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Is Poetry a Dead Art? (Part 4) |
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#776 |
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The Wizard and the Alchemist
The wizard’s gift was awesome, To study was his quest And most were quite convinced that His magic was the best. He saw into the future, Could master any spell, The fireworks he conjured Like rainbows soared and fell. His fame was such that even The King became aware, Whose banquets he attended, What shows he put on there. No sorcerer could equal The great and honoured seer, Then rumours of another Magician reached his ear. The wizard, full of envy While frowning on his stool Said to his raven ‘Go now, Spy on this meddling fool!’ And after two days watching The loyal bird returned To tell his jealous master That he should be concerned. ‘So locals think he’s clever’ He cackled full of glee, ‘Let’s send an invitation Inviting him to tea.’ He only saw a rival, Not somebody who made A living out of metals, An alchemist by trade. The invitee was flattered, Directions in the note Led to a mighty castle That lay within a moat. A pleasant dinner followed Until the host implied The guest had tricked the people, A charlatan who lied. The alchemist was saddened Yet sensed the wizard’s wrath, As well as mortal danger When he reached for his staff. The metal-smith responded, His eyes turned black and cold, Then staring at the wizard Transformed him into gold. A miracle had happened, How fast fortune can swing; The alchemist soon prospered At banquets with the King. What really killed the wizard Were pride and self-esteem, Which left a golden statue Forever more to gleam. © |
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#777 |
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Quote:
The Wizard and the Alchemist
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#778 |
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Thanks Musty. ![]() |
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#779 |
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Quote:
Ooohhh! There's a moral there. Ripping yarn.
![]() ![]() Quote:
That was very enjoyable.
![]() Please feel free to post more material - we're a bit thin on the ground for poets at the moment
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#780 |
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Hello Musty, here's a poem for today
![]() From Afar A poet who walks as he talks through the streets and the lanes finding others who gather, sit and though glaze enjoying their lunches with chatter and distains until the fellow stands clear, alone from afar goes into an inn and off to the bar.
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#781 |
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Quote:
Originally Posted by mr. mustard
The Wizard and the Alchemist
Which left a golden statue Forever more to gleam. © Very good, Musty
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#782 |
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Quote:
until the fellow stands clear, alone from afar
goes into an inn and off to the bar. ![]() |
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#783 |
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The Art of Paul And Art
The longing to be homeward bound Or simply feelin' groovy, The sound of silence all around, The Graduate, a movie Through which they spoke With pop and folk Of values that would splinter, The music played Span on and made A hazy shade Of winter. I listened to them harmonize, I found each song appealing, The lyrics seemed to recognize Emotions I was feeling, They used to stand Without a band, The voice and guitar only Combined to show What old friends know, How bookends grow So lonely. The weary boxer in the ring Who lost but gave no quarter, A bridge to heal the suffering Across some troubled water, Scarborough Fair Retains them there, The duo time can’t sever, The art of Paul And Art won’t fade, It shall be played Forever. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kQGfY7nbC4 |
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#784 |
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Quote:
The Art of Paul And Art
Great to have the the musical accompaniment. |
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#785 |
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In a meadow where the grass is lush and green
I sit and marvel at nature's scene: At the bloom of wild flowers in my line of sight Nurtured by the sun shining so bright From where my spine sinks into the ground I hear crickets chitter their familiar sound As I gaze at the lilacs, lemons and blues Showing me their wonderful array of hues Till hovering yonder something enters my sight A hot air balloon is gaining height Floating away into a pastel sky Home to the birds that soar freely on by Then it passes beyond a silver lining Here a multitude of dreams starts unwinding http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DGFvlnCq-ts |
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#786 |
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Quote:
Originally Posted by mr. mustard
I enjoyed this one Sandy - it reminded me of me
![]() Musty, it's ok to pop off to the pub sometimes.I watched a programme on the telly about Poetry and it showed a guy walking along while emphasising poetry aloud, a voice from the distance and into the crowd.
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#787 |
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Quote:
Then it passes beyond a silver lining
Here a multitude of dreams starts unwinding A glimpse of summer on a grey autumn day! I love Number 9 Dream, one of John's most uplifting songs.Quote:
I watched a programme on the telly about Poetry and it showed a guy walking along while emphasising poetry aloud, a voice from the distance and into the crowd.
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#788 |
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I thought it was just teachers who were on strike today.
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#789 |
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Quote:
I thought it was just teachers who were on strike today.
I'll try to post something later on or tomorrow I think I'm gearing up for work on the next book, which should start before the end of October.
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#790 |
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Quote:
Sorry Biz, I haven't been writing much I must admit
I'll try to post something later on or tomorrow I think I'm gearing up for work on the next book, which should start before the end of October.
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#791 |
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Quote:
Don't apologize; it's an absolute miracle that your output has been so prolific over such a long period. It's an excellent idea to take a break to sort out your publishing.
![]() Apparently, it's National Poetry Day - what a shame I've got no new material So I'll just repeat my old motto....A poem a day Keeps stagnation at bay
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#792 |
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Quote:
Thanks Biz
Apparently, it's National Poetry Day - what a shame I've got no new material So I'll just repeat my old motto....A poem a day Keeps stagnation at bay ![]() Well, well, what do you know - as you haven't got a poem to post today, there's a new thread of poetry to celebrate this day...........though whisper it, I don't know whether it fits in with the T&Cs. Anyway just helps to prove that poetry is not dead.
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#793 |
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Quote:
though whisper it, I don't know whether it fits in with the T&Cs.
My delayed trip to the seaside is taking place tomorrow now. I have a poem in the pipeline - I should be able to finish it in coastal tearooms. Lovely jubbly I'll be back on Sunday
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#794 |
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Enjoy your visit. Hope the weather is kind.
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#795 |
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Tupperware Tilly
Young Tilly lived in Whalley Range, With Arthur Pratt she tarried, By saving wages and small change They managed to get married. Now Arthur earned a living at The local Fox & Rabbit And after time he noticed that His wife had gained a habit. He pondered as he lit his pipe What none could have predicted; To Tupperware of every type His loved one was addicted. She always had his supper there But each meal caused frustration When Tilly guided Tupperware Into the conversation. The poor chap saw no reason why She found it so fantastic To constantly go out and buy Dull boxes made of plastic. What storage units Tilly sought, Long, circular and square ones, Scoured all the shops until she bought Both regular and rare ones. With cupboard space full to the brim (The sign of a fanatic) In need of space and on a whim She loaded up the attic. The bedroom offered no escape, For Arthur’s mind meandered To Tupperware of every shape, Affecting his high standard. Soon marriage floundered on the rocks Which made the locals titter, ‘She should have wed a bloody box’ Said Arthur, pouring bitter. Divorce took everything away With lawyers on retainers And Tilly’s still in love today With Tupperware containers. © |
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#796 |
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Quote:
Enjoy your visit. Hope the weather is kind.
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#797 |
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Quote:
Tupperware Tilly
© Quote:
It was a smashing day Biz - and the weather was mild
![]() ![]() Tupperware is an historic relic by now isn't it, from the days before plastic became a bad word? Tilly was certainly a nightmare - you've got to feel sorry for Arthur. ![]() Am I right in thinking I've met Tilly before, or is that just my memory playing tricks? |
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#798 |
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You were sat on the corner of your bed
as I walked into your bedroom. I didn’t recognise you. I turned and looked to where you should have been and saw the barely sunken pillow, white and empty. Then I knew that figure was you. I thought she was the woman who laid out the dead. Did you realise I didn’t know you? Did you feel my confusion, my shame? Dying had changed you – sunken cheeks, skin, the colour and texture of chalk-dust, hair – loose, scorched grey, eyes – fixed, dry. An unknown friend or neighbour, come to see the spectacle of a dying woman. |
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#799 |
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Tess
You tear through your-shoulder-high grass with a manic breast stroke, just feeling every joy of the moment. You curve back to me, then, in a game where you keep the rules, tear away, scything a wake through the green sea. A frightened lark soars, singing, calling, from its nest and I follow then lose it in the sudden brilliance of the sky. Distracted, I lose you – you’re gone. My eyes dart across the now still surface and for a second a remembrance of loss churns over. She should have told me we were not playing hide-and-seek. |
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#800 |
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Quote:
Am I right in thinking I've met Tilly before, or is that just my memory playing tricks?
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My delayed trip to the seaside is taking place tomorrow now. I have a poem in the pipeline - I should be able to finish it in coastal tearooms. Lovely jubbly