Journeyman

I want to grasp the rhyme
And reason fuelling time,
I want to travel, witnessing this realm
Before the human legions
Laid claim to any regions,
A lost domain
With reptiles at the helm.

I long to stand near walls
Of caves where our first calls
Rebounded back, I’d see the pictures start,
That primitive outpouring,
The very dawn of drawing,
Attempts to wake
Our inner selves with art.

I wish my soul was free
In flight above a sea
Of gorgeous midnight blue and while on high
I’d glide there with the swallows
Investigating hollows
Of emptiness
Across a windswept sky.

To fields I want go
And burrow down below,
Through dark descending tunnels I would creep,
What hidden realms I'd enter,
A journey to the centre
Where molten burns
The core sublime and deep.


©

My pleasure Frank

Still journeying I see. I know the core isn't dark, but I wouldn't call it sublime either........tumultuous? fierce? raging? hellish?..........I don't think I have the gift.

Anyway I'm happy to stay in the (relatively) safe here and now. Adventurous, moi? No!

You're

You're lovely said the man to the lady
You're kind said the lady to the man
You're funny said the child to the mummy
You're witty said the mummy to the child
You're just right said the bear to the porridge.

I struggled to find the right word there Biz - eventually I may find something better than sublime, but I'm happy with it for the moment. The poem was influenced by This Song Has No Title by Elton John. Bernie Taupin's lyrics portray someone who questions the world.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iRw2EROYGNM


I like this Sandy, it's a good reference to the famous fairy tale

yes it is but Goldilocks had the porridge instead.


Happy Valentines Day Musty

...............in a teasing mood I think.


I listened to that, but didn't catch a word of it - I think I needed subtitles.

PS Googled! Should have thought of that before.

Same to you Sandy x


I'm glad you found it Biz I tried to find a YouTube version with printed lyrics but none were available.

how and why?

the first line of the poem was 'you're lovely said the man to the lady' was inspired by a taxi driver who said "you're lovely" to me today. I may have blushed.

A Miss in a Kiss


Love on a day as this
for many filled with bliss
forward hold and kiss
sadly morrow and miss

Nice one Sandy I didn't get any cards

thanks, here's a valentine kiss to make up for it


x








I didn't get any but am used to that, wasn't expecting any, it's only one day of many.

Will you love me tomorrow as you have today?
As the flowers have wilted, petals blown away?
As the chocolates I've eaten have added to my size?
The words in the card, were they hand scribbled lies?

Aww! Did you tell him he was kind?


I think you've made Musty blush now.


.

Oh ye of little faith.

Ta Sandy


I like it Flower good old Valentine's day, it's caused a flurry of activity on the thread


Who - moi?

Gutter Man

Time, I shoot down another foreign spirit with a name I can't speak,
I see the clock give way to hours as my eyes become hazy, weak,
And in a heartbeat I kiss the dusty floor with my liquor stained lips,
and laugh, how easy time is to waste.

Life, I see them inject, inhale and swallow their pennies,
I stick to my guns, lazy and wasting tastes better with some ice,
maybe even an umberella to remind me that colour can exist to my eyes.
I forget each last I've had, and wait.

Dream, my black and white vision sees memories in a deep, dull grey,
I can't remember her now, not the way we touched, how she smiled or words she'd say.
If I think, really think, I can picture the way we'd kiss, or fight, or ****.
The passion, even in this gutter, stays put.

Blank, If I can hold out this hand with enough sadness in my face,
Those greasy men in blackened suits might throw me a little taste.
Then I can gulp a day into oblivion and ignore everyone that drifts past.
So when I see a mirror, I'll see nothing at last.

Kick, stomped in the chest, punched in the heart, that's what life is here,
Each meal is a battle, each night a way, each day filled with fear,
or it used to be before the gutter was so familiar, like a pillow or a child.
I tell myself that the freedom makes it all worthwhile.

Dying, with only the bottle in my hand and clothes across my back,
I plummet out of control of myself as I see everyone else on track,
If I had anything, I would give it just to know what tomorrow would bring,
The darkness, even in this gutter, stays put.

©

Also. Hello!

As the poets all seem to be recharging their batteries Chris, I'll say hello and welcome.

That's a very sad tale you tell.

Hi Chris and welcome to the thread

Gutter Man is brilliant! What a great painting of despair - it illustrates the dark side of the mind with a wealth of realistic details. A gruelling but thoroughly enjoyable read in my opinion. Thanks for sharing it

The Sixties Differential

When discipline trumped laughter
And kids still got the cane
I thought forever after
That dinosaurs would reign.

But through a teaching theory
The Sixties introduced
My masters’ aged and fiery
Strong ranks would be reduced.

How odd this childhood trip is,
A new diversity;
Old bastards mixed with hippies
From university.

No class possessed computers
Or calculators then,
Instead our team of tutors
Contained two types of men:

A gap in generation,
Young Turks and spiteful hearts,
A Sixties occupation
To liberate old farts.

Averse to rearranging
The squares maintained their gang,
Though times they were-a-changing
As Dylan rightly sang.

I’ll give you an example
Of those who used to rule,
A few I’ll let you sample,
They’re why I hated school.

Mad ‘Hobbler’ was the leader
In mortar board and cloak,
An unforgiving bleeder,
A nasty limping bloke.

We soon detected Hobbler’s
Uncertain mental health,
He talked a load of cobblers,
Quite often to himself.

I used to dread the torso
Of Mister Sluice in class,
He had one leg and also
One eye was made of glass.

Soon odes by Thomas Hardy
Were boring as school hymns,
He raged if work was tardy,
Like Hitler with three limbs.

Alongside grey and scary
Remainders of the past
A youthful, fey and hairy
Usurping breed were cast.

What damage any fear did
Recovered in a while
By Mister Thurgate’s bearded
And understanding smile.

He taught maths with a very
Persuasive style that clicked,
He wasn’t military,
Dickensian or strict.

And Mister Haines was calmer
Than Sluice was any day,
In English every drama
And poem soared away.

As marks began to treble
Now we were not machines
But he was still a rebel,
For Mister Haines wore jeans.

Today there’s a suggestion
That education’s less
Productive, I’ve one question:
Why is it such a mess?

To pamper may ease scruples,
Yet if you are too bland
And mollycoddle pupils
They get the upper hand.

The Sixties Differential
Was better in some ways;
The system lacked potential
But here I give it praise.

An awkward blend of teachers,
My crumbling grammar school
Supplied us liberal creatures
Or let the hammer rule.


©

Ahh! The Sixties, the Sixties - "England swings like a pendulum do!" Was that when the western world lost the plot?

Altogether now :-

"Jesus bids us shine with a pure clear light,
"Like a little candle burning in the night.
"In this world of darkness we must shine
"You in your small corner, and I in mine."

Pity they'll all be dead now Musty - you could send them a copy of your poetry book(s).

By the way, the fact that there was rigid discipline in charge of the school, gave your Hippies freedom to be relaxed and teach.......however chaos ensues if that discipline disappears completely, which is what has gone wrong today in many cases. It's a sad fact.

Genius, absolute genius

Aha! You went to the same school methinks.

I totally agree Biz, discipline's essential and its loss explains the present debacle. It was the random violence and grim demeanour of the older masters that I objected to. I can't imagine English teachers like Sluice enjoying my poetry I like the verse you posted!


Thanks Dark Star

There's never any excuse for cruelty, whether physical or mental. or bad temper in the classroom.

Those old men would be stopped in their tracks by the breadth of your subjects - and Sluice would no doubt congratulate himself on your command of English.

That was a little song we used to sing, either in Sunday School or Infant School.

I'll give him the benefit of the doubt Sunday School - does it exist any more?