I did wonder if the weather was affecting you, but pleased it's only a temporary lull in your poetry output.

I'm finding the heat and humidity very trying, and the resulting thunderstorms. People who say they love thunderstorms really can't know the damage they can cause.

Right, I'm off to pull out television aerials and electric plugs - there's one forecast for tonight. Fingers crossed. Goodnight.

It was cooler earlier, this evening is a little sunnier

Have you managed to finish your poem?

I managed to go and see The Beano exhibition in Beanotown. At the entrance, there was a funny sound that goes off as someone passes by, like a whoopee cushion.

It was mentioned in the news that there was flooding in certain areas and a lady who had been struck was saved by her wellies.

It's hard to believe a heatwave can stop you writing but it has Biz I've had to buy some sunscreen as I got burnt recently.


Not yet Sandy, it's about two thirds done. It's a re-write of a poem that got lost when an American site deleted it The Beano exhibition sounds great

Oh dear, hope you manage to sort it.

It's a nice place to go and visit, it was free and that is a bonus.

It will be done I used to love The Beano as a kid

Wow! That's good old rubber for you.

Beano and Dandy were mine.

I'm watching Big Brother.

Wonders of the Stone Age

Let me shine revealing lamps
On the early causewayed camps,
Huge enclosures, earthern ramps.

Long barrows that faced the east,
Swift arrows that felled the beast
Till a change that brewed like yeast:

Hunters learned new ways to be
Self-sufficient, thankfully
Crops meant food and liberty.

Seasons tapped a sacred feel,
Time turned on an endless wheel,
Consciousness became more real.

In the spiral of their lives
People cutting wheat with scythes,
Beads for necks and flint for knives.

Special nights when legends grow,
Stories told of friend and foe
Round the crackling hearth aglow.

Ere the modern car and coin
From the Orkneys to the Boyne
Down to Kent all paths did join.

Answers would be given soon,
Questioning the sun at noon,
Staring at the rising moon.

Birth and rebirth, dawns that drape
Light across the ripe landscape
Made them focus on a shape;

Circles pleased the stone age creed,
Rings fulfilled their greatest need
And one henge was vast indeed:

Digging, straining with the haul,
Tons of stone to map it all,
Avebury, the capital.

Here the lengthy Ridgeway road
Ended at their motherlode
Where the megaliths were towed.

Contemplating nears and fars
Underneath a sea of stars,
Touching heaven's golden bars.

Would that I had been there too
With the ancient people who
Made these lands divine and true.


©
 

They were all classic comics A sleepless night for me. Re-posting another oldie was the best I could do - the heat's definitely affected my mojo

Give me modern comforts any day. You've got to do a volume for junior schools some time.


Life's definitely on hold for me. My main aim is keeping cool avoiding too much activity. Hope you have a better night's sleep tonight.

Very shortly I'll be off to Avebury with my photographer for the next book Biz. Colour shots should compliment the poems and make it attractive to the eye. I'm not expecting many sales, but the book after that will be different - I'll be going all out to get it published properly.

Looking forward to it.

Sadly, I don't think kids are really into history these days

It could be part of English lessons. That way knowledge is imparted under the radar. It could spark an interest in history - two birds with one stone. I'm sure the government would approve.

The Scream

The sun beyond the bridge that evening was low
As Edvard Munch strolled with his friends in Oslo.

Along with people Krakatoa slaughtered,
To deepest shades of red the skies were altered.

How odd that what exploded east of Java
Discoloured vistas free of any lava.

While others may have seen it with elation
For Edvard crimson views meant isolation.

He chose to place against a background beaming
A lonely figure, hands at face and screaming.

The shriek that human suffering can render:
That moment when the world makes us surrender.

Not only does his picture show the sadness,
It functions as a mirror of our madness.

The darkness in depression is infernal,
That's why The Scream by Edvard feels eternal.


©
 

It's a good idea Biz - a poem can illustrate history in a very concise way. Maybe that immediacy is lacking in lessons sometimes. I never had any good history teachers and it was one of the few subjects I loved at school. Oh well, you can't win them all

That is brilliant; you've captured it perfectly. There can't be many people who haven't felt like that at some time in their lives, even if they haven't acted it out.


PS People of all ages from young to old can find poems to enjoy (and benefit from) in your collection of poetry.

Thanks Biz - there's something haunting about The Scream, it's definitely a unique image. Thanks too for your comments on my poetry

Robin's Legend

When you feel the air turn crisper
Rest between the trees and then
Listen for the greenwood whisper,
Haunting still the copse and glen.

Bright the leaves upon the larches,
Deep the roots devoid of light,
Underneath these rural arches
Arrows hit their targets right.

Here he walked among the splendour
Of this forest, came to blows
Making wealthy fools surrender
With the help of men and bows.

It can cause a sudden shiver
When you sense the archer’s eyes,
Feathers ready in a quiver,
Robin’s legend never dies.


©

Excellent - you're getting down with the children.

Seriously, reading enjoyable poetry enhances reading and language skills. Introduces vocabulary that they wouldn't otherwise encounter, and puts before them words which are spelled correctly.

What's more they are not so likely to grow up to hate poetry because they've been introduced to the more convoluted stuff without proper preparation.

It's a real shame when that happens Biz. One English teacher kept giving us lessons on Thomas Hardy. His poetry is fairly grim and it turned me off the subject completely. Funnily enough a young student told me the same thing recently - she found Hardy's material difficult to like at school as it was so gloomy. The same mistakes are still being made it seems. Maybe more variety's needed.

Silver Silver

Silver is a boon
On a cold black night,
Silver, silver moon
Showing crystal light

Silver glows the pond
In a floating mist,
Silver is the frond
That the dawn dew kissed.

Silver silver there
When the winter’s nigh
Silver, silver air
Fills the cloudy sky

Penny for the thoughts
Of the ladybird,
Rarely ever halts
Hurries fast and blurred

Silver off and on
See the wax and wane,
Though the moon is gone
It returns again


©

Lovely Musty. What's not to like about a verse like that? It's full of educational potential, and beautiful too.

I didn't know that Thomas Hardy was a poet, though I've read all of his books.

Thanks very much Biz I must confess that I stole the form from Hither, Hither, Love by Keats. He's been dead long enough for me to post the poem, which I'll do shortly