Mods and Rockers

The Mods loved cool places, The Who and Small Faces,
Their targets of red, white and blue
On T-shirts were markers, on Vespas in parkas
A new Sixties culture broke through.

The Rockers loved Elvis who wriggled his pelvis
And Chuck Berry intros with riffs,
To hear Blue Suede Shoes healed the summertime blues
For leather-clad bikers with quiffs.

The time came for action, it gave satisfaction
To make your opponents take flight,
Seaside destinations were the perfect locations
For two armies wanting to fight.

When I was a kid from a battle I hid
As deckchairs and punches were thrown,
Disturbing the peace provoked local police,
This wasn't the Margate I'd known.

Too frightened to dally, I ran up an alley
And didn't return to the the shore;
Although it was chilling, I found it quite thrilling
To see Mods and Rockers at war.


©

I was walking down the road one day when a panic came over me
There was a massive thud and a lot of blood and my nob fell off, you see.

I'll bookmark your post and let you know - some time next year.

What excellently consistent meter. I didn't think people used that kind of form and structure any more, thought it was all blank verse and other such crappy copouts.

Enjoyed this.

Thanks

What kind of flowers do you have in your garden?

Thanks all

Marigolds, dahlias, addenda, salvias, alpen, coleus and dianthus

Isaac's Inspiration

Issac Newton didn't know
What kept things on the ground,
Why they never rose to go
Or didn't float around.

Sat beneath a tree in shade
With this he'd often grapple,
Till the day his name was made
By one descending apple.

Earth had simply magnetized,
Creating a response,
Something Isaac recognized
When fruit fell on his bonce.

He ran inside to have a tea,
Two lumps he always took,
Then wrote a note on gravity
That grew into a book.

Amid the fame Sir Isaac copped
He thought but never said
'It's lucky that old apple dropped
And hit me on the head.'


©

Good luck with it Jim I do love The Ballad of Reading Gaol, it's a searing account of Oscar Wilde's time in prison. De Profundis is a great work too; it's an open letter to Alfred Douglas (Bosie). It was their fatal relationship that destroyed Oscar's glittering career.

Exhausted from the endless march
They found an empty home
A pathway through a flowered arch
Where sweet pea edged the brome

They entered through a creaking door
And paused to look around
Then boots were sighed to wooden floors
And guns laid on the ground

A fire to light in empty grate
And tea to exhale bliss
A foraged bag of food they ate
And nothing was amiss

Then a bed was found, and curtains drawn
And a waking was forbid
But she craved his lithe and sweated brawn
And spoil his sleep she did

I don't know some of those flowers but looked them up. They are bright, colourful flowers but alpen is a cereal Are you trying to trick me?

Funny poem

I Ever More

Rolling down that hill
has you in a spin
but fortunately for you
I catch you with my din
my din is a song
that hums a little tune
as some don't like
and for others are inopportune
feel the spark of emotion
as you hover and you soar
with my love I ever more

I think I meant aspen I always go for bright colours

I enjoyed this Sandy - I also liked the rhyme of 'tune' and 'opportune'

Solitude

O solitude you are to me
A shelter from the storm,
Come solitude, my sanctuary,
Reveal your silent form.

In younger years I'd seek a glen
Or some remote domain
To give me what I needed when
I could no more remain

In crowded halls where every voice
Intruded as it yelled;
The rural fields became my choice
Where peace and quiet dwelled.

To find a tree with cooling shade
Through meadows I would roam,
Regarding how the sparrows played
From my secluded home.

Sometimes I'd glimpse a butterfly
Who from the world was hid,
With no one there to utter why
Or question what I did.

And as the evening reached its end
And daylight slowly fled
I watched an orange sun descend
Into a sea of red.

My solitude's a lovely cape
Of finest velvet cloth,
To wear whenever I escape
Until I take it off.


©

What a fascinating poem Elyan! It's full of vivid images. I always think material this good and powerful should have a title

Ta Sandy I doubt if an apple actually did hit Isaac on the head - it's a nice story though

Thanks very much Musty.

There was a young lady called Wendy
Who was remarkably supple and bendy
But her talent in wooing was to be her undoing:
Whilst entwined with an electrician
In an amorous position
She stuck her toe in a socket
And went off like a rocket
Which fused all their bits
From their toes to their tits.
But they found permanent employment
And considerable enjoyment
At unusual parties and freak exhibitions
For the uncurably arty with no inhibitions

Written at my then place of employment for National Poets Day many years ago.

It's a complicated lark, is sex
It's baffled voles and puzzled vets
It's blinding all the cultured masses
Who eat their prawns in dark sunglasses.

There are many problems to be solved
When copulation is involved
A girl needs to be wined and dined
Before you get yourselves entwined.

No one understands the allure
No one yet has found a cure
There's nasty diseases that you can catch
Sex can spoil a cricket match.

Don't have sex – there's too much about
so never let your kids find out
Why wrestle with a soggy French letter
When embroidery is so much better?

Victory

Beat to quarters whistles sound
As men run all about
The golden braid of him renowned
Dismisses fear and doubt

Steady as she goes ahead
To split the enemy line
Her sails to catch the wind a’spread
Will cut her through the brine

Her black and yellow timbers creak
As she nears the target frames
And chaos all about them wreaks
As waters douse the flames

She’s in there and now, and the order comes
To unleash hell and slaughter
The deafening pound of a hundred guns
To foam Trafalgar’s water

Splintered wood flies all about
As screaming men lay bleeding
Fire and brimstone high and out
Show no sign of receding

The lower decks awash with blood
With Blomefields crashing on
Thirty pounds of iron thuds
From every flaming gun

A battered enemy lofts the sheet
To show the battle won
And every Captain yearns to greet
Old England’s favourite son

But early on, in the battles maul
As every man served well
The Admiral took a musket ball
And on his ship he fell

Brought below to the surgeon’s knife
Alas but all too late
Nelson left this glorious life
And Victory was his fate

Do you just do these as a pastime? They're really good.

Some great poems above folks


An Olympian King


So Rhea lay with Cronus, perhaps the moon was full
That night new child filled mother, sobbed softly , pitiful
For when past offspring entered , their birth not joy but pain
As jealous Cronus ate them, to protect his wealth and reign.

To Gaia she sought refuge , save unborn from devour
And when the babe called Zeus came forth, t’was not a feasting hour
A rock tight wrapped in blankets was handed to the King
He swallowed down the swaddled stone whilst Rhea real boy did cling.

The story of the infant, now twists in tales of ages,
Some say was raised by shepherds, as written down in pages
And when Zeus grew to manhood, revenge he set about
Freed siblings from his Father’s gut , cut flesh to drag them out.

He turned then to the dungeons, let Cyclopes from his trap
So grateful was this giant, gave Zeus the thunder clap
Together fought the Titans and in victors battle cry
Great Atlas tamed in combat, enslaved to hold the sky.

The spoils of war for taking, the brothers grasped their share
Poseidon King of waters and Zeus the sky and air
For Hades gift the underworld where all the dead reside
Between them shared the Earth and land, for Gaia not divide.

As king of gods Zeus took the throne, though conflict never ended
He vanquished soon his enemies, no monsters were befriended
And even now you see the signs of Typhon lava flows
Still forced below Mount Etna’s stack, where Zeus imprisoned foes.

But think not Zeus was all but war, great lover was his mantle
The stories of his conquests now with nymphs a legend scandal
Hera wife and sister both , oblivious through Echo’s chatter
Was not amused when came to light, distractor cursed repeating natter.

Now shall you doubt these myths of old and wonder of their credence
Well listen next the thunder storms to clear belief impedance
For above the clouds Olympians reign directing lives with humour
Greek gods not yet at rest today, still ruling by their rumour.