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Is Poetry a Dead Art? (Part 4) |
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#2776 |
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Join Date: Nov 2006
Location: Pools of sorrow, waves of joy
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Garden Glimmers
Once around the dahlias And twice around the roses, Fast along the garden fence Where the shadow closes. Briefly on the lantern there The faerie rests and poses, Nobody believes me though, For nobody supposes. © |
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#2777 |
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Quote:
Garden Glimmers
Once around the dahlias And twice around the roses, Fast along the garden fence Where the shadow closes. Briefly on the lantern there The faerie rests and poses, Nobody believes me though, For nobody supposes. © I love this quote by J.M. Barrie , ' Fairies have to be one thing or the other, because being so small they unfortunately have room for one feeling only at a time ' ![]() 'I do believe in fairies. I do ! I do ! I do! '
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#2778 |
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Quote:
When it comes to assembling my book, we're going to use Createspace.com Izzy. It's supposed to be fairly cheap but with good production values
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#2779 |
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Join Date: May 2012
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Darkly down a hellish road
A figure unashamed Stepping forth, the tripod’s load To lean upon its frame Head raised high and eyes afire Looked all about the crowd Some glad to see him in the mire And others heads a-bowed Spread and lashed at hand and feet Now fixed upon the beams A leather gag will serve to beat His curses and his screams For here today the floggers whip Will make his crime atone And tear and pull and burn and rip His muscle, flesh and bone ‘One’ cried out, and a bolt of pain To make him swear inside But ‘Two’ tears at his back again Before the pain has died ‘Three’ and on to ‘Fifty Five’ A doctor signals more Trembling legs to still he drives As flesh is turned to gore Hanging drool and blood and spit And tears to burn his eyes But hard is ground the leather bit As the counting he defies |
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#2780 |
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Join Date: Mar 2009
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Quote:
A very interesting poem BB - I wasn't sure if the dog in question was actually some kind of demon. Dark and disturbing, but I'm not sure if that's what you intended with the piece. Either way I enjoyed it
![]() Just a mischievous little pup ![]() It wasn't intended to be dark and disturbing at all. Just goes to show how words can't always express correctly the meaning of the author . I'm moved to write something dark and disturbing now though
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#2781 |
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The Harvest
He found his spade beneath its hide and cutting tools to harvest To supply the order was his aim, he made this trek the farthest As not wanting those who knew him most to glean his occupation But times were hard with mouths to feed, so close to them starvation. He’d waited for a starless night with clouds to veil all lunar And drunk at ale to dull his fret so fear was gone much sooner Arriving at his chosen spot he looked about for viewers Perceiving none he dug the sod , alone upon the moors His horrid labour then disturbed by ghouls brought on the wind They whistled song to frozen ears and played while flesh he skinned. The graves of dead not long for rest he marked as hidden treasure The hearts of men he stole for food , this harvest not with thresher. When sudden pain began to crush the thing he robbed from others He settled down upon the earth he’d cleared from sons and mothers And as his life began to fade, the last he heard was laughter The portent ghouls assured him now he’d not be safe from Snatcher. |
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#2782 |
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Join Date: Jun 2012
Posts: 6,307
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Full Moon
I remember . . . . staring back to the moon, fed by the tidal drag head thick as full of drink my body pulled taut like an arrow drawn to that one point of light then blood-rush like quicksilver tearing through my veins to a savage change then……… in the morning light looped tight naked on the floor exhausted reluctant to shift again the cracked taste of blood caked in my mouth arms scraped legs snatched blood-black thorns embedded deep all hunger gone |
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#2783 |
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Join Date: May 2006
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Time is Patient? by IzzyS.
Slowly time passes,
guilt forms, what is it im meant to do?. I'm sure I had plans, all the time I worked hard, longing for the holidays to arrive, its finally here and I go blank, sat, staring, its on the tip of my tongue, in the recesses of my mind, im sure of it, aren't I?. Every moment, an opportunity lost - what purpose waits, with untold patience, for me to re-discover and put into action?. Thought after thought, I seek the purpose that previously came to mind, wishing a clearer focus would return, for second passes after second, like the ticking of a clock... Time marches on, patience becoming weary, clarity is the writers prized possession, with the potential to convey all I feel, think, hope, fear, wish, if only!. As I bury my head in literature, endless tales enacted in front of my eyes - story after story, tale after tale, in the big screen of my mind, I'm escaping what would have been, we all need escapism, from time to time. Once and again I attempt to focus and author what comes to mind, never quite sure what the keyboard will say, when I read it back - what is it that needs to be authored, on this day?. We all have our own, personal stories, our own challenges, successes, emotions and pride, potential is powerful indeed, so I clench my fists, determination builds and I work my way through the mist of words, thoughts, feelings, emotions and everything else, floating around my mind, to see what I can conjur up right now. Time may have a small element of patience, in the long term, its certainly less judgemental, yet age never slows. They say we only live once, so live it well, or at least satisfactorily, to your content, do what feels right in your heart, try to hold on to your fleeting thoughts and ideas and make the most of it all, so in time, you can look back and say, with confidence, that you did what you came to mind. Such things are certainly not easy but contentment comes from within. |
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#2784 |
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Join Date: Mar 2009
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Static laser forks piercing earthly mantles
Charging current attacking dwellers , vandals Cracking bolts splitting streams of electron fire Thrashing air bruised black with the switches of live-wire Thor the angered sweating hails boulders on the cowering Weak and feeble against his weapon , deadly scouring |
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#2785 |
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Join Date: Nov 2006
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Quote:
When the sun is shining and I'm among the flowers , for a couple of hours I suppose for sure that fairies do indeed exist.
I believe other life-forms exist. William Blake saw a fairy funeral in his garden at Felpham
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#2786 |
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Quote:
Hanging drool and blood and spit
And tears to burn his eyes I wondered if it was about Jesus, or maybe a punishment at sea in the old British Navy. Either way, it's an amazing piece
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#2787 |
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Quote:
Just goes to show how words can't always express correctly the meaning of the author .
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#2788 |
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Join Date: Nov 2006
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Quote:
His horrid labour then disturbed by ghouls brought on the wind
They whistled song to frozen ears and played while flesh he skinned. I could see the digger in question, shovel in hand and lit by the moon. Some excellent rhymes in there too - especially 'lunar' and 'sooner'. The subject reminded me of Ed Gein, the ghastly killer and grave-robber who inspired Robert Bloch to write the novel psycho
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#2789 |
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Join Date: Nov 2006
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Quote:
the cracked taste of blood
caked in my mouth ![]() Another powerful write from you Scottie, your poetry always paints incredible pictures. |
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#2790 |
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Quote:
They say we only live once, so live it well,
or at least satisfactorily, to your content 'If life's a joke, let's make it a good one' ![]() I enjoyed the poem Izzy
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#2791 |
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Quote:
Thor the angered sweating hails boulders on the cowering
Weak and feeble against his weapon , deadly scouring ![]() You can't beat a good Thunder God
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#2792 |
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Wicker Man
They built me slowly, tier by tier, A giant made of wood And after my construction here, Like Gulliver I stood. I watched the pagans farm and pray, Without eyes I observed A distant hill-fort and the way The king inside was served. Spectators cheered the proffering, The chosen few were led, A sacrificial offering To keep the Corn God fed. And as the crowds began to bow The sun fell red and warm, Those sacrifices waited now Within my wooden form. Religious beacons kindled flame, It roasted timber seams Till from my blazing torso came The most horrendous screams. They died as embers scattered hot, Flesh burnt and voices wheezed Yet to the wise it mattered not, The Corn God was appeased. Some wager Rome invented me To slur the British folk; I haunt you still, an entity That fills the sky with smoke. © |
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#2793 |
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Quote:
Wow, what an incredibly vivid account of a flogging Elyan
I wondered if it was about Jesus, or maybe a punishment at sea in the old British Navy. Either way, it's an amazing piece ![]() Thanks Mr Mustard.
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#2794 |
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Join Date: Jun 2011
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A canopy in the shade
As sun glistens upon the water ripples so as a boat stands still from afar the colours a canopy in the shade |
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#2795 |
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Quote:
Wicker Man
Religious beacons kindled flame, It roasted timber seams Till from my blazing torso came The most horrendous screams. They died as embers scattered hot, Flesh burnt and voices wheezed Yet to the wise it mattered not, The Corn God was appeased. © ![]() I remember finding that film really disturbing, but what a brilliant poem that is
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#2796 |
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Quote:
As a kid I used to love Thor in the old Marvel Comics, so this was right up my street
![]() You can't beat a good Thunder God ![]()
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#2797 |
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Join Date: Jun 2011
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Quote:
Originally Posted by IzzyS
Time may have a small element of patience,
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#2798 |
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Join Date: Jun 2011
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Quote:
Originally Posted by belly button
I'm hoping for another light show tonight.
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#2799 |
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Join Date: Jun 2011
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Quote:
Originally Posted by mr. mustard
Garden Glimmers
Briefly on the lantern there The faerie rests and poses, Aren't the old box cameras like lanterns? |
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#2800 |
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Join Date: Aug 2006
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Thought some on here might be interested in this I love reading this thread
THIS week marks the first anniversary of the death of magazine magnate and poet Felix Dennis. Mr Dennis, who died at his home in Dorsington aged 67, compiled his final book of poems after being diagnosed with cancer in early 2012. Entitled I Just Stepped Out, the collection of poems was handed to his publisher just two weeks before he died. Mr Dennis said of the book: “This is a peculiar collection of verse, perhaps unique in one sense — as a Verse Diary begun on the day before I learned I had contracted cancer in both my lungs and had only a short time to live. http://www.stratford-herald.com/3882...his-death.html |
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Just a mischievous little pup 