With great sadness I must
inform you that Poet Emmo passed away, after a long and painful illness,
on Sunday November 30, 2003.I will continue to maintain this website in
his memory. Poet Emmo's webmaster.
The day is coming to an end,
Evening time arriving very fast,
So go to sleep and dream my friend,
Of pleasant things, not old and bad.
And in the morn awake refreshed,
Find a safe haven no distress,
Lend life a hand and you will smile,
And make that journey a shorter mile.
Merely help those who you can,
Give a meaning to life's plan,
Do not stop to deliberate,
Then you will notice life is great.
So wend your way through day and night,
Try to keep that balance right,
Live each day to the full,
Make that my friend, your golden rule.
I notice on the roof tops,
No chimneys anymore,
Central heating is the thing,
And possibly small bore.
Many things are changing still,
Almost enough to make you ill,
Perhaps one day this all will stop,
And put the chimneys back on roof top.
Why The Poet?
Poetry will always have a place in history,
It appeals to very many folk,
Somehow it soothes the brow,
Gives you that lovely peace of mind.
I like peace and solitude,
That is why I like to write,
Pleases me so very much,
I then see things in a different light.
I guess I shall keep on writing,
Various types of poetry,
And one day become really famous,
And go down in History.
In the stillness of the night,
A certain kind of peace and quiet,
Nothing stirring, sheer solace,
This is really the perfect place.
Here where all time stands still,
To enjoy that which is given,
Better than a sleeping pill.
When pleasure is simply driven,
The heart slows down to lesser pace,
You just feel good, no race or chase,
Taking life so very leisurely,
It is rightly the perfect me.
Yes I will realize for this,
I did so very rightly pray,
And now it has arrived to stay,
But it is not greeted with a kiss.
Solitude, solitude, extreme bliss,
This is what I think of this,
And why all time stands still,
To be enjoyed, I am sure I will.
Why do men love women?
Is it for their loving ways?
Or is it just a simple thing?
Like their minds always in a haze.
Maybe it is their perfume,
That gives them man appeal,
Or could it be the brain they use?
Well is it simply for real?
It could be the little things,
That they say and do,
I feel that this is very true,
Do you think like that too?
I only wish I knew for sure,
If it is true love we use?
It really has to be that way,
For no woman likes abuse.
A drink of beer, is sometimes nice, as is a cigarette,
And rain comes down, sometime at rapid pace,
Sunshine breaks through to warm the ground,
But soon to go, no longer around.
Then winter time upon us, with the cold cold snow,
Seems to last for ages, never wants to go,
So I shall have another beer, and a cigarette,
For though I know it maybe wrong, it is the best as yet.
Sitting here in the morning sun,
Now that this new day has begun,
After waiting the winter through,
Wondering what there is to do.
Now to do the nicest things,
The swimming with the lift up zings,
Just gently resting listening,
To the wee birds that sing.
Gone for a while, the snow and rain,
Watching water run down the drain,
Fires that burn night and day,
Simply keep the cold at bay.
Tasks seem harder when there is cold,
And even more the growing old,
Yet this is life we really learn,
Experiences along the way, deep concern.
Looking forward to much nicer days ahead,
And rising from our sleepy bed,
Hoping when the new day does dawn,
That there is once more a bright sunny morn.
Flying here to me from afar,
Like a bee inside a jar,
Busy buzzing round and round,
Once those feet are off the ground.
Travelling from there in Canada,
On a seven hour flight,
Coming here to England,
For me a wondrous sight.
When you touch down,
And enter into that Airport,
My tears will start to flow,
And like many things in the past.
And not always kind of slow,
Hurrying through the incoming gate,
Customs checking through your bags,
To just see what you owe.
Finding nothing that you have hid,
Them looking sheepish as a kid,
Giving you the all clear,
Then you are at my side my dear.
Just pure love is what we have got,
While all those others they have not,
Then one month from then,
You will be gone once again.
Sun shining bright, in the sky
By splendid day,
Stars that shine bright,
In the sky at night.
Just a little part of life,
Like fresh baked bread,
New mown hay,
And loving wife.
Toil at work, most every day,
At end of week, to take home pay,
Holidays twice a year,
To the pub for a beer.
Out to dance, and enjoy,
The company of girl and boy,
Then when day ends,
Like they do.
Get off home, no don't be blue,
You rise again, then off to work,
Is what you do,
Then go earn money to start again.
For tomorrow may bring rain,
Then there may be another way,
To help you through, a cold wet day,
A fire to keep you warm.
If you are sane,
Then you will know,
Another day for work,
So off you go.
If there was no god, would we need to pray?
If there was no money how would we pay?
If there was no food, then how would we eat?
And how could we walk without legs or feet?
And without any friends, then who could we meet?
Without all these things, life is just not complete.
A cowboy went riding, out on the range one
He never rode a piebald, he only rode a bay.
This was the cleverest of steeds,
Gave the cowboy most of his needs.
But could not give him human love,
The kind that he did crave.
Yet this bay still showed and gave him care.
She truly was a loving mare.
And when the cowboy finally died,
She gave this cowboy his last ride.
She carried him to Boot Hill,
Love this story always will.
What is a meal without appeal when it is
served up bland?
For with a little thought, and sleight of hand,
It can be served to you, so kind of grand.
The Route Of Life
Day in day out we have our route, which we
follow to the letter.
But there are times it can be worse than it is better.
Yet we carry on, till the bad is gone, the nicest route to go.
We travel near, we travel far, in rain, in fog, in snow.
We have to face the elements, what ever brings the day.
So we shall carry on, in our own sweet kind of way .
Is Paradise a special place of beauty so untold?
And is it the kind of place where one never does grow old?
Are there humming birds within?
Those pretty birds that commit no sin.
Do they exchange pollen and nectar?
Do they have, a special sector?
Has it parakeets and birds by the score?
And pretty flowers, spread out on the floor?
Does it grow the finest fruit, does anyone give a toot?
For if it does, then there I shall scoot.
Then if I should find paradise, even at a cost,
Then I could truly answer, paradise is not lost.
What Happened To My Leg?
What happened to my leg?
Where did it really go?
They took my leg below the knee,
It made a rather shorter me.
What happened to my leg?
Was it kept or thrown away?
I still do not know until this day,
What happened to my leg.
Did it go to heaven, or did it go to hell?
What happened to my leg, can anybody tell?
Was it cremated on a fire?
Or pickled in some kind of jar?
What happened to my leg?
Three years now have past.
And still I am aghast.
What happened to my leg?
Perhaps one day before I am old,
The story of my leg will be told.
What happened to my leg?
I should really like to know.
Can someone please tell me, where did it really go?
What happened to my leg?
Why did my brother go bald why did he lose his hair?
Although I should like to know, I do not really care.
Why does he have smelly feet, cross eyes and broken nose?
Why do these things happen to him, I guess that is how life goes?
Yet I have had my share of pain,
Like getting wet in pouring rain.
Sometimes hot and others cold,
All this the price of growing old.
I may be a pauper, and I may be broke,
But when you lack health, it is no kind of joke.
I hate being ailing, I hate being sick,
I need to win the lottery, so please make it quick.
Then whatever time there is left in my life,
I can take off to far places, and at last leave the wife.
If I were a robot, a mechanical man,
Would I be made out of an old can?
Would I be precious, and not very old,
And would I simply be made out of gold?
Knowing my luck, the way that I do,
I possibly would be made of rubber and glue.
Should I then get a puncture, and really deflate,
Would someone pump me up, could I find a mate?
If I were a robot.
Solitude is a lonely thing,
A ballad is a song to sing.
On my face a lovely smile,
This all goes to make life worthwhile.
Love a person for all life,
Make that person, your loving wife.
Go to work earn lots of pay,
And make for her a better day.
Think of the future, not the past.
Then no solitude at last.
What Is A Woman?
What is a woman, is she so tender, can she be true?
Or is it a thing that she cannot do?
Can she be loving, just for one man?
Maybe she can.
Is she understanding, faithful and such?
Will she say she loves you ever so much?
Or will she nag just moan and groan?
And leave you feeling all on your own?
If she won money, most every day,
Would she keep it, or give it away?
Perhaps she would share it, only with you?
Maybe she would not, would this make you blue?
What is a woman, once tied in with you?
Why is a snowman made out of snow?
Why does a fire simply glow?
Why do we sweat when the weather is hot?
And when it is cold we really do not?
Why when we cut ourselves we surely bleed?
Why is it that we do not need greed?
Why is this life, so complex a thing?
Why do we have bells that have to ring?
Why are there birds that fly up above?
Why is there god, an idol we love?
There must be an answer to these questions I hope.
Or is it pure fact that my brain cannot cope?
From the bottom of my heart I thank you, for the faith you have in me,
That is why my friend this is your little piece of poetry.
You have spent very many hours, throughout day and night,
Alan you have worked hard at it, just to make it right.
I do so appreciate the toiling you have faced,
And not to say the least, the way that it has been placed.
People tend to forget what others do for them,
And when they feel ready, they shrug them off like nasty discarded phlegm.
I am proud that I know you, for it means so much to me,
For without your hard work and your help, I would surely be all at sea.
At times I know that it must be very very tough,
That is why my friend, I cannot thank you enough.
So this is in your honour, for everything you have done,
And I hope this brightens up your life, just like the midday sun.
Personal for Alan, my webmaster, from the Poet Emmo. For his true
dedication on my behalf. Thank you Alan you are much appreciated.
The smell of flowers in the spring,
Truly such a wondrous thing.
Moon and sun in the sky,
Brings forth a tear in your eye.
Walking in the woods after rain,
All kinds of smells once again.
The wildness that is there within,
The mice and snakes and other things.
A bird, a frog, a lice or two,
Help make nature pleasant for you.
Funny smells do abound,
Most of them come from the ground.
Nature is such a wonderful thing,
Especially when it brings forth spring.
At night stars in the sky,
I often sit and wonder why.
And in the day, a nice white cloud,
You think of nature, but not out loud.
We get the snow we get the rain, for quite a while,
Then once again, we start to glow.
For we understand we really know,
In full circle round we go,
We travel near and travel far,
But come back at last to our night star.
Although I am getting older, and my life has almost past,
I sit down to ponder, how long will it really last.
Most of all I did enjoy, growing up from a boy,
So much happiness so much joy.
Funny things along the way,
All added up to make my day.
Reflection time as we grow older, still things left to do,
I wonder if I shall get them done, I suppose that you do too.
The times that I was happy, were more than the times I was sad,
The times that I was very good, were more than I was bad.
Life no longer travels slow, it now travels fast,
And very soon I shall be gone, and that will be the past.
When we were just little kids,
There was many things that we did.
Often we went out to play,
Things were safer in that day.
Parents took us to the sea, we had to ride a train,
We would spend the whole day there, and return back home again.
Our seasons then seemed so very right,
And we had the pleasure of stars throughout the night.
And through the day the sun,
We loved the seasons that we had, we loved them every one.
Although things have progressed,
They have left us in a nasty mess,
But still we carry on,
For when we were kids that has long since gone.
Life is such a mystery,
It all adds up to history.
Many things both right and wrong,
Help to make life move on.
When as a child, you have pain,
It never seems to go away,
But when it does then you will always know.
You grow up and go to work, to stop from being poor,
And if you become the greedy kind, then you will want much more.
But if you are satisfied with all that you possess,
Then you will not be the greedy type I guess.
And looking forward as other people do,
When we are gone then we are history too.
Twilight peace and solitude, laid back in casual pose.
Much nicer that the rat race, not being in full speed mode.
Why hurry and worry, and have lots and lots of strife.
When after all you can opt for the easier kind of life.
So take that peace and solitude, take it with all grace.
And lay right back with a smile upon your face.
Why does time fly by, where does it really go.
Why when we are old, it passes fast, does anybody know.
When we were children, without a care,
It appeared that all life stood still there.
Why changing life becomes a mess,
I do not know I must confess.
If in fact I really did,
I would prefer to stay a kid.
Yet if I should reach the sky,
I still would ask the question why.
A Simple Prayer
Please God make me a better man,
Much better than I really am.
Give me strength and peace of mind,
Help me become the loving kind.
Please help me lord upon the way,
This is why to you I pray.
And as I know not what to do,
This is why I ask this prayer of you.
For all the bad things that I have done,
You have forgiven every one.
Thank you lord for being there,
And my burden that you so share.
Oh! To Be
If people read my poetry,
Will I go down in history.
Will I be noticed at long last,
Once my life has past.
Or will it be seen, as fame,
And will it make me rich again.
Perhaps some day I shall become,
The poetry making son of a gun.
So go collect my poetry,
Most varied types as you will see.
And this will make a rich man of me,
Then I could share my wealth,
And make many people happy, even if I can't give health.
So people do the right thing and just go out and buy,
Do not stop to reason, or even wonder why.
If you are not sure where to get me, then try the internet,
For I am not in the book shops, well not as of yet.
Surf over all the poetry, you will find me near the top,
And you can order poetry customized on the hop.
I have pages by the score,
And soon to be a whole lot more,
So if you need that special poem,
I can send them to your home.
Now that you are adult, and grown beyond all compare,
How does it feel to have reached there.
Facing in the past most days,
Trials and tribulations each and every way.
How you coped in the face of it all, can any one dare say.
You somehow tackled life,
Faced it all plus all the strife,
Thus learning all about life.
And finally maturity,
Wrapped in a cloak of security,
I am that pleased you mean so much to me.
Watching trees tumble down, and new roads being made.
We see vast space, where once there was a leafy glade.
In their wisdom they upset the environment,
With nothing else but tons and tons of new cement.
They do this for profit, and for gain,
Can anyone dare explain,
This is done for human greed,
Something I believe we do not need.
They spoil the homes and shelter that animals require,
Sometimes with flooding, sometimes with fire,
Do they ever care a damn, if animals expire.
I would dearly love the power to wave a magic wand,
And send these alien humans to the far out and beyond.
There is another thing that I would say just leave our environment alone,
Then perhaps these animals could have another day.
Something you may never have.
Being somewhere else.
Something we would all like.
What you want it to be.
Go to work on an egg, doctors have often said,
But if you eat to many then you may end up dead.
So think in moderation, 'tis better just a few,
Then you will live much longer, yes this is really true.
Man once was told life expectancy, was three score years and ten.
Was this really the truth even way back then.
But many died before this three score years and ten,
So how can one believe when this happens then.
Some may reach a hundred, and perhaps a little more,
But if you die before your time would you come back for more.
Solution For Pollution
We no longer breathe fresh air,
For there is pollution everywhere.
Where air was once pure, it was nature's cure for ills.
But with this pollution, people are just popping pills.
The song should be sung,
About those with one lung,
And bring to the fore precaution,
For I fear that this helps the unnatural abortion.
Time to go back to organic stuff,
For believe me we have had enough.
How I would love to court you, and have you for a my wife.
I would give you everything, throughout our wedded life.
I would make you happy, giving all my love to you,
And if you marry me, I promise to stay true.
The beauty deep within these eyes, is something to behold.
And beauty should be for ever, well this is what is told.
Yet some destroy this beauty, and could not care the less.
But once all beauty is gone, it only leaves distress.
Why cannot people wake up, and cherish the beauty of this life.
Instead of causing lots of pain and strife.
I suppose there have to be the selfish, that have to walk this earth.
But do we really need them, are they of any worth.
Perhaps one day it will come to the fore,
That we do not need to lose beauty anymore.
The human side of life is to grumble and to moan,
Not satisfied with life entirely anymore, that is why many are still
There are very few that are happy with their lot,
But they really ought to learn to be happy with what they have got.
There are many things that are there for us,
But still we never learn not to make a fuss.
I guess if they were millionaires, they would stay the same,
And keep on finding someone else to blame.
The moaning and the groaning would surely carry on,
Well at least until their life had ended, and all has finally gone.
Why do some people never care,
Why do some people never share.
Why do some show emotion,
And others show devotion.
Why is this the way life has gone,
And why the way humans carry on.
For me I should rather share,
And care with love and devotion.
That is the way I would carry on,
Well until my life had gone.
Stop To Think
The nicer side of life,
Is to pray to god, and marry a lovely wife.
Raise children one or two,
Then go tread the path given you.
Be god fearing in every way,
Have lots of faith, and sometimes pray.
Try not to smoke drink or swear, or even gable too,
If you can cope with this then your life should be true.
If you take my advice,
I am sure you will find all things nice.
Waiting on the quayside, for a little tiny boat.
Hoping when I board it, that it stays afloat.
Should it sink, then I would need to swim, or maybe float.
That is providing, I still can think.
So I may not catch the little boat, I might go ride a bike,
And if this also goes wrong, then I shall have to hike.
I have me a little puppy dog, that is rather cute,
But when my cat wants to play, he will surely scoot.
He does not go very far, which pleases me no end,
For one day he will learn to play, then he will have a friend.
Down the road came a pig, followed by a dog,
Then came a toad followed by a frog.
Next came a snake and a rat, and very many mice,
And after those quite a lot of lice.
Then there came an elephant, followed by an ape,
Then there was the rhino, wearing flagged cape.
Coming up close at the rear was horse and kangaroo,
These were all so clever and knew just what to do.
The people that all saw them had started in a frown,
Then a smile upon their face, the circus had come to town.
I have tried hard to please you,
In every kind of way.
But you reject my loving, and show a funny face.
Why can't you just accept my love with dignity and grace.
Would it really hurt you, to give way now and again.
With a smile, full of warmth, that would drive away the rain.
It could be like spring time if you would only try.
It would be much better, than when you just decry.
Day in day out we have a route we follow to the letter.
There are times that are worse than are better.
We carry on, find bad is gone, thus the route to go.
We travel near, we travel far, travel through the snow.
The elements we face, as we travel on, we find life not gone.
We will do what must be done and simply just carry on.
A broom to sweep away the dust,
A brush for scrubbing when you must,
And when all things are kept clean,
It makes a nicer kind of scene.
The answer? Keep things clean.
If I won the lottery and became very rich,
Would I buy many things or just stay in this niche?
Would I invest it or give it all away?
No I do not think so, I can hear you say.
You may be right, you may be wrong, I really do not know.
I think I would have a good time, for that is the way to go.
There was a mole that dug a hole,
For he did like to burrow, though he was a blind mole.
He still could still find his way while underground,
And every time he burrowed he left a hill upon the ground.
A heaped up hill, this was not very strange,
For when the ants all see it, it looked like an open range.
Some where there is a moral,
But not plain to see, if you were that little mole,
You may understand, well maybe, maybe.
Aha! here is the answer! You must be blind to see.
Greed is an excuse for security.
Is vanity profanity?
You do not need to try to be impossible, you are.
I know why you are such a beautiful person, you take after me.
Take Up Your Share
Sing a song of three cents, for that is all we are worth,
And we are nothing more than the cheapest thing on earth.
We are taxed far too much in very many ways,
Successive governments turn the screw in many, many days,
And there is naught that we can do, so instead of laying blame,
We ought to get some common sense, and just stop being lame.
All Around The World
There are troubles and there is woe, does it really matter should we really
There are always these sort of things, it is something that is not rare.
So let us hang our heads in shame,
And be man enough to share the blame.
There was a King who loved his Queen,
The prettiest Queen that you have ever seen.
She had a dimple on her chin,
And on her face a big broad grin.
Big blue eyes that opened wide,
This pretty Queen had naught to hide.
On her King the purest love she did bestow,
And my friend that is all you need to know.
A man stood tall in stocking feet.
In one sock there was a hole,
Further more he wore a frock.
His under wear was lady's lingerie.
How do I know? Well that man was indeed me.
One Eyed Flea
I shot a flea in the eye,
And very often I wondered why.
This poor defensive little flea,
Now only had one eye,
Just like me, and if I had my tike once more,
I would rather leave that flea alone.
Further more I would let him lose it on his own.
Why worry try harder?
You may have a breakdown.
If you are miserable,
People try to make you happy.
But dare you smile,
They will steer you down the saddest aisle.
If we were all very rich,
Where would the paupers be?
Life is like a merry go round,
It never stops, save for individuals.
Here lies a man who was big and bold.
Why did he die? He just got old.
Give rise to pomp and circumstance,
For it is the Queen's Golden Jubilee,
She has served us very well,
Him, her, you and me.
She has ruled as no other has,
Been true to the Royal Crown.
And once raised glasses are done,
Please gently put them down.
How long will she reign?
Not for fifty more,
For she will not live that long,
But possibly another score.
So give rise to pomp and circumstance,
Raise your glasses once again,
And God bless our gracious Monarch,
For her long lived Golden reign.
Dream A While
When I go to bed at night,
Feeling tired and at times uptight,
I tend to dream of pleasant things,
Which makes the negative just right.
As I lay there in my bed,
With dreams going round my head,
I look back on yesterday,
And all the bad things go away.
The positive comes to the fore,
So very nice, I will dream some more,
And as I lay my head there to rest,
I find to dream the positive is best.
To walk a mile in someone's shoe,
Is in fact very hard to do,
You cannot get the feeling,
That these people get.
For there is no way you can explain,
How they lose feelings and those they gain,
Although this is something we all do,
Waste of time in another's shoe.
So live your life your own way,
Take each day a step at a time,
Then you will surely smile,
For in some others shoe you cannot walk a mile.
Just Slipping By
Almost halfway through the year,
Time travels extra fast I fear,
As Winter moves on,
Summer does appear.
Yet it only lasts a while,
So from your face you lose that smile,
Realizing how life is so short,
And in time of this earth we will abort.
A bright summers day brings forth,
The nice warm feeling of contentment,
Hoping now winter has long past,
Not to return for some while.
Birds now nesting in full swing,
And flowers in full bloom,
Hearing happy people sing,
And summer nights full moon.
How summer puts a smile upon a face,
How happy once more the human race,
So keep the winters cold, cold snow,
For we prefer the summer, don't you know.
Flowers growing Birds a singing,
Summer time once more,
Winter time is very long,
And it is such a bore.
Not much to do,
Except watch TV,
How pleased I am that summers here,
Now at long last I feel free.
In My Eyes
Another year, another day,
For you dear mother I must say,
So very nice that you are my mom,
You never ruled by rule of thumb.
For being so loving and very kind,
You planted love and feeling in my mind,
And should I grow the same as you,
Loving and kind and really true.
Then all you did would have been worthwhile,
Teaching me how to live my life with a smile,
Please have a real wonderful day,
For with this message I will say, I love you.
Original Work By Emmo.