Wicked webs indeed John, though we shouldn't forget "the salt of the earth", the ordinary man (and woman of course), who just get on with life and keep the wheels turning. There is a lot of kindness in the world.

I'm convinced that most of the intelligent churchmen have, in their deepest recesses decided, that while the story might not be true it's their job to keep the flame alight for the good of the human race, and hold out the hand of friendship to those of other religions.

I'm happy to let other people keep their beliefs if it gives them comfort, so long as they do no harm, and don't try to convert me.

EDIT : Oooh a lot has happened on the thread since I wrote that - was stopped by a long phone call before I'd finished it. Must catch up.

2nd EDIT : Musty I'm just about to go and read up about pagans.

Oh absolutely. I've been out there and everywhere it's kindness, with only a few exceptions. Maybe that's why the horrors we see from other locations are so abhorrent and worrying...


Such a shame they cannot bear to 'come out'. One of the threads touched on the 'emotional investment' made, which I think is also part of the reason why they stay with it. Even that unhappy limbo would be better than the certainty some claim to possess.


Reminds me of something a poet once said "Was it something said which coldly bled the colour from a dream?" Sorry religious peeps. What madness is this that I still think it's for their benefit.


Sorry to be cluttering this most illustrious thread with this, but I think I'm pretty well done by now.

Peace and love.

The other part being, it's their livelihood. Hard to give that up and with it their position in society.

It's all a fantastic mystery.

Poet Gets The Point.

They've been pointing in the face of the entire human race.
Surviving all the ravages of time.
Great symbols made of stone. Ancient telephones.
Built by busy builders kept in line.

While workers were a plenty, their lives were not so empty
when the product of their labour could be seen
like reflections of the sky. The future asks why?
As the nightmare all around becomes obscene.

Because it was hard work? Now we'd rather shirk
and demand all demands are met today.
Our product is a shame and it isn't a game.
Old Egyptians knew a better way.

My favourite radio dj plays mostly dance tracks Thursdays. He just played one by Foremost Poets called Reasons To Be Dismal.

The Bus.

You get what you believe in
and a dose of what you're needin'
in the momentary life time of your death.
For a portion of compassion
you get more than your ration
as emotion soothes a body's final breath.

And you know that you are life
and all confusion and strife
is just a silly echo of the day,
when you were just one
small human in the sun -
glad to have had something to say.

Become one with yourself.
Worth more than all the wealth.
More precious than the doctrine on arrival.
Try to not be mean.
Work towards your dream.
No matter if the human race is tribal.

Life is everywhere? You bet.
But we haven't found it yet.
So just in case it's really only us;
you're free, but take care,
this could be so very rare.
But most of all - Get on the ****in' bus.

Thanks John, I'm glad you enjoyed my tribute to Tintagel It left a deep impression on me when I visited. I have a track by the marvellous John Cooper Clarke on a punk compilation called Tw*t


Goodo Biz It sounds like John had a bad experience with one. I never foist my beliefs on others - mine is a solitary path and I've never felt the need to join any groups.


Nice one John It's usually me who covers the ancient sites! I love the first verse and the way it describes the monuments.


This reminded me of Magic Bus by The Who. I like the order to 'get on the bus', which implies that those who don't are going to be left behind in some way.

Aaahh! Beware of rose coloured spectacles when looking at the past John.


Yes, good advice there, but I've been on the bus, so if you don't mind I'll exercise my right to drift as I choose.


Some people are bad adverts for whatever belief system they belong to, and some people need a group of others around them to know that they exist.

Vampire

He waits
patiently
in the shadows,
bat wing arms
folded across his chest.

No crucifix can charm him away.

At night you keep him caged.
It would be unseemly to set him free.

And in the day be on your guard,
always,
always your best behaviour,
just a gentle peck on the cheek now.
Maybe a guiding arm
across the back.
Nothing more.

But one night you cannot hold him
and while you sleep he slips through -
the seducer,
the forced, forced seduction
of his teeth penetrating your shock white skin.

These are no simple Hammer Horror puncture marks
as he paddles his tongue into the deep red crevice of your neck.

And when you wake in the morning wet,
sweat mingled with blood,
the hard air lying on your face,
whispered voices shrieking in your ears,
the muffled light at the window blinding,
every nerve raw,
you feel more alive than ever.

Wow Just the sort of horror poem I like Scottie This goes for the jugular (no pun intended) and is the polar opposite of lightweight vampire fare such as Twilight. 'He paddles his tongue into the deep red crevice of your neck' is such a vivid image - I prefer horror poetry that's very realistic and the whole poem achieves it so well. Thanks for sharing this

Not at all Biz. I watched a documentary about it, so I know exactly what it was like.


I had no idea what to call that one right until I needed the (possibly) last line. The 'Further' bus came to mind along with the line. Later, I Googled the phrase (without the expletive) and found it could mean all sorts of different things today. Which I like, of course.


True. Thanks for the comments and yours too of course Musty.

Really enjoyed the Vampire poem scottie. Particularly liked the bit where you greatly enhanced an image with "These are no simple Hammer Horror puncture marks..."

I waited for the bus yesterday but it didn't come and I had to walk, there was a loop bus but it was going in the opposite direction.

Poor Sandy I'm happy - a few hours ago the final poem was typed into the pc file Corrections and improvements have been made and it feels like a weight's been lifted after a four month slog. All that remains now is to assemble the poems and many photos into book form

That's good Musty

I was going to write a poem about the man with the inflatable canoe, as I was by the sea yesterday and I saw a man with an Inflatable canoe, it was blowing about on the sand and someone's inflatable tyre blew halfway down the beach until a boy managed to catch it after running after it, there were also some seagulls having a bit of a barney over a chip and another seagull grabbed someone's pizza that was wrapped in some foil. It was very entertaining.

LMAO, you tend to see a lot of funny things Sandy

It's amazing when you just sit back and look at the world as it goes by on the beach and there are lovely things also, we saw a lovely couple walk off hand in hand in the sand with their rucksacks on their back, reminds me of one's worries, there is a choice to carry the worries or to just lighten the load.

Who’s afraid?

The smell of blood floats in the air
and deep in the forest the wolf stirs.
Primitive response to the first staining.
It arches its back, sinews snap into place,
body rising even before the thought of recognition fills its purpose.
Yellow eyed, red-cracked, fixed ahead,
he forces himself through the undergrowth
towards the strengthening smell of menstrual blood.

She skips, a girl aware of her womanhood,
basket in hand, with thoughts of grandmama.
Her hooded smock, shock-red, burns
amongst the browns and greens of the forest.

A twig cracks and, for a second,
all movement is arrested.
The forest poised on the edge

before the snarling rush and slam of bodies.

Neck snapped,
throat torn out,
heart clamped short.

The wolf lies dead,
its blood gently seeping,
rouge on burnished leaves.

What a twist! I really thought the girl was going to get it It wasn't only the suspense of this that I loved, it was the imagery. In particular the description of the red hooded coat against the autumn colours. An excellent and gripping write. You're obviously going through a horror phase Scottie

I agree Sandy - I often watch the world go by, it's very relaxing to switch off

Coalbrookdale

At Coalbrookdale they had one goal,
To smelt with tons of coking coal,
Through industry's initial phase
Men hammered here for nights and days,
A different world where sparks would fly
And light the of darkness of the sky.

The workers stoked an open gorge
With iron ore to shape and forge,
They squinted as it beamed intense,
They sweated hard at great expense,
Each muscle was a cog for sales
Of cylinders and wheels and rails.

While barges helped the gods of trade
To split the rich and poorly paid,
Here evenings scorched and hotly blushed
As orange rivers quickly gushed
To blend with belching, searing red,
What profits from the soil were bled.

Volcanic bellows gave their blast
Yet market forces never last,
The furnaces went like the mill
And Iron Bridge, they all fell still,
Then peace reclaimed the noisy glen,
At Coalbrookdale life’s calm again.


©

Until they start fracking.

I'd never heard of the 'Further' bus, but I have read 'The Wayward Bus' by John Steinbeck. It can't have made much of an impression on me, because I can't remember what it was about.

That rather shatters my hopeful last line Biz I don't live far from Balcombe but I never joined the protests.

Sorry!

Sadly I think genuine protesters are often joined by people who join in just for the fun of it.

It does make me wonder how far we can go in meddling with the earth's crust before it all collapses.

Yeah - I don't know enough about fracking to form an opinion. Some countries have banned it apparently.