Oh for a day like that ! ( poem )

Hi Paul
Just come onto the site and read your poem and thought oh thats good and then read your post underneath and wondered :!:
CAROL

If we're going to be posting bad poetry here's a corker:

The Tay Bridge Disaster - William McGonagall

Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

’Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say-
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”

When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”

But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.

So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o’er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill’d all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.


Had they but been supported on each side with buttresses eh?

Dillinger

Paul25 said:

Blimey ,
You make an effort to post something you think people may relate to , ( after all it is supposedly a diabetic site ) and apparently it appeals to no-one . Clearly everybody is completely in control and very happy .
People eh ... why bother ?

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Hi Paul --give people time. It's difficult to concentrate on serious poetry on a busy work-day. And those people who relate to it most closely may not respond for a while. I'm not T1 so can't relate directly to it in terms of personal experience, but I can see what you're trying to convey and can empathize. In the end, poetry is about using a special medium to think through and express one's own thoughts and feelings, and sometimes I find that it's enough to be able to read it through myself (Stephen Fry says something similar). Good luck and keep writing.

Paul25 said:

l didn't post this poem for praise and by no means do l claim it to be good or even average. l only write poetry that relates to my diabetes and what l thought would be understood by others in a similar situation. ( ie Diabetes.co.uk ) Most days we get by, this was simply about the drudgery of taking insulin every single day without let up. Writing, for me, is a form of release. l was trying to say, the only time you can forget about this illness is during sleep. Perhaps l was wrong but it is the second thing l've posted without response. Maybe l'm the only one that feels this way. l will not post any more. Keep your chins up.

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Paul, If I am correct, you posted a poem before and I think I was the only one that replied, is that correct? I do understand where you are coming from. I have been out this morning, then caring for my elderly dad, went straight to a hospital appointment and got home at 5.15pm.

I was looking at a site a couple of days ago, about how Type 1's can find it so difficult and the problems that go with it. I will try and find it and post it here. And as for bad poetry, who is to say what is bad and what is not :roll: It was definitely written from the heart and soul.

Keep your chin up Paul

All the best RRB

Hi Paul don't give up posting on here or sharing your thoughts either in poems or prose. I have just read your poem and related to it/you immedIately. Sometimes I just don't want to wake up because I know how the day will pan out. Take care keep in touch Carole

I like it! And I can relate entirely

Sent from the Diabetes Forum App

Re: Oh for a day like that ! ( poem )Brother Mick

Brother Mick

The mountain frowned upon the school,
The school stared at the street,
And rich men’s sons came there in shoes
While I ran in bare feet.
The rich had meat and cakes to eat,
And butter like the Danes,
While I had only spuds and fish,
And fish, they say, makes brains.
But still the rich boys passed exams
While I kept thin, and thick,
And thanked the stars that he had come
Among us… Brother Mick.
We had the world’s slowest clock
That drowsed upon the wall,
While I cursed the Roman scoundrels
That let Caesar loose in Gaul.
There, too, was Euclid with his cuts,
And trigonometry.
That Peachy,Ring and Chas could do
But they were Greek to me.
And there were sums on trains and tubs
Of water running quick:
‘Twas Chinese torture till he came
To save me… Brother Mick.
For Brother Tom no patience had
With duffers such as I
Who never could be taught to solve
The mystery of pi.
And Brother Jim had even less
For those who didn’t prize
The hairy men of hither Gaul
As seen through Caesar’s eyes.
Then Brother Tom whacked like a bomb,
While Jim could wield the stick.
But that was all before we knew
The smile of Brother Mick.
Still the great Power that will not let
The sparrow fall to earth
Took pity on bewildered brains
No Latin could alert.
For Brother Jim was sent to Trim
To march with Caesar there,
While we sprawled in our desks and heard
The new man on the stair.
We saw him smile as he came in,
His footsteps short and quick;
His name was Brother Michael
So, of course, we called him Mick.
And as the weeks meandered on
We watched with puzzled eye
And wondered if some archangel
Had strayed down from sky
He did not shout, he did not clout
But went his gentle way
To bring the light to souls that stood
Full ankle-deep in clay.
He locked the leather in the press
And burned the hazel stick;
‘Twas then we all threw doubts upon
The mind of Brother Mick.
How short is time with one you love,
A year is like a while.
The things you will not do for stick
You learn for a smile.
We passed exams andscholarships
Our mothers thought us fine,
Though greater than the loaves and fish
The miracle of mine.
The gods be praised I even got
Marks in arithmetic;
‘You’ll be a second Einstein yet,’
Said surprised Brother Mick.
The big lads reaped their excise jobs,
We all marched to the train
And shook their lordly hands and praised
The old school once again.
The engine panted up the rails,
We flung our cheers out loud
And watched it sprinting past the bridge,
Its whistle long and proud.
And as we laughed we little knew
The card Fate chose to pick,
How soon he’d be an exile too,
Our splendid Brother Mick…
The world has wheeled a lot since then,
Quiet are the hobs of home
And far from me these things are now
As is the moon from Rome.
But I can see the old school still
Stand tall above the street,
I smell the heather from the hill
And hear the running feet.
And in the door he walks again,
His footsteps short and quick,
And back across the years I wave
Goodbye to Brother Mick.