Thanks Troy Feedback is an essential part of the thread and both you and Biz have helped it prosper in that context. If it was just poetry here it wouldn't be half as good - the responses and discussions that come from each writer's creative attempt are what make this such an enjoyable thread for me. It's also nice to know that writing a poem, some of which can interminable puzzles in the making, is worth the effort and that it's been enjoyed

What a great tribute to New Orleans Frank The floods in the area were terrible I've always wanted to write a New Orleans poem as it's such a romantic place with the historic French Quarter and the trad jazz element. I liked the imagery in this piece and the rhyme of 'Bourbon' and 'reverb on' was a stand-out one for me.

You've summed up the western malaise perfectly BB. The politicians and bankers have had a great time getting richer while others have had to make do. An accurate swipe at the greedy who hold the reins of power

Good morning Musty, Troy and Frank. The thought of being flooded terrifies me. I can't imagine how I'd recover from it.



Good morrow, Umbilicus.

Spot on! Everywhere is short of money........but where is it? Especially as some of the "investments" people buy with their riches don't actually exist. The more they have, the more they make...........where is it going to end?

No, don't tell me, I don't want to know, but a good start would be to cut or drastically reduce the growing interest paid by governments.........that amount of money can't possibly be needed by any one. We've not long paid off the debt to America from their contribution in the second world war.........so they weren't just being gallant and kind. (It was in their own interests at the time.)


Good poem by the way.

Afternoon Biz And Musty

Believe it or not, I e-mailed No. 10 a couple of months ago along the lines of, ' I am not in the habit of signing up for loans that I do not know either the source or interest rate of.
I would be grateful if you could give me this information before you take out any further such agreements on my behalf '

Needless to say, I didn't even get a confirmation of receipt to my enquiry. In fact I'm probably on some 'marked' dissident list now

Glad you liked the poem by the way.

Ohhh! What a surprise. It could be some other list of course. Thanks for the laugh.

Rote Learning

The teacher gave his pupil knowledge,
The learner drank his master's lesson,
Working hard to pay for college,
Taking notes , not asking questions.
Soon the pupil had all his master,
Had to offer as way of wisdom,
And so the student bored and sleepy,
Left the classroom not thinking deeply.
He had not challenged or questioned ever,
That what he'd heard might not be clever.

So is accepting all told previous,
From dictators mouth's that can be devious,
The way to change the path that's leading,
Herds of humans to their blinded feeding ?
Packs of Lemmings on cliffs don't survive,
Floundering, drowning, half alive.
The learners facing epic choices,
Conforming player or rebel voices ?
Take a part in silent numbness,
Or challenge the teachers of alumnus.

I'm convinced I'm on one of those lists. The worrying Big Brother-1984 attitude to the public was started by Tony Blair and anyone who doesn't play along is a potential 'troublemaker'. Thomas Paine would weep if he could see what was going on now.

Another great write BB It reminded me of the issues raised in Dead Poets Society, one of my favourite films.

Indeed Musty
'Government's sole purpose is safeguarding the family and his/her inherent, inalienable rights; each societal institution that does not benefit the nation is illegitimate' . Thomas Paine.

The killer
had been around
for far too many years unfettered
freely targeting the innocent victims
with multiple variegated modus operandi
carried out in a myriad of scenes of crime.
Tragically this mass destructive murderer will never be arrested by officers of the peace;
the numerous files are huge and bulging in mammoth cabinets
over at headquarters where the evidence is crammed in millions of drawers
containing the grizzly histories catalogued under letter "W" labelled: “Wars."

night thoughts

Last night I chose to handle
With old self-taught aplomb
The hopes and doubts by candle,
Where do they all come from?
The whim of every flicker
Was equal to my mind,
At gradual pace or quicker
Each mood arrives I find.
Then I felt resurrected;
As moonbeams crossed my bed
The thought came unexpected
That good times lie ahead.


©

You're right Frank, in a sense war is the ultimate serial killer. Great write on a phenomenon that seems never-ending.

Well quoted BB

Wonderful stuff Musty.

Love the positive vibe I get from this poem.

Ta Troy - in some ways this has been a problematic year for me so far, but now I can see the light at the end of the tunnel

The Invasion of the Noddy Snatchers

I The Plan

As sun lit a run-down allotment
Two figures sprawled in the thick growth,
There lay Bill & Ben
The flowerpot men
And something was bothering both;

For years they had puffed marijuana
But stocks were low, so full of need
Like two hungry bugs
In place of real drugs
They'd rolled up and smoked Little Weed.

Claimed Bill 'I know how we can score more -
Big Bagpuss the Mafia cat
Has outlined the way
To make a crime pay',
Said Ben 'Fill me in about that!'

While Bill told of kidnap and ransom
Ben smiled and in no time the pair
Went over the job
With each flob-a-lob,
Then put Bagpuss down for a share.

In hiring good strong-arm protection
They deemed Bob the Builder as sound,
A muscular sod
Who carried a hod
And liked to throw his weight around.

II The Snatch

All three hid in wait on the outskirts
Of Toytown, Bob's battered old truck
Was parked in the trees,
The quarry to seize
Would turn up soon with any luck.

Then sure enough came the famed rattle
Of that red and yellow-toned car,
Its horn parped and called,
With Big Ears on board
Drove Noddy, the cute infant star.

Bob stood in the road with his hammer
Which made the boy nervous and twitch,
Bob pulled Big Ears' beard
And as Noddy steered
The car skidded into a ditch.

The flowerpot men grabbed their victim
Then tied up the terrified prey,
With him in a sack
They laughed in the back
As Bob made a quick getaway.

III The Chase

Now Big Ears, despite many bruises
Would not let his friend come to harm,
To Toytown he went,
He limped pained and bent
And managed to raise the alarm.

A posse of Toytowners rallied,
Brave Roobarb and Custard gave chase
And Muffin the Mule
Who dozed as a rule
Woke up as the stampede took place.

Most faltered, the four Teletubbies
Collapsed and though many still ran
The Woodentops dropped
And Mr Benn stopped
But Postman Pat still had his van.

Meanwhile Bob drove on like the clappers,
A roundabout neared as he sped
Where Dougal span round
With Florence who frowned
As Zebedee said 'Time for bed!'

Though Postman Pat tried hard to catch them
At Camberwick Green he would fail,
The black and white cat
Meowed and scratched Pat
Who crashed and spilled all of the mail.

Just when Bill & Ben thought they'd made it,
Prepared for a drugs overload
A shape in the air
Made Bob gasp and stare
And take his eyes off of the road.

A UFO caught his attention,
He crashed like Pat and with a roar
The Clangers whizzed by,
Stuffed socks in the sky
That hooted as Bill & Ben swore.

IV The Outcome

The flowerpot men went in rehab
And Bob's punishment cost him dear,
For little expense
He painted each fence
In Toytown, which took a whole year.

Young Noddy got over the trauma,
Big Ears' speech gave Toytown the point:
'This grateful old gnome
Has friends and a home
And that beats one puff on a joint.'


©

The Invasion of the Noddy Snatchers

Weeeeeedddd !!
Fantastic ! Definitely worth a slot on Cbbee's

Thanks BB

Brilliant write Musty, found it hilarious.



Bill and Ben were my favourite childhood characters along with Zebedee.

I bought the best of Bill and Ben on VHS a couple of years go.

Wonderful stuff as usual.

Thanks a lot Troy, the poem took a while to concoct The BBC has such a rich heritage of children's TV stars that I had to leave many out, including Andy Pandy and my personal favourites, Crystal Tipps and Alistair

always

There'll always be a poem here
With ink that dries in black,
There'll always be an England dear,
Just don't try looking back.
I'll always shape the sun and rain,
Write words of love, not hate
And illustrate the joy or pain
Depending on my state.
There'll always be a poem for
Those seekers prone to read;
Since modern life became a chore
A few still have the need.


©

Canal-loving Jenny

Canal-loving Jenny
Who passed river ports
Never took a penny
To sell private thoughts,
Where the hazy summers float
On her lazy narrow-boat,
Greeting quaint resorts.

Suitors would discover
Her heart was not stone
Yet she had no lover,
Steered her ship alone
For the late night waters made
Their romantic serenade
With a yearning tone.

Canal-loving Jenny
Rarely saw dry docks,
But unlike so many
Missed all life's hard knocks
And when at last her soul was freed
She came back where the tow paths lead
To linger by the lochs.


©

I loved that. We've enjoyed loads of canal holidays. We'll put the typo in the last line down to the lateness of the hour.

Drat, should it have been 'locks' Biz? I guess I assumed that was the spelling through the watery association of Scottish lochs. The English language is very strange at times

BTW I envy you - one thing I've always wanted to do is go on a canal trip.

You have to pronounce lochs as though you're clearing your throat, not as a hard ck sound.

The story behind the canals and tunnels etc. is fascinating. We did the South of France too, says she bragging.

A word on your piece featuring TV staples Musty. Cleverly done and fun. Ta for commenting on recent ones of mine by the way. Here's another, not funny though.

Twits

Making sense of life simply makes no sense to me -
The twitterings of clots of those opinion (per)formers
In a surfeit of digests that clog the media airways
And congest mental tracks like cars our highways;
The big stories break more virulently than disease
No pause for well considered thought: just so-called facts.
Mouthing flak-jacketed mirages gloom large on TV -
- this the new jaw jaw: a-chat-achat-chat of uniform informers
So uninforming me; I need analysis, someone brainy to explain -
- a brain pill for the dyspeptic stuffing of one badly hurting brain.

(Frank)ly P'd off.