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Is Poetry a Dead Art? (Part 4)


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Old 17-01-2014, 13:14
Biz
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Bit morbid tonight, so Spoiler tags to protect the happy from dark questions.

More or Less.
Well having had a quick look (on television) at what some of the youth of today get up to, I know I don't want to be one of them...........so I'll settle for reality and the knowledge that I'm (probably) closer to death than they are. In the meantime, I'll stay happy.
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Old 17-01-2014, 15:40
mr. mustard
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Star.
To get any farther
we need your star.
Nice one Archiver - I quite like the idea of aliens nicking the sun The Roswell poem was about my third attempt at the topic. I'm happy with this one I think
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Old 17-01-2014, 15:40
mr. mustard
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There Goes the Gothic Girl

There goes the Gothic girl, walking along
Out of tune with all the rest,
There goes the Gothic girl, knows right from wrong
And of life's endurance test.

On turning seventeen she became blue,
Parents could not understand,
Teachers who taught her failed miserably too,
Everything seemed drab or bland.

School stays a chore, an incredible bore
With the exception of art,
A face in the crowd with one friend and no more,
An outsider standing apart.

Weekends are better, for time tends to flow
Enveloped in music’s caress,
Her private face stunning and white as the snow,
Like ravens the shapely black dress.

Nights with her friend, both agreeing they feel
Lost in a world that’s gone mad,
Night is a refuge consoling and real
When others label you sad.

There goes the Gothic girl, walking along
Wise beyond her tender years,
There goes the Gothic girl, fleeing the throng
Of her unquestioning peers.


©
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Old 17-01-2014, 16:50
archiver
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Well having had a quick look (on television) at what some of the youth of today get up to, I know I don't want to be one of them...........so I'll settle for reality and the knowledge that I'm (probably) closer to death than they are. In the meantime, I'll stay happy.
Hoping you can stay settled and happy to the end Biz.

Nice one Archiver - I quite like the idea of aliens nicking the sun The Roswell poem was about my third attempt at the topic. I'm happy with this one I think
Ta Musty. The new Roswell one is great. As is The Gothic Girl, which also seems familiar.

The draining process has already begun, which you can just about see in this photo taken from your planet surface recently:

http://spaceweathergallery.com/full_...1388804940.jpg
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Old 17-01-2014, 20:14
mr. mustard
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America, here we come.
The crucial two words in the poem Biz, are 'We're told'. Rather than accept either viewpoint on Roswell, I wanted to describe what's claimed but also leave it open

Ta Musty. The new Roswell one is great. As is The Gothic Girl, which also seems familiar.

http://spaceweathergallery.com/full_...1388804940.jpg
Thanks Archiver - Gothic Girl's an oldie I revamped. I'm hoping to bring out a big collection later this year, a portfolio of everything. Wow, what a picture that is! A doomed planet can still look beautiful
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Old 17-01-2014, 20:18
Biz
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Hoping you can stay settled and happy to the end Biz.
Thank you Archiver, that's very sweet. I certainly will and I hope you do too........that's an order.
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Old 17-01-2014, 20:33
Biz
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The crucial two words in the poem Biz, are 'We're told'. Rather than accept either viewpoint on Roswell, I wanted to describe what's claimed but also leave it open
Now Class, tell me, what do you think Robert Coleman meant to convey by "We're told"? Does it have any particular significance in the context?

Now don't cheat by looking at DS.
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Old 17-01-2014, 20:34
mr. mustard
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Now Class, tell me, what do you think Robert Coleman meant to convey by "We're told"? Does it have any particular significance in the context?
Hi Biz The two words are easily overlooked

That scary poem we discussed the other day is still having trouble coming through. I wonder if I've left the dark side for good? I woke up in the throes of an awful nightmare recently - I consciously saw what was going on in it, albeit briefly. Maybe it's still there
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Old 17-01-2014, 20:40
Biz
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Hi Biz The two words are easily overlooked I must say

That scary poem we discussed is still having trouble coming through. I wonder if I've left the dark side for good? I woke up in the throes of an awful nightmare recently - I consciously saw what was going on in it, albeit briefly. Maybe it's still there
The above post took me a quarter-of-an-hour to write, so how you manage to write whole poems beats me.

Pity you can't write in your sleep. So long as you don't post it late at night when you do remember - anyway I wouldn't read it until morning.
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Old 17-01-2014, 20:52
mr. mustard
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Pity you can't write in your sleep. So long as you don't post it late at night when you do remember - anyway I wouldn't read it until morning.
The thing is Biz, for the general reader I tend to post darker poems at night. How about if I warn you when one's due, as before? There are certain films I won't watch late at night, so it's the same difference

Right, I'm off now - there's a horror film on at nine, one I can handle

Night Biz
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Old 17-01-2014, 21:17
Biz
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Night Musty. I'm about to watch a horror film too - it's called Celebrity Big Brother.
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Old 17-01-2014, 21:26
sandydune
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I stay

Thank you Mr Chocolate Orange
as we pass the day
a topic of conversation
and with you I stay
I turn to walk away
for a moment in affray
but back before you know
and without much delay

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Old 17-01-2014, 21:28
sandydune
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Originally Posted by mr. mustard
Magpies

From every beak
Sweet voices speak,
©
Lovely
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Old 18-01-2014, 03:46
mr. mustard
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I'm about to watch a horror film too - it's called Celebrity Big Brother.
Now that is scary

Thank you Mr Chocolate Orange
as we pass the day
I have an image of a Jaffa Cake here Sandy, they're rather delicious

I'm glad you liked Magpies, thank you
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Old 19-01-2014, 02:56
mr. mustard
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Ponch

I never knew my Grandfather
On the maternal side,
Never shared some time or a funfair ride,
I can’t even recall when he died.
Although his trail to London led,
He came from Cobham, born and bred,
While christened to grow as Leonard then,
Our clan rejected an endearing ‘Len’.

His nickname was ‘Ponch’ and Ponch he remained,
A reference to Pilate, the official who
Tried Jesus when crucifixions stained,
And the name just stuck like bloody glue.
He was part of a page in the Kaiser age,
A male like others who unleashed rage,
No pushing of prams for them; when wives
Made homes but suffered the bitterest lives.

I asked Mum once how Nan got her scar,
‘Oh that was when Ponch picked up a jar
And smashed it at dinner’, a sudden grab,
The scar was left by a meal-time stab.
Cigarettes were extinguished on arms as well,
So after buckets of domestic hell
The rarity of a divorce was sought,
Nan had to flee through the last resort.

She moved out in secret and sick with dread,
Yet a longing to smile made her leave on their bed
An abstract symbol to curse his might,
A large black feather on sheets of white.
Were violent episodes innate or designed?
What snapped when the demons entrapped his mind?
Of course there’s a chance that it all came from
His military service at the Somme.

Rumours and legends followed him too,
He burnt down the Crystal Palace (not true)
But a plausible one that didn’t budge
Concerned a young private who held a grudge.
Incensed by Ponch, via post-war planning
He tracked him down to the old George Canning,
Where the soldier entered, looked quickly about
Then knocked his intoxicated foe spark-out.

All I have left is a South London scene,
Waistcoat with sleeves rolled up, face mean,
Ponch in the sepia sunlit glare;
A drop of Grandfather’s terrible stare.


©
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Old 19-01-2014, 11:41
Biz
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A life story set in the mores of its time, and the effect it had on others. A sad and thought provoking story encapsulated in a few well chosen words. A wonderful poem Musty.
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Old 19-01-2014, 11:54
*animasana*
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Prayer

Cast these heavy chains away
And let their shackles fall,
Tell me how I find a way
That leads me to your hall.

There at last behind the doors
I'll lose these tears of mine,
Glad to place my hands in yours
Before you pour the wine.

Help my eyes behold and then
Return the skies to blue
So I see the world again
As beautiful and true.

Looking at the rivers here
Unable to decide,
I will choose the boat to steer
But only you can guide.

Show a world secure and warm
Where acts of kindness reign,
Rid me of this petty storm
Along with fear and pain.

Through the night when hope is gone
And I am less than whole
Shine your healing light upon
The darkness in my soul.


©
Does 'everything happen for a reason'? I randomly entered this thread, and just landed on the first page my cursor clicked on. And this was the first post I saw.

Not too proud to admit: for personal reasons, it made me cry.....
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Old 19-01-2014, 15:45
sandydune
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Gentleman

A weary gentleman in a hat
with a fancy walking stick
asked most politely of a young man
for a pleasing place to sit
said his mother as she answered
awoken from a moment's nap
as they stood and walked together
polite gentleman thanked and sat
the bus hurried as more passengers
gathered journeyed and that was that

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Old 19-01-2014, 16:32
mr. mustard
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A sad and thought provoking story encapsulated in a few well chosen words. A wonderful poem Musty.
Thanks so much Biz The damaging effect Ponch had at home cast a long shadow, as Mum was just one of seven children.

Not too proud to admit: for personal reasons, it made me cry.....
Thank you Animasana and welcome to the thread So many strange things happened to me some years back, it sort of confirmed my beliefs.

Gentleman
the bus hurried as more passengers
gathered journeyed and that was that
I love it Sandy I use buses a lot, even though I drive. They're microcosms of human behaviour and a good place to find inspiration for poems
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Old 19-01-2014, 16:49
sandydune
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Originally Posted by mr. mustard
I love it Sandy I use buses a lot, even though I drive. They're microcosms of human behaviour and a good place to find inspiration for poems


Thanks Musty

The inspiration for the poem was an incident that happened yesterday, luckily there were some seats upstairs as the bus was very busy.
I noticed that the gentleman's walking stick was very fancy and unusual. The gentleman asked someone else if he could sit down before he asked us but the lady he asked may not have understood or was tired.
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Old 19-01-2014, 16:58
*animasana*
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Thank you, Mr M It's a great thread.
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Old 19-01-2014, 17:08
mr. mustard
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The gentleman asked someone else if he could sit down before he asked us but the lady he asked may not have understood or was tired.
Maybe she was hard of hearing Sandy - I always offer my seat to ladies if it's standing room only

Thank you, Mr M It's a great thread.
Ta Animasana, sometimes I can't believe we've reached Part 4
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Old 19-01-2014, 18:11
Biz
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Thanks so much Biz The damaging effect Ponch had at home cast a long shadow, as Mum was just one of seven children.
That is so sad Musty. The older I get the more I become aware of how very fortunate I've been.
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Old 20-01-2014, 00:09
mr. mustard
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That is so sad Musty. The older I get the more I become aware of how very fortunate I've been.
I'm convinced Ponch passed on negative traits to some of the next generation Biz - major anger issues, control freak tendencies, alcoholism among them. I needed to write a poem about him, as he's still very strong but invisible.
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Old 20-01-2014, 01:21
Hogface
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Love Again
BY PHILIP LARKIN
Love again: wanking at ten past three
(Surely he’s taken her home by now?),
The bedroom hot as a bakery,
The drink gone dead, without showing how
To meet tomorrow, and afterwards,
And the usual pain, like dysentery.

Someone else feeling her breasts and ****,
Someone else drowned in that lash-wide stare,
And me supposed to be ignorant,
Or find it funny, or not to care,
Even ... but why put it into words?
Isolate rather this element

That spreads through other lives like a tree
And sways them on in a sort of sense
And say why it never worked for me.
Something to do with violence
A long way back, and wrong rewards,
And arrogant eternity.


That's how it's done.
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