I'm working on it The pain is a good bit in the past. The skeleton of An Appointment was in the back of my head for quite a while. Just hammered it together five minutes before I posted it tonight. The poetry on here is just brilliant. Inspirational. It's dragging it out of me

Yes there's a lot of talent around here. You'll be a very welcome addition patsy.

For a kiss.

When everyone's gone to bed
word worms inside my head
knit dreams of crystal thread

While you lot are fast asleep
my thoughts are broad and deep
and sometimes make me weep

But for this chance to share
that somebody could care
not that I am aware

Too blunt without clear meaning?
Like sorrowfully beaming
the Truth is so demeaning

So smack your empty pocket
The rich got all the profit
They own the very soil
Have some for your toil
Did I mention the oil?

Chin up.

Onward to recession
Humanoid regression?
Could do better than this.
Would do for a kiss.

I have an aversion to spiders Droogie but I enjoyed this imaginative take on them

The Bonzos were a great band Frank and were friends of The Beatles


Two fascinating poems Patsy - thanks for supporting the thread

Another corker Archiver; your mojo has truly returned

X for archiver. We await developments.

Wow. Absolutely loved For A Kiss. And The Hill is genius.

Molehill Mountain Making

Frantic fingers over keyboard,
Heart in throat, no breath in middle,
Type in symptoms, find the keyword,
Swallow tears and stifle giggle.

Find a nice one, clue in title.
Stomach settles. Breathing starts.
Someone pushes fingers idle
To the one that stops your heart.

Every headache is a tumour,
Every niggle something worse.
Something stupid pushes you for
'most dramatic', 'worst-est curse'.

How I wish that we could take
The clocks and turn all of them back
To before the Net did me make
A classic hypochondriac.

What a sad poem. Made me cry a little, your other work is also great. I've sat through and read them all but I don't have time to go through them all individually so I'll just say that they were all, like usual, a blooming great read.

Thank you so much. Was very nervous about putting that one up as it's very personal and a bit depressing. I've had three miscarriages, but I've also had three children, so it's all good Not something I dwell on - at all, really. But something like that does leave a little mark back there somewhere. That's the beauty of writing, though, letting it out.

I promise to be much more flippant about my neuroses from now on.

Can't help but wonder,
If it all could have changed,
Had they spoke for longer,
Lingered on those stone steps.

And if a driver,
Not so incompetent,
Had took a right turning,
Maybe Europe's lamps would
have stayed on.

If artistic passion was seen,
If doors shut became windows open,
would an evil man,
Be pure?

Had a Grant never risen,
To the task at hand,
Would Lincoln fall,
from a legend to a footnote?

If Luther never gave a speech,
And Parks gave a seat,
Would rights be as Civil,
As they are today?

Da Vinci's gift

That dream of Blake's, the Wordsworth lakes,
The desert hope of Lawrence,
What makes someone pour out the sun
Of genius in torrents?
Italian-glazed a child was raised,
From Vinci close to Florence.

He grew to be a student free
Of shackles from the start,
A mind that sought exclusive thought,
Not only steeped in art;
What nature proved, how bodies moved,
He analysed each part.

Now is the night, by candlelight
Come peer with me into it,
The cultured stage, a scholars' age,
Renaissance minds soared through it
And ere the world of logic swirled
Faith was the true conduit.

Da Vinci's skill increased until
It brought him useful contacts,
A chance to grow, to really show
Art unrestrained and on tracks
Changed by his hand, soon chance would land
The greatest of his contracts:

Upon a wall divine and tall,
Dominican and holy
He would record friends with the Lord
Who saved the meek and lowly,
That final meal he would reveal;
The Last Supper grew slowly.

Today the paint is very faint,
Bright tempera and oil
Are prone to fade, each fresco shade
Soon dulled after the toil
But years of time and waves of grime
Can't permanently spoil.

For pilgrim eyes it's vast in size,
Fifteen by twenty-nine,
As Jesus told his guests of cold
Plain treason down the line
Enjoyment ceased, it stopped the feast
Of sacred bread and wine.

The moment when His loyal men
Found out, in this portrayal
These twelve are locked in pain and shocked
Yet Christ was bound to say all;
Their rage and grief are disbelief
At news of His betrayal.

No halo glows but here arose
A mystery, in vain
I've looked between and scanned the scene,
Did Leonardo fain
To drop a veil and is one male
Sweet Mary Magdalene?

Among the chairs and Christian heirs
Apostle John I see
Sits on the right of Jesus, slight
And feminine looks he,
If not a man was this a plan
To set the Goddess free?

In gloomy deeps near castle keeps
The Knights Templar exploded
The myths we make and tend to take
For granted though corroded,
A need to mine and break the sign
Da Vinci had encoded.

And yet in truth, without real proof
I can't be sure and while
We like to seize conspiracies
This picture has a style
With more to know, more even so
Than Mona Lisa's smile.

Brush strokes anoint a turning-point,
The Son of Man's restriction,
Here paint enacts the awful facts
Of Jesus's prediction
And loved ones who would suffer through
The Day of Crucifixion.

What art remains the wall retains
On lower space and upper,
No flaw can crease a masterpiece,
No plague or war can scupper
Da Vinci's gift, all spirits lift
On seeing his Last Supper.


©

A very intriguing and well written poem. I must admit that I've never gave the theories over the paintings much though but you've ignited an interest in me!

I can feel the tension here

I love the references to those brave souls who dared to go against the grain in this poem. Nice one Daznov

Thanks Daznov, I recently finished the Da Vinci Code and loved it BTW you can delete major chunks of the poems you quote, it makes them look less unwieldy

That's a good tip, thanks I'll do that from now on

Da Vinci's gift. Another masterpiece Musty and definitely one I'll keep coming back to. There's so much in it, I'd advise anyone to read it twice at least.

So much great input to the thread these days. Thanks. It's inspiring. Thanks for the X Biz. The changes have started already. I changed my socks today and it's not even the end of the month!


Pork Pies And Hampers.

A butterfly alighted on the table near
I killed it quickly have no fear
No distant hurricanes that way
That's what I heard someone say.

Others reckon God is Great
and even have the nerve to state
that if you don't believe it too;
death will be the end of you.

Well I think it's all porky pies
and hampers anyone who tries
to see the beauty and the light
not only butterflies alight.

And then I heard a skylark sing
and children playing on a swing
laughing like there's no tomorrow
They know not what is to follow.

They charm bracelets out of daisies
Know this many secret places
Best at playing hide and seek
Oldies are so - antique.

On and on it just keeps turning
just beyond the reoccurring nightmare
like some bad repeat.

Humanity in retreat.

Thanks Archiver The poem took a lot of research, I pieced it together with the help of three books and a check-up at Wikipedia.

Pork Pies And Hampers is fascinating, a sort of 'life goes on regardless' statement.

Thanks Daznov & Archiver for keeping the thread busy during what I feel is one of its strongest ever phases

A terrific poem, so glad I found this thread.

That made me giggle too patsy.


I've stopped wondering daznov, but hope springs eternal.


I read that a few years ago Musty. Absolutely fascinating.


Agreed. It just gets better and better.


Halleluia! Archiver's changed his socks - all's well with the world.



Just leave the butterfly alone, but kill the clothes moth. Pleased to see you're back with a vengeance - I think you know what I mean.


It's brilliant BE isn't it? A tonic.

HIP HOP is keeping it alive! No other art from still has metaphors, similes, double entendres, internal rhyme schemes etc.

Thank you very much BE and welcome to the thread

Unputdownable Biz - I read it in three days which is rapid for me

Glad to hear that Rick. I don't listen to rap or hip-hop so I can't comment on the lyrics.

Mr. Mustard's Da Vinci Gift is just astoundingly good. The standard on here is frighteningly high. Hope ye don't mind a little dilution of the quality every now and then

Love this poem, but particularly the highlighted verse. Nature/nurture - there's so much poetic potential there.

Thanks Patsy Da Vinci's gift is a lofty epic but I once posted a poem here called Archibald the Trumper - about a chap who couldn't stop breaking wind

I can't stand intellectualism and luckily the thread has no element of competition - all the poems are gratefully received

Call me Musty BTW

Pile me no bricks in any order even in neatness arrayed,
After assembling them I have no concept you have made
Anything approaching a work of decent art. No I'm afraid
Cutting up life's creations in parts as if all yours displayed
Doesn't cut it for me and others, lovers of the real art thing.
Stuff me no body, pickle me no sharks, Art's peak chagrin
Maybe attained when an "artist" put his own "shit" in a can.
Sell me no crap old bed you made where you got laid Emin,
I'm in no mood to fund any Britartist's scam, not so partisan,
Off you to the old bank-y you go with crafty canny Banksy.
Send me a Constable please to arrest my ire, an art police,
To bring order to the craziness in this modern art's artifice
Of any old rubbish mess that no sane soul should even miss.
I've seen a toilet on a gallery wall, that surely is not Art at all.
Let me view a real British masterpiece by a Stubbs or Turner,
Of the abortive conception of modern art I'll ever be a spurner.

Brilliant, and so true.