Journeyman

I want to stand by walls
And find the ancient scrawls
Describing things
That happened at the start;
To see the first outpouring,
The genesis of drawing
In caves where man
Left meaning in his art.

With gulls I long to glide
Above a torrid tide,
Amid the roar
I'd soar with them on high,
I yearn to fly with swallows,
Investigating hollows
Of emptiness
Across a windswept sky.

I want to dig a heath
And burrow far beneath
The roots to stare
At crevices and leap
Volcanic spurting gorges,
A journey to the forges
Where molten burns
The core so very deep.


©

This tickled me Frank The humble turnip being put forward as a rival to Wordsworth's daffodils

The poor thing had no chance - turnips just aren't as beautiful as daffs! It must have taken quite a time to write the poem. Much enjoyed

Turnips to you also

My Love, it was a Secret Thing

The first time I laid eyes on her
I knew that I was smitten,
My love, it was a secret thing,
A romance never written.

Of my desire there was no doubt
But fatally I waited,
Too reticent to ask her out,
I always hesitated.

I thought about her constantly
In daydreams of belonging;
The only options left to me
Were loneliness and longing.

I could have won a princess fair,
Lived happy with her highness,
Instead I lost and had to bear
The prison of my shyness.

My love remained a secret thing
And no one ever learned more
Because I kept it hidden from
The very one I yearned for.


©

The Final Frontier

On the ship that Sulu steers
The captain took a leak,
Spock pricked up his Vulcan ears,
Uhura gave a shriek.
When the stares of shock began
Kirk told the crew 'Be sure,
I'm boldly going where no man
Has ever gone before.'


©

Sorry Mr Mustard, I couldn't resist a turnip joke.

Pass the turnips

Nice one.
Beam me up Mr Mustard

Lovely, Musty

Sweet love, always there and ever fair.

That all seems 'highly illogical'

Then See

Have you walked
through wonderland
where others are
and others be
hold true
amongst some
who try
and they do
try to as we
then so with
a little love
then see.

Silent Rose (for Diana)

Chosen as the rightful one
To breed the royal heirs,
Cast aside when that was done,
Erased from their affairs.
Pretty as an English rose,
How brightly she would star,
Followed by the hungry pack,
She faded in a car.
Though the flowers withered fast
That honoured her a while,
Saints protect the silent rose
Asleep upon her isle.


©

I've asked Scottie to activate the beamer - ta Bob


Thanks Sandy - that's an oldie of mine


As the great Spock would say BB


Enchanting Sandy I wish I could write like you but I can't. I came to pretty close to it once in Bells Tubular, a Sandy-influenced poem that had to go in the book! Your words follow irregular patterns, yet they still get the message across. I feel like I've been sprinkled with fairy-dust after reading your poems

Sorry for my absence everyone, I've been up to my neck in finalising the book. It should be finished this week, then I have to go to London and stay with my collaborater/photographer. He knows how to put eveything together on a computer, unlike me

Working out the running order was my hardest job, but at last it's done

Musty,

Thanks Musty, you are very talented with your poetry and you publish books of poetry, great achievement.
My little poems are just little moments where words speak up themselves.

And long may they continue (thanks Sandy )

Dessert Storm

If afters substituted ammo pounding
Support for peace and love would be resounding.

How nice if every .45 and rifle
Was loaded not with bullets, but with trifle.

Dictators wouldn't bother to have mustered
Artillery that fired cream and custard.

Imagine bombs that shatter high-rise stories
Replaced by harmless knickerbocker glories.

With plum and treacle tarts for ammunition
No soldier could be wounded on a mission.

And I'd prefer the impact of nukes dropping
If they consisted only of dream topping.

But dessert arms won't go into production
Because the world is set on self-destruction.


©

Thanks, Musty, what a lovely compliment

A trifling we go and there is always sponge pudding with custard

I tried to slot a pudding into the poem but it didn't quite fit

The Blank Face

The blank face stared around
Lost in thought,
Cold eyes had the blank face

The blank face didn't show emotion
And seemed distracted somehow,
Separated by a mesh

At times, with children and animals
There was a smile

The outward appearance
Of the blank face
Was normal too

Yet it was different,
As if the mind weighed too heavily

It only came alive
In speeches, twisting in ugliness

It shook the world
But we never found out

What lay behind the blank face


©

The thread's gone a bit quiet again - 'twas ever thus

I'm sure it'll liven up some time

I've been burying my nose in books, not been on DS much in the last 10 days or so, until yesterday. I haven't written anything new lately either. I'll have to rectify that

Thanks for all the poems and to give me something nice to read! I have been on holiday in Spain and came back with a nasty chest infection so have been feeling very sorry for myself. Musty, I really loved your love poem. It was heartwarming.

THE CREATURE'S OF NIGHTMARES


There's a terrifying creature that lurks within your head,
It is ferocious and scary and will strike a monster dead!
It can savage things in its path and toss innocence away,
There's a terrifying creature in your thoughts today.

There's a menacing terror that sabotages dreams.
It rips apart a vulnerable heart and turns laughter into screams.
It will terrorise victims along its way and cast them into space
This terrifying entity, a thing without a face.

There's a nasty, wicked animal, lurking in the dark.
There's a fiend with a broken soul that is violent and stark.
It will rip apart your shattered soul and feed it to the beast,
It will terrorise the wilderness until all life has ceased.

There's a bitter, twisted demon waiting in your bed.
It will penetrate an aching heart until you're lying dead.
It will destroy everything and anything it can,
Because this evil entity is obviously man!

I'm sorry to hear that - get well soon

Thats a very emotive poem. Food for thought.