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Is Poetry a Dead Art? (Part 4)


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Old 10-10-2015, 23:08
sandydune
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Originally Posted by mr. mustard
I don't know why but this reminded me of that deluded twit Jeremy Corbyn


He says stuff other people don't say, that makes him different.
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Old 10-10-2015, 23:13
sandydune
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Originally Posted by mr. mustard

When Davros heard the rumours and invited it along,
The leader's questions only made it burst into a song
Fantastique
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Old 12-10-2015, 09:22
mr. mustard
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thought I may be the only one that liked it
Not at all

Ta Sandy
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Old 12-10-2015, 09:31
mr. mustard
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Marilyn

The girl who stayed confused,
Her beauty would be used,
A smile that she was good at faking,
An absent mom and dad,
It seems she always had
A heart that never quite stopped aching.

The lonely whirlpool dazed
And could not be erased,
Yet some fulfilment came when rising
Through puberty's strange glen,
Discovering that men
Find your appearance tantalizing.

Nude photos went ahead
Reclining on a bed,
The agents who control reaction
Ensured most liked it hot
And after every shot
The casting couch demanded action.

With Joe Dimaggio
Love didn't last, although
The world was dazzled by her glamour,
Her dress rose in a gust
And then she turned to dust,
The misfit broken by fame's hammer.

It's something in her eyes,
A dumb blonde never dies,
Each Marilyn fan reminisces,
A goddess here despite
The briefest earthly flight,
She poses still and blows us kisses.


©
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Old 16-10-2015, 09:30
mr. mustard
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Accrington Stanley

When footballers were manly
A humble team set forth;
'Come on Accrington Stanley!'
They used to shout oop north.

They had no greats like Rooney,
They lacked a superstar,
More Sid James than George Clooney,
Less hip than Cantona.

Though cheques with lots of zeroes
Would not come Stanley's way,
Its baggy-shorted heroes
Were worshiped in their day.

On brave FA Cup missions
They always got knocked out
And high non-league positions
Would rarely come about.

Unlike those gracing Wembley,
The stands were full of holes
Which froze the small assembly
As Stanley let in goals.

The turnstiles were all rusty,
The pitch was in a state,
The pies were hard and crusty,
The toilets weren't too great.

Aware it was no hot-spot,
At full-time from the club
Fans went home for a hotpot
Or cold pints in the pub.

They had no Greaves or Keano,
Yet Accrington FC
Were British as The Beano
And cups of Rosie Lee.


©
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Old 16-10-2015, 10:44
Elyan
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Another great military ode - I found this had a deep sense of foreboding Elyan. I'm not familiar with the term pleach though
It's a fence made by knotting hedges and other bits and pieces together. When a fortress wall was knocked down by the guns, the defenders would scramble to fill the gap with anything they could find.

Breach was essential, and there aren't many rhyming options.

Thanks again musty.
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Old 17-10-2015, 00:08
sandydune
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True Young

There are poems to write
there are stories to be told
there are the wonders of life
and what there is to hold
the memory of all that is
and of future so untold
with grace and love
be genuinely supportive
of the true young and of the old
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Old 17-10-2015, 22:47
sandydune
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That's ok

That's ok
you do know not
for you have
a very dot
you say what
told by them
that brings a
verity to men
and women who
hold some truth
they are love
the fortitude
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Old 17-10-2015, 23:02
sandydune
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Put You On A Stair

Carried you there
put you on a stair
as you took those steps
were you really aware
or did you falter on
without any heed
of those left behind
that gave you a need
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Old 17-10-2015, 23:17
NaturalDancer
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With these hands I crack the eggs,
Floss my teeth, shave my legs,
Write the cheques, count the fivers,
Make rude signs at priggish drivers,
Clean the goldfish, light the fires,
Pump up half a dozen tyres,
Feed the hamster, worm the dog,
And decorate the Yuletide log.
2nd verse from With These Hands - Pam Ayres.
Went to see her last night in Wakefield, she was very funny.
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Old 17-10-2015, 23:52
sandydune
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Above the Shore

The flag is flying above the shore
as the tide comes back for more
the sea still learns because of doubt
as the pebbles learn to shout
the sand becomes a constant shift
with a soothing movement drift
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Old 19-10-2015, 09:26
mr. mustard
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It's a fence made by knotting hedges and other bits and pieces together.
You can learn quite a lot on this thread! Thanks for the info Elyan
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Old 19-10-2015, 09:37
mr. mustard
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Colleen O'Shea

This is the story of Colleen O'Shea,
A lovely young Kilkenny lass,
Eccentric and wayward, her mind used to stray
At school and especially at Mass.

Colleen liked roaming the lush countryside
And saw what no others could see;
Odd little creatures and fairies that glide,
Defying the Earth's gravity.

Down in the forest they flew around fast,
On a branch she witnessed five,
Sometimes they chatted to her as they passed,
Sometimes they'd hover and dive.

Colleen at dusk in a Kilkenny field
Or when another day dawns,
Finding the top-heavy toadstools that shield
Parties of drunk leprechauns.

Her Da didn't mind and was always polite
To gossips who pointed and laughed
But one day he asked the good Reverend John Knight
Was his daughter gifted or daft?

The priest held his Bible in private with her
And probed visions seen by Colleen;
Three Hail Marys later he told Da they were
Just daydreams affecting a teen.

Colleen O'Shea went her very own way
With secrets she'd never reveal,
Colleen O'Shea never had much to say;
She knew that the magic was real.


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Old 19-10-2015, 09:41
mr. mustard
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There are poems to write
there are stories to be told
Lovely Sandy
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Old 19-10-2015, 09:42
mr. mustard
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2nd verse from With These Hands - Pam Ayres.
Went to see her last night in Wakefield, she was very funny.
I love Pam Ayres, Dancer Thanks for posting the poem too, she's genuinely hilarious
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Old 19-10-2015, 09:45
mr. mustard
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the sand becomes a constant shift
with a soothing movement drift
You can't beat communing with the sea to mellow out Sandy. Another evocative piece
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Old 22-10-2015, 17:43
sandydune
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Originally Posted by mr. mustard
You can't beat communing with the sea to mellow out Sandy. Another evocative piece
Thanks

The sea is a good listener, no wonder people sometimes do like to be by the sea.
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Old 22-10-2015, 17:52
NaturalDancer
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I love Pam Ayres, Dancer Thanks for posting the poem too, she's genuinely hilarious
Just realised I should've left a line between the last line of the verse and my comment; it looks as though it all part of the verse
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Old 22-10-2015, 17:53
sandydune
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Originally Posted by mr. mustard
Marilyn


Each Marilyn fan reminisces
Marilyn, never forgotten. From some pictures I have seen of Marilyn, she could be with other people on social occasions but sometimes seemed as if she was quietly alone.
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Old 23-10-2015, 01:27
LabhaoiseNiMhao
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I think poetry was always a minority art. It's more noticeable now though because there are so many other forms of media.
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Old 23-10-2015, 01:29
LabhaoiseNiMhao
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But poetry is everywhere really. Words , conversation and life is poetry. Feeling is poetry relationships in families are poetry. Saying hello to your mom in the morning can be poetic. You just have to see it that way.

The way you feel inside makes life poetic.
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Old 23-10-2015, 22:39
sandydune
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I Walk Through The Words

I walk through the words
as though they were fields
some much barren and
then some with true appeal
nurturing them well
so that they will grow
with love and respect
as so they will show
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Old 24-10-2015, 09:23
mr. mustard
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Just realised I should've left a line between the last line of the verse and my comment; it looks as though it all part of the verse
Oops I could tell where the poem ended though
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Old 24-10-2015, 09:24
mr. mustard
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The way you feel inside makes life poetic.
I couldn't agree more Labhaoise
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Old 24-10-2015, 09:25
mr. mustard
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Marilyn, never forgotten. From some pictures I have seen of Marilyn, she could be with other people on social occasions but sometimes seemed as if she was quietly alone.
She's a legend
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