Thank you Sandy

Hadrian's Wall

Lingers,
Defiant in the hanging mist

Plundered, it stretches far across the landscape

Quarried for stone,
A crumbled piece of lost Empire

The grass is the same though,
As is the grey colosseum of sky
That watches over the wall

The arrival of Claudius
Led to the foreboding of Hadrian,
Blocking England off
From Scotland with Rome's line

Footsoldiers check the horizon;
Clinging ghosts who patrol the ramparts

The grass waits,
The hills sense the heaviness,
The bricks retain their memory

No Pax Romana sustains the wall

Yet it looms ever-warlike
In the biting northern winds


©

Moving Image

You stand by me
my brother I see
you so very alive.
The image tough
for me since you
failed to survive.

Views of moving
vivid verisimilitude.
I know you smiled
and talked, feared
it too hard to take,
so at first I balked.

You went unviewed,
urged by the others
I have now relented.
A good resolve and
not repented move.

Your moving face I
would not replace,
watching it revives
what still survives
and seems so alive.

Hi Frank and welcome back That's a very moving poem, it feels like a personal one.

Thanks Musty for observing that, cheers. Keep up your good work yourself.

I shall - and thanks for contributing again

I'm just wondering Musty, whether if I stay out of sight, more of the old regulars will join in. You don't think I frighten them away do you?

Of course not Biz It's a shame Archiver and Serena aren't around any more, I enjoyed their poetry Never mind, the thread trundles ever on. I try to ensure there's usually a poem a day posted

Angus and the Monster

‘Twas on a gloomy Loch Ness shore
Where midnight fog had whitened
That Angus J McTavish saw
A thing that left him frightened.

The tide’s condition while he drank
Disturbed his happy tipples,
Despite the booze inside his tank
He noticed lots of ripples.

And then a giant slowly rose,
A prehistoric classic,
Poor Angus dropped his flask and froze,
The monster looked Jurassic.

While running to the nearest inn
His tam-o'-shanter bobbled
And when he heard the creature’s din
His sporran shook and wobbled.

The locals scorned his drunken lilt
And told him he was crackers,
So Angus lifted up his kilt
And flashed them with his knackers.

These days he lives with ridicule,
Though wishing they would knock less
Ignoring insults as a rule
He still goes down to Loch Ness.

So if you're there and hear strange sounds
The deeps may not be risky;
If not old Nessie on her rounds
It's Angus pissed on whisky.


©

An oldie but goldie

Take me to Bodega Bay

Take me to Bodega Bay
Far from human herds,
Scene of violent skirmishes
Brought on by the birds.

Let me live in celluloid
As an actor might,
There's another world I crave
Hitchcockian and bright.

Stealing life's a felony,
Here a flock enraged
Cornered Mitch and Melanie,
Like two lovebirds caged.

Dare I walk inside the old
Farmhouse, one attack
Left the farmer lying dead,
Eyes gouged out and black.

In the warm Tides Restaurant
I'll sit drinking tea
Where survivors sheltered from
Killings by the sea.

There the ornithologist
Found the whole thing odd
And a drunken customer
Blamed it all on God.

Show me wings that swooped in hate,
Frightened locals learned
Beaks devour and talons pierce
While the petrol burned.

Take me to Bodega Bay
Where the gulls and crows
Turned from being feathered friends
Into feathered foes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5-HYj5cLfEI

The H of ND

Quasimodo had good reason to
cry out: "The Bells! .. The Bells!"
Those clangers had mashed up
his hearing and his brain's grey
cells. Notre Dame had become
one of those personal living Hells
but a sanctuary as Victor Hugo's
novel tells. Quasi' used the power
of the Church, saved his Esmeralda
held her up high in the cold bell tower
and onto a sad crush quite unrequited.
A hunchback's tale which left a world
delighted by this French literary feast
that tells of bells, beauty and a beast.

Laughter, fear and sadness, brought to you by Ramsbottom, Enoch and Me...........well, not me sadly, but the others did well, don't you think?

A funny portrayal of poor old Quasi Frank


Cheers Biz I did write an earlier Hitchcock poem, a tribute to Bernard Hermann, one of his favourite composers. I think this works better, as it focuses on one film. Ironically The Birds had no music at all, but Bernard created its electronic screams and squawks

I didn't see the film, but must have seen trailers or clips from it - including of course your link. Frightening.

I confess ( to use another of his film titles ) to being a total Hitchcock freak Biz. I have a box set of his work and more. The only major Hitch film I haven't got is Dial M For Murder.

I did see that, but can't remember the story. However, I'm sure seeing the odd scene from it would jog my memory.

I suspect you watched the recent film about Hitchcock on television. Just remembered that the making of birds film came into that.

Unfortunately the Hitchcock film was broadcast on the only night I went out over Xmas, so I missed it

Dial M For Murder contains the famous scene with Grace Kelly stabbing her assailant in the back with scissors.

Canaletto's Venice

A singer may please with falsetto,
A writer may pen splendid prose
But when I regard Canaletto
I think of a Venice that glows.

A dream world submerging he painted,
Preferring to urban decay
A bridge of sighs largely untainted
And places more out of the way.

Piazza San Marco walls glittered,
That centre he caught as it shone
Where commerce and bustle are littered
With details of what's going on.

The bygone dress of a lost public
Is here, every fine robe and gown
Displaying Venetian Republic
Society's best about town.

Each building he portrayed arouses
From church doorway to chimney stack,
While waterways that surround houses
Reflect their own images back.

These flooded routes seem idealistic,
The Grand Canal's blue sky and space
He made so completely realistic
I'm almost right there at the place.

A busy Regatta's depicted
With spectators waiting for fun,
Where gondolas sail unrestricted
And barges gleam bright in the sun.

No picture contains any menace,
Both ripples and boats touch the heart,
It’s clear Canaletto turned Venice
To paradise through his own art.


©

Don't worry, it's sure to be repeated - everything is.

Nope, I don't recall that scene, though you'd think I would. Maybe I didn't see the film after all.


I can see the painting in my minds eye as I read.

Here's a reminder Biz

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LBoL2vMJkCs

Thank you for the link. That's a very powerful scene, but I don't remember it, so it's unlikely that I saw the film.

Tick-Tock Tick-Tock

Tick-Tock Tick-Tock
Violence is the way,
Tick-Tock Tick-Tock
In the USA.

Tick-Tock Tick-Tock
Every headline stuns,
Soon they'll show that
I've got lots of guns.

I'll keep ticking
Till I snap and aim,
Twenty murders
Should ensure my fame.

Tick-Tock Tick-Tock
I'll kill every kid
In a school like
All the others did.

After I've done
One last act remains;
Tick-Tock Tick-Tock
Blowing out my brains.


©

Only eleven poems left to proof-read and correct for volume 2. It's been a slog but worth it

Let's turn the page over