Today's poet

[Hes]

Some great rhymes there! Did you considered getting any stabilisers fitted!

Cheeky! Good idea though.

[Nathaniel Lee]

Hello Hes i thought i was alone.

[Hes]

I saw the physio again today and it turns out I've damaged a nerve in my foot which is causing the pins and needles in my heel. Apparently there isn't much fat on the bottom of my heel which normally acts as a shock absorber. So tonight it's chips, choccy and Chardonnay for genuine recouperation purposes!

Sounds like a typical night for me...only it's merlot. I've just finished working...23.40! I'm eating baked potato slathered in butter and cheese with three veggie sausages and I reckon they will put plenty of fat on my heels. Hope you get better soon HHH, can you do something about it with insoles?

[Hes]

Hello Hes i thought i was alone.

Hi Herakles, nope, I too am burning the midnight oil. I really like your new poetry direction.

[Nathaniel Lee]

Thank you and have you noticed my status now i have joined the ranks of the Masters Lounge.

[Hes]

Thank you and have you noticed my status now i have joined the ranks of the Masters Lounge.

Congratulations! Have you checked out the Masters' lounge yet?

[Nathaniel Lee]

Yes i had a musical request granted.

[Hes]

Yes i had a musical request granted.

Nice one...I don't think I got further than the nibbles.

[Hes]

To Sleep

O soft embalmer of the still midnight!
Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine;
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close,
In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes.
Or wait the Amen, ere thy poppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities;
Then save me, or the passed day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes;
Save me from curious conscience, that still hoards
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
And seal the hushed casket of my soul.

John Keats

I am off to bed now. Good night.

[Stolly]

Heard this earlier in the week, it touched me and knew it would strike a chord with most on this thread. Forgive me but don't know the title.

The father reading to his girl
some little tale they always read
is unaware that this may be
the last one that she'll ever need
she's grown past stories softly read
by daddy sitting on the bed.

The mother with her muddy son
kicking a football in the park
cannot sense as they wander home
through chilly, soft approaching dark
this was the last time they'd come out
to kick that happy ball about.

How secret sneaky-soft they come
those last times when we'll kiss it better
hold their hand across the road
or lift them up to post a letter
they pass unmarked, unnoticed for
we're not so needed anymore.

So the abandoned fairy tales and
nursery rhymes that mummy sings
leave behind soft toys and us
and put away their childish things
a loss so small, our loss the greater
un-missed, un-mourned until years later.

Lucy Berry

Sorry I'm late to the party but I really like this