Perhaps the words, 'Just like mother use to make,' are the ones that will come to mind once you have heard what Beverly has to say on the subject of this internationally acclaimed edible fix for so many ills… 

Today is also known as Chicken soup for the Soul Day. This celebration offers an opportunity to contemplate those deep-rooted issues that often hide in our minds with the cosiness of a reassuring bowl of comfort. LPG has repeated Beverley's poem in case you don't have the ingredients, a tin, or a packet to hand.
 

Perhaps you don’t have a cat and therefore do not yet speak their, one of the easiest languages to learn… Beverly tells us more about it in verse on this National Cat Day…

There are many ways to deal with days when we are just below the emotional line where we can cope. Beverly offers some versed words that might be of help…  

Our memories can have varying effects on us when we recall them.  Beverly’s poem offers one look at where they might leave us…

SD reminds us that not every poem needs to rhyme. He points out that many formats might make starting a more enjoyable pastime for those struggling with the rhyming aspect of the art… 

Beverly takes the time to show a little appreciation for the bit of plastic power that is designed to take us pensioners to many far-flung parts of their locality and beyond, while LPG reminds readers that for some this will be the time when it might need to be renewed…  

There are few people left who have real experience of the most significant occurrence of genocide that the world has been party to in its more recent years, but the history is still out there.  Foster’s poem offers a flavour of the horrors that some have been forced to experience… 
 

Dogs appear to be such unassuming pets by comparison with nearly all other animals you can choose; they don’t disappear when they feel like it (like cats), say the wrong things when you have visitors (like Parrots), or ignore you as they swim around in the tank (like pet fish), but have you ever wondered if they are really happy with the name you chose for them? 

LPG suggest that you wrap your fingers around a nice warm cuppa before looking at the poem Beverly offers today… 

In all spheres of life, and for all the world’s attempts to put it right, the human race has failed to get one aspect of existence right. Foster’s poem today reflects this point…  

With so many of us chasing time and seeing a clock as a constant reminder, perhaps Beverley’s poem is the perfect way to Be Late For Something Day in a bid to remind we LPG readers to keep managing time  and not to allow it to get the better of us…

It’s there, it’s gone, and before you know it, it is back again.  Beverly offers a poem to herald the coming of Autumn…
 

The future could evolve in many different ways and Foster offers one possible perspective in his poem today.  

Beverley’s poem today comments on her relationship with one of those unproclaimed warriors of nearly every kitchen in the western world… 

It is more than possible that we have all been there or encountered someone who has felt this way at some time in their life, Beverly uses one of her poems to offer her take on one of those not so pleasant circumstances that we have all tasted…  

Beverly's poem delves into the raw emotions of experiencing a birthday in isolation. 

Beverly offers us a deeper look into one of the latest ways of answering that age-old question, '… and how are you today?'

Beverly offers some poetry, which can often be the breakthrough needed to bring hope back to a world where there momentarily seems to be none… 

Perhaps the words, 'Just like mother use to make,' are the ones that will come to mind once you have heard what Beverly has to say on the subject of this internationally acclaimed edible fix for so many ills… 

Everyone has their own version of the London they live in, does Beverley’s version overlap with yours? 

Getting up close and personal has nearly always been an international sign of acceptance and esteem, and it is sad to think that a pandemic has done so much to make us weary when it comes to acting upon one of the most natural feelings known to humanity.   And though we still need to be a bit guarded BW uses the rhyming word to remind us… 

Christmas is over and the New year is making way for the old; a time when many of us will be looking to the future with many mixed emotions.  Beverly offers us her outlook by way of a poem… 

Beverly hopes today to remind our readers that Christmas shopping can be so much more than an annual chore… 

If Christmas is as easy as ABC Beverly has got it covered… 

The meaning of life; there are so many variations when it comes to even beginning to find an answer to this question.  Beverley’s poem offers one response… 
 

Are you one of those people who mean to remember when it is exactly 11 o’clock each year but spend half of them remembering too late in the day?  OV has a message for you today.  

Black History month gives many parts of the world the opportunity to acknowledge all aspects of the celebration. Beverly’s poem offers us a message that many will relate to… 
 

LW passes on the basics of poetry writing for anyone wanting to find something new to do on this National Poetry day…  

They come around and go around with such regularity that we depend on them and talk about them much more than we might think.  Beverly puts her thoughts on two of the seasons of the year into context for us… 

On this National Sisters Day. Foster’s poem shows us that Sisters come in all, both real and honorary, shapes and sizes…

FR proves that there is more than one way of looking at the things that happen to us as we get older by taking a lighter look at one of those annoying aspects of the thing… 

Foster offers us a poem that might just provoke a few readers to make a difference on this National Cheer up the Lonely Day even though the nation in question is America…

Beverly highlights the contribution made by all the fathers of this world with a poem designed in their honour today…  

Perhaps today is the day to remind mothers that even if the children forgot the Mother’s Day presents 6 weeks ago, they might consider remembering today… 

Foster helps LPG highlight today’s variation on the theme of celebrating one of the many natural   phenomena that we see every day, yet so often take for granted… 

Foster reminds us of the intrinsic value of some of the items that we treasure even though we often don’t take the time to look and remember as often as we should.

Perhaps Valentine’s day is about more than the card that becomes less and less likely to arrive through your letterbox this morning…   

Once the ‘For Sale’ sign is erected by the gate of a house in the road, neighbours have to start wondering about the people their community will be losing, those that will replace them and how the house in question will evolve.  Foster says it in Verse…

Foster focusses in on one of the less pleasant aspects of modern life today…

DR applies her pen in verse as best she can to offer her take on the reaction of the British now that masks are no longer a legal requirement.

Foster takes the time to celebrate his furry friend with a poem penned because he has taken the time to watch and observe.  

LPG has saved this poem for all those cat lovers so that we can celebrate our Cats' special day with Fosters special tribute. 

Today’s poem makes an interesting comment about one of the many Streets in Lewisham Borough…

Before you have that thought that makes each morning unique, Forster speculates on his version of that early morning routine that gets the day started for you…

It is obvious that thoughts of a nautical nature have inspired Fosters message today as he shares a poem themed around oceans, rafts and preservation…  

As another spring threatens to turn into summer, Foster is inspired by his observations of the season… 

Foster notes a time of the day that many pensioners are not likely to witness anymore and offers us a reminder in rhyme…

It has been a long road, or a non-existent one for so many of us but, news of a solution to the foe that we have lived with for so long now, has provoked Forster, one of our resident poets, to script another thought…

When it comes to finding added inspiration to accompany your dinner the turnip is often forgotten (or remembered for its need to be forgotten), but Fosters poem today inspired our editorial team to team up with Google while the poem itself may well bring back a few memories that some readers can identify with…

Poetry has always been a way of showing emotion and Foster has taken the time to offer some words designed to reflect the mood that all readers should be aware of today… 

Perhaps PF’s poem today will remind readers of some of the tactile experiences that are now closed to us as the pandemic continues to inhibit our sense of touch…

Perhaps Foster’s poem today picks up on the one aspect that makes the war that we are all fighting at the moment that bit harder and that is how hard it is to fight an enemy that the vast majority of us cannot see. 

Foster offers a little more information about one aspect of his regular park of choice.

As a distraction, MM offers us a poem with a seasonal flavour…

Today, and the fact that we have again reached another of the year’s milestones is often overlooked, but Foster Murphy has found a unique way of combining its importance with that of a place in Ireland.

Perhaps it is hard to remember our childhoods, but today’s acknowledgement of International Children’s day will take on a huge spectrum of meanings for the many children that have lived through this year’s ordeal…

Today is National Grandfathers  Day and as such Foster takes a brief look at both ends of that responsibility using the power of verse…

Poetry comes in all shapes, sizes, metres, and forms and on this year’s National Poetry day we hope that FM’s reflections help you to do just that by appreciating the rhyming word.

PF has noted the lack of poetry on our dedicated page and offered us a rhyme that just might ring true for many other readers while getting them thinking about the things that are happening in their lives. LPG is ideas that are often dismissed and which are so worth sharing, be it in verse or just as a letter. 

War; where and what it leaves behind is the subject of Foster’s poem this month…

Perhaps JD is looking forward to an existence which will be very different when Covid-19 has finally finished with our world.  He expresses his thoughts by way of a poem today.

Rudy is of the opinion that readers need something a little more abstract than normal on our news pages to get a few more readers thinking, questioning and considering, and hopes that a few of those readers will be moved to communicate their thoughts and reactions by allowing LPG to share them. 

We could have filled our pages with poems from the famous and most well-known poets and, if asked, we would be happy to print a poem of choice with its choosers interpretation of its significance, but LPG is always happy, and is proud to be able to print something original which is share by its creator.  Thank you Foster…

Filippa F offers a poem, the subject of which presents an issue that will become particularly relevant in the coming months…

Perhaps one of the most unique things about poetry is that it can be understood on many different levels and its real significance depends on the most individual of interpretations.  LPG will always be ready to print the interpretations of any one who reads and is moved to let us know what they find to be the underlying message of any poem we are asked to post. 

CJC offers us a poem which may well resonate with many smartphone and iPhone owners. But LPG suggests that readers appreciate it for what it is and, if they find themselves with a cracked screen, take it to someone who knows what they are doing….

Perhaps CJC’s poem today will provoke a smile or two,

 if your birthday is near, happy birthday to you… 

 We will never really understand the true effect that the world’s recent events will have on us until we have time to look at it in retrospect but poems like this one, offered by foster Murphy, will help us to put it into perspective…

Coronavirus influences Foster to remind us all, using the imagery of poetry, to focus on the importance of our hands before, during, after and in spite of the situation we find ourselves living in these days.

If self-Isolation is to be the way forward for us oldies, we will need to keep our spirits up and make sure that we have things to do which will occupy our minds.  With this in mind Flippa offers us a challenge which will go some way to keeping us positive. 

One of our contributors offers some words to help those readers who will be alone this evening while the fireworks will be annoying and depressing them because of the reminder the event may provoke of celebrations that they cannot be a part of this year…  

LPG strongly suggests that readers take the time to make a cuppa and exercise a little self-indulgence while celebrating National Poetry Day with this offering… We would also take the time to remind readers that we are always looking for all contributions for our pages….

Rudy takes the time to explore some of the rules surrounding the accepted laws of poetry on this, the eve of National Poetry Day and offers us a conscience-jogging contribution of his own.  We would also take the time to remind readers that we are always looking for all contributions for our pages….

No one need tell the sunflower,

What’s dark and what is bright,

Instinctively he throws and turns

His face towards the light

Remember sleep, in May, in the afternoon, like
a girl’s bright feet slipped into dark, new boots.

I have this little angel. For me she left her wings.
She has no idea how much happiness she truly brings.
She brightens up my days with her smiles and her laughs.

Silence again. The glorious symphony
Hath need of pause and interval of peace.
Some subtle signal bids all sweet sounds cease,

You act like I know nothing about it, but I know enough.
I know what it has done to you, I know what it's done to us.
You're no longer a real person, more like a puppet on a string.

As the blind Milton’s memory of light,
The deaf Beethoven’s phantasy of tone,
Wrought joys for them surpassing all things known

A young black girl stopped by the woods,
so young she knew only one man: Jim Crow
but she wasn’t allowed to call him Mister.

That monkey on your back,
He's a tricky little guy.
I thought that he was dead and gone.

Our English language? A curious thing!
Hammers don't ham and fingers don't fing,
Grocers don't groce and ushers don't ush,

I hate the snow, I hate the sleet,
I just want some rain,
The clouds are running across the sky,

Going to church is for some but it is argued that God is for all.

Cammy my rabbit, feminine but buff
no really, this isn't a bluff!
A rex with her ears proud and tall

The question that is asked the most; we hear it everyday,
"What time Is it?" they want to know, and then they go away.
It's time for bed, it's time for work, or time to feed the fishes,

I've hunted near, I've hunted far
I even looked inside my car.
I've lost my glasses, I'm in need,

It was purchased just for you,
when you're happy or you're blue,
you can wear it on your head,

Some maps have blue borders
like the blue of your name
or the tributary lacing of

Whatever I care for, someone else loves it
more, deserves it more: the doe with her
whole mouth crushing the phlox or the seer

This hour, while a child sleeps, before he wakes
and those arcadian hours we make together—
is it a continued arch, vaulted, open at both ends, is it

There’s too little time left to measure
the space between us for that was
long ago—that time—so just lie

Grandma’s rosebush
reminiscent of a Vice Lord’s do-rag.
the unfamiliar bloom in Mrs. Bradley’s yard

When my mother died
I was as far away
as I could be, on an arm of land

There were always such beautiful shadows in your work,
Though many now dodge their taxes with your art. Rarely
As it seems, life involves death with every decision, which is

What happened is what I ask myself every day?
What was she thinking knowing she'd be putting her life to waste?
This is my sister, and I love her with all my heart,

I’ve just written six
or seven short poems
in about half an hour,

“yes of course” was one speech too many
now you’ve done it exposed your
obsequious emphases

If space and time, as sages say,
    Are things which cannot be,
The fly that lives a single day

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,

It’s the inside which comes out, as I contemplate
him there half in sunlight, weeding diligently
a Midwestern lawn. On my persons, I have only notes

Good-night, my love, for I have dreamed of thee
In waking dreams, until my soul is lost—
Is lost in passion’s wide and shoreless sea,

It’s silly to think
fourteen years ago
I turned thirty.

Where the slow river
meets the tide,
a red swan lifts red wings

although I know you can never be found
although I know that from the highest height
you cannot be seen you are not hiding

For these cramped fragments of Thomas,
           stir: ‘I had never loved England,’ and stir:
           ‘I had loved it foolishly,’ stir, transmuted:

You think you have control
But I am the one who has it 
You do not, not in the least bit

Upon their arrival in America, more than twelve million immigrants were processed through the Ellis Island Immigration Center. Those who had traveled in second or third class were immediately given a thirty-second health inspection...

You wanted to be a butcher
but they made you be a lawyer.

The words that have yet been spoken, 
the things I need to say,
To voice what's within my heart,

When I look out your window I see another window
I see a wedding in my brain, a stylus and a groove
a voice waving there

Everywhere we went, I went
in pigtails
no one could see—

When she looked down from the kitchen window
into the back yard and the brown wicker
baby carriage in which she had tucked me

Sex and history. And skin and bone.
And the oppression of Sunday afternoon.
Bells called the faithful to devotion.

Brightness appears showing us everything
it reveals the splendors it calls everything
but shows it to each of us alone

Locked in the beauty of the pearl, far from frail,
         these people who claim to love us still
they don’t give up much, do they, sealed? To eradicate class—

Bolt, thwarted vault, late brake,
gasp of impact, temblor of thud—
the beast drops on the blade of hood,

ornate warble of meadowlarks
           burbling in melodic veronicas,
ribboning the spires, buttes, pinnacles,

Green and blue and white, it is a flag
for Florida stitched by hungry ibises.

Is this the lark
Lord Shakespeare heard
Out of the dark

Vacant and ghostly and content with death,
Once a man’s hearthtree; now the haunt of bats;
Once a cradle creaked upstairs and someone sang

Drop fire from the sky but don’t name me
as reason. My sister is lost on the longest lit road

Encourage someone and take time to care
Let your words heal and not wound
Speak life.

 You remind them
             of weighted tumbleweeds,
hen-egg brown. Don’t let

The phantom
Seeder travelled
Through out
The land

Throwing
Wild flower
Seeds from
Every hand
Throwing grass

Seed on bald
Lawns too
Making Wild
Bald patches
Come to life Too.

CHC, Downham

The pine-trees bend to listen to the autumn wind as it mutters
Something which sets the black poplars ashake with hysterical laughter;
While slowly the house of day is closing its eastern shutters.

Continuous tension bestrides the live long day
The chewing of the fingertips comes into play.
The reaching of the gloves to stop the old decay,
Most needed to keep the nails the way...
...they ought to look and stay...

In the nursery of a new generation,  
A child copying mother’s unintended education
Behaviour not designed for the child’s retention
But there, through and past the receipt of his pension...

CDC, Bellingham.

Makes you think… 
I have had the bit of paper with this poem written on it for ages and I have seen other variations of it on the internet but never this one.  I can’t remember where I got the slip of paper from and nothing is revealed about its author but I thought it worth sending to you.

Send me no flowers when I am dead, 
Visit me while I’m, alive instead
Once inside my coffin, I will not see 
So flowers will be no good to me
It’s easy to order a nice bouquet 
But I sit here lonely every day
Disabled, not able to walk in the street
So the only company I’m able to meet
Are those who spare the time to call?
Just for a laugh and a chat that’s all
A laugh and a chat I’ll appreciate  
Those flowers at my funeral will be too late.

Can you keep my doggy
I don’t want her now
She has grown slow and noisy
And she cannot see somehow
 
I feel somewhat like a doggy
Owned by society
Does society feel about me
Like I feel about my doggy
 
No, now I think I’ll keep her
Remembering how much
She’s always done for me 
I’d like to stay in touch
 
CDC, Downham Catford

Whatever you do, wherever you are
Stay close to your God, Don’t stray from the path
Whenever you pray to your Father above
Stay focused, and see what the answer will be
For as you do know and believe in your heart
That your prayers are heard each whenever you’ve prayed
That God is at work fulfilling His plans
It is so good to know we’re all in His hands.
Whatever you do from the moment you pray
Remember that you must trust and obey
In pleasure or pain, your God is right there
Stay focused and let the Lord have His way.
Whenever you pray, say Thank you to God
Be grateful because he hears every word
Whenever you pray, just listen and wait
Always keep focused, God is never too late.
 
Scripture references:
St Matt. 6:6 St Luke 11:1 St Luke 18:1

©2016 by Beverly Gooden-Wilson

Perpetual litter strewn around
City suburb and wayside ground,
An eyesore to vex the spirit
That mars a walk to Bromley town.
Crisp packets and soft drink cans and plastic cups lie near the ‘Crown’.
 
Vandals scrawl and set cars alight
Anti-social behaviour an all too familiar sight
While locals linger at a ‘take-away’
Discard unwanted chips and greasy batter
But who cares and does it really matter?
 
Raucous noise on Saturday night
Gulping lager in brand-name cans
Thrown away half full in drunken spree:
Bottled rage by swearing fans.
 
Burgers wrapped in polystyrene
Dance around as cars speed  from the scene, 
Non-biodegradable you can be sure of that
Cluttering the High Street or beach flat,
Floating ever visible on a contaminated sea
Blighting our coastal shore or the lea,
Flotsam and jetsam  and oiled birds in shame
Discharging tankers should bare the blame,
Viewed from a commuting train on low walls
On bridges daubed mindless graffiti:
 
The Harlem scourge is here to stay
From London Bridge, Chicago and Tahiti.
A caring authority has placed many bins
But thoughtless people scatter the neighbourhood
With bottles, boxes, tissues and tins.
Who can trace the reckless fellows
That fly-tip building rubble, pallets, lounge chairs on open meadows?
 
Abruptly ends this irksome verse
The debris of the future could be worse. 
Has not the world witnessed the proliferation of litter?
Small wonder observers are saddened and bitter.

B John Plummer, Grove Park

Winter’s far-flung frozen hand
Grips vice-like over all the land.
Soft snowflakes fall upon the ground,
To splash come gaiety around.
 
Overall, a carpet thick and white
Is spread to fill one with delight.
Yes, quite as far as one can see,
On rooftops, ground and every tree.
White painted splendour covers all,
And still the snowflakes gently fall.
 
A pair of robins free and gay
From a tree top, chirp away;
Other birds join in as well,
Sweet music soon begins to swell.
The scene is grand – magnificent,
A gift of beauty briefly lent,
Which all too soon will melt away
When wind of change brings warmer day.

CT. Catford