Izzy, your words really got to me, reminded me of those unbidden thoughts that swirl around in your head. Then followed on by the poems,the words expressed about time had that surreal feeling. I can't do that style at all, I wouldn't know where to start, I think I'm a one trick pony, but I love it, so descriptive and so relevant, it feels.
Well this one does not involve me big pants for a change...
The Neighbourhood Boss
Happy and excited we pulled up outside our new home
Whereupon we were greeted by a question firing, giant garden gnome
There he was at the garden gate awaiting our arrival
Where, he spouted forth a lecture to ensure our neighbourhood survival.
Whenever we attempted to leave the house via the front door,
Luckily the boss was there, with helpful suggestions galore.
Just in case as neighbours we weren’t aware of our many faults,
He would run through his lengthy list for us, like a nasty dose of salts.
Peeping from behind our curtains, on our guard duty we would lurk,
But behaving like the SAS was useless; it was a plan which could never work.
For even when we went undercover and checked the coast was clear,
He wasn’t fooled by our army surplus camouflaged up gear.
Alas, he always caught us out, as if kitted out with radar,
It was like trying to escape the force of a neighbourhood Darth Vader.
For him, to interfere, oh, it was such a necessary task,
He would butt in uninvited; there was never a need to ask.
There was no subject on earth immune from his point of view
From TOWIE to ‘Call me Dave,’ and ‘her’ across at number twenty two.
He relished a gossip and spread many a rumour
A presumed pregnancy, and even a terminal tumour.
Bless him, he actually considered himself to be the Neighbourhood Boss
But quite frankly, ‘The Neighbourhood,’ it didn’t give a toss.
Then one day he vanished ‘pouff’ just like that,
He had the day before, I recall kicked Mrs McSpell’s cat.
“My poor Puss,” said she, “That man, och, how he liked to goad,
That’s why my pretty, I’ve turned him into a toad.”
Are we wiser as we get older?
always looking over our shoulder.
Should we spend time, a few minutes a day,
just watching and listening to the children at play?
Reading through the forum from page 1.
flower I love this, it is lovely and provokes thoughts and memories.
It’s here again the day’s arrived for Granny’s Birthday pub crawl
We’re starting at ‘The Vegas Bar’ and ending up at ‘Ye Olde Fiddler’s Lost Ball.’
The whole village has been invited and I feel a little dread
I think I might be safer tucked up at home snugly in my bed,
But I know it’s not an option, so I’ll have to grit my teeth,
Cos Ethel’s are quite unstable and often end up at home with Keith.
Trouble starting Barbara’s here, she used to be a nun,
But she got into the habit of a different kind of fun.
The girls are now comparing notes after a tot of double whisky
I should have kept an eye on them-that stuff just makes them frisky.
Granny says, “Here Barbara, that young Dickie-he’s a handsome chap,
I think I’ll go and chat him up a bit when I’ve had me disco nap.”
Keith is Ethel’s toy boy, a mere babe of eighty two
Who likes to kick the night off right, with a pint of his home brew.
He says it lubricates his joints and sorts his clicky hip
And is vital for his Elvis act and the curl of his top lip.
I notice that between the ladies there is something going down
There’s a tiff about who can get their legs highest dancing, ‘Knees Up Mother Brown.’
Keith aka Elvis is the subject of the scuffle
He’s been playing fast and loose and now has caused a right kerfuffle
But Ethel’s thinking on her pins, she knows how to catch his eye
She’s been practicing the ‘Knees Up’ bit and she flashes Keith her thigh.
The other ladies admit defeat; Ethel is The King’s sweetheart
But now the girls clock Alfred at the bar, he’s looking uber smart.
Granny’s set her sights on Dickie, she’s going in for the kill,
She’s woken up feeling groovy, after popping her Pro-Plus pill.
Alfred’s only got himself to blame for wearing that plunging shirt
The ladies think he’s dressed like that because he wants to flirt
How are all the girls to know he’s into those more hairy?
He’s unaware he’s smouldering in that shirt of his, as he sips his Virgin Mary.
The ladies make a dash for him, but Alfred’s off in a jiffy
He seen this lot in party mode, it’s scary when they’re squiffy.
Barbara’s got that look about her, that face says she means action
He darts into the gents before he finds himself in traction.
Izzy, your words really got to me, reminded me of those unbidden thoughts that swirl around in your head. Then followed on by the poems,the words expressed about time had that surreal feeling. I can't do that style at all, I wouldn't know where to start, I think I'm a one trick pony, but I love it, so descriptive and so relevant, it feels.
Well this one does not involve me big pants for a change...
The Neighbourhood Boss
Happy and excited we pulled up outside our new home
Whereupon we were greeted by a question firing, giant garden gnome
There he was at the garden gate awaiting our arrival
Where, he spouted forth a lecture to ensure our neighbourhood survival.
Whenever we attempted to leave the house via the front door,
Luckily the boss was there, with helpful suggestions galore.
Just in case as neighbours we weren’t aware of our many faults,
He would run through his lengthy list for us, like a nasty dose of salts.
Peeping from behind our curtains, on our guard duty we would lurk,
But behaving like the SAS was useless; it was a plan which could never work.
For even when we went undercover and checked the coast was clear,
He wasn’t fooled by our army surplus camouflaged up gear.
Alas, he always caught us out, as if kitted out with radar,
It was like trying to escape the force of a neighbourhood Darth Vader.
For him, to interfere, oh, it was such a necessary task,
He would butt in uninvited; there was never a need to ask.
There was no subject on earth immune from his point of view
From TOWIE to ‘Call me Dave,’ and ‘her’ across at number twenty two.
He relished a gossip and spread many a rumour
A presumed pregnancy, and even a terminal tumour.
Bless him, he actually considered himself to be the Neighbourhood Boss
But quite frankly, ‘The Neighbourhood,’ it didn’t give a toss.
Then one day he vanished ‘pouff’ just like that,
He had the day before, I recall kicked Mrs McSpell’s cat.
“My poor Puss,” said she, “That man, och, how he liked to goad,
That’s why my pretty, I’ve turned him into a toad.”
Thanks - too many of mine are quite similar, it'd probably get a bit boring (and depressing) to post them all but I'll post another below if interested?. Nice one those rhymes are really good, quite funny
Battle
How honest are you?
do the questions haunt you?
can you run away,
from who you once were?
Do you stop to think,
what did become of that person,
the mistakes made, the humiliation felt,
is it possible to truly change,
or are they ready to strike again?.
Am I just wearing a mask?
have I shed the skin of those years?
what is the truth,
am I a fool to believe I can run from what once was?.
I fear not, as often frustrations and embarrassment rush back,
triggered by mistakes committed by accident,
emotions shake me, acting as a loud and clear reminder,
this is who you are, nobody perfect thats for sure.
Why battle? the effort required is great,
to try to break free, see past the limitations, the shame,
to hold my head up high,
thats when your most vulnerable,
trying to prove your worth,
to stand up tall, show pride and self belief, no matter what,
overlook all those glitches which only act to reassure we’re human after all.
Tempers may flare in seconds flat
but don’t let it consume you,
control it as best you can and accept your flaws,
for only then is anything possible and the healing can truly begin.
Battle-the words just say it all Izzy.
How on earth can you ever describe what you write as boring?
I would love to read some more when you're ready, if that's alright.
he said:
let’s lay out tonight
under the black sky
stare out at silver points
and trace
with our fingers
the arc of falling stars
our lives in constellations
and feel the pull of the planets
the roll of the Earth
the whisper of space
and make wishes
to cast out into the night
and wait
under silence
to hear the echoes
of our future
she said:
it’s a whimsical notion
to lie out in the dark
and map out our future in the stars
when our dreams are in our minds
and our wishes are in our hearts
when those fiery suns
whose light is almost burnt out to our eyes
neither see nor care nor trace our lives
when those planets are no more than gas or stone
suspended in a finite void
so I’ll not lay out tonight
and map out our future in the stars
Battle-the words just say it all Izzy.
How on earth can you ever describe what you write as boring?
I would love to read some more when you're ready, if that's alright.
Well ok, similar is maybe a more fair term. I feel like I cover the same ground, just from perhaps slightly different angles. It can seem like im being a bit of a whine. I like my earlier, more creative, more fictional pieces personally.
Thanks for liking hem yes I'll maybe share a few more tomorrow if you like.
Okay, here's another poem I wrote last May I believe.
Who Are You? by IzzyS
Who are you to say who I am,
who are you to know what I think?
labels, labels everywhere - what good does it do?
When I look at you, what do I see?
who you feel you are, or what we’re told to see,
misfits, antisocial rebels abandoned by society,
with anger lying; trapped within,
dreamers others criticise, your head should be grounded and not sky high,
quiet introverts, you never know what their thinking so (their) better left alone, right?
right? says who?
Who are you? you are you,
stand up tall and take pride in showing the world
im not a label, I’m not here to be defined
I’m here to be me.
This is another one I started but it sort of ends abruptly - it seems rather unfinished but I was quite proud of it anyway
Remembering by IzzyS
Remembering when I was young,
life was full of opportunities, wonder, excitement,
now the world seems different.
So much changes through the years,
questions and doubts arise,
uncertainty pulls you in,
it may seem like everyone you come across is judging you -
it all seemed so clear, back when everything
was seen through a childs eye.
When does the change occur?
that can make you your own worst self critic,
confidence becomes sapped,
and presumed mockery holds you back -
is all as it feels,
has society dictated our own success or failure?.
When Andrew Wyeth painted that
Intractable Maine sky,
I stared at it until I asked
Why did Christina lie
Abandoned in her lonely field,
Why did life pass her by?
The hunter hunts a boy and girl,
It's Robert Mitchum's look
That makes you glad they sail away,
Escaping on a brook;
The haven of a river let
Two children off the hook.
The catcher in the rye exists,
Subconsciously I sense
What taints the apple pie and cream,
A darkness so intense
Behind the ordinary lawn
And painted picket-fence.
Deserted are the Kansas plains,
The wheat sways restlessly
Where Truman wrote his story of
The Clutter family,
He captured mankind in cold blood
Along with Harper Lee.
She told of childhood innocence
When fear of strangers stirred,
If Boo Radley steps on your porch
Or if a creak is heard
Remember it's a mortal sin
To kill a mockingbird.
Comments
What's said before
from a time ago
words in time
upon the written page
past presently in the shade
words In time.
Great to see the thread rocking :kitty:
Time is non-existent,
Fight back and resist;
Though it seems persistent
Time does not exist.
Pink Floyd deemed it heavy,
Dali made it melt
Yet to pay the levy
Constantly we've knelt.
Staring at the clock-face,
Falling for the trick,
Toiling at the rock-face
Where the minutes tick.
In the autumn season
When leaves fall in wealth,
Time is not the reason,
It's the tree itself.
A void, a blank, a nothing,
Reigning over us,
Straining, sweating, puffing,
Weighed down by the fuss.
Let's have tea, I'll pour dear
But I think you'll find
That it's half past four here
Only in your mind.
Pressing and insistent,
Fond of making graves:
Time is non-existent
And we are its slaves.
©
Welcome to the thread by the way - unless you've posted before :kitty:
(your name seems familiar
Thank you
Well this one does not involve me big pants for a change...
The Neighbourhood Boss
Happy and excited we pulled up outside our new home
Whereupon we were greeted by a question firing, giant garden gnome
There he was at the garden gate awaiting our arrival
Where, he spouted forth a lecture to ensure our neighbourhood survival.
Whenever we attempted to leave the house via the front door,
Luckily the boss was there, with helpful suggestions galore.
Just in case as neighbours we weren’t aware of our many faults,
He would run through his lengthy list for us, like a nasty dose of salts.
Peeping from behind our curtains, on our guard duty we would lurk,
But behaving like the SAS was useless; it was a plan which could never work.
For even when we went undercover and checked the coast was clear,
He wasn’t fooled by our army surplus camouflaged up gear.
Alas, he always caught us out, as if kitted out with radar,
It was like trying to escape the force of a neighbourhood Darth Vader.
For him, to interfere, oh, it was such a necessary task,
He would butt in uninvited; there was never a need to ask.
There was no subject on earth immune from his point of view
From TOWIE to ‘Call me Dave,’ and ‘her’ across at number twenty two.
He relished a gossip and spread many a rumour
A presumed pregnancy, and even a terminal tumour.
Bless him, he actually considered himself to be the Neighbourhood Boss
But quite frankly, ‘The Neighbourhood,’ it didn’t give a toss.
Then one day he vanished ‘pouff’ just like that,
He had the day before, I recall kicked Mrs McSpell’s cat.
“My poor Puss,” said she, “That man, och, how he liked to goad,
That’s why my pretty, I’ve turned him into a toad.”
Exactly, words are just delicious and descriptive, with a little hint of the person who chooses a certain use of them.
Reading through the forum from page 1.
flower I love this, it is lovely and provokes thoughts and memories.
It’s here again the day’s arrived for Granny’s Birthday pub crawl
We’re starting at ‘The Vegas Bar’ and ending up at ‘Ye Olde Fiddler’s Lost Ball.’
The whole village has been invited and I feel a little dread
I think I might be safer tucked up at home snugly in my bed,
But I know it’s not an option, so I’ll have to grit my teeth,
Cos Ethel’s are quite unstable and often end up at home with Keith.
Trouble starting Barbara’s here, she used to be a nun,
But she got into the habit of a different kind of fun.
The girls are now comparing notes after a tot of double whisky
I should have kept an eye on them-that stuff just makes them frisky.
Granny says, “Here Barbara, that young Dickie-he’s a handsome chap,
I think I’ll go and chat him up a bit when I’ve had me disco nap.”
Keith is Ethel’s toy boy, a mere babe of eighty two
Who likes to kick the night off right, with a pint of his home brew.
He says it lubricates his joints and sorts his clicky hip
And is vital for his Elvis act and the curl of his top lip.
I notice that between the ladies there is something going down
There’s a tiff about who can get their legs highest dancing, ‘Knees Up Mother Brown.’
Keith aka Elvis is the subject of the scuffle
He’s been playing fast and loose and now has caused a right kerfuffle
But Ethel’s thinking on her pins, she knows how to catch his eye
She’s been practicing the ‘Knees Up’ bit and she flashes Keith her thigh.
The other ladies admit defeat; Ethel is The King’s sweetheart
But now the girls clock Alfred at the bar, he’s looking uber smart.
Granny’s set her sights on Dickie, she’s going in for the kill,
She’s woken up feeling groovy, after popping her Pro-Plus pill.
Alfred’s only got himself to blame for wearing that plunging shirt
The ladies think he’s dressed like that because he wants to flirt
How are all the girls to know he’s into those more hairy?
He’s unaware he’s smouldering in that shirt of his, as he sips his Virgin Mary.
The ladies make a dash for him, but Alfred’s off in a jiffy
He seen this lot in party mode, it’s scary when they’re squiffy.
Barbara’s got that look about her, that face says she means action
He darts into the gents before he finds himself in traction.
We’re all a little shaky now, in a bit of a drunken stupor,
The make up's turned into a cross between Gene Simmons and a wee bit Alice Cooper,
So before things get too messy perhaps it’s time to call it a night
Still, Granny’s gone and pulled Old Dickie, to her Big Birthday Bash delight.
©
Thanks - too many of mine are quite similar, it'd probably get a bit boring (and depressing) to post them all but I'll post another below if interested?. Nice one
Battle
How honest are you?
do the questions haunt you?
can you run away,
from who you once were?
Do you stop to think,
what did become of that person,
the mistakes made, the humiliation felt,
is it possible to truly change,
or are they ready to strike again?.
Am I just wearing a mask?
have I shed the skin of those years?
what is the truth,
am I a fool to believe I can run from what once was?.
I fear not, as often frustrations and embarrassment rush back,
triggered by mistakes committed by accident,
emotions shake me, acting as a loud and clear reminder,
this is who you are, nobody perfect thats for sure.
Why battle? the effort required is great,
to try to break free, see past the limitations, the shame,
to hold my head up high,
thats when your most vulnerable,
trying to prove your worth,
to stand up tall, show pride and self belief, no matter what,
overlook all those glitches which only act to reassure we’re human after all.
Tempers may flare in seconds flat
but don’t let it consume you,
control it as best you can and accept your flaws,
for only then is anything possible and the healing can truly begin.
How on earth can you ever describe what you write as boring?
I would love to read some more when you're ready, if that's alright.
he said:
let’s lay out tonight
under the black sky
stare out at silver points
and trace
with our fingers
the arc of falling stars
our lives in constellations
and feel the pull of the planets
the roll of the Earth
the whisper of space
and make wishes
to cast out into the night
and wait
under silence
to hear the echoes
of our future
she said:
it’s a whimsical notion
to lie out in the dark
and map out our future in the stars
when our dreams are in our minds
and our wishes are in our hearts
when those fiery suns
whose light is almost burnt out to our eyes
neither see nor care nor trace our lives
when those planets are no more than gas or stone
suspended in a finite void
so I’ll not lay out tonight
and map out our future in the stars
Well ok, similar is maybe a more fair term. I feel like I cover the same ground, just from perhaps slightly different angles. It can seem like im being a bit of a whine. I like my earlier, more creative, more fictional pieces personally.
Thanks for liking hem
Who Are You? by IzzyS
Who are you to say who I am,
who are you to know what I think?
labels, labels everywhere - what good does it do?
When I look at you, what do I see?
who you feel you are, or what we’re told to see,
misfits, antisocial rebels abandoned by society,
with anger lying; trapped within,
dreamers others criticise, your head should be grounded and not sky high,
quiet introverts, you never know what their thinking so (their) better left alone, right?
right? says who?
Who are you? you are you,
stand up tall and take pride in showing the world
im not a label, I’m not here to be defined
I’m here to be me.
This is another one I started but it sort of ends abruptly - it seems rather unfinished but I was quite proud of it anyway
Remembering by IzzyS
Remembering when I was young,
life was full of opportunities, wonder, excitement,
now the world seems different.
So much changes through the years,
questions and doubts arise,
uncertainty pulls you in,
it may seem like everyone you come across is judging you -
it all seemed so clear, back when everything
was seen through a childs eye.
When does the change occur?
that can make you your own worst self critic,
confidence becomes sapped,
and presumed mockery holds you back -
is all as it feels,
has society dictated our own success or failure?.
Individual by Izzy S
Look into her eyes and cry,
all alone and frail, 'I'm lost' says she,
blurred vision, withering away,
sharp snaps of socities grip slide down.
Shivers.
Shallow breath, pale cheeks, 'why me?
why will no-one notice me now?'
the exiled whisper sot the wind,
Individual is dying.
Winter has its hold firmly now,
surely she will not find a way out,
it was so obvious throughout history,
the build up has reached, strangle point.
What wrong did she show for her demise?
to show why her hands are deadly numb with cold and pain,
dis-belief near blinded her, century past.
Do not panick, though you are dying, true,
what happens will simply have to happen,
is it not their fault they tear up their identity?
just lie, poor Individual, victim of society,
it will not be long now,
it will not be long.
I may not have time to read and comment on all the poems sent in - if not, I shall do next week.
Welcome back Mrs Goto :kitty:
When Andrew Wyeth painted that
Intractable Maine sky,
I stared at it until I asked
Why did Christina lie
Abandoned in her lonely field,
Why did life pass her by?
The hunter hunts a boy and girl,
It's Robert Mitchum's look
That makes you glad they sail away,
Escaping on a brook;
The haven of a river let
Two children off the hook.
The catcher in the rye exists,
Subconsciously I sense
What taints the apple pie and cream,
A darkness so intense
Behind the ordinary lawn
And painted picket-fence.
Deserted are the Kansas plains,
The wheat sways restlessly
Where Truman wrote his story of
The Clutter family,
He captured mankind in cold blood
Along with Harper Lee.
She told of childhood innocence
When fear of strangers stirred,
If Boo Radley steps on your porch
Or if a creak is heard
Remember it's a mortal sin
To kill a mockingbird.
©