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Is Poetry a Dead Art? (Part 4)


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Old 01-12-2014, 09:51
mr. mustard
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Vincent van Gogh

His early works were bleak studies of peasants,
Observing rural poverty alone,
An artist with a solitary presence
Who captured every melancholy tone.

Then other subjects we can see his hand shape,
Becoming clear and brighter all the while;
The wooden fishing boats and harvest landscape,
The woman at the table with a smile.

A café where the customers are drinking
Beneath a stunning network of white stars,
A boiling sun of orange slowly sinking,
Sunflowers gathered in a china vase.

The home portrayed with brilliant walls of yellow,
The pipe he loved to smoke and chair for ease,
Those cypress trees so beautiful and mellow
I almost hear them rustling on the breeze.

But mental illness left him torn and tainted,
A bandage soaked in blood, an angry snarl,
He had to go away yet still he painted
The courtyard of the hospital in Arles.

Depicted as a vivid raging ocean,
The cornfield was a sign the end was nigh
And crows above it causing a commotion
Predicted what would come in hot July.

O Vincent with a gun you chose to sever
The loneliness, to heaven you were hurled
Quite unaware we'd celebrate forever
The way you saw the beauty of the world.


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Old 01-12-2014, 09:56
mr. mustard
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Hey little
strange world
I enjoyed this Sandy - it reminded me of the song Little Earth by Kate Bush
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Old 04-12-2014, 09:14
mr. mustard
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Cessna 9 to Base

'I'm not sure what I've got,
Bright as a supernova
In front of me it shot,
Is traffic busy? Over.'

'Is that you Cessna 9?
I can give confirmation
Night skies are clear and fine,
What's your exact location?'

'Five thousand feet no more,
As I was making my way
A massive shape I saw
Speed fast above the highway.'

'I copy that, stand by,
Is it some plane you know there?
Can you identify
Or is a UFO there?'

'A light glowed red and green
So fast I couldn't scan it!
If that was a machine
It wasn't from this planet.'

'Our sensors show no sign
Of anything enormous,
You'd best land Cessna 9,
Come in and then inform us.'

'Above again I see
The thing is going slower,
It's far too close to me,
My god it's getting lower!'

'The line is not intact,
You're breaking up, there's hissing,
I've lost radar contact,
Come in, have you gone missing?'

'They've taken me inside....'


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Old 04-12-2014, 20:38
sandydune
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Originally Posted by mr. mustard
I enjoyed this Sandy - it reminded me of the song Little Earth by Kate Bush
Kate Bush, she's a lovely singer, also very expressive visually.
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Old 06-12-2014, 16:14
IzzyS
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Nice one Izzy You pointed out the endless options that are available to anyone writing poetry. One of the strengths of this thread is the sheer range of topics covered.

Nice to see we've hit 80,000 views by the way
Thanks I was trying to think what to write about initially and then I suppose I thought 'why not write about not being sure what to write about'
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Old 07-12-2014, 15:35
scottie2121
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Great write Scottie - a new spin on vampirism! I'd like to meet her
Nah, you wouldn't.




She's a pain in the neck!
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Old 07-12-2014, 15:37
scottie2121
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Split

There’s blood in the tracks
of her tears –

seeping
thick
raw.

Bloodied weeping madonna –

eyes
salted
iron-ore-red.

And inside -
split
torn apart.

- you –
you say
- you’ve put a knife through my heart –
you say
- but I love you –
you say
- will we ever make love again –
you say

Monotone words
falling from your slack mouth.

Web thin.

You’re in a place I could never be.
Life melting,
spreading out
over a cracked floor.
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Old 09-12-2014, 10:20
mr. mustard
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Carry On Kenneth

Raucous cackled leering Sid,
The pay was rather paltrey,
Fond of Hattie; God forbid
The thought of Charlie Hawtrey.
Acting in the films you hate
As minor stars get bigger,
Sickened when you contemplate
Your worthless face and figure.

Mangelwurzel round the Horne,
At one more dreary soirée
Dish the insults and the scorn
Encoded in Palare;
Comb your riah, gaze at boys
And when you feel frustration
Have the 'Barclays', sexual joys
Are dead despite temptation.

Everyone's a crashing bore
Except your mum, it's noted
Lou sits in the front row for
Her son and stays devoted,
Loneliness was always there,
Did longing in the closet
Hurt as you played solitaire,
O Kenneth please, what was it?

In a restaurant rejoice
And smash the rules that cage us,
Flare the nostrils, raise the voice,
Proceed to act outrageous,
Make them plead for more until
They're crying tears of laughter,
Catch the instant of a thrill,
The empty flat comes after.

Bitch about the nation's health,
Read endless books on culture,
Acid-toned despise yourself
And every liberal vulture;
Gleeful at the great divide
Accept death's steely bayonet,
Grateful go with suicide,
Leave diaries to explain it.


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Old 09-12-2014, 10:24
mr. mustard
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She's a pain in the neck!


Great write Scottie - I liked the rhythym of the 'you say' section in the middle
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Old 09-12-2014, 10:25
mr. mustard
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Kate Bush, she's a lovely singer, also very expressive visually.
I made a Kate Bush tape the other day Sandy - it's perfect on autumn days when I'm driving through the countryside
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Old 09-12-2014, 17:21
wizzywick
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my goodness you guys have posted some cracking poems over the past few days. I have been busy finishing my book "A Gift For Christmas" which contains a handful of festive poems, including the Advent poem WHEN DECEMBER COMES which was posted on here a few pages back. I did say I'd post this again here during December, so here goes:

WHEN DECEMBER COMES


When December comes the world shines.
Smiles on faces are renewed and glow.
Emotions and joy that somehow entwines
Moments and magic with glistening snow.

Love is strong as the happiness around
Gathers hope into the coldest heart.
The air is filled with a silent sound
That crescendos when Christmas will start

This is the end of another long year
The time when demons are cast to the night.
The days when sorrow is replaced by cheer
And darkness is brightened by light.

When the saviour’s birth is remembered once more
And the message of peace is rife,
Embrace to your heart the ones you adore
Your husband, your children, your wife.

When December comes, the world will freeze
But will be warmed by the brightest of star.
An ancient story, carried on a magical breeze
From Bethlehem afar.

As Christmas departs and the calendar turns,
Your future will start to look clear.
The happy thoughts that your glad heart yearns
Wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

(c) 2014

I am also happy to share another one with you. I am concerned that the purpose and meaning of Christmas is lost amongst the hustle and bustle of commercialism. Christmas has become about beating up other shoppers to get a cheap telly, so I have focused on the Christmas story which is about as magical and festive as you can get. So, for you all, I present the brand new poem Light of the Stable.


LIGHT OF THE STABLE


The night air was cool, not a cloud in the sky,
And hundreds of precious sheep passed by.
Shepherds were seated upon the rocky ground
And heavenly glory shone all around.

The shepherds were startled, they were afraid,
Of this unusual music the angel had made.
It had no melody and it wasn't a song,
But its infectious sound was powerful and strong.

The good news had come, the saviour was born
And was placed in a cowshed all meek and forlorn.
He was to teach all mankind the way
And so it became the first Christmas Day!

"Go to Bethlehem, it is not very far!
Guide yourselves by the light of the star!
You will find the saviour in paupers wear,
Hurry! Go and worship him there!"

Sang the Angel, before ascending above
And the world and the shepherds were adorned with love
So, the Shepherds did as the Angel desired,
They journey'd to Bethl'em, confused and tired.

It is known that at the time of the birth,
A beautiful star shone down to the earth.
And following its light were three wise kings
A wondrous gift each one of them brings.

The star light stopped over a tumbledown shed,
Inside the holy babe was resting his head.
Laying in a manger, all wondrous and pure,
When shepherds came peering through the stable door.

"We have come to worship him" one did say,
And they all gathered around and started to pray.
They blessed the child and with love as a prize
The star made daylight out of dark night skies.

The three kings came, the babe did not stir,
They gave gold, frankinscence and myrrh.
And soon the babe was worshiped by most,
In the name of The Father, The Son and the Holy Ghost.

And two thousand years of time has gone by
We remember the star shining up in the sky,
We remember the shepherds, the wise men three
We remember the poor and the wandering free.

They all came to worship, they gave more than were able
As they were blessed with love by the light of the stable.
And as Christmas Day comes around once more,
Let's try to remember what it's all for.

(c) 2014. Taken from my book "A Gift For Christmas".

Finally, musty I'm really pleased for you that you have nearly completed a book. If you would care to PM me when it's ready I'd be more than happy, and infact, excited, to purchase a copy.

For Christmas Day I will post a third and final poem from my book called, quite fittingly, "On Christmas Morning". I am glad to see you guys are all well.
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Old 12-12-2014, 02:02
archiver
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Daft Prophet.

All soft as velvet cushion land.
As pampered as a prophet.
Free pamphlets on seduction and
just knowing you'll cop it.

As far out as far out can be
(without accomplices).
Bordering insanity
no doubt establishes:

one's freedom to be how you choose.
Your abnormality,
honed by all the little clues
from one's Big family,
to guide you, and now there you are.
You may surpass us all by far.

And when you've done with this small place
then forward into outer space.

Sixteen thousand years later,
most believe, you were greater,
than all those before and aft'.
Propheteering is just daft.
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Old 12-12-2014, 16:28
wizzywick
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Daft Prophet.

All soft as velvet cushion land.
As pampered as a prophet.
Free pamphlets on seduction and
just knowing you'll cop it.

As far out as far out can be
(without accomplices).
Bordering insanity
no doubt establishes:

one's freedom to be how you choose.
Your abnormality,
honed by all the little clues
from one's Big family,
to guide you, and now there you are.
You may surpass us all by far.

And when you've done with this small place
then forward into outer space.

Sixteen thousand years later,
most believe, you were greater,
than all those before and aft'.
Propheteering is just daft.
Great poem. Very insightful. I enjoyed it. Thanks for sharing.
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Old 12-12-2014, 23:24
sandydune
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Originally Posted by mr. mustard
I made a Kate Bush tape the other day Sandy - it's perfect on autumn days when I'm driving through the countryside
Good to singalong to also.
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Old 12-12-2014, 23:26
sandydune
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Originally Posted by mr. mustard;
Carry On Kenneth


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Carry Ons made us laugh didn't they, so carry on laughing
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Old 12-12-2014, 23:34
sandydune
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What is Anger

What is anger but a means to
What is anger but a turn
What is anger but a face
What is anger but a question
What is anger but untrue reflection
Anger has no place to dwell
goodbye anger farewell.
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Old 14-12-2014, 09:29
wizzywick
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What is Anger

What is anger but a means to
What is anger but a turn
What is anger but a face
What is anger but a question
What is anger but untrue reflection
Anger has no place to dwell
goodbye anger farewell.
You've pretty much summed up what it is to feel angry. I love your last two lines:
Anger has no place to dwell
goodbye anger farewell


I often wonder why I get angry about so much these days. Perhaps I'm just getting old.
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Old 16-12-2014, 09:11
mr. mustard
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LIGHT OF THE STABLE
A wonderful poem Wizzy - although I'm not a Christian, it annoys me how the message of Christianity has been erased in many quarters. Going by the adverts on TV, this time of year's only about stuffing your face

It's nice to see the real meaning being communicated on the thread
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Old 16-12-2014, 09:15
mr. mustard
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John! Welcome back

I agree with Wizzy - this is a great poem and it has a sci-fi tone, a side of your material I always enjoy
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Old 16-12-2014, 09:16
mr. mustard
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Anger has no place to dwell
goodbye anger farewell.
I heartily agree with you Sandy, anger is a very negative emotion. To avoid it I don't watch programmes like Question Time
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Old 16-12-2014, 09:20
mr. mustard
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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 I taste 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 horizons clear and warm
Above a green domain,
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.


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Old 16-12-2014, 09:25
mr. mustard
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Finally, musty I'm really pleased for you that you have nearly completed a book. If you would care to PM me when it's ready I'd be more than happy, and infact, excited, to purchase a copy.
Thanks Wizzy I'll probably put the link on this thread, but I'll PM you if you're not around. My technical helper has broken his arm in a fall, delaying the book's production even further Never mind, we're still hoping for a January/February release date. That reminds me of an old Barbara Dickson song
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Old 16-12-2014, 09:31
mr. mustard
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Carry Ons made us laugh didn't they, so carry on laughing
I love Sid's cackle
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Old 17-12-2014, 16:18
scottie2121
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We all change … don’t we?

The wind of change blew hard that day
stretching hazy shadows across our way,
leaving our thin, grey smudges flat behind us,
spreading the dying autumn leaves . . swirled then lifted . . around our muffled feet,
casting them hither and thither across the cold ground.
I tried to hold your hand but the chill
pulled me back to the comfort of my own pocket.
And I felt easier like that.
Once your hand would have been there too,
sharing my warmth,
but now my withdrawal felt necessary -
no wrong signals to be given out,
just tied thoughts to be kept tight -
hidden, caught and scared.

I now let them seep,
one drop at a time – a water torture.

There’s no easy way.
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Old 18-12-2014, 09:08
mr. mustard
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We all change … don’t we?
I got great images from this piece Scottie - overcast autumn days and a sense of loss. A peculularly British poem.
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