I used to love JCC Robin - so funny

At risk of being thought pretentious here are form tenets of a cinquain:
Line 1 is one word (the title)
Line 2 is two words that describe the title.
Line 3 is three words that tell the action
Line 4 is four words that express the feeling
Line 5 is one word that recalls the title
Here's my first attempt at one.
Haiku


Haiku,
Short poem.
Japanese poetic form,
Writing about Nature's quintessence;
Nutshell.

open the book

When the frosty air has ascended
So the window has to stay closed,
By the fire with candlelight shining
Read the book a poet composed.

There are new lands you can imagine,
There's a world of difference they say,
If you long to go on a journey
Let the pages take you away

To a vale that heals every sorrow
Where the pathways make you feel whole,
Finding out how one other person
Knows the loneliness in your soul.

When the candle chooses to flicker,
When a full moon's glowing the same
Over secret dreams you've discovered,
Close the book and blow out the flame.


©

I like it Frank - I'm not really into analysis of forms but I found the Nutshell finish striking, as in 'that's it in a nutshell'.

The Sanctuary, destroyed in 1724

Sanctuary, Sanctuary, spiritual lair,
Circle of mystery no longer there.

Sanctuary thrived until some greedy fools
Plundered the uprights to build cottage walls.

Here is your site in a green Wiltshire vale,
Missing stones sadly are part of this tale;

A farmer named Griffiths and one known as Green
Stole all the megaliths looming serene.

Yet we've discovered where proudly they stood,
Placed in a circle, accomplishing good.

End of the Ridgeway but also the start
Of the route down into Avebury's heart.

Here is the mystical entrance that lured
Pilgrims who travelled with faith that endured.

Sactuary, Sanctuary, thousands of years
Cannot destroy what was forged by the seers.


©

Georgie

Just a boy from Belfast
Playing on home ground,
Raw but full of talent
Waiting to be found.

Very soon discovered,
Manchester the team,
Here the stage was set to
Let you live your dream.

Long-haired like a pop star,
Mass fan worship fed
Wearing Ireland's green shirt
Or United's red.

Girls adored the image,
Beatle haircut too,
All the kids down my street
Wanted to be you.

Winger from the heavens,
Magic on the break,
Leaving all defenders
Struggling in your wake.

How did you achieve it?
Maybe it was fate,
Some train hard to get high
Some though, are born great.

While drink and its problems
Marked the rise and fall
This ode's one concern is
Your skill on the ball.

No others have come close,
So unique a breed,
Charismatic features,
Devastating speed.

With such special riches
Only few are blessed,
In our hearts forever,
Georgie you were best.


©

cat dreams

The cat's on her favourite chair keeping
As snug as a cat can be,
But while she is peacefully sleeping
What images does she see?

Is she in the corn near a farmhouse,
Concealed with no way to be found,
Honed in on a countryside dormouse
Who's unaware she is around?

Or studying some mansion's ceiling,
Reclining on cushions of silk,
Where every room looks so appealing
And saucers of gold contain milk?

She might be romantically glancing
At some other feline and soon
They both could be purring and dancing,
Lit up by the silvery moon.

The cat is awake, sleep suspended,
No eyes are the equal of these;
Resembling now her dreams have ended
The emerald of faraway seas.


©

Little Earth

Little Earth
Now I know why
Little Earth
You always cry,
Population
Gaining ground,
Animals
Extinction-bound,
Car pollution
Covering,
No chance of
Recovering,
Forest carnage
Chop and spoil,
Oceans thick
With tanker oil,
Planes that fly
Above each cloud
Leaving smog's
Disgusting shroud,
There must be a
Greener way
But we'll never
Go away,
Using up
The air and surf
And all the land
Of Little Earth.


©

The Flight of Rhiannon

Rhiannon the Goddess is gliding
Through night's panorama with speed,
Look up to the dark skies she's riding;
Rhiannon upon her white steed.

Above the wide heavens are violet,
Below her the Welsh valleys lie,
Gold bridle that helps her to pilot
Shines bright like the tear in her eye.

A magical silk dress is flowing,
Behold our invincible star,
This feminine comet bestowing
True wisdom she's learned from afar.

We Celts praise Rhiannon's endeavour,
Her horse and the moonlight are one,
Rhiannon is travelling forever
Through beams of the pale midnight sun.


©

Look at the snow
Look how it shines for you
I did something there for you
Now it's all yello-o.

I wrote a tribute to your teeth
I took a shine for them
For they were all yello-o.

It's got appeal for me
I'm just so strange you see
A very peculiar fello-o.

I found one yellow rhyme too
When I was feeling mello-o
Seeking inspiration from Shakespeare's Othello
If only jealousy weren't bloody green
It really should be yello-o.

Your voice is so damn beautiful
Espech when you really bello-o
And you're doing such special things
Don't worry I won't tello-o
Those fine things you do
They make me yell-o: "ooh!"
I'm just such a lucky fello-o who
Would lose all his life-blood for you
Though it sounds stupid too
Then I'd sure turn myself yello-o.

Nice one Frank - the first song about yellow since Donovan's Mellow Yellow?

Where's Biz?

Hodgsonhill

Hodgsonhill,
Where drunkards in red and blue
Seek the thrill
Of dear old George going through
They line the hill
And morning tide to see the morning hue
In hope, in hope, to fill
Their greed for glory which is surely due
Alas, they will, they will,
Chant the few
Unable to stand the chill
The chill of defeat they can't chew
As such, the morning hue is a false dawn
Their dreams washed out, standing on the wet lawn.

Still enjoying them all, thank you.

Cat's dream and Little Earth were particularly enjoyable. Top stuff as usual Musty.


Men.

Once just in the nick of time
a creature crawled out of the slime.
Declared itself created by
its great big daddy in the sky.

Proceeding then to worship Him,
declaring that which is not sin,
denying that death is the end,
suggesting who's who to befriend.

And then expecting my respect?
While scoffing that I reject
the most unlikely thing of all?
They do not know how very small
the only world we know is to
the vastness every way from you.

All timesed by infinite clocks.
Come on men; pull up your socks!

The Clock on the Wall

This silent witness
Strange face of time
Measures each moment
Of our Earthly lives.

As each second, each minute,
Each hour drift by
Our fates all hang
By a slender line.

For the giver of time
Is provider of life
And the clock on the wall
Marks the path to the light.

Wow! I take a Jubilee break and come back to find two days of silence.

However I have enjoyed the contributions you poets have made and more power to your pens. Do come back soon.

I'm here Musty, where are you?

Hi Biz, I'm glad you're back At last I've been taught a few computer basics and I'm in the process of making my own poetry file I'll be here later to comment on the latest contributions, but I must crack on now as there are about 750 poems to compile

Quite a task - is copy, paste and print out, or something more esoteric?

Love this word, I believe I first encountered it when watching an interview clip with Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones.

He was an erudite chap.

Copy and paste mainly Biz, which I already knew, but I still needed someone to create the file and show me the ropes on other things


I've got to slip it into a poem sometime BE! I'm a fan of Brian Jones too, a much-troubled man but musically very talented.

That's a good one too - maybe they'll both turn up in a Musty creation some time.

A fascinating poem Allthings I got the impression it was about supporters of George III but I'm probably wrong.


Ta Archiver I much enjoyed Men, full of the usual great imagery. 'Timesed' threw me a bit though


I loved the last two lines here BE, they gave a positive spin on time - most of my poetic takes on it are negative.


I'm a confirmed magpie Biz

The Gentle Mind

There was a man, the gentle kind
Who chose to speak his truth
To people and with friends who dined
Beneath a humble roof.

Whenever he would heal or preach
They sought his open palm;
The crowds held out their hands to reach
His own which brought them calm.

But Roman law would never let
Such influence change thought,
They captured him inside their net
Then brought him to a court.

They gave a jury of his peers
A choice the record notes,
To end his or another's years
And he received most votes.

Derided in a robe of red
And crowned with spiking thorns,
The Via Dolorosa bled
Upon that dawn of dawns.

Led slowly to a stagnant hill
Where foes had grown like moss,
As dark clouds brewed, in pain and still
They nailed him to a cross.

Though swirling skies informed all those
Who watched the end was nigh,
Despite the way his spirit rose
A tear formed in his eye.

Were you the one born 'neath the star
Who died to free our chains?
I'll never know yet from afar
Your gentle mind remains.


©

Interesting interpretation. I'm not sure if I made my intention clear in the poem as I was writing about England supporters at Euro 2012, sitting on "Hodgsonhill", referring to Roy Hodgson the England manager, like tennis supporters would be on "Murraymount" or "Henmanhill", and the whole disappointment of England failing to make the next stages of the tournament. "Dear old George" is a personification of the England football team, brave and heroic against the opposition, "dear old" suggesting the team has been round the block a few times.

Thanks for the explanation Allthings I enjoyed the poem much more re-reading it with that knowledge. It captures the loyalty fans often give in vain really well. How long their desperation has lasted - since 1966.