Poetry corner: Read your poems
In September 2008 we asked for your original poems on the theme of 'my passion'. Literary types Gyles Brandreth and Roger McGough, have now selected their favourites - and the film has been shown on The One Show.
Click here to find out which poems Gyles and Roger chose to read out.
Our 'Poetry Corner' has now closed, but you can still read the submissions, below.
Thank you.
Here are Gyles' "beginners' top tips" for writing poetry:
Poetry packs a punch. It gets to the heart of the matter. A poem is like the postscript to a letter: it's the place where you find what the writer really wanted to say. Before you begin to write your poem, decide on the essence of your message. What exactly do you want to say?
Organise your thoughts. When you've decided what you want your poem to do - tell a story, express an emotion, make the reader laugh or cry - work out a route map. Where is your poem going? What journey is it going to take? Even the shortest poem needs a beginning, a middle and an end.
Easy does it. Just because you are writing a poem, you don't need to go all "poetic". Keep it simple. Use language that's direct and honest and that you are comfortable with. Avoid euphemism and euphuism and anything else you need to look up in the dictionary.
Truth is what counts. Whether your poem is a love poem or a limerick, if it doesn't ring true it won't work. If it's a love poem don't hide behind sentimentality and cliché: simply speak of your experience from the heart. Good jokes work because they ring a bell. The same goes for good poems.
Rhymes are fun. Rules are good. It's not essential to write a poem that rhymes - or scans - or obeys the traditional rules of poetry used by Shakespeare or Shelley or Rupert Brooke or John Betjeman - but it can help. Read poems by great poets to discover how the discipline of writing to rule helped them make their poems memorable.
Your voice. That's what we want to hear. And if we do, your poem will be unique - because you are.
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Comments
Planet Rolf
Rolf drove his Golf to the end of the earth
And off into space he went,
With a pint and a quarter of mineral water
And seventeen bags of cement.
Centuries later, an ant found a crater
And in it, a meteorite
Wrapped in a note that said, "I hate to gloat
But from here, it looks like I was right."
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Somewhere by a distant shore
Sits a girl he could adore
Looking seaward feeling blue
Searching hard for something true
And somewhere not so far away
Stands a man with words to say
To mend her heart to dry her tears
To chase away those pointless fears
So dont be lonely or feel blue
For I will always shelter you
From all the pain you have inside
And give you love in which to hide
Paul - Lowestoft
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GOODBYE
I wanted a way to say goodbye
To the past that i've lived
The one where i would cry.
I cry no longer
As you have gone,
I live my life
Me,my daughter and son.
The pain you caused
For me and them,
The fear inside us
Of all other men.
The day i nearly lost them
I wanted to hurt you bad,
You were not worth it
I had to fight for what i had.
I changed who i was
And grew stronger by day,
To a far better person
Living life my way.
You thought you would win
With your power so tough,
The night you raped me
You were so rough.
For the nights of abuse
Not the pushing or hitting,
For the words you said
Your ways of belittling,
To the days you had me locked up inside
I had been beaten so bad
To no-one i could confide.
It's hard to believe
I am so young,
Three men have hurt me
The misery they brung.
For now i say
My final farewell
To that life i knew
To which i nearly fell.
You won the battles,
I won the war
you have the bitter memmories
As you walk through every door.
I kiss my angels
As they go off in there lives,
They are my world
For them i strive.
Goodbye to the past,
I am over it all.
I am proud of who i am,
As i did not fall.
By Laura Whiting
17/02/08
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The Victim
I am the victim
The one who weeps,
Pain of all sorts
When will he go to sleep.
My face is black
Swollen and sore,
He is smiling
I can take no more.
Does it end,
Do i tell,
My life is worthless
This must be hell.
Hell is the end,
Though i am still young
I can't let this be
Or he would have won.
I have to escape
From this life i know,
To a place far away
Somewhere to grow.
By Laura Whiting
7/02/08
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Deep inside my heart, a Shadow looms in wait, A Flower thrown in the dark, Is how my life relates. This Shadow haunts my thoughts, questioning loves true fate, All this Flower asks for is peace, Please dont doubt my 'soul mate'.
Darkness falls all around, My heart begins to race, The Shadow creeps up on me, This Shadow has a face. The face of a clock that shows a coming of time, a place in the future when i am yours and you mine!
Once again darkness falls and the Flower again must wait, for what has been witnessed was the coming of true fate! Though in the lightness of here and now she does find her perks, in the darkness of her heart is the place where her true love lurks!
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Tomorrow's Rain
Tomorrow will be today tomorrow, and today is now, and now is yesterday
tomorrow.
The past is on our heels, never slowing,
never stopping.
If we could freeze one moment in time,
there would be no past or future, just right here, right now.
In that brief and solitary moment we are
nothing.
The past is easy to escape, we outwit
yesterday by being here today.
So beware my friends, for yesterday may have once been today, but tomorrows rain is yet to come.
Gary Barrell
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Avalon Keeps Her Dead
The heroes of old sleep,
Never to return to the land
That they once loved and defended.
Great leaders have fled,
And have gone beyond the veil,
Leaving us blind and defenceless.
The pens of once great scholars
Remain silent and unmoving,
Leaving an emptiness yet to be filled.
The home I continue to love,
And fear to lose,
Slips beyond all recognition and hope.
The past returns to haunt the present
As memories of a once proud nation
Remain where they will be slowly forgotten.
Avalon keeps her dead;
Our hope.
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This poem came to me in the bath
Like something by Sylvia Plath
If only finding the soap was so simple
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Wheeley Bin
See that wheeley bin standing there?
"I'm not a goal post!" it does declare,
How dare you use me in your game,
I like holding garbage, if it's all the same,
I have icky rubbish and banana peel,
The pong I contain will make you squeal
And feel quite sick, so stop that now,
I can't kick back, I don't know how,
You'll break a window, or damage a car,
Or you'll kick that ball way too far,
There is a field not far away,
You have the energy, go there to play,
The bloke who lives here hates you boys
Using streets like common toys,
Go down the park with your 5-aside,
Let steam off there with your football bride,
See that wheeley bin standing there?
"I'm not a goal post!" it still declares.
Patrick Carter
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Two Thousand Feet
A jerk. A short and bumpy run. And then
Silence, save the whistle of the slipstream.
The tug, foreshortened to a graceless thing, which men
Contrived as poor answer to their dream,
Circles slowly, in altitude crescendo,
Yaws gently ‘till I harmonise
My freedom simulator. I know
That, tight-strapped herein, I just surmise
Noble freedom’s truth. But, foetus-like
I trail on steel umbilical cord
While envying still the hawk and shrike
Who Heaven the flight-gift did afford.
But were I for a day to be like
They, would I? Would you? Would any man?
All men are born with talent, skill,
Ability and power. They can
All do or be anything they will.
Two-thousand feet! It’s up to me.
Cable released; air-born. I’m free!
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Poems about work
Oft’ use words like shirk,
Jerk, irk and lurk.
Next time I’ll create a sensation
I’ll write a poem about an occupation.
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captain cook sailed the endeavour, in all kinds of stormy weather.
the sails were torn.
the sea was rough.....
and captain cook was in a huff !!!!
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The Vigil
The Lady entered the knight’s domain
For love, in search of rest.
In need of comfort, at least one night she must remain.
This knight loves his Lady:
So much more and wholly than all the rest,
This knight must awake
To guard his dearest heart.
His Lady, she lies so soft, so kissable
Her serene sylph-like form ebbing and
Flowing with each life-giving breath.
The dark soft hairs on arms and legs
Highlighted by moon invite the tenderest caress.
But no, My Lady she needs to rest,
And this knight is content and in love.
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The old rubber monkeys,
Of Ancient Gadong.
They bounce around,
Like they just don't belong.
They bounce from the trees,
They bounce from the floor.
Then, bounce into the sky,
And are heard of no more.
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Grasshopper green is a comical chap,a comical chap is he.
Bright little trousers,jacket and cap,these are his summer wear.
Out in the meadows he loves to go,a playing away in the sun.
Its hoppity skippity high and low,summers the time for fun.
Asolja
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The Future is the Fuschia
By Cj
The future is the fuschia
For Chrysanthe-mums and dads
Where Dandy Lions wear velvet pants
And fox-gloves on their pads
And I rode a Dendron bush to work
And although it might surprise ya
When I get home I make up songs
On my Hyacynthesizer!
The Internet Auction
A poem by CJ
This Internet auction is quite an addiction
There are minutes to go and now time’s a restriction.
I’ve just placed a bid on an item most curious
If someone outbids me I’m gonna be furious
The time goes quite slowly, the seconds are ticking
And how many times have I refreshed by clicking?
But the end is in sight, and champagne I’ll be swiggin’
Damn! I’ve just been outbid by a welder from Wigan!
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Southwestern Spirit
Saw you here some years ago
Swimming in the sea.
Slender girl, dark tousled hair. Natural. Beautiful.
St Catherine’s Tor your understudy,
Surely there must be more like you.
See you now from time to time, still so gamine,
Sustaining my dreams, you’re why I am here.
Surf-drenched dreams. So many dreams.
Sea-swept thought sintered by jagged cliff,
Sultry notions of what shall never be.
Struggling to survive on this awkward peninsula,
Sometimes lonely, yet so thankful I am here.
Stay with me Hartland, for I cannot let you go.
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Afraid to Fail?
Don’t be afraid to fail
Or think mistakes beyond the pale
Or hide your face when things go wrong
When all your prizes are the golden gong
Don’t worry if you don’t make the grade
Or beat your self up when success does evade
Or hang your head in lowly shame
Or crawl into a corner when it’s you they blame
Don’t think it’s the end when you don’t succeed
Or gracefully bow out when you’re no longer in the lead
Or chuck what you’re doing when you can’t get it right
Or turn your back and swiftly take flight
Don’t be downhearted when friends criticise
Or think your failure will lead to demise
Or stop in your tracks when the going gets tough
Or jump from the boat when the road gets rough
When you fail
Give it another go
Stand on your feet
And give it another blow
Pick up your tools and start again
Put your brain into gear and don’t be so vain
It’s not that serious, nobodies going to die
Get back to the front and have another try
When friends point accusing finger at you
Stare them in the face, they haven’t got a clue
“Are you so perfect and always keep the pace?”
We’re all failures sometime, welcome to the human race
People aren’t born great,
It’s something they become
Through mistakes and failure
They were taught to carry on
So don’t be afraid to fail
Or think you’re the wasted one
What does not kill you
Is the thing that will make you strong
We all learn by our mistakes
Get red faced when we ain’t got the touch
You see I’ve made a catalogue of mistakes
And that is why I………… know so much!
Michael (September 2008)
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Seasons’ Corruption
Wondering souls no longer in wander,
Glazed minds, feeble thoughts,
Weakened, watered idealism
Crumbled at Time’s assaults;
Once so new so fresh,
Once great, now maimed……..dying.
Turgid shop-floor manager feels omnipotent;
So weak in fact.
No more crying, ignoring, halt this dilution,
We must rejuvenate, grow well,
Naivety will be, must be;
For, in such is our strength:
The world depends upon our babies’ minds.
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Cheeky monkey
A cheeky monkey would love to dance around,
bounce bounce,bounce bounce, along the solid earth ground,
he was such a happy monkey and would love to laugh,
he would play with your hair and get tangled in his little wooly scarf,
a cheeky i once knew.
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Feeling Antsy
An anteater, whether it’s fat or it’s thin,
pretty much does what it says on the tin:
it eats ants for its dinner and ants for its lunch
and ants for its supper and snacktime and brunch,
and whether it’s Christmas, or Sunday or Easter
a modest repast, a quick nibble or feast, a
N’anteater has what an anteater wants -
which is dozens and dozens and dozens of ants
Except Eric.
Eric said firmly: “what really bugs me,
I had insects for breakfast and insects for tea.
I’m not being fussy, I’m not being hasty -
I want something to eat and I want something tasty.
I’ve had red ants and black ants, I’ve eaten them boiled,
I’ve eaten them fried and I’ve eaten them broiled.
I won’t clear my plate. I don’t want more grubs-to-root.
I don’t want them skewered,
I DON’T WANT ANT SUBSTITUTE.
I hate ’em.
“I’ve had it with ants. I’ve had more than enough.
I want to try cheeses and gateaux and stuff.
I just want to gorge myself, eat without stopping
on pates and pizzas - and choose my own topping.
I don’t want ants skewered, I don’t want them whole,
or chopped up in pieces, or served in a roll,
I don’t them frittered or in an ant-ball,
or satayed or seared - I don’t want them at all.
NO MORE ANTS.
Or cockroaches.
Nothing with a thorax or more than two eyes.
Chips would be great.
Thank you.
Moral: sometimes it pays to make a fuss
Geraldine Durrant
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Love Lost
Breathing lightly
Just a breath
Her alluring whisper
Palm stretched across my chest
Rise and fall of synchronous torsos
I feel her heart murmur even more so
Aroma of crushed grass,
Meadow’s sweet summer breeze
Moments cherished, yet why ill at ease.
Taken my lover and now alone
Summer’s sweet swallow torn from me, to another’s home.
I turn away and look ahead
Face of flint
No more tears to shed
Michael (August 2008)
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I hid safely undercover,
But from the corner of my eye,
I saw a woman screaming,
I saw a helpless young man die.
I saw soldiers bravely fighting,
I saw old and yound men fall,
As invading monsters advanced,
And killed them all.
And as these metal creatures,
Waged a brutal war,
I looked around me, shaking,
And thought of running for the door.
I saw the creatures coming,
And as they turned on me,
The music started playing,
And the image seemed to freeze.
I got up from behind the sofa,
And a voice from the TV,
Said; "Tune in next week to see what happens,
To Doctor Who on BBC".
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The Boat
Thousands of screws; all types, all sizes,
The train to London is so full of screws.
So many screws.
Smiles; all sorts of smiles.
Nervously exchanged, timorously break strangers’ faces,
So many nerves, so much excitement.
The talking spasmodic, conversation falters;
The journey so full of pauses, all sorts of pauses.
So many pauses.
Into London; Millions of people,
All sorts of people, all colours, all sizes,
This place swarms with bustling humanity.
So many lives, so much excitement.
Hundreds of boats, all types, all classes,
Earls Court is awash with boats.
So many boats.
Leaning on a balcony alone……………So together,
Standing superior, looking down alone……So content,
So together.
I spy THE BOAT! She’s so beautiful; So much beauty,
She lies there yearning for sailing
On oceans deep and wide.
So much water. So much adventure.
I write this poem sitting upon her deck.
So much romance.
Then I ask “How much?”
“HOW MUCH??”
So much money! So much for dreams.
So many dreams…………..
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Arise, Fair Sun
Shall I compare you to the sun so fair?
Your beauty burning while eyes cannot grace
The harsh splendour of your midday glare, stare
Till calm twilight merges this haggard face
That spends life shining yours from its facade
With your slumbering vermillion, pale;
Gold, silver meet weak in morning aubade,
Radiance still unseen as part mid-trail.
Round righteous Nature's centre start and close
As the night follows day, I follow you,
Pulsing rays beat bright and cold and so grows
The urge to endlessly find and pursue.
But the brief align clips the earth in awe
Till our traced circles dry and quickgold pour.
Louise Allen
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MOTHER-IN-LAW
(Not to be taken seriously)
I love this woman that lies so warm
Beside me in our own so secret world,
A private universe created in an instant
With nothing more than a closing door
And two hearts eagerly entwined.
Silent though awake, regaining our composure
I look at the lines on her face and neck
And desire her more,
A dozen greying hairs enticing me back again.
We never wanted to part, but we knew,
The tenderest kiss, gentle tears, aching goodbye.
She turned before I closed the door
And whispered huskily…………
“Please, Please look after my girl
And be the husband she deserves”.
And she was gone.
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Mbolo's Revelation.
Little Mbolo lives in a tree,
Knowing the ways of the forest.
With spear, with arrow, with knobkerrie
He hunts for his food in the forest.
One morning Mbolo arose with the sun
And set out to hunt far and wide.
He went with a gait and a lope and a run,
Brushing the bushes aside.
He stopped at the edge of a clearing and saw,
Clear on the sunbaked ground,
The most unusual, strangest, spoor
That ever a hunter had found.
"Great Spirit!" He said to himself, with a groan,
"What wonderful creature is this?
I will track it and find it and bring it back home.
My mummy will give me a kiss."
He followed the spoor as the sun rose high,
Further than ever he'd roamed,
Through tangles and thickets, 'til he drew nigh
To the wondrous creature's home.
He stood and listened and heard a weird noise,
A chuckling sort of a boom,
Then a voice which sounded incredibly wise
Came thundering out of the gloom:
"I know what you want, but you shan't get it,
O little Mbolo so free,
You want my hide, but you can forget it,
You'd better go back to your tree."
Mbolo was somewhat taken aback,
The creature sounded so sure,
But of courage and bravery he'd no lack,
So he strode right in through the door.
The sight that met his wondering eyes
Made him sigh and laugh with amaze,
As if forty million butterflies
Were singing in his gaze.
Oh! Glorious creature! How he glimmered,
How he flickered and shone,
How his seething colours shimmered,
So bright to look upon.
And then the creature began to sing,
A sound like pouring honey,
Like water bubbling up from a spring;
It made Mbolo feel funny.
He blinked his eyes and shook his head,
But he seemed to be under a spell,
He began to wonder if he was dead,
But really he felt very well.
In fact he felt such a surge of joy,
He whooped and yelled with glee:
"I'm the happiest, hoppiest, hippiest boy
That ever the world did see."
"So," said the creature, "Now you know,
And we'd better leave it at that.
But I'll say one thing before you go:
I really am only a bat."
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Western Sky
It was evening last,
When I saw heavens light,
As indigo came to bathe the world.
I cannot forgive myself,
Some of the things I have done.
Sometimes before dark though,
I dare to hope.
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We lie here in an endless sleep,
Just you and I beneath these sheets.
I wonder, are our dreams entwined,
The way they were the night we died?
My body wanting yours, so cold,
It turns my thought to passions old.
This world had scored us both, you see,
Rejecting our philosophy.
A life forever out of reach,
A word impossible to breach.
Never again desiring life,
But choosing in death the lesser strie.
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Sleep Sheep
I’m one little sheep
Who has lost his way
Out of a mind where I never sleep;
I’m chased and used, and tired all day.
I’m one little sheep,
Don’t know it myself,
But only give him sleep
And during the day forgotten on the shelf.
I’m one little sheep all alone,
It’s so hard jumping that gate
I wouldn’t object to a clone;
Hurry! Time for his sleep, mustn’t be late!
I’m one little sheep, I need my sleep
So badly I fear I’m dying;
When he tries to sleep
Tonight he will be crying.
“Mummy! I can’t go to sleep”.
“Darling, try counting sheep”.
“But Mummy, I can’t, I can’t”.
“Don’t be a baby now; not another peep…………….”
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Creatvity
Hidden depths well up to surface
Hidden shards that life obscures
Hidden facets of a persons conscience
Hidden pathways that are only yours
Touched by beauty, eternity's Author
Touched by pain a fallen soul
Touched by love the clockmakers daughter
Touched by hate the accusers rule
Here my heart that love has moulded
Here the hands that Jesus bought
Here the eyes that have seen the eternal
Here the soul the Creator taught
See the work He inspired
Touch the form His hands conceived
Smell the sent of seasons forgotten
Hear passion His Heart did weave
Michael (September 2008)
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XJR
THIS XJR IS NOT A CAR
NOR BUS NOR PLANE OR TRIKE
THIS XJR IS NOT A TRAIN
SHE IS A GLEAMING SUPERBIKE
SHE TAKES ME OVER MILES
AND NEVER LETS ME DOWN
HER DUNLOP TYRES WORKING HARD
TO GET ME OUT OF TOWN
DP BRAKES AND UNDERTRAY
AN EXHAUST THAT IS A BLAST
I KNOW HER SO INTIMATELY
SHE LETS ME TAKE HER VERY FAST
SHE GLIDES ALONG EACH SURFACE
LIKE A SWAN UPON A LAKE
AND THEN ROARS LIKE A LION
WHEN SHE OVERTAKES
HER RED BODY AND CHROME GLISTEN
AS SHE THUNDERS PAST
THIS XJR NUMBER 25
WAS TRULY BUILT TO LAST.
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This comment was removed because the moderators found it broke the House Rules.
Heaven, Hell or Purgatory
On the mountain you stood
So long a time ago
With your arms held out and
Your hair blowing in the wind.
You want to leave this Earth
To escape the suffering
That you have had to endure
In this mortal, insane life.
The wind pounded around you
Daring you, taunting you to jump
Yet something held you back
Tethered to the old tree stump.
Lightning cackled menacingly and
The tether broke in two
And you gladly fell forward
Into the unknown depths of the abyss.
Free falling, you knew the end
Would be coming, drawing nearer
Heaven, Hell or Purgatory
You wonder where the blackness will end.
To find yourself only with Angels
Yet you know in your heart you don’t belong
You find yourself watching the world below
Wishing you never found the courage, the skill to take
That fatal jump.
By Aimee Pope
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love in the air.
love is in are hearts
love is all around
love is that feeling that keeps your feet on the ground
love gives you wings so you can fly
love is wish for you to try
love is when god gives you wings
love makes you do crazy things
love can never go away
love is a rule that is here to stay
love is a feeling that you can't hide
love is a feeling that you can't describe loves is somthing every one will share
love is a feeling that you cant compare
love is wish a for my dreams to come true love cannot compare to you
by rachel
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You are...
You are the most beautiful in all of creation
You are the light that illuminates devastation
You are the angel of joy and devotion
You are the source of all emotion
You are the constant in all of my thoughts
You are the view which never distorts
You are the perfection that we dream of all our lives
You are the one from where all beauty derives
You are the epitome of positivity and fun
You are the most special person I have ever gazed upon
You are the gift more prized than a dove
You are the one who I will always love
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we'er just been friends , and now you're going
far away for many years,
but please dont leave me without knowing,
how i feel as you're time nears,
i know you're older and more mature.
and far beyond me in so many ways ,
but what we have between us is something pure,
tht's given me these magic day's,
i thank you for the loveliness,
that you're sweet friendshp's brought to me.
this is not a goodbye just to say i love you and thank you
for the times we shared togehter .
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Reflections...
At the top of the stairs is a room on one side,
the bathroom, I gather, for washing your hide.
There’s something I’ve noticed when wandering by,
a mysterious hound who keeps catching my eye.
First time I saw him I barked and I howled
and just for good measure I bristled and growled.
But next time I looked in, just who did I see
as bold as you like and not three steps from me!
I lie in the hall and I stare in at him,
he lies on the mat and stares back with a grin.
I scratch my left ear as he scratches his,
it’s just like a game this, some sort of quiz.
I‘d like him to come to the park or the wood
we would have such fun, if only we could.
But he never comes with me, he never comes out,
he just stays in the bathroom and wanders about.
He is rather handsome, that dog up the stairs,
who postures and poses with all kinds of airs.
So regal, a pure breed, a champion of kind;
sometimes I fancy he’s reading my mind.
No matter at what time I try to sneak past,
he’s always there watching and moving so fast.
I can never surprise him, but how can that be?
The more I reflect, he is so much like me…..
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THE SADNESS OF WAR
In the morning mist stands an old man
Where a young man once stood
Tears in those sad eyes lonely eyes
Which once were happy and shining
His body old and frail
Which once was young and strong
In the field of crosses white and shining
He stands along the forever young
Boys he once knew happy and full of life
Now lying silent in a row
The memories grow old but not forgotten
But only by those that were there
The world passes by in shameless ignorance
The sacrifices were in vain
No-one sees the old men that were once young
Soon the old man will be gone
To join those that died so young
The crosses will still be there
But no one will come
No one cares
The world will fight on
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Corn Porn Lindyloops
You little sneak you
Starting off so ordinary
Slipping into our day to day
As common as common or garden grass
Grass- my ass! Only for a week or two
Then ew, ew, ew - look at you!
Getting adolescent leggy and waving your arms all over the place
A few bristles appearing around the face
Awkward at first and then gathering pace
Slinky. Tinkly. Silky rustles.
A shade sinking from the greens to the creams
Through the mosses to the muddy and then back again.
To grown up full blown oven baked biscuit, warm and golden yellow.
You little sneak you
You did all that under the guise of ordinary
Just so you could leap out and boo me
With your ears cocked and your fingers waving in glee
Thank you so much for surprising me.
And then…after all that trouble…we just reduce you to stubble.
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Viaduct
Thick mist rolls over the garage roof
Down from the old embankment as I sit
Glazed of mind in need of rejuvenation.
Climbing, scrambling searching for traction
I weave my way up the crumbling mound.
Each hard won breath brings cold cold liquid
Running down my throat, droplets run past my collar.
Here at the top of this shrouded place
No view of town to distract, all sound deadened,
All thought focused.
This beautiful dead place visited seldom,
Rarely disturbed except for the hordes of rabbits,
And of course the ghosts of the hard men,
The hard men who built this railway,
Now long since removed but not forgotten.
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ADOLESCENT GLOW
Long before dawn on an intensely misty morning,
Deathly silently dropping pearls to roll down windows,
Water creeps down faces and necks,
Each breath brings sips of the airborne fluid;
Dimly make out a glow ahead through misty windscreen
On my Sunday journey,
Sulphureous, warm, inviting street-lamp
Arches around a pair,
Man-boy, tall and thin, baseball cap cockily perched,
Holding girl-woman, small and pretty,
Short pre-pubescent fingers clasping her love;
The heat they generate brings light all about,
Light and hope to a man long-tired, long cynical,
On his way to work at two-thirty on a Sunday dawning.
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Spell
Midnight over Furbo,
and every star
was a gin tear
while I etched your name
on fastfade sand,accepting my truth
that you are a page
I can never turn.
Witchmagic has touched you,
no one else comes
remotely close.
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Fireman Fred
Two-thirty in the morning at the station
Fred and the crews are in bed;
Like most tired firemen across the nation
They appear sallow and dead.
Not Fred, an experienced man,
He’s used to the tension
And lies curled in the land of sand.
The bells. Call out. Attention! Attention!
Only the fifth call that night;
Though Fred is wide awake and alert
The driver is weary but starts up all right,
And the machine leaps out onto the orange London street.
No need for sirens, only the lights
As the red roaring monster takes Fred
Perhaps to a job of frights,
Away from his cosy warm bed.
Cynical Fred, now dressed, believes
That it’s only a rubbish fire
As the engine slides around the road on wet leaves
And the revs are getting higher and higher.
Skidding to a halt, the doors fly open
Mother and father screaming, pointing
To a third floor window; Their children!
The prospect of rescue is daunting.
In seconds the ladder is wheeled and pitched
And Fred leaps up the fifty feet;
The window breaks as he punches with his fist
Then ducks the flames screaming “The Bitch!”.
He’s inside now, another man follows,
Jim runs up the ladder with a hose.
Hair burning, insides boiling, but good Fred
He sees the children unconscious beneath the bed.
One under each arm he takes them
To the window, flames block the door,
And passes the children to Jim.
Explosion. Destruction. Fireman Fred is no more.
Now Fred lies in the cool
To be admired by one and all or not atall.
This brave man lies beneath his stone:
“Fireman Frederick Jones; 21st July 1980.
His last call”.
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Ode to a Zimbabwean Farmer
Where is that man I talked to all those years ago?
He sat upon a simple bench with spirits at all time low
His shoulders slumped, his eyes abyss and thoughts so far away
His hopes and dreams in tatters as he remises a bygone day
I sat beside him for a while in quietness by his side
Until he took a moment to explain his broken pride
His fertile land and years of toil had vanished in a night
Ravaged by deeds of evil men his endeavours were out of sight
His future hopes of going back to where he had been born
Were still alive within his soul there was no need to mourn
One day Mugabe and his men shall surely get their deal
And vanish in an inferno to let the deep wounds heal
In his quiet Rhodesian way the man began to say
I do not feel at home here with my family so far away
I will return to start afresh to Zimbabwe’s beaten side
And help her thrive yet again to restore her broken pride.
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Written by Chris McKellar - aged 16 with autism:
I'm ten years away from those patches you dig,
You're surrounded by uncovered bones and relics.
As time passes a city will be uncovered, Sooner or later, you will salvage a great discovery. - Howard Carter
I'm not there yet. I'm a fossil waiting to be revealed to the world
A miniature dinosaur struggling to break out of its shell
While you brush away the sands of the past
Surrounding the treasures, in my valley of time.
The decade ahead, a new jewel to you
Amid pain and happiness, my time with you has arrived.
Something about your life is about to change,
No more hidden treasures, I am here in your world.
Chip, chip, chip as we examine our archaeological finds,
On Vesuvius slopes, that we left behind,
From the grounds of foreign soils come treeasures of time,
Trips away in your own little world long ago, before you were mine.
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An Antagonist's Poem
As poetry rears it's ugly head
How I wish that it was dead
How I long for a verse that ceases
May that rhyming syntax rest in pieces!
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2nd Dedication
Stood outside a bar one night
The darkness was multiplied
By the sky of street lamp stars
And police cars’ flashing lights
And the more they tried to make it bright
The more they mystified
The further away they pushed the day
And the longer they made the night
Eighteen months since we’d last met
The passing of time a vex
The memory had not faded
No neither had the regret
As the smoke’s fine wisps
Twist, flow and flex
To infinity you look at me
And begin to move your lips
Your word so pure that they ring
Like the clouds’ atomic bell
And their startling shafts of light
Are the mad insights that they bring
The copper conductor of my ear
Hears for the tales they tell
And my rampant lobes they begin to strobe
As The Meaning becomes clear!
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Where was I
Where was I
When I could smell the sweetest of Flowers
Where was I
When I could feel the smoothest of Silks
Where was I
When I was holding the rarest of Jewels
Where was I
When I was kissed by Velvet
Where was I
When every nerve tingled
Where was I
When I felt the wetness of the dew
Where was I
I was with you.
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Just a kiss, miss just a peck on the cheek,
speak to me, midizi me
Creep into me see me squirm, firm but soft,
your caress, nothing less will do
Its all I pursue is the touch
I like very much for you too
Distress me press me to the floor,
more more no door,
To unlock the key to my heart is not needed,
my defences all fled
I am now senseless caution thrown to the winds
please please lead me bleed me dry
then tie me lie with me fly high with me
then back down to the sea, to drown me,
with your lips, let me feel wanted,
Wanton and wilful,
not woeful and tearful fearful
I may look but only the thought of you
stopping this pleasure,
This fortuitous seizing of my licentiousness,
I confess, has me quivering,
misrepresentation represented unrelenting,
Intentions of contemplations,
now sought, Since you’ve brought,
Me to boiling point….
with just a look from your eyes,
I aspire. Perspire on fire with lust
I must miss just one kiss
just a peck on the cheek I will be meek
I will be humble into your arms I will tumble,
Or crawl on all fours for one more kiss miss,
one peck on the cheek from those lips
those ruby red bits
Attached to your face all so delicious so tempting
all luscious even Lucifer would repent
if it meant that he could kiss those lips miss
this nervousness that I feel
is the worst part of me but I know this miss
My shyness will crumble,
and crumple like my iniquitous,
curiosity, you see is all saintly really its true.
Take pity just a kiss miss .
A peck on the cheek,
I am weak at knees Hear my pleas please
I am pleading, my cheeks are red as if bleeding.
Jut a kiss miss: kick start my heart. Back into motion.
Just a kiss will do it,
there is nothing new to it for me you see.
This kiss miss this mouth to mouth resuscitation.
Is all I am awaiting lain here in my bed
I have gone through it in my head
a thousand times I’ve felt it,
I’ve smelt it and melted deep down into mush,
you must have seen, My queen mi lady
you drive me crazy insane,
I am but a pauper at your door,
I am knocking, on all fours
I am crawling calling,
just one kiss miss just one kiss
Thrill me with seksumi
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I love sailing and last year I was a crew member on a tall ship sailing across the Atlantic and on night watch felt inspired!!
High above in gods back yard
where mortal man can take no part
stars shine down upon this Earth
and make men wonder at their birth.
Brighter some and others dull
they help us find our way
across the oceans deep and vast
to where our dear ones pray.
When steering by the helm at night
we see their friendly stare
which reminds us of a greater being
who's with us everywhere.
Sometimes Earth's brooding heavenly lids
cloud out our twinkling hosts
and leave us pushing through the seas
with nothing but our hopes.
And when at last these lids unfold
our steady friends still there
we know once more the course to steer
to take us, we know where.
Well i liked it.
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Loving
Glancing, Looking, Smiling, Winking,
Smelling, Touching, Sensing, Thinking.
Glowing, Knowing, Kisses Blowing,
Some strange bonding started Showing.
Risking hurting this Love by starting,
We know the price of sometime Parting.
Caring, Sharing feelings Baring,
Heart strings Pulling Heart strings Tearing.
Holding, Fondling, Chancing, Blushing,
Pulses Beating, Racing, Rushing.
Braving, Craving, Grasping, Moulding,
Caressing, Kissing, Hugging, Holding.
Gasping, Gulping, Wishing, Waiting,
Praying for that rewarding Mating.
This Love is real with no Pretending,
Whatever happens it's never Ending.
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drugs what do i do!
what do you feel high in the sky
do you care?
i hope you do care when you
hit me black and blue!
yes i hate you!
drugs are killing you!
what can i do!
i can,t help you
you don,t want help
drugs are killing you!
but now back to normal
what do you feel about drugs?
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AN AUTUMN DAY
By Danielle Benedict-Flavell
13
This morning,
The grass is sparkling,
Like jewelled diamonds,
Jet planes,
Going to the airport,
To be refuelled.
From green leaves,
To orange leaves,
then a blend of red and,
Brown leaves,
Then they all fall down,
The evening air is icy.
Everybody sits inside,
To have a drink of…
soothing hot cocoa,
To warm their chilly selves up.
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on missing my 2 year old grandson while on holiday
"Twingle Twingle" our little star
how we miss you from afar
Here in Spain where the sun beats down
you in Scotland where the weather makes us frown
Not once today did someone say "digger"
no wiggly worms or sweets after dinner
Out for a promenade and then for a bite
our thoughts strayed to you late last night
Down by the marina, clear sky, moon high
you really were that "Diamond in doh sky"
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Ode to the Post Office
By Alex Owen-Meehan aged 12
Thy post office is so imbued
A structure conveniently afoot
With a cylinder shaped tube
Ready for your mail, thy shall put.
Early in thy morning
The newspapers stacked high
As I walk past the awning
To go to the stack and collect thy.
But wait! The scent collides with you
Released from the glass jars
You join the queue
So you can invest for a Mars
Upon your natural anniversary
A yearly card with postal order
To there you want to flee
So that it will last no shorter
You see a car tax disc holder
So you are then reminde’d
Of the driven forces one year older
And another form that has to be signe’d
For all the forms in complications
A simple life on a daily basis
With an offer of confectional sensations
You even have the tags for our holiday cases.
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Animal Crackers
By Adam Lambert, Age 13
I saw an elephant dressed in blue,
He had escaped from the local zoo,
I saw a giraffe in a tie,
Carrying a blackbird in a pie.
I saw the polar bears dressed in suits,
I saw the penguins in hob nail boots,
The kangaroo wore boxing gloves,
While trying to catch a pair of doves.
I saw a spider on roller skates,
I saw a monkey lifting weights,
I saw a panda all dressed in red
And a chimpanzee in a four poster bed,
The funniest thing I’ve ever seen,
Was a hippopotamus dressed in green,
Now that’s your lot, I’m out of time,
And this is the end of my funny rhyme!
My son wrote this at school, and I think it is brilliant!!!
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Dreaming 129 days ago
A dust of snow accross the pane ,
a touch of frost against the skin ,
A drop of rain against the glass ,
simple beauty in itself ,
The way the sky breaks a morning red,
A dark sunset as i lay in my bed ,
A drop of winter in the cooling air,
as i drift to sleep upon a cloud.
A past brought forward due to sleep,
A secret in which my brain can't keep,
A shudder of pain with in myself,
of present past and future.
Now dream a soft dream for me sweets,
And may the nightmares stay locked for keeps,
and all the hate and pain disappear,
In amongst your dreaming.
by
David Tulloch
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THE SHARING OF
The first glimpse of the O so beautifully knitted shells laid out in readiness for the making up.
The vibrant frenzy of the colours, well put together - What great thought - What effort.
The fun that was had in their arrangement.
The drift upon touch of them, passing through ones senses - What work - What LOVE.
That little SHARED thing made up of silk, cotton and linen, will be with me for ever and EVER and E V E R.
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A Letter Home
I went to write a letter home;
I got as far as "Dear..."
Before I remembered: there's nobody there
And nothing to write about here.
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The little boy played with his bucket and spade
Watched by a golden haired, chubby faced maid
His castle be built from sea wetted sands,
Shaped by deliberate, small dimpled hands
A battlement, turret, ramparts as well
Adorned at the top by a large cockle shell
Four ensigns flying from towers so tall
Completely surrounded by moat and a wall
Countless long trips with bucket in hand
He persevered filling his moat made of sand
Finally finished he sat down and sighed
Then ran to his mum who surbveyed it with pride
The little girl gazed at his work with delight
She looked all around - no-one in sight
And quick as a bolt - up like a shot
With one swipe of her spade
She demolished the lot!
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Bedouin Lady
Beguiling, tantalizingly sensually beige
You sit there partly clothed oozing charm
Where have you been all these years?
Hidden away from view, such a shame.
Your delectable curves should be seen by all.
So well upholstered, comfortable and snug.
Inviting, curvaceous, naughty and sleek.
Promiscuous perhaps? Always a flirt?
No matter it just serves your art.
Will I be tempted, be lead astray?
Probably, but then you are just a car.
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Seasons by Ceire M aged 11
Flowers bloom along the ground
Petals fall all around.
I look outside for insperation
But the rainy days cause devastion.
Autumn days are very chilly,
Not as bad as the Winter days that freeze me.
Sometimes its really cold
"Stay inside" thats what I'm told.
But Winter days are so fun with snow
It makes the childrens faces glow.
Christmas always make me smile
I love to play with my new toys for a while!
Spring is an important season,
It has its own reason,
Maybe because flowers bloom
Or baby lambs are born soon?
Summertime is my birthday
Oh how I love to play!
Seasons change but people don't
Or some people won't.
Sometimes we do change for good or for bad.
But the main thing is I get to share the seasons with my mom and dad.
All of them are gloomy days here in Ireland
With global warming its affected England
But lifes to short to worry everyday for no reasons
We should be looking at the seasons.
The End
[Sorry for bad spelling]
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Photography.
The Pagoda at Kew proves I dont have a clue;for the picture never came out.
I took two in Penge and one at Southend but the subjects are clearly in doubt.
Oh I've pointed my Brownie at yokel and townie but there all just a blur by and large,
And I once took a snap of a pony and trap but it looked like the side of a barge.
So I'm saying enough 'cause my pictures are duff and I'm giving my camera a rest,
And I,m slinging them all except that one of Nichol 'cause I think in that one she's undressed.
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What Is Love?
Love is the purr of a beloved cat
Love is the dog you stroke and pat
Love is the feeling that's between friends
Love is the feeling that never ends
Love is the warmth that shines from inside
Love is the feeling that will not hide
Love is the feeling that can bring pain
Love is the thinking of what I can gain
Love is the something that brings me joy
Love is the kiss that makes me feel coy
Love is the moment when I catch his eye
Love is the answer to who, when and why
Love is the knowing that he is mine
Love is the shiver down my spine
Love is the lust and also desire
Love is the comfort of a hot blazing fire
Love is the quiet we share each night
Love is the knowing that this is so right
Love is the first time my baby I hold
Love is the courage that makes me feel bold
Love is the bond 'tween parent and child
Love is the patience that tames the wild
Love is the precious, more that silver or gold
Love is the togetherness of growning old
Love is the sun that shines all day long
Love is the remembering when my loved
ones are gone
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Limerick by Ceire M 11
There was an old lady from Peru
Who needed to go to the loo
When she sat on the toilet
She turned quiet violet
And dint know what to do!
[Made that up when my teacher was doing poems. Everyone loved it and laughed at it. Hope you do too.]
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My Garden In Full Bloom
Gardening is in my blood,
I have a love for plants,
It’s in my Grandads’ family genes,
And also in my Aunt’s.
I was first inspired,
When I was just a kid,
I tried to learn their Latin names,
And wondered what they did.
I walked around the gardens,
Of stately home estates,
With beds of scented Roses,
And curly iron gates.
Yew and Leyland hedges,
Were used to form a maze,
And bedding plants would edge the lawns,
Throughout the Summer days.
Now I’ve designed my garden,
I know what I’ve got planned,
Flowers, fruit and kitchen herbs,
With vegetables at-hand.
Some ponds with running water,
And fish to watch and feed,
Wild flower meadow plants,
That germinate from seed.
A mixed herbaceous border,
With bulbs and woody shrubs,
Trailing hanging baskets,
And plants in pots and tubs.
Plants that climb up trellis,
And marginals in ponds,
Lilly pads that float on top,
And Bracken ferny fronds.
I’ll have a stripy lawn,
A home-made compost heap,
A rich and healthy soil,
For at least a metre deep.
A heated, lighted greenhouse,
A shed that’s full of tools,
Water butts and rain gauge cups,
To catch the rain that falls.
I’ll grow my favourite flowers,
And fruit in different forms,
I’ll cover-up my tender plants,
And batten-down in storms.
I’ll choose resistant cultivars,
And suppress the weeds with bark,
I’ll rig-up lights along the path,
To guide me through the dark.
My garden will be my hiding place,
A world where I’ll be free,
A future plan inside my head,
That only I can see.
A scene that’s full of colour,
A plantsmans’ paradise,
That looks as good as Summer time,
In frost and Winter ice.
It’ll be an invitation,
For birds and wildlife,
To give me all the help they can,
With horticultural husbandry as though they were a wife.
I’m eagerly impatient,
To see my outdoor room,
Which will be the finished product,
Of my garden in full bloom.
Robert Barnard
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I'm Lost
Im lost since you left me alone
I tried to join you and got it wrong
Im still here lost,waiting to join you
My friends are few,my days are long
My nights are so dark thinking of you
Your music echos in my head
Even though i cant bear to hear it
No-one knows the pain i feel
I hide it in the day and make it go away
At night im alone and lost no one sees me cry
Im growing older now
and the memories are all thats left
It wont be long before im gone
What will i leave behind but an empty space
No body will miss me,or know im gone
I was never here i was with you
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Honour Guard
As the winter breeze hits me i finally
realise why i am here,
to fight for my freedom
to fight for my rights,
to fight for what is right.
The siren starts to flare,
as they come ever near,
we have no idea how long we'll last,
but we'll fight for out freedom
and fight for our rights,
and most defiantly fight for what is right.
They come with hell on their side finally,
we meet out match, but we'll fight for our freedom and we'll fight for our rights even though we won't last the night
But we shall fight and we will try to last the night, for we are earths last hope against the hordes that march ever closer, now i must fight and atleast try to last the night...
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LOVE
Love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love is the most powerful thing in the world.
Love is blind.
Love is always there,
Even though you may
Think not.
Love is precious
And joyful.
Love will never be forgot.
By Freya Collis age 12 Tooting
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Love is being thoughtful ,
Love is being true .
What if you love someone not free
And not betrothed by rule .
Are you being thoughtless ,
Are you being cruel?
Loves not made by written words ,
In deals or deeds or charts
Love comes to those where 'ere they are
By the joining of their Hearts .
They may not live together
They may live far apart .
These lovers have no need to hide
They have no need to run .
It no matters where they abide
Within their minds they live as one .
Please don't be impatient
To break free from your ties .
True love waits forever
True love never dies .
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Smile
When the smell of May
Fills a warm spring day
And the hum of the bee fills the air
When my spirit is high as the deep blue sky
I'll smile for I know you're there
When the first red rose opens petals wide
To embrace the morning dew
And daisies peep through an emerald lawn
To start the year anew
I'll smile as I think of you
As I wonder at the sight of a new born lamb
In a field where the poppies grow
And watch horses graze in a field of grass
While a soft gentle wind does blow
I'll smile for I know you know
As I walk by the sea on an empty beach
And watch the waves break on the sand
I'll remember how you guided me
With a gentle touch of your hand
And I'll smile as I think of you
For death has not taken you from our lives
You are still here with me in my heart
As I walk down the street I still see you there
And I know that of me you're still part
And I'll smile when I think of you.
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(According to Norse mythology, the first woman was called Embla and she was created from a tree.)
You gave me bus stops and concrete and clocks
Newspapers, timeshares and free DVDs.
You think I’d rather these windmills and docks
To the slowness and stillness and silence of trees.
I was a thing that delighted in rain
I breathed in the sun. I was strong. I was old.
Now I catch the flu and the six-thirty train.
The ground I once lived in feels clammy and cold.
Keep all your textbooks and weather reports.
Take back your ballpoints and GCSEs.
I split out my arms and I make my hands forked
And I settle myself for a
long
winter
freeze.
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'MANCHESTER' by Garth Power
Architects’ visions standing tall,
Craftsmen and scientists built them all.
A people with history, hope and pride,
Cultures and customs work side by side.
The future is waiting to greet this new Rome,
Manchester city, united, our home.
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The Golden Age Of Steam
Let’s go back to the age of steam,
When driving trains was a schoolboy’s dream,
Clouds of smoke from a loco’s funnel,
Got trapped inside a long, dark tunnel.
Breakfast cooked on a hot coal fire,
As the coals glowed red,
And the flames roared higher,
Gauges moved from left to right,
As pistons worked with all their might.
Train tracks ran through fields of green,
Past sheep on hills and sights unseen,
Children stood on a hilltop ridge,
As they watched a train cross a viaduct bridge.
As the train roared past and the smoke would rise,
Came tears of joy to a schoolboy’s eyes!
And passengers waved from a window ledge,
To those who stood at the railway’s edge.
Signal signs and track points,
Were moved by human hand,
As the wheels went round,
They created a sound,
Like a rhythm by a Rock ‘n’ Roll band.
With a name and number written on the side,
The locos looked majestic as they stood in all their pride.
People stood on platforms,
With great anticipation,
For a train to fill their hearts with joy,
As it pulled into the station.
Ticket fares were cheaper,
And the trains were never late,
Even when they had to wait at a crossing,
For a man to open the gate!
The carriages were cosy,
And the locos all ran fine,
No delays or cancellations!
Even when there were leaves on the line!
When their working day was over,
The trains were put to bed,
Then cleaned and checked for any faults,
When in the engine shed.
So let’s go back to those golden days,
And revive that schoolboy dream,
To the age when our railways did us proud;
The golden age of steam!
Robert Barnard
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(The Norse God Odin was said to have imbibed a magical mead that made him a great poet. This poem is written from the point of view of his wife Frigga)
Coming from him, it was startling news.
Calling me “Vision”, “Aisling” and “Muse”.
Ordering pizza or asking the time
In kennings or couplets or internal rhyme.
Beautiful prose and poetry spun
From the back of his throat to the tip of his tongue.
From the bowels of jargon, slanguage and slurs
To the palette of Shakespeare, sonnets and verse.
My glottal, brutish, ignorant swine.
Coming from him, it was terrible crime.
He loves his new diction. His ballads and puns.
But I miss the savage with dirt on his tongue.
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Dreamtime
Dreamtime is the place for me, all alone and all so free,
sometimes flying through the air ,floating along without care.
Once I was driving alone in a car along a road that went so far,
maybe that road is the path of life,filled with fear and endless strife.
Once I was rich with lots of money buying gold and silver,eating pots of honey.
Dreams are filled with hidden treasures,
the boundaries of thought they have no measures.
Your greatest wish can soon be granted, the world of dreams is so enchanted.
But all this will end soon, you'll awake then return to your life.the hell we all make.
Until the next night those memories you'll keep,until you re-live them in a good night sleep
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Pottering in the garden,
Talking to the flowers.
Pulling weeds and cutting grass
Gives me many happy hours.
Watching seeds that I have sown
Break slowly through the soil.
Unfurling tiny tender leaves,
As they upwards toil.
Waiting for the frost to cease
And the earth to come alive.
As bees wake from their winter sleep
And venture from their hive.
To see the wondrous butterfly,
Emerge from its cocoon,
It stretches wings up to the sun,
Then it’s gone; too soon.
It’s my ecological oasis,
My haven; my retreat;
It’s where I love to sit and watch
All the wildlife meet.
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My daughter wrote this poem for me on my 50th birthday. It sums up perfectly the relationship between mother and daughter in very few words. I love it
As a leaf bronzes brown,
falls and grows green,
this love changes.
From faltering feet falling flat,
Through hopeless hippy
bright and black,
to separation.
This love remains
indelable as we are alive.
The seas rage and calm,
synonymous with us,
Mother and Daughter.
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Untitled
No matter how hard I try, every year,
It's the same.
There's always one or two poems
Which I never can name.
I sometimes wonder,
If poems had feelings
Would they find
The name "Untitled" appealing?
Would they hate me, their creator
For making them uncalled,
Or would they just keep their feelings
Inside those Lined A4 walls?
On one hand the fact
That they have no name is sad
But in my opinion
It's really not bad.
It means that there is more to think about
More to create in your mind
So if I call you "Untitled"
I'm not being unkind.
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Would you please correct the typographical error in my poem, 'Manchester' which seems to have arisen during its transmission through the Ether.
The error occurs at the end of the first word of the first line, which should read as
" Architects' " rather than " Architects? ".
Garth Power
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Heimlich
I used to know someone who lived on a boat.
He once got a lump of cheese stuck in his throat;
Remembering something I'd seen on TV,
I grabbed him and squeezed till his airway was free.
This favour, he later saw fit to repay
By taking my beautiful girlfriend away...
As they sailed off together, I said (as a joke),
"If only I'd sat there and just let him choke."
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They do not sing as I sing
They do not sing as I sing,
their jumbled song
a burble of contorted face.
Their rainbow thought
bumbled, tumbled down
a chaotic assault
on alternative reality.
They do not dance as I dance,
their semaphore waving
unintended cacophony
explosions of pleasure.
They do not sing as I sing
but their eyes
are symphonies of joy.
(Thoughts after attending a harvest festival at a school for children with special needs.)
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A TALE OF FLITTY THINGS
One morning when the skies were grey
And rain came down in buckets-full
And mud was sluicing down the drains,
The flitty things were really scared
They thithered hither in a peek
And fluttered utterly in pairs,
Because the bitties for their beaks
Were in the flooding everywhere
And absolutely out of reach.
The small sparfinch and the chafrow
The robtit and the bluein, all
Had lost the will to make their calls.
The blacklark and the skybird too
Had no idea what to do.
Eventually the cucpie said:
“Let’s go to ask the old Magkoo,
She always was a smart old bird:
Perhaps she’ll think of something new.”
The friendly Magkoo was surprised
To see the delegation come
To ask her if she could advise.
She thought awhile and thought again,
And thought and thought till ten a.m.
Finally, at ten precisely,
She squawked and jumped excitedly
Up from her stick and feather bed.
“I have a clever plan!” She said.
“I know how you can catch your lunch:
The stonetail and the wagchat munch
On insects at the water’s edge.
Their methods could be really good,
I’ve seen them catching little things
Between the rocks and in the goo,
I think that’s something you can do.
Go where the water’s shallow,
Stand on a rock and watch the flow.”
“Search till you find two rocks so close
That floating seeds can’t get between:
The seeds and things collect upstream
Providing a delicious bunch
Of lots of juicy things to munch.”
The delegation listened hard
And turned their heads from side to side,
Then held a conference to decide
If Magkoo’s plan would find their lunch.
“Our committee has decided
That your proposal is just right.”
Chirped Cucpie to the wise Magkoo.
“We’ll go fishing in the water
For nuts and seeds and insects too!”
Magkoo was pleased the flitty things
Agreed to use her clever plan,
She gave them all an owly wink.
(Magkoo was really tickled-pink!).
Off flew the happy little band
Towards the muddy water’s edge
To try-out clever Magkoo’s plan.
They found a place quite close at hand
Where two big rocks were firmly wedged
And just as clever Magkoo said,
Right there between the rocks was lunch:
Enough food for them all to munch
For tea and lunch the next day too!
When all the flitty things had done
With pecking, crunching, munching lunch,
They gathered for a chorus song
Atop the nearest, biggest tree
And sang so happily and long,
It was a joyful melody
In praise of clever old Magkoo
And Magkoo heard, and Magkoo blushed
And Magkoo puffed her feathers up!
“Oh! Old Magkoo, dear old Magkoo,
Chirp, tra-laa-laa, chirp, tra-laa-laa!
What could we all do without you?
You’re cleverer by far, tra-laa,
Than all the other flitty things,
By far, by far, tra-laa, tra-laa,
What would we do without you?
Oh! Old Magkoo, dear old Magkoo,
Chirp, chirrup-oooo! Tra-laa, tra-laa!” **
And when the flitty things had sung,
They said “Three cheers for old Magkoo!”
And the old Magkoo said “Thank you!
That was the very nicest song,
In fact, it was the only song
That anyone sang about me!
I’m glad I found your lunch and tea.”
They all became the greatest friends
And that is how our story ends…..
** Author’s note:
This song is far too hard to sing,
Unless you are a flitty thing!
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OLD COOKING OIL
A drainage funnel is the thing
To put the sticky oil back in
That really dirty oily tin.
Just ask when eating
Thick fried bread
If old brown
Gunge is
Really
“Cred”
And
Is it
Bet
ter
To
Be
D
e
a
d
?
?
???
??????
?????????
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Hello all.
This is my poem and it's called 'Oh what I would give'.
What I would give to be with you
To hold your hand as we walk along a sun kissed beach
and feel the warm sand between our toes
Oh, what I would give.
What I would give to kiss your sweet soft lips
To kiss your neck, your cheek
To feel your long brown hair against my face
Oh, what I would give.
What I would give to gaze into your beautiful brown eyes
and let my body melt into your arms
To feel the beat of your heart against mine
Oh, what I would give.
What I would give to watch you sleep
To snuggle into you
and to wake you gently with a kiss
Oh, what I would give.
What I would give to lay out under the stars
To feel the summer breeze drift over our bodies
To feel the shooting stars pierce our hearts with love
Oh, what I would give.
What I would give for us to become one
To spend the rest of our lives together
To grow old together
Oh, what I would give.
What I would give for the dream to come true
And now it has
And we have become one
Oh, what they would give to be me right now.
Martin Hall
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SMITHEREEN
I toured the land of Smithereen
Where broken glass is often seen
Upon the highways and the lows
A constant danger to one’s toes
When dancing to the village green
I asked a local in the street
(A tall man, walking in bare feet)
“Why is there so much broken glass?”
He said “The glass can train our toes
To walk on beds of red-hot coals.”
“And why does everybody dance
Whenever they can get the chance?”
The man replied through gritted teeth:
“One has to dance on broken glass
Or else one cuts one’s feet, you ass!”
“And what’s the point of red-hot coals?”
“The red-hot coals glow bright at night
They light our path to show the way
The glass is useless in the dark,
Far better on a sunny day.”
“And why’s the village green so brown?”
“Ah - they’re our beds of rusty nails
Where we relax and meditate
On how to count the legs of snails
And scratch our backs while lying down.”
“The best time to adore a door
And how to tell a jar’s ajar
Just when one’s taking-off its lid
When no one told one how before,
And why do potters throw their pots?”
“Does every bucket have a hole
To fill with water at the top?
And are there birds that really hop
On only one leg at a time?
And when should meditation stop?”
I thanked the man for helping me
To see why folk in Smithereen
Use broken glass and red-hot coals.
This clearly proves, the strangest tasks
Make perfect sense, if one just asks!
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ODE TO THE ORANG-TUANS
A shy ape, the Orang-utan
should more than likely be found,
gingerly peering from the branches of trees
high up in a green green canopy.
My friend Suxanne
is certainly a sweet Orang-utan.
Though sad and shy
from watching her world go by.
By and bye to her home
and without her mother
she watches alone.
No more there, can you see,
them swinging in the canopy.
Now only at the age of two
here we find sweet little sue
not sleeping in a monkey nest
beneath the moon,
but dangling in a grey cage in a zoo.
Here I sit and watch Suxie
and marvel at the cleverness of she
eating dragon fruit upside down
her toes gripping the cage
and her nose at the ground.
So sad to see such a sweet race,
shy in personality but expressive in face
be slowly erased with the trees
by no means of natural disease.
I ponder on the species' fate
which is declining so quickly as of late
and think if only man could ban
the distruction of the home and lives
of the orang-utans.
By Laura Coats
from Bath
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I arm myself,
And go outside.
Equipped with only my imagination,
I sky fish for clouds.
Like plucking dreams from my head,
I collect in a net,
These soft little clouds.
I sky fish.
Pinned to a board,
Dried and preserved,
Like butterfly's they adorn my wall,
Beauty immemorial.
and as I've said,
I'm out with my head,
once again,
Sky fishing for clouds.
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My passion is education - last NPD we had a whole day devoted to "dreams" at our primary school this was my contribution:-
DARE TO DREAM
By
James Warwick
For National Poetry Day 2007 and premiered (by the poet) at the day’s school assembly!
The theme is “Dreams”.
With apologies to Alfred Lord Tennyson and respect for Captain R.F. Scott RN CVO on whose memorial in the Antarctic (a simple wooden cross) the final line is inscribed.
Dare to dream, dare to dream,
Dare to dream you’ll be supreme,
Dare to dream you’ll be the best,
Let your dream become your quest.
Strive to do the best you can,
Be you scientist or artisan.
Seek knowledge – it will take you far,
And expand your repertoire.
Find the job that suits you best,
And you’ll find your life is blessed.
Yield to no-one on your way,
Stick to your task and seize the day.
To be the leader in your field,
Strive to seek, to find, and not to yield!
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An Anti-Poem
As poetry rears it's ugly head
How I wish that it was dead
How I long for that verse to release
That rhyming syntax rest in piece
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Memories
Memories are the photographs
Taken by the heart
Unspoken moments cherished for all time
I remember a baby born
I remember holding you gently
Pure innocence gazing up
From trusting eyes
Memories are like dried rose petals
Their sweet perfume lasting down the years
I remember giggles and laughter
Long days shared as children played
Friendships forged in the warmth of family
And the special ties of blood and roots
Memories are like small candles
Glowing gently in the darkness
I remember meeting you
Knowing deep within
That you would love me well
And I love you
Memories are like precious diamonds
Glinting on a finger, marking a special moment
Memories are the photographs taken by the heart
Some in black and white and others colored bright
We remember days of sadness and of joy and laughter
Equal in their strength to stain our memories
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Wounds heal,
Scars fade,
Tears dry,
The sun will come out another day.
Flowers wilt,
Love letters burn,
Songs end,
Secrets are learned.
Memories blur,
Windows frost,
Time ticks away,
Contacts are lost.
Candles burn out,
Rumors die down,
Pictures perish,
Grudges are re-found.
Feelings change,
People move on,
But my love for you,
Forever stays strong.
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the little jungle,,,,,
i remember you little jungle
full of wonder and suprise
i recall my scrappy childhood days
hidden away from adult eyes
natures tunnel of golden leaves
was the gateway to my dreams
where dinosaurs still roamed the earth
and jubbly monsters screamed
the hump backed hill became a castle
the well worn path a moat
the blackbirds song a battle tune
from a mounted buglars throat
rushing speedily as the wind
the charging armies came
till our mothers called for dinner
and the soldiers were trees again
i went back to find you little jungle
garden of my youth
but there in place of your oasis
i found the concrete truth.
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i dedicate this ditty
to you my darling ruth
for i love you more than man city
and that is almost the truth
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Sounds
Nurses chatter through midnight
The whir of the drip
Distant voice, moaning
The night screams
Trolly on the smooth floor
Clatter of the food truck
Door thudding shut
Can’t eat again
The bright hello’s
The unspoken menace
Droning condolences
Distant good wishes
Swear words in your eyes
Razor sharp encouragements
Veiled threats of
Get well or else
Soft prayed words
Comforting whispers
Longed for laughter
Sounds of life returning
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the buttercup field.
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
gone is the day
when the children would play
in the buttercup field
gone is the hour
when the buttercups would flower
like a shimmering shield
gone is the minute
with a years beauty in it
when time would stand still
and gone is the second
when jar fillers were beckoned
to decorate the bare windowsill.
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Reflection
By Zoe Ranford
Stare in the mirror,
Things have never been clearer.
How could I of been so wrong?
The people I swore I'd never be,
The things I wished I wouldn't see
When did i stop being so strong?
All the things i've done,
All the battles i should of won,
Now staring in the mirror at who i've become.
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Banned Aid
She had voted for choice, for choosers,
but the television fashion-conscious musers
had reminded her,
beggars can't be choosers.
Once a flag day she avoided the open hand wrenched,
by cold patient petitioners, drenched,
as they watched her realise,
it was her bosses' hand , clenched.
"No rises above the rate of inflation",
became the cry of a divided nation,
as the bosses took evening classes,
in pay multiplication.
The newscasters screamed, "not here",
which struck her as rather queer,
after all, what used to be over there,
unclothed, roofless and hungry,
was quite clearly over here.
She voted again for choice, for choosers,
but this time she started counting the losers,
and reminded herself,
beggars can't be choosers.
Once a flag day she held out her hand,
for Africa's bleeding sand,
until the time came,
when collecting for foreign poverty was banned.
She had heard that too many of the cheques were blank,
in future the decisions would be made by the bank,
and, rather oddly,
aid would come strapped to the back of a friendly tank.
The newscasters screamed, "not there",
which struck her as rather unfair,
after all, what used to be over here,
camouflaged, tracked and shiny,
was quite clearly over there.
The next time around there was no vote,
for people who couldn't afford a decent coat,
beggars can't be choosers,
she had learned, too late, by rote.
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Pawnshop Blues
The only smile sits behind a rot-wood desk
cheating the needy and reaping a tidy profit.
The dust is full of oddments and allsorts;
Clocks that have lost their tock; rag dolls
without their rags; radios with the dial missing;
go-carts that stalled too often; half-men in a rusty tin.
The books are stacked wherever they’ll fit,
unsteady libraries that hold forgotten knowledge.
China ornaments scattered like freckles in
the dust, chips lost in motes and cobwebs.
The instruments hang at the back – crying for
a tune some will never hear again. Violins
with their bows snapped; harmonicas choking on dust;
banjos left in the backs of broken-into cars.
In the shadows, away from the rest, a well-worn
traveler leans against a crumbling wardrobe.
The bottom string is missing, the neck is warped
and the tuning pegs cling on for dear life.
A rare find, sir! Special offer, just for you and
nobody else. Twenty five quid.
Done.
Kim Ralls, 2008
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I Am
By Zoe Ranford
I'm your mouth when you can't lie,
I'm your reson, your alibi.
I'm the door you hide behind,
I'm the evidence they can't find.
I'm your mask, i'm your disguise.
I'm the secrets behind the lies.
When you get caught, i'm your guilt and shame.
I'm the one you try to blame.
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Dear fellow poets! (Especially those
Who struggle to see past the end of their nose)
May I just point out the guidelines above
Which specify clearly: your labours of love,
While doubtless articulate, thoughtful and fine
Are not really meant to exceed twenty lines!
Otherwise, carry on - let's see some more
(Just try to keep it all under a score).
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Boredom
I can knit and I can crochet,
I can read and I can write,
I can use a computer,
So, why am I bored tonight?
There's plenty in the house
That I could and should do.
So why am I not doing it?
Does this happen to you?
There's gardening and cross stitch
And photography to try
But am I doing anything?
Oh no, not I.
I'm sitting here bemoanin'
The fact that I am bored.
Oh, look I wrote a poem!
I think the poems finished.
So I will have to go
Right back to being bored
And watch a TV show.
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Black Lead
I often think that the best
place by the fire was
kept for me; only
me
I’m no story-teller
but I like my
place by the fire when
I’m home
The smell of fresh-cut logs
slightly damp from the rain
streaking down the
windows
A log collapses into ash
sending sparks flying
up the chimney
in a cloud
A gust of wind draws
the flames higher
and brighter before
they die down again
Kim Ralls, 2008
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Footsore
There’s a pair of old boots in the hall
If they could talk, what stories they’d tell
Of all the streets and roads they’ve walked
down; dirt paths, past dry-stone walls
Grit in the treads from Robin Hood’s Bay
Mud after walking in the rain all day
Caught out in a storm high up in the hills
Stuffed with paper, drying on window sills
Scuffed by the winding cobbles in Hawes
And from tapping on rough stone floors
Beer-stained from working behind the bar
as they wait for the drive home by car
Resting beneath spidery laces
Bored with always setting the paces
Fed-up with the icy-watered beck;
Their owner insists on another trek
Kim Ralls, 2008
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Beware The Warwickshire Way
The Warwickshire way
Is a way they say
Which takes you through bush and through briar
Beware what you say
About the Warwickshire Way
It could end you up in the mire
Is it advice that you read
Well that's all gone to seed
Or grown into leaflets and such
I'm sorry they say
But the Warwickshire way
Is not to help you too much
Don't throw papers away
For ten years and one day
Then put them on the fire
You should have learned
That the papers you burned
Will be the ones we require
So follow the Warwickshire way
And if you can help, just don't say
You'll end up in a haze
In the Warwickshire maze
And wish you'd gone your own way.
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Frankie Or Lazy Baby
Frankie had the experts worried
His crawling and walking wouldn't be hurried
Waiting to be carried
To sit on someone's knee
Is so much easier thought Frankie
I'm sure you'll agree
Than trying to walk
Anyway, I'm busy
Learning to talk
Being helpless I've found
Gets them all running round
If I drop a toy, I won't fetch it
No, boy!
Making enough noise
Is one of my ploys
To get their attention
Then, I should mention
I get what I want
So you see
It's best for me
To pretend to be helpless
And worry them so
I won't let it show
They'll never know
It's my way of coping
I know they are hoping
I'll walk or I'll crawl
I won't try at all
Maybe later I'll try
But while my ploy
Is all I need
Why should I bother?
Why, indeed.
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Sam
Tomorrow night at half past eight all kids will eat their greens
Smoking will be good for you and lard will make you lean
Throughout the world there will be peace all nations hand in hand
and all our loved and dead ones will rise and walk the land
Tomorrow night at half past eight politicians will decree "we have a glut of money therefore everything is free"
The world will turn the other way and we will all get younger
The rain will fall, the crops will grow and we will all get younger
Tomorrow night at half past eight when the world is having fun
those who are disabled will jump up and run
No one will be afflicted through drink or hate or drugs
happiness will be poured out from multi coloures jugs.
Tomorrow night at half past eight no onw will be blue, I'll seek you out and to tell you I have no love for you.
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Run
By Zoe Ranford
Run away and don't look back.
Run along the railway track.
Run from us,
Run with me.
Run from pain,
Run to be free.
Run for pleasure,
Run for sport.
Run away- don't get caught.
Run for fortune,
Run for pride.
Run for destiny,
Run to hide.
Run for your life,
Leave or stay?
Eventually, you'll run away.
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Free range break free
No space..no room
Just doom and gloom
For the rest of my life
As l wait for the knife
No chair no rest
Just propped up for the best
A cluck and a sigh
As the day passes by
Who gives a damn
Just get the targets
Hit the heights
Lay the eggs
Hands with seggs
No love no care
NO... don't go there
Break free...fly on`
Don't look back your jobs done
Breathe in my face rat race
Free Range break free from society
Cluck loud no one can hear
Who cares if you fear
Death ever near
To the left to the right
Not a pretty sight
Wounds laid bare
No one to care
Have another pill
Keep you all still
Don't cry out
You'll get a clout
Peck you to death
Put the boot in
Who said it was a sin
Put you to sleep
Not another peep
Breathe in my face rat race
Free Range break free from SOCIETY
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Away With The Fairies
By Zoe Ranford
Away With The Fairies;
Head in the clouds,
Escaping Reality,
Or as insane as it sounds?
'Cause if you've never known,
Being down to earth.
Then is being normal,
More trouble than it's worth?
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I wrote myself a poem and I made a proper fudge
now my poetic licence has been taken by a judge
I tried to find a word to rhyme with Aberystwyth, I couldn't so I made one up 'Harrybarrymistiff'
He said that it was shameful and should't be allowed, but when I read my poem, I was rather proud
and I'm still writing poems because I'm a scarey rebel, la la la la la la la orangeapplebble.
Chris Saintey
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Spring Garden
The garden in spring
Is a wonderful thing.
It's full of long grass and weeds.
The Mustn't lawn
It looks all forlorn
And the thyme,
It has all turned to seeds.
To the herbs in the garden
I must beg your pardon.
During winter you know
The weeds didn't show
And it was too cold
To stay out in the garden.
So we'll sweat and we'll toil
To turn over the soil
And make it look
Nice for the summer.
But next spring
You will see
The weeds there, whoopee.
Isn't gardening a real b.....?
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Big World
She went away so discreetly;
If she suffered, the pain never showed;
Her hair still framed her face neatly,
Her eyes were still on the road.
I can't say that I'd ever known her,
Or cared about her at all,
So I thought, as I looked through her,
So much for the world being small.
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Remember Remember
perfect straight ranks
perfect straight minds
hush little baby
while the rightguard go by
forty-five degrees
raised falsely in love
blaspheming to honour
a power above
perfect straight ranks
goose-stepping tanks
hush little baby
while the rightguard march by
days labours done
time now to go
their small patient cancer
is learning to grow
perfect straight ranks
(fill in the blanks)
hush little baby
while the rightguard wheel by
earth-coloured shirts
soaking to black
we saw your true colours
as we turned to look back
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A broken heart- by Jodie Garrett, 21
(On telling a friend that I liked him and realising I was mistaken in thinking that he felt the same way.)
I mistook you for someone who loved me
Someone who cared about how I felt
So when I discovered you didn't, oh what a blow my heart was dealt
I said I loved you, but you just stared
You couldnt have cared that I was scared
You had asked me to be honest, but where to start
Now I have a broken heart
Once my cards were on the table
I didn't know if you would still be there, if it would mean our friendship falling apart
Why couldn't you love me like I loved you?
You stood there not understanding what I was going through
Now that you knew the truth what was I supposed to do?
I couldn't have kept my feelings all bottled up inside
That much I knew was true, I just couldn't help what I felt for you
Things will never be the same again
I was caught in limbo, not sure how to act
Saying 'I love you' I infrienged on our friendship pact
I loved you, but you dont love me, that was the unfortunate fact
I knew deep down you didn't care
But it didn't stop me wanting something to be there
Now in my beating heart there is a tear
Risked our friendship to lay my feelings bare
I had been guessing about your feelings
But obviously I guessed wrong
I tried to hide my feelings and be strong
But I wanted to sing my love out in song
I loved you but all you wanted to be was friends, had to rebuild our friendship over again
Unrequited love and passion for you made me cry
But I couldn't let our friendship die
I wanted you too stay
But you were considering walking away
I'm glad we both had faith in you and me
Happy that you saw what a future without our friendship would be
Through the confusion and pain I could see what real friendship meant and I could deal with just being mates
Even though at the time it hurt to see reality
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A FLOWER
A flower for all seasons is what we wish to choose,
and many are the reasons for its uses as we muse;
A flower can say I’m sorry or congratulations too,
or lift away a worry with a thought so warm and true.
A flower and its beauty says to all human kind,
within me lies the power to grant you peace of mind;
So as you gaze upon me, frail, yet beautiful to see,
Remember man WHO made me; as healer unto thee !
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typographical error in the poem 117 titled
"A Flower" change I?m to I'm
ta!
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Noises in my head
The baby’s crying
The cat’s meowing
The stereo’s blaring
The waters flowing
My eyes are stinging
The knifes shining in my hand.
I slip to the floor
I cry on the floor
I look at the shiny knife in my hand
Every things going black
I drop the knife
It’s not shinning
I’ve stopped crying
Every things quiet
Nothings in my head
There is no noise now
I open my eyes
Charm as seas
I get up
I tidy up
Every thins quiet now
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Snowdon
I'm smoking on the summit, your letters
in my hand. I tear them into snowflakes
and scatter them across the all-inferior land.
I look in your direction back
along the ridge, swatting
the attentions of each irritating midge
on Snowdon's slatey slopes;
where all my hopes rose up,
kissed the air and breathed a silent,
misty prayer.
You're coming up the mountain, your hands
are waving pleas. You gather up the snowflakes
that I sent upon the thin, invisible breeze.
You lick each paper fragment -
adhesive of your lips glues us back
together, despite our faults and slips
on Snowdon's slatey slope;
where lovers grope the stony ladder
or shaky scree, and whisper "forever
you and me".
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Here's a wee nonsense poem I wrote a little while ago... I love making up words. What an interesting piece tonight by Giles :)
"The Boogaloo"
Down a dank and darkened stair,
The Boogaloo resides.
Twisting, turning, wriggling, gurning,
yuch beyond compare.
Igglsome, kootsy darned right ploopsy,
Fair in the face he was not.
Zitzy and puggled and overly muggled
He stank of the most horrid rot.
And there in the dankness
He thought of his rankness
And cried out ?It?s really not fair!
To suffer such pleuchness
And comments so ruthless!?
Then he realised that no one did care.
On his own, down those stairs,
The Boogaloo sat,
And he cried and he wailed that he wanted to end
This most miserable life with its glooch and its clee -
He cried out once more, ?Why?s there no one for me??
So he sat on his own for the next ten years long,
Till he heard a faint whisper,
T?was almost a song?
?Look at me, can?t you tell that I really do smell
and my legs are all blibbity bloop.
My hair?s in a state and my nose is not there
And my feet stink of drippity plop!?
Uggsome, buggsome they slivered side by side,
And were happy by all account heard.
That the Boogaloo bundle,
Had found a wee Rungle,
And the pair carried on till the end.
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A COMPUTER ROOM SONNET -
The Swifts have nested above us to our
right and our left, and the humming is not
the computers, but the restlessness of
chicks cheering their parents return, with a
mouthful of flower-bed residents. Even
the chug of the printer isn’t certain –
the birds are garrulous and they
are sleepless. Some way into the grey of
an April afternoon they look for their
parents and hope that the next meal will
be better than the last. They can spy on
us schoolchildren, whistle to each other
when they catch kissing in the corridors
and a brushing of hands by the bushes.
Callan Davies, Kent.
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Error above -
A Computer Room Sonnet
14 May 2007
The Swifts have nested above us to our
right and our left, and the humming is not
the computers, but the restlessness of
chicks cheering their parents return, with a
mouthful of flower-bed residents. Even
the chug of the printer isn’t certain –
the birds are garrulous and they
are sleepless. Some way into the grey of
an April afternoon they look for their
parents and hope that the next meal will
be better than the last. They can spy on
us schoolchildren, whistle to each other
when they catch kissing in the corridors
and a brushing of hands by the bushes.
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the ?s should be dashes but it won't post correctly.
* 'isn't' and 'certain - '
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To Anna
You are new
Now clean, now dry
A small bright marble
(you have fingernails and hair!)
So who is she, it’s ok she’s safe
She knows everything about you
Every single minute of you
Why Anna, she even smells like you!
And him, he’s yours too
You just met, he held your hand
He cried - You are too beautiful
He will protect you and talk softly about the world
Anna, be sure to show them everything about you
(and impress their friends too!)
But that’s all for tomorrow
You must sleep now.
I said SLEEP NOW!
Mummy needs to sleep too
Don’t you remember?
She just gave birth to you.
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A poem about the old Lec Airfield in Bognor Regis, West Sussex - derelect for some years now, strange and beautiful.
The Airfield.
No more the thrusting engines roar
Above the cold wet strip,
Long gone the song of merlins
pounding down the hard packed grit.
The brambles ramble
stretching from the safety of their roots,
Across the concrete, spikey fingers
Clutching bundles of black fruits.
The distant pink horizon
Seeps through hedges turning red,
And rosehips glow like warning lights
Through crimson, silky spiders' webs.
The mist rises like a blanket,
Spilling from the cold wet rife,
And dulls the sounds of distance
Drifting through his grey half-life.
He sometimes thinks he sees him there,
And he walks with him alone,
As he listens for the distant roar
Of his Spitfire heading home.
John Stirling Smith
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SHEVA'S REALM
In a river, under the bright,
lived a spirit of the water
an iridescent breath of light.
She was wholly,grieving, lonely
too many disbelievers strongly
opposing her memory of time.
Now she came forth. seeking solace
looking for a reason to become
a bride, to the earthly tide.
Gazing down upon a Ranger, seeing
his bereaving eyes, she opened
them to great surprise.
He captured her beauty then, for
just a moment, enraptured, then
tightly bound to her disguise, he
came by the waters edge, to survey
the world of his new love's life.
He drowned that day before his time.
Now she wanders, ere, begone her
life's draught lost, beguiling passersby
to a watery grave, in Sheva's realm.
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here's another one of my favourites... (god I'm getting carried away)
A to Zen
Always be an avid admirer of art
Always blaspheme the blasted bigot
Always count the calm caresses
Always debate the damning defect of duty
Always eject eminent eejits
Always find and forge fine friendships
Always get god to go away
Always have harmony handy
Always investigate illogical ideology
Always jump on jaggy judges
Always kiss Celts in kilts
Always love, laugh, live, learn
Always make memorable moments
Always negate the negative newscast
Always be open to offers obscure
Always appease a ‘pretty please’
Always question a quizzical quarrel
Always return a rude raspberry
Always stalk with stealth
Always talk with truth
Always use the universe unselfishly
Always vocalise vibrant voices
Always weave a wondrous web
Always excoriate exasperating xenophobes
Always yearn for youthful yesterdays
Always zig-zag to the zenith with zest and zeal
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I don't think I'm going to stop... must...go...to bed....soooooooon!
Dance With Me…
Dance with me, just once more.
Dance with me and feel my heart beat.
Hold me, make me safe, protect me from the music
That staggers from beat to beat.
Embrace the madness that is my repertoire
Forgive the dirge that is my disease.
Find a note that sings so pure
In me and tell me
That I can make my own music
To which you want to dance.
Dance with me, just once more.
Dance and hear my music,
Like no one else.
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Love
If love's what makes me look
Between the lines of all you say;
If love's what makes my heart ache
Every time you walk away;
If love's what makes me wonder
Who you're with when you go out,
I have to say that love is something
I can do without.
If love's what keeps you from me
And yet always on my mind;
If love's just something I'll hear all about
But never find;
If love can give me nothing more
Than things to dream about,
I have to say that love is something
I can do without.
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one last entry... thanks for reading :)
"I.C.T.ee Hee Hee"
Page up! I want to scream and shout!
Copy, cut, paste I start to spout.
Ostentatiously I try to comprehend,
The message that I want to send…
But happiness is my default position.
Page down, I try again with doubt
But it’s easier to eat a brussel sprout!
My mouse is stuck!!!! I’ll try to mend…
But happiness is my default position.
Soft-ware, what a mystery; devout
am I to work it a------ll out.
Confused and confuddled, I am my friend.
Escape I want!!! To leave !! Transcend!?
Alas, I know not; not enough… POUT…
But happiness is my default position : )
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FOR A WAR PHOTOGRAPHER LOST...
Dont just tell me about shattered lives
And the blood that stained the river
Don't just tell me about the frightened child
And the ghosts in her eyes that made you shiver
Dont just tell me about the burning tanks
And young charred bodies that littered the sand
Dont just tell me about a home land gone
Show the world a desolate land
Dont just tell me of the frightened faces you met
Show me the enimies bloody sons glistening wet
Dont just tell me of a world gone mad
Show it as it is...sad, sad, sad....Dont just tell me about it...TAKE THE BLODDY PICTURE
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Requiem
Watch the stars
fall from the sky
and shatter like fountains
one by one
dancing on the water
Feel the wind
graze the mountains
and re-shape the void
stone by stone
with grains of crimson sand
Hear the sea
meet with the shore
and tear the castles
tide by tide
from their fairytale beginnings
Touch the night
with a sweet caress
and tell me softly
hour by hour
how much you loved me
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On the mend
My passion is for mending things,
I'm just that sort of bloke.
To me, a thing's more interesting
If it's well and truly broke.
Just give me pliers, nuts and bolts,
A hammer, tape and glue,
And give me something old and broke -
I'll make it just like new.
A rattly bike, a wobbly chair,
A clock whose tick needs curing:
What other folk would throw away
I really find alluring.
I can't resist the urge to fix
Whatever needs restoring;
New things that always work okay
Are boring, boring, BORING!
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Woman
Tis woman I need, and woman I crave
And though in life I shuffle to my ignoble grave
To God I’ll turn and plead and cry
‘O let me love one other before I die’
And if as I believe my God is fair and just
to me one other woman he will entrust
He’ll change me, old man, back bent double
into a youth once more, alive with sinews supple
He’ll send to me a maiden fair
And I shall look into her eyes and brush aside her flaxen hair
and kiss and take her by the hand
and we shall love in ways that only mortel men may understand
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The Annoying Thing.
There’s a man in my bed!
My friends, it seems we value our rest
So what goes on in our cosy love nests?
The way men sleep seems to cause us gyp,
Frequently interrupting our deepest kip.
A pint of beer would set him off,
Decibel snoring from my bit of rough.
Vegetarian emissions from dusk till dawn,
Farts like the QE2 fog horn.
The search for the credit note under the cover,
I could have ignored if he was a great lover!
Lying next to a sweaty mozarella cheese
Made even worse by the annoying wheeze.
Can you imagine after your first night in bed
You wake up to find your pants on his head!
The dribbling, the scratching the twitching’s the worst
A peaceful night’s sleep that’ll be a first!
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The green eyed monster
I hated your husband before I met him
He tried to be friendly
I wouldn’t let him
He shook my hand
I wanted to crush his throat
I hid it well, aloof and remote
He smiled surreptitious and offered a platitude
I wanted to kill him
Perhaps the wrong attitude.
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The await of my third son,
10 seconds gone my heart beat is getting faster
20 seconds gone my mind takes over,
30 seconds gone my eyes start to wander,
40 seconds gone my heart beat over powers
50 seconds gone i don't know what to think,
1 minute gone my i start to worry,
waiting waiting for someone to come in,
to tell me it is time to scrub and to hurry ,
waiting waiting looking up at the clock
tick tick it goes completely non stop
2 minutes gone what the hell has happened,
this is taking too long i better go and ask them
but still i find myself glued to the spot,
worried out my mind beginning to lose the plot,
deep inside i feel the tension building up,
but in full front my face gives of nothing,
No emotion i start to breathe slower
each breath deepend heart beat going lower ,
then the nurse comes i feel all the relief ,
Into the theatre i follow as she leads,
all my worry seems to be for nothing ,
a baby boy wow he is so lovely ,
the child i helped bring into this world,
a child i will love for ever more.
By David Tulloch
Whitebridge , Inverness
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Having just been through the same experience, I felt I could relate to this, David.
Cheers
Stuart
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The slope of volcanic Ulan
Is too steep for the climbing of Man.
But mountainous goats
With comfortable coats
Will trot it as oft as they can.
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True Love
I love you my darling
My heart is all yours,
And when we are together
My heart seems to pause.
My breath is taken
Far far away,
And you my darling
Are in my heart, to stay.
Life is so precious
And short this we know,
And when you’re not with me
I’m feeling so low.
So let's get together
And live in one home,
Cause when we are together!
I don't feel alone.
I sit by the phone
And wait for your call,
And what a surprise,
You are stood in my hall.
With suit case in hand
And love in your eyes,
I know we'll be together,
For the rest of our lives.
By Denize Hastings
19th June 2008
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Eight legged friend
I went to the toilet,
to give it a clean,
oh boy! guess what I've seen.
I saw a big spider,
gosh what a fright,
he shouted “PLEASE HELP ME!”
I fell in last night.
The sides are so slippery,
my web is all wet,
please can you get me out with your net?
I looked at the spider,
was frightened no more,
and in my net,
I took him to the door.
As I released him,
he gave me a smile,
I knew I would miss him,
at least for a while.
Good buy little spider,
be on your way,
but please remember to visit one day.
By Denize Hastings
28th June 2008
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Africa Lost
Africa!
Beating harshly - emotion of night
The drum beat sounds - breaks forth in light?
Rivers dusky red,
Famine and corruption spread,
Beauty raped!
Your loveliness a camouflage
masking anarchy?
I cannot leave you!
Your song is in my blood
Unforgiving! Hard!
Your talons have caught their prey!
For I will remain here alone and forgotten
You do not provide for your own
You leave them - to die in the sun.
Written by Beatrice Markham 1998
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The stray moggy
The cat on the mat is a cute little cat.
I wish that cat was my little cat.
I'll feed him, I'll stroke, I'll give him a smile.
I know he will love me at least for a while.
A cat has a free spirit he's soon on his way.
I know it was silly to think he would stay.
By Denize Hastings
30th June 2008
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Requiem for Diana
A star shone brightly in the hearts of men
Rising swiftly in the sky, it fell to Earth again
Its light was bright with a course so true
Charisma and destiny bound anew!
A nation rose and laughed and wept
To witness a star so illuminated
Royalty was at last understood
Enacting the part of sisterhood
Vulnerability was her strength
Compassion for people was the key
Combined with awesome charisma
Her destiny was bound to be
Adored by all, the paparazzi clamored
For riches a plenty and fame enamoured
Scruples all gone, they hounded and bayed
Until blood on the ground, their rabid noises stayed
What can we say?
Who is to blame?
Who are the ones that brought this shame?
For all are guilty
No one is spared
The fox was caught and died in the snare
A nation mourns, the darkness enfolds
Mankind is filled with a guilty loss
For the Star they sought to shine so bright
Split its blood on the mantle of life.
Where are we now?
The crowds have gone
What was is no more and cannot be maintained
For the star that was Diana, will never rise again.
Written by Beatrice Markham
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HMMMMMMMMMMM
I traverse through life
working on broken promises
seeing the world through tinted glasses
holding my life in the balance of a blade on a knife
tasting destiny and watch it being ripped from me
working hard to get nowhere ,
to be somebody
just to land on my feet to go there
Just to feel the sweeping blow that takes my feet from under me.
No longer should i stand in the shaddows of the greats
to feel the honour they betroth on me
to see the pride that falls upon me ,
it is time for me to stand no longer wait,
passes of gold dust streaming through my eyes
No longer should i hear my own cries
that fall beneath the skin in my darkened soul.
but to periodically stun and amaze
and no longer abide by our masters.
You see a new man that stands before you,
One of life with no breath of failure upon him
In fct the truth i have never failed in nothing i have ever done ,
just set-backs of love, hate and times of fun,
i shall stand before you not as a figure to worship
but as a humble man holding coins in his pocket.
But in the persuit of true happiness i have found only one refuge,
that refuge is to believe in ones self.
All my dark thoughts lay in writing ,
Written works of hate and self belief
Words i would gladly fight for,
But not words of hidden masterpeice
epiphenies that no longer make us feel safe
like we have the world at our feet ,
begging us for mercy , begging us to be there
to protect and serve them for whom of what i am .
I am my own master and slave only to my heart.
A slave that no longer feels compassion ,
but for the retribution of the world ,
i will wait.
by David Tulloch
Whitebridge , Inverness
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Ground Zero
The mournful bell, four sets of five
A folded flag with stretcher bare
Reminder of that sunny day, when Hell
its' burnished flame fought
the way - to destroy a nation
Naive in that all would be
okay
that fateful September day.
Black muslin flaps, the steel beam shorn and then
we raise it, raise it high
To signify our loss of those
brave souls destined, to die.
The last post sounds, as bugle's notes clear
around New York, its' heart laid bare.
The fervent
aorta visible to all the nations there.
Selfless courage
when dust perverted night and firemen
police, workers, priests, entombed within the towering edifice -
their final home.
Their spirit remains
They did not die in vain.
The plans and actions of evil men
will be thwarted as best we know.
-
We will not forget
Ground Zero!
Written by Beatrice MarkhamA
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WELL GILES IM BEGUILED
WITH UR WINNING SMILE
AND UR HEART IT IS SO FULL
OF GUTSO
TO HAVE A WEBSITE IT IS SO HARD TO JOIN
AND IT ALL RELIES ON A MUTSO
TO JOIN THE BLOG HERE U MUST VISIT THERE FOR A POET LIKE ME IS A PISTO
BY THE TIME I GET THERE I HAVE LOST THE CUFF SONG I HAD IN MY HART TO DEPISTO
TO PEOPLE LIKE YU COMPATRIOTS TRUE
ON A WHIM TURN WORDS TO A WHISPER
WITH POWER UNTOLD CAN STORIES UNFOLD
HAVE EM SINGIN OR LAFIN OR CRYIN
SO DONT MAKE IT HARD FOR ENOCHS LIKE ME
FOR WORDS COME AN GO IN A FLASH
AN IF I DONT GRAB EM AN PEN EM
THERE GON TO ME MEMORY STASH
ONE DAY ILL RETRIEVE EM
AN LAUGHINGLY SHARE EM BUT FOR NOW
HAVE TO WORK FOR ME CASH
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Children versus the Neighbourhood Witch
I was one once I know
but that doesn’t stop me
shouting at them now – children!
In front of their parents
who seem to think
it doesn’t really matter
that their litter ends up in my garden
that they can pick my flowers
and trample my shrubs
But lay a finger on their ball
and their daddy comes to call
I find a well placed
very small puncture hole
does the trick
Invisible to the naked eye
they can carry on for another day and a bit
Then slowly but surely
the ball deflates
And I am as innocent
as they are.
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Dead
I saw it on the evening news:
Thay showed a picture of my muse
And said there'd been an incident
Involving some sharp implement...
The poor thing never stood a chance
And now she's pushing up the plants.
I still miss her dreadfully -
Hence the lousy poetry.
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Manifesto
Count the sheep, whilst you lie in bed,
Convince yourself, it’s fun to pretend.
If you can hear us laughing
Then we’re sorry, we’ll be quieter, at best.
Now just you get some sleep, and forget the rest.
There are creatures lurking around our house
Fearsome, ferocious, yet silent, cautious.
Monsters, ripping, tearing they will
If you just take a step toward the window sill.
Real they may be but you’re with us now,
Family, freedom, of us be proud.
Terrible danger, not far from here,
Yet of those monsters you will know no fear.
Trap yourself beneath our wing,
Stay with us, keep away from the glass.
For to stay safe from what you see, you must
Put in us your faith, and in us your trust.
Now go back to sleep.
We will hear your prayers
For the ones we say to trust,
For the ones we wish to care.
We’ll keep you safe from the truth.
So you don't get too scared.
Protect you with small, white lies,
Instil the right amount of fear.
There is danger nearby; there is no time to flee,
Just keep your head to the pillow and our words heeded.
Have faith in us, just go back to sleep,
We’ll have the monster wake you
When we feel it is needed.
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WELL GILES IM BEGUILED
WITH UR WINNING SMILE
AND UR HEART IT IS SO FULL
OF GUTSO
TO HAVE A WEBSITE IT IS SO HARD TO JOIN
AND IT ALL RELIES ON A MUTSO
TO JOIN THE BLOG HERE U MUST VISIT THERE FOR A POET LIKE ME IS A PISTO
BY THE TIME I GET THERE I HAVE LOST THE CUFF SONG I HAD IN MY HART TO DEPISTO
TO PEOPLE LIKE YU COMPATRIOTS TRUE
ON A WHIM TURN WORDS TO A WHISPER
WITH POWER UNTOLD CAN STORIES UNFOLD
HAVE EM SINGIN OR LAFIN OR CRYIN
SO DONT MAKE IT HARD FOR ENOCHS LIKE ME
FOR WORDS COME AN GO IN A FLASH
AN IF I DONT GRAB EM AN PEN EM
THERE GON TO ME MEMORY STASH
ONE DAY ILL RETRIEVE EM
AN LAUGHINGLY SHARE EM BUT FOR NOW
HAVE TO WORK FOR ME CASH
CATHERINE TREACY
TIPPERARY
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What you expect from a highlander,
Now heres a myth a story a'll tell,
From the deepest darkest pits of hell,
Hair of fire and a beard of snakes,
This creature loves the lives he takes,
Dragging them from Loch to Loch,
Bones he crunches with his mighty jaws,
Flaring Kilts and bagpipes roar,
His lust for death blood and gore,
Cannot be further from the truth,
As he is a gentle giant and good,
He writes his poems of love and dreams,
A tender lonely heart it seems,
He talks of velvet heather moors,
A meadow pippet dancing slowly tours,
From leaf to brush accross the heather,
Enjoying the fine tender weather,
And Golden Eagles seem to fly,
Through his dreams of his darlings eyes,
He writes soft poems about her smile,
That warms his heart all this while.
So a myth about the evil man ,
Who has held death in his hands ,
Is not the truth of what we are ,
Us highland boys are lovers by far.
by David Tulloch
Whitebridge, Inverness
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The Kestrel
The Kestrel sits quietly on the post of a fence
And patiently waits for his prey
As I stand and look on
He is instantly gone
After his catch of the day
He has spotted a mouse and gets into position
Soon he will make a sharp dive
He’ll hover above
And with out any love
Will swoop down and take it alive
I admire this Falcon. He’s shrewd and he’s clever
He’s no match with his hover and pause
He’s quick, and he’s fast
His dive does not last
As he takes up his prey with his claws
All though he’s not huge his wingspan is wide
And his tail like a fan he will spread
He is one of a kind
So accurate you’ll find
He’s the best it just has to be said
By
Beryl Ladd
Chockyalien
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IVE HAD SUCH FUN AND HAVE
HAPPILY RAN
THROUGH COUNTRY AND CONTINENT FREE
HOME WAS NO JOY AS I LAY ON THE GROUND
AND LOOKED UP THRU THE WARM SUMMER SUN
ON SPOTTING A PLANE I GAVE IT MY NAME
AND PROMISED SOON TO BE THERE
I REMEMEMBER IT WELL AUGUST 65
ON A BLISTERING HOT WORKING DAY
WEIGHING THE FRUIT
FOR THRUPPENCE A POUND
WALKING ENDLESSLY
AROUND AND AROUND
ONLY THEN REALISED I WAS ONLY TEN
A PASSPORT WAS NEEDED TO FLY
PERMISSION WAS SOUGHT
IT WAS FIRST IN MY THOUGHTS
BUT THAT DID NOT WORRY ME.
CATHERINE TREACY
TIPPERARY
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Here is my poem..to be read in the style of a Stanley Holloway monologue...
MY cousin Jim died today,
me mother said "Not cousin Jim!"
"rest o't'family were fated, but ahd never ah thowt of 'im!"
"He never drew breath on a fag end,
his choleslteral intake were nil,
he even shunned t'pleasures o' drinkin'
which mek all t'rest of us ill!
He were up at dawn, each mornin' joggin',
an' is cheeks 'ad the rosiest bloom,
an' 'ee never went near the town centre
for fear of poolution an fumes!"
There were lots of discussion at t'funeral,
of the untimely end that he'd met,
Cousin Jim? not a day over eighty?
it must ah been summat e'd et!
F.H.S copyright
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One passions:
My one passion, after 34 years of marriage, is still my wife, Maggie.
Every year I write four poems for her, on her birthday, on Valentines day, on our wedding anniversary, and for Christmas.
Here is one I wrote soon after I first met her:
You comfort my eyes
You comfort my eyes when I see you,
And when you speak,
You are a friend to my ears.
In the black silence your words are stars,
Your laughter a constellation.
Your smile fills the sky,
Your songs are spurts of lightning.
Oh, I fear darkness, I fear night
Don’t leave me empty of your light.
And another:
I have burned my boats
I have burned my boats down to the ground
And left their ashes on the sand.
After many years of riding rough seas,
Carried by uncharted currents
I have burned my boats
Without a second thought.
So with never a backward glance,
I stumble up the beach,
Stubbing my toes on stones
Unused as yet
To the stability of land.
Hearing behind me the sea
Suck the sodden ashes.
For you, my love,
I would have burned a fleet,
A whole armada.
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Pylons
Ugly
symetrical
tree - things
tallproud you stand
rooted in the dark earth but not
of it
for your
seed was
not cast from
mother nature's
hand but from some
smelting pot in Scotland
where they cloned you.
Though your silver bones
may weather time's test
still I say beware
one day, even for you, the axe will fall
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ODE TO THE BACON BAP
ON COLD AND FROSTY WINTERS MORN
WHEN FROZEN AND CHAPPED LIPS SCORN
WHEN IT’S CALLED A SUDDEN COLD SNAP
THANK HEAVENS FOR A BACON BAP
AS MID MORNING LOOMS AND FEELING WEAK
WITH STOMACH RUMBLING, THINGS ARE BLEAK
AND ALL YOUR PLANS BEGIN TO UNWRAP
THERES ALWAYS TIME FOR A BACON BAP
IT IS TIME AT LAST FOR YOUR LUNCH
NOW WERE LOOKING FOR SOMETHING TO MUNCH
ANY FOOD SEEMS GOOD ENOUGH TO ENTRAP
LET US FEED ON A BACON BAP
MID AFTERNOON AND ALL HAS GONE WRONG
OUR HEART IS HEAVY AND WITHOUT SONG
WE MUST PUT ON OUR THINKING CAP
I THINK I WILL HAVE A BACON BAP
ARRIVING HOME AND IT IS TIME FOR TEA
WIFE AND CHILDREN GREET YOU WITH GLEE
RECIPIES ABOUND WITH LOADS OF CRAP
I WILL FEED THE FAMILY WITH A BACON BAP
TIME FOR BED AND TIME TO DREAM
ANOTHER DAY AT WHICH WE SCREAM
I KNOW IT WILL ALWAYS SET IT’S TRAP
BUT I CAN GET THROUGH IT WITH A BACON BAP
BY ANTOLYANTO
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Not So Permenent Marker.
I'm refillable and permanENT
Everywhere she went I went
I was even often lent
ConfidENT
I'd never be spent.
I always knew just what she meant
Then that day the accidENT
She dropped me, crushed me, now I'm bent.
So much for being PERMANENT!
by Polly Page
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DESPAIR
Helpless
Hopeless
Darkest
Blackest
Welcome death for helpless hopeless souls
Sinking in life's darkest blackest holes.
By Polly Page
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I strongly suggest you try this ...
Go and Try it!
Have you ever, ever tried
To do what I’ve just done?
Just walking round the park, I was,
Decided to have fun.
You see those fallen crumpled leaves,
All dried and curled up too?
Well I’ve just had a good ole stomp,
I loved the scrunch – Woo HOO!
Go try it. It was Brilliant!
To hear the leaves go SCRUNCH!
Especially when there’s more than one
The sound has bigger PUNCH!
You don’t need to be 7 or 8
To do the things I’ve tried.
I’m bleedin’ over 30
And “Responsible” she sighed.
But, scrunching, crunching
Stomping, chomping
Stepping on those leaves,
Was quite delightful
(Even frightful!)
Go and try it please.
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Wrote this when I was being inundated with half ripe, red and green tomatoes, little and big, told to put them on the windowsills,anywhere everywhere, I was weary of getting up in the morning and a few more had been placed on the worktop with a note, can you find room for a few more?..........
If you love me..
Do not torment me with tomatoes,
DO not pester me with peas,
Do not cover me with cabbage,
or put nettles on my knees.
But let me revel in the radishes,
and cuddle me in cress.
Then lavish me with lettuce ,
and put beetroot on my breast.
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THE TRUTH
"It was like a dream," she said,
"The way you held my hand,
The way you looked into my eyes -
I'll never understand..."
He shook his head and smiled at her,
She felt her insides squirm,
He leaned to her and touched her hair -
His fingers seemed so firm;
"Take me, all of me," she said,
"Take my breasts and all,
Take the essence of my soul,
Hear my passions call!"
"You're nothing but a worthless tart!"
His riposte was so cruel,
He snarled so close she felt his breath
Hot, where hers was cool.
Tears stung her eyes and trickled down
The shadows on her face,
"Come back..." she feebly begged of him,
"Come to my humble place...."
But he was gone, she saw him go,
There could be no escape,
Her whispered words hissed through the air
And the sound of them was "rape"....
That was the past, the years ago,
She now looked wan and pale,
Waiting for the King of Hearts
To return to her from gaol.
And when he came, his pale face grey
Like the face of men can be
She smiled at him and said to him
She was glad to see him free.
"I never touched..." he muttered loud,
"I never .. no, not once...."
"I know," she giggled, "It seemed the thing:
You must think me a dunce!"
"I gave so many years," he said,
"Years you stole from me,
And even though it's over now
I won't be truly free..."
"It was like a dream," she said,
"The way you held my hand,
The way you looked into my eyes -
I'll never understand..."
He shook his head and walked away,
There was nothing he could think
Beyond the blade he'd take to her
After he'd had a little drink.
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The Decline of the Male
It’s thought by the year two thousand and ten
The world will no longer have need for us men
No longer will women have need for our sperm
To provide for that child for which some yearn
No need to remember that first tender kiss
All those magic moments now to be missed
That discreet glance and the little black dress
No more simple things, those pleasures of the flesh
The end of the courtship, the romance, the chase
Just a trip to the cloan shop, and a two minute wait
The end of the moonlight, the roses and romance
No need anymore to go to that dance
And what if they miss the company of men
They can go buy an artificial one instead
A world where all children will look like their mother
No one is different….we all look like each other
So what of this world devoid of us men
Will it be better or worse….or just dull
A empty life this, without any men
Let’s hope we see sense before two thousand and ten
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MY WICCAN LOVE
"Wicca, Wicca witchy, roast the nuts in May,
Take me to your mistress, take me there today,
And I will be your sweetheart, will bring you to my heart,
Will wait for you at midnight, and we will never part;
"Wicca Wicca Witchy, there's a ring passed through your nose,
A golden ring with diamonds, like petals of a rose,
You are the Queen of darkness, the light inside our souls
And they are in the shadows, and mystic stygian holes.
"Wicca Wicca Witchy, with spells inside your heart
And whispered words of magic, a verbal kind of dart,
Come and kiss me gently, press lips upon my brow,
And tell me all your secrets, yes tell me every how!"
She held me with her eyes, her piercing eyes so blue,
"There's nothing in my heart that I'll ever say to you,
For our secret, man, is love or the things that lovers think,
So come this way so peaceful and join me for a drink."
She held a goblet to me, golden like the moon
And steaming with temptation, "Come take it, friend, and soon!"
But a thought reached out and grabbed me, a spiteful little thought
And told me with a whisper that all would come to nought!
The baleful little man who dwelt within my brain
Nudged me once and nudged me twice and nudged me once again;
"Go off!" he shrieked, "This Wiccan witch will poison you for sure,
She'll force her toxins on you, and make you drink them more!
"You'll be her slave for ever, she'll cast a spell on you,
Don't take her word for anything for none of it is true,
She'll have you at her feet, grovelling for your life,
And beware her motives, fool of mine, hers is the cruellest knife."
I shook my head to clear him, and turned back to the dame
But she had gone, of course she had, and I would do the same:
"I might have made a friend there, we might have shared a life,
But now it seems you've left me with pain and fear and strife."
I sauntered on and sang my song, the one I'd made for her,
The Wicca, Wicca Witchy song, it made my spirits stir,
And my little demon cackled at the nonsense of my loss -
He was the awful best of me, my spoiler and my boss.
And in the forest, deep and dark, with eyes alight around,
With mind dimmed by my thinking and focussed on the ground,
I walked until the midnight hour struck from a distant tower
And I sat upon the blackest ground, my stony hard-rock bower.
Sleep stole on me slowly, sleep and dreams of death,
Ice cold spirits teased me, they almost stole my breath,
And silently, like magic, or like magic sometimes seems,
My Wiccan friend descended and moved inside my dreams.
And my eyes were closed forever, my heart stilled there and then,
No spirit good or evil, no creature and no men,
And I was lost in nowhere, how can a mortal tell
That a finger came to touch me, the finger of a spell.
"Wicca Wicca Witchy," a voice formed all around,
It entered my dead spirit, it seeped into the ground,
And she was there, and smiling, and filled with boundless love
And I gazed for ever upwards to a nothing up above.
The darkness and the freezing and all the stuff of death
Were piled like sods upon me, and ice instead of breath
But still my spirit stirred, my Wiccan came to me,
My newfold witch of magic, to set this sinner free.
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THE LAY OF THE SQUIRREL OKIES
There's a mountain in Mullovia where the squirrel okies played
Travellers from a dustbowl to a mountain where they stayed,
Though coughs and wheezes grabbed them, and the winds blew thin around
They laughed the briefest moment and sunk onto the ground:
"Nuts to everybody, nuts to all," they cried,
And took their sickness with them and with their sickness died.
The mountain in Mullovia became their tombstone proud,
A sky-high place where often their ghosts prayed out aloud,
And in their mountain graveyard they sowed some seeds of love,
Though clouds swirled down below them and space loomed big above.
And the god of life and loving gazed down on where they lay,
Saw the dust of Okie squirrels, heard the echoes from the day,
And cast a sunbeam like a sparkle to Mullovia's icy peak,
Through death and all its angels it wove as it did seek
The dust, the 0kie remnants, the squirrels of the Earth,
And offered them the gift of life, strange magic of rebirth.
They stirred, who wouldn't stir when promised such a thing?
But with but a single voice their mystic words did sing:
"Nuts to everybody, nuts to all", they sang
And for a fragile moment their muted voices rang,
Then back their dead dust settled, back to its timeless rest
As they proved they were true lovers, true and quite the best:
In death they moved together as idle winds blew past,
In death they were true squirrels, in death they were the last.
11:24 - 6 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove
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THOUGHTS AT NIGHT MY LOVE
There's absolutely no way
I want to be apart from you,
Not now in the breathing day,
Not for a heartbeat moment
So beware brother death, take care
Not to come this way if you dare!
I want her near me, so much,
Like a shadow, or nearer,
Always close enough to touch,
To reach out in the mess of nights,
To call to like lovers call,
Daring the darkness and shadows and all.
Don't think of that long black night,
We'll keep it ever so far away,
Give it never the hint of a light,
Yet it's where us lost urchins will play
Hands touching hands in the fragrance
Of an everlasting bower,
And lips pressed together, with moisture,
Like dew on the sweetest flower
The curtains, my lover, will lower
As curtains always do,
Will make heartbeats go gradually slower
Of me and then of you,
But there's time for the beating of hearts,
Time for enraptured life,
Years when our friendship outsmarts,
The wiles of death's gruesome knife.
We'll be playing together our parts
My angel, my lover, then wife.
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THIS AFTERNOON
We'll go for a walk in a moment
My lover girl and I
We'll walk through the woods together
With the sun high in the sky.
And we'll laugh at the dog and his antics -
We'll laugh till we nearly cry!
We'll talk like we do forever,
We'll chat about nothing at all,
Hold hands as we pass by the river,
Lips touch as the spirits call,
And the dog will chase off in that moment
After a rabbit or shadow or ball.
And the gods of the earth will surround us,
The deities guarding each tree,
The life-force that moves like a shadow
Embracing my lover and me,
And the dog is lost in a hedgerow,
Barking and frantic – and free!
And when we're weary and almost panting,
Old folks with our aching limbs,
There's the path that leads us homeward
As the sun winks at us, and dims:
And laughing his canine laughter
Old Max and his doggy whims.
And we'll sit on our sofa and smile
At recollections of our walk
And give new life to memories of sunshine
As we chatter and smile and we talk,
And Max will dream as he softly slumbers
To the popping of our blackberry cork!
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The Chicken
I went out a-walking under skies that grew grey,
When I met a young chicken a-hurrying my way,
I gave her a smile and I laid on some flattery
As this sometimes works well on the girls from the battery.
With her head on one side she said I was sleazy,
She told me that I couldn’t turn an egg over that easy.
I said I was sorry, I wouldn’t try it on again,
And as that lie left my lips it started to rain.
“Oh no!” cried the chicken “this will ruin my plumage,
Precipitation! For my down that spells ‘doomage’.”
“Come shelter at my place, it’s close by” I said.
“It’s a sweet little cottage (with a big feather bed).”
So together we scurried back to my kitchen door,
By the time we had reached it, it had started to pour.
Once dry and inside I noticed a change,
No battery bantam - this bird was free range.
She pressed up against me unbuttoning my shirt,
Clip, zip, slip and she stepped out of her skirt.
I tried to say words – mouth open - unable,
As with a grin full of sin she bent over the table.
So I closed the door and I fastened the locks,
Then I plucked, stuffed and ate her coz I is a fox.
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MOUNTAIN WOLVES
Searching the depths where no-one else goes
Looking for truths that no-one else knows
Trying to feel what everyone else shows
Staying up, despite all the lows.
Does the pack know the pain of the lone?
Joint anonymity favoured to a heart of stone
Long sorrowed howls turn to soft moan
The trash-can where lost souls are thrown.
A life-long war seems hardly a life
Yet nothing awaits from giving up the fight
To run with the pack only brings strife
Yet lone wolf can't see the light.
To sit on the mountain in fresh-driven snow
To gaze at people without need to show
You've a care for them or troubles they know
Because up on the montains their pain gains perception
The climb to the hights emotions' revelation
Only the battered survivors sit there.
You run with the pack through the woods of time
Passion of one shared between the gathered whole
For every event you raise up a neon sigh
Tears and laughter spill out without control
Yet your wounds are the size of grains
To those who sit on the mountain
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MIGHTY RIVER
Little bear cub sat by the stream one day
Waiting for the fishes to come and play,
They dived down the stream in a frenzied fray
Following mighty river along his way.
The sun beat down on little cub's back
As he gazed across at the gray wolf pack
They smelt cub's mother big and black
And slinked back to the hunting track.
Little cub put out a paw for prey
To take from fish-shoals what he may
But from firm ground he was stray
And by mighty river was swept away.
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I Wonder
I wonder where the wonder goes
As we start to grow.
I wonder where the wonder goes.
I wonder. Do you know?
The wonder of the spiders web
Bejewelled in the morn.
The wonder of how seeds can grow
Into barley wheat and corn.
Can we keep the wonder
The wonder of a child?
Can we keep the joy of it
And go wondering wild?
I wonder why the wind is.
I wonder why it's there.
I wonder if the wind can
Blow away our cares.
I wonder where the sun goes
When the moon is in the sky.
Are the sun and moon friends?
If not I wonder why.
Isn't it wonderful
The wonder of a child?
Let's try and keep the joy of it.
And go wondering wild.
I wonder how a caterpillar
Can change so very much.
I wonder how some plants
Can curl up with just a touch.
I wonder how a tadpole
Can turn into a frog.
I wonder how many creatures
Can live on one old log.
Let's join them in their wonder.
The wonder of a child.
We all need to wonder
And go wondering wild.
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Last Winter I was having yet another bad day on the golf course. Walking up the 12th fairway I was contemplating my next shot which had to negotiate a tall tree. In an effort to pull myself together,I found myself composing the following poem that reflected my passion of a 77 year old's love for the Coming of Spring.
WAITING FOR THE “OFF”
The barren, leaf-less chestnuts stand elegant and tall
No rising sap, just waiting there for Nature’s Wake-Up call.
Through Winter months they’re buffeted by endless wind and rain
Their tight-lipped buds keep straining to burst with life again.
Exposed and open branches force birds to look elsewhere
For cover from the snow and cold, the bitter months to bear.
But Nature has the answer , some trees no leaves they shed,
The evergreens, like holly give food and warmth instead.
The daffs start growing early, before the frost has formed.
Then stop, to wait until the frozen soil has really warmed.
But when New Year is over, with gardens white with snow
Perhaps, for weeks it lingers before it starts to go.
Then as the thaw brings solace, the ground returns in style
We find the cheeky snowdrop has been there all the while.
A buzz of expectation begins to fill the air
Deceptive sunny days appear and seem to be less rare.
Then suddenly one morning we wake with quite a fright,
We’re sure the hedge is greener and the sky is shining bright
The chestnut buds are popping; the birds brought in the dawn,
Nature sent its e-mail, “A new Spring now is born”.
Thanksto The One Tam for letting me share my passion for Spring.
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Ode to my Flower
Our love was like a flower
That burst into the light
Its fragrance, warm and cosy, always seemed so right
Each petal opened slowly
It colours shone so bright
Redness like a sunset, a radiant, warming might
The beauty was so wonderful
It brought insects from their flight
Attracted by the perfect form, so small and round and tight
Then one day the petals fell
The beauty gone from sight
And slowly, oh so slowly, we entered darkest night
Now all that’s left is memory
Of flowers red and white
And memories of a flower which finally lost the fight
But out there somewhere in the cold
Fighting winters bitter bite
A seed from the flower is waiting, to burst into the light
Mike - Lydney
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Ironically, there are more poems on the "Welcome, Here's How to Sign Up" page than this one ... not the easiest blog to use.
That was where mine ended up. Well, here it is again - I've improved it slightly anyway...
Higgledy-piggledy,
BBC's One Show's
Recording one's views on what's
Floating one's boat;
What makes it watertight
Axiomatically -
Proof mathematical's
What gets my vote.
And when I'm failing to prove my own theorems, I write higgledy-piggledies about other peoples:
Higgledy-piggledy,
Pierre de Fermat,
Declared two nth powers,
n greater than 2,
That sum to a third imply
Non-integrality;
Marginally harder
Was proving it true!
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Football Fever
I've got football fever
Now I'm football mad
Football's taken over
I've got football bad
Yes, I've got football fever
I thought I was immune
But I'm not 'sick as a parrot'
Instead I'm 'over the moon'
So I don't need a doctor
I don't need a pill
I'm not feeling awful
I'm not really ill
I've just got football fever
I've just gone football mad
I'm as crazy as my sister
I'm as barmy as my Dad
We've all got football fever
Each one did succumb
But if you think we've got it bad
Wait till you meet Mum!
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Baby
Recently, I feel as though something has come between us.
We've grown apart
of you and me.
And as it grows, so do we.
But a strong pair of arms can bridge the gap.
They do say that the best way to a man's heart is through her stomach.
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Childhood
My memory often wanders back to days when I was small,
To times when play was everything and make believe was all.
Elves lived in our apple tree, (the knots were their front doors).
Sprites danced in the clover field, I saw them once, I’m sure.
My cardboard box could be a boat, a car or aeroplane
A hole dug in the garden we’d defend with might and main
Against the fiendish enemy who ever it might be.
Then we’d be called in to get cleaned up and ready for our tea.
In the school hols. in the Summer time we’d be out in the fields all day
The “helping” with the haymaking would soon turn in to play
Rough and tumbles on the springy stacks would have us sweating fit to burst,
Then off we’d run to our “dockey” bags for our “pop” to slake our thirst.
Cricket in the Summer days with makeshift bat and ball
And battles in the Autumn when we heard the Conkers call.
Driving the tractor in the harvest fields, who could ask for more?
The “Jobsworth, can’t do that” brigade, of now, would have never kept the score.
With the rush, hurry, worry of today, youngsters are super supervised.
They’re driven here there and every where to a time table set and sized.
They have advice on care from every side, electronics by the score.
But I can’t help feeling that it would be great, to set them free, once more.
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My Arrival
I can hear her voice, she's taking to me, she says "I love you".
Can she feel me moving around and kicking,
I've had enough of that now, I'll go back to my thumb licking.
I think I'll make an appearance today,
But it's like an obstacle course in here,
all these things in my way.
I'll take a deep breath and burst out of this balloon,
Where's all that water going, I hope I see her soon.
It's taking a long time, isn't there a short-cut, I'm tired out,
What's this big rope round my neck, help!
I can't move about.
I can't breathe, I hear their voices
"give her a section",
Time's running out, I'm turning blue, then at last, safe hands deliver me to protection.
I can't cry, I'm exhausted and freezing cold,
But now they wrap me in a blanket and give me to her to hold.
Something soft is touching my lips, I think I'm in luck,
Lovely warm liquid is coming now,
"thanks Mum!" I settle down and happily suck.
by Tina Thompson
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Addict
I don't choose cheese or chicken
I don't touch marzipan
Chocolate's my addiction
I indulge whenever I can
I gobble it for breakfast
I guzzle it for tea
Chock-a-block with chocolate
Send for me
I may not have my own teeth
I may be overweight
But as a chocolate chewing chomper
I'm not just good - I'm GREAT!
Please don't prohibit chocolate
Don't impose a chocolate ban
Cos I'm a chocoholic
A desperate dangerous man
And I need chocolate - NOW!
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My passion is my little boy, he makes me smile all day!
Ashley
When I wake in the morning I hear him cry,
“Mummy, I need you!” I go to see why,
He wants a cuddle and to know you’re there,
I give him a kiss and stroke his hair.
He fills me full of love and joy,
He means so much, my little boy,
His smiley face make me tell everyone,
That he is the best thing I’ve ever done.
He loves to go to school each day,
I miss him so much when he is away.
At home time I stand at the school gates with glee,
My little boy I just can’t wait to see.
We walk home hand in hand together,
Discussing the day and proclaiming he’s clever,
We come home and sit for a drink and snacks,
Then out come his Thomas toys, back on the tracks.
He loves his lego, putting together the pieces,
He compares what he’s made with my nephews and nieces,
He has Wilbur and Bilbur his two little cats,
He helps to look after them and to them he chats.
We have tickling fun when he lies on the ground,
Laughing delightfully squirming around,
He is so special my little one,
He makes everyday happy and so much fun.
What did I do before he arrived,
What was I doing, how had I survived?
For my world is now filled with so much love,
Mummy, Daddy and Ashley, we fit like a glove.
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A passion for poetry. (My big brother collaborated on this one. I'm 26 by the way!! Lol)
The Greater Spotted Poet.
The poet is a funny bird,
It’s never seen but often heard,
Sometimes clever, sometimes crude,
(In limerick there often rude!)
Appearing when there least expected,
At rugby grounds they've been detected,
Singing loud, clear and free,
Mainly at the referee.
They are quite loud,
And often we,
Will find them,
At the library,
They also like,
To project,
On the one show,
I interject,
They sometimes charge,
A small fee,
But the poet bird,
Won’t bother me.
You see,
For I am one too,
And in a bar,
You'll find a few,
In other places they are also found,
Sometimes they don’t make a sound,
They hide amongst Bronte’s heathers,
For people hunt them for their feathers.
By Sarah-Ellen Stevenson and
Stuart Stevenson.
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In the first verse, (My brother's) the spelling was terrible. I felt the need to correct it!
The Greater Spotted Poet.
The poet is a funny bird,
It’s never seen but often heard,
Sometimes clever, sometimes crude,
(In limerick they’re often rude!)
Appearing when they’re least expected,
At rugby grounds they've been detected,
Singing loud, clear and free,
Mainly at the referee.
They are quite loud,
And often we,
Will find them,
At the library,
They also like,
To project,
In places wide,
I interject,
They also charge,
A small fee,
But the poet bird,
Won’t bother me.
You see,
For I am one too,
And in a bar,
You'll find a few,
In other places they are also found,
Sometimes they don’t make a sound,
They hide amongst Bronte’s heathers,
For people hunt them for their feathers.
By Sarah-Ellen Stevenson and
Stuart Stevenson (her brother).
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Here is my poem:
GRANDPA TO THE HOODIE
Good morning, compeer, lout. I see you slouch
the length of Merlin's Lane, your iPOd clamped
to dour and anti-social (unwashed) ear.
You look morose - but hell, there was a time
(I know maybe I didn't wear a hood)
but boy, I scowled. And mouthing freely, cursed
the cinemas who wouldn't let us in
to X's. Moan? Oh boy, we really moaned
the lack of serious erotica
within the barber's shop, school dinners, school,
and all those groaning patronising swine,
policemen, bus conductors, usherettes,
shopkeepers, barmaids, teachers. Boy.
You think this lane is boring, Sunshine Joe.
You should have been here fifty years ago.
Robert Nisbet
Haverfordwest
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The best of all time
Sir Alex Ferguson, the fiery scot,
As a manager, best of the lot.
Won ten trophies with Aberdeen
Then came to England, to reignite a team.
From Man. United, the invite came,
Since that day, it's not been the same.
Though slow at first, it soon picked up,
His first United trophy, the F.A Cup.
Then the trickle turned into a flow,
And 18 years later, 29 trophies on show.
Great football, great players, they've passed the test. And as for the manager, he's outwon the rest.
We don't care about the 'Becham Boot'
And facing the 'Hairdryer' we don't give a hoot.
He s the man with the consoling arm,
And when it warrants, he lays on the charm .
Eric? Van Nystolroy? players arrive, players leave,
He just wins more silverware, more 'stripes on his sleeve.'
So carry on Fergie, may you never alter,
Because you are our own 'Rock of Gibralter'
And with the Rock in place, we know we've a chance,
Of seeing this great club, all the more enhanced.
All other managers, stand in line,
Salute Sir Alex, the best of all time.
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STAY AFLOAT
Chugging along at a snails pace
See Heron's, long pokey face
Poised at dawn, for a spot of fishing
Natures here, there's nothing missing
Opening locks, as in days of old
Wanderous tales, they could have told
Standing still to ponder awhile
Wondering what's beyond that stile
Sitting there late at night
Amidst the flicker of candle light
Sharing stories of what you've seen
With new friends, who know what you mean
Each of us a common view
Gently barging, for a week or two
Here there are no hills to climb
And for a while, no thought of time
Sheilakay
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Magical, Romantic Italy
The magic of Italy's there for all to see
From Rome and Sorrento to the Isle of Capri.
There's no mistaking its beauty and so
Year after year it's where I must go.
I've travelled to Malaysia and also Taiwan
And experienced the flavour of Pakistan;
Cyprus, the Greek Isles and sizzling Spain
And loved them all, but I cannot explain
What lures me back across the sea
To my beautiful, magical, serene Italy.
Sheila Feeney
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This is my poem recently wrote to my daughter, and family as they leave to live in W.Australia on the 16th October 2008, not very far away now.
Our hearts will be with you, all of the way.
We are so very sad, and find it hard to know what to say.
But your lives are to be lived, as we have done,
And we know that you have much happiness yet to come.
We hope with all our hearts that you can settle down.
Make Australia home, but always remember your old town.
There will be sadness and struggles of that we are sure.
But nothing that a good old chat, cannot cure.
So go with our blessing, and have joy and fun.
This is your new venture, with lots to come.
We have lived our lives, and try not to have regrets,
Cos, our love is as strong as the day we first met.
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Giraffes
(Piggy voice)
?Long-necked and lovely, full of grace
With skin so smooth and sleek
We?ll never know what?s over the wall
But you could take a peek
Are there fields of corn and grass?
Palm trees tall and green?
The chatter of chimps is on the wind
Tell us what you?ve seen
Stretch your neck, flutter those lashes
Give us the low-down, do
Flamingos at the water?s edge?
With rivers running through??
(Deep giraffe voice)
?All that you describe is there
And more, hippos wallowing near
No doubt you?ll hear the elephants bellow
So brave, they have no fear?
The giraffes exchange a glance or two
No wish to spoil the view
No need to tell their smaller friends
They?re all living in a zoo
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T@KeN
Today I lie, with no disguise
Naked, all my feelings on show
People can see, straight thru me,
Makes me feel unknown.
No idea how to deal,
Desperately need to keep it real
Let the days pass by
Waiting and dreading that things wont change,
Hoping and praying things wont remain
Change appeared and took me clear out,
I’ve lost my safety zone,
Been completely thrown down
Need back my strength,
Need back my life,
Simple things now come with a price
It’s just not right
Fighting against my life,
Trying to regain control
It’s beginning to take its toll
Been completely thrown
But I will regain my throne
Nothing will faze me
I won’t let it take me
Control of my life just takes a fight
I won’t let this stay
This is not its day
This is my day, My way!
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PRETTY BOI
I see your eyes,
gazing into the night
can feel the ties
pulling me tight.
Begin to feel wanted,
cared for and loved.
Feel like I’m haunted
strides in my blood
watching each moment
and guiding me through
and somehow from heaven
it brought me to you.
Gorgeous, hansom my gift from above
touch me, tell me, the things that you love.
Secure in your arms, just don’t want to leave
it starts to become so hard to believe
why do you want me, what does he see?
Questions arise, no surprise.
I want to be there for you
want to make you feel safe
don’t know if it’s right or if it’s even my place.
Sometimes you stare at me and kiss me so sweet,
you make me feel lovely, my knees feeling weak,
make me feel happy hope you do too
smiling and laughing
just like a fool
you got me blinded
I only want you.
So Dan you are lovely
friendly and cuddly.
You got me right were you want me,
you need me and hold me
say things no one has told me.
And because of all this
I find I just sit
and write
whilst you gaze into the night.
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Anxious
The rage, the fire,
The strain and tire,
i stand, I sit,
I pace and twist,
my brain, my mind,
feels like I’m blind.
Control is gone,
Fear comes on.
Why me, why now,
I must find how
To make me feel alive.
Slowly but surely
Its going,
Its gone,
The relief,
I feel strong,
Better and
Stronger as the days seem longer
More like they use to feel,
Happy go lucky,
No longer feel yucky,
I feel like the world is mine.
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My passion is the sky at night, here is my poem.
PRELUDE
Through the still and perfumed air, nights
silence now descends.
and velvet black it's veil of darkness lies.
A feeling of expectancy now with the
darkness blends,
as night paints countless stars across the
skies.
The trees like muted symbols stand, their
silhouettes have cast,
the image of a timless mystery.
Like columns from an ancient temple lost
deep in the past'
as endless as the great infinity.
Now slowly does her entrance come upon
this tranquil scene.
and gently doth she lay her silvery light.
The sensuous beauty of her spell,
majestic and serene,
now makes seductive contrasts of the
night.
From a lake the mists lie hanging in the
still night air,
diaphanous as of a bridal gown.
Reflected in the water's edge, her beauty
doth compare,
with Aphrodite in her golden crown.
Now serenely does she sail across night's
endless sea,
her radiance in the darkness shining bright.
A prelude to the next act in her ancient
mystery,
she, the moon, the goddess of the night.
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My passion is my son. I wrote this to make him laugh. I hope to illustrate it soon.
What was that noise?
Grenelope Grimp awoke with a jump,
as she heard a strange noise go Floop-Fulla-Lump!
'What was that noise?' she thought to herself,
whilst running and grabbing her boots from the shelf.
Her ears pricked up as she skipped over ground,
determined to find the cause of the sound.
'Where are you going?' shouted dear mummy Grimp,
as Grenelope entered the Forest of Blimp.
She suddenly heard a Bish-Binkle-Bong!
But it wasn't her noise, this sounded all wrong,
when out of a bush, a Squiffet did yell,
'I'm afraid it was me, I was cleaning my bell!'
Later she heard a Sloop-Goopy-Ploo!
This wasn't her noise, it really wouldn't do,
when a Flumper called down from up high in a tree,
'I was picking my nose, I'm afraid it was me!'
Then came a loud, Burp-Popple-Splatt!
This wasn't her noise, it was different to that,
when a Quadipus shouted, looking up from his dish,
'I'm afraid it was me, I was eating some fish!'
As she listened she heard, a Flop-Pipple-Wow!
This wasn't her noise. 'What was it now?'
When a Ploogum looked up from her riverside seat,
'I afraid it was me, I was washing my feet!'
Deep in the woods, she heard Yelp-Bammer-Blom!
'That's not my noise, where was it from?'
When a Grobbler announced from amongst scented shrubs,
'Don't worry, it's me, I was juggling my clubs!'
Grenelope returned when the moon filled the sky.
'I couldn't find it?' she said, and gave a shrug and a sigh.
She climbed into bed and greeted her toys
when Floop-Fulla-Lump!. 'THERE WAS THAT NOISE!!!'
She jumped with a jolt and called mummy Grimp
Her answer was here, not the Forest of Blimp.
'I've discovered the sound, do you know what I saw?'
'It was my hot water bottle, hitting the floor!
Hip-hip, hip-hooray, that's what I heard.'
And she went to soundly to sleep.
............Oh how absurd!
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Looking Through My Window, by Steven D
There's a biblical affliction,
A rigor mortis setting in,
But it's purely self-inflicted,
Now where do I begin......
A tongue as black as liquorice,
Spits out venom and disgust,
At the concrete, steel, glass canvas,
That hands out lessons in distrust
Devils have been worshipped,
Conspiracys abound,
It's a ruthless luke warm bloodbath,
Where no-one can be crowned
Stray cats are night patrolling,
Flak jackets must be worn,
Faceless young assassins,
Makes you question why they're born
Ears bleed to constant sirens,
Gutless wonder crawls out from a stone,
Surveys the walking wounded,
Then knifes the weakest one
The perfect crime committed,
No conscience I can find,
An A star in deception,
Puts the U in suicide
The streets all lined with lampost jibs,
The hangman ties a noose,
You better guess a letter friend,
Before your face turns blue
The ship of hope is sinking,
Blind eyes have all been turned,
Those that dare to lend a hand,
Get there fingers burned
.... Sorry, I know, 3/4 verses or 20 lines, but once you've started!.....
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Love Is Blind
Under the mistletoe
my very short-sighted sister
and her extremely short-sighted boyfriend
take off their glasses
to kiss...
and miss.
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this is a little thing I wrote some 30years ago,but it is a bit autumnal;
The tale of Oliver Brackett.
Oliver Bracket cried lord ! what a racket
whatever is going on here ?,
But the Squirel said tut and ate one more nut
Then he threw all the shells in a large old tin pail,
Which was white on the outside and rusty within, and was balanced precariously high on at thin and incredibly tall
and amazingly rickity rackaty wall.
Just over the wall was a beautiful pool
Full of fountains and Goldfish and things
and when Oliver landed he found himself stranded,
sitting next to the pail,
the squirel you see with a flick of his tail
had jumped into a tree, but the wall wasnt strong and of course before long,
with a terrible clatter and horrible racket
in splashing confusion fell Oliver Brackett
and sadly for him ,there fell also a thin and
incredibly tall and amazingly ,
Rickity Rackaty wall ! ! !
David minty
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What a joy when life begins
Love and laughter time to share
What a smile as life grows
Expectations, dreams as life goes
What a struggle as life expands
Different ways and different sounds
What a beauty as life pans out
Doing all with life that fills
What a turn when life stands still
Feeling all those ways now lost
What a pain when life is past
Hidden in a mist thats black
What a question life instills
Knowing now that is that
What a joy when life rebrings
Colours now bright and warm
What a smile as feelings come
Gently feeling the riseing sun
What a mixture of past and future
Softly touching now is now
What a pleasure to feel the day
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Old Age, I decided, is a gift. I am now, probably for the first time in my
life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body!
I do sometimes despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and
the sagging backside. And often I am taken aback by that old person that
lives in my mirror (who looks like my dad!), but I don't agonise
over those things for long. I would never trade my amazing friends, my
wonderful life, and my loving family for less grey hair or a flatter belly.
As I've aged, I've become kind to myself, and less critical.
I've become my own friend. I don't worry too much for eating that
extra biscuit, or for not making the bed, or for buying that silly plastic
gadget that I didn't need but looks so avante garde on my desk. I
am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant, I have
seen too many friends leave this world too soon; before they
understood the great freedom that comes with being old.. Whose
business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM
and sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful
tunes of the 70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over my
first love ... I will. I will walk the beach in a pair of trunks
that are stretched over a bulging belly, and will dive into the waves
with a smile on my face if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the
people who don’t know me and therefore don’t count. They, too, will get old. I know I am sometimes forgetful. But then again, some of life is worth being forgotten. And
I eventually remember the important things. Sure, over the
years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you
lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's
beloved pet is taken from them? But broken hearts are what give us
strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is
pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being
imperfect. I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my
hair turning grey, to be losing a little on top and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so
many have died before their hair could turn silver. As you get
older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other
people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the
right to be wrong. So, to answer the question, I like being older.
It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to
live forever but while I am still here, I will not waste time
lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I
shall eat dessert every single day. (If I feel like it)
MAY YOUR TRUEST OF FRIENDSHIPS NEVER COME TO AN END AND MAY YOU ALWAYS HAVE A RAINBOW OF SMILES UPON YOUR FACE.
Andy
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Where do I write my poetry?
Marvellousdeanswift
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Laying here, motionless, thinking about the past that once was,
Unable to sleep, thinking about the present that could have been,
Staring into space, looking at the future that can no longer be.
A life without friends is a life not lived,
A life without family is a life doomed to fail,
A life without love is not worth living
In a world torn apart by love, all we have is hate,
In a world torn apart by hate, all we have is desire,
In a world full of desire, all we have is our friends.
Life is filled with regret and past mistakes,
The world is full of death, and pain of the heart,
But when I’m with you, none of it matters, the feelings that were felt are lost.
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I can see,
But there is nothing but blinding darkness.
I can hear,
But there is nothing but deafening silence.
I can speak,
But there is no one there to listen to me,
I can taste,
But there is only bitterness,
Yet I can feel you,
By my side,
Holding me close.
Don’t let go
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My passion is the Greek islands:
A GREEK AFTERNOON
nothing else to do
on dreamy Lipsos
for the bored young
warriors of today
other than to launch
skywards, like a madcap
Icarus, over the deepest
part of the harbour
while gnarled fishermen
drink to remember
all those lost
years of bounty
so many
tiny fish
scattering
like exploding stars
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I have always been interested in ships,
here is my poem.
THE DEPARTURE
I thought this day would never end,
but now at last it's here.
Since daddy said that we could go each
day seemed like a year.
I've counted on the calender and now
we've reached the tenth,
the day our new adventure starts, my first
real big event.
We cought the train at Waterloo, the bustle
and the steam,
and dinner in the dining car went by just
like a dream.
The country looked so beautiful beneath
the April sky,
with nose against the window, I watched
the view roll by.
And when we reached Southampton docks
the ship it seemed so big,
I couldn't wait to get on board, I nearly
danced a jig.
Mummy said I must calm down, my mind
was in a whirl,
"You really must behave" she said "like a
proper little girl"
As soon as we are safe on board, our
luggage stowed away,
we find our cabin then explore along
each passageway.
And now the gangways are pulled back,
not long before we sail,
there's people waving from the dock and
others on the rail.
There's flags and bunting everywhere, the
people laugh and sing,
the band are playing Auld Lang Syne, and
that a tear will bring.
It's all been so exciting, i know we'll get
there quick,
we're sailing to A merica on board the
Titanic.
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Andalusia
In a forest of a thousand winbines
eagles glide so wisely, on warm
weather thermals, and down where
white doves perch on olive sand,
gypsy matadors dance in swirls
with miura bulls. Flamenco girls race
for red caskets, fingered by dust
and the sky rejects all there is
in this land, apart from solitude
and lust. Clusters of breathing
grape vine scatter, to bleed
beneath mottled feet, and far
beyond a field of orange, a grey
stallion returns, in a cloak of dusk
with aloof master, who paints
pictures for his ancestral tienta.
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Andalusia
In a forest of a thousand winbines
eagles glide, so wisely on warm
weather thermals, and down where
white doves perch on olive sand,
gypsy matadors dance in swirls
with miura bulls. Flamenco girls race
for red caskets, fingered by dust
and the sky rejects all there is,
in this land, apart from solitude
and lust. Clusters of breathing
grape vine scatter, to bleed
beneath mottled feet, and far
beyond a field of orange, a grey
stallion returns, in a cloak of dusk
with aloof master, who paints
pictures for his ancestral tienta.
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There is a certain singer who I really love
to listen to, here is my poem.
FRANK
A barstool on a darkened stage, a skinny
guy walks on,
pushes back his hat and looks around.
Stop to light a cigarette, breaths in deep
and long,
shakes his head and sits without a sound.
Somewhere a piano starts a lonely melody,
a spotlight finds the figure sitting there,
He waits a while then starts to sing
of love that used to be,
a sad song of a broken love affair.
He sings about the lonely people sitting
on their own,
drinking as the night slips slowly by.
Talking to the bartender who just want to
go home,
another dawn, another lonely guy.
As he sings he makes you feel that you've
been at that bar,
With just your thoughts to keep you
comnpany.
When happiness was knowing then that
she would not be far,
and like a fool you thought she'd always be.
As the music starts to fade, he climbs down
from the stool,
turns and as he starts to walk away.
The music stops, then silently like ripples
from a pool,
the lights dim but the memory will stay.
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Are you afraid of the dark?
Twisting and turning, longing and yearning,
Torn asunder from a dreamless slepp.
Watching and waiting, staring and hating,
Around her the shadows begin to creep.
Pleading and praying, hoping and sighing,
She pulls the covers far over her head.
Pounding and pulsing, beating and thumping,
Her heart begins to fill with dread.
Shaking and shivering, reaching and fumbling,
She wraps her hand around the cord.
Gripping and grasping, pulling and tugging,
She send a prayer up to the Lord.
Shining and shimmering, dancing and prancing,
A golden light floods through the room.
Glowing and gleaming, calming and warming,
It chases away her impending doom.
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By the way I wrote my poem, because I have always loved the way that brightness and light can chase away unhappiness and dread
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ARRY.
Arry the aligator sat all alone in a great big
pool of mud
When quite by chance
while enjoying a dance
with a blue cockatoo
wearing black leather shoes
a Koala bear fell out of the air
and landed on Arry Ker-thud !!
The Koalablinked, but Arry just winked ,
first with one eye, and then with the other
and he said, very slow
in a voice deep and low
"Are you running away from your mother ?!"
"Oh no !" said the bear, trying hard not to stare,
"I
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I've always been interested in the 1st world
war, here is my poem.
A WISH BEFORE DAWN
As the stream becomes a river
As the river joins the sea
So my love for you grows stronger
As I think each day of thee.
As the winter follows autumn
As the days change constantly
So I long to hear your voice
And hold your body close to me.
As the moon shines in the darkness
Lighting up the skies above
So your love is like a beacon
Lighting up my life my love
Tough around me men are dying
No one knows what lies ahead
Remember that I'll always love you
Even though I may be dead.
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My passion is mountains, so here is one about Himalayan starvation:
Of Himalayan Starvation
I'll never forgetti the moment:
the Yeti strode into view
with a 'vuncular chuckle,
roaming the snow slopes, slow,
with spaghetti drooling bizarrely,
his squashy swashbuckle redolent yet
of a bistro Svengali famed for
a Michelin-starred tamale restaurant
(housed in an ancient,
obscure,
Pompeiian winehouse,
named "Nonsequitur".)
I get out my camping spoon,
"feed me"-gesturing
towar' his dribbling soup de jour...
The ibex trots past like tumbleweed
(as first cliched by troubadour
on empty moor.)
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My passion is my family,
for what do we grow old?
to see them all developing,
As their lives unfold.
A miracle before us,
they form, once young now old.
But life is not a dream,
no wonder to behold.
As age brings with it problems,
of which we have no hold.
Emotional, financial, physical and sin...
too many to even think of,
when their lives begin.
So what do we all strive for,
is my passion just a waste?
as age before us stretches,
moving closer at a pace.
Before we even feel, the joy of life,
death it draws us closer,
till all we have are empty dreams,
never did we fully nurture.
Mistakes.......too late for amends,
my old body, like someone elses,
decays, it creaks it bends.
It is no more, the flame goes out,
my passion spent ,
with no doubt.
The memory to fade and die,
as anothers passion
awakes to fly.
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And here is one more:
Bocca di Laparu
Some fifteen hundred metres
above the dogfish-spotted seas,
I plunge off the Usciolu ridge
back into the leafy ocean –
enchanted, where birds swim
in a mist of cool humidity, of peace;
then, descend through mulchy
slabs of fern, mosquito marsh,
roads of dust and mud,
into the villages of rusty cars
and marble mansions, of oak-like
men splitting evening wood.
This is the heart of Corsica,
which beats with French passion,
with Italian tenacity; which pumps
the Mediterranean through all
the sinews of its rooty trees, through
the muscles of its mountains,
while its skin of maquis moults in the breeze,
releasing a wild, marjoram dust.
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DREAM STALLION.
Your eyes glow with pride,
Your auburn mane flows down your back like a sea of amber,
You toss your majestic head with arrogance,
Your voice is soft yet deep and cajoling,
So I go with you over the plains of indiference,
The wind tearing through my hair,
My cares and worries left behind,
My brain is filled with the zest of life,
My hopes and dreams unfulfilled,
But with you my dream stallion,
When we travel to the land of possibilities,
Together we can say goodbye to past pain,
Together we can smile afresh with the rising sun,
And begin our lives again,
With a positive flow of energy,
And the renewed will to live.
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SHIFTER
My bedroom window races over the faces of the clouds pushed along by a march wind
I am riding my window across the sky
A paperweight over a frozen lake
The Sun rides with me
My profile moves across the bed
The water's edge of a pool of light
Who am I to say
What moves?
What stays?
Who am I?
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The Dream
I want to be a sportsman
I want too play for England
I want too be better than the rest
I want too drink with George Best
The impossible dream
I want a girl in every town
I want to feel up not down
I want to be set free
I want you to come to me
The impossible dream
I want to be a millionaire
I want someone to help me share
I want to run a 4 minute mile
I want to relax for a while
The impossible dream
I want to go travelling
I want too see the Northern lights
I want too see all the worlds sights
I want an end to the lonely nights
The impossible dream?.
I want my words to be read
I want you to understand what I’ve said
I want my words to be published
I want to achieve all I’ve wished
The possible dream
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The chestnut me.
When I was young and did not precieve,
when I was small and I believed,
that the world was good and fair,
I had a mighty horse a chestnut with shimmering mane and a tail like the lockes of a beautiful maid.
He galloped with me wherever I went,by the side of bus and train.
He would leap the bridges and fored the rivers
hide behind hills and appear again,
frolick in snow and play with the rain.
There was nothing too high or wide or deep
for my mighty chestnut friend.
Now I have grown and I see the world with understanding eyes
my dreams,my hopes,my chestnut me,
are restrained in a prison of reality.
my horse is far behind me he cannot keep the pace,
bridges too high,rivers too deep,
but over and over again the
journey he begins,
ever hopeful of going further with every gallient leap.
Written on a bus journey by Solange Wilson.
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The Old Hunter
He leaned on the fence with a thoughtful stare,
In his golden coat and long blond hair.
His mind looking back at the scenes of his past,
When his body was young and his paces fast.
As he rested one leg and swished his tail,
One ear cocked for the sound of his pail.
He remembered the hunt on a cold winter's day,
The baying of hounds as they entered the fray.
And then, as he looked out over the land,
He saw her coming, bucket in hand.
A friendly pat, gentle scratch near his ears,
He had no regrets for the passing of years.
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My passion is to survive life and not give up so my poem dream stallion is about this.
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Goodbye to a son not knowing when I'll see him again
I turn, you're there,
A wave, a smile,
Goodbye.
I go,
I know I have to,
but dont know when or where.
My third son James,
so grown, so far away,
I shed a tear as up I go
into the blue toward the sun,
and if I could I'd turn
and run
right back.
A thousand miles,
over the cold and snow,
I cry,
But why?
I have a home, a dog, a man.
I know I can
return,
and will.
But its so far, so long,
and you're so dear my lovely son
and I'm so sad to go
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Written In the stars
Is our future already written?
I’m going to the author
To have it re-written
Is it already in a book
I suggest we take another look.
Falling in and out of bars
Its ok, it’s written in the stars
Is there a God with our lives in his hands?
Can’t he review his plans?
A different girl in all my bars
It’s ok, it’s written in the stars
Was I meant to be the best man?
As a part of your life plan.
Beautiful girls and flash cars
But it’s ok, it’s written in the stars
Are we not supposed
To achieve what we dream?
As a part of a grand scheme.
Falling in and out of bars
Its ok, it’s written in the stars
Shall we just laugh at the grand scheme?
And think up a new dream
So I look up and see her face
I can see fate
I just hope I’m not too late
Falling in and out of bars
It’s ok, it’s written in the stars
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Solitude
I crave the solitude of the night,
Wherein all things unravel at my gaze,
And thoughts come keenly in the dark,
Of winter nights and summer days.
Where once you held my hand and smiled,
In meadows warm and thick with scent.
And we knew loving till it died,
Then felt the solace of passion spent.
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Winter.
I knew Winter had already come,
furrowing your face and frosting your eyes
to an ashen grey.
Yet, dazzling horizons echoed
in those last drowsy days,
stifling the heart and evoking words
to fill the world's recesses.
And in these hours you left
memories blue and yellow,
sketching that silence where
fog could not besiege the heart,
nor sun dispel a season in which
roses bloomed red on the frail slopes
of dusk. Your heart defeated,
the evening ravaged your blood
in the persistent tide which
distils its gift to soothe all pain.
All that night I raged at your leaving,
then released you to oblivion,
saw a gentle dawn around your hair,
and you, beyond the tricks of time.
John Sugden.
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The One Show
The One! The One!
My Kingdom for the One
But please don’t send me Adrian
Or a shirt, made in West Brom.
You can send me lovely Christine
The bonny Irish lass
I’m sure that she could care for me
when they put me out to grass.
I’ll even take young Tuffers
With his spinners wily guile
and his rakish personality
Is sure to make me smile
But I draw the line at Dom
The one called Little Wood
For I know he will just say to me
Your poem?
No bloody good!
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TINYCUSS
A nebulanaynianttinycuss
Was sitting waiting for a bus
Along came a fong with a vizz on his jong
Poor nebulanaynianttinycuss!
At first he was zizzed by the frizzle
And then he got clugged on the mizzle
That terrible fong picked him up by the scrong
And threw him a mile through the drizzle
He landed in goo from a crog that he knew
And was green from his slig to his gribble
He wiped himself down with a scrat from a plown
Then set off for town on a fribble
But when he got there the bus spot was gare
As the bus had gone backwards to Triddle
Undaunted our friend sought a happier end
To his scrut with the fong in the drizzle
So he danced in the street till his nood was complete
For resetting his dotch a full bliddle
And in lest half a nile he was corood in fyle
By a bus that was well-doaked in Kibbal!
Oh! Happy, Happy Tinycuss!
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THE MIDNIGHT GARDEN
The night was warm and humid
And in spite of the midnight hour
I walked out into the garden
And sat under the rosy bower.
The breath of the flowers was heady
The night scented stock so sweet.
The air was still and peaceful
Damp grass beneath my feet.
The moon cast a silvery shadow
On the glistening dewy lawn
With such beauty all around me
A feint new hope was born.
A hope for a new tomorrow
When peace and love would reign
No wars, no strife, no suffering
And relief from endless pain.
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this is ARRY. i HIT A WRONG KEY SO HAD TO SEND IT AGAIN !!!!!
ARRY
Arry the aligator sat all alone
in a great big pool of mud !
when quite by chance
while enjoying a dance
with a blue cockatoo
wearing black leather shoes
a Koala bear fell out of the air
and landed on Arry Ker-thud !!
Now as Aligators go Arry was quite slow
and he opened one eye
and he said
"I'm glad you dropped in
but I've run out of Gin,
would you care for some fruitcake instead"
The Koala blinked
but Arry just winked
first with one eye
and the with the other,
and he said very slow
in a voice deep and low
"Are you running away from your mother?"
"Oh no!" said the bear ,
trying hard not to stare
"I was dancing you see,
just up there in that tree
with a blue cockatoo
that wears black leather shoes,"
then along came a breeze
and took hold of my knees
and I fell off the branch
half way through the dance !
and ended up sitting on you !"
"A blue cockatoo !
that wears black leather shoes !"
Arry said with a look of dismay,
"Yes here she comes now"
the koala said,
Arry looked up
and over his head
a blue bird flew
wearing black leather shoes
"Goodbye!" said the bear
and he took the air !
Arry quite vexed said
"Whatever next "!
and he slept for the rest of the day !!
David Minty
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poetry comp;
Scottish Fayre;
Bagpipes a skirlin'
Kilts a whirlin'
Sporrans swinging, Gaelic voices singing
Highland games watched by Royalty
How much longer Scottish loyalty
"See you Jimmy" hats
That's enough about that!
Haggis bashed,
Tatties and neeps mashed
Scottish Fayre, beef and whisky
Lamb on plates ---not so frisky
Hill walking, deer stalking
Blooming heather, forget the weather
Munroes to climb--make the time
Football barmy-- the Tartan Army
1513 disater at Flodden
1746 bloody Culloden
Beaten in battle , but never bowed
The Scottish spirit will always stand proud.
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My passion is my grandson. I wrote this the day he was born. I had just left the hospital.
First Sleep
Asleep in the crook of my elbow,
I stared at your perfect face,
Not daring to blink.
I didn't want to miss a thing.
You slept, suspended in time
And space, radiating peace.
A blank slate not yet written on,
Yet holding threads of wisdom
Stretching back to a time
Before time was measured,
On the cusp of past and future
Not yet touched by life,
Only two hours old. You slept on,
And still I dared not blink,
Lest I should break the spell.
I held you in the crook of my elbow
And stared at perfection.
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poetry comp.
Life;
Is this Life a reality or just an illusion
Have I created a dreamlike state in my confusion
Living moments of doubt, anger and pain
Have we lived before?Will we live again?
The shadows of human suffering are all around
We cannot to the Past be bound
Nor should we the Future fear
Just live in the Present, each day of every year
I like to think that truly nothing dies
Beneath these, our earthly skies
We change form , and live on, in another dimension
But whilst here on Earth
Peace , wisdom and Love
Should be given our fullest attention.
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1960's Apprenticeships
Summer holiday camping trips and cycle rides to gravel pits,
on makeshift bikes with missing bits, broken chains and tyre slicks,
bringing us of on cobbled strips,
The River Dove and skinny dips, climbing trees and comradeships,
strawberry fields stained our lips, sleepless nights in a tent that drips
and freezing hands and fingertips,
Cold Heinz beans and endless quips, cuts and bruises and broken zips,
catapults and home made whips, scaling Black Rocks with no slips
and old lead mines and panic fits,
Anchor Church, one up manships and homeward bound companionships,
with few mishaps apart from rips, we’ll be home before our mother flips,
at the end of our apprenticeships.
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A Pre-Election Carousel
Is this your first time in Fairyland?
Says the man with wide eyes
Who stands fatuously smiling
In the H.Q. doorway sun.
Your membership’s paid-up? - Well done!
To be good in here, you’ve got to be
A limbo dancer!
Oh! – And something of an Artful Dodger,
Because there’s quite a chance
You’ll be lobbied by off-message codgers!
Now in this land of make-believe,
We’re ALL spellbound
By MY clairvoyant visions, AND my sound!
Is that not so? Says he, in an aside,
And two hundred minions swell with pride.
He sees through glinting eyes in rosy mists
Another number added to his Addicts List
And passing on: holds out his hand –
Hello! – Welcome to Fairyland!
Is this your first time?
Now a shudder passes down my spine
As memories of war-time childhood
Come swirling round,
With visions of flags and soldiers,
When boots on concrete were the sounds.
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Snails
Their one simple aim, to reach the summit
Of a tree, or a fence or a pot
They’ll climb up for hours, then balance
Perched precariously, right at the top
They munch their way onward and upward
The sky is the limit, or so they think
A silvery trail sparkles behind them
Then they’re flicked to the ground with a ‘plink’
Undeterred, they start at the base again
Slimy suction their tool of ascent
Pre-destined and programmed for climbing
To conquer the peak their intent
This time their trek up is much slower
Nibbling anything they find in their way
Pointlessly pressing-on, regardless
Unaware of this their last day
Soon they weaken and just can’t continue
Too late they realise their greed
Intent on devouring every morsel
The slug pellets were the snails’ last feed
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Smoke?
Child to teen
Fag to mouth
Day to day
Tar to lungs
Ash to tray
Month to month
Year to year
Hard to stop
Dimp to dimp
Bloke to bloke
Wimp to wimp
Eye to eye
Breath to breath
Cough to cough
Lungs to froth
Want to live
Soon to die
Want to cry
Life to death
Ash to ash
Dust to dust
Wine to glass
Toast to Ghost.
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poetry comp.
The Silver Birch;
Swaying, tall and elegant is the Silver Birch
As a gentle breeze through her canopy flirts
Graceful, yet stately in her silver gown
Wearing delicate leaves of green for her crown.
Leafy boughs extended to the sky
Proclaiming her majesty to you and I
Shady woodland plants sheltering at her feet
No wood without a Silver Birch would be complete.
Towering over us, soaking up the summer sun
Gathering that goodness until her time is run
And then all too soon the breeze is stronger
Now those once green leaves across my garden wander
Against all winters storms she will withstand
Bare, apart from her silver gown, as Nature planned
She knows that soon enough it will be Spring
and her beauty to our lives once more will bring.
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thingy - love, life, death.
She's with him now, no thoughts of you
She's with him now, there's nothing you can do
As a child did you guard so that favourite toy
Possessions only goal is your soul to destroy
Transient is a human beings heart
It may travel with another until life or death part
Let go of possession, understand your emotion
Or suffer a mind filled with shock and commotion
To be touched by another human soul in this life is a gift from nature, an like all natures gifts is temporary, to be enjoyed while you can. Don't cry when they're gone, they don't want your tears, say thank you instead, thank you for the times you made me smile, thank you for the sweet things you did for me, thank you for all that you've done that now cause me sorrow for their absence in my life.
Be happy for the one you love when they're gone forever. Be thankful that they touched your soul, and if you're unable to let them go, they won't be able to go in peace. - that's what i reckon anyway.
s
x x x
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AWKWARD LANDINGS
Sparrow, sparrow
You are very narrow,
Not like a fridge
Or a big brick bridge.
But they can't land
As you are able
With such grace
On your bird table.
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thingy - canine teeth.
I had a big thick steak for my tea
And you know, it awoke something primeval in me.
I had it with grown up chunky chips designed especially to have with steak, chips for consenting adults they were.
As I sat there devouring my medium rare slab of animal, Winnie, the cat sat looking at me, as our eyes met and she licked her lips with envy, we both felt a deep carnivorous connection. She blinked slowly and I did the same and we both knew full well what was happening here as I decadently consumed my huge chunk of nuther living creature.
In between mouthfuls of chip, cow and broccoli I drew generously from a large glass of rich, plummy Shiraz with wood undertones and it made me think of blood. And as the alcohol entered my bloodstream I welcomed the warm rosy glow it provided and felt like an all powerful, dominant species, easilly able to bury my face into a carcass and gorge with the rest of the frenzied beasts.
If god exists he will be sending me straight to hell when I die, if mother nature exists she would be so proud of me for dominating the food chain.
Although I got my steak from the butcher, if I had to kill the beast myself I could and would do.
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I REMEMBER GAUGUIN
I remember Guaguin
And how he used to paint for me
I remember Guaguin
Down by the Azure sea.
We both had puppy dogs
One named Jeremy,
The other one Lucy
With a wobbly knee.
Oh yes, I remember Gauguin.
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Why are all these poems more than 20 lines long???
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Bonsai Dog
To train a little bonsai dog
Trim all his toenails every week
And cut his lovely fur quite short
To keep him really small and neat.
Make his special food and water
Twice daily in good measure
Then your bonsai dog will give
Many barking years of pleasure!
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Pastries of the gods.
Current mood: hungry
Oh my, he's a craftsman that baker in the old bakery, indeed a true artist he is.
And who do you think he makes all the pies for?
Why me of course, and his pies are to die for.
Ahh the old bakery in Bretherton,
If one of his pies was a snooker commentator it would sound like Clive Everton (all rich and velvety. . and a bit flaky)
And you know something else?
I long for it to be the Bakers wife who makes me my sandwich
For she's susceptible to a little charm and some flowery language
She appears quite stern, but in my hands she's putty
And consequently . . . She'll make me one HELL of a butty.
Dude, I can't even mention the cakes
Just one little glance, that's all that it takes.
What puzzles me though as I gorge till I groan
I'm six foot two but still weigh well under eleven stone.
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Emma’s cat Indy + sboy = TLA
Oh Emma, will you ask Indy the cat what he's doing on Friday evening, I can feel myself on the turn for him.
Ever since we met you see, all I've done is yearn for him.
If the weather turns out to be kind next Friday night.
I thought we might go for a leafy walk beneath the speckled sunset light.
If the weather turns out to be not so fair.
Well, we may get caught in the rain but we really wouldn't care.
We'd seek shelter in a quaint country pub, and he would look so cute, his fur all wet and slightly bedraggled (I'm writing from the heart here and don't care that I can't rhyme the word bedraggled.)
And we'd laugh together and share intimate body language over a delicious and slightly rustic chef's special fish supper.
And afterwards . . . we'd go back to mine for a cuppa.
Oh but then, the moment would come, and the moment would linger.
Until I asked him to perform for me, a warm and sand papery lick of my finger.
so please emms, please put in a word for me with Indy, if you don't I'll simply die.
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THE DREADFUL CASE OF THE WRONG COAT.
Petticoat, petticoat
You are NOT
A heavy coat.
So please
Don't hang around me
This wintertime.
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Thingy - Window shaped spotlight.
I really love the way the sun shines in through my window in the morning
I like to lift up my face to greet it, open up my arms, spread wide my legs, gape my mouth, flair my nostrils, peel my eyes and let the light flood into (almost) every opening.
I love the warmth on my chest
I like to feel the vitamin D being made in my epidermis.
I can roll around under my window shaped spotlight in complete Ultraviolet ecstasy, soaking up all of that delicious, golden, crunchy nut goodness that make all living things go kaBOOM! Come on the sunshine, drench me, drench me like there's no tomorrow.
And then, like a good quality lithium-ion camera battery costing around £39.95, I'm fully charged and ready to burn brightly through the inevitable cloudy days that lurk around the corner. Those days hold no worry for me, now that I've basked mightily under my glorious window shaped spotlight.
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Poem - A question of when. (a completely over the top drama)
I shall leave him in the springtime, when explosions of soft vivid blossom may cushion his tumbling soul and the scent laden breeze may just enter his respiratory system, be absorbed by the alveoli in his lungs, enter his bloodstream and bring back life, and a steady optimistic beat to his limp, shot peppered heart.
I shall leave him in the springtime, when the sight of swallows flirting in the morning sunshine may just delight, and remind him that passionate, pure and playful connections are being made all over this planet and that one day the planet will scoop him up and throw a warm blanket of hush around the howling of his grief stricken belly.
I shall leave him in the springtime, so that he may lie enveloped in a vast carpeted woodland under a kind sky, and thinkings of happy this and happy that, could dance a tentative, spidery dance of hope across his confused and pain boggled mind.
I shall let the springtime look after my poor boy, so that she may lead him gently to a better place, where he need not be my boy anymore.
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This comment was removed because the moderators found it broke the House Rules.
poem - drink
I drink to forget
I drink to remember
I drink from October right through to September
Drink made from apple
Drink made from grain, or grape or hops or sweet sugarcane
Drink makes me sad
Drink makes me laugh
Drink when I'm cooking
Drink in the bath
Oh sorry my liver and the cells in my brain
Apologies to the man at the end of our lane
For he has in his garden, a failing shrub
It's the one that I piss on coming back from the pub.
I drink and I drink and my confidence grows
It gives me the good stuff I need when I'm out
The drawback of course is a big red nose
Yellowing eyes and a bad case of gout
Gout, gout, let it all out, these are the things I can do without, so come on, I'm talkin to you, so come on.
cheers,
sboy x
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THE BARBECUE STAKES
The last glimmer of red light
Fades from the charcoal barbecue.
Once more, reality failed
To match expectation:
We are over-full of dried
Burned meat
And they forgot the sauce.
It is totally dark as we sit
Under the umbrella
Around the table
In the garden,
Making conversation and
Fighting-off the midges.
We wonder why we do it.
When it’s over
We will say how much
We enjoyed it.
We will remark on the cold night
And say it didn’t matter
About the wasp:
It’s all protein anyway!
On the way home
We will think ahead
To a week on Friday night
When they are all back,
Subject to fine weather,
For a return match at ours
And we’ll pray for rain!
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Night of the Rabbits
Darkness
Soot-satin black
Moonless
Starless
Night
Hopeless
Madness
And rabbits on the porch
Big rabbits
Vicious, snarling
Obscene, terrifying
Killer rabbits
Black and invisible
In the night
I scream
But nobody comes
No one has survived.
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poetry comp. Quite pertinent in the environmental debate!!
The Rainforest;
Like a tongue of green I lick this land
To help our world, trying to work hand in hand
Whilst you admire my awesome beauty from points on high
Listen to the wind, swaying my canopy,can you not hear my sigh?
Why do you destroy our links to the past
Walk through my cool underbelly, know that I should outlast
This destructive hunger that you men need
Please, preserve my body , against mans voracious greed.
For Millennia around our world, without harm I stood
Protecting, nurturing you my family, for our own good
I teem with life that flies, creatures that climb and those that crawl
Sustaining my family with shelter and food
Safe in my leafy arms, I covet them all
But for the last century dear brother, I have known the greatest fear
My limbs are felled, like baby teeth, overnight I disappear
My land that you have "tamed" is ravaged, scarred with channels of red
Traces across the land, where my tears fell and my heart sorely bled.
Gone forever will be my head, shrouded with mornings misty veils
But images on paper, which I supply , ironically will tell the tale
Take heed and listen well, for I have no need to lie
I, am the Mighty Rainforest, lungs of this world
Without me, we all die.
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Patterned Shards
Field furrows guide my eye
To swirling grey horizons
Where storm-cloud skies,
Shear multi-bulbous nodes
And loose their leaden loads
Through broken rainbows.
Close-by, weak sunlight shafts to earth
Scattered in a thousand sparks
From shards of pot up-thrown
By ploughshares from the dark.
Fragmented evidence of unrecorded lives
Subsumed by time
Did they share with me this scene
And wonder for a thousand years
Whose pottery fragments gleam?
Did they ask as I, what souls have lived
Their span below this sky
And in the future, will they ask did I?
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pain in the head
I'm sorry.
Here comes the dread.
Here comes the clenching vacuum head.
Here come my cries.
Here come my helpless stricken eyes.
His takes me, torture, spits and scowls.
Contorts and twists, extracts my howls.
His takes me, writhing, sweat and wretch.
His goading will, my death to fetch.
Vertebrate shocked, so rigid his hold.
His burning my neurons while skin pale and cold.
His laying catastrophe, merciless, blunt.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but why me you unt?
My skull and sockets, I must grasp and claw.
Massage and poke and prod and paw.
My fingers to penetrate, get hold of his pain.
And tear him from my intolerable brain.
His keeps me for hour and hour and hour.
To defy his will punish, and shaking and cower.
And slowly, so slowly his pressure release.
And grants me an ebbing and tearful relief.
Now I must sleep and sleep and sleep.
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My Past Stares Out
My past stares out
From the newsprint.
A diminutive eight-year old
Biting his lip and standing
On tip-toe to look
As big as the others
I see the headline:
“Can you put the names
To this school picture?
This is the class of ’47.”
There’s Graham grinning
With a mouse in his cap
There’s busy Ben
Who’s now a millionaire
And daft Danny
The tree explorer
Who fell on his head
Climbing for conkers
There’s Lawrence
Of Acacia Avenue:
Best at throwing cards
And smoking Camels
From the food parcel
With the bad eggs
And weirdo Wilf
Dark haired, devilish
And dangerous
With his sharp sticks.
The serial killer
Of bird nestlings
There’s beautiful Bekula
Six inches taller
Half-Indian -
Olive-skinned Bekula,
Mysterious
And exciting
And biased Mr Bellis
“Like a house on fire!”
My teacher: my tormentor.
He kept me late
For banging doors
I didn’t bang.
Oh yes!
I can put a name
To Mr Bellis.
He told my Dad
I would never be good
At anything!
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MY GOODNESS HOW YOU HAVE CHANGED
My goodness how you’ve changed,
Just look at your bonce It's bald now where once,
It was covered in curls which delighted the girls.
My goodness how you’ve changed.
My goodness how you’ve changed,
Just look at your chin, it used to be thin,
Now there are three that are puzzling me.
My goodness how you’ve changed.
My goodness how you’ve changed,
It’s not like before, now you just snore.
Then you went to the gym, where you tried to be thin.
My goodness how you’ve changed,
My goodness how you’ve changed,
Yet I see you the same, not what you became,
All through the years, with the laughter and tears.
My goodness how we’ve changed,
Written when my husband who has had two strokes and fractured his hip was down in the dumps. I thought it wiouldmake him laugh and it did.
just madge
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thingy - love, life, death.
She's with him now, no thoughts of you
She's with him now, there's nothing you can do
As a child did you guard so that favourite toy
Possessions only goal is your soul to destroy
Transient is a human beings heart
It may travel with another until life or death part
Let go of possession, understand your emotion
Or suffer a mind filled with shock and commotion
To be touched by another human soul in this life is a gift from nature, an like all natures gifts is temporary, to be enjoyed while you can. Don't cry when they're gone, they don't want your tears, say thank you instead, thank you for the times you made me smile, thank you for the sweet things you did for me, thank you for all that you've done that now cause me sorrow for their absence in my life.
Be happy for the one you love when they're gone forever. Be thankful that they touched your soul, and if you're unable to let them go, they won't be able to go in peace. - that's what i reckon anyway.
sboy
x x x
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A Poem in the style of Korean Sijo
Two Fingers
These two fingers, twice broken, scarred, repaired,
are wrinkled now by time.
These two fingers share my memories,
my loves, and my tears.
Still active, they process these words:
touch sensitive, sensational!
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SNAILS
Slanting sunset shadows see
Snails, snails, snails,
Searching, sliding, slimily,
Seeking succulent snacks.
Savouring salvias, sprouts,
Sometimes saplings, secretly.
Snails, snails, snails,
Silently selecting stems.
Stealthily scissoring stalks;
Skilfully sucking sap.
Serene, shadowy snails,
Simply superb survivors:
Seriously scary!
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HATS I HAVE WORN
A baby, a toddler, a daughter, it began
A student, a schoolgirl, a dancer and then,
A singer, a worker, a sister, a friend,
A girlfriend, a scorer, a wife, I attend.
A gardener, a mechanic, a painter of walls,
A cleaner of gutters, I comfort the falls.
A driver, an actress, a grower of food,
A help to the doctor, I mop up the blood.
A walker of dogs, a maker of cake,
A plumber, electrician, domestic engineer,
Washerwoman, cleaner, a brewer of beer,
A scraper of paintwork, a jumper to make.
A carpenter, joiner, a knocker of nails,
A craftwork designer, and empty the pails.
A grandmother, a carer, and tend to the ill,
The jobs are non ending, there are yet more still.
One of my passions is poetry and this came to me when I was in the middle of a particularly fiddly job and the screws didn't want to behave.
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poetry comp.
Pensioners outlook;
Single Mums with their prams, strolling by
Stuffing a dummy in babys mouth if it utters a cry
I shake my head, these girls seem so proud of it all
This I observe from my seat in the Mall.
Young men meet up and gather around
Tattoos, piercings and designer clothes abound
They do not care they have no job
Better off on benefits, the culture of the yob.
Nowadays, youngsters all seem to holiday abroad
At their age I could never afford
Travelling to foreign climes
To bring back pseudo Rolexs and Calvin Kleins.
I try to keep the years at bay
Exercise and healthy eating might extend my life they say
From "cradle to grave" I heard Governments preach
But luxuries for pensioners today, seem out of reach.
This modern techno.world
Has become alien to me
I never thought that I would see
The day I felt old- fashioned at sixty three!
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THE MODERN WOMAN
The modern woman puts on wigs,
Fake eyelashes and fingernails,
And downs the wine at nightclub gigs
Assorted make-up, blushes, creams,
Botox, to confuse the males
And padded brassieres fill her dreams
She saves for implants when she can
And then complains when cheating fails:
I cannot find a REAL MAN !
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Poem - purity and filth.
All the filthy poems that I write I keep locked away in a tinbox.
I should liberate one and send it to you to sully your delicate inbox.
Shocked you'd be at first my love, then partly a little excited.
You'd read it again, and that would be when, the fire in your belly ignited.
But the guilt would come tugging and prodding and pulling, and for me, contempt and disgust.
But your belly can't fight it, you'd have to re-light it, or not, i don't care, I'm not fussed.
Here are some questions I get asked most frequently about filthy poems:-
Do you really keep filthy poems in a tinbox? - No
Did you need something to rhyme with inbox? - Yes
Was it a toss up between fussed and lust? - Er, yes
Which detergent to you recommend for getting my dirty poems clean? - Persil
Are your whites whiter than white? - Yes
And your greens? - Greener than green.
Purples? - I don't write purple poems.
sboy
x x x
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Poem - Messages in pink.
It's time to boot up and awaken your screen
like waiting to see if Santa has been
Hit return on your password, waiting to load
A spin of the mouse wheel, let the magic unfold
"New message" it says, written in red
Thoughts of a special one race through your head
Pulse starts to bubble, surely not love
Messages, oh messages they're like gifts from above.
Glee, oh glee, oh glee of all glee.
It's the profile picture you wanted to see
Oh my, face is a little pink, gosh, phew
They sat down and wrote something specially for you.- and it feels good doesn't it?
I can't think of any more verses for this.
Some people will think that I'm taking the (mickey)
But i ain't coz i wrote this poem months ago, just thought it would be a nice time to dig it out and get it said.
And if you can't relate to this on at least some small level, or at some point in time ever, check your pulse coz you either ain't human or you're dead.
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This comment was removed because the moderators found it broke the House Rules.
LAUDAMUS
Slimyskinamus
Pokytoothamus
Littlelegamus
Outsizebodymus
Smellybottomus
Hippopotamus!
S
P
L
O
S
H
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Poetry comp;
Treading softly.
Following in your footsteps, I softly tread
But as usual, you are one step ahead
Just ahead, but out of sight
I will catch up when the Time is right
Throughout our lives you always led
Striding out, purposefully ahead
confident and sure, there was no fear
Unaware that God had a different plan for you that year
In Gods plan, everything happens as it should
No matter if we are bad or good
In His plan for you--we have been parted-- that is true
Now, once again,you are just ahead and out of sight
But I will catch up , when the Time is right.
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TWO-DRIN STAR
I wuz born under a two-drin star
I wuz born under a two-drin star
It’s better than a one-drin
Not quite as good as a three
But I guess a two-drin star
Is more’n good enough fer me!
I wuz born under a two-drin star
I wus born under a two-drin star
It’s far more’n I expected
I’d rather’ve ’ad a three
But I guess a little two-drin
Is good enough fer me!
I wuz born under a two-drin star
I wuz born under a two-drin star
It’s made me rather happy
Not nearly as good as a three (would’ve)
But it could’ve bin a zero
An two’s good enough fer me!
I wuz born under a two-drin star!
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MOTHERS TREASURE
for Rebecca
I’m sure that if I root around the missing object will be found.
A dozen other things I see, the quantity amazes me.
Lipstick, makeup, brush and comb, I know it wasn’t left at home.
A chocolate bar, that looks nice, it’s lucky that we don’t have mice.
A leaky pen a dirty fag the bottom of my mothers bag.
Somewhere somehow we will find, the object that is on my mind,
Let’s stop and have a cup of tea, we’re never going to find that key.
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FEED ME DO
With quivering wings and open beak “Feed me.” The little bird cried
All alone in an expanse of green, the young bird looked each side.
“Where is my Mother my sisters too, they left me here alone”.
“Oh feed me, feed me, feed me do” “And then we can go home.”
Little sparrow, small and round waiting patiently to be fed,
Here comes Mother, sisters two, with worms from the garden bed.
The big wide world is wild alright, there’s no denying that,
“Oh do go away till I’ve been fed, you horrid ginger cat.”
There’s one for you and two for me, I’ve waited long to be fed,
The sparrows waited for their Mum, to take them home to bed.
Wings quivered no more, beaks closed in sleep. Snuggled in the nest,
Mum and chicks with feathers fluffed, serenely all at rest.
Seen every day in the garden
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myspace.com/sboyuk
Have a read of my blog today
You won't be offended in any way at all
Except if you're stuck up with a mind that is small.
sboy
x x x
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A Day at Home
Home, a very special place, a place where you can set the pace.
No rushing round to get things done, instead we should make each day fun.
Our garden gives us so much joy, a grown-ups very special toy,
to just relax and read a book, we’re out to lunch no need to cook.
And then the children pay a call, not just one but one and all,
lets play this game please, may I draw, grandma please sit on the floor.
I need your help to get this right, “now children there’s no need to fight”.
They’re going home, alone at last, I ponder then upon the past.
When they were children just the same, we even played the same old game,
the scrabble board in now antique and still the words are quite unique.
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ROSES ARE RED, VIOLETS BLUE, SUGAR IS SWEET,MEMORIES TOO.
We all remember happy times as children chanting skipping rhymes,
the summer days were always hot, but logic tells me they were not.
No computers no TV., but outdoor games we joined with glee.
At Whitsuntide we wore new togs, I don’t remember wearing clogs, but others tell a tale or two of how they had to mend and do.
I used to think that we were poor but we had carpets on the floor, and every weekend mum would bake, some scones, some buns or just a cake.
These golden days are in the past, so we must make the memories last.
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DREAMS AND HOPES
Wish and hope and wonder
To make your dreams come true
They are never far away
If you can let your thoughts drift through
Your dreams can all me there for you.
If only you can see
A thought a wish and prayer
Can make a difference you see.
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NOBNUB NONSENSE
When I die please bury me
Under the shade of the nobnub tree
Where often times my friend squirrel and I
Would sit and talk of days gone by
When he would climb in the courts of kings
And I would walk and try many other things
In pointed cap I would describe the scenes
And drink from cups owned by un-named queens
Failing this please scatter my bones
Amidst warriors cries and princes thrones
Between a spear of ash and a sword of air
To know that I wearied of this despair
To the sound of whistle, pipe and drum
Let all who knew me quietly come
To pick at stories and whiten lies
And watch the day as the sunset dies.
Or lay me to rest between day and night
Find me a place between wrong and right
Buried by the light of a daytime moon
Near a place where maidens swoon
Where sea and beach never meet.
I have gone on winged angels’ feet
Never more to laugh by your side
A shame, an innocence that I had to hide.
copyrights apply 2008.
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Skin is a wonderful thing
Of that there is no doubt
For our wonderful skin
Although its quite thin
stops our insides from falling out
Its extremely tough and waterproof
And heals itself when grazed
So when I think of skin
this thing I'm living in
I simply am amazed
It covers me all over
From my toes up to my head
And stays with me
Throughout my life
Even when I'm in bed
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We Think We Own the Earth
[By Sue Greenwood]
We think we own the earth. It never belonged to us.
We claim it, we buy it, we dig in it and we sell it.
Who profits from it’s natural wealth?
Can anyone replenish it, manufacture it or mend it
when we have used it up? Who mends things?
We think we own the snow-capped mountains, the oceans, the vast barren spaces of the deserts and the few remaining jungles. See the breadth of our human tracks.
We think we own the earth.
Who decides goes where? Who decides who gets what?
Greed feeding itself on hunger.
We think we own the earth. It never belonged to us. A loan. Can anyone pay it back?
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Its hard to stand by and watch someone in pain
Standing there, helpless, and wishing in vain
That you could take on the suffering despair
That your loved one is bearing and you cant fully share
Its hard to see the flesh of your flesh
Detached: in the bowels of grief and distress
When the grief that they feel cuts so deep, like a knife
That your comforting words bring no comfort or life
Its hard to stand by, just to be there, a token
Not able to act, with your heart really broken
You know you'll both soon pass on from this place
But its still hard to stand by, just be there, in case
Its hard to see tears that you'd rather weep
But to love is to sow, and to sow is to reap
"Let me bear this for you" comes my hearts strong cry
But the words are aborted, I've a lump, my throats dry
Deep inside I know this cups not mine to drink
But its no consolation whatever you think
And the pain quickly spreads as its ripples fan out
Enough is enough I want to cry out
God! dont you know what I'm going through?
You would do if this ever happened to you.
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Swordplay
En guard
In the deft grasp of a rival
words
can be
cutting
lethal
and sharp
Used as a weapon to injure
words
prick
stab
pierce
and harm
Manipulated adroitly
words
thrust
straight
into
the heart
Touché
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Take the following five random words and incorporate them into a piece of writing in any order: Springbok, Eagle, Paraphernalia, Volcano, Wellington Boots:
(I decided to split the syllables in the words above and do a poem as a Tribute to Lewis Carroll's 'Jabberwocky'. Can you spot them?!):
THE EAGLEBOK:
'Twas caustic, and the slimey slugs
Did writhe and wriggle in the boots:
All chumsey were the springsies
As they played their tinkling flutes.
'Beware the Eaglebok, my girl!
The beak that pecks, the talons that scratch!
Beware the Vulcan Birds that whirl,
O the paraphern with his match!'
She took her trusted dagger in hand:
And looked long days for the mingin' wretch -
So she rested by the Alia bush,
And pondered by her ketch.
And as in welling thought she leant,
The Eaglebok, with eyes of fire,
Came flittering through the dreams she dreamt
And landed by the mire!
Won-ton! Won-ton! And in and out
The Dagger's sharp went scritch-a-scratch!
She left it numb and, feeling glum,
She threw it over her back.
'And hast thou killed the Eaglebok?
Come to my breast, my curlish girl!
O joyous day, woohoo, wayhay'!
She giggled in her mirth.
'Twas caustic, and the slimey slugs
Did writhe and wriggle in the boots:
All chumsey were the springsies
As the played their tinkling flutes.
A poem by Nicky Cooper
(copyrights apply 2005)
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A Dartmoor Hunt.
The huntsman’s horn,
It wails and cries,
And the fox runs fast,
Under bright blue skies.
The hounds are plenty,
And the foxes few,
But the horses thunder,
Through the morning dew.
Now the fox he watches,
And he sits and he waits,
As the hounds jump frenzied,
Around the old farm gate.
The Buzzards circle,
On thermals high,
Now the clouds they are racing,
Across the moorland skies.
The fox lies low atop,
The dry stone wall,
He sees the huntsman,
And he sees him fall.
Beside the careless farmers,
Old and rusting plough,
The blood stained body
Lies crumpled now.
As the red coat rider,
Breathes his last,
The fox runs free,
And swift and fast.
While the hounds are lost,
Over distant tors,
And the hunters scattered,
Across the open moors.
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JAM ROLY POLY DAY
The recipe book is yellow with age
and it opens each time at the very same page.
There the memories lie, mid the splashes and spots
Of ingredients past – generations of blots!
My mind rushes back (put flour in the bowl)
And I think of those days (add suet in the hole)
When my sister and I would bike home from our school,
The rain in our faces, the wind biting cruel.
Mum’s jam roly poly would beckon us on,
All pain of the ride in a trice would be gone.
Our legs would be blue, our cheeks brightly red,
Our hands in wet gloves might well have been dead.
But, there at the table, once we’d settled inside,
Our dinner was waiting, oh, down it would glide
In anticipation of what next was to come –
Mum’s jam roly poly, oh yummy, yum, yum!
Out of the saucepan she lifts pud with a stick
(Roll out on floured board to about one inch thick,
Spread with home-made plum jam, rich red delight,
Then boil in a cloth that’s all snowy and white)
“This will stick to your ribs!” mother says with delight
As she serves up the pud, all steamy and light.
A dollop of cream from our friends on the farm
Then we’re quiet as church mice as we fall for its charm.
The ride back to school is taken more slowly, As we pedal along, full of jam roly poly.
It’s sitting quite nicely, attached to our ribs,
And we’re ready again to attack schoolwork with nibs!
Petajane Charman
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October Days
Shafts of sunlight,
Fall between the beech trees,
And illuminate the mushroom picker,
Who scuffs through a golden carpet,
Her eager basket overflowing,
With the seasons treats.
Tired summer leaves fall,
From outstretched limbs,
On natures breath they drift,
Covering deep the woodland floor,
A squirrel dances atop the dry stone wall,
Diving swiftly into an ocean of fiery cover,
In search of hazelnuts,
To line his winter larder.
In a lane bordered by sentinels,
Stand two school boys,
Playing the conquerors game,
Locked in mortal combat,
They slug it out,
Blow for thunderous blow,
Until broken, one falls to ground,
And a champion is crowned.
Hazy sunlight shrouds the distant moors,
The bright purple heather glows,
Painting hillsides full of color,
Where megaliths cast long shadows,
That point the way towards,
Winters pale horizon.
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Below the weir pool
In a peat coloured pool,
So deep and cool,
A thoughtful salmon lies in wait,
Considering carefully upon his fate,
Should he make the leap,
That he’s blind to see,
Into the deep green pool,
Where the river runs free.
Or just stay here,
And jump for flies,
In the strong hard current,
Where the best food lies.
With a thrust of his tail,
He makes that call,
And rushes forward,
To jump the falls.
Along the banks people cheer,
As the valiant silver flash appears,
In the air so full of grace,
He makes his entrance,
Then disappears without a trace.
Through large grey boulders,
The clear river runs,
With effortless style
So does he,
Up stream, up stream,
Now we are free.
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Gravitas and Gherkins
Give me an imperious Romanesque building
That looks down on me from austere portico-hooded eyes
that issue their Orders, any day of the week
Rather than a prefab glass ‘n’ steel gherkin
That I can look down on and laugh at
Where is the grandeur or permanence in that?
I want to take my buildings seriously
If of my times they’ll bear testimony
Well you can have too much “inclusivity”
Too much excuse for landscape blots
‘Disabled access’ is just part of the plot
To demolish all that went before
Leaving us history and heritage-poor
I want to aspire to architecture
Not have it bend down to design me in
I want to marvel at buildings
As I marvel at the stars
I want them to be -
God-like in their awe-inspiring ability
Grandiose echoes of vastness
Emphasising my littleness
Monuments to craftsmanship
Memorials to the went-before of humanship
What’s so bad about Classical mausolea
If they stop you taking life for granted,
Urge you on and up to meet their greatness?
So dwarf me, tower over me,
Keep me in my place
Dominate me, intimidate me
Spare a thought for poor posterity
We can modify you in sympathy
With 21st Century needs
Surely…?
Buildings of a splendour rivalling countryside
Sure beat the pants off a landscape backside
If greenbelts must be tightened.
But look at the pennies saved
Spewing buildings short-lived as fashions
For impressionists in substance
Trapped in now egos
© Laura King (aka The Poet Laura-eate)
http://thepoetlaura-eate.blogspot.com
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Punctuation
All dots, commas, and colons.
They confuse my eye,
And fog my eager brain,
How I try to understand,
But fail and fail again,
Until in a huff,
I tear them up and,
Start a new this fated game.
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Synergy
Before you came I was one,
Then you arrived and I was two,
But we were one,
When you left I was none,
But soon became one again.
Now you are back,
And we are two,
If not for you I would be at one,
I owe it all to you!
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Oh dear, your comment box format appears to have jumbled my punctuation somewhat!
Is there a means of sending you the proper Word version?
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entitled: forever longing
Ever wished upon that star
of hopeless dreams in misty forests;
a fleeting glimpse through hazelnut branches
of dancing spirits that hide and play
round burning flames of tempting want.
Thought felt seek, you stealth to catch
elusive nymphs of impassioned embers;
enchanted song heard near and distant, deceptive mischief that leads astray
haunts echo along misguided paths.
by A Black
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The Estuary
The mud calls before,
A slowly receding tide.
Large shimmering pools beckon,
The long curved sweeping beak,
Of the swift elusive Avocet,
As the repeating mournful,
Song of the Curlew calls,
To the still shimmering,
Breathless waters.
Mergansers dive and ripple,
The sparkling silver surface,
Now submerged they reappear,
Just a few yards down stream.
Brent geese swirl and turn,
Flying in to join the party,
Calling, gaggling, chatting talking,
Before peace returns again.
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The King Fisher
I see you my brightest friend,
From the bridge above the stream,
I watch your startling flight,
Bright as a rainbow,
On flowing edge you dart.
Along the peaceful waters,
Through the bending Alders,
Beside the river Teign,
You sit in quiet contemplation.
Then through shafts of light,
Strike the surface bright,
To take the mindful trout,
And return to perch again,
The King of fishers
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To The Lighted House
'Five hundred pounds a year
And a room of ones' own'
Was Virginia Woolfs’
recipe for happiness.
Then she saw the small ads
For rooms among the Spires
Worthy of writers.
Five hundred pounds a month,
(excl, and broadband extra)
Filled her pockets with stones
And walked into the nearest river.
Perhaps God had a room going
In one of his many mansions
A little bit cheaper…
LS King
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Musiclerihews
If Ives
Survives,
Cole Porter
Oughter
Could yer reach Mendelssohn
By telephone,
Would he oblige yer
With another Elijah?
Who but
Schubert
Is undiminished
With his 8th unfinished?
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Five a.m.
As townspeople unknowing in their early morning slumber,
the gold splintered sunbeams creep with silence; day breaks with travellers off to places far,
to the sound of singing milk as it floats past.
To those who know, the talking starts;
in frenzied noise of flaps and beats, morning awakes.
The conforming coo's of neighbouring pigeons
signalling attention in ranking troop order.
The majestic caw of her highness the crow
silencing for a second, her grey suited army;
alerted they stand in admiration for her reign
a unison squawk in respect for her being.
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Daffodils
All summer long,
They sleep beneath the earth,
Listening to the muffled voices,
Of children playing on the grass above.
Then as dark winter storms,
Rain down and the North winds blow,
They begin to stir their shoots,
Reaching up towards the light,
To wave their cheerful,
Yellow nodding heads,
In bright defiance.
The first herald,
Of the coming spring.
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Dementia of Daffodils
A balmy Spring has brought this year
A martial dementia of daffodils,
Each golden helmet, each broad green spear,
Raiding the verges, shanghaing the hills.
Rank on rank they invade the nation,
Requisitioning woodland glades,
A yellow force of occupation,
Storming the earth in secret raids.
But their robust conquest is undaunting,
And their advance we do not fear;
Their presence with us is a haunting
Promise of more attacks next year.
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When?
When the unknowable is divined,
And the invisible is seen,
Fully clad, we can walk naked,
Holding up our heads in shame.
When muteness is overheard
And emptiness is grasped,
We can flood the desert
Of abundance with dry tears.
When infinity is bounded,
And the inevitable does not befall,
Immobile, we can journey
To an arid land of plenty.
When we can deceive with truth,
And curse with blessedness,
Unarmed, we can embrace enemies,
And kiss them with sealed lips.
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Dartmoor
I saw the moors today,
From my car window,
As I drove to work,
They called to me,
Those misty tors and open moors,
They spoke of summer days,
And drifting haze,
Of miles walked on rolling hills,
With friends good and old,
Around open peat fires in a cozy pub,
Before the journey home.
I saw the moors today,
From my car window,
On my way to work.
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My passion is junk food!
Golden Arches
Rotund mums with tattooed bums
drag push chairs down the street.
Children whine “It’s dinnertime”.
So it’s off to the arches to eat.
Ronnie where have you gone?
The establishment are too good for you now
High class, high cholesterol, high price to pay,
but I’ll be back to sample your wares another day.
Golden arches – plastic paradise
Over priced, over weight and over here
An American invasion stirs my realisation,
heart disease and death of a food loving nation.
Big Mac, heart attack,
Triple burger, 1st degree murder
Give me that sugar hit please
Bring our children to their knees!
Have a nice day!
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New shoes
They smell so fine,
The soles so clean and tidy,
Tops so beautiful they shine,
I simply love the way they feel,
When I walk on toe and heel,
As I inspect the soles,
I see they are not full of holes,
As my old shoes which fitted me,
And were just so very comfy,
But in the bin, they are now gone,
And I have brand new, shoes on.
But Oh they do so pinch,
I wish they had another inch,
Just for my toes to wriggle free,
And stop the laces chaffing me,
But I am happy I can not lie,
Because my feet are warm and dry!
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Flowers are blooming out,
Little children play and shout,
Bluebirds and thrushes sing so gay
little lambs are out to play,
The daisies are so wild and free
The lord above is watching thee.
This poem is about spring my favourite time of the year. I won a book about birds for this poem when i was at junior school i must have been about ten. I am now 61, HAPPY DAYS.
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Fairwell to Richard Whiteley.
And we walk along without a care
Not knowing if we,ll still be there
Our path in life is so untrue
With twists and turns and with no clue
Its up to you to find your way
To live your life from day to day
There will be good, There will be bad
There will be happy, There will be sad
But the trials of life are what We make
Its our choice to give or take
Some choose to give-And thats my point
Who care enough to make a joint
Cos we,re not alone-And some do try
To make us laugh-Or make us cry
But there is few that come our way
And bring us sunshine Everyday
That make us laugh Until we cry
And doesnt even need to try
His place a void-He was unique
No-one will ever reach his peak
My thoughts to you this Christmas late
To all who knew and participate
In a life that Glowed with boyish fun
Who cared enough- For Everyone
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Fairwell to Richard Whiteley was placed in a card on where he lay on New Years Eve 2006
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The Futility of War
Men and women go to war
To fight another lands cause
Sent by those who have never been
Those who can’t imagine
The things these soldiers see or do
Bullets fly, bombs fall, Star-shell's flare
Novices cautioned for peering over the parapet,
Beyond the wire, stained with blood to rust, into No Man's Land.
Soldiers die, children cry, still they have to be strong,
Have to carry on, as if nothing is wrong
The soldiers - mothers, wives, fathers and sons,
Don’t always miss the bullets fired at them
Soldiers sent home injured or dead
Only to find no support for the broken
Never to be the same person they were before.
Bugler playing, tears streaming
Soldiers stand tall and straight,
Wounded inside and out
Feel the pain, loneliness, loss of hope,
Sharing the same nightmares –
Day and night
Yet another comrade
Laid to rest.
By Anna Bartlett
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Happy Mother,s Day Mam
Mam you mean the world to me
Without your guide i wouldnt see
You gave me life- and thats enough
But You went on and filled it with love
You stood by me through thick and thin
But thats just You Mam-Never give in
If Everyones Mam was just like you
I wouldnt believe it-It couldnt be true
Cos youre one in a Million-And Thats No Lie
If i didnt have You Mam-I,d give up and die
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Retail Romance
We’ll excite the frozen haddocks
And melt the marrow pea;
Enrapture every meringue pie
And waltz down aisle three.
We’ll tiptoe by Caerphilly cheese
Then Brie and Mont’ray Jack;
While gliding past the deli bar
Perform an ‘entrechat’.
We’ll glissé through the fruit and veg
Toward the cakes and bread;
Hot samba past tortilla chips,
Fox trot through sauces red.
We’ll dance light supermarket steps
Round products GM free
And thus we’ll show the retail world
The love I have for thee.
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Life's a bitch - or is it?
Life's a bitch, or is it?
Might it be more one's perception?
You could view all the knocks with a jaundiced eye
And dwell on the world's imperfection.
But why let life's trials leave a negative vibe?
Why not consider this view:
Embrace all that happens - the good and the bad:
It all goes to make you, you.
If you look at yourself as a magnet
Attracting all life has to fling,
The more you're out there, the more you'll catch,
And more richness to life you'll bring.
The wisdom of age is special,
Enhanced the more you've lived life:
The way you've loved and the way you've lost
And the way you've met challenge and strife.
So are you a person who bends and breaks,
Believing that life is a bitch?
Or are you a person who bends, then walks tall
With a life that's varied and rich?
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Done to a turn
A fried egg sun as on china blue plate,
The grill-like heat sealed his fate,
A bacon landscape, crisped to a turn,
His tomato red skin with third degree burn.
Hash brown terrain, rough and unyielding,
No mushroom cap shade from searing rays shielding,
Alone in the desert he curled up and died:
Like his last breakfast, the traveller was fried.
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No Nonsense Poem
I can't write weird poems:
I only wish I could.
The trouble with them is, you see,
They're always understood.
Jaberwocky, Kubla Khan,
They all sound very grand -
If only I could write something
As hard to understand...
So hat's off to the intellects,
The scholars and the posh
Who make a living churning out
Unmitigated tosh!
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Weapon of Mass Destruction
Dig around...make a mound...create big holes under the ground...
Take the diamonds, gems galore, precious metals, useful ore,
Exploit the Earth's beautiful store, treat her like a pimp a whore.
Deforestation, denudation, devastation...consternation?
What about a fuel source? There's always coal and oil of course!
That's be right! Dig some more, do as you've always done before....
After all, the Earth is ours - never mind acid rain showers,
The ozone layer, greenhouse gases, polluted air like thick molasses,
Ice-caps melting, sea level rising: it isn't altogether surprising!
Gulf stream failing, patterns changing, effects on weather quite wide-ranging,
Barriers breached, mammals beached, water where land once by sun was bleached,
Of flooding and drought, reports don't stop; and constant failure of annual crop.
Famine, disease - and what do you know? Round and round we all still go!
The 'wmd' to fear the most, that will freeze to ice or burn to toast
Is the carelessness of the human race - that's the 'wmd' we face!
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I like cats.
If like me in your home you will find space
for the feline creature of infinite grace
If love you like to give and receive and your not the type who likes to deceive
Your wife will not mind you will feel no remorse a four legged pussy won't cause a divotce
My first love affair when still just a child was a chubby black tom who never was wild
His unpretenious name was Pete with Persil shirt and four white feet
He loved your hand to rub his head and didn't just come at the time to be fed
But the thing that really set him alight and always caused Mum and me to fight
He would jump on the bed and down through the sheets
To snuggle up warm to my cold winter feet, his rumbling purrs would be heard down the stairs
and my fate would be sealed by the clue of blck hairs.
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Happy Birthday Mam
If i could make a dream come true
I,d make it happen just for You
Cos ive looked behind into my past
And see you Always put You last
So many times You did without
And in my mind-There is no doubt
You gave us your life to make things meet
If it wasnt for You we,d be on the street
We didnt have much-But We didnt care
Cos We Always knew our Mam was there
Every tear shed was kissed away
And in Your arms We,d want to stay
We felt so loved and safe with You
There wasnt a thing that You couldnt do
So i,ll say for All-And i,ll say it Aloud
We love You Mam-And We are so proud
And if my life could start anew
And as a child-Belonged to You
As long as i was under Your wing
I wouldnt change a single thing
Cos i was so happy-And i,m being true
When i say "Its All because of You"
So close your eyes and dream away
And i,ll make a wish for You today
To give you All the things You missed
And the nicest things are on my list
Cos in This World there is No Other
Can match My Loving Caring Mother
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Why
Why is she crying Ma?
Her baby just died.
Why did he die Ma?
He had no food inside.
Where is his Dad Ma?
Killed in the war
Why are they fighting Ma?
Who knows what for.
I originally wrote this in 1984 after seeing pictures from Ethiopia pity its still relevant.
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This comment was removed because the moderators found it broke the House Rules.
Human/Cat Conversation
Hello little cat, you've finally come home
I know it's late, but I've had a good roam
Where have you been until so late at night?
Why? Were you worried? Did I give you a
fright?
Oh look at you darling, your fur is all wet
Hey! I've been in five minutes and
you've not fed me yet!
Let's get a towel and dry off your fur
Let's trade - you give me food, I'll give
you a purr
That's better now, you're all dry for
your 'mummy'
That's better now, I've got a full tummy
Time for bed little girl, it's getting quite late
Back in a minute - there's a tom at the
gate
I was nearly asleep when I heard you come in
So I've had a good time - is that such a
sin?!
Oh no, not again! Not a dry patch in sight
Oh no! I just want to sleep, but you've
turned on the light
There's an old human saying, and heed it you oughta
I know what you're thinking, but this cat
LIKES water!
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I Love You Mam-Just thought i,d say
Its cos of You i,m here today
Loving,Caring-And uniqually kind
A Mam like You is hard to find
So when i say-"I Love You Mam"
I,m try to say How Proud I Am
That-You Are Mine-You Belong To Me
Let the World be filled-With Jealousy
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Happy Anniversary
Fifteen years ago today
I met a girl along my way
I fell in love-At first sight
For me i knew that girl was right
That girl,s my Wife now and my friend
My Love for her will never end
And after all the years thats past
I knew our Love would always last
If i could go back to That day
Knowing what i know today
I wouldnt change a single thing
And i,d still walk along that way
Sadly-We split 3 years later
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The Hero
His eyes look into distance to a place we'll never see
His face is grizzled lined and grey
He's had no food or sleep today
His mouth in moving seems to pray
His mind's in prison though he's free
We told him he's a hero so very long ago
But he knows not what we mean to say
He's had no food or sleep today
His mouth in moving seems to pray
and in his mind no memories show
He cannot tell where he's been and spoken
and what had happened yesterday
He's had no food or sleep today
His mouth in moving seems to pray
and so his mighty heart is broken
They shook his hand and for a while
His friends and loved ones made him smile
but this hero though they said he's one
Is nearly dead and nearly gone
The Love of my life
Into my life with her quiet smile
Into a heart so soon beguiled
Everything before no longer there
Everything after in her gentle care
and I loved her
We maried in our church quite soon
one stormy rainy afternoon
Our friends and families came to see
The girl who at last loved me
and I loved her
The months and years just came and went
A house and children heaven sent
She loved us so and gave her heart
lest her dear family fall apart
and we loved her
She held her first grandchild in her arms
vowing she would not be harmed
She watched her grow and taught her well
for this was her darling Danielle
and we loved her
She hasn't left just stepped out for a while
and sooner than later I'll see her sweet smile
I'll hold her hands and stroke her hair
sitting together in that big old chair
and again I'll love her
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New York - The City That Never Sleeps
People hustle and bustle as they go about their business.
Watches are being glanced at as they hurry to their destinations.
You, on the other hand, slowly wonder around in awe.
Buildings on either side reach towards the sky,
As if in search of Heaven.
Your insignificance is emphasised by these monstrosities.
As night falls, the city glows with neon light,
It casts shadows on you as you carry on your journey.
Almost aimlessly you meander between the buildings.
The avenues seem the same, but somehow you're not lost.
If you don't have a destination, how can you be lost anyway?
The sheer awesomeness of the life in the city,
Even at night, keeps you going on and on.
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When I moved to Sherwood Forest 8 years ago, the trees became my passion and I spent countless hours looking at them. They inspired the following poem:
ENTERTAINING THE MASSES
Sunlight filters through the canopy of green:
A spotlight that's high up, to light the whole scene.
Magnificent oaks are the stars of the show,
Like veteran actors with nowhere to go,
Craggy and rough, with their faces time-etched,
Tall and impressive, commanding respect,
They stand, with their limbs outstretched
- Entertaining the masses.
Oh, what audiences they must have seen,
From King Richard and serfs, to our present day Queen.
Bearing the brunt of arrows and spears,
Standing out storms, over hundreds of years,
Hollowed out boles, hiding highwaymen's hoards,
Pricked in their trunks, used as notice-boards,
And all without ever uttering words
- Entertaining the masses.
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Grief
How does life come so quickly to its end
and leave behind such sadness that I die too
from grief and never staying tears
looking to the rest of years remaining without you
A heart is broken in so many ways
part mending scars that never heal
Life so brightly lived has ended in these days
so now I wait to see what future will reveal
Youthful age when came and went romance
matures to love and years so blessed spent
in kissing holding laughinc crying tears
then finally swaying to the ending dance
We never really believed it you and I
drinking our fill of passionate need
loving and loving under a clear blue sky
there was a price to pay for innocent greed
I'd give my soul to hold you just once more
ro hear your laughing protestations as we play
then stroking the face as beautiful as yours
so make the passing time to finally stay
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Water, water everywhere, but no people
Water surrounds you,
No land in sight,
You are alerted to the merkiness of the sea
As you drift.
Time could be passing quickly,
But what is time when you have nothing to measure it with?
Life floats by,
Alone,
You wonder if there is anyone but
You.
Perhaps the memories of other people are just dreams,
Wishful thinking that you will find another person,
But still there is more sea,
Nothing else.
Ripples form around you,
Repetitive they agonise you,
Oh for something different!
A change from this monotonous existance.
You crave companionship,
Even the fish seem to be avoiding you.
Do they even exist,
Or are they part of your fantasy world?
Longing to drift off into the security of a dream,
You lie down,
The movement of the waves lull you, cradle you,
Like a baby trying to sleep.
Slumber comes upon you at last,
You dream of green meadows
And sunny days,
Playing with other people.
People, people, do they exist,
Or is there only
You,
Alone,
In a sea of infinity?
17/01/2000 12:00am
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FROM DAWN TO DUSK
The sky is on fire:
Crimson coals colour the gleaming horizon,
Smoke spirals softly, a powdery pink.
The sky becomes brighter,
My mood more morose
Knowing what shepherds and poets might think.
The sky is ablaze:
Bright orange embers heat up the horizon,
And smoke disappears in the darkening sky.
Red flames leap higher,
And so does my heart,
But only the shepherds and poets know why.
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This is a poem written by my 14 year old son William
Blue Water
Blue water moves side by side,
Stormy night.
The waves hit the sides like cannon balls,
Stormy night.
The men are praying to our God,
Stormy night.
Lightning hits, the sails burn,
Stormy night.
The captain is frightened, out of his wits,
The men scamper into their beds,
Thunder bangs like a gun,
Water goes on the stern,
The men are getting water out.
Finally, the storm has gone!
The men shout, hooray!
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perfection
lying in the bed of perfection
listening to its heart as it sounds
my eyes they are searching
taking in the wonder of beauty that surrounds
passion like this
for filling every emotion
there I see it
love, in slow motion
A skin tight collision
just one eternal moment
searching to the soul
rushing through the veins
surging out of control
perfection, it sings for me
the lullaby of sweet love
perfection, it swims for me
and carries me above
I refer to thee as perfection
as no other, not even this
can do justice
to this feeling of incurable bliss
for you my love
you can never be put in words
you are perfection no syllable can compare
to you my darling Alistair
lottie 18 Liverpool!!!
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Sammy
The back of my skirt is all covered in hairs,
As I've sat where you've groomed on my best dining chairs, And you've left muddy footprints all over the stairs,
And yet you expect me to love you.
The back of the sofa is tattered and torn,
Where you've sharpened your claws, the cloth is all worn, And you've just dug a hole in my newly laid lawn,
But still you expect me to love you.
When I've gone without chicken to give some to you, As I've turned my back briefly, you've eaten mine too, And then brought it back in my favourite court shoe, Do you really expect me to love you?
Don't purr so loudly when I'm wearing a frown, Or jump on my lap and nuzzle my gown,
And insist that I stroke you until I calm down. You know that I can't help but love you.
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Thought I'd put my poem in last night but cant find it so here goes again.
Summer into Autumn
The sun is shining down on the golden hay
The children are a playing at the break of day
The flowers are all a budding
And the trees luminous green
Are casting their great shadows o'er the fields
How soon this scene will alter
How soon the leaves will fall
When Autumn spreads his windy hand
O'er fields and trees and all
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Adventures in life--finding love (part1)
There are many paths leading into the woods and forests of life but whether any lead to the enchanted castle of love nobody knows. Only those with courage in their hearts walk the paths and find the truth.
The more beautiful the wood the more the desire to explore in the hope of finding the enchanted castle.
Once taken, the path may lead only to plain pastures but there is beauty in the courage of you heart for having made the journey. The path may lead to greater beauty but many dangers may urge you to return though with memories of a wondrous experience and still the chance to try again.
Only fate knows what would have happened beyond danger and whether the enchanted castle was ever there.
See part 2
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Life ,
We suffer silly amounts of ups and downs ,
In our journey which is life ,
We live in an ocean of good times ,
But suffer waves of strife .
Good times outnumber the bad ,
But we never forget pain ,
We all love the sunshine ,
But we talk more about the rain .
Things get to all of us ,
And we are all shrouded in self doubt .
We all seek adventure ,
Only the brave few try it out .
The bad times hit us hard ,
And shake us to the core ,
For some of us it get's too much ,
And we can't take anymore .
I have seen the dark side ,
I've also visited cloud nine ,
I now live imbetween the two ,
I'm finding it quite fine .
I'm a positive thinker ,
I live my life in hope ,
If I didn't believe in the future ,
I know I couldn't cope .
I dream of happy ever after ,
I believe that dreams come true .
It it can happen to Cinderella ,
Why can't it happen to you ?
Andy Lewis
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A click, that’s all it was
An idle browse you see;
A click upon the smiley face
That you emailed to me.
A click, that's all it was
It set my heart on fire;
A click and then a look,
To fill me with desire!
A click that’s all it was
My mind set in a spin;
A click and there’s the real you
The girl I hoped I’d win.
A click that’s all it was
I waited for reply;
A click, a hope for swift return
Then a long week went by.
A click that’s all it was
I saw your late riposte;
A click, and your reply revealed
My love would not be lost
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Adventures in Life----finding love(part2)
I see such a wood before me, at once in glorious array of spring,summer,autumn and winter and my heart yearns to take the path into this wood.
Alas, there is a gate across the path to the wood and I can't find the key or even discover if the key exists for me.
You alone have the key.
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My favourite Van Gogh painting:
The Potato Eaters
Beneath the bare rafters of their dismal retreat,
Five forlorn figures sit down to eat
A plate of potatoes, their only subsistence
Depicts a despondent and primitive existence.
A faceless silhouette obscures the view,
As the hunched, old peasant pours out the brew.
Gnarled, weathered hands worn down to the bone,
Rewards for their toil, tilling earth from the stone.
The oil lamp burns brightly, to lighten the gloom,
Like a beacon of hope in the dimley-lit room.
The flickering flame, a warmth which it throws
On caricature faces in natural pose.
And in their abode, so dreary and dour,
Hangs a wall-mounted time piece approaching the hour.
Ceiling to floor, drab surfaces bare,
Simply furnished with table and chair.
The darkness knocks loudly at the window pane,
Drawn by the light, like a moth to a flame.
Ignoring its call, they gather around
Encased in their dwelling, potatoes abound.
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This poem is to remind myself not to over indulge in my passion for watching the T.V.
From the glimmering
chattering box there
shined,
many'a hypnotic wonder.
That entered softly
through my eyes and
tore,
my thoughts assunder.
like the angel who left
the sky,
when silver luster found
her eye,
and when again she went
to fly,
to love her treasure o'r
passers by,
she shouted to her fellows
high,
but gave harsh croak
instead of cry,
and found her white
wings, now were pie.
Fooled by luster thus was
i.
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The Gulf of Humanity.
And still it grows,
So deep and strong,
You get pulled,
Where you supposedly belong,
The gulf wide and deep,
The ever increasing gap between,
The rich,
And the poor.
The rich,
Swanning about in repugnant splendour,
Flash their cash in peoples faces,
In every opportunity,
Wherever the place is,
Their smug expressions say it all,
Haughty,
Untruthful,
Or maybe just too vain,
To think of their fellow man.
Meanwhile,
The poor,
Live their pure lives,
Day after day,
Modest,
Caring,
Resplendent with unegotistical glory,
For they do not boast over whom they are,
Or indeed over what they have,
Indeed,
Ever ready to help their fellow ailing man.
And whilst you observe this pattern,
The gap erodes ever more,
The haughty rich people,
Float higher,
And the poor,
They stay on the floor.
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I swore not to use a name but mine in this poem. (And I have failed):
I've fallen for a girl, Alex,
I didn't want it to end this way,
Won't ever see you again,
But I fight, and I try,
Want to see you again, Future-
destiny-Always some other way.
Always me picking the most hopeless circumstances,
Lowestoft airshow, that's what she said,
Even the year when i was under the harrier,
X-ray my head-Find the reason I need her.
Somewhere out there, far from me,
In Kent, "England's Garden", Canturbury.
Mende in France was just the
Opposite, being stalked by french girls who are
Not who I want to see.
Left with just a word, Goodbye
And a handshake, finally touching you,
Never again to touch hands with such beauty,
Going on without you,
Time will only tell,
Our destined, Future-
Never meet again
-x-
Alex.........
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Factor 22:
There is,
But its rare and hard to come by but we all find Someone,
Well not me
Pobably,
I have that feeling,
A feeling I'm not supposed to.
Like I know it when I find it,
But I can never hold on,
It slips away from me like time slips past,
I cannot touch,
I'm just looking,
Endless with despair,
Like the tapping of a small child on the glass walled tanks at the local aquarium.
Like the Sun
How it breathes It's rays upon the Earth's surface like my existance,
Burns those it touches,
People try to escape when there is too much of me,
Seeing millions of people pass by me,
Everyday,
Still unable to reach out and touch Them,
I'm just There,
Orbiting them,
Them orbiting me.
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A DIY poem - words marked by * may be changed at will.
As I wandered home one day
I met a deciduous dog
It was followed at length by a hairy tree
Disguised as a serpentine frog
The river I crossed had a very rough bark
I believe the dog had one too
And since the dog was deciduous
More likely than not this was true
Perhaps the tree was a spaniel
The dog may have been a tall beech
Equally well it could have been a banana
Or even a pendulous peach
A stately home I passed on my way
Owned a most magnificent bust
It may have belonged to Napoleon or
A lass from the National Trust
The stone-built barn in the grounds
Had a pile of stuff on the floor
I'm not quite sure whether I saw some seed
Or whether I seed some saw
You may have gathered by now
That my words have got in a twist*
You may have even deduced
That I'm utterly, utterly inebriated*
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11 Agate to Desolation Exasperation
Look through it,
What do you see?
Red,
Lay in the park,
Wind in the trees,
Hair in my face,
Blustering Leaves,
Wait like a stone on the riverbed,
Lonely and without course,
Perish the thought,
A fault of yours.
Wonder aimlessly,
In the dark streets,
Under the rain,
Words could describe my pain,
But they won't,
And they don't,
Caring too much,
Couldn't care -less,
I live for your existance,
Without you my life meaning -less,
Life would end and still go on,
And I'd be dead and feeling -less.
Always with you,
See you never,
Loving,
You,
Never,
Together,
Dismembered,
November.
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To You, To The Capital
To the capital,
The compound of lust love-tied hope,
Show you the way in the dead of night,
Suspicious Maliciousness,
I am the Target,
Gold for Prize,
Prize for Gold,
Oh see the concentrics,
The Iris of yours,
I stare into the eyes of hidden meaning,
Pupils of the Darkness-I take you to mine,
Far away...
See the boats, the Breeze,
Happy Holiday Ices,
Children Screaming-It's Me- The stuffed charity shop toy,
"Tails", I win,
We walk through the steep,
The Good times and the Bad,
Reach the peaking point of view,
Past the Info tablet...
Gaze forward until the horizon becomes a hazy blue,
This Gold's My prize, though I don't own,
I See,
The Sunsets beckoning Me back to the Darkness,
No-longer afraid I wait with open arms,
It chills the air, but not Us,
Moonlight Sky of Spirit,
You're the Star in My eye.
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It seems to me that in regard to global warming the major culprit is rarely mentioned. Hence:
The Servant.
Am I product of the Devil, or a blessing from the Lord?
Should my presence cause you to rejoice, or must it be deplored?
Am I servant or your master? Am I no more than a tool?
You will know my name as 'engine' and I run on fossil fuel.
So many changes I have wrought since I began my reign.
Naught else has brought so much to you, nor ever will again.
I offered you your freedom, said your shackles could be lost,
You siezed the opportunity, but questioned not the cost.
The friends and neighbours of your youth, you thought were there to stay,
Have disappeared, like Autumn leaves the wind has blown away.
No village roots to hold you down, the Earth is yours to roam.
How easily you left behind the place you once called home.
There's nothing I have left untouched. I offer not that choice.
Who knows a place in this wide world where you'll escape my voice?
All countries veined with concrete roads, 'To bless our lives' the claim,
As a million stranger's faces pass, each in it's metal frame.
Of pride and envy, sloth and wrath, my patrons stand accused.
The guilt is theirs! I bear no blame if I am so abused.
The mighty 'Engine' I am more than just a love affair,
For you choose to stand in silence as my poisons fill the air.
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My profile blog poem: If the one i want to read this blog is reading this now....
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..................................
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5 lines of dots shows my feelings for you,
its not trust but honesty,
my heart beats in solemn disgrace,-like
the murkey, litter infected, river Thames,
green, dismall and styrofoam clogs- my
vertabral column and the spinal cord of a ,
embarrassed, foolish, confused- heart,
it burns, like flaming alcohol on a twenty pound note,
its not pain it's torture-self conciously, self harm.
But the pain in the torture is enough to kill any man a million times over,
still i carry on, uncontollable and exhausting, these
decisions, so many decisions- and yet
i can't make one, like a cake, can't bake one,
if death knocks i've gone fishing, however come back later for tea,
i'm back at five,
and all this means nothing, or something you tell me,
self centred decisions make it all up, but whose
identity is stolen-back and returned,
stabbed and cold like my blood,
and the last word is out of a closed vocabulary,
take it for granted like life itself, so neverending
unlucky, likable, longing truths,
no senses needed, no sense to make,
only your heart to break,
and breaks not cares not,
that word...................................
.......................................
.......................................
.......................................
.....
sorry.
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Home Guarding Friday (Ground War Party?)
Like the line that seperates sea and horizon,
There's a feeling,
Like the one once for you,
That things are drawn further apart,
Then what was once believed by some.
Real explorers,
Make the grade,
Pioneers of the gap in sea and sky,
Like observers,
Onlookers, drawing crowds like surf on a windy day,
See that we are no closer than beginning,
and End.
Name spelt in the sand before me,
I just look on like the rest,
Your reputation,
Fades like colours in the wash.
I castaway my concideration,
Like fishermen to their nets,
And watch it being dragged hopelessly,
Down into the gravel as it joins the gap.
***************************************
Turn the page,
Now night has fallen,
Shattering into dust,
Falls like stars burning out,
Much like the passion,
Your religion of fashion,
Some words go together,
Others are like us.
The darkness suits me fine,
Quiet and Calm,
You took that step inside,
The eyes that saw it stung,
and Cried.
You're not the same,
As the words go,
You've changed,
You weren't who I thought I knew you were,
And yet deep down I know,
It's how you've always been,
I ignored stories and rumors, but to stumble upon it,
First Hand, First Person Shooter, Friendly Fire.
You keep your Friday night,
I'll keep mine.
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Allisonnn Says: Plus how could he make a world and solar system in 7 days?
I dunno,
You tell me,
Life is better lived when it's not under the control of others,
Government is enough,
Faith,
Let faith be a choice so I can say no comment,
And take a swig from my stainless steel heart,
The hip flask of loneliness,
To wash away the despair and confusion,
Of a supposed empty world.
Do not denounce or embrace faith,
On the word of "man",
For it is your decision,
And your decision alone.
But does that mean you should listen to me?
I dunno,
You tell me.
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Poem re My passion York Races
You've been to the races
Amongst lots of faces.
Ladies with hats
Very prettily sat.
Men in suits
With polished boots.
The tic-tac men
Signs one to ten.
The horse's parade
It's no charade.
Their owners so proud
Smile for the crowd.
It's time for the off
Men's hats do doff.
Which one did you bet?
Let's hope it did get
1st, 2nd, 3rd.
Last! Unheard!
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Poem re My passion Charity
The turkey was hung, drawn and quartered.
Christmas is over, we're all fed and watered.
Think of the plight
Of the children who fight
For a morsel of food every day.
Their teeth do decay,
Not from sweets
Or special treats,
But from malnutrition.
Which to us is not a condition.
So, when you reach out
For that second helping, have doubt.
THINK
of those in need of CHARITY.
GIVE
to those in POVERTY.
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ODE TO A BREAD PUDDING
I marvel at your virtues as anybody would
the Souffle falls within your shade as does the Syllabub,
I've had a Spotted Dick or two, enjoyed the random Tart,
but you stand up a monument to the culinary art.
The way you flop onto the plate inspires this love in me,
how every Crumble must resent your moist consistency.
The Brioche could not equal you, the Fool could not refute,
what Bread and Fruit and Spices have conspired to produce,
The Devils Cake can tempt me not, I leave it at a glance,
Pavlova only leaves me cold in any circumstance.
But you with flesh, Sultana-Rich, come served up with a Thud!
...small wonder then that I enjoy to pull upon my Pud.
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Poem re My passion playing the late John Wright Music
My sorrow returns
For my heart yearns
As I hear your beautiful voice
My only choice.
When will my pain ease?
You fly in the breeze
Taking my thoughts.
I'm so distraught.
The trees sway
As you pass my way.
I feel a shiver
Your words deliver.
Stillness comes back
That sensation I pack
Until the day
I come your way.
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MARRIAGE MADE IN HEAVEN?
An institution to have and to hold,
It can turn your hair to silver from gold.
Quick to achieve, but takes years to mature,
Like a garden in bloom, there’s toil to endure.
It can cause you sorrow, grief and pain,
There will be times you’ll think you’ve gone insane.
Burning with passion, heat and desire,
As time goes by, a book by the fire?
How long will it last? We just can’t tell,
Just hope for the best, all doubts do we quell.
Like a favourite old jersey that’s tattered and torn,
Gives comfort and pleasure yet weathers the storm.
At the end of the day it’s about partnerships,
Champagne and oysters or fish and chips.
Giving and taking, right from the start,
To love and to cherish, till death do us part.
One thing is essential to make it succeed,
Faith in the Lord, Blessed indeed.
Phyllis.
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The Swing
The swing was silent but not still,
A motion mindful of recent use
To and fro and side to side, just slightly.
Two long ropes from a cedar’s bough,
the painted seat is empty now.
Who had swung and left it thus,
with evening sun in gathering dusk?
A boy perhaps who touched the stars,
A girl with a father’s gentle push.
Two lovers sending it back and forth,
like kisses blown across the room.
And then from round the tree he came
That silly cat,
just playing games.
Pousada de Santiago do Cacem
Quinta da Ortiga
Spain
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Passing Dragons:
Out in a meadow
by a tree
I sat and watched the faerie shee
and while the faeries danced around
I heard a softly
slipping sound
the sound of softly rasping scales
the sounds of dragons
dragging tails
and as a I sat they passed by me
a wondrous sight
for all to see
out in the meadow
by the tree
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Desire burns in your eyes, those eyes so deep
The story behind them, before me, so saddening
Your soul is alight with passion, so much to give
That look you give me, I’ve never seen before
The way you stare, oh how you look
The way you look at me.
My heart skips a beat at your words, words of love
My stomach flips at your very touch, such a touch
My skin tingles still hours after your gone, I wish I were still with you
My heart it longs for you, your kiss, your love, YOU
How am I to describe what you mean? Words are useless in such a case
How am I to say how much I desire your company?
Be honest now, I’ve never felt this way before, no not ever
This is something knew
You never grow old to me, no I never bore
You aren’t like the others, no
No your sweet and gentle, caring and true, funny and smart
True to you, true to me, true to the world
How is it I found you at your worst?
How is it I shed such light on your life?
How can you call me an angel? I have no wings nor halo
How could I fall so quickly? Unsolved mystery of the world
My dear, my beloved, my everything, yes its true
My sweetheart, my love, my heart belongs to only you
You didn’t steal it with force, but in such a loving way
You affection brought me through, to trust myself, with everyone, and you
You bring so many things, you may never know
I love you my dear, yes I love you so
I mean what I say. I love you with my heart and soul
I become so numb when we are apart, together, I feel more than whole
You do so much, you’ll never know
My love, you truly are the one.
-------
Emily Kilpatrick
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The Star-Crossed Moth
The Moth, trapped within the lamps glow
danced madly hot, but instinct drew him on.
Ricocheted, then had another go, embraced the bulb, but couldn't quite hold on.
Frenzied now, excited at the prospect,
slow death awaited any soul returning,
but blind with passion he could not resist, illuminated by his love died burning.
Heroic, slipping to the ground descended,
a victim to this tragic love he bore.
His futile quest was brilliantly ended,
Ah! Romeo himself could do no more.
Steve .....Warrington
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I think I've run over your cat.
Is it tabby, and fluffy, and fat?
Does it wear a red collar that carries a bell?
Well, it's lying down there now, quite flat.
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For that one maddening I thought I’d lost myself
Confused what is real and whats fantasy
How was I to know I’d fall so hard
I hate to say it, but I dream of you
The day you left, the rivers of emotion never ran dry
The heartache I felt, it’s never went away
It was so sudden, what can I say?
Oh father, explain why you had to die
It’s been four years yet the pains still fresh
It’s just too hard to forget
I hate other people now, showing such disrespect for their fathers
I want to scream at them “You have no idea how lucky you are!”
But my silence remains, and I prefer not to speak of it
Its too hard father, too hard
I want to believe your in a better place
But to be separated so soon……
Why? Why did it have to be you?
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My Motorhome
My Motorhome is a home from home, when I am far away from home
It keeps me warm it keeps me dry when snow or rain is in the sky
Or cool and free from hot sun’s rays when out on cloudless summer’s days
It takes me places far away and finds nice spots for me to stay
By town or village, sea or mountain, open field or stream or fountain
Sometimes I like to go alone and leave behind TV and phone
Instead to study plants and birds, or write a poem and play with words
But other times it’s nice to meet one’s friends and sit and drink and eat
And put the world to rights again or moan and whinge and, well, complain!
It’s nice for chilling or relaxing away from work, ‘cos that’s too taxing!
So I have penned this little ode: To Life, out on the open road!
©Phil Davison 2008
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From my collection of bug and flea
Minister’s perpetually paralytic;
spending all their time at the optic.
Is this what they mean by democratic?
Or is it called, taking the Mic’?
The public services were chaotic.
The buses and trains were erratic.
The commuters were all going ballistic,
and every day they tried a new tactic.
Did the government think they could fool the public?
With free eye glasses made from plastic,
And free false teeth made from mastic.
Well, they must have thought we were all thick!
They were just not being realistic,
and the Tories were plain sarcastic,
while the Liberal Party policies were cryptic.
So, the Bug and the Flea entered politics.
They promised to cut out all the theatrics,
and the new Minister’s would not be parasitic.
There would be no more dirty tricks,
and they would lock up political lunatics.
The election turned out to be frantic,
The voting at the polls was hectic,
because the Flea’s policies were drastic.
and their win was even more fantastic.
The only law now is slapstick.
All ladies get a free red lipstick;
all Oriental’s get free chopsticks;
and all pensioner’s a free walking-stick.
The Bug and the Flea are now gigantic,
and the Royal Family is more enthusiastic.
Reductions in taxes are now automatic,
and religious leaders can claim for every candle-stick.
Summer holidays are free in the South Pacific,
and sailing holidays are free in the North Atlantic.
A grasshopper is the Minister for acrobatics,
and the bee is responsible for aerobatics.
All the political sceptic’s are now ecstatic,
and the atmosphere in the Commons is electric.
It’s all thanks to the Bug and the Flea antics
and the government now sits in the knickers elastic.
© John McDonagh
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This one's a little special, I wrote it just after moving here from Zambia. I had to leave all my much loved pets behind and was feeling sad and blue, living in a rented house with a tiny garden when I met 'my mouse'. As I watched him and his friends over a few days, this poem came into being. So, even though I know it's a little longer than was required, I decided to submit it anyway. Animals are my passion :)
The Mouse in My Garden
There's a mouse in my garden, a big one for sure!
I saw him tonight as I opened the door.
He looked right at me with eyes bright and bold,
As he nibbled on bread, thrown out of old.
We nodded politely and seemed to agree,
there was room in the garden for both him and me!
A cat jumped down off the garden fence,
It was large and white and on the offense.
I got quite a shock as it flew right by,
A blur of white that fell from the sky!
It really was the most dreadful sight,
And the mouse leapt up in a terrible fright,
Then the cat rushed forward and banged its head,
As the mouse scurried off and under the shed!
This morning, when I looked out the door,
first I saw one and then saw one more!
And then, as I reached for my tea,
I looked again and now there were three!
What seemed so appealing now seems so no more.
What if tomorrow I find there are FOUR?
This morning I woke with some trepidation,
stumbled downstairs in some hesitation.
As I switched on the kettle, I looked out to see,
only one, thank goodness, not four and not three!
And, if I am honest, I felt rather mean
as he looked right at me, "what, no bread to be seen?"
And then, peering over the roof of the shed,
was that a big, white, furry head?
Ears pricked with intent and whiskers aquiver?
I looked at the mouse and felt myself shiver!
I need not have worried, that's one clever mouse,
As he ran under the shed, I stepped back into the house!
No mouse this morning, I do feel bereft.
I imagine he's cross and so he has left.
He's packed up his bags and gathered his friends,
sadly it seems that here my tale ends!
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Left Behind
He sits there, silently, alone
The only movement is in his lips
As in silent language they intone
The tales of his apocalypse.
He's in his private universe
So no one cares - they daren't converse.
They don't want the problems of someone who's mad
But - he could be a dreamer and might be glad
If someone could just pause a while
To offer him the briefest smile
Acknowledge that he does exist
In a world that he cannot insist
Owes him a living, for the State has decreed
That he can live without the need
Of publicly funded institution.
He doesn't suffer persecution,
But society ignores him, unaware
That he's dreaming he belongs......somewhere.
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Pain, anger, hurt
Feelings we all experience, every so often
But you my dearest friend, you come across them regularly
Your old rivals, no less
I want you to understand that you are not alone
No, never alone, I know how you feel
To have you heart ripped out of place
My friend, have no fret, I won’t allow it to happen again
I know it hurts now, but pain isnt forever
I promise you hunny, it will go away in the end
I promise I’ll always be here for you, through think and thin
That’s what true friends are for, you’re like family
You can talk to me, no matter what, I wont turn my back on you
No, never, I will keep to my word and stay by your side
I’ll help you get through this
You’ll see, I can help to find your ever so pretty smile
Real friends stick together. Real friends never end
True friends forever
That’s us, and I promise, I’ll not let you feel such pain again.
Not without a revenge.
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We're An Old Village Choir
We love to sing in our Choir
Though we're short of tenors and basses
But we sing all our notes with gusto
And the strain of it shows on our faces.
When”The Messiah’s” Handelian arpeggios
Leaves us valiantly fighting for breath
We stagger our gasps in rotation
But it scares our conductor to death.
Our repertoire's showing it’s limits
((The library stocks are depleted)
And we have to pay singers from London
When the solo parts leave us defeated.
With our audiences small ( but selective )
We never can cover the cost,
So our annual subscriptions are rising
And our pension increases are lost.
We're convinced that our voices are heavenly
Well, some say we're like nothing on earth
Our vibrato technique's in a class of it's own
And we use it for all it is worth.
But we'll carry on singing, regardless
And we're really not looking for fame
Just a long as we feel that a few of the locals
Will give us some sort of acclaim.
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Crash and burn
You’ve an appetite for murder
Irresistible
it draws you in
To another evening’s
violent orgy
Of unarmed combat
And self-destruction
Paranoia lives next door
To remind you of
the night before
This punishment is unrelenting
Self-perpetual
In its grieving
You need to escape
Free your mind
Love yourself and
Keep your nose clean
Your accomplice is your brother
Lover, sister
Wife, your mother.
Faceless prostitutes
And bankers
Corporate greed
to keep it flowing
Your body’s smashed
Upon the floor
Your mind is reeling
You gag for more
Tie me up, love
Tie me down,
Without restraint
I’m gonna drown
I’m not invincible
in the morning
I need the strength
of an angel
To guide and cradle
help me find an alter ego
Get me through
this car crash lifestyle
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Self Destruction
My insatiable thirst for self destruction
brings me to confront the precipice of Psyche;
fear, guilt and self-loathing.
Unleash the four horsemen of the apocalypse
to systematically destroy
everything I hold precious.
When I want to make love with you
all I make is war.
The brink of self destruction, my darkest moment
throws shadows into every corner.
But even the darkest night brings the
promise of a new dawn.
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thou grilling of the zestful orb
that glittered round the sea
a violent swinge of feathered fiends
did sprangle on my knee
in fucias pain my woe began
I waggled up the beach
with torrid eye I glazed above
and reached up for a sneetch
my foot did glide a glutty snipe
oh smeary...
so I had to wipe
this glooby mess from my big toot
for this I used a soggy root
I pushed my toot in roary flame
and rubbed and rubbed till I was lame
I was a sore and worried mess
a wrinkled, torn and slumly dress
so after that, I decided to go home!
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Doors
If one door opens
when another one closes
Why do I find myself trapped
naked on the landing?
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Connection
Between oceans there is land
The past has brought us presence
There is the Rain forest and dry sand
Crazy at times we can lose the essence
The valuable recognizes loss
Freedom makes us creators
Inviting love is down to us
Like good art draws spectators
Your love for me is my bliss
Sad moments are easier overcome
The happiness I give you, you can cease
There is plenty of joy for everyone
A single mind full of love is as strong
When I can feel what you feel is good
When sharing with others you can't go wrong
And it's down to you my celebrating mood
So thank you
By Beata Korabiowska
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There are roaches in the kitchen
In paranoia corner
The knives are out
Kick the bucket and
Drop the bong
We’re going on a stoner
All night long
Short term memory loss
- I’ve lost my thread
a fit of the giggles
has gone to my head
Can’t make the stairs,
I’ve lost my legs
There are strangers asleep on my bed
I’m gonna sit in the garden
- it’s just like Ibizia
and eat all the ice cream
in the freezer
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From my collection of bug and flea poems
The Hollywood stars were looking glitzy,
as they arrived for the Oscar ceremony;
All the actors were dressed to kill
and all the actresses dressed to thrill.
The red carpet was rolled out
and let’s not forget
that the cameras were rolling
and the stage was now set?
It is not about the actor;
who smokes the biggest cigar;
who drives the longest car;
who spends most at the bar?
It’s all about the Oscar!
(A statue the size of a jam jar),
that costs less than a chocolate bar,
but is proof, that the holder is a star.
So if you’re bitten by the acting bug
and you know that you’re really good?
Pack you’re bags; don’t be a mug,
and head for Hollywood.
I hear they’re making a big movie?
You can audition for the part.
It will be the first of many,
if you’re lucky to get a start?
The audience now jumped to its feet;
there was not one bum on a seat
and not because of all the glee,
but because of the Bug and the Flea.
Each of them was a nominee,
and there was a possibility
of winning the coveted trophy,
for the parts they played in ‘Lassie’.
Everyone was now anxious to see;
who would win in the final category?
Would it be the horsefly and stinging bee;
or the ‘Daddy Long Legs Trilogy’?
Other nominee included a rabbit called Herbie
and a well known mouse called Mickey,
but the best supporting roll went to the Bug
and the coveted Oscar went to the Flea.
© John McDonagh
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Wildflower Passion :)
I walk and see you smile at me
By roads and fields and river
All shapes and sizes, no winners no prizes
A truthful, graceful giver
You breathe and grow and feed and sow
And bend and dip and sway
No sound you utter
But your colours they flutter
Like a palette, from the studio of Monet
Your scent is from Heaven
My senses spill over
A rainbow just arched cross my sole
May you always be with me
And conjure within me
A world that is perfectly whole
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There you go again, thinking your all it
Treating every girl you cast under your spell like whores
Let me tell you this babes, your nothing!
You couldn’t keep your hold on me
I may be nothing but a ghost to you now
But just you wait…
Oh sweetie, you’ll be sorry you ever laid eyes on me
After that short fling, angers been building ever since
Oh hunny, your obvious to whats coming
Oh babes, did you forget me?
Not surprised with all the girls you pick up
Then leave after a week
But you didn’t fool me, I knew what you were
I know more now, I can’t even pity you
You don’t deserve it, no, you don’t deserve dirt
Your nothing but a waste of oxygen, which could have gone to better use
The time draws closer for the deed to be done
I have you in my sights, keep telling myself to be patient
You will make him remember, you will make him pay
Evil flows through my veins, venom flashes in my eyes
The seconds tick away the last moments of your life
I wait by the window, waiting for you to arrive home
Sweetie what a surprise I have for you
Night draws in and you climb into bed, no idea of my presense
I switch on the light, oh yes, your see me know
Nothing will stop the deed now
You have little time to react
But your face is priceless, picture perfect if you may, the look of pure terror
My knife plunges into the space where your heart would have been
I bring it up then back down, twelve or so times
You can’t get to them now, babes, no never again
I’m happy to say it hunny, your good and dead
Your crimson poison may stain your sheets, but never my hands
I shall never feel guilt for tonights events
You had it coming sweetheart,