Great food for thought, at this time of year especially Izzy...
Is Poetry a Dead Art? (Part 4)
126 of 154
Originally Posted by flower 2:
“Great food for thought, at this time of year especially Izzy...”
“Great food for thought, at this time of year especially Izzy...
”
Thank you flower
I'd been hoping to write more poetry over the last couple of weeks but it seems to have taken me a while to get around to thinking of anything. Better late than never, I guess.
Waiting for Napoleon to Advance
One summer’s day on a Belgian hill,
A dreamlike scene played out
Two men stood tall and fairly still
While hell raised all about
They talked of cricket, bowls and golf,
As cannon shot roared past
“Tedious games” opined the first
As the second dissented fast
Musket balls whizzed about their heads
And men screamed out in pain
But the first man turned to his friend and said
“Do you think it looks like rain?”
He tipped his head, toward the sky
And looked about the clouds
The weather was “fine” and the air was “dry”
So the “fields would soon be ploughed”
With hands clasped tight behind their backs
They squinted through the smoke
Though the cannons boomed and the muskets cracked
Not a move did it provoke
And though men thought they’d lost their heads
Or gone doolally tap
The truth is they were racked with dread
And just as ripe to snap
But an officer’s job, in the midst of hell,
While the ranks are facing death
Is to stand and show that all is well
To their last and dying breath
So as blood was thrown and brains were spilled
And horses made for glue
Two men stood tall, and fairly still
At the Battle of Waterloo
One summer’s day on a Belgian hill,
A dreamlike scene played out
Two men stood tall and fairly still
While hell raised all about
They talked of cricket, bowls and golf,
As cannon shot roared past
“Tedious games” opined the first
As the second dissented fast
Musket balls whizzed about their heads
And men screamed out in pain
But the first man turned to his friend and said
“Do you think it looks like rain?”
He tipped his head, toward the sky
And looked about the clouds
The weather was “fine” and the air was “dry”
So the “fields would soon be ploughed”
With hands clasped tight behind their backs
They squinted through the smoke
Though the cannons boomed and the muskets cracked
Not a move did it provoke
And though men thought they’d lost their heads
Or gone doolally tap
The truth is they were racked with dread
And just as ripe to snap
But an officer’s job, in the midst of hell,
While the ranks are facing death
Is to stand and show that all is well
To their last and dying breath
So as blood was thrown and brains were spilled
And horses made for glue
Two men stood tall, and fairly still
At the Battle of Waterloo
The Blacksmith
The Blacksmith toiled on nothing less
Than space within the hour,
His anvil was the nothingness,
His hammer was the power.
He smelted matter long ago
Till darkness, dead and bitter
Was brightened by a sudden glow
And light began to glitter.
The hammer struck a molten core,
When sparks came down to settle
He'd made the stars forever more,
Unending points of metal.
His workshop is a vast machine
But furnaces stay hidden,
Those other forges are not seen,
Onlookers are forbidden.
Where searing orange rivers run
The work is never over;
He moulds the galaxy and sun,
He welds the supernova.
The Blacksmith even made us too,
Burned iron on hot coals
Then added love and poured it through
The stardust in our souls.
©
The Blacksmith toiled on nothing less
Than space within the hour,
His anvil was the nothingness,
His hammer was the power.
He smelted matter long ago
Till darkness, dead and bitter
Was brightened by a sudden glow
And light began to glitter.
The hammer struck a molten core,
When sparks came down to settle
He'd made the stars forever more,
Unending points of metal.
His workshop is a vast machine
But furnaces stay hidden,
Those other forges are not seen,
Onlookers are forbidden.
Where searing orange rivers run
The work is never over;
He moulds the galaxy and sun,
He welds the supernova.
The Blacksmith even made us too,
Burned iron on hot coals
Then added love and poured it through
The stardust in our souls.
©
Originally Posted by IzzyS:
“What you do in and with that moment,
is entirely up to you.
Happy New Year Musty et al.”
“What you do in and with that moment,
is entirely up to you.
Happy New Year Musty et al.
”
Ta Izzy - I enjoyed the sentiments expressed in your latest poem
Originally Posted by Elyan:
“So as blood was thrown and brains were spilled
And horses made for glue
Two men stood tall, and fairly still
At the Battle of Waterloo”
“So as blood was thrown and brains were spilled
And horses made for glue
Two men stood tall, and fairly still
At the Battle of Waterloo”
Just superb Elyan
The gore described in the last verse really packs a punch, especially after the trivial chat about sport and the weather. The Battle of Waterloo was a hell-hole and this piece gives the reader a taste of it.
Just popped in to see if there were any new posts. I'll probably send in a poem tomorrow
Sad to see the passing of David Bowie - another hero gone
Sad to see the passing of David Bowie - another hero gone
Been away for a while as I've been concentrating on writing short stories and giving poetry a bit of a holiday.
Anyway, I dashed this off the other day so I thought I'd share it.
Just where is that poem
I had in my head,
down the back of my sofa
or under the bed?
Or dropped on the floor,
and washed away by the rain,
sailed along the gutter
and down into the drain?
I'd carried it around
for most of the day
and now that I need it
the bugger's gone and got away.
Yes, it's left a few clues
to gather together,
some words, some meanings
but I'm sure I'll never
be able to catch them
or patch them instead
back into the perfection
of the poem in my head.
Anyway, I dashed this off the other day so I thought I'd share it.
Just where is that poem
I had in my head,
down the back of my sofa
or under the bed?
Or dropped on the floor,
and washed away by the rain,
sailed along the gutter
and down into the drain?
I'd carried it around
for most of the day
and now that I need it
the bugger's gone and got away.
Yes, it's left a few clues
to gather together,
some words, some meanings
but I'm sure I'll never
be able to catch them
or patch them instead
back into the perfection
of the poem in my head.
Originally Posted by scottie2121:
“and now that I need it
the bugger's gone and got away.”
“and now that I need it
the bugger's gone and got away.”
Nice one Scottie
I'm sure a lot of writers know the feeling! A poem not written in your usual blank verse style.It looks like a lot of the regulars are away
Hopefully I'll be posting more often from now on. On the book front, I'm off to London around the 17th of Feb to get it produced
T. Rex on the Rampage
Can you sense a rumble?
Can you do some checks?
If you hear a grumble
And a roar to vex,
It's time you fled,
Here comes the dread
Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Worthy of top-billing,
With a steely grip,
When there is a killing
Blood is sure to drip
From fangs that bite,
Serrated, white
Cruel spears designed to rip.
Bones can be so brittle,
Running with a hunch
See it catch a little
Dinosaur for lunch;
The Tyrant King,
A violent thing,
Prepared to smash and crunch.
Hunger never wavers,
Hunger never stops,
Meat has many flavours
(Like Triceratops),
In search of prey
T. Rex will stay
Relentless till it drops.
©
Can you sense a rumble?
Can you do some checks?
If you hear a grumble
And a roar to vex,
It's time you fled,
Here comes the dread
Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Worthy of top-billing,
With a steely grip,
When there is a killing
Blood is sure to drip
From fangs that bite,
Serrated, white
Cruel spears designed to rip.
Bones can be so brittle,
Running with a hunch
See it catch a little
Dinosaur for lunch;
The Tyrant King,
A violent thing,
Prepared to smash and crunch.
Hunger never wavers,
Hunger never stops,
Meat has many flavours
(Like Triceratops),
In search of prey
T. Rex will stay
Relentless till it drops.
©
Preface to Milton (Jerusalem) - William Blake 1757-1827
And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountain green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the countenance divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among those dark satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.
And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountain green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the countenance divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among those dark satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold!
Bring me my arrows of desire!
Bring me my spear! O clouds, unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire!
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand,
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.
The Coming of the Karve
By a sun-bleached sea, in an English field,
Three horsemen sat and stared,
As a score of dragons, lined with shields,
Flew through the salty air,
With gilded heads and flashing teeth,
And eyes that glared ahead,
They cleared the seas and all beneath,
And filled the land with dread,
Their bellies bulged, with the devil’s hoard,
As their wings dipped through the swell,
And the clang of axes, spear and sword,
Chimed the dawn of Odin’s hell,
And the horsemen knew, as they sat and gazed,
Of the dragons’ thirst for blood,
How the demons set the land ablaze,
As the beasts defied the scud,
So they prayed before their Christian Lord,
That His mercy he might deed,
And protecting hands might he afford,
When the dragons came to feed.
By a sun-bleached sea, in an English field,
Three horsemen sat and stared,
As a score of dragons, lined with shields,
Flew through the salty air,
With gilded heads and flashing teeth,
And eyes that glared ahead,
They cleared the seas and all beneath,
And filled the land with dread,
Their bellies bulged, with the devil’s hoard,
As their wings dipped through the swell,
And the clang of axes, spear and sword,
Chimed the dawn of Odin’s hell,
And the horsemen knew, as they sat and gazed,
Of the dragons’ thirst for blood,
How the demons set the land ablaze,
As the beasts defied the scud,
So they prayed before their Christian Lord,
That His mercy he might deed,
And protecting hands might he afford,
When the dragons came to feed.
Originally Posted by Elyan:
“The Coming of the Karve”
“The Coming of the Karve”
What a great fantasy battle scene Elyan! It left me wanting more - it'd be great if you could pen part two
I'm currently trying to piece together a poem on the murderer Haigh. He used an address for his killings that's only 35 minutes from me
May
May you spend the hours
Where the bluebells sigh,
May you see the flowers,
Not just pass them by.
May you sit and listen
To a favourite song,
May the river glisten
As it flows along.
May you taste the honey
And enjoy good health,
Rather than the money;
Therein lies your wealth.
May some quiet thinking
Help you do what's right,
May a sun that's sinking
Paint the skies at night.
May you be contented
When all roads are trod
And when life's relented
May you find your god.
©
May you spend the hours
Where the bluebells sigh,
May you see the flowers,
Not just pass them by.
May you sit and listen
To a favourite song,
May the river glisten
As it flows along.
May you taste the honey
And enjoy good health,
Rather than the money;
Therein lies your wealth.
May some quiet thinking
Help you do what's right,
May a sun that's sinking
Paint the skies at night.
May you be contented
When all roads are trod
And when life's relented
May you find your god.
©
Hi Musty
A lovely nearly Spring has sprung ode.
There is a bluebell wood on my doorstep which has millions of flowers in April, it's the best scene of the year. Very few people realise they are even there , so you can go and sit among them all alone and gogitate your navel for hours
A lovely nearly Spring has sprung ode.
There is a bluebell wood on my doorstep which has millions of flowers in April, it's the best scene of the year. Very few people realise they are even there , so you can go and sit among them all alone and gogitate your navel for hours
Originally Posted by belly button:
“Hi Musty
A lovely nearly Spring has sprung ode.”
“Hi Musty
A lovely nearly Spring has sprung ode.”
Ta BB - your bluebell retreat sounds lovely
Battle of Britain Scene
The pilot was riddled with bullets,
The plane he controlled torn in two,
His mission had failed,
A parachute sailed,
Descending from out of the blue.
The farmer came running in anger,
With temper beginning to boil
He carried a gun,
Enraged by a Hun
Who'd fallen on his patch of soil.
The Englishman took aim, approaching,
Then under the brilliant Kent sky
He realized the truth,
No more than a youth
Was dying alone in the rye.
Pleas came in a strange foreign language,
On seeing the enemy's pain,
The farmer who knelt
Had suddenly felt
Emotions he couldn't explain.
For this was a real human being
And not the thing he'd come to hate;
With death very near
And eyes full of fear
A youngster was meeting his fate.
The end came with one final spasm,
Succumbing to agony's knife,
Unsure where he laid
A mother's son paid
The ultimate sacrifice, life.
Soon jubilant villagers gathered,
While they cheered a victory sealed
As patriots should,
The farmer just stood
And left a young boy in his field.
©
The pilot was riddled with bullets,
The plane he controlled torn in two,
His mission had failed,
A parachute sailed,
Descending from out of the blue.
The farmer came running in anger,
With temper beginning to boil
He carried a gun,
Enraged by a Hun
Who'd fallen on his patch of soil.
The Englishman took aim, approaching,
Then under the brilliant Kent sky
He realized the truth,
No more than a youth
Was dying alone in the rye.
Pleas came in a strange foreign language,
On seeing the enemy's pain,
The farmer who knelt
Had suddenly felt
Emotions he couldn't explain.
For this was a real human being
And not the thing he'd come to hate;
With death very near
And eyes full of fear
A youngster was meeting his fate.
The end came with one final spasm,
Succumbing to agony's knife,
Unsure where he laid
A mother's son paid
The ultimate sacrifice, life.
Soon jubilant villagers gathered,
While they cheered a victory sealed
As patriots should,
The farmer just stood
And left a young boy in his field.
©
Originally Posted by mr. mustard:
“Ta BB - your bluebell retreat sounds lovely”
“Ta BB - your bluebell retreat sounds lovely
”
Carpet World
A luscious purple carpet, appears each year in spring
Don’t stand on it too often as the pile’s a living thing
It doesn’t need the vacuum as the dust is washed with rain
And if you spill your glass of wine don’t worry about the stain
You won’t find it in Frank’s Factory, nor on shelves in B&Q
It doesn’t come in metre lengths or different shades of blue
And when the Easter Sale is on, the cost will never alter
Because they’re free to all of us, the Bluebells never falter.
The God War
The rain poured down, from an English sky
As the Feared stood gathered strong
And the endless chant , “YOU’RE going to DIE.”
Drowned a priest’s God-praising song
An army formed, ten thousand shields
With minds and spirits pumped
And the raging chant echoed o’er the fields
As the steel and wood were thumped
Then the shield wall formed, like a crashing chain
As the Feared linked side by side
And they slowly walked toward the Danes
With a steady determined stride
And the chant went on and the shields were banged
As the Feared marched forward on
But the Norsemen stood, and their swords were clanged
As they formed their skjaldborg strong
With yellowed teeth and beer-soured breath
And eyes of maddened rage
The Norsemen roared their howls of death
And beckoned to engage
The armies stopped and stood their ground
And silence came about
As men faced men without a sound
And harboured fear and doubt
But a roar went up in the Danish ranks
As their swords crashed on their shields
And the Feared yelled out their insults
With no party set to yield
And in the sky, sat side by side
The nervous Gods watched on
For this war of men would soon decide
Which one would carry on
So the moment came, with men’s fate sealed
As the Feared began to run
And they met with a mighty crash of shields
For the God war had begun
The rain poured down, from an English sky
As the Feared stood gathered strong
And the endless chant , “YOU’RE going to DIE.”
Drowned a priest’s God-praising song
An army formed, ten thousand shields
With minds and spirits pumped
And the raging chant echoed o’er the fields
As the steel and wood were thumped
Then the shield wall formed, like a crashing chain
As the Feared linked side by side
And they slowly walked toward the Danes
With a steady determined stride
And the chant went on and the shields were banged
As the Feared marched forward on
But the Norsemen stood, and their swords were clanged
As they formed their skjaldborg strong
With yellowed teeth and beer-soured breath
And eyes of maddened rage
The Norsemen roared their howls of death
And beckoned to engage
The armies stopped and stood their ground
And silence came about
As men faced men without a sound
And harboured fear and doubt
But a roar went up in the Danish ranks
As their swords crashed on their shields
And the Feared yelled out their insults
With no party set to yield
And in the sky, sat side by side
The nervous Gods watched on
For this war of men would soon decide
Which one would carry on
So the moment came, with men’s fate sealed
As the Feared began to run
And they met with a mighty crash of shields
For the God war had begun
Originally Posted by belly button:
“Because they’re free to all of us, the Bluebells never falter.”
“Because they’re free to all of us, the Bluebells never falter.”
What a cleverly-written piece BB
I could see the bluebells in my mind's eye, as you painted them so well with your words. Roll on the spring
Originally Posted by Elyan:
“The God War”
“The God War”
Superb battle tale Elyan! It took me to a Wessex field with the Saxons lined up against the Vikings. British history is fascinating but brutal
English Treasure
Queen Boudicca's calibre
Arthur's sword Excalibur
Poppies at the Cenotaph
Gandalf and his magic staff,
Melancholy verse by Keats
Triffids on deserted streets
Dramas known as kitchen sinks
Sunny singles by the Kinks,
Dreams that Millais left behind
Country lanes that tend to wind
Looming Stonehenge megaliths
Dover's line of chalky cliffs,
Betjeman and William Blake
Bluebird speeding on the lake
Alfred Hitchcock, Robin Hood
Roast beef next to batter pud,
Pots of tea for pick-me-ups
Non-league teams in FA Cups
Cornish bays with little boats
Kenneth Williams anecdotes,
Vintage cars that need a push
Lily Langtry and Kate Bush
Enid Blyton's Noddy tales
Supertramp, the Yorkshire Dales,
Fish and chips and Shepherd's pies
Eric Morecambe, Ernie Wise
Tommy Cooper's scarlet fez
Whistle Down The Wind and Kes,
Village taverns, Desperate Dan
Thomas Paine's The Rights of Man
Sunlight on the Pennines Way
Skies of unrelenting grey,
Alan Bennett, Morrissey
Weston-super-Mare by sea
Peter Pan, a bear named Pooh
And The Long Good Friday too,
Henry Tudor's lengthy reign
HG Wells and Michael Caine
Winston Churchill, Rubber Soul
English Treasure makes me whole.
©
Queen Boudicca's calibre
Arthur's sword Excalibur
Poppies at the Cenotaph
Gandalf and his magic staff,
Melancholy verse by Keats
Triffids on deserted streets
Dramas known as kitchen sinks
Sunny singles by the Kinks,
Dreams that Millais left behind
Country lanes that tend to wind
Looming Stonehenge megaliths
Dover's line of chalky cliffs,
Betjeman and William Blake
Bluebird speeding on the lake
Alfred Hitchcock, Robin Hood
Roast beef next to batter pud,
Pots of tea for pick-me-ups
Non-league teams in FA Cups
Cornish bays with little boats
Kenneth Williams anecdotes,
Vintage cars that need a push
Lily Langtry and Kate Bush
Enid Blyton's Noddy tales
Supertramp, the Yorkshire Dales,
Fish and chips and Shepherd's pies
Eric Morecambe, Ernie Wise
Tommy Cooper's scarlet fez
Whistle Down The Wind and Kes,
Village taverns, Desperate Dan
Thomas Paine's The Rights of Man
Sunlight on the Pennines Way
Skies of unrelenting grey,
Alan Bennett, Morrissey
Weston-super-Mare by sea
Peter Pan, a bear named Pooh
And The Long Good Friday too,
Henry Tudor's lengthy reign
HG Wells and Michael Caine
Winston Churchill, Rubber Soul
English Treasure makes me whole.
©
Boulevard of Lovers Bar
Down the Boulevard of Lovers
There's a bar that seems to hide,
Where the customer discovers
Unknown pleasures wait inside.
Statuettes of Aesop's Fables,
Each one has a marble plinth,
Candles flicker on the tables,
Placed in bottles of absinthe.
Blondes who sometimes switch to henna
Tout for business, hanging are
Faded pictures of Vienna,
Ballet studies by Degas.
Dancers on the stage keep moving
To a serenade that melts;
Semi-naked girls removing
Stockings and suspender belts.
How much is desire at night priced?
Ample breasts can reassure,
Teasing to the final zeitgeist
In the months before the war.
Now to jazz the girls are bending,
Wearing just a black beret
But with Hitler's star ascending
Nothing spared the cabaret;
Unrelenting Aryan brothers
Closed the bar where they undressed,
Down the Boulevard of Lovers
Allied bombers did the rest.
©
Down the Boulevard of Lovers
There's a bar that seems to hide,
Where the customer discovers
Unknown pleasures wait inside.
Statuettes of Aesop's Fables,
Each one has a marble plinth,
Candles flicker on the tables,
Placed in bottles of absinthe.
Blondes who sometimes switch to henna
Tout for business, hanging are
Faded pictures of Vienna,
Ballet studies by Degas.
Dancers on the stage keep moving
To a serenade that melts;
Semi-naked girls removing
Stockings and suspender belts.
How much is desire at night priced?
Ample breasts can reassure,
Teasing to the final zeitgeist
In the months before the war.
Now to jazz the girls are bending,
Wearing just a black beret
But with Hitler's star ascending
Nothing spared the cabaret;
Unrelenting Aryan brothers
Closed the bar where they undressed,
Down the Boulevard of Lovers
Allied bombers did the rest.
©
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