Who Needs A Nearby Place To Grieve? comical poem by Angela Lansbury.

 Who do we need a place to grieve

A tombstone, monument with names?

Or tee-shirts, tattoos, names on sleeves

Old pictures in new picture frames

Some like to move old dead away

Cemeteries, later move old bones

Cemeteries car parks, parks for play

Hidden, stored on walls, old tombstones

While some move on, gran's gone away

Graves once a year seclude your tears

Whilst others want the dead to stay

Say angels on shoulders calm fears

Some think souls live and will return

Fly past as short-lived butterflies

(Yet not as bugs in rugs nor worms)

Sweet memories when someone dies

We give them little when they live

Spend our money on us instead

Then spend huge sums on wakes and graves

When it's too late and they are dead

A quick death brings one day of pain

The birth and death dates make a frame

New birthdays, weddings aren't the same

But old pix show joys lived again.

-ends-

I changed the last line 

from

But photos show joys lived again

to

But old pix show joys lived again.

Photos is a much better word than the horrid neologism (recently new word) pix. But I wanted to clarify that it is photos of old weddings, not photos of new weddings, which revive happy memories.

That Hat. Comical poem by Angela Lansbury.

See this summer sun hat's wide floppy brim.

I sewed on pink ribbon under my chin. 

I don't want my new hat flying away

On a bike or boat to ruin my day

It could be lifted by a sneaky breeze

If I read, take photos, or a strong sneeze

Where I am going five minutes sewing

Secures my hat for smart outfit showing.

-ends-

Please follow my blogs and dress and travel. Share with friends and family the links to your favourite poems.

We Do Not Ask! Comical poem by Angela Lansbur

We have never asked to be born

Nor to start young, nor end up old

Yet we can choose to stay timid

Or brave the cold and to be bold

The Bus And Train And Home

 ZOOM

I see a message on my Zoom

Which asks me, 'Ma'am, please join the room,'

The word Ma'am tells me caller's Delhi,

Or Bollywood on the telly

BUS

I never like to make a fuss

I won't say, 'No. I'm on a bus.'

I need to mute, I have no choice

If not, they'll  hear a robot voice

One of the joys of modern life

Robots remind like alert wife

Of every street a bus will pass

Back home, the phone says mow the grass.

TRAIN

Then when you're sitting on a train

With groups you'll never see again

Their clothes will tell you where they've been

And all the world's great sights they're seen.

When not on trains some like to run

On sunny days we all have fun

One man has street wheels on the train

Which takes us out then home again

-ends-

Please share links to your favourite poems.

How Are You? Comical poem by Angela Lansbury

 When the British ask, 'How are you?'

Tjey don"t really want to know

Everything that's wrong with you 

From left to right, and head to toe

The Brits don't want to know

About  short sight and wonky teeth

Miscaiiages, car accidents

Skin problems and what?'s underneath

Nor morning dickness, a blocked nose

Nor vomiting and diarrhea

Dandruff. Sore thrist and hammer toes

Lost weigjt, lost socks, and broken nose

How are you's just a greeting

So answer, very well, great.or all rùght

Then add, how are you. But neither of you

Should  list  aches and pains all though day and night

I've heard that Russia's different

They tell the truth and want to know

So ig you want to tell your troubles, that's where you should go

Once I went to zzzRusdia

And I hope Ive got this rigjt

Because when my date askef, How sre you

I taldef thoughout the nigjt

I told him all the troubles that the Brits don't want to know

Aches snd pains, agsin and again

From left to right, all through the nigjt

From left to right and head to toe

The British are so polite

TheyLl listen if you talk all night

And wont say how to put things rigjht

When in distress they call the NHS

-ends-

NHS stands for National Health Service.

Please follow my blos share links to this post

With all your driends and colleaged, both oh them. I mean both friends and family, or frinds and colleages, hundrefs of them, or the two of them, if you have only two.

Is This Poetry Or Prose?

 Who knows, and do you really know

If you wrote poetry or prose?

If you've read lots of poetry

When you write prose, strong feeling shows

But is it really poetry

With rhythm and with proper rhyme?

Did you count feet or syllables

Make sure each line took the same time?

A poem can be short, sharp, swift 

Be a piece of propaganda

Unlike a smart, reasoned essay

Which should be an even-hander

I often see so-called poetry

Religious rant, or political

It doesn't sound quite right to me

Cut lines are verse, not poems at all.

Some people write a quick, loud rant

Whilst others moan and groan all day

if you've got no rhyme nor rhythm

Maybe you should write sn essay

If you are so fraught with strong thought

But lack time for punctuation

Don't foist muddled struggle on us

Send words to another station.

-ends-

Do you look your age? Comical poem number 777 by Angela Lansbury

 

Angela Lansbury.

Do you sincerely look your age

When you're out having too much fun?

When you're so drunk you tell your age 

Kind strangers lie  - 'You look so young!

'Your birth certificate told lies!'

You know you're old when your dog dies

When grandpa dies and no-one cries

Great grandchild shrugs, the widow sighs

Babies are born wrong years and days

Babes should smile, sleep all the time

They don't behave in baby ways

Ungrateful, cry all night, wake, whine

Some of them look like old bald men

When you undress them, fountains go

Some babies small like opium dens

How would I know.! Just guessed - don't know

Then when teens grow and want a drink

They lie about their real birth age

They do not look the age you think

Drive, accidents, get in road rage

Then when they reach the age of thirty

People say they still look twenty

When they reach the age of forty

People say they look like thirty

When they reach the age of fifty

Nifty people say, you look forty

When they reach the age of sixty

People say you look like fifty

When you reach your seventies

People say you look like sixty

If a few do not believe it

They never say it's like it is

Then when you reach seventy nine

You're still having a great time

But when you reach the age of eighty

Your new stage is 'past my bed time'

Sadly the mirrors do not lie

And you do not fit in your clothes

Too fat to walk, belly balloon

Or skeleton thin, gone 'too soon' friends die

Your hair falls out, your legs give out

You need to wear reading glasses

You grow deaf, people say, 'Don't shout'

Younger folk stop making passes

And ageless singers who took drugs

Have faces like maps, full of wrinkles

Now look like bugs living in fugs

Can't keep it up, keep needing tinkles

Fond grandchildren will run away

When they need you on reaching teens

It's time they heard what you should say

But you daren't tell them what you mean.

-ends-