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Step into The Rhyming Room

Poetry on typewriter

Would you prefer to write your comments as a poem? Then The Rhyming Room is exactly where you want to be. Take inspiration from our weekly themes or wax lyrical on current consumer concerns…

The Which? Conversation community is fortunate to have many budding poets in its midst who frequently put their thoughts into verse.

On the odd occasion, we’ve even had dedicated conversations encouraging you to show off your creative talents and command of couplets and stanzas, such as those community member Ian led on National Poetry Day last year and at Christmas.

Poets’ corner

Concerned that some of the odes may get buried and forgotten in the depths of Which? Conversation, a number of you have requested a permanent poetry convo.

The space you envisaged was somewhere to store your topical verses so you could easily access them for further enjoyment – and even contribute more when you’re feeling inspired.

So, without further ado: welcome to The Rhyming Room.

On song

Of course, the main idea here is to write poems about your thoughts on current consumer issues.

But for added inspiration, each week, we’ll also be suggesting themes. These could be based on a mixture of world, international and national days, and even dubious celebratory days – so be sure to check back regularly.

Naturally, if you come up with your own celebratory occasion and want to write a poem, that’s OK, too.

Your musings can also be serious or amusing.

The only rules are that the poems must be your own work and it would be helpful to others to mention the subject. You should also always keep our Community Guidelines in mind.

To kick things off, Alfa’s kindly put pen to paper.

Did you ever dream of being a poet
But never quite sure just how to show it?
Let thoughts in your head turn to words that flow
And watch a poem start to grow

Each week there will be a new set of themes
Inspiration may come to you in your dreams
The end of lines don’t have to rhyme
Just come back and share with us in due time

This week’s themes:

Any current issues on Which? Conversation, plus:

Notable upcoming dates:

Fri 26 May: Don’t Fry Day, Dracula Day, Paper Airplane Day, Heat Awareness Day
Sat 27 May: Cellophane Tape Day, Sun Screen Day,
Sun 28 May: Brisket Day, Amnesty International Day, Hamburger Day, World Hunger Day
Mon 29 May: Biscuit Day, Paper Clip Day, Learn About Composting Day, Coq Au Vin Day
Tue 30 May: Water a Flower Day, Loomis Day, My Bucket’s Got A Hole Day
Wed 31 May: No Tobacco Day, Macaroon Day, Senior Health & Fitness Day, Speak in Sentences Day
Thu 1 Jun: Say Something Nice Day, Go Barefoot Day, Olive Day, Heimlich Manoeuvre Day, Penpal Day
Fri 2 Jun: Doughnut Day, Rocky Road Day, Leave The Office Early Day,
Sat 3 Jun: Repeat Day, Insect Repellent Awareness Day, Egg Day
Sun 4 Jun: Hug Your Cat Day, Tailors Day, Old Maid’s Day, Cancer Survivors Day, Cheese Day, Cognac Day

Please check back regularly for themes of the week.

We look forward to reading your compositions!

With special thanks to Which? Conversation community member, Alfa, who assisted with this conversation and came up with the inspired name of The Rhyming Room.

Comments

A Sideways Look At National Poetry Day.

Hmm, national poetry?
National day for poetry?
A day for the nation to write poetry?
A day for the nation to write national poetry?

Thus:
This part of earth where we roam,
Our land that we always call home,
Has lakes and has mountains
Has pastures and fountains
And sea-scapes that pleasure the brain.

We challenge with urban extrusions,
We pollute with our foolish delusions.
We queue and we travel
And watch worlds unravel,
But it’s special to us just the same.

Enough of our small sceptre isle.
Many verses have eulogised in style.
While some have the art to beguile.
Some set our nation on trial,
But it’s ours, all ours, every mile.

National poetry day?
A day to define what poets say.
Thus:
The essence of poetry true,
Is the way that the words can construe.
Economy of phrase,
Alliterative plays,
Meaning, passion, deeper thought
Ideas encapsulated, briefly wrought.

While prose expands and fills the page,
Poetry concentrates the sage.
Parodies and humours in its lines-
Speaks to hearts, its heart combines
To reach inside those inner minds.

Rhythm, too, is part of verse,
It ebbs and flows in this converse.
Rhyme is something more abstruse.
For some it’s trite a mere abuse.
Others use it as excuse
For want of better forms and use.
It has its place, though verse that’s blank
Often rises to a higher rank.

Poetry is special in its grace,
Read with emphasis and with grace.
Long syllables stretched to lengthen line,
Sibilants spoken; soft sounds of salient sobriety.
Verisimilitude and veracity for propriety
Short sharp sabre stabs – invective too;
The poet’s skill, the power of words renew.

So:
Hail to poets who write and play,
Sharing our National Poetry Day.

A “Natural” Discourse.

The ducks sit on the deck
Or swim around and peck.
The geese fly noisily overhead,
Going somewhere, some new bed.
The dogs, they bark in wild cavort.
The rabbits, nervous lest they’re caught.
Swans, those graceful birds in white,
Glide and wander day and night.
Pigeons, jackdaws, crows and shank,
Noisy on their tree lined bank.
Nature doing what it pleases,
Rain and sun and Autumn breezes.

Though we mortals change these things;
Our living choices: all that brings-
The world of dirt and waste and pillage,
Be it city, town or village.
Nature cares not our survival
With time on its side to make revival.
When we take and move our “tents”,
It just waits, takes stock and reinvents.

Deadly nature has no morals,
Features not in human quarrels.
Viruses and poison plants
Are not for it the thing of taunts.
We must lockdown, change our ways,
Nature bred us and it slays
With no compassion – a human state,
Just cause and effect, that’s nature’s trait.

Humans think they rule the world.
Nature sees that lie unfurled.
Humans think and plan and worry,
Life is busy, people scurry.
Nature just evolves and changes,
Takes advantage, its order arranges.
Invades and inserts itself into cracks.
Goes where human progress lacks.

Beaten sometimes by our acts,
Nature changes and reacts.
Nature always gets its way
Whatever you or I might say.
We are guests here now on earth
(Nature hosted us at our birth.)
We might grow and tend our crops,
Garden flowers and fill our shops.

We might bend the natural earth.
We might inhabit its rounded girth.
But though we carve our human path,
Nature warms our human hearth.
Nature gives us air and water,
Earth to grow and fish to slaughter.
We repay this with increased greed.
The debt is called and we now bleed.

Attitudes Change Things.

It’s hard to be esoteric when the experts are always on view.
It’s hard to be philosophic when the prospects are all askew.
It’s hard to be airy-fairy when the mind keeps track of facts
It’s hard to indulge in fantasy when reality just impacts.
It’s hard to write in eloquent terms when hard times knock the muse,
But it’s easy to write an elegy to mourn and to accuse.

Elegies are, it’s sad to say,
Easy to think of here today.
We mourn the loss of life too soon;
We mourn our need to hide, cocoon.
We mourn the changing life we lead.
We mourn the helplessness of deed
When all our efforts don’t succeed.

Wider spreading thoughts then stray,
To those abroad who weep and pray.
Are shelled and beaten, forced to flee
Are homeless for the world to see.
Are drowned in boats and thrust in camps
Simple humans, lights without lamps.

We see the wicked deeds of those
Who care for none, and none depose.
We see the malice of the brains
Of those who hack and spread refrains
With falsehoods fakery that remains
To taint and tarnish with its stains.

We see the climate going wrong
Storms and fires, floods along.
The icecaps melting, ecology too
Changing patterns to worrying new.
Reluctant to adapt our ways
We fail to do so –just word plays.

The wake up callers are much admired
Their messages are quite inspired.
We clap and cheer and nod our glance
As the simple teenage shames our stance.
And then return and carry on
Life’s too hard to dwell upon.

Elegies abound and sadden as each problem adds its weight.
It’s right to mourn the wo-begotten especially when it seems too late.
But were we to just mourn and mope, wringing hands at this and that,
Nothing bright and good and cheering would feature in this churning vat.
Praise the joys of being human, children’s laughter, flowers and friends.
Decide to help and be a partner right those wrongs and make amends.

Duck Tape.

Ducks, observed from afar in Autumn airs,
Sitting on narrow jetties in groups and pairs.
A pecking order, though less defined in rank
And more peaceable now that mating is less frank.
Yet the mallard with his fluorescent green of brow
Protects the browner companion next in line just now
From other mallards similarly perched among the flock
Whose mates rest, heads in wing and body on the dock.

Now and then the peace is broken in dramatic style.
Always, typically, it is the female looking to beguile.
She lets rip with a raucous rasp of sound
And calls attention to every bird around.
Why, is not quite clear to humans watching near at hand,
But her noise has its effect upon this passive band,
Which shuffles, shifts and settles once this tirade ends
To peaceful slumbers which, duck-like, their contentment lends.

The flock is not without its chatter all around.
Subdued muttering from the males, a continuous ground.
No one pauses in this gentle quacking parley that
Might hear another’s answer, if such is reason for their chat.
It’s more a friendly group in harmony at last
When Spring and Summer’s pecking beaks are things of past
And female rivalry is memory no more
As Winter plumage grows to counter weather raw.

The watcher moves along the decking by the bank
From which the jetties protrude in serried rank.
At his approach the ducks are stirred to life.
Heads go up and look and bodies raise for strife.
The irony is that, should the human break the rules
And throw bread in the direction of these fools,
The reaction might well move the flock en-bloc
To gather to the feeder with his stock.

As it is, though humans travel round their haunts,
Regularly passing by on quests with no duck taunts,
The ducks regard us with a wary eye,
Would rather move with wings to fly.
At our approach they shuffle to the jetty rim.
Some splash into the water, there to swim.
Some stand and look poised to do the same,
A few stay still and play a waiting game.

The human passes and looks back upon the hoards.
The ducks are back in places settling on the boards.
Noisy chatter to the others walking up the deck,
Beaks are poised and, now and then, they peck.
One might think that by their time out there
These ducks would worry less about the home they share.
For humans come and go and never will molest
These nervous ducks, in whose company they are blessed.

If the quacking becomes too early and too much I can think of a new application for Duck Tape. Only kidding, and geese are worse.