Not the TV host with a brazen giggle
Winding up the gormless on ‘Blind Date’
Or tugging tears on ‘Surprise Surprise’
Nor the glittering star, clutching champagne
In morose interviews after Bobby’s death
Her grief bubbling up
Pressing behind aching eyes
But the fragile, stick thin girl
Trembling on stage
Warmed only by a single
And cruel spotlight
Picking out every contour
Sunday 2nd August 2015 10:19 pm
Tags: Cilla Black.,David Subacchi.Welsh Poetry,Liverpool poetry
into Lowku Arena
all you need is love
love is all you need
extinct from the world grunting:
Sunday 2nd August 2015 9:48 pm
Also by Colsibabes:boxes | headshot | paperlust |
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I'm amused by a number of friends who delight in ridiculing Christianity. Certainly they question the veracity of other religions but ridicule is reserved for Christianilty.
And when I ask myself, “Why?” I reach the conclusion that it's because it's easy; it’s a cheap shot.
Christianity has its zealots, of course, and its wisdom is often questionable but it doesn’t indulge in the types...
Sunday 2nd August 2015 9:05 pm
Our Cilla (your Cilla) is dead!
For Gods sake what is
this world coming to?
A dead Cilla is no Cilla at all.
Jesus Christ Almighty. Amen.
words and foto Tommy Carroll
Sunday 2nd August 2015 8:40 pm
you green and pleasant land,
your beauty never ceases to instil
a calmness in my hands.
A sense of peace; contentment
within my wandering mind,
a fulfilling feast for longing eyes
that seem always looking behind.
The golden greens of your pastures
covering long and rolling hills,
the succulent scent of your flowers
tickling senses to smile at...
Sunday 2nd August 2015 7:04 pm
Engage in preamble,
And ramble a bit until you see fit to begin.
Draw deep, close your eyes to speak.
Begin with thin withered lines,
Telling tales of times when life was worth living.
Don’t shuffle into nostalgia.
Still, throw in that line that tells how you used to be a free spirt,
Not a bogged down middle aged git
Unfit to wield a mic and talk like this,
Sunday 2nd August 2015 7:02 pm
Also by dazzer:Late Meetings |
Elijah - the Lord of storms,
Dew, hail, rain and thunder,
Today rides a chariot.
The Prophet with an effort
Breathe the autumn.
The days are shorter
The nights are longer
Warm days linger.
Two hours Elijah has taken.
By August He was awaken.
Water becomes overgrown
In the lakes and local ponds.
Our Lord agrees and nods,
Summer has no more odds,
It can't argue with Gods
Sunday 2nd August 2015 5:52 pm
Also by Larisa Rzhepishevska:Elijah The Prophet |
I slipped out of
Digged in her heels
Ripped the heart out of my life
“Can you spare a cigarette please?”
I slipped onto this park bench
When Cameron rode into town
Guns a blazing
“I’m taking the poor down “
“Spare 50p for a can”
Spare a thought
For those ...
Born, growing, hoping
This is a fair world
Sunday 2nd August 2015 5:10 pm
Fresh faced, alluring,
digitally re - mastered she posed in the photo
at the platform of her trolleybus.
Grey summer uniform - clippie.
"Hold on very tight," she seemed to say.
Would that I could, but sixty years have gone their way.
I would have been a boy then,
and on a journey together
she could have taken me to paradise
for a minimal price.
A rack of tic...
Sunday 2nd August 2015 4:51 pm
Speaking of form and function. Helen, on here,
recently made a very respectable attempt at a
`modern` version of the Sestina.
It caused me to look at Ezra Pound`s version of
the form for comparison. (this is it below).
A sestina is basically six stanzas of six lines each
Sunday 2nd August 2015 2:46 pm
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Under Oaks I spent the day
Idly fiddling pen
On Weyside banks I sat and lay
Till Cathedral bells struck ten
The paling sky was silver starred
As moonlight struck its height
And patient fisher’s slipped away
All day without a bite
On the green the match was won
The scoreboard marked the runs
The victors celebrations done
By fine tradition in “The Mash Tun”...
Sunday 2nd August 2015 1:30 pm
Also by David Moore:Temper tongue | Slabs |
Upon the Winds of Change
Upon the winds of change our courses flew
And us across the heaving seas did send.
It mattered not what dreams each would pursue
For Fate decreed what we could not portend:
That once again our raging hearts should blend
In Youth’s enduring spirit which does flow
Between us still, steel bond of lustful f...
Sunday 2nd August 2015 1:20 pm
End of democracy
I think we are witnessing a historic shift
the page has turned and our ideas about
democracy is regarded with suspicion
because it is in inclusive and give too much
freedom to the individual. This idea that
a person could have his own faith instead
of a faith that included all and those who
cannot conform must die.
This philosophy flies in the ...
Sunday 2nd August 2015 11:53 am
Also by jan oskar hansen :forgotten lives |
We walked with hinged smiles
Through man-made wreckage
The clawing and pawing
The desperate howls
Explosions of remorse
Whenever they grew close
We would blend as one
Afraid of their touch
Ashamed of their needs
We passed through this detritus
This Verdi-Gris whisper of humanity
Until we reached sanctuary
Free of mind and memory...
Sunday 2nd August 2015 10:57 am
Also by Stu Buck:Arlo #1 + #2 |
A plate of scattered crumbs is set
Beside my comfy chair,
And drowsily I quite forget
Just who I am and where;
For something here is not quite right,
I feel it in my bones,
Which oddly seem so very light
For reasons unbeknown.
I find it hard to concentrate
On tasks of high demand;
My brain would like to relocate
To airy fairy land.
And as the mist descends to blur
An ever-changing sce...
Sunday 2nd August 2015 9:34 am
Also by Jonathan Humble:Extreme Yorkshire Pastimes |
a magazine filled with glasnost bullets;
a body drawn in dots.
a truth cut deeper and harder
stillness painted in red and black.
placidity before pain
lucidity in the rain
washing away ten thousand drops of me
all bearing my name
none bearing my face.
Saturday 1st August 2015 5:26 pm
Tags: wash away noir dames black and red jack and queen
I've spent sometime
Whose goods should rhyme -
Whose plastic shots
Are sorted by
Well, now robots -
Before ‘twas folks:
(C) David Franks 2003; from -
Saturday 1st August 2015 3:58 pm
I still remember the meagre collection
- shirley bassey tihuana brass neil diamond's greatest hits -
and a couple of 45s
- one of which - tommy steele's confession - we never played -
but we would stack the rest
and dance until they dropped
- then dance some more
flared trousers swinging
- the green patterned pile carpet -
and my sisters osmond lp
later I asked my mother
what she did in the sixties
and where ...
Saturday 1st August 2015 1:30 am
I found out yesterday that all this time
I've wasted my focus on things I am not
For I am a poet however unorthodox and unsound
I am a poet, whether I want it or not
So yesterday I began to write
My words in short phrases and lines
I ignored punctuation and laughed at rhymes
I made a point to trust my mind
Now I know, bad poet or not,
A poet I am for better or...
Saturday 1st August 2015 12:01 am
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