Rose was a gypsy who lived upon the moor,
she used to sell clothes pegs knocking door to door.
Sometimes on a bad day when she had little in her purse,
if anyone refused her she’d mutter a gypsy’s curse.
When the easter fair came around Rosie suitably veiled,
armed with a crystal ball and whatever else it entailed.
She’d sit and tell their fortunes while more waited outside,
she’d gaze into her crystal ball as all logic she defied.
She’d repeat the self same mantra time and time again,
“you’ll meet a tall rich stranger and,you’ll never work again”
Rose was far from psychic whatever time of day,
she’d hang out her washing when rain was on the way.
Rose was her “stage” name no matter what folks say,
her real name was Bridie she came from Gallway bay.
If you have your fortune told as one day you just may,
watch when she hangs the washing out what more can I say
A contest entry
- anything and everything, just entertain me by Luciferschild.
800 points, ended January 27, 124 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Gypsy Prompts by Judith Chandler.
660 points, ended May 14, 6 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Tarot: The Major Arcana by Keith.
700 points, ended July 7, 21 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Carnival Atmosphere by Mercury Rising.
700 points, ended June 23, 10 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 9 of 9
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A very nicely written story...beautifully written...
Sorry it does not fit in my contest.
Best,
mystic
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I was wondering what this reminded me of, then it clicked. It's a poem we used to recite at school by John Keats called Meg Merrilees. Here it is;
Meg Merrilees.
By Keats, John .
Old Meg she was a Gypsy,
And lived upon the Moors:
Her bed it was the brown heath turf,
And her house was out of doors.
Her apples were swart blackberries,
Her currants pods o' broom;
Her wine was dew of the wild white rose,
Her book a churchyard tomb.
Her Brothers were the craggy hills,
Her Sisters larchen trees -
Alone with her great family
She lived as she did please.
No breakfast had she many a morn,
No dinner many a noon,
And 'stead of supper she would stare
Full hard against the Moon.
But every morn of woodbine fresh
She made her garlanding,
And every night the dark glen Yew
She wove, and she would sing.
And with her fingers, old and brown,
She plaited Mats o' Rushes,
And gave them to the Cottagers
She met among the Bushes.
Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen,
And tall as Amazon:
An old red blanket cloak she wore;
A chip-hat had she on.
God rest her aged bones somewhere -
She died full long agone!
I like the humour in your poem, and the simplicity of it. However, I think it fades away a bit at the end -i.e., you expect a story, and don't get one. But overall, there's a lot of good in it. Thanks for entering. -
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Keith
Thanks for your comments on "Gypsy Rose" The idea for the poem came
from the John Keats poem which we learnt at school "Old Meg she was a gypsy" etc. 78 years ago, you were right ! Best Wishes...George...
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An excellent poem with a humorous touch and some good rhyming. Best of luck in my contest, and thanks for entering
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I like the humour in this piece and your use of detail. However, the flow is a bit rough.
Thanks your for entering my contest. Congrats on your HM. -
nicely done, the rhymes were original and the subject even more so, thank you for entering and i will take another look at this one
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Very Nice Poem !
i loved it!
it flows so well and tells a good story !
i like the Rhyming !
Great write !
Shuberth
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treckergirl
Many Thanks for your kind comments on "A Friend" so glad you enjoyed it Best Wishes George ++++ -
Shuberth
Many Thanks for your kind comments on "Gypsy Rose" glad you enjoyed it
Best Wishes George!!
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