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Is Poetry a Dead Art? (Part 3) |
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#4276 |
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Quote:
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. ©
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#4277 |
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Quote:
Deadly Zest
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I'm sure you've written about marble halls before Musty, but it was a much longer poem and quite different??
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 ![]() Quote:
quite lovely, Musty
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#4278 |
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Any comments gratefully received.
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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#4279 |
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Join Date: Nov 2006
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Quote:
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.
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#4280 |
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Quote:
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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#4281 |
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Quote:
Any comments gratefully received.
There may have been another version too, I lose track a bit down in the archives.
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#4282 |
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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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#4283 |
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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.![]() 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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#4284 |
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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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#4285 |
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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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#4286 |
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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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#4287 |
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Quote:
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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#4288 |
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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.
![]() 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.Quote:
"Lush and blatantly romantic" perfectly evokes the time and place I imagine the picture presented. Can't see how you would improve it...
![]() I found the re-write and it felt a bit cluttered.Quote:
Time Traveller's Lament.
One femtosecond forward; Not a thing exists Fifteen minutes backwards; I haven't written this. ![]() 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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#4289 |
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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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#4290 |
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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 ![]() ![]() 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. Quote:
Young Michael, Brightly Lit
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#4291 |
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Masterpiece after masterpiece Musty.
![]() 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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#4292 |
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Quote:
Any comments gratefully received.
Closer
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#4293 |
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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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#4294 |
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to get a ticket would be a plea
none left and it's not even free . ![]()
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#4295 |
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Where's Biz?
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#4296 |
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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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#4297 |
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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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#4298 |
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Quote:
Those that did us wrong
made us grow strong and through their blight we grew in the light. I like the way some of your poems are reactions to mine - and this one makes a good point
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#4299 |
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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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#4300 |
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All times are GMT. The time now is 13:51.




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
...fo de roll...
