PStJ's Birfday

Jennospot 117  PStJ's Birfday

It's PStJ's birfday, an' the members of the "La Forge" Lit'ry Group took 'im out ter dinner. It weren't 'alf a barney. Well cripes, yew c'n tell can't yew, when Sally recited a poem wot she 'ad writ fer the occasion. An' 'ere it is, jus' fer fun. Well that's wot birfday parties are for, aint it? An' because o' that Oi ain't a-goin' ter try ter correct Sally's spellin' an' stuff; after all, that's wot the Lit'ry group is for, if'n yew see wot Oi mean…

Peter's Birthday

There once was a writer called Peter

Who liked poems with rhyme and with metre,

So at moments like this

Ginny fills him with bliss

And he's sure that no one can beat her.

A poem from Karin will move us,

And Rosalind's novel improve us,

Jules teases our brains,

Lesley writes of Great Danes ― (well poodles actually)

Peter's gang, of wartime manoeuvres.

Martha's family history's forthcoming,

Emanita to stage fame succumbing;

There's Leslie and Sanda

On Peter's veranda;

In her cradle is Amandine humming?

So the writers who meet at La Forge

Are meeting tonight just to gorge,

Celebrate a great day

When we all want to say:

Eat, drink and be merry ― just splurge. (Splorge?)

And let's raise a glass to toast Peter's

Birthday this year ― and repeaters.

Our thanks to our host

Who gives us the most

Of his time ― and his hospitality, and we'll make that rhyme another time…

'Appy birfday Peter, wiv love from Jenno... 


Cripes, Ginny 'as added anovver verse:
 

There’s someone left out of this tally

And that is our talented Sally

Her humorous verses

Delight and enchant us

Around Sally we “Forgers” all rally.

Thank yew, Ginny...

Ain't It Wunnerful?

Jennospot 116  Ain't It Wunnerful?

Cripes, ain't it wunnerful? There ain't no doubt about it. An' it don't matter wevver it's somefink wots jus' come new, or wevver it's over someone or somefink wot yew've known ever since the cows 'ave come 'ome an' been milked. There ain't nuffink really wot's better; leastways, Oi ain't found out yet wot it could be. Yeah, that's roight… Oi'm talkin' about love

Love is all about carin', an' sharin', an' about bein' there jus' a-grinnin' an' a-bearin'-up when fings don't go the way they oughtter. It's about bein' able ter say wot yew really fink, quite darin' like really, 'cos yew know that the person wot's listenin' wot get shirty at yew. An' it's about calmin' fings down when somebody starts bangin' around an' gettin' a bit 'ot under the collar. Cripes, love is getting out the cups, an' brewin' some tea, when somebody's feelin' a bit down; an' Oi don't mean when it's yew wot's down.

Love is when yew turn yerself inside-out an' upside down ter get over a problem wot somebody's 'aving, when it ain't really yer problem. 'Cos love c'n always make a way ter find the best in any kind o' situation.

Love is finkin' of ovvers, when yew'd rather fink of yerself. It's givin' out a smile, even when yew don't feel much loike smilin'.

Love makes a diff'rence ter somebody's day, if'n yew see wot Oi mean.

So 'ave yerself an 'appy day,

Wiv luv from Jenno