Ernie
11-07-2008, 04:38 AM
At the age of 62 he pasted his English Lit GCSE, this poem is about that.
Our Class
No need for Mum to take us there
No uniform or well combed hair,
This is a class for older folk
I can tell you it is no joke.
Improve your English is the subject taught
Agh this will be easy is what I thought
But do dot your I's and cross your T's
Is hard for the class, Jean dose it with ease.
Ah Jean is the teacher didn't I say
She came over from England, decided to stay
She left her family they must have felt pain
It was England's loss but Ulster's gain.
We're a happy lot, get on well together
There's Doris and Elsie, two birds of a feather
These two clever ladies know verbs and pronouns
They're ahead of the class by leaps and bounds.
Ernest and James are brothers you see
James is a stalwart of Belfast B/Bs (B/B = boys brigade)
Ernest is studious but so full of fun
He's quick to remind me it's did and not done.
Kathleen is absent, she hasn't been well
We send her best wishes and this I foretell
She'll be back in the class before terms end
By that time we hope she'll be well on the mend.
I'll have to stop now, it's eleven you see
And that is the time we stop to have tea
And in case you wonder or couldn't care less
The writer of this poem is called Douglas.
_________________________________________
He wrote this one after his first stroke while still in hospital and before he could speak again.
A Stroke
All of a sudden I couldn't speak
Across my head something streaked
I tried to call out but no sound came
I really don't want to play in this game.
Brought to the Ulster to ward twenty four (Ulster = Ulster hospital)
The nurse are brilliant they've seen it all before
They have no favorites treat us all the same
But I really don't want to play in this game.
__________________________________________
This is the poem that was published. Ulster is a province of Ireland, soda and tater(potato) bread are local breads that I don't think can be bought anywhere else.
Ulster Fry
Sausages sizzling
and bristling with pride
Bacon crackling
and lying along side.
Soda bread and tater bread
all golden and brown
the egg in the middle
like a jewel in the crown.
The aroma fills the kitchen
like the clap of a bell
but nothing can match it
not even Channel.
Visitors come
eyes open mouth agape
they sit at the table
and patiently wait.
They're eager to start
some do so in haste
lips smacking together
to savor the taste.
The Italians have pasta
the English pork pie
but there's nothing in this world
to beat a good Ulster fry.
If you want to enjoy an Ulster fry
and keep the smell that lingers
throw away your knife and fork
and eat it with your fingers.
ALL POEMS BY MY DAD !
________________________________
Leonidas
Our Class
No need for Mum to take us there
No uniform or well combed hair,
This is a class for older folk
I can tell you it is no joke.
Improve your English is the subject taught
Agh this will be easy is what I thought
But do dot your I's and cross your T's
Is hard for the class, Jean dose it with ease.
Ah Jean is the teacher didn't I say
She came over from England, decided to stay
She left her family they must have felt pain
It was England's loss but Ulster's gain.
We're a happy lot, get on well together
There's Doris and Elsie, two birds of a feather
These two clever ladies know verbs and pronouns
They're ahead of the class by leaps and bounds.
Ernest and James are brothers you see
James is a stalwart of Belfast B/Bs (B/B = boys brigade)
Ernest is studious but so full of fun
He's quick to remind me it's did and not done.
Kathleen is absent, she hasn't been well
We send her best wishes and this I foretell
She'll be back in the class before terms end
By that time we hope she'll be well on the mend.
I'll have to stop now, it's eleven you see
And that is the time we stop to have tea
And in case you wonder or couldn't care less
The writer of this poem is called Douglas.
_________________________________________
He wrote this one after his first stroke while still in hospital and before he could speak again.
A Stroke
All of a sudden I couldn't speak
Across my head something streaked
I tried to call out but no sound came
I really don't want to play in this game.
Brought to the Ulster to ward twenty four (Ulster = Ulster hospital)
The nurse are brilliant they've seen it all before
They have no favorites treat us all the same
But I really don't want to play in this game.
__________________________________________
This is the poem that was published. Ulster is a province of Ireland, soda and tater(potato) bread are local breads that I don't think can be bought anywhere else.
Ulster Fry
Sausages sizzling
and bristling with pride
Bacon crackling
and lying along side.
Soda bread and tater bread
all golden and brown
the egg in the middle
like a jewel in the crown.
The aroma fills the kitchen
like the clap of a bell
but nothing can match it
not even Channel.
Visitors come
eyes open mouth agape
they sit at the table
and patiently wait.
They're eager to start
some do so in haste
lips smacking together
to savor the taste.
The Italians have pasta
the English pork pie
but there's nothing in this world
to beat a good Ulster fry.
If you want to enjoy an Ulster fry
and keep the smell that lingers
throw away your knife and fork
and eat it with your fingers.
ALL POEMS BY MY DAD !
________________________________
Leonidas