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poetry
Apr 1, 2008 17:44:58 GMT 1
Post by jeffery07 on Apr 1, 2008 17:44:58 GMT 1
:'(I lived in Aberfan years ago. When I visted last, some two years ago I wrote this short poem. Please advise what you think of it.
Aberfan Cemetery:The view from the train at Merthyr Vale.
A little way up the mountain slope, lie a whole generation lost,without hope. Sorrow seeps down the grim green, embracing one,enshrouding one.
Jeff Adams-copyright.
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Post by buffylewis on Apr 1, 2008 21:02:52 GMT 1
I used to go Aberfan cemetery with my mother to my Gran's grave, after the disaster Ifound visiting there was a eerie quietness and looking at the rows of white headstones can still bring a tear, even now. I think your poem is Poignant if that is right word i'm looking for. liz
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poetry
Apr 21, 2008 16:00:20 GMT 1
Post by jeffery07 on Apr 21, 2008 16:00:20 GMT 1
Lots of visits to 'poetry' but no comments, apart from one! Please...Wales is the land of bards and poets(well it used to be!) Send some poems in-do not be shy. Would appreciate some feedback on my poem (above) even if you think it crap or tasteless or it has affected you in any way. I won't be upset. I WILL NOT BE UPSET. Calm down...
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poetry
Apr 27, 2008 14:45:56 GMT 1
Post by angel60 on Apr 27, 2008 14:45:56 GMT 1
Anything with Abervan is taken most serious my pet liked your poem not much good at them myself would love to be able to write some verse or poem but tried and cant over and over , so well done i say good on you very deep poem
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poetry
Apr 28, 2008 19:02:57 GMT 1
Post by jeffery07 on Apr 28, 2008 19:02:57 GMT 1
Thank you, most kind.
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poetry
Apr 28, 2008 23:09:13 GMT 1
Post by ronv42 on Apr 28, 2008 23:09:13 GMT 1
Hi Jeffery, I liked your poem, try this for size>.................
WELSH.
When you criticise the Welsh, It makes me fairly want to belch, For each remark or nasty thing, About the way we speak or sing, Or live and love, or work and play, Cuts to the quick in every way.
The way we are is solid Celt, Nurtured by the things we've felt, The suffering of bygone years, The waste of life, the bitter tears, That our sweet mothers shed for us, With only hope, and little fuss.
Slowly our valleys shrink away, In favour of a motorway, The coal tips standing stark and bare, Cut cone shaped patterns in the air, Yet still the rolling mountains prove, The mightiest obstacles to move.
In olden times our bards once sang, Their voices through the mountains rang, Told stories of Llewelyns days, And other tales in many ways, Through Emlyn's act and Dylan's word, Welsh character can still be heard.
All the best...............Ron Rees.
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Post by jeffery07 on May 14, 2008 18:30:23 GMT 1
Not bad, Ron.
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poetry
May 20, 2008 16:02:28 GMT 1
Post by jeffery07 on May 20, 2008 16:02:28 GMT 1
Fathers and Daughters.
I called but you were out. Sheepishly,
my eyes trespassed thro' the letter box, and, at the end of the hallway in the kitchen,its door ajar,
I espied atop a lofty chair your beautiful,brown handbag. My stomach tensed
as I thought of you. Somehow I sensed it was never to be. I silently sighed and took my leave.
Jeff Adams. copyright.
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Post by jeffery07 on Jun 14, 2008 15:40:42 GMT 1
Come on you Welsh bards...send in some poetry!
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poetry
Jun 20, 2008 8:34:05 GMT 1
Post by ginlynne on Jun 20, 2008 8:34:05 GMT 1
I'm no good at writing poetry, but liked both of yours Jeff and Ron's
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poetry
Jun 23, 2008 14:40:39 GMT 1
Post by jeffery07 on Jun 23, 2008 14:40:39 GMT 1
Thank you.
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poetry
Jul 2, 2008 19:47:30 GMT 1
Post by jeffery07 on Jul 2, 2008 19:47:30 GMT 1
THE WILL.
You told me the earth was flat, that one and one equalled four, that money grew off the tree growing in our parents' garden.
You told me. I believed you. I trusted you.
The day they died you deviously dug it all up and hurriedly replanted it in your garden. You gave me a tiny cutting and quietly mouthed: 'Be grateful.'
jeff adams-copyright.
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poetry
Jul 26, 2008 14:06:11 GMT 1
Post by jeffery07 on Jul 26, 2008 14:06:11 GMT 1
THE LOCKET
Safely tucked inside the precious image lies close to the pining heart, no more to part.
-'Tis too much pain of a little child lost; a little child,gone, Forever.
jeff adams. copyright.
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poetry
Aug 15, 2009 17:00:58 GMT 1
Post by Deleted on Aug 15, 2009 17:00:58 GMT 1
I’m standing up on a hilltop, above the Town that’s known as Merthyr You can look as far as your eyes can see, but you need to look no further For this is the Town, where a hard life was born Where poor people lived, and to survive, had to learn A Town that was known for its Iron, but those days, have now passed But still the name of Merthyr is a name that forever lasts If you travel the whole World over, you will find that Merthyr’s known From the early days of Rebecca,where the seeds of rebellion was sown And though it was crushed on that day long ago, it still cannot be forgot Of the squalor of the People with nothing,and of the riches that others have got.
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poetry
Aug 15, 2009 17:05:10 GMT 1
Post by Deleted on Aug 15, 2009 17:05:10 GMT 1
Heart of Dowlais Where once the Heart of Dowlais stood, its now been ripped asunder When once the Darkest night was day,when the Furnaces roared like thunder Food was scarce in those days, long ago When to keep you’re self warm,you picked coke off the floor And yet there was some,who made money from sweat While the poorest of families fell, still deeper in debt Is there no justice in this hard life of ours When just to survive you had to work all of Gods hours Hoping that the day would come, when the Owners would pay For all of the Blood, that was spilled every day While the Furnaces spewed out,with their mighty roar As the cannon and the rail moulds wait, below on the floor.
So while the Profits were mounting,and the Barons rubbed hands The poor walked around wearing their black arm bands To mourn for their losses, as each family did pay As they sweated in Furnace heat,on the coldest of days And then at the shift end to make their own way Back to the squalor, and let tired bodies lay To their hovels called homes,that was throughout of the town Where the poor wore rags,And the Rich wore Ball Gowns.
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