea
Their feats achieved from the much maligned
Or fearless gallantry.
Sailors huddled together
Taking comfort from the fire
Reading Greek classics
And absorbing mythological tales -
Of Jason and The Argonauts
Plying different dimensions
Homeric proportions.
Camping beneath canvas -
The sails of their sailing ship
In a quiet cove of water
Beyond the reach of the gale.
A warrior chief watches from afar
As these pale spirits enter his realm.
He meant to save his people
By meeting with their charge
Only to meet a tragic fate
Far away from his sacred land.
Few of their names are here
Though a little seeking will reveal
Their mark has left its trace.
A solitary rock to Kunnanara Kuna -
A memorial in place.
Hesitantly a township grew
Around that gentle bay
Emerging into a brave new world
With nomenclature intact.
There is Medea Cove
Along with Homer and Jason Streets
Argonaut can be found-
The sailors' stories and histories
Etched upon the landscape.
Myths and legends can blur and blind
One a tale of imagination
Explaining away the cause of our being
In a dreamtime beyond all knowing.
The other a thing to be read
Known and studied -
A collection of lives traditionally told
To further our own morality.
Me, I prefer another definition
Recounted by a modern Scottish bard
Legend is rumour plus time
That will do me fine.
Kym Matthews
6th February 2010
The Frivolous Cake
A freckled and frivolous cake there was
That sailed upon a pointless sea.
Or any lugubrious lake there was
In a manner emphatic and free.
How jointlessly, and how jointlessly
The frivolous cake sailed by
On the waves of the ocean that pointlessly
Threw fish to the lilac sky.
Oh, plenty and plenty of hake there was
Of a glory beyond compare.
And every conceivable make there was
Was tossed through the lilac air.
Up the smooth billows and over the crests
Of the cumbersome combers flew
The frivolous cake with a knife in the wake
Of herself and her curranty crew.
Like a swordfish grim it would bounce and skim
(This dinner knife fierce and blue)
And the frivolous cake was filled to the brim
With the fun of her curranty crew.
Oh, plenty and plenty of hake there was
Of a glory beyond compare -
And every conceivable make there was
Was tossed through the lilac air.
Around the shores of the Elegant Isles
Where the cat-fish bask and purr
And lick their paws with adhesive smiles
And wriggle their fins of fur.
They fly and fly 'neath the lilac sky -
The frivolous cake, and the knife
Who winketh his glamorous indigo eye
In the wake of his future wife.
The crumbs blow free down the pointless sea
To the beat of a cakey heart
And the sensitive steel of the knife can feel
That love is a race apart
In the speed of the lingering light are blown
The crumbs to the hake above
And the tropical air vibrates to the drone
Of a cake in the throes of love.
Mervyn Peake.
That sailed upon a pointless sea.
Or any lugubrious lake there was
In a manner emphatic and free.
How jointlessly, and how jointlessly
The frivolous cake sailed by
On the waves of the ocean that pointlessly
Threw fish to the lilac sky.
Oh, plenty and plenty of hake there was
Of a glory beyond compare.
And every conceivable make there was
Was tossed through the lilac air.
Up the smooth billows and over the crests
Of the cumbersome combers flew
The frivolous cake with a knife in the wake
Of herself and her curranty crew.
Like a swordfish grim it would bounce and skim
(This dinner knife fierce and blue)
And the frivolous cake was filled to the brim
With the fun of her curranty crew.
Oh, plenty and plenty of hake there was
Of a glory beyond compare -
And every conceivable make there was
Was tossed through the lilac air.
Around the shores of the Elegant Isles
Where the cat-fish bask and purr
And lick their paws with adhesive smiles
And wriggle their fins of fur.
They fly and fly 'neath the lilac sky -
The frivolous cake, and the knife
Who winketh his glamorous indigo eye
In the wake of his future wife.
The crumbs blow free down the pointless sea
To the beat of a cakey heart
And the sensitive steel of the knife can feel
That love is a race apart
In the speed of the lingering light are blown
The crumbs to the hake above
And the tropical air vibrates to the drone
Of a cake in the throes of love.
Mervyn Peake.
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