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Is Poetry a Dead Art? (Part 4) |
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#1076 |
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Join Date: Nov 2006
Location: Pools of sorrow, waves of joy
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My Old Town
When I looked round my old town Of home there was no trace; The houses had been rolled down And new flats filled the space. I visited the green park Where innocence I'd known But now it lacked the old spark, My childhood dreams had flown. Some youths came from the tavern Who sneered at me and swore, Now inn had turned to cavern, A friendly pub no more. How sad to be a stranger No longer understood, Worn out by crime and danger, Most locals left for good. A neighbour's door stayed bolted Until she heard my voice, I didn’t feel insulted, For she had little choice. Respect was cheaply squandered And fear had won the day, On my old town I pondered Then swiftly walked away. © |
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#1077 |
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Quote:
My Old Town
© Who was it said "change and decay all around I see"? Having said that, I wouldn't change my life.
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#1078 |
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Quote:
It's as if part of your life has disappeared isn't it, parts that are still alive in your head.
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#1079 |
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That is sad, but very understandable. We all need good security these days, not like the days when no one locked their front doors.
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#1080 |
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Quote:
That is sad, but very understandable. We all need good security these days, not like the days when no one locked their front doors.
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#1081 |
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Love Song of Culloden
We stood side by side at Culloden Defending our homeland so fair; As the King's waiting men took position That's when I first noticed her there. I gazed at a tangle-haired lassie, I sensed love was calling and while Our nation's cause wasn't forgotten We both shared in one fleeting smile. As the sun slowly brightened a dark sky My only true need was to glance, Her eyes were as blue as a sapphire, Her long golden hair lit by chance. She helped supply meagre provisions, With slaughter and fear to endure, In the torrid time just before bloodshed Her own mind appeared to be pure. Regretful, I thought of what could be, Until came the great battle cry When I joined in the charge for our freedom Preparing to do or to die. And after that English shot hit me, Reclining in pain and marooned The girl I'd seen earlier gently Cared for my incurable wound. O lassie, how much you soothed me on The last of my Jacobite trips And the final few words I heard ever Came out of your whispering lips. Although the thyme here is unending And heavenly highlands show grace I'll always recall the tears you cried, Aye lassie, they fell on my face. © |
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#1082 |
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Quote:
Love Song of Culloden
© ![]() I remember my Dad saying that when he'd been in hospital for an operation as a young man, they thought the nurses were angels. In those days of course, the nurses would be young, as they would have to leave when they got married. Those who hadn't married would be Sister, the dragon or Matron.
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#1083 |
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Quote:
I remember my Dad saying that when he'd been in hospital for an operation as a young man, they thought the nurses were angels.
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#1084 |
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Join Date: Aug 2012
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I wrote a poem
It's all my own I done it myself For the good of my health I done it to express the things that are so deep inside Not good to let them fester away and hide Need to get it out and to self-express Otherwise I would end up a mess. (inside). Now that I got it off of my chest I feel better and can rest So, no, poetry isn't dead Its what is all inside your head And it should be said. ...Nah, that's just me arseing about. Here's a proper one I wrote: Tomorrow steals the substance from the glory of today This precious moment soon will be a fading memory. So let's leave no small deed undone, no giant rock unturned And come the evening, let us say our slumber has been earned. I want to cry for joy recalling all we've done and seen And not waste silent tears regretting all that might have been. |
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#1085 |
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Join Date: Mar 2011
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Quote:
My Old Town
When I looked round my old town Of home there was no trace; The houses had been rolled down And new flats filled the space. I visited the green park Where innocence I'd known But now it lacked the old spark, My childhood dreams had flown. Some youths came from the tavern Who sneered at me and swore, Now inn had turned to cavern, A friendly pub no more. How sad to be a stranger No longer understood, Worn out by crime and danger, Most locals left for good. A neighbour's door stayed bolted Until she heard my voice, I didn’t feel insulted, For she had little choice. Respect was cheaply squandered And fear had won the day, On my old town I pondered Then swiftly walked away. © to live in an immoral stew. Perhaps staying, and looking back, would keep the town you loved on track. xxx |
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#1086 |
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Quote:
Tomorrow steals the substance from the glory of today
This precious moment soon will be a fading memory. So let's leave no small deed undone, no giant rock unturned And come the evening, let us say our slumber has been earned. I want to cry for joy recalling all we've done and seen And not waste silent tears regretting all that might have been. I love it. You should give it a title.
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#1087 |
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Quote:
Leaving those, the likes of you,
to live in an immoral stew. Perhaps staying, and looking back, would keep the town you loved on track. xxx
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#1088 |
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Quote:
I want to cry for joy recalling all we've done and seen
And not waste silent tears regretting all that might have been. While I agree with the sentiments of your arseing around poem, this one really hit me - I shall read it again later on. Welcome to the thread by the way, I'm not sure if you've posted before ![]() Quote:
Perhaps staying, and looking back,
would keep the town you loved on track. xxx
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#1089 |
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Colours
Blue, the sea that soaks a coral reef, Brown, an autumn change to summer’s leaf, Red, the pretty petals of a rose, Black beyond the cavern walls that close, Purple for the sunset’s greatest shows. Orange fills the lava spurting out, Silver glow the scales of river trout, Green, a jagged nettle often stings, Yellow fly a small canary’s wings, White, the crystal painting winter brings. © |
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#1090 |
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Join Date: Nov 2004
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Quote:
Colours
.......................................... White, the crystal painting winter brings. ©
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#1091 |
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Quote:
Hurray for colour.
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#1092 |
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The thread's gone very quiet, it's probably the time of year
I recently looked at the rough print-out of my next book. The five weeks it took to write made hard but enjoyable work - however a fresh eye is always a good thing. As a result I'll be making changes over Xmas, including the running order of the poems. My technical helper/photographer is out of the country till the new year, but on his return we should be able to get it released before late February. After that I'll be throwing everything but the kitchen sink into volume three; I'm aiming to get that published properly, not just on the internet. It's a very long shot but if you don't try you get nowhere. |
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#1093 |
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Join Date: Jun 2011
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It's the busiest time of year
with all of the christmas cheer may it be fun and restful to you also a new year to look forward to. Merry Christmas Musty and all the poets
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#1094 |
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Join Date: Jul 2010
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at this time of year
santa reallly deserves a beer. instead, he'll stay teetotal and finish the delivery list maybe santa is becoming a Methodist ? |
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#1095 |
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Join Date: Mar 2011
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Christmas comes but once a year
I hope yours is peaceful and full of good cheer, The Turkey will be roasted and Great Aunt Mary toasted. but put your feet up and enjoy a good beer. Merry Christmas everybody xxxx |
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#1096 |
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Despite the awful storms around
Past Yules have been much colder, So carry on, enjoy good cheer, Nice gifts and Noddy Holder! Merry Xmas to everyone who posts on or reads this thread
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#1097 |
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Quote:
Merry Christmas Musty and all the poets
![]() ![]() Quote:
at this time of year
santa reallly deserves a beer. instead, he'll stay teetotal and finish the delivery list maybe santa is becoming a Methodist ? ![]() Quote:
The Turkey will be roasted
and Great Aunt Mary toasted.
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#1098 |
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Join Date: Nov 2004
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Wow! Almost a party in here. Merry Christmas Musty and all poets present and absent.
![]() I hope you're all ready for the annual anti-climax tomorrow. I'll be glad when sanity and normal television returns, I don't know about everyone else.Pleased to hear publication is getting nearer Musty.
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#1099 |
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Quote:
Wow! Almost a party in here. Merry Christmas Musty and all poets present and absent.
![]() Yeah, I agree with you - the big build-up for months and it's all over in a day
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#1100 |
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Join Date: Nov 2006
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The Gentle Mind
There lived a man, the gentle kind Who only spoke the truth, He shared his time with friends and dined Beneath a humble roof. And when he came to heal or preach The masses would increase, With open hands they tried to reach His own which brought them peace. Arrest would come along the way, Some feared change and they thought This rebel merited a day Of judgement in their court. The whip lashed but he shed no tears, A flimsy case was built Until a jury of his peers Confirmed the prophet’s guilt. To mock they placed upon his head A crown of spiking thorns, The Via Dolorosa bled Upon that dawn of dawns. Led to a hill where crowds came out, Uncaring for his loss The guards of Rome had little doubt And nailed him to a cross. Yet even hardened soldiers froze When darkness filled the sky; As death occurred his spirit rose To heaven with a sigh. Was he the Lord, shown by a star Who died to break our chains? Nobody knows but from afar His gentle mind remains. © |
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I love it. You should give it a title.