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Is Poetry a Dead Art? (Part 4)
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sandydune
10-01-2015
Wow

Wow
words on words become a problem
projectio as some would say
as those who live to fight with peace
as each and every day
long ago as was said
words will never hurt me
but you seem to bring
upon them back
somehow to reassert you
question why you do as such
because you know not why
but you are judged by such response
as silence then walks on by.
mr. mustard
13-01-2015
Originally Posted by performingmonk:
“Just brilliant, that one. ”

Originally Posted by sandydune:
“Athena, a goddess of many.”

Thanks PM & Sandy
mr. mustard
13-01-2015
This computer's having major problems - I wanted to comment on Frank and Sandy's poems, but it looks unlikely now!
mr. mustard
15-01-2015
The Paperman

The Paperman's dimension is a total mystery,
It's frozen in suspension far from our reality.

His body tends to taper and his hands and feet are points,
The man that's made of paper has no skeleton or joints.

The Paperman went seeking till he found a gate that led
To Earth, which left him freaking out inside his cone-like head.

Whenever on a visit to these blue inviting shores
He finds the town exquisite and the traffic he adores.

Although the noisy bustle of the city brought delight,
It made more sense to rustle round suburbia at night.

Young children in their slumber are the specimens that suit,
I can't assess the number but he's plucked a lot of fruit.

He comes for kids who snore there, like a silent trick or treat
To get beneath the door there he transfoms into a sheet.

The Paperman goes creeping up the stairs soft as a mouse
When everyone is sleeping sound inside the chosen house.

Skips lighter than a spider down the hall to find his prey,
Then lifting up the eiderdown it's time to wrap away.

At sisters and their brothers he will grin a grin that chills,
To murder them he smothers, paper suffocation kills.

Another parent greaves, another infant with no chance
And just before he leaves he does an origami dance.

So now you've been enlightened, when you hear a rustling sound
At night be very frightened, for the Paperman's around.


©
mr. mustard
15-01-2015
Originally Posted by sandydune:
“Wow

words will never hurt me”

Hi Sandy I enjoyed this - I wondered if it was inspired by the terrible events in France recently.
mr. mustard
15-01-2015
Originally Posted by sandydune:
“until when understand it's worth
so be sweetness amongst the stars.”

Lovely Sandy I often look up at the moon and stars at night. They make you feel really small sometimes
mr. mustard
15-01-2015
Originally Posted by Noe Soap:
“Earlier today I heard of terrorisms in France
By people with no music or any wish to dance.”

Hi Frank, happy belated new year

Your take on music I agree with 100% - I couldn't live without it. I spent last night listening to albums by All About Eve, The Waterboys and Morrissey.

Nice to see a Mozart reference in your poem and a knock at the haters who slaughtered those poor people in France.
sandydune
16-01-2015
Originally Posted by mr. mustard;:
“Hi Sandy I enjoyed this - I wondered if it was inspired by the terrible events in France recently.”

Hi Musty, thanks, the poem is just something about life in general. If words were a melody, what kind of melody would words be?
sandydune
16-01-2015
Originally Posted by mr. mustard:
“Lovely Sandy I often look up at the moon and stars at night. They make you feel really small sometimes ”

Thanks Musty

Something interesting, something to inspire, If the moon and stars were to look at you, what do you think they would say about you?
scottie2121
16-01-2015
The red ‘O’ in the register,

the empty chair.

The pen,

the pencil,

lying still.

The space in the classroom,

the gap in the line,

the empty peg,

and the puzzled looks.


“Never before.”

“What have you heard?”

Rumours whispered in the playground.


Then in we troop to take our places.


I know there is something wrong –

as Miss wipes her eye

and speaks in a voice

I have never heard before.


Silence chokes the air.
DiligentDan
17-01-2015
Here's one I wrote a long time ago.

"Past Imperfect"

No one knows what happened to the face I used to see
But everyone agrees she must have left us suddenly
Abandoned slogans float into the gutter with the rain
Which cleans the streets just so they can get littered once again
The crumbling stones of once grand buildings holding back the sky
Shored up with rusty scaffolding to keep them dignified
I heard a muffled scream behind the closed down nightclub stairs
I didn’t hang around because I’ve heard what happens there


Temptation’s just a glance away through footsteps in the fog
I drink my fill and stumble still through some back catalogue
A distant voice somewhere behind me told me to beware
My footsteps cracked like breaking glass with panic in the air
A siren wails for moments lost, for chance left unexplored
The screech of tyres racing onwards, goals yet to be scored
I swore I saw her smokescreen, felt her beckoning me on
Cast last sad glance behind me, feels like that’s where she comes from
Recalled the candle of her kiss, the halo of her sighs
Now withered and extinguished by the shallow of her eyes
Made frantic dash towards her, but she’s shielded by the night
My hand reached out to touch her as she vanished from my sight


I searched the grounds for hours for a trick, a chance, a clue
But I only ever see her when I’m not expecting to
Thrown blindfold through a passage where no-one has gone before
Past the bones of precious moments left forgotten on the floor
Condition of hypnosis where I look the other way
Stare spellbound in distraction while she makes her getaway
Admit defeat as neon strip-lights click off one by one
Another fruitless night is stolen by the rising sun.
mr. mustard
19-01-2015
Originally Posted by sandydune:
“If words were a melody, what kind of melody would words be?”

It'd depend on the mood of the speaker Sandy, whether calm or angry

Originally Posted by sandydune:
“If the moon and stars were to look at you, what do you think they would say about you?”

'Who's that insignificant little git?'
mr. mustard
19-01-2015
Originally Posted by DiligentDan:
“Admit defeat as neon strip-lights click off one by one
Another fruitless night is stolen by the rising sun.”

Just brilliant Dan! So many images and memories are in this that I was dazzled. But the imagery is improved even more by the rhythm - it's like the dull click of a metronome. The relentless beat makes the poem draw you on as the story unfolds.

Thanks for sharing - welcome to the thread Dan, if you haven't posted before
mr. mustard
19-01-2015
Originally Posted by scottie2121:
“The space in the classroom,
the gap in the line,”

What a marvellous evocation of a stunned classroom. I actually saw the scene and felt the moment of shock. Luckily I never experienced such a thing at school. Scottie, a poem this great should have a title in my opinion.
mr. mustard
19-01-2015
No poem from me today but I'll try to contribute something on Wednesday
mr. mustard
21-01-2015
The Alphabet Ruck

A began to rant and curse
Without a care for B,
Other letters acted worse,
Severely bugging C.

D was peaceful, you could tell
And so became the ref,
Which by the way was just as well
For E had used an F.

G tripped H to make him fall,
Provoking I to say
'None of you are capital,
Especially J and K.'

L made M act angrily
Who also disliked N,
O required an urgent P
But had to Q again.

R made faces at the rest
And horrid insults flew
After S learned T confessed
'I'm sick of seeing U.'

V (who wore a great big hat)
Tried everything to vex
W and in the spat
They walloped poor old X.

Tired of alphabetic rucks
Y thundered off to bed;
'When letters fight it really sucks'
Declared a weary Z.


©
mr. mustard
21-01-2015
Oh no The Paperman poem should have been called The Paperman Cometh

We all make mistakes
sandydune
21-01-2015
Originally Posted by mr. mustard:
“It'd depend on the mood of the speaker Sandy, whether calm or angry
”

Quite


Originally Posted by mr. mustard:
“'Who's that insignificant little git?' ”



Do you wear a hat Musty?
sandydune
21-01-2015
Tried and Tested

There's something quite elusive
tried and tested by some few
something quite intrusive but how
beware of those how misconstrue
thank you for such blessings
as such give though such truth
so with love may that now guide you some
as is as such there is in beauty
how we see as there has always been.
sandydune
23-01-2015
Have you heard

Have you heard the news today
lots of fun, laughter on the way

Have you heard the news today
we are living, a bright new day

Have you heard the news today
hey pleasant folks, have your say
scottie2121
23-01-2015
Play Time

With a gush and a whoosh the children push
out into the playground, out to play.
Like a tumbling stream they pour and scream,
splashing their voices high up in the air.

Some run, some chase all over the place
while some sit quietly with a friend.
They whisper and chat of this and that
but two sit apart and stare.

Their ears only hear
the words in the mind
that go round and round
time after time.

– I wish I’d never said what I said,
I should have said nothing at all instead.
But now it’s too late, we’re no longer friends –

A rush of words and friendship ends.

And so they sit
alone in the noise,
just sadness and sorrow
among girls and boys.

Then the bell is rung
and the playtime ends
and the silence flows thick
between those who were friends.
sandydune
23-01-2015
Originally Posted by scottie2121:
“Play Time


I wish I’d never said what I said,
I should have said nothing at all instead.
”

That works well together, an interesting poem about lost but never forgotten friendships.
mr. mustard
24-01-2015
Originally Posted by sandydune:
“Do you wear a hat Musty?”

Yes, all the time Sandy - why do you ask?
mr. mustard
24-01-2015
Originally Posted by scottie2121:
“and the silence flows thick
between those who were friends.”

I am loving your work Scottie This is is another marvellous vignette from schooldays, something I look back on with mixed emotions. Unusual to see a rhyming poem from you and it works really well.
mr. mustard
24-01-2015
Originally Posted by sandydune:
“]There's something quite elusive
tried and tested by some few”

The Sandy style of writing - I'm still trying to emulate it but I'm finding it hard!
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