Young Elsie Wright and Frances Griffiths
Whose ages were ten and sixteen,
Brought Cottingley fame by playing a game
Way back in nineteen-seventeen.
The girls drew small pictures of fairies,
It's after a mischievous trek
That the story begins when they propped them with pins
And photographed each at the Beck.
The lens captured innocent sketches
But for living sprites they could pass;
A real fairy bower and tall as a flower
A gnome pranced around on the grass.
To Cottingley specialists travelled,
Ghost-hunters who probed mystery,
As word of mouth spread speculation was fed,
Some even saw lights in a tree.
Then Sherlock Holmes' eminent author
Turned up, claiming 'This is the proof!',
Because Conan Doyle had the air of a royal
The girls dare not utter the truth.
For sixty odd years the world wondered
Till Elsie and Frances confessed;
Relieved to confide how the camera had lied,
Confirming what cynics had guessed.
But here is the twist in the story -
They maintained one fairy was real
And whenever I look at the last snap they took
It gives me the eeriest feel.
Going back over some pages I found this-missed it originally. I was only reading about this story again and looking at the pictures the other day. Really enjoyed this poem.
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.
Going back over some pages I found this-missed it originally. I was only reading about this story again and looking at the pictures the other day. Really enjoyed this poem.
Ta Mrs Goto The poem needs a few improvements, as it's going in the book!
Sorry everyone, for being away so long - I spent Wednesday in London with my colleague and partner in crime I now have the final running order printed out and we've selected the front and back cover photographs. They're pictures of an Avebury megalith and an ornamental toy heart. I'm really pleased with both :kitty: No photos are going inside it now, apart maybe from one in between the two sections of the book.
From now on I'm hoping to post at least two or three times a week. The library have issued cards for two hours of free computer use. I bought mine weeks ago and the great thing is, it's on the second floor - where absolute silence is insisted on.
Come listen to the Elvensong,
Let melodies convert you,
Enjoy the things for which you long,
Like pleasure, love and virtue,
Our forest band
Can lend a hand
When life's upset or hurt you.
Each song tells of some miracle,
Of leaves and oaken maces,
Each one of them is lyrical,
Describing magic places
Between the trees
With spells to ease
The pain in human faces.
And in the afterglow you'll think
Of how we sang togerther,
Of dwindling elves who laugh and drink
Strawberry wine, whenever
You're sad at all
You shall recall
Our Elvensong forever.
Here is the ladder that can fetch from below
On the top we can fix you with things far more quenching
As a sufferer of clinical depression at different periods, this resonated strongly BB. I lived in a shell when I was young and often dipped into black troughs. I don't know if the pills they gave me helped or not. Coming out of a long depression is like breathing fresh air again and your poem reminded me of that.
I really liked the term 'we can fix you', almost as if the gods are able to help someone
When I think of people like Tolkien , I can't believe the wonder of their imaginations.
Have you won the lottery?
I cashed in an old pension fund
I'm with you on Tolkien BB - what a mind He even invented different languages for all those Middle-earth races! With the rapid advance of technology I fear the imagination may start to lose out
It feels good to be working hard again. That said, I'm presenting a poem to the couple who run the excellent Royal Oak (my local) on Sunday It's called This Be The Pub :kitty:
I'm glad you liked the Orange poem but I'm struggling with silver
Perhaps other contributors could share something about how they go about their writing?
Hi Scottie
I do re-write parts of poems I'm not happy with. But I've noticed I can get carried away with it. First thoughts are often best and it's easy to over-egg the pudding. I'll need at least another three months to keep checking the 230 poems in the book.
The technical side like the iambic pentameters you mentioned leaves me cold I'm afraid. If I got involved in that, poetry would be too scientific for me.
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
For me BB, the most important thing is the response of the reader. If you can make someone laugh, cry or think deeply with a poem, you've succeeded. They're not too interested in how you did it, as long as they enjoy it You've passed the test by the way
I saw a little Squirrel in a tree, resting on a branch, in the shade today and it's fascinating the way Squirrels sometimes just stop for a moment and then rush away but the Squirrel today was so chilled out, just stretched out on a tree branch.:D
Sometimes A Squirrel Stops
Sometimes a Squirrel stops to look
sometimes a Squirrel stops to rest
sometimes a Squirrel stops to care
sometimes a Squirrel stops to choose
sometimes a Squirrel stops.
the dawn of another day of humanity,
the chance to vocalise all those hours of isolation,
IzzyS, you can never be alone, when you have something in you, to ease your way through, that is called a brand new day, start over, leave those troubles behind and then tell me, something funny.:D
I saw a little Squirrel in a tree, resting on a branch, in the shade today and it's fascinating the way Squirrels sometimes just stop for a moment and then rush away but the Squirrel today was so chilled out, just stretched out on a tree branch.:D
Sometimes A Squirrel Stops
Sometimes a Squirrel stops to look
sometimes a Squirrel stops to rest
sometimes a Squirrel stops to care
sometimes a Squirrel stops to choose
sometimes a Squirrel stops.
And sometimes they pinch your strawberries
Soon be that time again.
Trees tall and slender
sway gracefully in the breeze,
while creaks sound intermittently
from tree to tree -
natures fragility,
warning us,
acting as a reminder
of how delicate
the status quo can be.
As gusts surround,
an invisible chase takes place,
a game of hide and seek,
heard audibly through the low groaning
of those rooted to the ground.
Leaves rustling,
the energy is rising,
in this vast woodland.
The energy, the fragility; can be seen, heard and felt
if your open to it, in a forest, a wooded area near you,
breathe in the oxygen they secreet,
think how susceptible even the oldest tall tree;
may potentially be,
to the harshness of mother nature
and consider that we are but one and the same,
person and nature,
run down at times due to age.
Still we have our roots,
still we carry on, we wait to see
what hand we’re dealt,
how we react when pushed, whipped up into a frenzy
and in exchange we may also experience the beauty,
the amazement of the bright and colourful sunrise,
the dawning of better days.
When things go right,
look out your window, at the trees nearby -
they get the pleasure of experiencing the calm,
glorious sunrises and colourful sunsets
and so can we, if we stop and let ourselves.
Life can change in a moment,
appreciate the little things, for their everywhere,
as they say; blink and you’ll miss it, yet meanwhile
acknowledging and accepting that life is never perfect, is the best way to be.
Be thankful for the good things, the blessings we have,
acknowledge we are small beings on this planet
and things could change at any time,
everything is so very delicate;
yet here we are.
Life is not never ending, this is a beautiful place to be,
if you can see what is out there,
truly be a part of this fragile natural world.
IzzyS, you can never be alone, when you have something in you, to ease your way through, that is called a brand new day, start over, leave those troubles behind and then tell me, something funny.:D
It doesn't feel that way at the time though. Thankfully I've been gettng better nights sleep *knocks on wood* for the last few days or so.
Comments
Going back over some pages I found this-missed it originally. I was only reading about this story again and looking at the pictures the other day. Really enjoyed this poem.
I’ve had an idea its ideal
Its all about thought thats surreal
I just can’t believe
That my mind can deceive
And the moon isn’t actually real
If nobody looks at the sun
Will all of its heat soon be gone
If it’s all an illusion
Then what a confusion
Lets hope that it doesn’t catch on
Maybe I’m actually thick
My brain could be playing a trick
Perhaps all that I know
Could be stored in my toe
Is reality taking the mick.
I like this lots. I can totally relate to it.
Sorry everyone, for being away so long - I spent Wednesday in London with my colleague and partner in crime
From now on I'm hoping to post at least two or three times a week. The library have issued cards for two hours of free computer use. I bought mine weeks ago and the great thing is, it's on the second floor - where absolute silence is insisted on.
Great to see the old place has been so busy
Come listen to the Elvensong,
Let melodies convert you,
Enjoy the things for which you long,
Like pleasure, love and virtue,
Our forest band
Can lend a hand
When life's upset or hurt you.
Each song tells of some miracle,
Of leaves and oaken maces,
Each one of them is lyrical,
Describing magic places
Between the trees
With spells to ease
The pain in human faces.
And in the afterglow you'll think
Of how we sang togerther,
Of dwindling elves who laugh and drink
Strawberry wine, whenever
You're sad at all
You shall recall
Our Elvensong forever.
©
I really liked the term 'we can fix you', almost as if the gods are able to help someone
Great write Izzy, I don't think we've had one on that topic yet - but I may be wrong
My pleasure
I'm with you on Tolkien BB - what a mind
It feels good to be working hard again. That said, I'm presenting a poem to the couple who run the excellent Royal Oak (my local) on Sunday
I'm glad you liked the Orange poem but I'm struggling with silver
I do re-write parts of poems I'm not happy with. But I've noticed I can get carried away with it. First thoughts are often best and it's easy to over-egg the pudding. I'll need at least another three months to keep checking the 230 poems in the book.
The technical side like the iambic pentameters you mentioned leaves me cold I'm afraid. If I got involved in that, poetry would be too scientific for me.
Thanks Sandy
Until then my friends
Sometimes A Squirrel Stops
Sometimes a Squirrel stops to look
sometimes a Squirrel stops to rest
sometimes a Squirrel stops to care
sometimes a Squirrel stops to choose
sometimes a Squirrel stops.
And sometimes they pinch your strawberries
Soon be that time again.
To be honest I pinched it from the Coldplay song Fix You.
'Dwindling elves', great words to say and read. I'll have to try and drop that into a conversation. I love it ! :cool:
Do Squirrels like strawberries, don't they prefer nuts?
Well they liked mine last year . I think everything likes strawberries, though slugs probably like them better than anyone
http://img1.photographersdirect.com/img/17863/wm/pd927454.jpg
sway gracefully in the breeze,
while creaks sound intermittently
from tree to tree -
natures fragility,
warning us,
acting as a reminder
of how delicate
the status quo can be.
As gusts surround,
an invisible chase takes place,
a game of hide and seek,
heard audibly through the low groaning
of those rooted to the ground.
Leaves rustling,
the energy is rising,
in this vast woodland.
The energy, the fragility; can be seen, heard and felt
if your open to it, in a forest, a wooded area near you,
breathe in the oxygen they secreet,
think how susceptible even the oldest tall tree;
may potentially be,
to the harshness of mother nature
and consider that we are but one and the same,
person and nature,
run down at times due to age.
Still we have our roots,
still we carry on, we wait to see
what hand we’re dealt,
how we react when pushed, whipped up into a frenzy
and in exchange we may also experience the beauty,
the amazement of the bright and colourful sunrise,
the dawning of better days.
When things go right,
look out your window, at the trees nearby -
they get the pleasure of experiencing the calm,
glorious sunrises and colourful sunsets
and so can we, if we stop and let ourselves.
Life can change in a moment,
appreciate the little things, for their everywhere,
as they say; blink and you’ll miss it, yet meanwhile
acknowledging and accepting that life is never perfect, is the best way to be.
Be thankful for the good things, the blessings we have,
acknowledge we are small beings on this planet
and things could change at any time,
everything is so very delicate;
yet here we are.
Life is not never ending, this is a beautiful place to be,
if you can see what is out there,
truly be a part of this fragile natural world.
Some are, some aren't. Thanks
It doesn't feel that way at the time though. Thankfully I've been gettng better nights sleep *knocks on wood* for the last few days or so.