I'm getting hungry and have to leave the library for a bite to eat, so I'll catch up next time. It's brilliant to see the thread so busy - and the return of MRSgotobed
Well I've just googled Elizabethan cod pieces to see if I could post a picture to answer your question....don't try it at the library, they will take your ticket off you !
I'm off out with the 'girls' tonight so I'll ask around and see if they can come up with anything
Thanks for the nice comments as always. Yes some lovely poems posted recently
I'm getting hungry and have to leave the library for a bite to eat, so I'll catch up next time. It's brilliant to see the thread so busy - and the return of MRSgotobed
How could you leave when surrounded by so much food for thought?
Haven't seen Frank for ages. Seems greedy to always want more from poets, but I do.
As a rhymist, I was pleased to achieve a couplet with four rhyming syllables of eight recently. I awarded myself an imaginary gold star.
You'll always be the caretaker here Musty, but the place is set up so well it runs along pretty well while you publish and go on the road... Take care.
Busy, busy, busy
must keep finding more to do,
for as long as I’m distracted,
I won’t be hearing as much from you.
By you,
you mean…who?
Who else,
the nagging, self critical voice
who hides inside us all, invisible to the naked eye
when we should be comforted and indeed rejoice
by looking back at the good we’ve done.
Instead worries, fears, doubts,
come forth - question/mock/poke fun
at where we stand.
How do you successfully move forward,
take the risk of sticking your neck out,
the leap of faith surely too large,
what if I jump but never manage to land?!.
This voice be the voice of doubt,
waiting to come out,
the eternally unsure,
patient and demure.
The cautious worry,
everpresent in the background…
how I wish I could bury,
discard, say goodbye for once and for all, to
those painfully familiar whispers.
I should be doing something else,
mustn’t slacken,
there are always things to be done,
words to be written,
wishes and dreams expressed,
there can be no time left to rest
keep busy, busy, busy!.
Whatever it takes I’ll do -
anything to distract myself, not pay attention
to the critic, who only sees time slip away.
Achievements be darned,
time passes by like sand
between fingers;
never to be regained,
thus make the most of what we have,
don’t mourn for the mistakes
but hope for what may come!.
Motivate, plan and cross your fingers,
as hope keeps us going,
while sadness pulls us down, out of view.
the voice is laced, if you allow your guard down,
with worries, put-downs, forming the strictest critic possible
unable to ignore every mistake made,
self awareness at its worst.
So to the ending,
this is where I say, emphatically,
accept and be at peace, kindly shrug off the voice
then it loses its power,
for this is the best
that can be hoped for.
So to the ending,
this is where I say, emphatically,
accept and be at peace, kindly shrug off the voice
then it loses its power,
for this is the best
that can be hoped for.
I hope you achieve that Izzy. Thanks for sharing your words x
You'll always be the caretaker here Musty, but the place is set up so well it runs along pretty well while you publish and go on the road... Take care.
It's going to take me ages to read everything John Well done with the gold star
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
If you really try you might just see that flickering speck of light
May be enough to guide the way in the blackness of your night.
Be not concerned about its source or how long to be sustained
For many never see this bright and avert their eyes ashamed.
It dances as a life unplanned , the wind can change its power
And as you watch its burning rhythm, stand tall don’t ever cower.
For when the cold cuts through your thoughts and desolation smothers
That tiny spark can reignite and spread its warmth to others.
Remember all must share this flame, it’s not for one to own
For as we try to tame its glow the light will dim as blown.
Possession is not possible, as if you try to cage
Its dance will be restricted and rhythm fall from life’s page.
So if you start to stumble and can’t see past the wall
The flicker may be hiding, just look and you won’t fall
The light is there inside you , imagination unrestricted
A gift to use to make the world all beauty so depicted.
If there was really a poet house, how could such be quiet?
I think this one might be as Musty has tittled off, probably to Stonehenge and Archiver is 'closed' . If you read this John a little wave so we know you are ok would be good
I think this one might be as Musty has tittled off, probably to Stonehenge and Archiver is 'closed' . If you read this John a little wave so we know you are ok would be good
I think their red breasts just fade a bit so they aren't so noticeable...either that or they all go to Bogna for six weeks on a bus trip ;-)
Bognor Regis, they might have gone to play Crazy Golf.:D
Comments
You've got to get in quick :kitty: A five-star write
What made you think that about the robin?
Well I've just googled Elizabethan cod pieces to see if I could post a picture to answer your question....don't try it at the library, they will take your ticket off you !
I'm off out with the 'girls' tonight so I'll ask around and see if they can come up with anything
Thanks for the nice comments as always. Yes some lovely poems posted recently
Haven't seen Frank for ages. Seems greedy to always want more from poets, but I do.
As a rhymist, I was pleased to achieve a couplet with four rhyming syllables of eight recently. I awarded myself an imaginary gold star.
You'll always be the caretaker here Musty, but the place is set up so well it runs along pretty well while you publish and go on the road... Take care.
must keep finding more to do,
for as long as I’m distracted,
I won’t be hearing as much from you.
By you,
you mean…who?
Who else,
the nagging, self critical voice
who hides inside us all, invisible to the naked eye
when we should be comforted and indeed rejoice
by looking back at the good we’ve done.
Instead worries, fears, doubts,
come forth - question/mock/poke fun
at where we stand.
How do you successfully move forward,
take the risk of sticking your neck out,
the leap of faith surely too large,
what if I jump but never manage to land?!.
This voice be the voice of doubt,
waiting to come out,
the eternally unsure,
patient and demure.
The cautious worry,
everpresent in the background…
how I wish I could bury,
discard, say goodbye for once and for all, to
those painfully familiar whispers.
I should be doing something else,
mustn’t slacken,
there are always things to be done,
words to be written,
wishes and dreams expressed,
there can be no time left to rest
keep busy, busy, busy!.
Whatever it takes I’ll do -
anything to distract myself, not pay attention
to the critic, who only sees time slip away.
Achievements be darned,
time passes by like sand
between fingers;
never to be regained,
thus make the most of what we have,
don’t mourn for the mistakes
but hope for what may come!.
Motivate, plan and cross your fingers,
as hope keeps us going,
while sadness pulls us down, out of view.
the voice is laced, if you allow your guard down,
with worries, put-downs, forming the strictest critic possible
unable to ignore every mistake made,
self awareness at its worst.
So to the ending,
this is where I say, emphatically,
accept and be at peace, kindly shrug off the voice
then it loses its power,
for this is the best
that can be hoped for.
I hope you achieve that Izzy. Thanks for sharing your words
Chill. Take a pill
If you don't do it
someone else will.
Breathe slowly
Deep and long
Try to keep your mind strong.
Think of absolutely nothing
close your eyes and picture something
soft like pillows billowing
or weeping willows willowing.
Constant stream of conscious bubbles
coagulating all your troubles
Turn it off for just a mo.
and think of no thing you know.
Hold that empty timeless thought
empowering moments you bought.
Suddenly awake refreshed
with worthless worries all suppressed.
Beautiful imagery and sentiment.
Because I only usually see them in the winter when it's snowy
Henry VIII had a big one BB
It's going to take me ages to read everything John
I'm missing Frank too
The sorceress of seasons
Knew every potion's blend,
There were a thousand reasons
Why nature was her friend.
They said that she could sway corn,
Make pictures out of smoke
And turn the smallest acorn
Into the tallest oak.
Her eyes were full of sorrow
Yet every time she smiled
The gods who mould tomorrow
Stared down at her, beguiled.
This woman who exceeded
At magic in her prime
Had met the man she needed,
A conjurer of rhyme.
One morning with her poet
As mist hung in the air
An open field would show it;
A group of horses there.
And while the sun was dozing,
A sleepy light for now,
One horse seemed more imposing,
A horn adorned its brow.
Free of the men who'd blamed it
And punishments incurred,
Nobody yet had tamed it,
The wild one in the herd.
The sorceress, enchanted
Towards the creature went,
The unicorn's head slanted,
Apparently content.
She said she was an ally
And stroked the silver mane,
Then whispered to it 'Shall I
Heal your unspoken pain?'
She mounted it and bareback
Rode off, the poet gazed
And when she turned to stare back
He watched the scene, amazed.
With neither whip or banter
She'd tamed the beast with ease,
It started with a canter
Then beat the morning breeze.
A vision he would cherish,
So ravishing her form,
Some moments never perish,
They linger, sweet and warm.
The couple who passed that way
Left blessings in its mind;
The unicorn from that day
Knew humans could be kind.
©
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
If you really try you might just see that flickering speck of light
May be enough to guide the way in the blackness of your night.
Be not concerned about its source or how long to be sustained
For many never see this bright and avert their eyes ashamed.
It dances as a life unplanned , the wind can change its power
And as you watch its burning rhythm, stand tall don’t ever cower.
For when the cold cuts through your thoughts and desolation smothers
That tiny spark can reignite and spread its warmth to others.
Remember all must share this flame, it’s not for one to own
For as we try to tame its glow the light will dim as blown.
Possession is not possible, as if you try to cage
Its dance will be restricted and rhythm fall from life’s page.
So if you start to stumble and can’t see past the wall
The flicker may be hiding, just look and you won’t fall
The light is there inside you , imagination unrestricted
A gift to use to make the world all beauty so depicted.
Shhhhh don’t stir their dreaming
I’ll creep back out ,come back again
When poems and rhymes are teeming
When a gentle breeze comes thy way
maybe agree laugh with and sway
to merry enjoyment wonderful day.
If there was really a poet house, how could such be quiet?
I think this one might be as Musty has tittled off, probably to Stonehenge
I think their red breasts just fade a bit so they aren't so noticeable...either that or they all go to Bogna for six weeks on a bus trip ;-)
But when a storm comes through
and the sky isn't blue
try not to cry, soon be past, yes it's true.
Bognor Regis, they might have gone to play Crazy Golf.:D
Keep love asteady and rock on sweet teddy.:D
Would be appropriate