Burn's Night Poem Entry - Just For Fun!1/26/2013 Yesterday evening presented friends and I an opportunity to celebrate the life of Robert Burns, Scottish Poet and Song Writer 1759 - 1796.
Just for fun we all had to bring along a poem of our own composition. I decided that since last year was the birth of my 1st son it was somewhat inevitable that I would choose him as my subject matter. So just for fun here it is. It was 2012 on the 4th of May That the little man was giving us a sign And after a dash and then a delay He was born at 3:29 Alexander Louis had finally arrived Friday's child both loving and giving Those first few weeks he cried and cried Leaving Mummy and Daddy reeling and spinning Things seemed to settle after a time Did I tell you that he's a Taurus? Before too long he opened his eyes And that was the first time he saw us Our little man just loves to smile He greets family, friends and strangers He certainly knows how to turn on the style His personality's contagious Once he's had milk and spooned food at day Just say the word and he'll be ready Our thumb sucking boy just loves to play Bricks, trolley, lights and firefly Freddie Now he's older and starting to crawl It won't be long before he can walk Then he'll be driving us up the wall Before you know it he'll be starting to talk Our little man makes us so happy We'll prepare his way and guide him well Despite the pay back we find in his nappy We just love him to bits and are under his spell I don't suppose this entry into the poetry world will concern the establishment but it was fun to write non the less. Hope you enjoyed it! Craig
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Toulouse - Lautrec at the Moulin Rouge1/13/2013 "Cognac - more cognac for Monsieur Lautrec -
More cognac for the little gentleman, Monster or clown of the Moulin - quick - Another glass!" The Can Can Chorus with their jet net stockings And their red heads rocking Have brought their patrons flocking to the floor. Prince-nez, glancing down from legs advancing To five fingers dancing Over a menu-card, scorn and adore Prostitutes and skinny flirts Who crossing arms and tossing skirts High-kick - a quick Eye captures all before they fall - Quick lines, thick lines Trace the huge ache under rouge. "Cognac - more cognac!" Only the slop Of a charwoman pushing her bucket and mop, And the rattle of chairs on a table top. The glass can fall no further. Time to stop The charcoal's passionate waltzing with the hand. Time to take up the hat, drag out the sticks, And very slowly, like a hurt crab, stand: With one wry bow to the vanished band, Launch out with short steps harder than high kicks Along the unspeakable inches of the street. His flesh was his misfortune: but the feet Of those whose flesh was all their fortune beat Softly as the grey rain falling Through his brain recalling Marie, Annette, Jean-Claude and Marguerite. (Jon Stallworthy (1935 - ) From Art and Artists Poems Everyman's Library Pocket Poets Discovered this poem in a bookshop in Saltaire, West Yorkshire, England and loved it immediately. Thought i'd share it with you - Craig 
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