We are moving to this
moving past the fog of
being and becoming,
being and becoming,
restless movement to
our promised self.
Wednesday 7th October 2015 4:33 am
Also by Josh Ford:Replica by Josh Ford | Neon by Josh Ford |
Moving day; a time of excitement, worry and letting go. My baby girl has finished college, married the man of her dreams and is beginning a new chapter in her life. The van left an hour ago and on a whim I went to the attic to make sure she had everything. I glanced around and tucked in the corner the words “china” in girlish writing popped out at me.
Tuesday 6th October 2015 10:57 pm
Tags: inspiration,love,memories,moving on
Alfred my Father.
First time saw Alfred was in New York, 1955. He appeared on a club` stage
playing sweet music. I was alone and frightened
lost in a strange world so my father followed me back to the ship a night
of yellow fog and light rain.
For many years, I didn`t see Alfred busy as I was growing up and yes, not
to forget all the beautiful girls how can a father compete ...
Tuesday 6th October 2015 10:09 pm
up is down and down is up
today I rocketed on my jet boots
from the top of my favourite fig tree
to the first level of the upper world
where I met the laughing Buddha
together we danced ring-a-rosie
and went cloud diving
caught a tornado to the second level
emerging in the garden of Eden
where we floated on lotus flower lie-lows
in a pool
with a shy frog...
Tuesday 6th October 2015 5:38 pm
Grey poverty and shining ignorance,
both born of passive rage
now lie burnt out behind taut eyelids,
neither choosing fortune’s path,
two poor and proud
gouging blindly heavenwards
to scar their unjust biased constellations,
then fall, defeated
to await their tragic epilogues,
duly cowed, with star-bruised f...
Tuesday 6th October 2015 4:34 pm
Critical Discourse Analysis is the study of language either verbal or nonverbal. It deals with the understanding of meaning hidden in the utterances. Teachers, Linguists, and professionals apply various tools of CDA for the analysis of language. Can such tools be applied for the analysis of poetic language? SHEERAZ ALI
Tuesday 6th October 2015 1:59 pm
What will happen if we find an end to our universe?
are you ready to please me? i will make you my s3xslave!
It's Foxy Time!
It's Foxy Time!
It's Foxy Time!
It's Foxy Time!
What will happen if we find an end to our universe?
Too many newsletters? You can unsubscribe.
What will happen if we find an end to our unive...
Tuesday 6th October 2015 12:44 pm
Also by Stu Buck:garibaldi | Fed | Luke 10:25 |
Liam Fox fixes roofs by hitting old folks hard,
hammering the benefits that keep them warm and dry.
Alex Wild thinks they won’t recall who cut their fuel,
and even if they did, well he’s expecting them to die
so it doesn’t matter anyway, does it Alex Wild,
to freeze out folk who pay your wages, keep your nazi arse
in a Tax Alliance think tank making money from the old?...
Tuesday 6th October 2015 10:14 am
Tags: third reich,tory policy,tory threat
Tidworth was the arsehole of the World
And Bulford was five miles up it
It didn’t really matter to us
Everywhere was nowhere
Like a Carry On movie on acid
Screaming half witted Sarnt Majors
So erect but obviously flaccid
Their enthusiasm not contagious
Preparing for the Russian hordes
Playing soldiers on the plain
They might as well have issued swords
Tuesday 6th October 2015 9:29 am
Tags: Military life
Also by David Moore:After the Bomb | Fishing with words | October | The other kind | Paedophile |
Bro,tell me please
To your heart's content
Enjoying a French kiss
In squeezing out
The nectar of their lady-hood
Are the lasses
For a while you keep
By your chest
To burn them to ashes
Squash them down
Under your heels?
Tuesday 6th October 2015 8:15 am
Tags: Love selfish fickle Platonic
Also by Alem Hailu G/Kristos:To hide a bloodstined hand | What shall I be ? |
If the tears of joy you have caused me to shed were stored in a vial
alongside the bitter tears that I have brought upon myself.
The measure might well be equal, but the lasting delight
in the tears of joy could never be measured nor equalled.
Monday 5th October 2015 10:50 pm
Also by Huw Thomas:...without hope. | If only, if only, if only. | fake. |
I must be away soon
It can`t be long
The old heart
Now going like the clappers
Now missing the odd beat
At the core
Of the whole - the entire - caboodle
Then The Big Blot
Monday 5th October 2015 9:59 pm
Also by Harry O`N eill:Bon Voyage |
A Pint of Bitter, A Pint of Mixed, And Some
Change for the Pool Machine Please!
I will not cry upon your departure –
I will neither bury my head
In hands or upon her false buxom,
But I will remember,
I will not sing praises
And platitudes of honour,
And lie like a bastard –
Perhaps the bastard I am,
I will r...
Monday 5th October 2015 9:28 pm
Also by Noetic-fret!:An Evolution of Attitude |
Come gather round and listen to a tale of yesteryear,
When men were men and went on expeditions without fear,
When handlebar moustaches were in vogue and hearts were true,
When shooting and then stuffing stuff was what we used to do.
The double barrelled brotherhood would travel far and wide
In pith helmet and khaki shorts to cover broad backsides,
As on their way through Africa ...
Monday 5th October 2015 6:20 pm
Also by Jonathan Humble:The Ballad Of The Fruit Bowl |
Several times i was around you,
Several times in your heart.
You promised to love me forever,
And i did hold on to that thought.
So love hold me tight now more than ever,
Soon you will be gone and this time will be over.
Again there will be long days and lonely nights,
Without you being there by my side.
You will be far far away in the land of fire and fury,
Monday 5th October 2015 10:52 am
Retired to a place where men die
old and comfortable by their favored brand of cigarettes,
burned themselves down and down into heroic coals
down and down , the flags of the fathers
ashes reigning benevolence over sons in memoriam
a tired, doomed sphere in the middle of nowhere,
dandered with bones and renamed home.
It's all just a place with a hearth for hearts
where these earned embers...
Monday 5th October 2015 6:00 am
Tags: waxwood panama shuffle
Also by Zach Dafoe:heather (10/04/2015) | sequels to helena (10/04/2015) |
My legs are still unsteady.
Sticky and shaking.
My body heavy and relaxed.
The sheets are a tangled mess
and so is my hair.
But I don’t have one care.
My To Do list forgotten.
As I lay here catching my breath.
A smile plastered across my lips
and your taste on my tongue.
Monday 5th October 2015 1:28 am
Also by R Miller:xx |
Found the chords, the riffs are born,
got a front, an axe, a bass, some beats.
The song is written, the group is formed,
what name should the vessel take to the streets?
A mother? A lover? Seek out a legend?
Symbolic? Insane? Cast off the vote.
No taking the sis! Impress my girl-friend
anchor success with a name like a boat.
Think of book; of a pub, of a film script;
see the soft s...
Sunday 4th October 2015 10:57 pm
You’ve peeled off
Want to stick
It on me
Of your nob
Sunday 4th October 2015 8:45 pm
Also by Lynn Hamilton:Fragile |
You're not right in the head if you think I want to fit in
No offence I have my reasons
Blooming moody poetry
I got 5 out of 10 for performing in Didsbury the crowd loved it
F the haters they may dislike my face but at least I dispise them aswell
Mmm money lovers should remember not everyone's had a sheltered childhood soz
I've said too much its never enough
You make me feel l...
Sunday 4th October 2015 8:13 pm
sometimes the words escape outside
released like prisoners from their jail
sometimes the words stay locked inside
all my useless pleas ignored and failed
sometimes the words fall in slanted rain
running tear stained ink across my page
sometimes the words are mostly pain
bloodletting hurt in a sudden rage
sometimes the words speak for themselves
they don’t even bothe...
Sunday 4th October 2015 7:48 pm
Also by Colin Hill:Southern BBQ Sauce | perpetual desk calendar |
I cannot speak to you anymore.
Though over these clay hearted years,
we never really spoke at all.
So now it finally must end
as I am taken once again
by collared, artistic agenda.
I cut languid love loose
re-tie dumb, devoted knots
that only he will now render.
Forbidden of fruitful verse
which may wistfully introduce
play on words of mourning....
Sunday 4th October 2015 5:57 pm
Tags: Katypoetess,love,love poetry
The following is a personal view.
To my mind, producing poetry can be like the art of cuisine.
Content of poetry (like food) can be varied - to be entertaining, pleasing, able to stimulate
interest and debate beyond the reach of safe and sacrosanct expectations. Sassoon and
Owen used content powerfully and it survived the forms they used to reach the public
palate. Not always easy...
Sunday 4th October 2015 4:08 pm
Also by M.C. Newberry:JULIE ANDREWS IS EIGHTY TODAY |
Grandpa was a jolly old man,
With rheumatics in his knees,
When we were small, though he was kind,
With us he always liked to tease.
We had to be very careful when,
He gave us some pocket money,
He would heat the coins up with his lighter,
(He seemed to find this awfully funny).
As we howled and clutched at blistered fingers,
Grandpa would cackle insane,
Sunday 4th October 2015 10:19 am
Also by Ledger de la Bald:A Viking Non-Saga | Sweet Nellie Dean |
Loading the player…
(My own personal humiliation from schooldays. As it happens, green and gold were our school colours and a try was worth 3 points then. A re-post with a nod to Pam Ayres)
I’d made the team – my dad he was so proud
He didn’t know the rules but cheered out loud
Though I was only 12 years old
I’d made the shirt of green and gold
But then the plan began to fold
Sunday 4th October 2015 10:06 am
My blood is kept in a capsule in which she carries
She uncorks the top and it dribbles into the ground
Sinking below me, in the roots I stand over
And it devours me like quicksand as well her screams
My body is cold.
Sunday 4th October 2015 5:27 am
She looks at me with those mesmerizing eyes
And tells me, "Love, this is goodbye."
Her sweet lips draws up a smile and she blows me a kiss
Whispering, "I love you and I'll see you in a bit."
She close her eyes and rest her soul
Her love is all that I want to know
Her breathing, steady and quiet
Her body, soundly asleep
Therefore, I quietly kiss her on the cheek
Sunday 4th October 2015 3:05 am
Also by Smash Lee:The Lover's Plight | Crush | The Lover's Truth | Sliver of the Moon | The Hurricane |
Noggin the nog
and muffin the mule
will ...... you .......
... .. ....... ... drool?
words and foto Tommy Carroll
Sunday 4th October 2015 12:22 am
Also by Tommy Carroll:One hour poem |
If we had made it
Beyond the fleeting few days
Like a lightly scented cool breeze
Initial euphoria, strong like whiskey
Down a gullet used to wine
Where we breathed in love
Lost in clouds, white and serene
Like your brown brow, uncreased and smooth
If we had made it beyond those days
We would have broken up by now
And have been breaking in
Saturday 3rd October 2015 5:40 pm
A time, I knew death; and birth.
With belief I will be
an Autumn leaf
looking for Spring.
Winter is not the season
for foolish gravediggers
who await the journey to warmth.
Saturday 3rd October 2015 1:13 pm
During Europe’s summer, ‘88,
At a wall my bag was checked:
A brief smile at what gave it weight...
Sun-cream lid back - mood not wrecked.
I walked past plain buildings and cars,
And entered a small food-store.
Its goods were plain, also: no sweet bars;
The essentials - not much more.
As I bought crispbread with money changed,
A row be...
Saturday 3rd October 2015 12:53 pm
The ghost that flitters through your night
may be fully alive in another’s sight,
for the dimensions where they appear as a wisp
may not be the same as that where they’re kissed…
Imagine if your mind is ready for this notion yet
that the ghosts you see are not dead for I bet,
what you see is merely a slim projection from
another dimension of this world where they bel...
Saturday 3rd October 2015 11:44 am
Certain situations you become numb too
Just certain things ain’t what it use too
My language is disguise it what it said too
Even though my heart is against you
Left for dead made for two
Living life not youth too
Forgiving past that aren’t truthful
Giving life to people who use you
Is this what it’s about?
I can’t give a concern
Yearning for idealism in realism
Saturday 3rd October 2015 6:56 am
On the surface, I look calm and steady,
But inside it feels that I'm not at all ready,
These expectations of being someone that they have from me,
Are not my aspirations, its not who I ought to be.
Do what you love, it's what they once said,
But then you job coz you need to get paid,
I killed the child inside me a long time ago,
Creativity at it's finest is what I craved for.
Saturday 3rd October 2015 4:14 am
Looking something in the mirror of life
I found a image so aright
Was it eternal ,or a ephemeral, I had seen
A hope it was ,that has kept me alive
Endeavouring a new chapter of courage
Aiming right at the euphoric season
Happiness and prosperity at my door
Looking for the vivacious voyage
Quietness showed a new meaning then
Words became silent in there sleeves
Action was a new...
Friday 2nd October 2015 4:28 pm
Life is complicated, but would
be so simple if all we had to do
was put a coin in, twist a knob,
then expect a result.
Life is complicated, but I know
that if I make the right moves,
I can expect a crinkly bag of goods,
something small to help me through.
Friday 2nd October 2015 3:04 pm
The time has come when my sweaters don't seem so strange.
I appreciate this time greatly.
My littlelest boy in his tiny, long-sleeved frog pajamas.
My littlelest girl in her plaid and sweatshirt.
In my mind that song plays over and over.
The leaves fall in the sound.
My happiness returns with the colder weather.
My anticipation of excitement expounds.
They in their war...
Thursday 1st October 2015 7:29 pm
One man's in, another drinking
sharing a recent story
thousandth hand across the land
such is the speed of news we share
another molecule of bonding
the drinking opening up the scene
into the time they have to spare
give us this day our daily bread
before the rising yeast goes slack
another way to move the human spirit on.
Just out of si...
Thursday 1st October 2015 2:43 pm
THE TIME OF MAN.
Wandering, aimless, blameless but blind
Searching for something you’ll never find
A wanderer, a squanderer of time...
A nomad, placeless, faceless,
Just like the rest. Eyes firmly set
On what you can get from today.
Ignoring the voices in your head
Carping, “What about tomorrow?”
Harping, “Consider the past.”
Is it the end? Has the dice been cast?
Seeing the world t...
Thursday 1st October 2015 10:41 am
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