God Help Me!
God help me lern from my misstakes,
I no Ive mate a few.
Yet my heart fur perfectshun aches,
Id like ter be like You...
So this is like my little prayer -
Take me under Your wings!
Teech me ter be beyond compare...
You no so menny things!
When I woz young I trite my best,
But I woz jussed a kid...
I hoped that folks wood be imprest,
I reely, reely did...
Exams were hard, I coodent swat,
Too menny books ter reed!
Thats why I dident pass a lot...
Cos faxs I coodent heed.
But You cood help me as a friend,
The sort ter sort me out,
The kind whose kind so at the end
Thered be no kind of doubt...
Then folks wood treet me ass they shood,
They woodent laugh at me...
I no my English aint that good,
Im not quiet error free...
Ive heard that You like helping folks!
I challunge You today!
Pleas make me smart and end the jokes
And pranks that peeple play...
They giggle, smerk and tornt me, Lord!
Thats not how we shood live!
Yet if Your blessings are outpord,
Their giggles Ill furgive...
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
God Nose!
God help me lern from my misstakes
I no Ive mate a few
Yet my heart fur perfectshun aches
Id like ter be like You
So this is like my little prayer
Take me under Your wings!
Teech me ter be beyond compare
(God nose so menny things!)
When I woz young I trite my best
But I woz jussed a kid
I hoped that folks wood be imprest
I reely, reely did
Exams were hard, I coodent swat
Too menny books ter reed!
Thats why I dident pass a lot
Cos faxs I coodent heed
But You cood help me as a friend
The sort ter sort me out
The kind whose kind so at the end
Thered be no kind of doubt
Then folks wood treet me ass they shood
They woodent laugh at me
(God nose my English aint that good
Im not quiet error free)
Ive heard that You like helping folks!
I challunge You today!
Pleas make me smart and end the jokes
And pranks that peeple play
They giggle, smerk and tornt me, Lord!
Thats not how we shood live!
Yet if Your blessings are outpord
Their giggles Ill furgive
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dedicated To Laughter!
Dedicated to laughter! Yes!
It gives your brain a tickle!
It brings a lotto happiness,
You've gotto have a giggle!
Don't hold it back! Let it be free!
Roll on the floor as well!
Then other folks will laugh with glee -
And think it's wonderfell...
Children are known to laugh the most -
They've learnt to tell jokes, too...
With limericks from coast-to-coast
To get the message through!
Yes, laughter lifts the lungs like songs...
Thus tensions melt away...
That's why all comics should get gongs
When honours are given in May...
If I get knighted, as it were,
The day I leave The Mall,
Be kind enough to call me, SIR!
Not Mister, mate or pal!
All wise-cracks pour from lightning brains
That see life's ironies,
Sifting out truths from lies like grains
With food for thought to please!
I'd like to think that humour spreads
Like smiles as joy imparts.
Some jokes are like fine thoroughbreds -
They're trained to thrill our hearts!
Blessed is the soul that's learnt to laugh
Yet cares for other folks -
It proves a noble epitaph
That one was known for jokes!
A precious pun's not always cute!
But sometimes it's OK...
So do your best to be astute!
You'll make somebody's day!
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Give God A Go!
The world would be a better place, if people were polite...
There'd be a smile on every face and that helps make things right...
There'd be a song in every heart, sweet thoughts in every mind,
Such that all sadness would depart, if only folks were kind...
Is that too much for me to ask? Too high for us to aim?
Is doing good so hard a task? If so, that's such a shame!
But even if we fail today, tomorrow still awaits,
Of course, it helps for folks to pray, just as the Bible states!
On different levels we may be, yet each can do their best,
But then we'll have to wait and see who wins this valiant quest!
Where will we be a year from now? How many good works done?
What will the Lord above allow when that full year has run?
Without His help, we won't get far! Without Him, we'd be lost!
He made each sun, each moon, each star! And how much would they cost?
Let's have a think! What could we do, if we gave God a go?
I know I've tried and yet have YOU? You little so-and-so?
That way, you'll help the world advance... If I can, then YOU can...
Give God a go! Give God a chance! Then help your fellow man...
Denis Martindale, copyright, August 2012.
We can hear the word of the Lord on
Revelation TV on UK Sky Digital 581
as well as the WATCH NOW link on
the revelationtv-dot-com website...
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Group Hug
The meerkats looked and looked and looked,
But nothing was in sight!
Yet all day long, the sun had cooked
And fried and fried and fried!
They'd stood their ground, while standing tall,
Through teamwork, each was safe...
When evening came, I watched them all,
Defiant, noble, brave...
Then suddenly, they huddled close,
Like bugs upon a rug...
Now crouched up tight, each cuddled nose
Caressed in their group hug!
I've never seen the like before!
So intimate, so sweet...
A parable I'll not ignore:
Love makes our lives complete!
I'm not the sort to cuddle folks!
Most folks don't seem to care!
I'd be the butt of countless jokes,
If I should ever dare!
Yet should I envy the meerkat,
With friends on every side?
Oi, you! Watch out! Whose foot was that?
Be careful, pal... all right?
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2010.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Group Hug'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Things That Matter
NOW that I've nearly done my days,
And grown too stiff to sweep or sew,
I sit and think, till I'm amaze,
About what lots of things I know:
Things as I've found out one by one--
And when I'm fast down in the clay,
My knowing things and how they're done
Will all be lost and thrown away.
There's things, I know, as won't be lost,
Things as folks write and talk about:
The way to keep your roots from frost,
And how to get your ink spots out.
What medicine's good for sores and sprains,
What way to salt your butter down,
What charms will cure your different pains,
And what will bright your faded gown.
But more important things than these,
They can't be written in a book:
How fast to boil your greens and peas,
And how good bacon ought to look;
The feel of real good wearing stuff,
The kind of apple as will keep,
The look of bread that's rose enough,
And how to get a child asleep.
Whether the jam is fit to pot,
Whether the milk is going to turn,
Whether a hen will lay or not,
Is things as some folks never learn.
I know the weather by the sky,
I know what herbs grow in what lane;
And if sick men are going to die,
Or if they'll get about again.
Young wives come in, a-smiling, grave,
With secrets that they itch to tell:
I know what sort of times they'll have,
And if they'll have a boy or gell.
And if a lad is ill to bind,
Or some young maid is hard to lead,
I know when you should speak 'em kind,
And when it's scolding as they need.
I used to know where birds ud set,
And likely spots for trout or hare,
And God may want me to forget
The way to set a line or snare;
But not the way to truss a chick,
To fry a fish, or baste a roast,
Nor how to tell, when folks are sick,
What kind of herb will ease them most!
Forgetting seems such silly waste!
I know so many little things,
And now the Angels will make haste
To dust it all away with wings!
O God, you made me like to know,
You kept the things straight in my head,
Please God, if you can make it so,
Let me know something when I'm dead.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Risk-It-All-Ogy
And what is risk-it-all-ogy?
What does that mean to us?
Response to eschatology,
End times that cause a fuss!
From folks who store up extra food
That's meant to last them years,
To folks that get a solemn mood
That fills them with new fears!
Who knows how many lives will change
Through ancient prophecies,
From cultures that we think as strange
That tell us Man will cease?
Or maybe this old world takes on
Some greater consciousness
That means Man's sinful thoughts are gone,
Replaced by happiness.
Some think of Christ and Antichrist
From Scriptures old and new...
And many saints will be baptised
And pray, 'What must we do? '
While others merely laugh and scoff
At thoughts of World War Three,
That Christ the Lord will rapture off
The likes of you and me...
Will chaos rule December time?
Will Christmas come at all?
Will folks rejoice with joy sublime
Like it's a miracle?
'Thank God we didn't die! ' they'll say,
'The turkey's almost done! '
Will Christians watch their children play
And praise God for His Son?
While folks get fattened by their feasts,
With further meals to carve,
Not all can eat these slaughtered beasts...
How many others starve?
How many victims get ignored
Despite Man's prophecies,
While folks buy food and hoard and hoard
And think the Lord they please?
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2012.
We can hear the word of the Lord on
Revelation TV on UK Sky Digital 581
as well as the WATCH NOW link on
the revelationtv-dot-com website...
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bob Hope Esquire
My good friend, Bob, deserves acclaim! He loved to make folks laugh!
Indeed, this was his claim to fame... and now his epitaph...
His mind was like a library - one-liners as a rule!
His heart was good as gold, you see! That's why he played the fool!
His long nose was like a ski slope that's always heading south!
Despite his 'snozz', he learnt to cope and utilised his mouth!
Do you remember fondly, too? He flirted all the time!
He told each girl, 'Sure, I love you! Hey, babe, you look sublime! '
He charmed us all: half wit, half style! He made us grin and grin!
God blessed us with Bob's roguish smile... and also with his chin!
Bob played the hero with panache! We hoped he would succeed -
Especially as folks paid him cash to star and play the lead!
I pray my good friend Bob's received in Heaven, by the Lord...
And all lost golf balls are retrieved as part of his reward!
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Two Beautiful Butterflies
Both part of God's great Paradise,
I saw them gliding by...
God's two beautiful butterflies
Were there upon the sky...
And everywhere they flew around
Or stopped to have a rest,
The sight of them would quite astound
And folks would be impressed!
Of course, their beauty was ordained,
So folks would give God praise,
Because through beauty much is gained,
It's not a passing phase...
The Lord decided long ago
Each colour, tint and hue
And this is how we start to grow,
When we say, I love you...
And so, give thanks, when beauty's near,
Give thanks when beauty's far!
Each gem's meant to be crystal clear,
A scintillating star!
This world is full of fragrant things,
Like roses meant to please...
Yet none more beauteous than the wings
Of butterflies like these...
Denis Martindale, copyright, April 2011.
The Two Beautiful Butterflies poem is dedicated
to Cindy Humphrey and Gemma Smallpage.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It's Up To You!
If you are noble you are blessed
Each time you try to do your best!
Success or failure, who can say?
For both will come to you one day...
For now, before your fate is known,
It's wise if guidance can be shown.
Today's not just the hours sent
For there's a greater honour meant.
The good you do this day will grow
In ways that none on Earth can know.
Good works abound where faith is found
Helping those in pain that frowned.
Why only help the folks that smile?
Avoid the ones who live in style!
Seek out the people frail and poor,
They need your help and that's for sure!
If you are noble, kind and true,
Please help them out... It's up to you!
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Lament Of Loneliness...
Course, it's no good telling you...
I mean, you don't care... You don't really, really care...
You're the busy one, the achiever...
The so-called 'successful' one...
I'm just here ter make up the numbers!
Sort of in the way every now and then...
Sort of here, but invisible...
Sort of 'Oh! Hello! ' then 'Goodbye! ' No, you can't kid me!
I've seen it all before! I know when I'm being tolerated...
Grudgingly accepted, that's what I am!
Sort of here, but nobody cares...
Yeah, I'm still here, having me little moan...
Not that folks fret about what I want, or need or even dream about...
Nope, I'm the one 'On Me Todd', just me and God, that's all...
And He doesn't talk ter me, either!
I s'pose that's fer the best, nowadays!
They'd probably lock me up if He spoke ter me
And I was foolish enough ter tell anyone!
Yeah, they'd lock me up... and yet... I'm already a prisoner...
A prisoner of loneliness...
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Devotion
Devotion stirred within her heart,
The lioness looked proud!
Her cub was playful from the start
Whenever folks allowed...
He'd ambush unsuspecting friends,
Close family or not
And bite on every tail that ends
And chew it on the spot!
This biased mother loved her child
Who made the others vexed!
This phase would pass, yet now she smiled
To think what he'd do next!
He was a charmer through and through,
Though some would call him strange...
For chewing tails was nothing new,
No matter how times change.
His tiny teeth would sharpen soon
And folks would bite him back!
His turn would come when he would swoon
Because of their attack!
For now, he thought the world was his!
The little so and so!
Yes, ignorance is sometimes bliss,
But don't chew tails! No, no...
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2010.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Devotion II'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We Will Pray For You!
Sometimes the soul is weak not strong
And prayer is hard to do...
God's saints still pray the whole day long
And we will pray for you...
Sometimes the body needs relief
From aches and pains that grew...
God's saints still pray with firm belief
And we will pray for you...
Sometimes the mind is full of woe
As if it had no clue...
God's saints the demons overthrow
And we will pray for you...
Sometimes Man's riches melt away,
So how can folks get through?
God's saints trust God, yes, come what may
And we will pray for you...
Sometimes true love's a distant thing
And blessings seem so few...
God's saints love Jesus Christ the King
And we will pray for you...
Denis Martindale, copyright, June 2012.
We can hear the word of the Lord on
Revelation TV on UK Sky Digital 581
as well as the WATCH NOW link on
the revelationtv-dot-com website...
The poem was read out on the
Voice In The Wilderness show,
Revelation TV,29th of June,2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Folks Who Live On The Hill
Folks Who Live on the Hill
((1937) Oscar Hammerstein II, Jerome Kern)
Someday we'll build a home on a hilltop high,
You and I,
Shiny and new a cottage that two can fill.
And we'll be pleased to be called,
"The folks who live on the hill".
Someday we may be adding a thing or two,
A wing or two.
We will make changes as any fam'ly will,
But we will always be called,
"The folks who live on the hill".
Our veranda will command a view of meadows green,
The sort of veiw that seems to want to be seen.
And when the kids grow up and leave us,
We'll sit and look at the same old view,
Just we two.
Darby and Joan who used to be Jack and Jill,
The folks like to be called,
What they have always been called,
"The folks who live on the hill".
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Fortunate Son
Some folks are born made to wave the flag,
Ooh, theyre red, white and blue.
And when the band plays hail to the chief,
Ooh, they point the cannon at you, lord,
It aint me, it aint me, I aint no senators son, son.
It aint me, it aint me; I aint no fortunate one, no,
Yeah!
Some folks are born silver spoon in hand,
Lord, dont they help themselves, oh.
But when the taxman comes to the door,
Lord, the house looks like a rummage sale, yes,
It aint me, it aint me, I aint no millionaires son, no.
It aint me, it aint me; I aint no fortunate one, no.
Some folks inherit star spangled eyes,
Ooh, they send you down to war, lord,
And when you ask them, how much should we give?
Ooh, they only answer more! more! more! yoh,
It aint me, it aint me, I aint no military son, son.
It aint me, it aint me; I aint no fortunate one, one.
It aint me, it aint me, I aint no fortunate one, no no no,
It aint me, it aint me, I aint no fortunate son, no no no,
song performed by by Creedence Clearwater Revival
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
My Life
'My life's my own! ' I've heard folks say,
As if that were the truth,
Forgetting how God paved the way,
Yes, from their very youth.
Their flesh and bones, their hands and feet,
Their arms and legs as well,
Were how God made them, so complete,
With tongues that they could tell...
Yet some won't offer God due praise,
Like angels up above,
No wonder that the lost soul strays
And sins for lack of love.
The lonely maiden out each night,
One hand upon her glass,
Pretending now with all her might,
She's in another class...
The businessman avoiding tax,
With moneymaking schemes,
His broken heart now showing cracks,
Forsaking noble dreams.
And even children joining gangs
On drug-infested streets...
Or dressing up with wings and fangs
For Halloween-begged treats...
'My life's my own! ' I've heard folks say,
As if Hell wasn't real.
Yet soon life ends, then Judgment Day,
No secrets to conceal.
The rich will face the Lord they scoff,
The fools will try to run...
The wise ones can escape God's wrath...
Just pray, 'Thy will be done...'
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2010.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Get Your Hair Cut!
The perfect haircut suits you best,
Short back and sides, my lad!
So take your cash and go invest
In what makes most folks glad.
It's up to you to make the choice,
I gave you good advice...
So why look like the other boys,
When you could look quite nice?
I've seen you in the smartest suit
Let down by scruffy hair...
That's hardly what I'd call astute,
So almost debonair...
You used to be the one to watch,
The guy who had it all...
So why not take it up a notch?
Good-looking, standing tall.
Please get your hair cut soon as poss!
Don't dilly-dally, friend!
My word, it would impress the boss,
On that you can depend!
Keep up the good work that you do,
Eyes twinkling day by day!
Sit down, relax, snip-snip, you're through...
Thank God for that! Oi, vey!
Denis Martindale, copyright, January 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fortunate Son
Some folks are born made to wave the flag
Ooh, theyre red, white and blue
And when the band plays hail to the chief
They point the cannon right at you
It aint me, it aint me
I aint no senators son
It aint me, it aint me
I aint no fortunate son
Some folks are born silver spoon in hand
Lord they dont help themselves
But when the taxman comes to the door
Lord, the house looks like a rummage sale
It aint me, it aint me
I aint no millionaires son
It aint me, it aint me
I aint no fortunate son
Some folks inherit star spangled eyes
Ooh, they send you down to war
And when you ask them how much should we give ?
They only answer more! more! more!
It aint me, it aint me
I aint no militarys son
It aint me, it aint me
I aint no fortunate son
It aint me, it aint me
I aint no fortunate one, no no
It aint me, it aint me
I aint no fortunate son
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Portrait Of A Poet
The poet looked at what he wrote,
The rhythm and the rhyme
And of each error he took note,
Correcting each in time...
His diligence was his best friend,
It helped him to relay
The English most could comprehend
So that they wouldn't stray...
The poet counted syllables,
Eight, six, eight, six each verse,
For these obeyed his rhyming rules
And helped him to rehearse...
You see, he spoke the lines out loud,
As if the Lord to hear,
As if to make his Father proud,
With diction crystal clear...
The poet shed a tear at last,
Because his work was done,
For every test the poem passed...
The battle had been won!
The publishers were well impressed!
In fact, he won first prize!
With diligence, he'd done his best...
That's always good advice!
He taught his children how to write!
So they'd get published, too...
With pearls of wisdom and insight,
So credit where it's due...
His poems were in magazines
And books both near and far,
Yet skills like his weren't in his genes,
He simply raised the bar...
Denis Martindale, copyright, September 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
What It Is They Do
Some folks enjoy doing things.
While other folks 'are' what they enjoy doing!
Some folks enjoy cooking.
And then there are cooks.
Some folks enjoy singing.
And then there are those who sing.
Some folks enjoy writing.
I know I do,
And I've been told I am a writer.
Some folks have no problem,
Producing what they do.
And others will say they don't have the time.
Although they waste it telling folks,
What it is they do...
And yet nothing of that,
Ever gets done!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Try Super-Addictive 'Freebase' Nicotine Today!
When nicotine is added to some chemicals folks try,
It's then 'freebase', folks' brains to screw and finally folks die.
Some cigarettes are made so strong that strong men fail to quit,
Yet would they start a thing so wrong if they knew all of it?
Each packet has a warning note to tell folks, 'Leave these be! '
Once warned, who needs an antidote or cure to set folks free?
Yet there are those who still ignore the signpost, 'Sickness! Death! '
Though loved ones nag and will implore, is this just wasted breath?
Why must it be that cigarettes turn wise folks into fools?
Why must we see fag-fuelled regrets, yes, even in our schools?
How many deaths must be played out before the world sees sense
And bans what makes the grievers shout, such that all smoking ends?
Freebase, freewill, freedom to choose? But funerals aren't free!
Nor are the feelings when you lose the life God meant to be...
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!