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Is Poetry a Dead Art? (Part 4)


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Old 30-07-2013, 19:52
mr. mustard
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Mr Lonely

I can't believe it's only
A week ago he passed,
We called him 'Mr Lonely',
A name that seemed to last.
Since he left I've been thinking
Of Mr Lonely's life;
He never went out drinking
Or caused a lot of strife.
He came from County Galway
Across the Irish Sea,
You'd pass him in the hallway
But seldom would he be
Inclined to chat or ever
Go further than a few
Remarks about the weather
If any change was due.
Had scolding priests abolished
The joy or was he shy?
His shoes were smartly polished,
He wore a suit and tie.
He never courted lasses,
He never went berserk,
Each morning with the masses
He bicycled to work.
No entry would he permit,
The walls were strong because
That's just the kind of hermit
Our Mr Lonely was.
Was he some nephew's uncle?
I don't know but the man
Loved Simon and Garfunkel,
He'd always been a fan.
Did their songs match the feeling
In which his mind was steeped?
At times down from the ceiling
The Sound Of Silence seeped.
No family attended
His grave or read the stone
And now his life has ended
I wish he could have known
While to his own world banished
By us he's not dismissed,
Though Mr Lonely's vanished
Forever he'll be missed.


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Old 30-07-2013, 20:32
Biz
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Hmmm intriguing. There's such a lot we don't know about him. I wonder how he came to be where he was. Of course, he might not have been lonely, simply alone.

Many people are alone at the end of their lives, but he was still working, and cycling. I wonder what ended his life. Hmmm. So many questions.
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Old 30-07-2013, 20:49
Darius_Birch
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Some of you have guessed my true identity - I don't know how, but yes, it is *I* who writes all those marvellous poems for the adverts you love so much. My latest composition, the one where I completely ruin Ian Dury's Reasons To be Cheerful to flog a shitty Vauxhall is probably your current fave - but don't forget my other classics. The McDonald's Olympic one ' the sweeper, the sleeper, the scottish zookeeper' - yup, mine. And I got paid ****ing millions too. As all the best wordsmiths deserve of course.
And then there was my beautiful 'Lenny Henry Premier Inn' collection, where I audaciously rhyme 'in' with 'inn.' You have to know the rules to break the rules. So is poetry dead? Not while I'm being paid the big bucks darlings xx
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Old 30-07-2013, 21:10
archiver
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You sold out to the worst of them Darius.

I'm not familiar with any of your work as the only adverts I hear are those on the BBC. I may have seen the visuals, but at x4 FF I hear nothing.

Takes all sorts though, I guess. Enjoy your millions.
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Old 30-07-2013, 21:16
mr. mustard
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Many people are alone at the end of their lives, but he was still working, and cycling. I wonder what ended his life. Hmmm. So many questions.
I'm glad he intrigued you Biz. The poem was influenced by Alan Arkin's role as Singer the deaf mute in the film The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter. I can't watch that without crying

So is poetry dead? Not while I'm being paid the big bucks darlings xx
Nice one Darius Unfortunately I always mute the adverts
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Old 30-07-2013, 21:26
archiver
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I'm glad he intrigued you Biz. The poem was influenced by Alan Arkin's role as Singer the deaf mute in the film The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter. I can't watch that without crying
Have we seen the poem before? It seemed familiar, or maybe it's based on a similar one you previously posted? Great write though, regardless.
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Old 30-07-2013, 21:27
mr. mustard
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Have we seen the poem before? It seemed familiar, or maybe it's based on a similar one you previously posted? Great write though, regardless.
Yes, it's an oldie John. I ditched four lines and made a few tweaks. Thanks
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Old 30-07-2013, 21:36
archiver
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Yes, it's an oldie John. I ditched four lines and made a few tweaks. Thanks
Crikey! Just noticed you're coming up to a bit of a post count milestone too. Congrats on that.
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Old 30-07-2013, 23:27
Menoetius
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Ten Days Before Christmas

Ten days before Christmas,
Seventeen ninety one,
The date that the pain,
And the heartbreak begun.

Three centuries on,
From its ratification,
The Second Ammendment
Is destroying a nation.

Despite all the millions,
Of people it harms,
You blindly cling on,
To your right to bear arms.

The rest of the world,
Is scratching its head,
We count our blessings,
While you count your dead.

Three hundred years on,
Since being passed into law,
This archaic ruling,
Is needed no more.

So time to wake up,
Engage in debate,
You have to act now,
Before it's too late.
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Old 31-07-2013, 09:40
mr. mustard
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Ten Days Before Christmas
Excellent Menoetius! What a great summary of the American obsession with firearms. The other day there was yet another massacre in which with several died, including the gunman. I like the way you pinpointed the date of the Second Amendment in this very incisive poem.
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Old 31-07-2013, 17:24
Biz
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I'm glad he intrigued you Biz. The poem was influenced by Alan Arkin's role as Singer the deaf mute in the film The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter. I can't watch that without crying
I haven't seen that film, but I've just looked it up and the story does sound very sad. In this year's Big Brother there is a young man who is deaf. He has had great difficulty following the group discussions and has found it so exhausting on occasion that he had to have a sleep to recover.

Those of us who have normal sight, hearing and speech don't always appreciate our good fortune.

...........Don't go into the cat thread, or you'll never speak to me again.
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Old 31-07-2013, 17:24
Biz
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Ten Days Before Christmas
I do so agree with you.
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Old 31-07-2013, 18:28
mr. mustard
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Crikey! Just noticed you're coming up to a bit of a post count milestone too. Congrats on that.
Yeah, I'll have send my 40,000th post here

I haven't seen that film, but I've just looked it up and the story does sound very sad.
If it ever comes on telly Biz, you must watch it

I'll have to look at the cat thread now
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Old 31-07-2013, 18:28
mr. mustard
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UK place-names

Instead of modern Sat Nav
I read maps quaint and old;
From mine here's places that have
Strange titles to behold.

The UK breezes billow
Round signposts north and south,
Some point you to Prickwillow,
Some lead to Cockermouth.

I've never really got 'em,
Each one is quite unique,
Why call somewhere Pratt's Bottom
Or Frisby on the Wreake?

Now Funtington's no rumour
And Upham is imbued
Like Cruckmeole with humour,
While Effingham sounds rude.

Whoever labelled Swinton
Their commonsense was seen,
Yet what of Piddlehinton
And what if Acock's Green?

The presence of strong liquor
Could answer for the bodge
That conjured Upper Dicker
As well as Knockie Lodge.

Perhaps they dreamt of trollops
Inspiring Fockerby
But nothing tops The Wallops
And Wetwang by the sea.

These names should never alter,
We'd dearly feel their loss,
Though some make my eyes water -
Especially Ball's Cross.


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Old 31-07-2013, 18:32
mr. mustard
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Another oldie - there's no law against it and I thought the thread was due for a laff
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Old 01-08-2013, 11:45
Biz
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Who could forget that one. There must be stories behind all of them.

I see you couldn't resist the cat thread.
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Old 01-08-2013, 14:04
mr. mustard
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I wasn't too impressed but it was my choice to go there
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Old 01-08-2013, 14:04
mr. mustard
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That's it - 40,0000 posts
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Old 01-08-2013, 16:05
Biz
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I wasn't too impressed but it was my choice to go there
The OP was just joking you know. Anyway, the cat got out unharmed.

Congratulations on the 40,000. Pity it wasn't £s. I doubt I'll ever reach it.
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Old 02-08-2013, 09:02
mr. mustard
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The OP was just joking you know. Anyway, the cat got out unharmed.
Some things I just can't laugh at Biz I'm working on a poem but it's taking a while to piece together
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Old 03-08-2013, 03:34
mr. mustard
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Night

Deserted streets, no other sound
Than homeless winds housed by the trees,
No busy traffic circling round,
Thoughts and reflections which I seize,
The time of night brings all of these.

When I’m awake and sleep won’t come
The burning candles softly send
A grain of hope and I become
Contented at the long day’s end,
A guest of my nocturnal friend.

Amid the silence and the lack
Of people there’s a special sight;
Seductive in the unknown black,
A tapestry of stars that light
The brooding haven of the night.


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Old 03-08-2013, 04:38
archiver
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Truly beautiful Musty and I shall think of it as I lay me down to sleep in a minute or two.

The last verse even stands so well alone:

Amid the silence and the lack
Of people there’s a special sight;
Seductive in the unknown black,
A tapestry of stars that light
The brooding haven of the night.


Superb.
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Old 03-08-2013, 04:46
breno_the__firs
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Poem are like rap
Except not as crap.
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Old 03-08-2013, 14:08
mr. mustard
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Truly beautiful Musty and I shall think of it as I lay me down to sleep in a minute or two.
Thanks Archiver I have at least two sleepless nights every week, so the poem wasn't hard to write

Poem are like rap
Except not as crap.
Nice one Breno, I agree (I think ).

Tomorrow I'm off to Canterbury to stay with some lovely cyber-friends on DS They're about to become real friends and meeting Mrs Teapot, Twassington and the Queen of Sheba should be a hoot I won't be back here until Tuesday, but I'm sure a few great poems will be sent in by other writers. No doubt I'll be composing on the train too

Bye all for now
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Old 03-08-2013, 16:18
Biz
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Tomorrow I'm off to Canterbury to stay with some lovely cyber-friends on DS They're about to become real friends and meeting Mrs Teapot, Twassington and the Queen of Sheba should be a hoot I won't be back here until Tuesday, but I'm sure a few great poems will be sent in by other writers. No doubt I'll be composing on the train too

Bye all for now
Wow! Enjoy yourselves all.

I agree with John - loved Night too. It seems practice makes perfect in your case.
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