Despite the current 'Social Distancing' Poetry group will continue to run - by email.
The current topic is 'Saints & Sinners'
Here's a selection of poems our members chose on this theme:
March 2020 - Saints & Sinners (part 1)
1. Carol's Own:
My father was a saint
ever seeking ways to ease
(ignoring officials constraint)
the life of those made poor by war.
My mother was a saint
ignoring self and needs of her own
to support others nearby
with laughter and love homegrown.
The sinners who tread this world
are not just the selfish greedy liars
or like me can’t think what to do
but those who scorn the triers.
I love the ones who ring their friends
who strive to make connection
these saints work beyond their ends
and we grow in their warm reflection.
2. Irene’s chose: The Ruined Maid by Thomas Hardy
"O 'Melia, my dear, this does everything crown!
Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town?
And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?" —
"O didn't you know I'd been ruined?" said she.
"You left us in tatters, without shoes or socks,
Tired of digging potatoes, and spudding up docks;
And now you've gay bracelets and bright feathers three!" —
"Yes: that's how we dress when we're ruined," said she.
— "At home in the barton you said thee' and thou,'
And thik oon,' and theäs oon,' and t'other'; but now
Your talking quite fits 'ee for high compa-ny!" —
"Some polish is gained with one's ruin," said she.
— "Your hands were like paws then, your face blue and bleak
But now I'm bewitched by your delicate cheek,
And your little gloves fit as on any la-dy!" —
"We never do work when we're ruined," said she.
— "You used to call home-life a hag-ridden dream,
And you'd sigh, and you'd sock; but at present you seem
To know not of megrims or melancho-ly!" —
"True. One's pretty lively when ruined," said she.
— "I wish I had feathers, a fine sweeping gown,
And a delicate face, and could strut about Town!" —
"My dear — a raw country girl, such as you be,
Cannot quite expect that. You ain't ruined," said she.
Jackie chose: Sonnet 16 William Shakespeare
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
And all my soul, and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
No shape so true, no truth of such account;
And for myself mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed
Beated and chopp'd with tanned antiquity,
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read;
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
'Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
3. Joy chose:
They Are A Rare Breed Those Who Never Do Lie - Francis Duggan
They are a rare breed those who never do lie
As saints they do live and as saints they will die
But you will not find any in Parliament House where Parliamentarians do meet
Where at lying with each other they do always compete
And you will not find them among solicitors who in court lie all of the time
Defending one who is on trial for a most heinous crime
The truth every day in court they are denying
One can say they make a good living from lying
And you will not find living saints among real estate agents and second hand car dealers who lie to clients every day
In their professions to be good at lying does pay
Of classes of professional liars i have just mentioned a few
You may say to this do tell us what is new
You will not find many free of vice or taint
In my years of life i have yet to meet a living saint.
& 4: This poem – No title & sometimes attributed to David Nixon 1996
I was shocked, confused, bewildered
as I entered Heaven's door,
Not by the beauty of it all,
by the lights or its decor.
But it was the folks in Heaven
who made me sputter and gasp--
the thieves, the liars, the sinners,
the alcoholics, the trash.
There stood the kid from seventh grade
who swiped my lunch money twice.
Next to him was my old neighbor
who never said anything nice.
Herb, who I always thought
was rotting away in hell,
was sitting pretty on cloud nine,
looking incredibly well.
I nudged Jesus, "What's the deal?
I would love to hear Your take.
How'd all these sinners get up here?
God must've made a mistake.
And why's everyone so quiet,
so somber? Give me a clue."
"Hush, child," said He "They're all in shock.
No one thought they'd be seeing you."
That's it for now, more to come soon,
Take care, keep well, Gil :)
We usually meet at 10.00 a.m.on the 3rd Wednesday of the month in Priory Park, Thetford.
Please bring poems to read, share & discuss with the group.
We usually have a theme but always bring other poems just because we like them.
Hope to see you soon, Gil :)
Tel: 01842 766166
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