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Is Poetry a Dead Art? (Part 4) |
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#2626 |
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Shakespeare's Bloomers
Shakespeare was rather handy At plays, it's true enough But was the Bard a dandy Or just another scruff? You see, no one is certain What he wore at The Globe, Behind the rising curtain What came from his wardrobe? According to the rumours On tights Shakespeare was keen, Along with baggy bloomers In black or Lincoln green. Did he say 'I've made my mark, They like Hamlet round here' Then hit a Tudor Primark To buy some cut-price gear? Perhaps the thought of shopping For clothes bored him to death, I can't imagine swapping One fashion for Macbeth. Did William's favourite codpiece Go with a matching hat And did it look an odd piece Sticking out like that? Did he sleep in pyjamas Or spend nights in the raw? We know of Shakespeare's dramas But not what togs he wore. © |
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#2627 |
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Quote:
Sweet Sparrow
As I place the kernel gently and retreat so out of sight A squirrel comes and grabs it, you missed out…serves you right. ![]() You've got to get in quick A five-star write
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#2628 |
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Quote:
Little Robin on a tree
how you sit so merrily I saw a robin the other day, I reckon his compass was wrong
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#2629 |
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Quote:
The squirrels pinched all my strawberries last year . Mind you they did look cute sitting in the trees nibbling on them
xx
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#2630 |
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I'm getting hungry and have to leave the library for a bite to eat, so I'll catch up next time. It's brilliant to see the thread so busy - and the return of MRSgotobed
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#2631 |
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I love 'Devil Tale' poetry, here is a good one which could almost be a childrens story if it wasn't so dark http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-d...billy-and-sog/
and another more classic one by the genius Shel Silverstein http://theraivenne.com/jokes/s-silve...l_n_billy.html |
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#2632 |
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Quote:
Originally Posted by mr. mustard
Lovely Sandy
I saw a robin the other day, I reckon his compass was wrong ![]() ![]() What made you think that about the robin?
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#2633 |
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Quote:
Shakespeare's Bloomers
Did he sleep in pyjamas Or spend nights in the raw? We know of Shakespeare's dramas But not what togs he wore. © ![]() I'm off out with the 'girls' tonight so I'll ask around and see if they can come up with anything ![]() Thanks for the nice comments as always. Yes some lovely poems posted recently
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#2634 |
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Quote:
I'm getting hungry and have to leave the library for a bite to eat, so I'll catch up next time. It's brilliant to see the thread so busy - and the return of MRSgotobed
![]() ![]() Haven't seen Frank for ages. Seems greedy to always want more from poets, but I do. As a rhymist, I was pleased to achieve a couplet with four rhyming syllables of eight recently. I awarded myself an imaginary gold star. ![]() You'll always be the caretaker here Musty, but the place is set up so well it runs along pretty well while you publish and go on the road... Take care. |
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#2635 |
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Busy (stay distracted from the voice) by IzzyS
Busy, busy, busy
must keep finding more to do, for as long as I’m distracted, I won’t be hearing as much from you. By you, you mean…who? Who else, the nagging, self critical voice who hides inside us all, invisible to the naked eye when we should be comforted and indeed rejoice by looking back at the good we’ve done. Instead worries, fears, doubts, come forth - question/mock/poke fun at where we stand. How do you successfully move forward, take the risk of sticking your neck out, the leap of faith surely too large, what if I jump but never manage to land?!. This voice be the voice of doubt, waiting to come out, the eternally unsure, patient and demure. The cautious worry, everpresent in the background… how I wish I could bury, discard, say goodbye for once and for all, to those painfully familiar whispers. I should be doing something else, mustn’t slacken, there are always things to be done, words to be written, wishes and dreams expressed, there can be no time left to rest keep busy, busy, busy!. Whatever it takes I’ll do - anything to distract myself, not pay attention to the critic, who only sees time slip away. Achievements be darned, time passes by like sand between fingers; never to be regained, thus make the most of what we have, don’t mourn for the mistakes but hope for what may come!. Motivate, plan and cross your fingers, as hope keeps us going, while sadness pulls us down, out of view. the voice is laced, if you allow your guard down, with worries, put-downs, forming the strictest critic possible unable to ignore every mistake made, self awareness at its worst. So to the ending, this is where I say, emphatically, accept and be at peace, kindly shrug off the voice then it loses its power, for this is the best that can be hoped for. |
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#2636 |
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Quote:
So to the ending, this is where I say, emphatically, accept and be at peace, kindly shrug off the voice then it loses its power, for this is the best that can be hoped for. x
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#2637 |
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... And Relax.
Chill. Take a pill If you don't do it someone else will. Breathe slowly Deep and long Try to keep your mind strong. Think of absolutely nothing close your eyes and picture something soft like pillows billowing or weeping willows willowing. Constant stream of conscious bubbles coagulating all your troubles Turn it off for just a mo. and think of no thing you know. Hold that empty timeless thought empowering moments you bought. Suddenly awake refreshed with worthless worries all suppressed. |
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#2638 |
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Quote:
... And Relax.
Think of absolutely nothing close your eyes and picture something soft like pillows billowing or weeping willows willowing.
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#2639 |
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Quote:
Beautiful imagery and sentiment.
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#2640 |
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Quote:
I love 'Devil Tale' poetry, here is a good one which could almost be a childrens story if it wasn't so dark
![]() Quote:
What made you think that about the robin?
![]() ![]() Quote:
I'm off out with the 'girls' tonight so I'll ask around and see if they can come up with anything
![]() ![]() Quote:
You'll always be the caretaker here Musty, but the place is set up so well it runs along pretty well while you publish and go on the road... Take care.
Well done with the gold star ![]() I'm missing Frank too
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#2641 |
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The Unicorn
The sorceress of seasons Knew every potion's blend, There were a thousand reasons Why nature was her friend. They said that she could sway corn, Make pictures out of smoke And turn the smallest acorn Into the tallest oak. Her eyes were full of sorrow Yet every time she smiled The gods who mould tomorrow Stared down at her, beguiled. This woman who exceeded At magic in her prime Had met the man she needed, A conjurer of rhyme. One morning with her poet As mist hung in the air An open field would show it; A group of horses there. And while the sun was dozing, A sleepy light for now, One horse seemed more imposing, A horn adorned its brow. Free of the men who'd blamed it And punishments incurred, Nobody yet had tamed it, The wild one in the herd. The sorceress, enchanted Towards the creature went, The unicorn's head slanted, Apparently content. She said she was an ally And stroked the silver mane, Then whispered to it 'Shall I Heal your unspoken pain?' She mounted it and bareback Rode off, the poet gazed And when she turned to stare back He watched the scene, amazed. With neither whip or banter She'd tamed the beast with ease, It started with a canter Then beat the morning breeze. A vision he would cherish, So ravishing her form, Some moments never perish, They linger, sweet and warm. The couple who passed that way Left blessings in its mind; The unicorn from that day Knew humans could be kind. © |
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#2642 |
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Quote:
The Unicorn
Knew humans could be kind. ©
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#2643 |
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Imagination
If you really try you might just see that flickering speck of light May be enough to guide the way in the blackness of your night. Be not concerned about its source or how long to be sustained For many never see this bright and avert their eyes ashamed. It dances as a life unplanned , the wind can change its power And as you watch its burning rhythm, stand tall don’t ever cower. For when the cold cuts through your thoughts and desolation smothers That tiny spark can reignite and spread its warmth to others. Remember all must share this flame, it’s not for one to own For as we try to tame its glow the light will dim as blown. Possession is not possible, as if you try to cage Its dance will be restricted and rhythm fall from life’s page. So if you start to stumble and can’t see past the wall The flicker may be hiding, just look and you won’t fall The light is there inside you , imagination unrestricted A gift to use to make the world all beauty so depicted. |
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#2644 |
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All quiet in the poet house…
Shhhhh don’t stir their dreaming I’ll creep back out ,come back again When poems and rhymes are teeming
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#2645 |
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Wonderful Day
When a gentle breeze comes thy way maybe agree laugh with and sway to merry enjoyment wonderful day. |
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#2646 |
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Quote:
Originally Posted by belly button
All quiet in the poet house…
![]() If there was really a poet house, how could such be quiet? |
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#2647 |
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Quote:
Originally Posted by mr. mustard
Because I only usually see them in the winter when it's snowy
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#2648 |
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Quote:
![]() If there was really a poet house, how could such be quiet? and Archiver is 'closed' . If you read this John a little wave so we know you are ok would be good ![]() Quote:
Where do robins go in the summertime?
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#2649 |
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Quote:
Wonderful Day
When a gentle breeze comes thy way maybe agree laugh with and sway to merry enjoyment wonderful day. and the sky isn't blue try not to cry, soon be past, yes it's true. |
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#2650 |
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Quote:
Originally Posted by belly button
I think this one might be as Musty has tittled off, probably to Stonehenge
and Archiver is 'closed' . If you read this John a little wave so we know you are ok would be good ![]() I think their red breasts just fade a bit so they aren't so noticeable...either that or they all go to Bogna for six weeks on a bus trip ![]() Bognor Regis, they might have gone to play Crazy Golf.
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A five-star write
I saw a robin the other day, I reckon his compass was wrong
