The Berghof's Balconies (a fantasy)

I've made it to the area
Among heights in Bavaria
With orders and a British plan:
To terminate a German man.

Yet not a normal German son,
And should the daring deed be done
This mission could improve the face
Of destiny for every race.

I can't afford to get it wrong,
The bloody war we can't prolong,
What joy to stop the London Blitz
While making out my name is Fritz.

I trained intensively for weeks,
A student scaling many peaks,
Last-minute alterations too
We ironed out and sorted through.

The Ministry decided they
Would mute the viper's hiss today,
I'm grateful they selected me
To fill a page of history.

Though I had maps and notes in store
I didn't need a photo for
I knew his look, those queer but harsh
Cold eyes and little black moustache.

I climbed high up these rocky slopes
Spurred on by tension, fear and hopes,
Then hid inside a copse of trees
And spied the Berghof's balconies.

Throughout this sultry afternoon
I've prayed hard that he'll surface soon,
Hang on, he's there and staring out
Aglow with bursting pride, no doubt.

Surveys his empire with delight
But not my telescopic sight
Which I've now perfectly aligned
Upon his features, well-defined.

I wait until the time is right
Then squeezing on the trigger tight
It sends a bullet through his head,
I watch him choke until he's dead.

And now the bastard's fallen down
Devoid of his Germanic crown,
His aids run over, far too late
To save the Master of the State.

Beneath these empty mountain skies
I almost hear soft Jewish sighs,
Just wait till every Tommy knows,
They'll cheer the toppling dominoes.

I feel ecstatic, glad to place
The gun inside its army case,
I hide it, thinking as I flee
The world has changed because of me.


©

Nice one Frank - I wonder if Mozart ever got called Wolfie?

Great Minds.

In all that there can ever be,
no spacetime singularity,
or tiny little occu-pants
can claim they know the cosmic dance.
The height of ridiculousness
and half of how we got this mess.

Somehow I don't fear the reaper,
just the oceans getting deeper,
just the end of people here -
fills me with a kind of fear
which sometimes is too much to bear,
without you there, with whom to share.

Loved the closing verse of this Archiver - despite looming disaster, the poem finds hope in the mere presence of other people being there. Futile maybe, but a truly human need. Well written sir!

Mmm, thanks Musty. Got to thank language itself as well I think. It occurred to me a very long time ago that; a word is worth a thousand pictures...

Confession.....

Here's a letter to a better one than me, I'm really sorry I upset you can we, talk about an olive branch the bridges may be burnt but I'm still keen to advance. Friendly.

I'm not gonna try and take the position you have on your mate, It was a mistake. I never intended for folks to be offended, for all the things I did, we just friend-ed and hit it off in a world of everything, we shared a bit, it was shit to make you deal with it.

I didn't want to participate in knowing your heart would be broken and other peoiple would be knowing, im just a little ********.

I get thoughts in my head and run them through to the edge of the garden of possibility its not just me, it was a brave thought in a sea of mediocracy.... I'd have run a mile if i knew i was ****ing with the values of a family unit. I'm no destroyer I'm a frig-gate.

Keep me away, yeah, take me away. Keep me drugged up (every day) and one(1) day maybe you'll hear what i think. It's not against you. Or him. Or her.... Or anything that you think. How can you assume I'd be mad at you when I don't even know who I am?

Do you understand how it feels 12 months of words in my ear?

I never intended to offend the hardest faction of this shit dead end of a country. Please, listen to me. I'm halfway to death.

Please, choose a new enemy.

...But that time you drove up your car, to my local spar, and pointed your finger at me

it

broke

my

heart.

Why were you there? Why cant you leave me alone to die quietly?

All apologies.

Rambling On.

Gone and stoned me again I have.
Therefore; the only way to nav-
igate a rhyme which starts that way
is onward further, come what may.

The seas of troubles navigated,
many minds exasperated,
forced to think they must be wrong.
Did honesty keep them strong?

Each human tale a course through life.
Each set to sail the daily strife.
All worthy of true compliment.
(sometimes I'm astonishment.)

Tesco Tuesday navigating.
I'm the one in armour plating.
Silent gormless auto steering.
Into icy chambers peering.

Sky's the limit on the tele.
Now the path has turned to jelly.
Words have fluttered off to bed.
Hey! Wait for me I said.

'Night Poets.

Only 26 letters and so much can come from them


I enjoyed this read Pankration, it was really intense in places.


That's the frozen food aisle for sure Another entertaining write Archiver - thanks for the continuing contributions

The puzzle is solved. The reason I don't write poetry is because I waste my time sleeping at night. Far too practical I am.

Never mind I can always pop in here and enjoy the various talents of the poets, which never seem to dry up. You just don't know when a new one will appear to join the creative elite.

The missing young

This is for the missing young,
The missing young who've vanished,
Loved ones who have disappeared
But weren't thrown out or banished.

Strange departures unexplained,
Left by familiar doorways;
Did they have things on their minds
Or were they tired of your ways?

No farewell note to reveal
They hid some secret loathing,
No contact, despite the hope
They'll stay safe if they're roving.

Sleepless parents, so distraught,
Endeared to sons and daughters,
Trying not to think the worst,
Yet worry never alters.

Going over small details,
Each haunt and every pastime,
Thinking fondly of a face
Especially the last time

They were seen, it's really hard
And takes almighty powers
Just to concentrate on life
Through twenty-four more hours.

Sometimes with luck, they return
To joyful hugs and kissing,
Sometimes though they never do
And stay forever missing.

This is for the missing young
Yet also for the others;
Friends and those who cry at night,
The fathers and the mothers.


©

I love it when newcomers send in material - thanks for your kind words Biz

That was a painful read Musty. What a nightmare you describe.

...........and you're welcome.

Hi Biz I always think one of the worst things for any parent is a missing child. Not knowing their whereabouts or condition must be so hard.

Lakeside

Swan ascends
Which sweetly blends
Soft ripples into waves,
Heron glides
Above the tides,
The joyful otter bathes.

Peaceful lake
You almost ache
With beauty every time,
Rural dream,
A mural's gleam
Shines perfectly sublime.

Nature made
These trees to shade
Each quiet reeded shore,
Reservoir
Divine you are,
A place to reassure.

When the day
Goes on its way
And gods of dusk unfold
Different cloaks
The lake evokes
A portrait drawn in gold.


©

A beautiful antidote to a dreich morning. Aren't pictures in the mind wonderful?

At sixteen Tracy let a boy go all the way,
Without caution, precaution or any delay.
Thus was soon in her life a single Mum,
A flow of children never ceased to come
Sired by dodgy men on one-night stands,
Shoddy groupie to some third rate bands.

Tracy kept her stray sprogs in a council house,
Cashed giros aplenty so had no need to grouse.
She's minted enough to bung old Nan Pat a sub,
Mum's Mum's baby sitting, her Trace's up the pub.
Tracy first learned the virtue of a family allowance,
Allowing Wayne his way at the school disco dance.

?dreich? Biz, you're German? Never guessed.
Stands back for blitz. (F.)

A sad tale indeed. I wonder if Tracy will ever have a moment of regret.


I picked it up from a weatherman Frank. I used to call him Uncle Bob - he was a Scot.

Indeed Biz, but the poem was inspired by an actual lake within walking distance here! It accommodates swans, geese, ducks and the occasional heron


Sadly, this reminds me of a member of my own family Frank An incisive look at today's damaged moral compass.

But the pictures were in my mind as I read it thanks to your gift.



That's sad. I know today they think they know best, but ...........

I'm glad you enjoyed it Biz

When F was S

In days of old when knights were bold
And wore metallic sections
The English language dripped with gold,
It needed few corrections.

Yet still a problem did arise,
Some writers plagued by stress
Identified, to great surprise
Flaws with the letter 'S'.

The squiggle in the S at haste
Required a certain skill,
The swivel in hand movement placed
More pressure on the quill.

So parchment tore and poets swore
Which meant S faced its death;
Through damaged scrolls S lost the war,
Replaced now by an F.

It took a while to work it out,
A great change had been made,
With F around there waf no doubt
That S waf in the fhade.

But foon there wafn't too much fuff,
All thofe who wrote could fee
The new replacement fuited uf,
In ink it did fucceed.

That man of letterf, Famuel Pepyf
Ufed F with no enquiry,
It'f rumoured he would f**k hif thumb
While working on hif diary.

But after time, with F af norm
The quill loft to the pen
And S recovered it'f old form;
S turned to S again.

I gueff we fhould be grateful too
Or we'd write Frank Finatra
And that French thinker known to you
Would now be Jean Paul Fartre.

The habit ended, juft as well
For thingf got very foppy,
Back when F rofe and poor S fell
And writerf got all ftroppy.


©

Jean Paul Fartre! Ha ha. Love the way the obscenity filter kicked in too. You gave me a great laugh with that one Musty. Very nearly actually rolling on the floor I was.

Lakeside was beautifully painted.

I hadn't heard the 'draich' word either and it sounds perfectly apt for what we've been having, so thanks for that Biz.

Enjoyed Tracy's tale Frank. At least she gets to keep them and they get looked after at home. I watched a very moving documentary about unwanted Ukrainian children recently...

On my last rhyme; I was surprised to find how little rhymes with 'have'. Took a bit of engineering to work the next line.

Heron standing erect
on one leg aiming for
sympathy I expect;
that balancability may
hint at fragility, you
won't get any from me.

Was it you at my pool
is that my fishy drool
new fresh at that beak?
You ... you .. avian sneak,
looking meek under
that peacock peek.

Did you go forth with my
prized golden orfes to
multiply, just couldn't resist?
Well not if I can help it
heron, like Dad's Army's Pike,
you're on my list.

Carry On

Angry bird ambition
Two sugars in a tea
Lost his job and careworn
Sat down for hours is he

Curled up with an ipad
Phone rings, can't find car key
She worked, now she's a taxi
Rushes round for hours does she