Poetry Blogs (Apr 2008)
Old Geoffrey was cremated there today,
But weeping wasn’t wanted, and was checked.
The minister kept chins up, though we prayed
With chins down, dictated by etiquette.
Where were my flowers? I was quite upset
They weren’t delivered. Geoffrey was let down;
Some incompetent floral bureaucrat
Ignored instructions from Manchester town
With respect to our bouquet. His renown,
Wednesday 30th April 2008 12:33 am
For You My Mother
One hundred roses I am giving you
My dearest mother for the love,
Especially when I have tripped
And fallen on my knees,
Your kisses were like medicine.
The love you gave freely from your heart.
Guided me to go through life
you show me ways how
to be the person I have become.
You have always been there.
Not enough words to say, "I love you."
Dearest mother you ...
Tuesday 29th April 2008 5:59 pm
Also by Zuzanna Musial:MOON FACES | FAILED PROMISE | BROKEN DREAMS | Friendship | HE WANTED LOVE | FRIENDS |
We escape to the forests on wild dewy days
A glimpse of light through the trees...and the haze....
The moisture contains such a sweet fragrant smell
And I listen while my lover says
"This is our home now, we'll live here alone
Just like lovers in stories of old...
We'll hunt for our food and I'll go and cut wood
For a fire when the days become cold..."
The summers' goodbye turns the leaves gold and dry
Tuesday 29th April 2008 4:25 pm
Also by Shelley Ann Dwornik:Surrender No 5 |
Scared to sleep,
I’m afraid I may stop breathing
Scared to sleep,
afraid someone next to me may stop breathin’
When I’m finally asleep
Try to call out for help,
but I’m asleep,
you can’t hear my cries
Eyes are open. I’m awake
Have I been asleep at all, was it a dream or real?
I can already feel Monday morning blues getting closer to me,
Creeping like a ghost I ...
Tuesday 29th April 2008 3:10 pm
Also by Richard Brooks:God and The Giant | Gargoyle's | Fallen Angel | Strength | My Eulogy | Brilliant | Manic Depressive | Slaves And The Homeless | Salford | Do you mind if I don't watch you die? | Cheer Up Broken Heart | 21st century love story | a to b | The Hall/Heaven And Hell | I Love The Night | READ THIS!: Unique Pen for sale to all Poets | Exzema | Angel With No Wings | Coat Of Arms (To Kym) | Nightmare | Pain On Earth, Laughter In Heaven | Dying Poet | Working Class Blues (The doorstep Killer) |
A droning voice directs the road ahead
All life safely hidden
Behind flat lines curves and corners
While driving between dimensions we travel
Through parallel roads to parallel worlds
Rushing into stagnation
Debris in a drain
On an axle of ever
Growing commitment driven conquests
Sunday 27th April 2008 11:20 pm
were the open door ;
Conscience, or unseen You
became their comments
but more, importantly
(Oh, and the counter)
not just the ego
glancing over at the page
behind his concentration.
The dead sleep of a few loose readers,
the sharp and fewer who
RSVPed with insight (and ovation)
and all the world who hadn’t harkened
drove him down th...
Sunday 27th April 2008 1:10 pm
Also by Gary Stokes:All's Quiet | We Are Our Own Reflection | He |
The royal we
We sow seeds in the soil
We blurt out words that steal
We fill our purse
We can’t find a way out.
We can’t find the right amount
Sunday 27th April 2008 12:21 pm
Also by Daniel Hooks:The anarchist in all of us | All words become me |
You got chilli sauce on your face
Smile!, you like to embrace
a bit o donnas meat and chips
and easy on the hips
yeah baby, donner meat!
Sliced tomato fell on your feet
You trod it in drunk
went and sunk
9 pints of lager
Head butted a tree trunk
danced a funk
and topped it off with a bad kebab
what a night
Chemical Alis in the meat-house
carving up the wood-louse
ready for the lager louts
Sunday 27th April 2008 4:37 am
This is a poem about my typewriter, and how I love it.
I am happy to be free, torn by this anachronicity
That maybe tapped at a dead mothers shoe in the heat
And I don’t like to rehearse my first verse
But this heart of iodine and ribbon saddens me.
Tap tap rhythm of ribbon and old cigars that tore
Men from their bars and into the evidence room.
Sunday 27th April 2008 2:22 am
Also by Rob Sherman:Starred Fruit Seeds |
The world was better without Miss Prune.
All who met her despised her soon.
She ate slugs for breakfast
and more for tea
then sicked on the table disgustingly.
Ermintrude Prune, Ermintrude Prune
horrible, horrible, Ermintrude Prune.
She painted her kitten
in luminous red
then chased it all over
her grandmother's bed.
Poor kitty was startled,
but what was still worse
her granny ...
Saturday 26th April 2008 11:48 am
Also by Malpoet:Earth to Earth | Bad Hair Day | Only Child | L'Amour Franglais | Dockland | Disturbed Night | Open Floor Evening | Desert Scorn |
this is really new and very unfinished- if anyone has the time or inclination to offer me any criticism it'd be really really appreciated! specifically what you think about using internal rhyming- if its too clumsy, if it helps the poem to communicate at all, or if its just rubbish!! ok thanks, sally xx
The Butcher’s Wife
What can I do for you mate?
you ask, and my arms ache
to pull up t...
Friday 25th April 2008 7:09 pm
The workers pain is for the employers gain
As to do his work de does strive
Who from the harvest gets barely a grain
Enough just to let him survive
The employer merely for sitting and for work setting
And investing money, thereby risking all
The weight of the profit he is getting
To lose as much should the venture fall.
Is this right that this is so?
That this state of t...
Thursday 24th April 2008 10:45 pm
Also by Tomás Ó Cárthaigh:The Workers of the World | The Turn of Luck - An Irish Good Luck Story | Error in poem "Hound for Iraq" | Poems in the Irish Language with English Translations | The Banishment From the Garden | For Sale: A Soul and A Body Whole | (untitled) |
blood splattered floor
I feel this
god forsaken place
the temple of my heart
and I am telling you
each brick was cemented
in cold faced hate
I am powerless
I am victim
I am scarred without
I am scarred within
my temple made from
I seek Adam
who seeks Eve
I am the Genesis
of my as yet unwritten
Book of Revelation
of unborn consciousness
Thursday 24th April 2008 7:25 pm
Also by Lenny Gazbowski:Final Warning | Destructing Drama | To Give | A Painting By George W Bush |
I am flexible
Try to bend me
And I will spring right back.
I am child-like, with surprising
Facial expressions: With curly soft
I am honest to the core; no rotten fruit
Lies within these fleshy walls.
I am free: Free to roam this land -
Hands transparent to the sun
By Belinda Johnston
Thursday 24th April 2008 12:12 pm
Also by Belinda:Ja Mata, Domo Arigato |
As I fragment inside the core
These tiny scatterings of shell
Are spilling out onto the floor
I do believe I’m breaking up
This I was sure I’d never do
My channel’s unidentified
No frequency is getting through
For this day brings me no agenda
With lack of speech and empty head
All conversations disengaged
A loss of life the soul has bled
I am autumnal to the touch
With much aba...
Saturday 19th April 2008 1:47 pm
Punk's Not Dead!
Times were hard
smashed to bits,
what no jobs?
my hopes are sunk,
I know mum
I'll become a punk!
Hippies are out
we need something new,
and sniffin' glue,
no Elvis, Beatles
or the Rolling Stones,
so long boys
here's the Ramones!
One, two, three, four
Friday 18th April 2008 8:56 am
If there were heroes,
their lives would be saved.
No more tragedies would exist,
if there were heroes.
But the ones today
and some have not found
the strength yet
to come and save us.
And we still wait
for the day
Clouds Over Sky
by, Melissa R. Mendelson
Friday 18th April 2008 3:48 am
Dropping the Mask
Dead Good Poets Society Wed 15 April 2008
The performances of Rosie Lugosi and Chloe Poems have generally left me feeling in much the same way as young children often feel about circus clowns. Well not quite hysterical jibbering terror, but a sense of wondering if there’s a victim involved in this edgy cabaret and could it be me. Cruel intelligence and a mask coupled with mate...
Thursday 17th April 2008 12:11 pm
My family have finally fallen to sleep
I hear the gentle snoring and sleep chatter
Waiting for me on the end of my bed sits sleep
I turn my head to look at my wife and smile
Reclined, my eye lids heavily open and shut
Thought stones skim the ripples of conscious mind
Dropping off words and phrases along its path
Damsel flies skip on the waters surface
Each collects a letter, wor...
Wednesday 16th April 2008 8:09 pm
Also by Phil Golding:It's Your Shift | It’s not just me | Word Trigger Memory Churn | Danger of Societies Shackles? | The king said, | River of Love |
Victim of Your Own Success
Your not the same person that you was before
Your heads so big you can't fit through the door
Started talking down to those you once called friends
But thats not where the madness ends
'Cos inside your head is a bloody mess
Your a victim of your own success
We got too close, our illusions got shattered
But you didn't care, not that it mattered
Because you used us all ...
Tuesday 15th April 2008 11:11 pm
a poet can write about a pebble and make a page of it
he'll tell you all about the texture, and any lumps or bits
he'll tell you how it feels to touch, and smell and see and taste
but by writing much about a pebble, an hour of time he wastes
time that could be productive, time that could be used
not time spent in tune with a pebble, time that's been abused
he'll tell you how the pebble came to be in...
Sunday 13th April 2008 8:53 pm
Had an exceptionally wonderful Poetry Now Festival, if anyone is interested, even if you aren't it was still a success. A very different experience to other festivals I've done. I was on a bill, it was in a theatre, I was required to attend a sound-check ½ an hour before my performance.
Myself and George Szirtes read to around 300 extremely well-behaved 8-11 year olds who asked questions and were...
Saturday 12th April 2008 4:36 pm
He asks to speak to Madam Butterfly,
they say ‘she doesn’t sing here anymore --
she upped and left for Switzerland last May
and we don’t know if she’ll be coming home’.
He thanks them very much--hangs up the phone.
Science hit its stride that very year
and in the Fall she sauntered to his door.
Friday 11th April 2008 11:04 pm
Also by Dai Miles:A Special Client | We've got Your Favourite for Tea | Keeping Her Around | Almost Making It | Still With Me | Vegas | The Journals in the Shed | From a Collier's Hand | Saved by Verse | April |
The room is too warm, he lies there,
In his bed in the center.
Death hangs above, his loyal mistress,
Come back to kill his pains with love.
Hot sweat forms, it slides off his face,
As he works into heat.
The sheets are stifling, they hit the floor,
He lies naked, bare before mistress.
His breaths come faster as he enters,
The arms of those beside him.
Breathing in the sweet cherished air,
From life an...
Thursday 10th April 2008 7:55 pm
Also by Jordan:A Train of Thought |
with your something
together we make
to be proud of
and anything can happen
and everything will
and something tells me
that nothing can stop us
Wednesday 9th April 2008 4:44 pm
Someone once said "good poetry requires no explanatory notes" so here are mine for the poem that follows...
It describes a short walk along the coast of South Wales near to Swansea. The previous weekend Roger McGough had given a reading as part of the Dylan Thomas Festival in Laughan, a bit further down the peninsular. For those who don't already know that neck of the woods, the massive steelwork...
Wednesday 9th April 2008 10:56 am
This is just to let you know that the 'We Are Poets!' anthology of children's poetry is now available to borrow from Warrington libraries, so if you use those libraries, please check it out. Feedback is always welcome, and let's be realistic here, I'm hoping that the libraries will order more copies if the book proves popular! So, please borrow a copy and read it aloud with your children.
Saturday 5th April 2008 3:09 pm
This language is floating
in the eye
waiting for the flourish
in the spindrift
the barb of letters
grated from alphabets
feasting on asparations
mocking our betterselves
to build a temple of words
in the mind
along the rain roads and dirt skies
watching the melancholy of shadows
window tree of summers blossom
rook and crow talk like men
in the dislocation between
thought and objec...
Wednesday 2nd April 2008 11:39 am
Also by Neil Francis Brooks:With verve |