3 short poems on the theme of Money, by mauveone.

You know it’s funny

About this thing

Called money

You’ve either

      Got it

     Or – not!


Money, Money, Money!

Sang Fagin as he hoarded it

Spend, spend, spend,

Said the lady from Castleford

As she went from rags to

Riches and back to rags.

Money, Money, Money!

Is no good in the Bank

So what is the point of

Keeping it, but you need

Moderation in all things,

Spend some, share some,

Money, money, money!

Keep some for that

“Rainy Day” or old age!


Money haiku….

Money can make us

humans, happy or make them

Sad, too, too sad


Ther Stairway from Prom to Where? by mauveone.

The Stairway from Prom to Where?

There is a stairway

Near where we stay.

It goes from the bottom

to top the top.


The handrail looks

Strong and firm.

It would not do

If it were not.


The red brick

Retaining wall

In their lines,

Go from bottom

to the top.


The red bricks look

Strong but the green

Weeds at their base

Show neglect.


At the top of the

Stairs is a gate.

a gate to keep –

Unwanted people



The gate has lines

Both vertical and

Horizontal. Strong lines.

Strong iron, which says

“Private property

Keep out.”


Lines that go from

The bottom to the top


NOTE: This poem is No. 3

In my series of poems on

The theme of “Lines”.

Bridlington North Promenade. 10.7.18.


Lines in the Sand by mauveone.

Sitting on the Promenade,

watching the tide turn,

looking for what it has left behind.


The retreating sea has revealed

seaweed, rubbish, shining pebbles.

strips of sea water, glistening in the sun.


It has left patterns in the sand –

wavy lines. There are little mounds

appearing where tiny sea creatures

wriggle out from the safety of the sand.


Miles and miles of dunes and flat sand,

In this beautiful Bridlington South Bay.

     We will come again, we say.

NOTE: This is poem No. 2 in my series

of “LINES themed” poems, this one is

the South Bay at Bridlington, 11. 7. 2018.

Land Train on Bridlington Promenade

The Lines on the train

Go up and down,

up and down,

Up and down.

The lines

On the train,

go up and down

Every day.


The people

on the Prom

Walk up and down,

Up and down,

Up and down.

The people

On the Prom,

Walk up and down

Until it’s time,

For tea.


The people on the Prom

Wave to people

on the train.

The people on the train

Wave to people

on the Prom.  

WAVE ev-ery one

Ev-ery day.

WAVE ev-ery one.

Ev-ery day.


NOTE:  This is the first in a series

of poems based on LINES.

By mauveoneblog.

Asspriration by Emily Dickinson.

Aspiration by Emily Dickinson


We never know how high we are

Till we are called to rise;

And then, if we are true to plan,

Our statues touch the skies

The heroism we recite

Would be a daily thing

Did not ourselves the cubits warp

For fear to be a king.

Poetry Stinks by Tina Firthlock.

Poetry Stinks by Tina Firthlock.

Metaphorically speaking poetry sucks

On radio, TV adds and books

Why don’t they talk proper like?

It irks my spirit. Take a hike


Shall I compare thee to a field of daffs?

Thou art more boring, don’t make me laugh

Sonnets, free verse, cliches, pairing

Alliteration? Sad story sharing.


But listening to poems in class was great

And in these poems, I found no hate

And in the end, it made me think

Not all poems and poetry stink?


Tales of human life and grime

Humour, sadness, desire, and crime

“The waitress revenge”, a “Miners Life”

“Purple Passion”, a “Good Girl’s Strife”


And every week, I’d write some “crap”

But always got some great feedback

A ripple of applause,  I’ standing tall

I might like poetry after all.


NOTE: This poem was written at the

WEA Creative Writing Group at the

Kinsley and Fitzwilliam Community

Centre, with reference to my feelings

About poetry before and after the

Course, poems mentioned by Jan,

Harry, Jehani, and Susan.

Rambling Rose by mauveone.

You grew from a tiny cutting

brought from Helga’s garden

in Germany, against all odds,

you grew and flourished.


The first year, you were small

without rambling, but you flowered.

Then came your tiny, tight bud.

The sun warmed you,

you uncurled into 

a perfect pink rose.


For years, you have

flourished and rambled

over the trellising.

Delighting people,

birds and insects.


So that I did not lose you,

I took a cutting from you,

It did well and grew to

look liked its perfect parent.


I planted Clematis to

enhance and twine through

your branches. For you, my first

Helga’s Rose, I chose a pale mauve

Clematis. For your infant, I

chose a bright, white variety.


My special Rambling Roses,

remind me of a special

friendship between our two

families, English and German.

Which, like you, flourished

and grew.


Just like you, it flourished to

be big, bold and beautiful.

You are My Helga’s Rose.