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Moderator
Posts:680
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| 17 Apr 2009 13:44 |
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| Thought that maybe some of our talented members would like a place to post their Poems or stories or old talesor maybe old family folk lore ,a place for your expressions . |
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rawny
Posts:85
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| 17 Apr 2009 15:23 |
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| Thats a good idea, im not one of the talented ones, but i love the old tales and storys |
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Chris WS
Posts:43
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| 20 Apr 2009 10:39 |
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Epsom Downs,
Every year we went to Epsom Downs,
The kushti sights, smells and sounds,
Travellers everywhere you looked,
Fires to light and hobben to be cooked,
They made the most of their time there,
The grys running and the pretty fair,
Maybe not seeing each other,
From one year to another,
So when they did meet up,
A drop of drink they did sup,
Sing and dance when the race was run,
In those days they had such fun,
No one to worry about,
Moving you on,
They'd say, Espom wouldn't be Epsom,
Without the Gypsies singing their song,
Sometimes at that time of year,
I miss the excitement and the cheer,
But things change, and we know they will,
I wonder if we'll meet in heaven, on that old hill.
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cam
Posts:55
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| 20 Apr 2009 12:35 |
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| Thats a lovely poem and a lovely thought of having it all again in heaven. |
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rawny
Posts:85
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| 20 Apr 2009 14:31 |
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| CUSHTY POEM, ANYONE GOT ANY TALES? |
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Chris WS
Posts:43
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| 22 Apr 2009 07:17 |
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I always wonder what punishment was given to young chavvies if any, mine was the birch, what about anyone else ???
Mother's Birch.
I always understood why they used it
For punishment in the old day's,
For it was with the birch I got hit,
It was one of my Mother's old ways,
Just its name put fear in my head
It certainly made me behave,
And made me feel sorry for what I'd said,
After the birch I wasn't so brave.
There was always one to hand,
No matter how many I burnt,
She never failed to make a stand,
And my lesson was always learnt.
On my leg's the sting would stay,
And I would try not to be naughty,
But mischievousness got its way,
Oh! How those tears were salty.
But the years have gone by,
And I can thank my mother now,
For teaching me how to try,
And never breaking any vow. |
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Chris WS
Posts:43
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| 27 Apr 2009 06:31 |
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| Your very boktalo to feel like that Rosie and I'm sure your Man is too, nicely put togeather, another kushti poem.xx |
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kilby
Posts:520
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| 01 May 2009 13:08 |
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Hi Rosie , well now, i reckon all the gang will read this tale o Rben an effry one who reads it will probably take sumthin away with em from it, maybe they,ll all take sumthin diffrent away wi em but they takesumthin an thas the truth coz effry man can see sumthin o themselves in a story like this espeshallywhen its true an comes strait from the horses mouth, so to speek.
Anyways Rosie mate i reely liked it an felt for ol Ruben wi his dog so thanks for the tellin of it pal xxxx ----kilby---- |
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Chris WS
Posts:43
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| 03 May 2009 06:41 |
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| Well done Rosie ! that is a kushti one, MODERATOR, thanks for the ; Chris the Gypsy poet ! I think a lot of Rom have story's like that, mine is about a Lord, who fell for me, when we were working on this estate, cutting evergreen, I was only 17 and he was 31, dordi at that time in 1969 it was a boro age gap. and trashed me, but I have always remember it, so I put the story to rhyme like Rosie.
There was a Man.
There was a man in a kushti tan, as kushti as could be,
She said to the man in his kushti tan, would you marry me?
;Oh ! Yes said the man in his kushti tan, but how ever can that be ?
For I'm a man in a big fine house and your but a Gypsy;.
You'll never stay and I wont have my way, said the man to the Gypsy gal,
Not even if my worldly goods you would have me sell,
But sell them not, and stay with me, and stories you can tell,
Of the day a man like you married a Gypsy gal,
Should I trust you, because your beauty is so rare ?
For beauty is only skin deep, and other men will stare,
I have trust in my mare, she's beautiful too,
Far more trust in her , then I'll ever have in you,
If only you could love me, as I know I could love you,
And in your heart, I could be sure, that it would be true,
But I know you would go, back to where you belong,
Your sprit is too free, full of music,dance and song;
But stories I will tell, every word with a sigh,
How I nearly lost my heart, but the price was far too high,
So go now with my blessing, back to your people proud,
And think of me, now and then, when your singing good and load;.
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cathayb
Posts:121
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| 03 May 2009 08:46 |
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| oh rosie,oh chris,put more on.the words are just so wonderful.i wish the world could read them.your both so talented.how i crave your way with words.i wish i was so blessed.i did write a romany one years ago though and i might dig it out and post on here but its no where near your quality but might give folks a laugh!!!!!speak later.cathayb |
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Chris WS
Posts:43
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| 03 May 2009 11:04 |
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| You should post it Cathay, I thought my poem's were a joke, until fohki started reading em, and said, they liked them, a wordsmith I, feel is created by the wordsmith them selfs, not somthing you can learn from others, it comes from with in, if you look for it. my daughter is going to have a baby with a mush she has been with for about 4 years, she is 33, and is going to have a private few word in the bluebell wood, just the two of them, my other 2 gal's are taking the panni, and are saying its dinlo, but they are younger and dont have any romantic vain yet, So Leah asked me if I would write just a few words for them to say, I could have made them longer but I thought stay short and sweet, what do you think ?
Leah first.
I give my heart, for you to keep,
Because my love for you is so deep,
Here in these wood's I take my vow,
So this is my promise I give you now,
To stay with you for the rest of my life,
And be as true to you, as a legal wife.
Then Bruno.
Your heart I take, with hands that are warm,
And here in the woods, these words are sworn,
To love you for the rest of my life,
And to take you, for my loving wife.
What a nav hey ! Brouno, his Mother is from Italy. enjoy the rest of the week-end. |
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cathayb
Posts:121
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| 03 May 2009 15:57 |
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| aw chris.how romantic?i thinks thats lovely.i am going through my papers at the moment looking for my old verses.!!!!! |
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cathayb
Posts:121
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| 04 May 2009 09:45 |
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i am blowed if i can find the one i was talking about!!!!i wrote it in 1971 however this is one i wrote when a gaujo chap took me out and i fell in love(remeber i am jewish)
i dont want an explanation as to why you cant love
this flower you ve plucked from the ground,
left wild and untamed
she would have grown
this way and that
not caring or knowing
but face to the sun
with endless beauty of life,
But you had to stoop and look
and you wanted this flower
and though with great ternderness
you plucked from the ground
The dying process began,
Gently you kissed her petals
you smelt of her beauty
and while stroking her stem
you took her for yourself
But the dying process went on,
for you loved the fantasy
the freedom,the wild,
now tamed she lost her magic.
Please now that i m dead
lay me gently between the folds
of your heart
and then as pressed in a book
i ll live on.....
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cathayb
Posts:121
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| 04 May 2009 09:54 |
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one more:
Moon light
girl once called moonlight
now lost to the sun
trapped by the daytime
alone in the night
like a bird with no wings
now,nowhere to flee
heart_broken in fragments
not loved,not heard,nor held....
Girl of the moonlight
now just an owl
not wise but stuffed
Oh how rare
why not make her a doormat
she wont feel a thing
dont worry shes dead
and the nightingales wont sing
anymore
of the girl that would laugh
and sing to the sun
the sun was too hot,
it burned
moonlight no more.......
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kilby
Posts:520
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| 04 May 2009 10:00 |
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Hi gang, now, i aint no poet like ye but i has a llove o poetry an has for long whiles now an heres one as i,ve liked for over 40yrs , is called " Black Marigolds " an is translatd from the sanskrit.
Even now , i know that i have savoured the hot taste of life.
Lifting green cups and gold at the great feast
And for just a small an forgotten time ,i,ve had in my eyes , from off my girl ,
the whitest pouring of eternal light. |
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kilby
Posts:520
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| 04 May 2009 17:57 |
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| Now then kids, that was jus one bit o that poem an theres lots o verses to it an first time i effer came cross that was when i read cannery row by fella called john stienbeck an right at end o that book which is the best i,ve ever read doc in the story reads that poem an i always made that me own an coult cry wi the readin of it, when i dies i,ve tolt me lad that i wants me own copy o that puttin in coffin wi me , ya ol mate ----kilby--- |
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kilby
Posts:520
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| 07 May 2009 16:58 |
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Thas reel nice thing to say bout me doin the poems Rosie an ya never knows in this life but i might even try me hand one day an haff a go.
I got me prezzy as ya sent an am over the moon wi the stuff, ya woultnt beleeve but a Loveridge mail me tday wantin to buy some cd,s o Ambross singin an he wanted me to get him in touch wi some o his ppl that he thought i might know, might be able to help him i think an course i,ll coopy couple cd,s an send em for him, anyways mate its off to bed, hard day agen tomoz, take care an hi to effryone----kilby---- |
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Chris WS
Posts:43
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| 08 May 2009 04:10 |
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Well done gal's, the poems are great, bring emm on, kushti kushti ! |
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Chris WS
Posts:43
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| 12 May 2009 15:03 |
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| Strawberry Fields.
Early morning, up and ready, feeling a nip in the air,
As long as the strawberrys got picked, I hadn't a care,
As the sun came up, and the chill was gone,
You knew how hot you'd be before long.
Making sure every one was perfect and ripe,
So we could sell them, that's what we like,
The burning sun on your back,
Maybe a drink of water you'd lack.
Your knee's as hard as stone,
But to your folks you'd never moan,
Enough picked for that day's sale,
Then off to our hawking we would jal.
Every door you knocked, in hope to sell,
The Strawberries just picked by a Gypsy gal,
Are they fresh ?; he said, with a face that looked vile,
;Picked by myself this morning,; I said with a smile.
The contentment of my empty trays,
Helped me through those long days,
But now I look back, time has gone so fast,
Tt WAS a wonderful life in the past.
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cathayb
Posts:121
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| 13 May 2009 14:01 |
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| another good one chris.i loved reading it. |
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| You are not authorized to post a reply. |
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| NTForums
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| Author |
Messages |
|
Moderator
Posts:680
|
| 04/17/2009 1:44 PM |
|
| Thought that maybe some of our talented members would like a place to post their Poems or stories or old talesor maybe old family folk lore ,a place for your expressions . |
|
|
|
|
rawny
Posts:85
|
| 04/17/2009 3:23 PM |
|
| Thats a good idea, im not one of the talented ones, but i love the old tales and storys |
|
|
|
|
Chris WS
Posts:43
|
| 04/20/2009 10:39 AM |
|
Epsom Downs,
Every year we went to Epsom Downs,
The kushti sights, smells and sounds,
Travellers everywhere you looked,
Fires to light and hobben to be cooked,
They made the most of their time there,
The grys running and the pretty fair,
Maybe not seeing each other,
From one year to another,
So when they did meet up,
A drop of drink they did sup,
Sing and dance when the race was run,
In those days they had such fun,
No one to worry about,
Moving you on,
They'd say, Espom wouldn't be Epsom,
Without the Gypsies singing their song,
Sometimes at that time of year,
I miss the excitement and the cheer,
But things change, and we know they will,
I wonder if we'll meet in heaven, on that old hill.
|
|
|
|
|
cam
Posts:55
|
| 04/20/2009 12:35 PM |
|
| Thats a lovely poem and a lovely thought of having it all again in heaven. |
|
|
|
|
rawny
Posts:85
|
| 04/20/2009 2:31 PM |
|
| CUSHTY POEM, ANYONE GOT ANY TALES? |
|
|
|
|
Chris WS
Posts:43
|
| 04/22/2009 7:17 AM |
|
I always wonder what punishment was given to young chavvies if any, mine was the birch, what about anyone else ???
Mother's Birch.
I always understood why they used it
For punishment in the old day's,
For it was with the birch I got hit,
It was one of my Mother's old ways,
Just its name put fear in my head
It certainly made me behave,
And made me feel sorry for what I'd said,
After the birch I wasn't so brave.
There was always one to hand,
No matter how many I burnt,
She never failed to make a stand,
And my lesson was always learnt.
On my leg's the sting would stay,
And I would try not to be naughty,
But mischievousness got its way,
Oh! How those tears were salty.
But the years have gone by,
And I can thank my mother now,
For teaching me how to try,
And never breaking any vow. |
|
|
|
|
Chris WS
Posts:43
|
| 04/27/2009 6:31 AM |
|
| Your very boktalo to feel like that Rosie and I'm sure your Man is too, nicely put togeather, another kushti poem.xx |
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|
kilby
Posts:520
|
| 05/01/2009 1:08 PM |
|
Hi Rosie , well now, i reckon all the gang will read this tale o Rben an effry one who reads it will probably take sumthin away with em from it, maybe they,ll all take sumthin diffrent away wi em but they takesumthin an thas the truth coz effry man can see sumthin o themselves in a story like this espeshallywhen its true an comes strait from the horses mouth, so to speek.
Anyways Rosie mate i reely liked it an felt for ol Ruben wi his dog so thanks for the tellin of it pal xxxx ----kilby---- |
|
|
|
|
Chris WS
Posts:43
|
| 05/03/2009 6:41 AM |
|
| Well done Rosie ! that is a kushti one, MODERATOR, thanks for the ; Chris the Gypsy poet ! I think a lot of Rom have story's like that, mine is about a Lord, who fell for me, when we were working on this estate, cutting evergreen, I was only 17 and he was 31, dordi at that time in 1969 it was a boro age gap. and trashed me, but I have always remember it, so I put the story to rhyme like Rosie.
There was a Man.
There was a man in a kushti tan, as kushti as could be,
She said to the man in his kushti tan, would you marry me?
;Oh ! Yes said the man in his kushti tan, but how ever can that be ?
For I'm a man in a big fine house and your but a Gypsy;.
You'll never stay and I wont have my way, said the man to the Gypsy gal,
Not even if my worldly goods you would have me sell,
But sell them not, and stay with me, and stories you can tell,
Of the day a man like you married a Gypsy gal,
Should I trust you, because your beauty is so rare ?
For beauty is only skin deep, and other men will stare,
I have trust in my mare, she's beautiful too,
Far more trust in her , then I'll ever have in you,
If only you could love me, as I know I could love you,
And in your heart, I could be sure, that it would be true,
But I know you would go, back to where you belong,
Your sprit is too free, full of music,dance and song;
But stories I will tell, every word with a sigh,
How I nearly lost my heart, but the price was far too high,
So go now with my blessing, back to your people proud,
And think of me, now and then, when your singing good and load;.
|
|
|
|
|
cathayb
Posts:121
|
| 05/03/2009 8:46 AM |
|
| oh rosie,oh chris,put more on.the words are just so wonderful.i wish the world could read them.your both so talented.how i crave your way with words.i wish i was so blessed.i did write a romany one years ago though and i might dig it out and post on here but its no where near your quality but might give folks a laugh!!!!!speak later.cathayb |
|
|
|
|
Chris WS
Posts:43
|
| 05/03/2009 11:04 AM |
|
| You should post it Cathay, I thought my poem's were a joke, until fohki started reading em, and said, they liked them, a wordsmith I, feel is created by the wordsmith them selfs, not somthing you can learn from others, it comes from with in, if you look for it. my daughter is going to have a baby with a mush she has been with for about 4 years, she is 33, and is going to have a private few word in the bluebell wood, just the two of them, my other 2 gal's are taking the panni, and are saying its dinlo, but they are younger and dont have any romantic vain yet, So Leah asked me if I would write just a few words for them to say, I could have made them longer but I thought stay short and sweet, what do you think ?
Leah first.
I give my heart, for you to keep,
Because my love for you is so deep,
Here in these wood's I take my vow,
So this is my promise I give you now,
To stay with you for the rest of my life,
And be as true to you, as a legal wife.
Then Bruno.
Your heart I take, with hands that are warm,
And here in the woods, these words are sworn,
To love you for the rest of my life,
And to take you, for my loving wife.
What a nav hey ! Brouno, his Mother is from Italy. enjoy the rest of the week-end. |
|
|
|
|
cathayb
Posts:121
|
| 05/03/2009 3:57 PM |
|
| aw chris.how romantic?i thinks thats lovely.i am going through my papers at the moment looking for my old verses.!!!!! |
|
|
|
|
cathayb
Posts:121
|
| 05/04/2009 9:45 AM |
|
i am blowed if i can find the one i was talking about!!!!i wrote it in 1971 however this is one i wrote when a gaujo chap took me out and i fell in love(remeber i am jewish)
i dont want an explanation as to why you cant love
this flower you ve plucked from the ground,
left wild and untamed
she would have grown
this way and that
not caring or knowing
but face to the sun
with endless beauty of life,
But you had to stoop and look
and you wanted this flower
and though with great ternderness
you plucked from the ground
The dying process began,
Gently you kissed her petals
you smelt of her beauty
and while stroking her stem
you took her for yourself
But the dying process went on,
for you loved the fantasy
the freedom,the wild,
now tamed she lost her magic.
Please now that i m dead
lay me gently between the folds
of your heart
and then as pressed in a book
i ll live on.....
|
|
|
|
|
cathayb
Posts:121
|
| 05/04/2009 9:54 AM |
|
one more:
Moon light
girl once called moonlight
now lost to the sun
trapped by the daytime
alone in the night
like a bird with no wings
now,nowhere to flee
heart_broken in fragments
not loved,not heard,nor held....
Girl of the moonlight
now just an owl
not wise but stuffed
Oh how rare
why not make her a doormat
she wont feel a thing
dont worry shes dead
and the nightingales wont sing
anymore
of the girl that would laugh
and sing to the sun
the sun was too hot,
it burned
moonlight no more.......
|
|
|
|
|
kilby
Posts:520
|
| 05/04/2009 10:00 AM |
|
Hi gang, now, i aint no poet like ye but i has a llove o poetry an has for long whiles now an heres one as i,ve liked for over 40yrs , is called " Black Marigolds " an is translatd from the sanskrit.
Even now , i know that i have savoured the hot taste of life.
Lifting green cups and gold at the great feast
And for just a small an forgotten time ,i,ve had in my eyes , from off my girl ,
the whitest pouring of eternal light. |
|
|
|
|
kilby
Posts:520
|
| 05/04/2009 5:57 PM |
|
| Now then kids, that was jus one bit o that poem an theres lots o verses to it an first time i effer came cross that was when i read cannery row by fella called john stienbeck an right at end o that book which is the best i,ve ever read doc in the story reads that poem an i always made that me own an coult cry wi the readin of it, when i dies i,ve tolt me lad that i wants me own copy o that puttin in coffin wi me , ya ol mate ----kilby--- |
|
|
|
|
kilby
Posts:520
|
| 05/07/2009 4:58 PM |
|
Thas reel nice thing to say bout me doin the poems Rosie an ya never knows in this life but i might even try me hand one day an haff a go.
I got me prezzy as ya sent an am over the moon wi the stuff, ya woultnt beleeve but a Loveridge mail me tday wantin to buy some cd,s o Ambross singin an he wanted me to get him in touch wi some o his ppl that he thought i might know, might be able to help him i think an course i,ll coopy couple cd,s an send em for him, anyways mate its off to bed, hard day agen tomoz, take care an hi to effryone----kilby---- |
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|
Chris WS
Posts:43
|
| 05/08/2009 4:10 AM |
|
| Well done gal's, the poems are great, bring emm on, kushti kushti ! |
|
|
|
|
Chris WS
Posts:43
|
| 05/12/2009 3:03 PM |
|
| Strawberry Fields.
Early morning, up and ready, feeling a nip in the air,
As long as the strawberrys got picked, I hadn't a care,
As the sun came up, and the chill was gone,
You knew how hot you'd be before long.
Making sure every one was perfect and ripe,
So we could sell them, that's what we like,
The burning sun on your back,
Maybe a drink of water you'd lack.
Your knee's as hard as stone,
But to your folks you'd never moan,
Enough picked for that day's sale,
Then off to our hawking we would jal.
Every door you knocked, in hope to sell,
The Strawberries just picked by a Gypsy gal,
Are they fresh ?; he said, with a face that looked vile,
;Picked by myself this morning,; I said with a smile.
The contentment of my empty trays,
Helped me through those long days,
But now I look back, time has gone so fast,
Tt WAS a wonderful life in the past.
|
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|
cathayb
Posts:121
|
| 05/13/2009 2:01 PM |
|
| another good one chris.i loved reading it. |
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| You are not authorized to post a reply. |
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ActiveForums 3.7
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