Very enjoyable this one. Like the quizzicalness

Cheers howmanytimes, quirky's better than daft. Thanks. Frank
PS I did read yours. A slice of life? Welcome aboard Musty's ship.

Ta Archiver - we muft have the fame fenfe of humour


Loved the Pikey reference here Frank


This piece neatly captures the pace of modern life really well. As Frank said, welcome to the thread Howmany

Religion is laughable.
Life is just lose or win.
Money's the all-in-all.
Death is a dustbin.

I wait here, for my daughter
Who is out and that is fine
And drink a bottle of wine and fret
Because it's nature, and it is okay
It is acceptable for a mother to worry,

But it is not her, but I, that doesn't feel safe
without her.

She is fine.

Perhaps I have done my job.

I
O
U
A
I
U
O
ME
U
O
ME 2
OK
k
k
O
A
U OK

Vowel poetry me likey

Journeyman

I long to grasp the rhyme
And reason that is time,
I want to go
Way back and know
A day
Before the human legions
Could conquer any regions,
When reptiles ruled
And monsters stalked their prey.

I want to stand near walls
Of caves where early calls
Once echoed back
And in the black
Gave heart;
To see the first outpouring,
The very dawn of drawing,
Attempts to wake
Our inner selves with art.

With gulls I long to be
Afloat above a sea,
Amid the roar
With them I'd soar
So high,
I want to fly with swallows
Investigating hollows
Of emptiness
Across a windswept sky.

I want to find a heath
And burrow down beneath
The roots then stare
At chasms there
And leap,
What hidden realms I'd enter,
A journey to the centre
Where molten burns
The core that's dark and deep.


©

What a comforting poem Rhumba More so than my poem about the missing young.


Interesting stuff Pank

Insect in the amber

Insect in the amber
Nothing could erase,
That Jurassic clamber
Ended your brief days.

On a tree you'd landed
And it felt so apt
But look what your plan did;
Left you ever trapped.

Thinking about sleeping,
Blithely unaware
Wet resin was seeping
From the tall tree there.

Oozing down towards you,
Little one you raged
Until by the thick glue
Your form was encaged.

Seconds turned to minutes,
Minutes turned to years;
Centuries within its
Grip it now appears.

Microscopic features
Saved by nature's law,
Tiniest of creatures,
Free of any flaw.

Living in the era
Of the loudest roars,
Wings that fluttered nearer
To the dinosaurs.

Once you watched in repose
Vast reptilian teams,
We can only see those
In our wildest dreams.

You have no replacement,
What tales you could tell,
Fly in the encasement
Of an amber cell.


©

I enjoyed these two poems so much. I particularly love this verse from Journeyman.

Thanks. Yeah - it was a slice of life.


Popcorn popping

Popcorn popping, never stopping
The fizz of soda
Feel the force says Yoda
Mouths watering, bones crumbling
Bodies funneling through the doors
Sticky floors of moreish mores
In the seat, we eat, we eat
Indigestion; soon we'll greet
We've seen the show
Now we must go
With bellies filled to overflow

Made a couple of corrections... think it works better like this...

Popcorn popping

Popcorn popping, never stopping
The fizz of soda, feel the force says Yoda
Mouths watering, bones crumbling
Bodies funneling through the doors
Sticky floors of moreish mores
In the seat, we eat, we eat
Indigestion; soon we'll greet
We've seen the show, now we must go
With bellies filled to overflow

I liked this "h" - you're not Pam Ayres are you? Just kidding, the domestic is worthy material for versifying IMO. Frank

Summer Swallows

Spring whole;
Red Autumn too
Has blood on his hands.

None understands
What came before
But annihilates it.

Now Winter the Undertaker
Draws a white sheet
On the year.

Thanks Howmany


Really liked this one - it instantly took me to the darkness of a cinema. I must confess though, it was the distraction of chatting, munching and the rattling of sweet wrappers all around me that largely stopped me going.


Great seasonal write Chris - Winter the Undertaker is a powerful image.

If I

If I could touch a single soul
I'd want to with emotion,
If I made art my only goal
I'd paint the bluest ocean.

If I could transform stone I'd mould
A statue with a hammer,
If could make a speech of gold
I'd pray I wouldn't stammer.

If I could write a book I'd soar
Through pages of pretending,
I don't know if you'd read it or
There'd be a happy ending.

If I could play guitar I'd stop
Yet even then I'd hum it,
If I could reach the mountain top
I'd gaze down from its summit.

If I could use the potter's wheel
I'd create something gorgeous,
If I could make the iron heal
I'd let the anvil forge us.

If I could ask him to return
I'd show him all our losses,
He'd teach and gratefully I'd learn
In silent fields of crosses.

If I could write the perfect ode
I'd banish hate infernal
With words to ease this painful road
And love that is eternal.


©

Thanks, musty

A relatively cheap pottery plate
A porcelain piece of paltry value
Looms large in my own purview,
Much more than I could estimate
For a part in my dear family's past.
Every Christmas Day, turkey-laden
Poultry on plate, as children waited
And good old Dad operated at last.

That plate evokes a finest of blokes
A loveliest Mum, two brothers gone
One brother, one sister left, spokes
From a wheel, but still spinning on.
Its worth I feel is rich and is so real.
A simple blue and white oval plate
Serves up portions of happiest days
Special memories nothing can deflate
They are imprinted there in the glaze.

Here in a London room dear festive plate
You have been more than a worthy mate
How do I assess you? Hardly a treasure
OK no dosh to speak of, is all you'd rate.
Weight of our heritage's your true measure.
Atop a tall dresser I recall you'd wait dustily
As oven sizzled, my sister Kate'd scale lustily
Bless her, lowering you down hale and sure.
History is engrained for every calory contained
Each rivulet of grease as ever stained your face
Runs through you, marking time's sweet place.

(In memoriam: Charles Snr., Bridget, Michael, and Charles Jnr.)
Frank.

Well some you have and some, if only.



I have one of those oval blue and white plates Frank - and the same sort of memories.

Some poems come straight from the heart and you can easily tell this is one of those. A lovely tribute to family, as well as a reminder of how objects can represent fond memories too. Thanks for sharing them here Frank


Just some'll do Biz

The eagle

Regal eagle flying high
Over pinnacles of sky,
Higher than the highest peak,
Fearless talons, curving beak.

Warrior without a flaw
When you leave the earth to soar
What a vision nature brings
Through these mighty spreading wings.

Far above the eyrie base
Frowns a streamlined fiery face,
Eyes that search and understand
Every single inch of land.

Shocks the day's complacent air
With a waiting frozen stare,
Senses food then dives below
Like an arrow from a bow.

Lone majestic bird of prey
Born to hover and survey,
Near the silent mountainsides
Wild and free the eagle glides.


©

In Your Name.

Us'll be no more when we die.
Muscle and sinew can't survive.
Such silly living things
to worry what death brings
all the time, until it arrive.

See; life got plenty much going on
and fifty squillion years until it's gone
and where it is you are
made of different bits of star.
Or my name isn't Ron.

I've a good idea how it works,
with a quantum of quarks and some quirks,
it just pops up in your face
all over the place.
Where there's life I lurks.

So why not have a ball like me?
You're living and lucky and free
and there's no time like the moment.
Get it on without postponement.
I name you destiny.

I heartily agree Archiver - a good 'seize the day' message. Ooer, I just realized your last poem and mine were posted within a minute of each other late at night

my love, it was a secret thing

The first time that I noticed her
I knew that I was smitten,
My love, it was a secret thing,
A happy tale unwritten.

Love festered here inside of me,
Locked up secure and vaulted
And should escape occur at all
Love stumbled then it halted.

My reticence was like a hill
With anguish at the summit,
Unable to achieve the climb,
I couldn’t overcome it.

How often did I think of her
And question in the longing
If she had dreams to equal mine
Of constantly belonging?

I could have known a princess fair,
Forever praised her highness
But I was left alone within
The cage of my own shyness.

My love, it was a secret thing,
Of this she never learned more
Because I kept it hidden from
The very one I yearned for.


©

Thanks Musty. It was inspired by a thread on here, as many of mine are. We've done that posting at very similar times before. I wonder if we were writing them at the same time as well. I posted mine soon as it was writ. Really like your recent ones, 'If I' and 'my love, it was a secret thing' and they add to what we know about the author. You've written on the subject of the latter before, I think, but would we have had so much from you - had you, or rather the subject of the poem, overcome their shyness. Perhaps in one of them there alternate realities people talk about eh? But I know which one I prefer.