Cessna 9 to Base

'I've witnessed something hot,
Fast as a supernova!
In front of me it shot,
Is traffic busy? Over.'

'Is that you Cessna 9?
We have full confirmation:
Night skies are clear and fine,
What is your situation?'

'Five thousand feet, what's more
I don't feel safely harboured
But of one fact I'm sure,
It passed from port to starboard.'

'I copy that, stand by.
Was it a plane you know there?
Can you identify
Or was a UFO there?'

'The lights flashed red and green,
So fast I couldn't scan it,
A vast and round machine,
Not something from this planet.'

'My own screen shows no sign
Of anything enormous,
You'd best land Cessna 9
Back here and then inform us.'

'Above it's reappeared -
Much closer now and slower,
Bizarrely-engineered,
My god it's getting lower!'

'The line is not intact,
There's crackling and loud hissing,
I've lost radar contact,
Come in, have you gone missing?'

'They've taken me inside....'


©

Long-term readers of the thread will probably know I agree with Frank. This isn't the place for a debate on the merits of 'conceptual art' but I still maintain that the group who produce things like unmade beds and dead animals, while much loved by a tiny elite, aren't being artists at all. That takes skill.

Nice to see Emin & Hirst referenced in the poem Frank.

Gee thanks for that patsylimerick.

Thanks Musty and the brick-layer was Carl Andre.
Congrats on your latest close encounter piece, believable radio exchanges. Over and out.

So that's where Troy's disappeared to.

Oh! I do agree Frank. You can fool some of the people..............

Roger

the feeling small

Gull-strewn seaport,
At dawn I stared exempted,
Lost love my thought,
How happy bright lights tempted
And I recall the feeling small
Left me alone and emptied.

Stonehenge beneath
Red skies that let you learn all,
Where like a leaf
I blew in dreams maternal,
The sudden pull of feeling small
Brought hints of the eternal.

I'm tiny, bland,
A speck within a crater,
A grain of sand,
A slave, a lowly waiter
But sometimes all the feeling small
Reminds me I am greater.


©

That's the spirit. "I know my place."

Brilliant Musty, required me to read it several times to fully appreciate it.









Interesting take on alien abduction Musty, enjoyed this.






Shades of William Blake Musty?

Loved it.

Excellent poem with sentiments I thoroughly concur with Frank.

Ey oop Troy Thanks for the feedback as ever I was very pleased with Da Vinci's gift as it took a heck of a long time to write. A slightly improved version is on an American poetry site I belong to.

Yes, the feeling small does echo Blake's theories. He was definitely tuned in to those moments when we feel 'more than mortal'. He remains my favourite poet.

Where are you all, poets? Time to rally round. You can't all have been taken by aliens.

Where are all the poets today
I'm thinking they've all gone away
Where'ere can they be
Not like them to flee
Please tempt them to come out to play

This thread is again on page two
And I really don't know what to do
It should be on one
To have any fun
It needs some elastic and glue.

Browsers.

On my way back from back
I happened to track
on a word which lit up red.
On retracing the path
I had to laugh
Show Biz was what it said.

So I closed my browser
and took off my trousers
and focussed my box brownie
and when it's developed
it will be enveloped
and sent, if she will allow me.

(presuming you is a lady Biz )

A picture of archiver's knees
Will arrive in the post, if you please
Or heaven knows
It could be his toes
For as we all know he's a tease

Arbor Low

Seeking spirits back and forth,
Ancient sites are my light
And 'the Stonehenge of the North'
Is another highlight.

I have been to Arbor Low,
In the panorama
Fallen uprights star below
Skies of pagan drama.

On a henge the wise ones planned
I stopped and felt humbled,
Standing stones that do not stand;
Long ago they tumbled.

Did a raging storm create
Gales and when they blew in
Did they change the circle's fate,
Causing sudden ruin?

Did some later tribe shun skill,
Jealous of the heathen?
Did the Christians push them till
They fell flat and even?

Nobody can tell of course,
Time's completely hid all
Answers, yet there's still a force
In the limestone riddle.

Such a godly harbour though
Northern lorries thunder
Derbyshire keeps Arbor Low,
Fallen ring of wonder.


©

'Real life' got in the way for a while Biz. Normal service has been resumed now

Aahhh! Welcome back Musty. I guessed something was afoot. Glad I don't have to rack my brains to try to come up with a post which isn't "pointless".

Must confess I've never heard of Arbor Low - another one for me to look up.

Thanks Biz It was a pleasure to write a poem about Arbor Low, one of thousands of ancient British sites. Like myself at one point, most people only know of Stonehenge. Sadly, British history at school usually starts with the Roman invasion, leaving out centuries of culture and wisdom.

The last petunia

The last petunia died today,
No flower is immune,
A cold December stripped away
What shimmered here since June.
With salvias and roses gone
The blight has been delivered,
Though marigolds still struggle on
All dahlias have withered.

Though I accept what winter's done
I'm sorrowful to lose
Those shades that glistened in the sun,
Bright yellows, reds and blues.
This grass could witness whiter days
And if from chill there's no break
I'll stare from windows at the phase
Of icicle and snowflake.

The frosty nights and pounding rains,
Brown leaves no longer green,
The garden that I took great pains
To make has lost its sheen,
Yet I can see beyond the gloom
A future sure to bring time
When more petunia petals bloom
And colours burst in springtime.


©

The thing is, schools can't teach everything there is to know. The best ones make us proficient in basic skills and then introduce as broad a curriculum as possible. In other words to provide us with the ability to enrich our lives and continue our education until our last breath.

The evidence is that you are a success story - whether it was because of or despite.


Beautiful. I love the changing seasons and the way things burst into life in the spring and the garden becomes furnished. I'd hate to live with permanent sunshine and heat.

Thank you and it's definitely 'despite' Biz

I'm glad you liked the petunia poem, it was inspired by the very last one falling off today I do agree with you though Biz, it's the great contrast of our seasons that makes you value them

A wonderfully executed ode to a mysterious place.

Nice one Musty.