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Roger Macdivitt .

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Re: My Poetry.... Roger Macdivitt
3/8/2009 8:23:09 PM

This was written two years ago when Emily, our second granddaughter was at her incredibly high speed and destructive stage Bless her. She is one of lifes “bargers” she barges through life sweeping aside all else. She is so beautiful.


EMILY aged 3

© By Roger Macdivitt 07



Why walk when you can run?

Wind-up your sister, that’s good fun.

Tearing through life with the highest of spirits,

Check in all corners, you might miss the best bits.

Making demands of all who will listen,

and flashing those eyes that constantly glisten,

with devilment and saucy glee,

then demand again, to watch tv.


No time to eat, there’s things to do,

Why sit at the table? I’ll kick off a shoe.

Mummy will get it, Oh, no she won’t,

I’ll kick off the other, ‘Oh no you don’t’,

says mummy, who by now, has had more than enough

of this bad behaviour and naughty stuff.

So Emily screams and the cups all rattle,

cos’ guess who’s determined to win this new battle?


Both Mummy and Daddy and sister Sophie,

would love to end this with the ultimate trophy.

The trophy is peace, but its so hard to find,

It’s hard not to shout and to be unkind.

But just when all get to the end of their tether

and just when they start to shout all together,

Emily smiles and says, ‘I love you’,

And everyone melts and says ‘Love you too’


Oh Emily, Oh Emily, she’s The Queen of Drama,

Can no type of patience work to becalm her?

But wait, there’s a knock at the door,

And instantly she’s on the floor

and running towards the sound of voices.

‘It’s Nanny and Granan’, Emily rejoices.

Then she goes quiet when she sees Nanny smile,

And reminds her to wait, just for a while.



Nanny searches her bag for moment or two,

In the meantime she asks, Why’ve you only one shoe?’

Emily shrugs then her face lights up,

when out from the bag comes a cuddly pup,

which Emily grabs and gives a great kiss,

then another for Nanna, ‘I wanted this’

Then grabbing Granan by the wrist,

it’s ‘Granan can you help? Read this’.


Then she sits there on his knee,

Butter would’nt melt, ’Read this to me’

He reads the story about a witch,

has Gandan found the volume switch?

No such luck the silence stops,

No-one will read, her face just drops.

So Emily, shouts and laughs and screams,

Til it’s time for bed and  long  sweet dreams.


Then off to bed goes Emily Bosley,

‘Love you all’, she says, quite softly.

‘Love you too’ says Mummy with a smile,

and Emily Bosley’s quiet for a while.

But everyone knows that come the morn,

that the other Emily will be reborn.

All have slept with time to recover,

What can we do but think, ‘We’ll Just love her’

Roger Macdivitt .

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Re: My Poetry.... Roger Macdivitt
3/8/2009 8:27:01 PM

This little poem was written after a stay in a very impersonal hotel in the U.K.

One of those hotels that can only be described as “ok”.

Clean, tidy, reasonably comfortable but, “ok”.


The Hotel

Why am I here?

Miles from home.

Nobody I know.

People are friendly enough, but

Nobody I know.


All of that gas just getting here.

I could have bought groceries for a week.

Soft drinks. How much?

Who’s getting all the profit?

Nobody I know.


Ignore the mini-bar.

Watch t.v.?

Nothing worth watching. What’s that?

Who writes this rubbish?

Nobody I know.


I drove all night.

Couldn’t stay awake.

Well, until now that is.

Who slept in this sad room last night?

Nobody I know.


Where is that book?

I know I packed it.

I can’t find it anywhere.

Ah! Who left this bible here?

Nobody I know.


I hope I’m up for breakfast.

I was hungry yesterday.

No breakfast, settled for a doughnut.

Who decided last sitting 9 a.m?

Nobody I know.


Ah well! My work here is done.

Off to my home tomorrow.

More fuel. More ways to stay awake.

Who’ll  cause that jam that will delay me?

Nobody I know.


Morning, Ah bliss. I got some sleep.

Feel ok.  Surprise.

There’s someone here in the mirror.

He looks just like me.

Nobody I know.


This last Christmas day I took an elderly man to the city hospital to visit his wife for an hour.

My wife and I were eating lunch out so no pressure, no sacrifice. I had to kill an hour so drove into Guildford City Centre (U.K.) to sit and chill in the car.

Christmas day is the biggie in the U.K. (No Thanksgiving) so pretty darned quiet.

Here’s the result.


Christmas morning – City Centre

(c) Roger Macdivitt Dec. 08


How quiet, how strange. Folk, who yesterday thronged the shops are

    Far away behind closed doors.

Some are still sleeping, even at this mid-morning time.

Maybe they celebrated too hard or feel that Chrismas is a time to chill.


A yellow cab drifts by with just the driver.

Perhaps he’s collecting somebody’s elderly relative,

    delivering them to the family for a festive lunch?

Or, maybe he is just returning home after a busy night ferrying partygoers?


A family, two adults and their children pass by

    each carrying a bag or parcel.

Dressed brightly, but lightly as this is a mild Christmas day..

It seems that Christmas forgot to be seasonally grey.

They go on their way to brighten a life with love and presents.


A young man and a middle-aged lady pass,

    he pushing a bicycle and carrying a bag, she, a large handbag.

I think that they have been working

    or they needed to find the only convenience store open in town.


On the hill above the City, people are celebrating at the cathedral.

Some with a genuine wish to worship,

    some with a sense of duty, and others who, to them,

    “it’s what you do at Christmas”.


Two ladies approach carrying black bags and books.

They smile and approach my car, offering me a leaflet.

They wish me a happy day and suggest that I read their Christian leaflet.

I know that they don’t celebrate today

    but they are using the opportunity to remind others of God.


They stop a young man and engage him in conversation.

His response is kindly smiling and their chat is animated.

Another passing lady refuses an offered leaflet or talk.

Two others, dressed in bright African clothing walk past.

They look strangely out of place in this quiet and cool environment.

Their clothes remind me of very a different Christmas overseas.


Still the ladies and the young man converse and

    he exchanges information, writing in their black book.

He leaves and walks on just as the yellow cab returns.

It passes by with just the driver.


The, usually essential, traffic signals continue through their phases,

Stopping and directing invisible mid-morning traffic.

This annoys the odd lone driver, faced with waiting for non-existent cars to pass.


A man in a jogging-suit trots by.

He is colour co-ordinated with his black and white dog.

A young driver takes advantage of the empty streets

    by thrashing the engine of the high powered sport car.


A hire van stops and collects somebody from a nearby shop.

This is a reminder that some are working,

    some delaying their celebrations as they earn an extra bonus by working today.


Another reminder of those who are working.

A fire tender stops and turns.

It returns back again, heading out of the city.

No hurry, just routine.

They will be enjoying their day in their way.


Still the shops sparkle, the banks still stoically showing offers of help.

Offers of sales to come are advertised, many worried what the new year will bring.


Traffic ebbs and flows between nothing and small groups,

    some collected by distant signals.

A shapely young lady on a bicycle, dressed in full racing clothes, rolls past, immaculate in every detail, both rider and cycle.


A small grey car pauses, the female driver undecided.

There are parcels on the back shelf.

As the young lady decides on her directions

    another driver assaults her ears with his horn.

What price goodwill today?


A watery but cheering sun percolates the spaces between the buildings.

Two adults and a child run by, laughing and having fun.

I check my watch and remember why I’m here.

I have to return to the hospital where my friend awaits his transport home.

I turn and leave. Soon I shall join others for Christmas lunch.


Roger Macdivitt .

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Re: My Poetry.... Roger Macdivitt
3/8/2009 8:29:25 PM

So sorry folks,

I didn't mean to fill your in-boxes.

Perhaps I should have posted them all together.


Nick Sym

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Re: My Poetry.... Roger Macdivitt
3/8/2009 8:46:28 PM
Breast Cancer Awareness On My Site! Free exposure that works
Thomas Richmond

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Re: My Poetry.... Roger Macdivitt
3/8/2009 8:54:40 PM
Roger, Thomas here, what a thread of poetry wow, i bet you still have some poetry nuggets inside of you my friend :) Thanks for the words! God_bless you.  
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