Marvelous story like poem Musty.

Incidentally, how is the compiling going?

Thanks for the info on HR1 Archiver I thought of the same song by Connie Francis as I wrote that verse - I nearly ditched the line about lipstick, but then I thought it suited the film noir atmosphere of the poem. The title came from Cape Fear, the old thriller starring Gregory Peck and Robert Mitchum.

Ta Troy All of the second Poetry thread is now in a file. It's been a hectic year for me so far and that's severely slowed down the collecting and sifting process. Deciding what poems should qualify for the next stage beyond forums is still a major aim this year.

Way to find.

The old imposter in my shoes,
with empty pockets full of clues,
treads the paths I know so well.
What he mumbles none can tell.

The colour drained from face and hair.
The old - stained coat I wear.
A poet? Nah. It's just old ****.
Won't be long before he's gone.

Past squeaking swings where children played.
Reeking of some stuff I sprayed
to kill the god awful smell
of having one foot in hell.

Soon; outskirts of this bleak compound,
give way to a sweeter sound
and squirrels watch me in sweet bliss.
Sure could get used to this.

Beyond all human eyes at last.
He fumbles for his secret cast
and climbs up to the highest place
and calls to those in outer space.

Again, again, but not a word
was understood or even heard
by any creature near or far.
Except, near one distant star;

through special needs and quantum tech.
his secret deeds gained some respect
and this day, for his peace of mind,
they made a way for me to find.

Oh.. I like that a lot

Another fascinating write Archiver. It seemed to portray an alien who'd cloned an old person contacting his species. A very atmospheric story.

Hi BB

love match

Not much rhymes with 'love'
Save of course for glove,
Not forgetting shove,
While from birds above
Some poets choose dove
But it's a pity bruv
That not much rhymes with love.


©

Hi Musty , hope all is well

Hope you don't mind this little contribution, but they do say to copy is the sincerest form of flattery

Not much rhymes with 'kiss',
Save of course for miss,
Not forgetting hiss,
While from memories we reminisce
Some poets are amiss
But it's a pity sis
That not much rhymes with kiss. x

LOL, hi BB That's a great ricochet off of my poem I've always noticed how often the Romantics used dove and above to rhyme with love, and found that there were few alternatives. 'Bruv' was a bit of a cheat

We know a girl called Umbilicus,
Who sometimes pops in to see us.
She's good with a rhyme,
Does it all of the time,
In a thread on the forum quite near us.

Umbilicus makes me sound so much more classy

I must say, I think that is the best poem ever written !

I know you will treasure it for the rest of your life.

So shall I Well contributed Biz I have two poems on the go and they need a lot of help from the research centre here. One's fictional but I often like to embellish those with facts and that's what's holding me up with both of them.

Thanks, Musty. So unlike me.


They'll be worth waiting for.

Discovering Europa

Ten thousand years from now, don't think it strange,
The world moved on and had to rearrange
But scientific dreamers never change.

When cracks revealed how rising waters froze
On one far satellite ambitions rose,
Professors met to plan, scheme and suppose.

Europa was the small globe and their prey,
The second moon of Jupiter, some way
Between Io and Ganymede it lay.

In time a great ship manned by astronauts
At speed beyond today's passed certain ports
Like Mars which filled their minds with magic thoughts.

At last the gassy giant loomed ahead,
Enormous with that swirling storm of red,
King Jupiter, immense, divine and dead.

They honed in on Europa set to land,
Few craters on an eerie, pinkish bland
Scarred world where our audacious bid was planned.

Below the freezing crust there flowed a sea
And what it held could solve a mystery:
Had life evolved in tides of destiny?

A massive drill with specialist advice
Was driven down through six cold miles of ice
Until a pod was sent from the device.

What years of effort this great mission took,
When Houston gave the news back home Earth shook,
They broke the mould, they threw away the book.

Meanwhile back in their pod the crew pierced gloom,
Bright lasers and trained cameras moved to zoom
On unknown deeps with wonders to consume.

Yet as they searched for life with earthly light
Inhabitants who'd watched and feared the might
Of aliens like us came into sight.

Gill-men and then gill-women smashed the glass
To drown the crew, a different race and class
That vowed to never let intruders pass.

The pod sank while Europa's old sea churned,
The team above lost contact and returned,
While some remarked how experts never learned.


©

Wow! You have taken a leap into the future......but not to worry, you'll be in the idyllic setting of Poets' Corner in Heaven contemplating the universe and nodding sagely at man's eternal incompetence and thinking how much better things would be if they had just listened to you.

Ta Biz A book on the planets was invaluable when it came to writing this one

The Storming of the Bastille, July 14th 1783

The storming of the Bastille,
When revolutions leak
True rage, a mob that has steel
Demands the right to speak.

The Bastille's reputation
For cruelty would provide
The great exaggeration
Of what went on inside.

In fact, each mighty tower
And eighty-foot high wall
Despite imposing power
Hid no abuse at all.

The awful dungeons rumoured
Weren't used and torture pains
Kept French romantics humoured,
No wretches lay in chains.

The number of those caged there
Was rarely more than ten,
No state hostages aged there,
Just well-looked after men.

Proposed for demolition,
The gaol caused such expense
That planning proposition
Made good financial sense.

And on the day caught in fate's
Grasp people didn't know
How only seven inmates
Were guests of their rich foe.

They stormed it, crowds moved nimble,
With moat and drawbridge crossed
The Bastille was a symbol
Of every freedom lost.


©

Exquisite write Musty as was 'Europa'.

Your well of subjects knows no depths.

Ta Troy This world and others are far too fascinating to overlook.

You know Troy, Musty is living proof that education doesn't end with school, and now he's educating the rest of us. Wonderful! If there's any justice in the world some of his poems will end up in schools.

Thank you Biz

Hi Biz,

I find that what Musty achieves with me is to illuminate a subject rather than educate me.

I know a great deal about many of the topics that he writes on, such as historical events/figures, 60s music etc and I love the fact that he and I seem to have common interests.

As well as his poetry being exceptionally well written I know that I have a more than evens chance of liking the subject before I read it.

That said, there are occasions when I find something new to me such as the Wanderor poem from the painting by Caspar David Friedrich.

I rapidly saved that picture to my PC after reading Musty's poem.

(this - a revival of an old one written at the time, as floods are a fear again)

Sweet music may be absent
From two historic streets,
But New Orleans will resound again
With its old euphoric beats.
No rhythm no horns
No cats there to swing
The silence mourns
As death bells ring

Quiet the clubs and hang-outs
Where aficianados did their thing.
New Orleans was hit by Nature
At her unmotherly deadly worst
Her city defences could not endure
When her levees sadly burst

Now this home of jazz
Needs her longest take five
Pazazz she still has
And her soul will revive.
In two streets of renown
Known as Basin and Bourbon
They'll be painting the town
And live jazz will reverb on

(Frank)

Survival of the Powerful

Push on, push on said the rat in the race,
Must make more profit, must pick up the pace.

Keep cutting corners, don't fill in the cracks,
Leave them to widen, we'll fill them with tax.

Pull out the 'weeds' and leave them to rot,
Fatten the hybrids and don't give a jot,

That soon all the average will turn into weeds,
It won't help their status despite their good deeds.

In fact all that matters in a world based on greed,
Is who makes the most in this power stampede.

* bumps thread on to next page *