All things can be mended with time and care
Don’t ever give up though you are tired of trying
Climb another impossible rising
No need to feel lost so lose your despair
There are those all around that feel all your sadness
They miss what is you that is hidden from seeing
Don’t waste what you are but come into being
I will say all is relative the thing we call madness
Sometimes a hole can seem undeservedly tempting
If you choose to fall in it where then can you go
Here is the ladder that can fetch from below
On the top we can fix you with things far more quenching
It can be hard
to decrypt, analyse, see through
the typed words to know who im really talking to...
is all as it seems, as I wish?.
Are you who you claim?
can I take you at your word?
or do you hide,
behind a username,
behind a mask,
the truth hidden away, out of view,
what is YOUR truth?.
Do you truly care,
or are you really after,
what you think I can give,
the risks of exposing my innermost fears are surely innumerate.
My frustration and disappointment
bubble up to the surface,
each and every time,
when I feel compelled
to heed my gut instincts
and once more cut ties, block,
walk away from someone yet again -
never knowing for certain if I was right.
They say that when you meet the right person,
you'll know it automatically
but look into anyones eyes and tell me, hand on heart
that you trust your trust of them, through and through.
Looks don't kill but people and their actions may do - heart, body, blood and soul.
Understanding someones true intentions
can indeed be tricky,
risks court your sub conscious, the whole way through,
continually you wonder
how to balance the line between safety,
gut instincts, companionship and what could be...
What does the future hold,
thats what I wonder,
does the truth not dictate that risks have to be made,
in order to find happiness?
Who is it I trust least, at the end of the day,
whom I'm in contact with, he represented by username alone,
digitally anonymised,
or is it somehow myself,
as the ultimate consequence of my ever-present, often strong doubts is as ever,
more solitude.
Is the truth that as much as I say I want, no need, to connect
to other people, to reach out, find others to confide in, support,
laugh with and all,
in reality I can't quite risk showing myself, for who I am, in person?
is my real fear not them but somehow me? can I cut the ties of distance?
only time will tell.
How lovely. Thank you so much for finding that. I know you are busy with other poetry, but it was worth your efforts for me and all the people who will read it
Thanks a lot BB I polished the poem slightly and ended up satisfied with The Unicorn, which is a very old one indeed :kitty:
I see the thread's been busy again - after I've posted a short piece I'll try to read everything
Nothing rhymes with orange,
Every poet knows
Nothing rhymes with orange,
Orange never goes.
Coleridge dwelled upon on it
Then sighed and drained his cup,
Byron lacked a sonnet
Matching orange up.
Nothing rhymed with orange
Till my door helped a bit:
With knocker, cat-flap or 'inge
At last I made it fit.
I think this one might be as Musty has tittled off, probably to Stonehenge
Sadly, my financial situation has prevented a visit to any ancient site for yonks BB Happily, that situation will be resolved this week
I'm hoping to get to Knowlton Henges, The Devil's Arrows and The Merry Maidens in the next year or two! Stonehenge has been ruined by years of clumsy management and far too many tourists. Dawn and after midnight are the best times to be there.
I need to visit Avebury again before publishing day too - it's so inspirational
What a superb write Izzy It chimes with my mood, as I've wasted far too much time of late enjoying myself in pubs and out walking with friends in the sunshine. From today I'm knuckling down full-tilt on the book.
While reading your words I was strongly reminded of Dead Poets Society, which is one of my top five films. 'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may' - that's damn right and it's expressed so eloquently in your poem. I'll be reading it again :kitty:
soft like pillows billowing
or weeping willows willowing.
Drat, I wish i'd thought of those lines Top-notch John - to me the poem sums up meditation techniques, even if it wasn't intended to. Stress seems to be growing in my opinion and reading this piece might benefit a few unhappy souls. Much enjoyed
For when the cold cuts through your thoughts and desolation smothers
That tiny spark can reignite and spread its warmth to others.
Gorgeous BB, just gorgeous The image of a flickering light (I saw a candle in my mind) to represent the imagination is such a good one. Not only that, you described the light so well too, with different aspects of it and how it can be nurtured. Tender, meaningful and so beautiful
What a superb write Izzy It chimes with my mood, as I've wasted far too much time of late enjoying myself in pubs and out walking with friends in the sunshine. From today I'm knuckling down full-tilt on the book.
While reading your words I was strongly reminded of Dead Poets Society, which is one of my top five films. 'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may' - that's damn right and it's expressed so eloquently in your poem. I'll be reading it again :kitty:
Nothing rhymes with orange,
Every poet knows
Nothing rhymes with orange,
Orange never goes.
Coleridge dwelled upon on it
Then sighed and drained his cup,
Byron lacked a sonnet
Matching orange up.
Nothing rhymed with orange
Till my door helped a bit:
With knocker, cat-flap or 'inge
At last I made it fit.
Well that's one in the eye for Byron and Coleridge ! Great as always . Now you can try one with silver
Thanks for your very generous comments on my 'imagination' poem. If I had the time I would change a few things, it's just write and post I'm afraid, but it is very gratifying to hear you liked it
When I think of people like Tolkien , I can't believe the wonder of their imaginations. His writings flabbergast me. His wasn't a flicker but a raging inferno.
Glad to hear your finances are on the up. Have you won the lottery ?
Anyway , yes, stop galavanting about and get your nose to the grindstone. We are poised waiting for this book !
Take care
I'm not sure about anyone else on here but when I write a poem I will re-read it and re-draft it over and over.
Just for interest here is the version of my poem 'Connect' which I put in this thread. I've followed it with what I now consider to be my final draft. I guess I spent around three weeks (very much on and off) re-reading and re-drafting the poem until I was pretty much satisfied with the final result.
I didn't help myself by using a fairly rigid sonnet structure.
For those more technically minded the rhyme scheme is:
The rhythm of the waves, as they rise and fall onto the beach,
beats the sand with the life-giving pulse of the sea.
The cycle of ebb and flow washes over a scurry
of life, the tide dragging up what was once out of reach.
The breath of the wind: a whisper of echoes of time.
The touch of the wind: a brush on the shoulder, a kiss,
a push, the gentle touch of a lover’s caress.
Look out over the water and see where life first climbed
out into the gravitational pull of this Earth.
Breathe out, breathe in, take in the taste of time
in the salty spray, a mist eternal, so fine,
a lunar harvest for a Godly curse.
And you wipe your eyes as the salted teardrops run,
each a white moon falling one by one by one.
Connect
The rhythm of the waves, as they rise and fall onto the beach,
beats the sand with the life-giving pulse of the sea.
The cycle of ebb and flow washes over a scurry
of life, the tide dragging up what was once out of reach.
The sound of the sea: a whisper of echoes of time.
The touch of the wind: the hand of an indifferent creator.
The warmth of the sun: the chance of nature’s law.
Look out over the water and see where life first climbed
out into the push and pull of this universe.
Breathe out, breathe in, and taste the living elements
in the salty spray. Look out beyond the resonance
of a lunar harvest to a godly curse.
Then wipe your eyes as salted teardrops run,
each a white moon falling one by one.
Perhaps other contributors could share something about how they go about their writing?
I'm not sure about anyone else on here but when I write a poem I will re-read it and re-draft it over and over.
Just for interest here is the version of my poem 'Connect' which I put in this thread. I've followed it with what I now consider to be my final draft. I guess I spent around three weeks (very much on and off) re-reading and re-drafting the poem until I was pretty much satisfied with the final result.
I didn't help myself by using a fairly rigid sonnet structure.
For those more technically minded the rhyme scheme is:
The rhythm of the waves, as they rise and fall onto the beach,
beats the sand with the life-giving pulse of the sea.
The cycle of ebb and flow washes over a scurry
of life, the tide dragging up what was once out of reach.
The sound of the sea: a whisper of echoes of time.
The touch of the wind: the hand of an indifferent creator.
The warmth of the sun: the chance of nature’s law.
Look out over the water and see where life first climbed
out into the push and pull of this universe.
Breathe out, breathe in, and taste the living elements
in the salty spray. Look out beyond the resonance
of a lunar harvest to a godly curse.
Then wipe your eyes as salted teardrops run,
each a white moon falling one by one.
Perhaps other contributors could share something about how they go about their writing?
I was very interested to read this scottie. It has made me understand why your poetry appears so beautifully crafted compared to mine. I had to look up iambic-pentameter as I have very poor knowledge of the 'art' of poetry.
I'm afraid my explanation of how I write may not be of much interest as I usually take no more than twenty minutes (if that) to write a poem and don't have much idea which direction it will take until it's finished. I never change things once it's written, except for my spelling
The most I think about is which lines to make rhyme just to mix it up sometimes.
Although I really liked your first draft of Connect, I can see the second version is superior , particularly the last two lines.
Maybe I'll read up on some poetry theory when I'm on holiday later in the year and see if I can develop and improve. I haven't given any thought to the lack of technicality of my own writing, but if I did and could write something like one of your poems, it would be worth the effort.
I've played crazy golf at Hotham Park in Bognor Regis, a nice park but the tarmac made the golf ball go wonky. So just my way of saying that serious crazy golf enthusiasts should be aware.
Sometimes I wish I could fly,
up, up, up,
way in to the sky,
breeze along, wisp past the clouds
feel the sunset along my wings
and smell the evening air; full of contentment,
the peace and quiet such a time brings.
As I fly ever further, towards the sinkening sun,
I wonder what may beckon,
my future uncertain,
except for one thing -
that it will continue,
no matter what it may bring.
Day always follows night,
isn’t this correct?
aren’t I right?.
Here in my bedroom prison,
in the early hours of the morn,
my mind paces, to and fro,
going through the inevitable motions,
with two eyes open, one mind wondering,
hoping, planning, pondering,
wishing for breakfast time to come.
The silence echoes assuredly,
from ear lobe to ear lobe,
I’m the only one in this place both conscious and alert,
so logic and reason agrees…
silence has never felt so deafening and lonely.
When will your alarm clock break the peace and quiet,
kick into action and mark the dawn,
at last!
finally!
the dawn of another day of humanity,
the chance to vocalise all those hours of isolation,
to off load, moan, laugh, cry,
to see what this day may bring.
When a tree falls in the wood are you certain
If no witness of descent to the ground
That a crash was made by the timber
If no person about heard the sound.
Should we all lose our sense of listening
Would the world be a silent abode
Or can a noise of the Earth be despite us
As we’re locked from the real with no code.
Comments
They don't want to go to the park golf, woodlands.:D
Me too. Thanks.
You always want
when you have
You always say
when you are
guilt is nothing
nothing is so
so be something
something is love.
All things can be mended with time and care
Don’t ever give up though you are tired of trying
Climb another impossible rising
No need to feel lost so lose your despair
There are those all around that feel all your sadness
They miss what is you that is hidden from seeing
Don’t waste what you are but come into being
I will say all is relative the thing we call madness
Sometimes a hole can seem undeservedly tempting
If you choose to fall in it where then can you go
Here is the ladder that can fetch from below
On the top we can fix you with things far more quenching
How can I tell,
who to trust,
to confide in?.
It can be hard
to decrypt, analyse, see through
the typed words to know who im really talking to...
is all as it seems, as I wish?.
Are you who you claim?
can I take you at your word?
or do you hide,
behind a username,
behind a mask,
the truth hidden away, out of view,
what is YOUR truth?.
Do you truly care,
or are you really after,
what you think I can give,
the risks of exposing my innermost fears are surely innumerate.
My frustration and disappointment
bubble up to the surface,
each and every time,
when I feel compelled
to heed my gut instincts
and once more cut ties, block,
walk away from someone yet again -
never knowing for certain if I was right.
They say that when you meet the right person,
you'll know it automatically
but look into anyones eyes and tell me, hand on heart
that you trust your trust of them, through and through.
Looks don't kill but people and their actions may do - heart, body, blood and soul.
Understanding someones true intentions
can indeed be tricky,
risks court your sub conscious, the whole way through,
continually you wonder
how to balance the line between safety,
gut instincts, companionship and what could be...
What does the future hold,
thats what I wonder,
does the truth not dictate that risks have to be made,
in order to find happiness?
Who is it I trust least, at the end of the day,
whom I'm in contact with, he represented by username alone,
digitally anonymised,
or is it somehow myself,
as the ultimate consequence of my ever-present, often strong doubts is as ever,
more solitude.
Is the truth that as much as I say I want, no need, to connect
to other people, to reach out, find others to confide in, support,
laugh with and all,
in reality I can't quite risk showing myself, for who I am, in person?
is my real fear not them but somehow me? can I cut the ties of distance?
only time will tell.
I see the thread's been busy again - after I've posted a short piece I'll try to read everything
Nothing rhymes with orange,
Every poet knows
Nothing rhymes with orange,
Orange never goes.
Coleridge dwelled upon on it
Then sighed and drained his cup,
Byron lacked a sonnet
Matching orange up.
Nothing rhymed with orange
Till my door helped a bit:
With knocker, cat-flap or 'inge
At last I made it fit.
©
There'd have to be decent music Sandy :kitty:
I'm hoping to get to Knowlton Henges, The Devil's Arrows and The Merry Maidens in the next year or two! Stonehenge has been ruined by years of clumsy management and far too many tourists. Dawn and after midnight are the best times to be there.
I need to visit Avebury again before publishing day too - it's so inspirational
While reading your words I was strongly reminded of Dead Poets Society, which is one of my top five films. 'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may' - that's damn right and it's expressed so eloquently in your poem. I'll be reading it again :kitty:
What a thread
Totally uplifting :kitty:
It's a ricochet - I like it when one poem bounces off another! Flower does that sometimes when she pops in
I've decided to spend the rest of my life alone. It comes as a great relief and I feel like a burden's been lifted
Speak soon my friends :kitty:
Wow, thanks
This made me smile. I remember playing word rhyming games as a child. It's true-well, until now.
Well that's one in the eye for Byron and Coleridge !
Thanks for your very generous comments on my 'imagination' poem. If I had the time I would change a few things, it's just write and post I'm afraid, but it is very gratifying to hear you liked it
When I think of people like Tolkien , I can't believe the wonder of their imaginations. His writings flabbergast me. His wasn't a flicker but a raging inferno.
Glad to hear your finances are on the up. Have you won the lottery ?
Anyway , yes, stop galavanting about and get your nose to the grindstone. We are poised waiting for this book !
Take care
Just for interest here is the version of my poem 'Connect' which I put in this thread. I've followed it with what I now consider to be my final draft. I guess I spent around three weeks (very much on and off) re-reading and re-drafting the poem until I was pretty much satisfied with the final result.
I didn't help myself by using a fairly rigid sonnet structure.
For those more technically minded the rhyme scheme is:
abba cddc effe gg
and it's written in iambic pentameter.
Connect
The rhythm of the waves, as they rise and fall onto the beach,
beats the sand with the life-giving pulse of the sea.
The cycle of ebb and flow washes over a scurry
of life, the tide dragging up what was once out of reach.
The breath of the wind: a whisper of echoes of time.
The touch of the wind: a brush on the shoulder, a kiss,
a push, the gentle touch of a lover’s caress.
Look out over the water and see where life first climbed
out into the gravitational pull of this Earth.
Breathe out, breathe in, take in the taste of time
in the salty spray, a mist eternal, so fine,
a lunar harvest for a Godly curse.
And you wipe your eyes as the salted teardrops run,
each a white moon falling one by one by one.
Connect
The rhythm of the waves, as they rise and fall onto the beach,
beats the sand with the life-giving pulse of the sea.
The cycle of ebb and flow washes over a scurry
of life, the tide dragging up what was once out of reach.
The sound of the sea: a whisper of echoes of time.
The touch of the wind: the hand of an indifferent creator.
The warmth of the sun: the chance of nature’s law.
Look out over the water and see where life first climbed
out into the push and pull of this universe.
Breathe out, breathe in, and taste the living elements
in the salty spray. Look out beyond the resonance
of a lunar harvest to a godly curse.
Then wipe your eyes as salted teardrops run,
each a white moon falling one by one.
Perhaps other contributors could share something about how they go about their writing?
I was very interested to read this scottie. It has made me understand why your poetry appears so beautifully crafted compared to mine. I had to look up iambic-pentameter as I have very poor knowledge of the 'art' of poetry.
I'm afraid my explanation of how I write may not be of much interest as I usually take no more than twenty minutes (if that) to write a poem and don't have much idea which direction it will take until it's finished. I never change things once it's written, except for my spelling
The most I think about is which lines to make rhyme just to mix it up sometimes.
Although I really liked your first draft of Connect, I can see the second version is superior , particularly the last two lines.
Maybe I'll read up on some poetry theory when I'm on holiday later in the year and see if I can develop and improve. I haven't given any thought to the lack of technicality of my own writing, but if I did and could write something like one of your poems, it would be worth the effort.
Thanks for the inspiration to learn.
I've played crazy golf at Hotham Park in Bognor Regis, a nice park but the tarmac made the golf ball go wonky. So just my way of saying that serious crazy golf enthusiasts should be aware.
up, up, up,
way in to the sky,
breeze along, wisp past the clouds
feel the sunset along my wings
and smell the evening air; full of contentment,
the peace and quiet such a time brings.
As I fly ever further, towards the sinkening sun,
I wonder what may beckon,
my future uncertain,
except for one thing -
that it will continue,
no matter what it may bring.
Day always follows night,
isn’t this correct?
aren’t I right?.
in the early hours of the morn,
my mind paces, to and fro,
going through the inevitable motions,
with two eyes open, one mind wondering,
hoping, planning, pondering,
wishing for breakfast time to come.
The silence echoes assuredly,
from ear lobe to ear lobe,
I’m the only one in this place both conscious and alert,
so logic and reason agrees…
silence has never felt so deafening and lonely.
When will your alarm clock break the peace and quiet,
kick into action and mark the dawn,
at last!
finally!
the dawn of another day of humanity,
the chance to vocalise all those hours of isolation,
to off load, moan, laugh, cry,
to see what this day may bring.
When a tree falls in the wood are you certain
If no witness of descent to the ground
That a crash was made by the timber
If no person about heard the sound.
Should we all lose our sense of listening
Would the world be a silent abode
Or can a noise of the Earth be despite us
As we’re locked from the real with no code.