Gorblimey, Gordon bleeding Brown, sorry, Bennett,
Such interjections as are found for verbalising time's
Past voice and sound. Writers use'em to leaven and
Splice narrative, like pumpernickle, adding on spice,
Accompaniment and piquancy, or some prize pickle.
Phrases aghast, estranged to us now, non-familiar,
Alien colloquial speech of that so deemed "foreign"
Land, not our coin, nickles and dimes small change,
Anyway, pennies for those thoughts. Whatever, peeps.
Hip, happening, buzz words, what's once A OK dips
That which was ripping is no longer on à la mode lips.
All that used to be so old school is today's cool, oh joy
I feel a **** that things I say are thought old hat, old boy.

Oddsblood, oddsbodkins, odd, Elizabethan, old
Expressions. Pish! tish! tosh! Veins of comic gold,
The waft and weft of Boris Johnson impressions.
Crikey! and cripes! of the posh and snooty types
Gave them release, nary a shit, crap,**** about
But Jesus! weren't old world oaths worth a shout;
A ripe palette to draw from to curse with and swear,
Modern expletives so much worse, scarce compare.
Feast ye in their A to Z. "Avast behind scurvy swabs"
Or "pox be visited upon thy bed." Yer "****ing knobs,"
"Shit for brains" - not even near - I can't be much franker,
If "Zounds!" ain't the dogs' bollocks you're a ****ing ******.

A hilarious ride through the history of changes in language and profanity Frank Personally I've always loved Never Mind The B*llocks, the only proper studio album made by the Sex Pistols.

Our True Capital

A capital this land required,
Post-Ice Age isles unfrozen
Where early Britons prayed, inspired
Till Avebury was chosen.


©

my old town

When I looked round my old town
To see its friendly face
I found homes had been rolled down,
Crushed with new flats in place.

I visited the old park
Where innocence I'd known
But those fields lacked the old spark,
My childhood dreams had flown.

I went back to the old house
Like Morrissey once did,
It stood mute as a church mouse,
An empty shell time hid.

Some youths laughed near the tavern
I’d used and called me names,
Our inn had turned to cavern
That yielded spiteful games.

A neighbour's door stayed bolted
Until she heard my voice,
The fear of foes so jolted
She had no other choice.

Aware respect was plundered,
With my old town astray
I smiled and sadly wondered
And then went on my way.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lbgdC...3643721C58E3A4

Bathed in Light

There is a time and a place – and this is neither
But sometimes there is no ground – so I pay homage to the Protector of beings, and attempt the practice.

We are impossibly small
Yet I have found I can make myself bigger than the whole universe
It is a knack.
A worthless talent.

Not all stories are written.
Not every grouping of souls is labelled.
But the song is there to be heard, those that sing hear each others voices with joy and clarity and my heart soars even as my voice falls silent.

Noone tells you about entwinement
There is much of love and romance and all manner of less meaningful things
But nothing about entwinement – of the perfect timing of the flood and the certainty that is only later confirmed.
Certainly no one told me it was gossamer
(though I was warned by someone on gossamer threads).


You are bathed in light.
The Buddhas and Bodhisattvas laugh for joy – I swear I can hear the little buggers chuckling away in my ear.

You are bathed in light.
The hanging bat is gone and I will play my part to ensure he roosts no more – at no time – in no place.

You are bathed in light and I will laugh and sing for the joy of it.

But I will curse my talent until the day I die.

May all beings be happy, may all beings be well, may all beings find enlightenment.

A totally uplifting poem Droogie, full of clarity and meaning. I've read the Bhagavad Gita and the writings of Buddhist believers too; your beautiful poem brought back their positive messages to me

Thank you Mr. Mustard. I hope the person it was written for finds it.

Ripping yarns boys. All's well with the world.

Thanks Musty. (Frank)
PS - regarding Biz's comments on absences when she returned
Where was Musty?
Asked Biz
I say where was Biz
To be found?
Near someting rusty
Or detained by Liz.
I'll be bound.
Where's Noe Soap?
No-one asked, poor me
Off with the poor republicans
Losing hope.

Me too my friend Please feel free to post more poems


Hi Biz


Don't lose hope Frank, I'm in your corner too!

Release me, Lady Moonlight

Release me, Lady Moonlight,
You hold the silver key,
Help me to read each rune right
And set their meanings free.

A wood is slowly waking
Where trees in shade caress
And elves for you are making
An emerald velvet dress.

The bluebird's wings have lifted,
Flew south, by sunset pinned,
He heard your voice and drifted,
A whisper on the wind.

When Beltane fires are burning
While you dance long and slow
My goddess I'll be yearning
To kiss you in their glow.

And should you grace the river
Your form shall be a swan,
From banks I'll call thee hither
Though you'll glide on and on.

At night I want to learn all
From Lady Moonlight’s sky,
True beauty is eternal
And yours will never die.


©

Letter from HQ

Afraid of Avebury’s puzzle
The Christians used to be,
So they set out to muzzle
Its megaliths with glee.

With wide eyes staring madly
They quaked at Judgement Day,
Round thirteen hundred sadly
The locals thought that way.

Convinced the Devil’s very
Own hand produced the place
Gangs gathered here to bury
The stones and leave no trace.

But modern times are better,
We’ve disproved most dark arts
And so I penned a letter
About the missing parts.

I felt the Avebury wonder
Would soar if stones were found,
It surely was a blunder
To leave them in the ground.

Authorities I reckoned
Could rebuild with no fuss,
Dig up what treasure beckoned
Yet HQ answered thus:

'Thanks for your kind suggestion
But here’s the final word -
There really is no question,
The stones must stay interred.

We pay the kings of knowledge,
What heights our scholars chart,
All think tanks and each college
Agreed no dig should start.

We might harm some remaining
Unknown things laid to rest,
It's no good you complaining
For we know what is best.

How do you think our title
And prestige came about?
Though heritage is vital
Expenses we can’t flout.

Despite the vast donations
That readily we bank
There’ll be no restorations
Of what the Christians sank.

The weight is on our shoulders
Of great financial cost,
Against that, sacred boulders
Can happily stay lost.

We have to make decisions
Based on the best advice
And making deep incisions
In earth has such a price.

Destruction is no mystery,
What’s absent can look great,
It’s only our prehistory,
Which often has this fate.

The truth is there’s a reason
We won’t do what you ask,
Completion's out of season
And much too bold a task.

While tourists still awaken
At Avebury for stone
Our wages can be taken
From car park fees alone.

We’d like to thank you dearly,
To question us was right,
From HQ, yours sincerely,
Keep visiting the site.’

What happened?

What happened to the lovely view
Enjoyed when running free?
Where has it gone, the world I knew
That meant so much to me?

Has innocence been lost at last,
Is childhood out of fashion?
Why is the stab and vicious blast
Now youth's emphatic passion?

The daisy chains and sunny things
And laughter we held dear
Have vanished like the angels' wings
Forever now I fear.


©

Pengrin.

Built over where there once were cows.
More factories and folk to house.

Through concrete pipes now run the streams
where ancient children had such dreams
and more than those have all come true;
so why the **** are we so blue?

Where; every space is designated,
every corner rubber plated,
every angle done before
and only death for us in store?

And happiness is Disney Land
and children are great-grand
and don't get anything on TV.
Happiness is Radio Three?

Well I still got my kid at heart
and now the time to learn the art
and play with such amazing toys.
Undreamed of when we were boys.

But fear not Musty. Secretly,
kids today are just as free
in places where no adult goes,
hidden from all fear and foes.

Imagination's canvas now is bigger than it were.
One can love, or even be, the gender you prefer.
Even scary shit like hell and eternal damnation
didn't do too well in its science examination.

But there I go again and I'm about to change the record.
Abandoning my pen for a stranger discord...

Lovely poems, Mr Mustard, archiver and everyone.

Lovely to see Droogie on the thread, wonderful poem.

~What to write, some ridiculous rubbish I expect

The cat sits against my thigh
Her warmth sweet, her trust warmth.

She reminds me of love

And life, and that there is both, still.

A Jedi went out with a Wookie
A night on the town and some nookie
While the Jedi was fine
Because he controls minds
The big hairy beast wasn't so lucky.

_wow! Great to see the thread so alive again. I enjoyed both of those.

What Happened? inspired my Pengrin Musty, so thanks for that. Letter from HQ is extremely well put together and a very enjoyable read. Did you help them with their reply?

I didn't find much clarity in droogie's Bathed in Light, but great imagery and puzzles, and I too hope whoever it was written for gets to read it. The hanging bat bit seems like a clue.

Great to see the thread bouncing, as it were.

One of my oldies:


Eternal Drifter

I drift on a sea of surf;
But I am no Beach Boy
With companions many.
I am alone.

The ocean swells bathe me in brine,
Bitter to my taste;
But I did not ask for this bath.
I am alone and shivering.

The curious swordfish stops
To stare, and with a flick of Its tail hurries by:
On urgent business, I assume.
I am alone, again.

Seagulls swoop, indifferent
To my plaintive cries they peck
Absent-mindedly at my peeling skin,
Then fly for shore.
I am alone, again.

Condemned to spend my life at sea;
I must follow the map
Nature has decreed for me.

I am a lonely buoy.

Aawww! We'd miss you if you didn't pop in Frank.


Agreed BE. It looks as if we missed a party last night.

Loved that one, especially the lifting of tension at the end.

Merci Biz.

Another oldie:


A Haven


There’s this place I yearn to be;

When the rigours of life’s cluttered stage
Have sapped my mental energy.

A forest glade far away,
Where oak tree sentinels stand guard eternally;
Against the prying eyes and wagging
Tongues of evil doers.

Where all its fearless creatures dance and play.
Joyfully cavorting from dawn to dusk.
Before the fading sunlight is ushered through
Nature’s exit door.

Keeping perfect time as usual, the Moon arrives;
And paints the glade in silver shadows.
The silhouettes of tree guardians
Beckon me to join their dance;

And they sway in perfect rhythm to the liquid
Music of the warm night breeze;
As the scents of Crocuses and Lilacs
Infuse my spirit, energising my soul.

The dancing over, I fall asleep;

At the feet of giants

Far from ridiculous rubbish, this sums up perfectly why I love cats Thanks for the comments Rhumba, I agree about Droogie's poem Please call me Musty BTW





I was honoured to get mentioned in the poem, which was another very interesting one Archiver Is Pengrin a real place?


Such a beautiful piece - soothing words and nature as a backdrop. Nice one BE


I do love a poem with a twist and this had a great one

Thanks Archiver Though Letter from HQ is light-hearted in tone, it's based on correspondence that actually took place. As a member of English Heritage I wrote to them asking why several of Avebury's marvellous megaliths had to stay buried. I was referred to an expert and in his reply the 'expert' actually justified doing nothing. One of the reasons given was that stone burial was part of Avebury's history and to re-erect those stones would do damage to 'the story'. Can you imagine if someone found a stash of unknown jewellery and letters belonging to Henry VIII hidden deep in a cellar - would it stay there? Would it hell! I suspect the real reason for the inactivity is an unwillingness to spend money. I left English Heritage in disgust after getting their reply.

The lack of vision in those who run ancient sites is stunning. That no one at English Heritage or the National Trust wants to improve Avebury, one of our most important sites in this way is nothing less than a national disgrace. Alexander Keiller excavated, located, dug up and re-erected many megaliths there in the 1930s; sadly, ill health and the war stopped his work. If not for him though, Avebury would look even more bare today. No one's picked up the baton since and I don't expect that to change any time soon.

Sorry for the rant, but this wouldn't happen in Egypt. They respect their past.

Thanks Musty. Pengrin isn't a real place as far as I know. Sure sounds like it could/should be. It took me longer to think of the title than write the rhyme I think. I just like it 'cause its got "pen" in it and a "grin" and it sounds like a funny mispronunciation of penguin, which is a word and bird I like.

I completely agree with your comments on the other recent contributions and thanks for your explanation of the English Heritage communication, which I'm just about to read.

I suspected it might be a coming together of two words Sometimes I have terrible trouble thinking of titles - on certain occasions they just won't appear