I have been scribbling silly verses since I was 10. A lot were written to help with bad feeling, like when my Dad died when I was 10.5yo, and when I had other serious problems in my life. I think being able to scribble silly verses got bad feelings out of my head and helped to keep me going mental. Now I am TRYING to learn to improve a bit.
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Dean Bottomley Poems
A Sonnet To Bread And Butter Pudding
If you would have the route to grand success So you will know that always you will win. Take butter, fifty grams, no more no less, Then slices five of bread and put that in
It was a hard journey, and painful too. It lasted the best part of a year. Sickness and pain, mainly in the back. The heat of late summer did not make it any easier.
The Old Man in the Corner
How well I remember as I’m slumped in my chair: Be’reft of movement, bereft of hair. My bodily odors might foul the air I’m sorry, you see I’m not offered care.
I saw a Primrose today, I doubt it saw me As it peeped, coyly from amongst the long grass. How can such hope and promise be held In such a small shy flower?
I listened to him for over an hour: Chest out, head up, singing his soul’s feelings. To who? Nobody listened, Nobody responded But I did.
A Poem for Candlemas
The cozy feel of Christmas still lingers in the air Though tree and present wrappings are long gone to the tip. Some gifts were very welcome, but other cast aside. A Simpson mug thats awful, a tie you can’t abide.
Scurrying, hurrying, shiny and black A tiny head and a longer back. Scuttling along the garden wall Right on the edge but you don’t fall.
A Lullaby To My Godson
Be still my child and rest The world is in safe hands. The sun has gone to warm Children across the sea;
Why Why Why
Why Why Why does no-one hear my screams As I am cut by what you do and say? But you don't know the pain and fear you cause I want to speak, but how do I find the way?
The Day You Died
Why is it bright? Why is the sun shining? Why are white fluffy clothes polishing a blue sky? Why do sunbeams play with the dew’s diamonds? It should be dull: it should be grey.
Everyone needs a place to hide, Away from the world and all its woes. A place to rest and maybe dream, A place to escape which no-one knows.
Get a Bike
Pumping up and pumping down Cooling breeze and passing ground: Air sucked in to lungs that burst To be sure I get there first.
The Station cat opens one eye with a frown, Disturbed as the Starter and Distant drop down. The gas lamps still hiss, and a distant dog barks The town Is a resting, wrapped up in the dark.
Today I stood on Cheese Foot Head And looked towards the sea. I cast my eye across the land That lay twixt there and me.
Comments about Dean Bottomley
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
A Sonnet To Bread And Butter Pudding
If you would have the route to grand success
So you will know that always you will win.
Take butter, fifty grams, no more no less,
Then slices five of bread and put that in
A buttered dish so that it will not burn.
Break two large eggs into hot double cream
And three fifty mills of milk, and beat in turn.
A pinch of cinnamon to make a dream
With nutmeg to create the taste that tells.
Lay bread layers, sultanas in between.
Pour eggs and milk, with sugar in as well,
Slowly over the bread, perfect cuisine.
For forty five minutes in oven hot
Then perfect ...