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Is Poetry a Dead Art? (Part 4) |
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#2226 |
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Location: Berkshire
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Quote:
Dreary
This groggy air isn't fair makes people wander and question where a blue sky can be just covered over with dreary listen blue sky you need to be up and about so get moving and sort those old cobwebs out. |
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#2227 |
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Join Date: May 2006
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Nelson Column
Nelson Column
If the spirit of Horatio Nelson inhabited that hard to see image of an attribution of him from a grateful nation atop its column. The icon pigeon smeared statue in Trafalgar Square, imagine a ghostly conversation from the plinth above tourists' scrums. Long dead Admiral Nelson spoke to loyal Thomas Hardy with concrete croak: “You see better than I, with my one eye, Thomas. Tell me pray what do they with such devices, the people below pointing up at me?” Guano shards fell from his calcified lips towards the crowd. “Damned birds defectating on me for ever, now this horde.” “My Lord,” said Hardy, “It is, I read, called a selfie picture made of themselves with your monument. It is a supremely selfish society: the mobs’ modern way, in this newly world. Self before duty and all else." His stony eyes froze to its sculted pose looking forward to the square scape, one arm holding a sword. Nelson slipped invisibly away. He was at peace that his city haunt was over, returned to the usual jaunt in fields of clover, with his lover Lady Hamilton. Happy as ever was, given a ghost of a chance, to do his duty. |
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#2228 |
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Join Date: Jun 2011
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Quote:
Originally Posted by wizzywick
Sorry Sandy but I'm going to be contrary! Whilst I enjoyed your poem (as ever), I don't want there to be anymore blue sky for a while! I want cold, gloomy days and a proper, old fashioned winter! It's been warm and sunny for way too long now!
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#2229 |
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Join Date: Nov 2004
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Quote:
Nelson Column
If the spirit of Horatio Nelson inhabited that hard to see image of an attribution of him from a grateful nation atop its column. The icon pigeon smeared statue in Trafalgar Square, imagine a ghostly conversation from the plinth above tourists' scrums. Long dead Admiral Nelson spoke to loyal Thomas Hardy with concrete croak: “You see better than I, with my one eye, Thomas. Tell me pray what do they with such devices, the people below pointing up at me?” Guano shards fell from his calcified lips towards the crowd. “Damned birds defectating on me for ever, now this horde.” “My Lord,” said Hardy, “It is, I read, called a selfie picture made of themselves with your monument. It is a supremely selfish society: the mobs’ modern way, in this newly world. Self before duty and all else." His stony eyes froze to its sculted pose looking forward to the square scape, one arm holding a sword. Nelson slipped invisibly away. He was at peace that his city haunt was over, returned to the usual jaunt in fields of clover, with his lover Lady Hamilton. Happy as ever was, given a ghost of a chance, to do his duty. |
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#2230 |
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Quote:
Coincidentally I too have just finished reading Oliver Twist. What I found surprising is how totally different it is to screen adaptations..
Quote:
Wow! Just wow. That last verse (quoted above) is superb! Thanks musty. Yet another enjoyable read.
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#2231 |
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Quote:
[“Damned birds
defectating on me for ever, now this horde." It's such a shame the pigeons were driven away from Trafalgar Square.
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#2232 |
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Join Date: Nov 2006
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Vampiress
I advertise myself in local papers And change my name to 'Vicky' for the chore, Male readers think I'm only A woman who is lonely, A one-night stand, another chance to score. I always wear a sexy little number, Max Factor makes my features come alive, Chanel is good for sprinkling, Nobody has an inkling I've been around since fifteen twenty-five. On dates if I am questioned by a suitor The answers given are a pack of lies, How often I've pretended And when the meal has ended They get that hopeful look inside their eyes. The drive home to my flat increases tension, I ask them in for coffeee, well aware Although it is destructive An offer so seductive Will be accepted by men everywhere. I play them Lady Grinning Soul by Bowie, The candles flicker while we're having sex, But just before eruption There comes an interruption When fangs sink into unsuspecting necks. They scream in pain and pleasure as I savour Elixir sweet as any vintage wine, Delicious, red and sticky, Some even murmur 'Vicky' In passion as our bloody limbs entwine. The Prince of Darkness told me to seduce them, His bite was like a torturer's hot brand, I made love to the undead And now I have the one bed Where ecstasy and bliss go hand in hand. © |
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#2233 |
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The thread was seven years old yesterday
![]() Happy Birthday to us all
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#2234 |
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Re: Vampiress:
Love it musty! Made me feel a little uncomfortable and it made me smile. A brilliant contrasting poem. It inspired me to post one I wrote, but be warned: it's a whopper! I wanted to write a non-sensical story with a bit of eerie-ness attached. It was written for fun, but it's one long continuous verse. Hope you (and all you guys on here) like it: The Quickest Way to Hell As freezing rain pours from an angry sky, Lights from cars dazzle as they drive on by This is a night that will be endless and black, I am lost on this road, there's no turning back. There's a tumbledown house beyond on the hill, When I see it I feel an enigmatic chill. Something's amiss, I can't figure what So I travel to the house, carrying all that I've got. The rocky track to the hill is narrow and unlit, I trip and in panic upon a mound I do sit. From the troubled sky, rain continues to fall, In the distance I can hear a scream, perhaps a distress call. I am startled at the menacing noise that I hear, And I continue on my journey, with newly found fear. The hill path is steep and eternally long. That scream I heard, was something wrong? Was someone perishing alone in this rain? Were they hurt, or in terrible pain? It is baffling at what goes through your head In times when you're apprehensive and filled with dread. Eventually I get to the house, and I knock on the door. There is no answer, but I hear a scream once more. It came from beyond, over there in the wood, It didn't sound normal, it didn't sound good. Once more on the door of the house I rap, At the very same time as a huge thunder clap. The scream I heard echoes, it pierces my mind, Someone is out there, but my conscience is blind. As lightning flashes throughout the sky, My innerself wonders if I'm about to die. So I try the door-knob and it opens up wide, It is dark within but I venture inside. At least it is dry, there is no one about. At the top of my voice I eagerly shout. But no one hears me, the house is bare, It is certain that no one dwells in there. Outside I hear the scream, but this time it's near. I try to ignore the noises I hear. I should go and investigate, to put peace in my head, But part of me thinks that I'll end up dead! As the rain keeps falling and the thunder roars, I explore the house and I open its doors. Behind every one is nothing, a mass of doom Bringing sorrow and blackness to every room. The scream is louder, and then louder still, And someone's behind me, I am feeling a chill. I look around and am amazed at what's there. A blood laden woman with an evil stare. Her head is tilted, it leans to the right. I nervously ask her if she's alright. She opens her mouth, and then starts to cry As rain continues falling from the starless sky. As thunder roars and lightning beams, Nothing is really as it all seems. The crying woman is sobbing out her heart, And she bursts out some words - her story does start. She crashed her car, on a road across the moor. She went for help but couldn't find her way back anymore. She took many a path but they led her away, So in this tumbledown house she decided to stay. She tripped in the woods, she cut open her head, And the incident filled her with terror and dread. She started to scream as she was hungry and cold Longing to meet someone who can help and behold. This troublesome night is eerie and wet. There's still many hours until morning yet! Our cars are deserted, we are stranded alone, Hungry, thirsty and chilled to the bone. As the night progressed and the rain stopped falling, On my mobile phone I decided to start calling. A signal was absent, so no calls could be made. But now safe in the house, our fear started to fade. As the rain dried up and the moon started to shine, Everything around seemed perfect and fine. A beautiful light shining to the ground below, Brightening the world with its silver glow. The moon was full, the stars were bright, A chill was present in this endless night. But, as the moon shone through the tumbledown shack, The blood laden woman was lying, in pain on her back. She was wriggling and writhing as if fighting for breath Was I witnessing her untimely death? But she got up and stretched her arms out wide, I felt discomfort and terror building inside. Her hands turned to claws, her face started to change, And suddenly there before me, was something fiercesome and strange She was a werewolf, she came straight out of hell! All of a sudden, I didn't feel very well! She started to howl and she looked into my face, I knew I had to get out of this place. Out of the house I ran down the hill, The world was silent, the world was still. Then down a hole I went, I tripped and I fell, I thought this was the quickest way to get to hell!.... But hell I didn't get to, I was safe in my bed, For the day before I tripped and hit my head! I was resting and drearily nursing my brow And the werewolf slipped into my dreams somehow! Perhaps a movie I watched, a TV show, And the characters into a tumbledown house did go. But, as my friend brought me shopping into my home, She started to let out a tiresome groan. The moon outside was silver and bright, Then I heard a sound that gave me a fright. My friend let out a howl, I ran out of the door, I didn't want to have her as a friend anymore.............. (c) |
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#2235 |
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Join Date: Jun 2012
Posts: 6,314
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A really old one here
Three Views Of A Tree
1 At the edge of the woods stands my tree. Every morning I gaze out from my bedroom window and see it, standing patiently by the path into the woods, waiting for me to come out to play. The autumn wind is shaking its branches bare and all around its sun-dappled roots swirl the brown leaves that once covered my tree in shimmering green. The familiar knotted faces on the trunk look down on me and I call out their names and tease them for their dumb expressions that change under the arcing sun. Every day I dance under its gathering arms, hands waving free above my head, feet scrunching through the crisp leaves, the seeds, the splintered twigs, kicking up swirls and showers, covering myself with the smell of the woods, joyfully falling down onto cushions of leaves, staring up through the criss-cross of branches through to the clear, blue sky of my childhood. 2 The blackened skeleton veins of leaves pile up, rotten, on the damp ground. Spindled branches, like the wasted limbs of a hundred cadavers, arch over my head, clasping to themselves the rotting stench of death and dying that rises from all around my feet. The mocking, twisted faces peering out from the trunk crudely mirror my soul with their shadowed expressions. I idly kick a fractured branch which breaks with a dully satisfying thup and spreads a cloud of dusty spores from the vampiric fungi that have drained away its life. I breathe the thick air with a grim smile of friendship. It suits my time and mood to be here. 3 I am drawn back this autumn to the tree of my childhood. In the distance I see its familiar, stark shape by the overgrown path into the woods. My old home, long emptied of laughter and love and tears, seems to be part of another life, out of my memory, fading into the distance over my shoulder. The low, golden sunlight strikes the burnished damp-dewed leaves that decorate the floor around the foot of the tree. I walk closer, ever closer to my tree, drawn by the rich copper, bronze, gold hues of each fallen leaf, beaten by Nature’s hand into its own precious hue. I gently stoop, then kneel and peer down at the dew-speckled ground. I observe each leaf, each cell in its own brilliance and remember that long-ago smell of damp and decay. I look around my feet and no longer see death, just leaves sapping into the Earth. Ants scurrying with scraps down into the ground. Earthworms tugging leaves into the soil to feed, nurture, recycle, resurrect that which was once dead into a spring awakening. |
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#2236 |
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Join Date: Nov 2006
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Quote:
The Quickest Way to Hell
It must have taken ages to write but it kept me hooked from the start. Certain films came to mind reading this, including the marvellous An American Werewolf In London ![]() I'm glad you enjoyed Vampiress, thanks for the feedback A few of my poems are written from a female perspective, an exercise I quite enjoy
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#2237 |
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Join Date: Nov 2006
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Quote:
Three Views Of A Tree
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#2238 |
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Join Date: Nov 2006
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LS Lowry's Bird's-Eye Views
LS Lowry's Bird's-eye views, Rarely are skies blue, LS Lowry's Crowds and queues Doing what they do. Chimney smoke Sustained by coal, Factories of grey Guarantee Another dull Humdrum English day. Nothing much Occurred of note, Streets are always bleak Where the busy Matchstick herd Work five days a week. He admitted Loneliness Was the only way, Bird's-eye views Achieved success Distanced from the fray. LS Lowry Painted clear Scenes of what he saw; Real people in Lancashire As they were before. © |
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#2239 |
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Quote:
A really old one here
Three Views Of A Tree |
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#2240 |
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Quote:
LS Lowry's Bird's-Eye Views
i was thinking about Izzy this morning. I hope she's OK. She hasn't posted for awhile. So, Izzy, if you're reading, hello and hope you are well. |
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#2241 |
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A simpler poem today. Based upon the philosophy that life is for living:
Celebrations Life seems to pass on by, Without us realising it. There's too much standing, rushing But not much time to sit. We barely even notice When daytime turns to night Yet every day, without asking We assume everyone's alright. We do not understand Another person's tears, We never try to remedy Another person's fears. We let each seperate day, Merge into one. We want the day to finish Before it has begun. A special occasion Passes by And yet we continue as before, The sun shining in the sky Casts our shadows upon the floor. For we need to celebrate Life should be lived to the excess. Enjoy, laugh and learn to love To diminsh those times of stress. Everyday should be a celebration Of all that we have got And when we lay things in a pile We learn we've got a lot. There's no need to keep on pushing To race through days and hours, For by doing that we miss the sun And only get the showers. |
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#2242 |
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Join Date: Jun 2011
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Quote:
Originally Posted by mr. mustard
A superb piece Sandy - epic, dark and Poe-like throughout. The descriptions here are so clear that I could really visualize the trees in all their glory.
![]() Musty, that's not a poem of mine. ![]() I like the way scottie2121 has made the poem look like trees.
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#2243 |
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Join Date: Jun 2011
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Quote:
Originally Posted by scottie2121
Three Views Of A Tree 1 At the edge of the woods stands my tree. Every morning I gaze out from my bedroom window and see it, standing patiently by the path into the woods, waiting for me to come out to play. The autumn wind is shaking its branches bare and all around its sun-dappled roots swirl the brown leaves that once covered my tree in shimmering green. The familiar knotted faces on the trunk look down on me and I call out their names and tease them for their dumb expressions that change under the arcing sun. Every day I dance under its gathering arms, hands waving free above my head, feet scrunching through the crisp leaves, the seeds, the splintered twigs, kicking up swirls and showers, covering myself with the smell of the woods, joyfully falling down onto cushions of leaves, staring up through the criss-cross of branches through to the clear, blue sky of my childhood. 2 The blackened skeleton veins of leaves pile up, rotten, on the damp ground. Spindled branches, like the wasted limbs of a hundred cadavers, arch over my head, clasping to themselves the rotting stench of death and dying that rises from all around my feet. The mocking, twisted faces peering out from the trunk crudely mirror my soul with their shadowed expressions. I idly kick a fractured branch which breaks with a dully satisfying thup and spreads a cloud of dusty spores from the vampiric fungi that have drained away its life. I breathe the thick air with a grim smile of friendship. It suits my time and mood to be here. 3 I am drawn back this autumn to the tree of my childhood. In the distance I see its familiar, stark shape by the overgrown path into the woods. My old home, long emptied of laughter and love and tears, seems to be part of another life, out of my memory, fading into the distance over my shoulder. The low, golden sunlight strikes the burnished damp-dewed leaves that decorate the floor around the foot of the tree. I walk closer, ever closer to my tree, drawn by the rich copper, bronze, gold hues of each fallen leaf, beaten by Nature’s hand into its own precious hue. I gently stoop, then kneel and peer down at the dew-speckled ground. I observe each leaf, each cell in its own brilliance and remember that long-ago smell of damp and decay. I look around my feet and no longer see death, just leaves sapping into the Earth. Ants scurrying with scraps down into the ground. Earthworms tugging leaves into the soil to feed, nurture, recycle, resurrect that which was once dead into a spring awakening.
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#2244 |
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Quote:
Originally Posted by mr. mustard
Happy Birthday to us all
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#2245 |
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Quote:
Originally Posted by wizzywick
A simpler poem today. Based upon the philosophy that life is for living:
Celebrations
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#2246 |
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Join Date: May 2006
Location: Scotland
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Quote:
Another cracking poem musty.
i was thinking about Izzy this morning. I hope she's OK. She hasn't posted for awhile. So, Izzy, if you're reading, hello and hope you are well. im still around. I keep getting email notifications of replies to this thread - I hadn't checked here in a while, so finally thought I maybe should but I haven't written in a while. I'd like to but haven't been in the right frame of mind. I've been very angry lately, there's been lots of shouting (mostly from me :-/) and I get tired of writing negative pieces. I have numerous books to read too but I rarely feel motivated to read either, at the moment.
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#2247 |
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Forum Member
Join Date: May 2006
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Ok, how's this? not great, a bit repetitive but ok, I think(?).
The Moon In The Dark of Night by IzzyS Do you ever wonder, what lies beyond? in the cold of night, on a crisp winters eve, look above and consider what may be. Some nights the moon appears; bold as brass, proudly prominent in the skyline, reminding us that there's more. Up above and far into the distance, a curiosity may be stirred in us - as we ponder what is yet to be discovered? where do we sit, in the grand scheme of things?. Still the moon watches over us, shining light down on a blanket of darkness, where in parts illuminations do not reach. As the year heads towards its inevitable end, celebrations begin, our excuse to look past what we're given, cold, dark days, the uncertainty to what extent mother natures grip will be felt, from one year to the next winters hold on us may vary, yet as a species we refuse to let the bleakness overwhelm us, on bonfire night, bright explosions of colour zig zag, explode and trickle down, booming noises echo throughout towns far and wide, and soon lights will be switched on, in preparation for the festive season, as we console ourselves - put our decorations up and convince ourselves, things aren't so dark and bleak, are they? After all, Spring only ever follows Winter. |
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#2248 |
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Join Date: Jun 2011
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Interesting poem Izzy.
![]() Have you seen the Moon tonight Izzy? Quite bright a shine, doesn't say much but always there from afar as the stars, they say nothing, absolutely nothing.
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#2249 |
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Join Date: Jun 2011
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The Weekend
You thanked me like a hurricane as I thanked you like the autumn rain after you went came the afterthought as the weekend begins |
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#2250 |
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Forum Member
Join Date: May 2006
Location: Scotland
Posts: 9,318
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Quote:
Interesting poem Izzy.
![]() Have you seen the Moon tonight Izzy? Quite bright a shine, doesn't say much but always there from afar as the stars, they say nothing, absolutely nothing. ![]()
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