Brontë land

Alone a wild hawk soars,
The Yorkshire silence roars
And ghosts leave seances of thought
Across these bleak-faced moors.

Grey clouds loom overcast
Like capsules of the past,
Here stone absorbs the march of time
And clings on to the last.

No area forgives,
This desolation gives
The wind a voice that should have died
Yet wuthering, it lives.

I turn into the sleet
Where moorland spectres meet,
The hawk has gone, the ink is dry,
The poem is complete.


©
 

Agreed

A lovely but poignant poem, Musty.

Oooops! I missed this yesterday. It makes me grateful to be snugly warm at home.

Thanks all - the cold weather inspired me to re-post the Brontë poem

It has been quite chilly but keep warm with a hug. ()

That is beautiful - she's a lucky girl!

Thanks Sandy and Celestine

London Sunday

As chimneys blend with peeling slate
The rooftops make a grey lagoon
And clouds of purple recreate
A Mary Poppins afternoon.

From terraces where lives go on
Of people who I’ll never know
Dark window panes stare down upon
Back gardens, cramped and lying low.

An idle warehouse seems to snub
The world outside, as church bells chime
A shabby run-down corner pub
Helps Sunday drinkers pass the time.

A vacant black embankment seat
Dwarfed by the Thames that still remains
The indestructible heartbeat
Conveying life through London’s veins.


©

A picture of one form of bliss when compared with some views of our world.

"Peeling slate" - poetic licence or do some people paint over them?

I must go down to the sea again
To the lonely sea and sky
I left my vest and socks there
I wonder if they're dry?

Slate probably doesn't peel, but I needed a term to express its age Biz (it might need a re-think)


A very funny ode - by Spike Milligan isn't it Bob?

Just call me nitpicker anonymous.

Sudden thought! "Aged" - two syllables as in ay jed?

In life there are plenty of ups and downs
Smiles, tears, laughter and frowns
Where we go and what we do
Depends on more than only you

Strangers can hurt you and call you names
Friends can hurt you by playing mind games
But, stand tall, hold your head up high
Don't let them win, don't heave that sigh

Know that if you do your very best
You'll get past every test
You'll find friends that stand by your side
And be there for the roller-coaster ride

How about a compromise?

'As chimneys blend with ageing slate'


Wow, brilliant write Celestine! All I can say is, I've been there too. The poem makes such a positive statement Welcome to the thread by the way, or have you posted poems before? We've been going so long, sometimes I lose track a bit

The Greatest Ever Gurner

Contorting features without shame,
He started as a learner
But Sidney Kettle soon became
The greatest ever gurner.

He frightened horses with his smiles,
The weirdest face in Matlock;
A cross between a moose with piles
And Corrie’s Albert Tatlock.

All Sidney’s chums would testify
And swear upon the Bible
His bottom lip could go so high
It covered up each eyeball.

Such facial flaws did not confine
Our hero for a second,
For late in nineteen twenty-nine
The Gurning World Cup beckoned.

He knocked out every twisted moosh
And bag of broken spanners
Then reached the final at a push
Where fans waved scarves and banners.

His last opponent loved to stare,
A chap called Arthur Menzies
Who pulled a face so awful there
It shattered camera lenses.

But Sidney did a better job,
He shocked the gathered numbers
By sticking sideways in his gob
A leek and three cucumbers.

Among the fizzogs that compressed
His was the highest earner,
Yes Sidney Kettle was the best,
The greatest ever gurner.


©

Compromise is good. Also great to see new rhymers.




Good to have a gift......I suppose. I'll never forget the Queen's face when she looked at (I think) the champion gurner.

Who, Prince Philip?

Finding the Mary Celeste

A telescope confirmed her lone existence
And tendency to yaw, alerted now
They sensed she’d need an offer of assistance
But what appeared unsettled them somehow;
A vessel sailing badly in the distance
Five miles away and on the starboard bow.

Deserted decks awaited them and so did
A riddle to infuriate and grip,
Her cargo full of alcohol was loaded,
When casks were damaged on the routine trip
Did fear of certain death if they exploded
Explain the reason all abandoned ship?

How had the crew and vessel come asunder?
There wasn’t much to indicate or say,
No lightning broke the masts, intent on plunder
No pirates took a single thing away
And while we puzzle, speculate and wonder
The sea retains its secret to this day.


©

Awww! That's not fayer. I was very proud of him on Remembrance Day.


When we get time travel maybe we'll find out.

He always drops his wreath roughly on the Cenotaph, which I find disrespectful. All other members of the Royal Family place theirs slowly and caringly - what a difference. My Mum pointed his bad practise out to me years ago, as a poppy-wearer it always bugged her.

He is a very old man. I was thinking of the shot of him saluting on the Monday, though I can't remember where it was. The strain was very clearly showing on his face.

He even did it when he was younger

The thread's been very quiet of late

I am the magic bullet

One trigger and to pull it
Took vigour on the day,
I am the magic bullet
That haunts the USA.

Shot by a hand so callous,
John Kennedy I caught,
As panic rose in Dallas
The Earth came to a halt.

The sniper was a dead-eye,
The patsy was marooned,
How flattering they said I
Caused almost every wound.

The facts are rather hazy,
That’s why my nickname suits,
The path I took was crazy,
The oddest of all routes:

Into a back and fastly
Out from the neck, a twist
Performed in mid-air, lastly
Through leg and chest and wrist.

But on forensics wholly
The experts would agree;
Each injury was solely
Accredited to me.

I shook the world as lawless
Exhibit 399,
Pristine and mainly flawless,
No magic equals mine.


©

We'll never agree about the royals, but we're civilized - unlike some.

I've had no phone, broadband or internet all day - agony I tell you, agony. Thank goodness it's back.


It comes in bursts then disappears into the ether.


Evil. What ever the back story is. Good poem though.......what else is there to say?