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He's only after my money !

I'll have you know that I'm an Officer* and a Gentleman! (Said whilst curling the ends of his waxed moustache)

* 3rd Knife Fork & Spoon Battalion. Ret'd.

There once was a man who lived in the hills,
Kept himself happy by popping his pills
Playing with meters, the electrical kind
Collecting junk that blows his mind;
Suddenly thought he'd been lauched into space
BUT....
Soon back down to earth for arsnip and lace.

... and the winner of the poetry competition this week is.............
Very good Granny. You know me too well.

Congratulations to the winner! A great poem , and well earned second and thirds. I enjoyed reading all of them. All good in different ways , so really hard to choose. Thanks granny too for the admin.

Oh yes Granny x

Yes iam composing right now!!!!

OK. Here we go


SESSION 3

Same as before. Rules and Guidance on page 1, for anybody who is new to this.

If you wish to remain 'anonymous' then that is your choice,

just tell granny when you send your entry to her, but we would

all like to see how talented our Wiki members are.


CLOSING DATE FOR SESSION 3: SUNDAY 7TH FEBRUARY 2016 AT 2PM.

Don't forget all entries must go via granny , otherwise you may be disqualified .

Ready, Steady, Go.

My Tart


I love her because she is who she is
I love her because she's mine
And no longer his
I love her because she is always there
But most of all I love her
For loving me
And with her I always will be.
Thank you my love
From the bottom of my heart
Thank you for being my tart.

That's very romantic Dilly.

and so daintily put! Fab!

Rain

rain rain down it pours
rain rain your best off staying indoors
rain rain makes everything dull and wet
rain rain it hasn't stopped yet
rain rain seems to be the trend
rain rain will you never end
rain rain when will you be done
rain rain time to stop we need some sun

November 9th, 2014 – Macdona Drive, West Kirby



Sharp sickle-sails slice through the salty air
Bold orange, blue and white on soft slate grey.

The silhouetted Sunday walkers’ shapes
String out like beads around the chilly lake,

While unseen seabirds’ voices shrill and pipe
Like chirruping rigging resting high and dry.

They echo over wet and sandy wastes
Slick-striped with shallows, licked by gleaming light

And glitter in the listening walker’s ear
Like sun upon the water, sharp and bright.

A pale gold flood bursts through the glum grey cloud
Like tumbled blankets huddled on Welsh hills,

And lays a trail, with stepping stones of light
Across the river, bids the mind be still.

The topmost tips of cloud are whisked into
Pale eggshell blue above. Sea grasses hiss.

Far out on the horizon small arms spin
And catch the sun, whip-stitching sea to sky.

The weather shifts, and coastal colours run.
Sand slips, sags underfoot - brought down to dust,

Rough rock now rendered fine by time and tide.
We circling walkers with our joys and woes,

We come and go. The drifting choirs of birds,
The sand and sea, the sunsets, all abide.

What a nice poem.