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Two Poems by SEAN O'BRIEN
Three wonderful poems by Emily Dickinson
Frost at Midnight - Samuel Taylor Coleridge
I carry your heart with me - E.E. Cummings
RAIN by Don Paterson
Full Moon and Little Frieda
WILD GEESE - by Mary OLIVER
The Freedom of the Moon
ALICE OSWALD: A SLEEPWALK ON THE SEVERN
TENNYSON - IN MEMORIAM
JOURNEY OF THE MAGI
Song Of Myself
Daft limericks
The Going
We are Always Too Late
The Horses
The Tiger
The Blue Guitar
Atlantis
Hilaire Belloc
Morning Song, Plath, Sylvia
Penelope Shuttle
Adrienne Rich 2
Sylvia Plath and Marilyn Hacker
Jacob Polley
W.H. Auden
Alice Oswald 3
Christina Rossetti
Don Paterson 3
Don Paterson 2
U.A. Fanthorpe
Stevie Smith
Carl Sandburg
George Herbert
TS Eliot
George Szirtes
Wislawa Szymborska 2
John Burnside
Alice Oswald 2
Alice Oswald
WB Yeats
Rudyard Kipling
Ruth Padel
Don Paterson
Les Murray
Robert Bringhurst
Pablo Neruda
C. P.Cavafy
Edward Thomas
Wilfred Owen
Dylan Thomas 2
Simon Armitage
COLOURS BY SOMEONE ELSE
Seamus Heaney
Robert Graves
Anne Sexton
Dylan Thomas
William Butler Yeats
Mark Strand
Michael Symmons Roberts
Daft limericks
 

As Mercury is Retrograde and the trickster god likes his pranks, here are some really daft limericks, of the kind you can easily learn off by heart to entertain your friends!

It is an unfortunate habit
Of the rabbit to breed like a rabbit
One can say without question
This leads to congestion
In the burrows that rabbits inhabit

There was an old man from Blackheath
Who sat on his set of false teeth
Said he, with a start,
Lord Bless My Heart
I have bitten myself underneath.

There was an old lady of Rye
Who was baked by mistake in a pie.
To the baker’s disgust
She emerged from the crust
And said with a yawn, ‘Where am I?’

There was a young fellow of Leeds
Who swallowed a packet of seeds.
In a month, silly ass,
He was covered in grass,
And couldn’t sit down for the weeds.

There was a young lady of Ealing
Who couldn’t get rid of the feeling
That she was a fly
And that she should try
To walk upside down on the ceiling.

There’s a famous family called Stein
There’s Gert, there’s Ep, there’s Ein.
Gert’s prose is all bunk
Ep’s sculpture’s are junk
And no-one can understand Ein…



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