A call to verse

Re: A call to verse

Postby daffyd » Thu Feb 14, 2013 8:48 pm

Thank you Dita, it gives the writer a warm feeling to think that the work put forward can inspire or move the reader!
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Re: A call to verse

Postby daffyd » Sat Feb 23, 2013 8:24 pm

Daddy's Day

Her hair was up in a pony tail,
Her favorite dress tied with a bow.
Today was Daddy's Day at school,
And she couldn't wait to go.

But her mommy tried to tell her,
That she probably should stay home.
Why the kids might not understand,
If she went to school alone.

But she was not afraid;
She knew just what to say.
What to tell her classmates
Of why he wasn't there today.

But still her mother worried,
For her to face this day alone.
And that was why once again,
She tried to keep her daughter home.

But the little girl went to school
Eager to tell them all.
About a dad she never sees
A dad who never calls.

There were daddies along the wall in back,
For everyone to meet.
Children squirming impatiently,
Anxious in their seats

One by one the teacher called
A student from the class.
To introduce their daddy,
As seconds slowly passed.

At last the teacher called her name,
Every child turned to stare.
Each of them was searching,
A man who wasn't there.

'Where's her daddy at?'
She heard a boy call out.
'She probably doesn't have one,'
Another student dared to shout.

And from somewhere near the back,
She heard a daddy say,
'Looks like another deadbeat dad,
Too busy to waste his day.'

The words did not offend her,
As she smiled up at her Mom.
And looked back at her teacher,
Who told her to go on.

And with hands behind her back,
Slowly she began to speak.
And out from the mouth of a child,
Came words incredibly unique.

'My Daddy couldn't be here,
Because he lives so far away.
But I know he wishes he could be,
Since this is such a special day.

And though you cannot meet him,
I wanted you to know.
All about my daddy,
And how much he loves me so.

He loved to tell me stories
He taught me to ride my bike.
He surprised me with pink roses,
And taught me to fly a kite.

We used to share fudge sundaes,
And ice cream in a cone.
And though you cannot see him.
I'm not standing here alone.

'Cause my daddy's always with me,
Even though we are apart
I know because he told me,
He'll forever be in my heart'
With that, her little hand reached up,
And lay across her chest.

Feeling her own heartbeat,
Beneath her favorite dress.
And from somewhere here in the crowd of dads,
Her mother stood in tears.
Proudly watching her daughter,
Who was wise beyond her years.

For she stood up for the love
Of a man not in her life.
Doing what was best for her,
Doing what was right.

And when she dropped her hand back down,
Staring straight into the crowd.
She finished with a voice so soft,
But its message clear and loud.

'I love my daddy very much,
he's my shining star.
And if he could, he'd be here,
But heaven's just too far.

You see he is an Aussie soldier
And died just this past year
When a roadside bomb hit his convoy
And taught Australians to fear.

But sometimes when I close my eyes,
it's like he never went away.'
And then she closed her eyes,
And saw him there that day.

And to her mothers amazement,
She witnessed with surprise.
A room full of daddies and children,
All starting to close their eyes.

Who knows what they saw before them,
Who knows what they felt inside.
Perhaps for merely a second,
They saw him at her side.

'I know you're with me Daddy,'
To the silence she called out.
And what happened next made believers,
Of those once filled with doubt.

Not one in that room could explain it,
For each of their eyes had been closed.
But there on the desk beside her,
Was a fragrant long-stemmed rose.


And a child was blessed, if only for a moment,
By the love of her shining star.
And given the gift of believing,
That heaven is never too far.


Ann Onimous.


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Re: A call to verse

Postby dita » Sun Feb 24, 2013 11:04 pm

That is so beautiful.
You restore memories long hidden Daffyd.
My Dad was at war in Egypt when I began school
He returned after four years..
A changed man, but still my Dad.
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Re: A call to verse

Postby daffyd » Tue Feb 26, 2013 8:20 pm

A change of tact as I digress to a Northumbrian tale...... the building of the 'Roman Wall' (In a sort of dialect) I do try to eddykate as well you know!

THE TRUTH ABOOT THE WAALL

It was built for the Romans, way back in the past;
They built it with stone, and they built it to last.
Quite a change for the locals from digging for coal
And it kept a large number of men off the dole.

It was the Emperor Hadrian who started it all
When he ordered the peasants to build him this waall.
Just what it was for there was neebody sure
And the reasons he gave were a little obscure.

"This waall," said the Emperor, rubbing his chin,
"Is to stop aall the Picts and the Scots getting in;
Aa'm used to the Geordies, Aa knaa aall their tricks,
But Aa just cannit stomach the Scots and the Picts".

They started the Waall on the banks of the Tyne
And they tried very hard for to keep a strite line.
There were thoosands of Geordies with shovels and picks
And the rate for the job was eleven and six.

The stones for the Waall came by bogie and barrow;
They were cut from the quarries at Hebburn and Jarrow.
They floated them over the Tyne on a raft,
(Them owld fashioned Geordies could certainly graft).

They travelled to Byker with nivver a spell
But they stopped for a pint when they reached the "Bluebell".
Then on across meadow and valley and dyke
With nivvor a murmur of trouble or stike.

Onwards they went, heading West all the time,
Still trying their best for to keep a strite line.
In summer they struggled through bracken and heather
And they plodged in the clarts during inclement weather.

They laid the last stone on the second of June
and Hadrian said, "Lads, Aa'm ower the moon,
Aa would like you to knaa that Aa'm proud of you aall,
And Aa thank you aall kindly for building me waall".

A big celebration was held at Carlisle;
They had a grand neet and they done it in style.
The picks and the shovels were aall put away
And the workers were given an extra week's pay.

The Picts and the Scots were a little bit vexed
And voices were raised and muscles were flexed.
But their yelling and shootin' did nee good at aall;
It takes more than taalkin' to get past a waail.

And that is the story, believe it or not,
Of how they defeated the Pict and the Scot;
How the Waall was constructed for one man's enjoyment
And the North-East was rescued from mass unemployment.



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Re: A call to verse

Postby daffyd » Sun Mar 03, 2013 8:45 pm

Night Vigil

The rustic gate did swing upon its hinge
As the breeze around the hide began to freshen
The evening sky retained an orange tinge
As the setting sun did dip and slowly lessen.
Shadows lengthened and so began to merge
As night's fingers closed upon the scene
The bullfrogs began their nightly dirge
Amidst the pond reeds, tall and bottle green.


The waters stirred up by the freshening breeze
Rippled in a spreading searching ark.
The green leaves sighed throughout the trees
As light gave way to the encroaching dark
Nocturnal creatures soon began to stir
To hunt, to search, to socialise, to forage
To chase their quarry through the cocklebur
Or contentedly graze the grasses and the borage.

Fireflies filled the sky like silvery stars,
Brown owls did swoop on silent wings, with eerie cry,
Whilst on the ground nestled shy and meek chukars
With their offspring chicks beneath their wing close by.
And so began my long and lonely vigil
As I crouched down here within my hide,
Observing the habitat of the tiny hawksbill
In this land where tropical turtles do reside.



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Re: A call to verse

Postby dita » Wed Mar 06, 2013 11:47 pm

Years ago my passion was our local Folk Club.
Many traditional songs about Adrians Wall
were sung.

I think it may be wrong but Night Vigil reminded me of Oz
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Re: A call to verse

Postby daffyd » Wed Apr 10, 2013 6:51 pm

Take a deep breath before you attempt this one....... in fact read it out loud and see how far you get without a modicum of difficulty!

English is Tough Stuff


Multi-national personnel at North Atlantic Treaty Organization headquarters near Paris found English to be an easy language... Until they tried to pronounce it. To help them deal with an array of accents, the verses below were devised. After trying them, a Frenchman said he'd prefer six months at hard labor to reading six lines aloud. Try them yourself.
Author Unknown.


Dearest creature in creation,
Study English pronunciation.
I will teach you in my verse
Sounds like corpse, corps, horse, and worse.

I will keep you, Suzy, busy,
Make your head with heat grow dizzy.
Tear in eye, your dress will tear.
So shall I! Oh hear my prayer.

Just compare heart, beard, and heard,
Dies and diet, lord and word,
Sword and sward, retain and Britain.
(Mind the latter, how it's written.)

Now I surely will not plague you
With such words as plaque and ague.
But be careful how you speak:
Say break and steak, but bleak and streak;

Cloven, oven, how and low,
Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe.
Hear me say, devoid of trickery,
Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore,

Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles,
Exiles, similes, and reviles;
Scholar, vicar, and cigar,
Solar, mica, war and far;

One, anemone, Balmoral,
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel;
Gertrude, German, wind and mind,
Scene, Melpomene, mankind.

Billet does not rhyme with ballet,
Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.
Blood and flood are not like food,
Nor is mould like should and would.

Viscous, viscount, load and broad,
Toward, to forward, to reward.
And your pronunciation's OK
When you correctly say croquet,

Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,
Friend and fiend, alive and live.
Ivy, privy, famous; clamour
And enamour rhyme with hammer.

River, rival, tomb, bomb, comb,
Doll and roll and some and home.
Stranger does not rhyme with anger,
Neither does devour with clangour.

Souls but foul, haunt but aunt,
Font, front, wont, want, grand, and grant,
Shoes, goes, does. Now first say finger,
And then singer, ginger, linger,

Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, gouge and gauge,
Marriage, foliage, mirage, and age.
Query does not rhyme with very,
Nor does fury sound like bury.

Dost, lost, post and doth, cloth, loth.
Job, nob, bosom, transom, oath.
Though the differences seem little,
We say actual but victual.

Refer does not rhyme with deafer.
Foeffer does, and zephyr, heifer.
Mint, pint, senate and sedate;
Dull, bull, and George ate late.

Scenic, Arabic, Pacific,
Science, conscience, scientific.
Liberty, library, heave and heaven,
Rachel, ache, moustache, eleven.

We say hallowed, but allowed,
People, leopard, towed, but vowed.
Mark the differences, moreover,
Between mover, cover, clover;

Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,
Chalice, but police and lice;
Camel, constable, unstable,
Principle, disciple, label.

Petal, panel, and canal,
Wait, surprise, plait, promise, pal.
Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,
Senator, spectator, mayor.

Tour, but our and succour, four.
Gas, alas, and Arkansas.
Sea, idea, Korea, area,
Psalm, Maria, but malaria.

Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean.
Doctrine, turpentine, marine.
Compare alien with Italian,
Dandelion and battalion.

Sally with ally, yea, ye,
Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, and key.
Say aver, but ever, fever,
Neither, leisure, skein, deceiver.

Heron, granary, canary.
Crevice and device and aerie.
Face, but preface, not efface.
Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.

Large, but target, gin, give, verging,
Ought, out, joust and scour, scourging.
Ear, but earn and wear and tear
Do not rhyme with here but ere.

Seven is right, but so is even,
Hyphen, roughen, nephew Stephen,
Monkey, donkey, Turk and jerk,
Ask, grasp, wasp, and cork and work.

Pronunciation -- think of Psyche!
Is a paling stout and spikey?
Won't it make you lose your wits,
Writing groats and saying grits?

It's a dark abyss or tunnel:
Strewn with stones, stowed, solace, gunwale,
Islington and Isle of Wight,
Housewife, verdict and indict.

Finally, which rhymes with enough --
Though, through, plough, or dough, or cough?
Hiccough has the sound of cup.
My advice is to give up!!!


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Re: A call to verse

Postby dita » Thu Apr 11, 2013 2:38 pm

:thinking: :lol: :hide: Confusing
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Re: A call to verse

Postby daffyd » Wed Apr 24, 2013 8:00 pm

Orion the Hunter

It was on the stroke of midnight
When the painting fell off the wall,
It bounced twice on the threadbare stairs
And landed in the hall.
The hanging cord was still intact
As was the hook, therein the wall
There was nought to explain or justify
Just why that frame should fall.

It was on the stroke of midnight
Albeit, on the second day
When another painting left the wall
In an exact and self same way.
I heard it bounce, twice, on the stairs
And found it lying in the hall,
Both cord and hook were still intact
So why should two frames fall?

Oooooooooooeeeeeer!
It was on the stroke of midnight
I sat shivering in the hall,
When up jumped my cat Orion
Chasing spiders, that was all!
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Re: A call to verse

Postby dita » Sun Apr 28, 2013 11:07 am

Love that Daffyd. Thanks :)
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Re: A call to verse

Postby daffyd » Fri May 24, 2013 8:16 pm

This is happening in your country and a country near you.......

AUSTLAND


We live in a country called Austland
The Australia we knew is no more
Where sensible people do ludicrous things
Or risk breaking some law.

In Austland we've police dogs with muzzles
Less the villain has cause to complain
And to steal from a shop and say 'sorry'
Means your free with no stain to your name.

You had better leave lights on in buildings
When you lock up and go home at night
'cause the burglars might hurt themselves entering
And there's no way you'll be in the right.

When speaking be wary in Austland
As some terms that you've used all your life
Now have connotations unintended
And you'll end up in all sorts of strife.

We elect politicians in Austland
To give us the laws of the land
Yet so many laws care for those from abroad
The whole thing has got out of hand.

The borders are open in Austland
And of migrants there's no keeping track
Just a few of the thousands illegally here
Will ever be caught and sent back.

The exception to this is the hero
Who fought for this land in the war
He's old and he's sick, he might cost us a bit
So he's not welcome here anymore.

When the history is written of Austland
Historians may just recall
That the craziest people in what was Australia
Were the public who put up with it all.!!!!!!!!!




Let's scrap Political Correctness and these so called 'Human Rights'
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Re: A call to verse

Postby daffyd » Fri Jun 21, 2013 6:47 pm

Thoughts in a flickering Flame

Memory paints with a beautiful brush, on the canvas of my mind. I can rummage through it’s vast storehouse to see what pictures I can find. I can parade these images on a private screen and feel the warmth those memories can bring. I can weave the fabrics of that hallucinary dream, whilst choirs of angels sing. I can colour those recollections, in shades to match my mood, for in the most part those memories that remain with us, are very often good.

Memory paints with a beautiful brush even of loved ones long since dead, such thoughts are with me here and now, strolling sedately through my head. I can reach out, I can touch them, I can pass the time of day. I can select a chapter from my past and like a video, can replay the memories that are pleasing and do not upset a wounded heart, and with that magic brush of memory, bring forth those that did depart.

Time and distance is no obstacle for this artistry of mind, the exercise, it soothes me and brings me a peace I could not elsewhere find. For in this I am the creator, the artist with the brush I control the scene, control the pace, for there’s no need to rush. I can review those special moments and take hours to replay the scene. I can deliberate upon conversations and decipher exactly what they mean. I can relive such moments almost any time or anywhere, even in a crowded room, or when no one else is there. Memory paints with a beautiful brush, it paints to one’s desire. It’s just a thought as you sit at home, staring into the fire.


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Re: A call to verse

Postby daffyd » Mon Jul 08, 2013 8:05 pm

Have you ever given any thought to....... reincarnation? Well I have.......

Things are so very different
From when I was here before,
Soaring costs and crime rates
There's even talk of going to war.
There is pestilence and famine,
Unprecedented drought as well as floods
The world has become an ugly place
Bereft of grass, of flowers, of woods.

Modern man has raped the Earth
And laid to waste the furtile plain
He has destroyed the very atmosphere
That did all life sustain.
Things are so very different
From when I was here before,
It will take centuries of healing
To restore life once more.

Things are so very different
I cannot reconcile this scene,
The changes all around me
Are quite abhorrent, in fact, obscene.
I shall forego this reincarnation
And erase the things I saw,
Perhaps one day I may return
To that world I knew, before.

:?
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Re: A call to verse

Postby daffyd » Thu Jul 25, 2013 7:44 pm

A super poem that tells a sad tale.
.
THE ANZAC ON THE WALL.
.

I wanderer thru a country town, 'cos I had some time to spare,
And went into an antique shop to see what was in there.
Old Bikes and pumps and kero lamps, but hidden by it all,
A photo of a soldier boy - an Anzac on the Wall.

"The Anzac have a name?" I asked. The old man answered "No,.
The ones who could have told me mate, have passed on long ago.
The old man kept on talking and, according to his tale,
The photo was unwanted junk bought from a clearance sale.

"I asked around," the old man said, "but no one knows his face,
He's been on that wall twenty years... deserves a better place.
For some one must have loved him, so it seems a shame somehow."
I nodded in agreement and then said, "I'll take him now."

My nameless digger's photo, well it was a sorry sight
A cracked glass pane and a broken frame - I had to make it right
To prise the photo from its frame I took care just in case,
Cause only sticky paper held the cardboard back in place.

I peeled away the faded screed and much to my surprise,
Two letters and a telegram appeared before my eyes
The first reveals my Anzac's name, and regiment of course
John Mathew Francis Stuart - of Australia 's own Light Horse.

This letter written from the front... my interest now was keen
This note was dated August seventh 1917
"Dear Mum, I'm at Khalasa Springs not far from the Red Sea
They say it's in the Bible - looks like a Billabong to me.

"My Kathy wrote I'm in her prayers... she's still my bride to be
I just cant wait to see you both, you're all the world to me
And Mum you'll soon meet Bluey, last month they shipped him out
I told him to call on you when he's up and about."

"That bluey is a larrikin, and we all thought it funny
He lobbed a Turkish hand grenade into the Co's dunny.
I told you how he dragged me wounded, in from no man's land
He stopped the bleeding closed the wound with only his bare hand."

"Then he copped it at the front from some stray shrapnel blast
It was my turn to drag him in and I thought he wouldn't last.
He woke up in hospital, and nearly lost his mind
Cause out there on the battlefield he'd left one leg behind."

"He's been in a bad way Mum, he knows he'll ride no more
Like me he loves a horse's back, he was a champ before.
So Please Mum can you take him in, he's been like my own brother
Raised in a Queensland orphanage he' s never known a mother."

But Struth, I miss Australia Mum, and in my mind each day
I am a mountain cattleman on high plains far away.
I'm mustering white-faced cattle, with no camel's hump in sight
And I waltz my Matilda by a campfire every night

I wonder who rides Billy, I heard the pub burnt down
I'll always love you and please say hooroo to all in town".
The second letter I could see, was in a lady's hand
An answer to her soldier son there in a foreign land.

Her copperplate was perfect, the pages neat and clean
It bore the date, November 3rd 1917.
"T'was hard enough to lose your Dad, without you at the war
I'd hoped you would be home by now - each day I miss you more"

"Your Kathy calls around a lot since you have been away
To share with me her hopes and dreams about your wedding day.
And Bluey has arrived - and what a godsend he has been
We talked and laughed for days about the things you've done and seen"

"He really is a comfort, and works hard around the farm,
I read the same hope in his eyes that you won't come to harm.
Mc Connell's kids rode Billy, but suddenly that changed.
We had a violent lightning storm, and it was really strange."

"Last Wednesday, just on midnight, not a single cloud in sight,
It raged for several minutes, it gave us all a fright.
It really spooked your Billy - and he screamed and bucked and reared
And then he rushed the sliprail fence, which by a foot he cleared"

"They brought him back next afternoon, but something's changed I fear
It's like the day you brought him home, for no one can get near.
Remember when you caught him with his black and flowing mane?
Now Horse breakers fear the beast that only you can tame,"

"That's why we need you home son" - then the flow of ink went dry-
This letter was unfinished, and I couldn't work out why.
Until I started reading, the letter number three
A yellow telegram delivered news of tragedy,

Her son killed in action - oh - what pain that must have been
The Same date as her letter - 3rd November 17
This letter which was never sent, became then one of three
She sealed behind the photo's face - the face she longed to see.

And John's home town's old timers - children when he went to war
Would say no greater cattleman had left the town before.
They knew his widowed mother well - and with respect did tell
How when she lost her only boy she lost her mind as well.

She could not face the awful truth, to strangers she would speak
"My Johnny's at the war you know, he's coming home next week."
They all remembered Bluey he stayed on to the end.
A younger man with wooden leg became her closest friend.

And he would go and find her when she wandered old and weak
And always softly say "yes dear - John will be home next week."
Then when she died Bluey moved on, to Queensland some did say.
I tried to find out where he went, but don't know to this day.

And Kathy never wed - a lonely spinster some found odd.
She wouldn't set foot in a church - she'd turned her back on God.
John's mother left no Will I learned on my detective trail.
This explains my photo's journey, of that clearance sale.

So I continued digging, cause I wanted to know more.
I found John's name with thousands, in the records of the war.
His last ride proved his courage - a ride you will acclaim
The Light Horse Charge at Beersheba of everlasting fame.
That last day in October back in 1917
At 4pm our brave boys fell - that sad fact I did glean.
That's when John's life was sacrificed, the record's crystal clear
But 4pm in Beersheba is midnight over here......

So as John's gallant sprit rose to cross the great divide,
Were lightning bolts back home, a signal from the other side?
Is that why Billy bolted and went racing as in pain?
Because he'd never feel his master on his back again?

Was it coincidental? same time - same day - same date?
Some proof of numerology, or just a quirk of fate?
I think it's more than that you know, as I've heard wiser men,
Acknowledge there are many things that go beyond our ken

Where craggy peaks guard secrets neath dark skies torn asunder,
Where hoofbeats are companions to the rolling waves of thunder
Where lightning cracks like 303's and ricochets again
Where howling moaning gusts of wind sound just like dying men

Some Mountain cattlemen have sworn on lonely alpine track,
They've glimpsed a huge black stallion - Light Horseman on his back.
Yes Sceptics say, it's swirling clouds just forming apparitions
Oh no, my friend you can't dismiss all this as superstition.

The desert of Beersheba - or windswept Aussie range,
John Stuart rides on forever there - Now I don't find that all strange.
Now some gaze upon this photo, and they often question me
And I tell them a small white lie, and say he's family.

"You must be proud of him." they say - I tell them, one and all,
That's why he takes - the pride of place - my Anzac on the Wall.
.
THE ANZAC
ANONYMOUS
(Ex-AWM)
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Re: A call to verse

Postby daffyd » Tue Aug 06, 2013 11:24 am

Walk With Me


Walk with me while I age
Be a constant at my side
Walk beside those still waters
To a place my love resides
Walk with me through golden meadows
Through woods of ancient trees
Walk o'er hills bedecked with flowers
A smorgasbord for honey bees.

Walk with me and share my sorrow
Of all disharmony and strife
Walk with me through the ages
Be by my side throughout my life
Walk with me while I age
And yet see not this ageing beau
Stride for stride, let's walk together
As we did many years ago.
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