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Is Poetry a Dead Art? (Part 3)


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Old 17-05-2013, 08:48
sandydune
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Marble Halls

With you I walked each marble hall
And heard an echoed sound;
The sweetest music like snowfall
Descended all around.

As troubadours sang songs of love
With words to ease our care,
The moonlight entered from above
To kiss your golden hair.

In marble halls I pray I might
Again witness those beams,
O how you glowed in that deep night
To light my very dreams.


©
quite lovely, Musty
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Old 17-05-2013, 12:58
mr. mustard
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This has great impact Frank, but beyond the tragedy I love the format you used. The tightly-structured use of very short lines really hit me. You also place rhyming words at the start and end of a line with ease, something I struggle to do. Much enjoyed

I'm sure you've written about marble halls before Musty, but it was a much longer poem and quite different??
Correct Biz, Marble Halls is an oldie I plucked at random from the original Poetry thread I only cut one verse out and changed a few words. There may have been another version too, I lose track a bit down in the archives A bit of polish applied to a past effort never hurts. I met another weirdo in the pub last night, but luckily he soon moved on. Most people you bump into are alright, there's just a few extremely odd ones about

quite lovely, Musty
Thanks Sandy, I seem to be going through a romantic phase of late. The Avebury suite isn't quite finished yet as I'm half way through an epic
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Old 17-05-2013, 13:29
scottie2121
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Closer

My feet step into your steps
where your feet stepped a minute before.
My breath floats over your breath
in the air you breathed a minute before.

My eyes close and you disappear
as you disappear from view,
your form still a stain in my eye,
a stain formed from you.

My mind’s image fixed on you
imagines you in passings-by.
A wilful wish to see you again
deceives my mind and eye.

And oh, for a holy place to kneel,
to kneel down with you,
amongst the strident scent of lilies
and stained-amber memories of you.

To place you in a place for me,
to be for ever more,
and not be lost in our love,
but to love as never before.

So my feet step into your steps
where your feet stepped a minute before.
My breath floats over your breath
in the air you breathed just a minute before.
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Old 17-05-2013, 13:46
mr. mustard
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And oh, for a holy place to kneel,
to kneel down with you,
amongst the strident scent of lilies
and stained-amber memories of you.
Wow, what a poem Scottie! I thoroughly enjoyed this - I found the closeness to the person addressed very strong, almost overwhelming. Illustrating such a relationship through a vivid imagination and even breathing is a powerful thing. I particularly loved the lines I quoted, for me they echo doom-laden Victorian poets like Oscar Wilde. The final verse's similarity to the first one worked well too. If you've got any other material it would be very welcome here Scottie, as are you if you haven't posted before
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Old 17-05-2013, 19:23
Biz
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Hello Scottie. Yes, I agree with Musty, a lovely poem. You'll be a very welcome addition to the poetic team.
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Old 17-05-2013, 19:26
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There may have been another version too, I lose track a bit down in the archives.
If you lose track it's no wonder your readers do. There have been so many. The poem I'm thinking of was of wandering into a ghostly ball.
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Old 18-05-2013, 14:49
mr. mustard
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If you lose track it's no wonder your readers do. There have been so many. The poem I'm thinking of was of wandering into a ghostly ball.
Yes, I remember that one now Biz. Unless it was Harlequins and Violins I might have some trouble finding it on the computer file. All the titles of the poems I've written down in a book up to about 750 as well! It needs updating badly I'm afraid, as the total's nearly 900 now. There'll definitely be a new poem posted by me later on today
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Old 18-05-2013, 16:35
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Yes, I remember that one now Biz. Unless it was Harlequins and Violins I might have some trouble finding it on the computer file.
Posted on 31-03-2009 at 17.25 by Mr Mustard.


Harlequins and Violins

I passed through streams
Of velvet dreams
Until at last I found
A masquerade, a rich parade
Of fantasies profound.

Each guest was masked,
I never asked
Where that grand ballroom was,
Bohemian fools wore precious jewels,
The music soared because

The harlequins
And violins
Played on all evening long,
No answers save what dancers gave,
Exquisite moves to song.

Glass chandeliers
Like Helen's tears
At Troy, sad yet sublime;
A maiden's smile did so beguile
And tender passed the time.

Before too soon
A pearly moon
Rose high and beamed above,
Just then she danced and when we glanced
Both of us fell in love.

I showed my care,
Her face was fair,
Her silken dress shone blue
And harlequins and violins
Played on the whole night through.
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Old 18-05-2013, 18:04
mr. mustard
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Biz, you're a star Thanks for posting that - I think I rewrote H and V, but reading the original again I can't see too much wrong with it. Maybe I thought it was a bit too lush and blatantly romantic. I'll look at both versions now and try to make the right choices. Thanks again
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Old 18-05-2013, 19:38
Biz
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Although marble halls aren't mentioned in that one, you have mentioned them several times in other poems. Always makes me think of that song " I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls". I can't see anything wrong with the above either.
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Old 18-05-2013, 21:45
archiver
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Time Traveller's Lament.

I went to the future.
There was nothing there.
So I went to the past.
No room anywhere.

I was here just now. Now nowhere to be seen.
Can't quite fit all my atoms in-between
and all my electrolyte doesn't travel well.
And what's even worse? I can never tell.

One femtosecond forward;
Not a thing exists
Fifteen minutes backwards;
I haven't written this.
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Old 18-05-2013, 21:59
archiver
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Biz, you're a star Thanks for posting that - I think I rewrote H and V, but reading the original again I can't see too much wrong with it. Maybe I thought it was a bit too lush and blatantly romantic. I'll look at both versions now and try to make the right choices. Thanks again
"Lush and blatantly romantic" perfectly evokes the time and place I imagine the picture presented. Can't see how you would improve it...
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Old 19-05-2013, 06:33
mr. mustard
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Always makes me think of that song " I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls". I can't see anything wrong with the above either.
That song gave me the image Biz I think it's very old, a traditional ballad. I have a lovely version of it by Enya, who you don't hear much of now.

"Lush and blatantly romantic" perfectly evokes the time and place I imagine the picture presented. Can't see how you would improve it...
Hi Archiver and thanks - you and Biz have swayed me to keep the original with hardly any changes I found the re-write and it felt a bit cluttered.

Time Traveller's Lament.
One femtosecond forward;
Not a thing exists
Fifteen minutes backwards;
I haven't written this.
Oh yes, I was waiting for you to hitch a lift on the sci-fi rocket again Archiver I love this one, it has a breezy style and the ending's great! I'm not sure what electrolyte and femtosecond are, but it didn't matter at all
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Old 19-05-2013, 08:07
mr. mustard
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Young Michael, Brightly Lit

When I lived in a dive
And music was alive
We heard the Jackson 5.

What singles, ABC,
I Want You Back would free
A golden top ten spree.

The sibling quintet sang,
From this raw Motown gang
Angelic voices rang.

Tracks echoed rain and sun,
While each singer could stun,
Young Michael was the one.

To love songs of a child
I listened and half-smiled,
Not totally beguiled.

But something altered when
The radio played Ben,
I ached so deeply then.

A tale of loneliness
That moved me I confess,
I felt his tenderness.

Years passed, I worked and dreamed
And as I feebly schemed
A distant friend he seemed.

Post-Motown when they’d split
A piercing spotlight hit,
Young Michael, brightly lit.

The rise before the fall,
From glitzy Off The Wall
To Thriller’s ghostly call.

For Thriller, hooked and glad
The world went really mad,
The world waited for Bad.

One silver glove he wore
Then full of awe we saw
That moonwalk on the floor.

Yet infant fame had snatched
His joy and now unmatched
Heights locked the head and latched.

Some child stars who compete
Mould their minds to complete
A dangerous retreat.

Dark skin had to be light,
The thought became a blight
So black turned into white.

In plastic surgeon zones
Blades cut, he asked who owns
The Elephant Man’s bones.

Odd masks to hide and shade,
Wealth’s saturation laid
The Neverland he made.

Then damning rumours flew,
Who told the lies, who knew
Or was the story true?

Eventually instead
On numbness Michael fed,
Addiction left him dead.

Despite the vast cash cow
A presence still somehow
Transcends the here and now.

Young Michael’s brightly lit
Where haunted creatures flit
And sorrow I admit.


©
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Old 19-05-2013, 14:47
archiver
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Oh yes, I was waiting for you to hitch a lift on the sci-fi rocket again Archiver I love this one, it has a breezy style and the ending's great! I'm not sure what electrolyte and femtosecond are, but it didn't matter at all
Thanks. It came from a discussion about time travel on GD, but I didn't post it there. I quite like the two words you mentioned.

I'll try to do more, but I've got so much RL to do just to get back to where I was months ago.

Young Michael, Brightly Lit
Masterpiece after masterpiece Musty.
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Old 19-05-2013, 16:57
mr. mustard
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Masterpiece after masterpiece Musty.
Thanks Archiver I know what you mean about life getting in the way of writing. Time travel to the Neolithic would solve it - no cars, no taxes and no mass population
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Old 20-05-2013, 10:17
sandydune
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Closer
interesting poem Scottie.
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Old 20-05-2013, 13:23
sandydune
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Blooms in May

There's blooms in May
down at the flower show
where visitors stroll
stand and ponder
upon pretty displays
to get a ticket would be a plea
none left and it's not even free .
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Old 20-05-2013, 15:31
mr. mustard
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to get a ticket would be a plea
none left and it's not even free .
What a bummer in the summer Sandy - a good poem though
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Old 21-05-2013, 03:44
mr. mustard
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Where's Biz?
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Old 21-05-2013, 03:44
mr. mustard
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Poem for Mr Shears

O Mr Shears here now appears
My own poetic sortie,
It's aimed at you because my fears
Were deepened by your cruelty.

Although your drill we would obey
On fitness and gymnastics
To use the jargon of the day
You viewed us boys as 'spastics'.

While other masters used to wear
A grey or blue or black suit
You were not seen once anywhere
Without a constant tracksuit.

A whistle round your neck to blow
That curtailed misbehaviour,
Indiscipline could never grow
With Mr Shears, our saviour.

If one lad laughed or slouched at all
Your next act killed the gym's soul;
The punishment you gave at school
Was dished out with a plimsoll.

You took a run-up for the task,
Each hit you found delicious
Without the bogus moral mask,
Red-faced and looking vicious.

Six of the best would do the trick
And make the class go quiet,
Young nerves can shrivel and get sick
If violence is the diet.

By racking tension up a notch
You added to your powers
But why were you inclined to watch
When we changed in the showers?

And while it's true back then my tears
Were cried through childhood's prism
I can't forget those awful years
And Mr Shears' sadism.


©
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Old 21-05-2013, 04:04
flower 2
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Those that did us wrong
made us grow strong
and through their blight
we grew in the light.
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Old 21-05-2013, 04:07
mr. mustard
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Those that did us wrong
made us grow strong
and through their blight
we grew in the light.
Hi Flower I like the way some of your poems are reactions to mine - and this one makes a good point
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Old 21-05-2013, 04:13
flower 2
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Hi Flower I like the way some of your poems are reactions to mine - and this one makes a good point
I am not a poet, I just respond to posts I like, I might be a troll ...fo de roll...
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Old 21-05-2013, 04:27
mr. mustard
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I might be a troll ...fo de roll...
Not in a million years
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