Angus and the Monster

'Twas on a gloomy Loch Ness shore
Where swirling fog had whitened
That Angus J McTavish saw
A thing that left him frightened.

A strange occurrence while he drank
Disturbed his nightly tipples;
Despite the booze inside his tank
He noticed lots of ripples.

And then a giant slowly rose,
A prehistoric classic,
Poor Angus dropped his flask and froze,
The monster looked Jurassic!

While running to the nearest inn
His tam-o'-shanter bobbled
And when he heard the creature's din
His sporran shook and wobbled.

The locals mocked his drunken lilt,
They told him he was crackers,
So Angus lifted up his kilt
And flashed them with his knackers.

Although he lives with ridicule
And wishes they would knock less,
Despite the laughter as a rule
He still goes down to Loch Ness.

So if you're there and hear odd sounds
The tide may not be risky;
If not old Nessie on her rounds
It's Angus pissed on whisky.


©

Thanks again Sandy


Yep National Trust properties are far too expensive now in my opinion - I used to visit loads though

Another corker Sandy - I love walking near wild flowers

I really enjoy your nature poetry Izzy - thanks for sharing

Speak soon gang

Some lovely places to visit but I usually visit the London houses
I visited Osterley House recently and what's lovely is that they have volunteers that are there to help answer any questions, I did ask a few
Also what was interesting, was that there was a running race on the grounds but I didn't see the racing, just saw the signs to say, go this way, don't go this way

Thanks Musty

The bees love the flowers also. though a bee landed on me the other day, I asked the bee what are you doing and the bee then flew away

Angus shouldn't drink the whisky

Visitor

Who holds that light in the woods?
Hand-held
in the dark,
darting between trunks,
looping branches.
Now fixed,
still,
looking
unblinking
at me -
who holds that light in the woods?

Who opened the gate in the middle of the night?
Left
scraping
on its rusted fingers
in the swaying wind
so the dog could rush out
free
away from the house
to follow invisible scents -
who opened the gate in the middle of the night?

Whose steps disturb the gravel path?
In silence,
chipped edges
rolled away
heavy under foot,
soil exposed,
grey stones muddied –
whose steps disturb the gravel path?

Is that a shadow on the bedroom wall?
Slicing through
the whitened room,
arm outstretched
reaching
for the other side,
then gone
from
the corner of my eye -
Whose shadow was on the bedroom wall?

Whose lips
brush my face?
Whose breath
clouds my eyes?
Whose hand
seals my mouth and nose?
Whose grinning face
sears,
then fades
with the dying
of the night?

I visited the Tower of London years ago but it was completely packed with tourists

I prefer bees to wasps

What an incredibly creepy poem Scottie This kept me riveted the whole way through, no mean feat for a lengthy piece of work. I like the way you only used one word on some of the lines. Superbly scary

Jack Looks Back

I had the best solution
For rampant prostitution,
How my resentment grew,
I hated every harlot
Adorned in black and scarlet
Who marred the East End view.

They offered thighs so milky
In stockings tight and silky,
Assuming I would pay,
Among those I selected
Not one of them suspected
They were in fact my prey.

To whores extremely willing
I never paid a shilling,
I pounced before they stripped,
To murder every tramp right
In foggy London's lamplight
I plunged the knife and ripped.

My actions made the law twitch,
Fear rippled out of Shoreditch
To Whitechapel and back,
The body-parts I'd taken
Left lords and ladies shaken,
I signed my name as 'Jack'.

Five girls had come a cropper,
Before long every copper
Worked like a busy bee,
I used to go out strolling
And watch the fools patrolling
Who failed to capture me.

I stayed free and unbeaten,
Though not a son of Eton
Or hero of the State,
What mystery I triggered,
A riddle none have figured
Since eighteen eighty-eight.


©

Whoopeee - we made 100,000 views

I visited The Tower of London, many years ago when I was a schoolgirl.

It's a great place, full of history

T'thread's gone a bit quiet

I Am by John Clare 1793-1864

I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost;
And yet I am! and live with shadows tost

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;
And e'en the dearest - that I loved the best -
Are strange - nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smil'd or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie;
The grass below - above the vaulted sky.

I'm back again, here to depress everyone again(!) only kidding (somewhat). I hope to write a more cheery piece perhaps a bit later, if I can think of something not relating to the sun/sunsets or the weather, since thats what I tend to write about, aside from my personal issues. This is my latest poem anyway.

Elusive Clarity (One Day) by IzzyS.

My mind thinks, constantly,
frantically, this worry or that,
have I done this...or that...?
what if? they must have thought...?
I'm sure im supposed to be doing something else
but I can't quite remember *what*.

Staring at my computer screen, as seconds turn to minutes,
minutes fade away and still my mind is kept busy -
wondering, thinking, questioning, supposing...
a part of me prays for the peace of quiet.

Glossing over, staring at social media news feeds,
unsure what to comment - reading, reading,
scrolling, scrolling,
thinking ever so much; constantly,
my mind goes blank and I realise I don't know what im doing.

Why is my mind so full of fog?
there are few things as truly frustrating, so I find,
as the inability to word quite what I'm thinking,
how im feeling, in a precise manner,
to express my constant busyness properly,
to convey what lies within.

How I wish for that elusive clarity,
so often hidden; out of sight,
if only there were;
the existence of a pause button,
a way to clear my mind, produce enforced relaxation;
as I often feel unable to allow myself that small mercy.

Can you really force yourself to just let go?
to shrug things off and not allow yourself to contain,
to keep any trace of anxiety, doubt, nerves or worries,
about whatever may have been on your mind,
to quieten your talkative mind and let things just be?
appreciate the now for what it is,
what it offers you.

If so, that must surely be a powerful ability,
one I'd be most envious of, without a shadow of a doubt.

Can anyone point me in the direction,
of this imagined ability?.
I believe I need to give myself a break.

Thinking so quickly, thoughts constantly appear then hide away,
I have to be quick witted to keep things in focus,
its a tiring affair.

One day perhaps, I'll win the battle,
the fog will clear and clarity will arrive,
and stay there for some time,
so I can take slow down the bombardment,
of thoughts, fears, questions and so on -

One day. One day.

I'm glad you like my writing I enjoy writing those pieces.

I came up with this - short and sweet (and cheesy).

Thank you, for all that you do,
for being there for me,
for the connection that is true
thank you,
for being you.

I just wrote this too

How To Put Across...? by IzzyS

As I sit here, I wonder how,
how to put across,
the beauty out there,
all that our eyes can behold -
scanning the horizons,
of the wide outdoors.

I struggle, to convey
what we may glimpse
on the best of days.

There are breathtaking beauty spots,
panoramas just waiting to be experienced,
proudly displayed for those who wish to see,
from the most tranquil country corner
to the loudest coastal cliff,
waves crashing fiercely,
the lifeblood contained within
clearly beckoning.

Do you see what I see?
you may not need to travel far,
peer out your window and look,
really look,
look as far as the eye can see,
what do you see?.

What is out there,
waiting to be noticed,
to be seen and appreciated?.

The Earth offers many wonders,
if you care to look,
you may be surprised by what you discover.

To The Wife

There was a fellow called Percy
who loved to shout arrivederci!
while leaving the pub with a bottle of stout
and some egg cress sandwiches gathered about
he tipsyed along on his way home to the wife
who sat up waiting, watching The Meaning of Life
as he reached his front gate, he heard laughing galore
aww he thought to himself, home, to the wife I adore

Lotta History

That is a nice poem IzzyS, always good to thank someone, especially if they have been helpful.

Wow, quite a bit to catch up on - great stuff