Poetry Blogs (Nov 2009)

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  There is a beauty in solitude only the solitary know. There is a sadness in being lonely, only the lonely can know. In solitude and loneliness, in beauty and sadness, the most beautiful poetry of feeling can be known. Indefinable, inexpressible, Oceanic bliss-like satori. A brief enlightenment when the light breaks through the darkness, a glint, a hint of perfect, untouched beauty perfect a...

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Also by Steven Dark:

cathedrals of illuminated sins | Typical Archetypal Archetypes | we are one | typical archetypal archetypes | Ariadne\\'s Thread | I Know You Are With Me Not | s-wave | Isis | Drunk & naked in a graveyard | no power defeats the Circle | shapeless & transcendent | like no other love before | Greenwich Meridian Poets? | the Dust, the Dust |


Auryn's Heartbeat

                                                            Auryn’s Heartbeat




We are neither always good, or all powerful,

We are not the strength of fossil bone,

We are not the taking of each death

To ends of Earth,

We are not as individuals – the globe!




            We are not infinite, immortal or timeless

Within a shroud of silence,

We a...

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Also by Noetic-fret!:

We Once Was Animal |

The Cellar Door-open floor event in Chester-free for all.

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Hi All,
New open floor poetry night in Chester!
The details are- "The Cellar Door", 7.30pm every 1st Monday of the month @ The Bear and Billett Pub on Lower Bridge Street, Chester. (top floor).

However in December it is held on 2nd December due to bookings at the venue.
Look Forward to seeing you there!
Please spread the word !
Take care.

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This is my stage

You don’t know me

Just what I want

To present to you

Just thought I’d make it clear

Once and for all

I’m forever in costume

Trying to not play the fool.


But he brushes away

My facade


I sew my face into position

A flawless smile

Can avert all questions

Society provides the script

And I strive to play

Their ideal heroine

Though I don’t desire perfection


But he soothes the...

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Also by Jessie:

This is us | .... | plastic dreams | Worst kind | He's nothing special | Bleak | . |

The Pensioners Are Here!

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You can see them,

As dawn breaks,

Shuffling down the street,

One goal,one purpose,

To sniff out fresh meat,


Eyes burning with bitterness

Evil desires that can't be sated,

A picture of pure wickedness,

 hearts consumed by hatred


I could bludgeon them to death,

I could wring their scrawny necks,

I cou...

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love like foxes

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let us love like foxes love

screeching in the night

let us love like foxes love

hiding from moonlight

they are locked together

in their act of love

with love’s arrows pinned together

coupling foxes cannot move

if man fox rips from woman fox

he might tear out her heart

let us love like foxes love

crying in the dark

don’t interrupt the foxes

in their desperate love play

let us love l...

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Also by Ann Foxglove:

South with Endurance | at the opticians | eyelash | Swimming Away | Having a poem | With apologies to . . just about everyone |

Hand to Mouth Haiku

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Turn hand to all things,

such as a Salad Nicoise

feeds, biting the hand.


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Also by Augusta Darling:

Voyeur On The Wall ( Date Rape ??) | A Thousand Oceans More | Four Ways Five | Love Me Until the Morning |

Unravelling that which I do. All the time.


sprouts from a soldier's lips,

stretched out on a centipede's back,

knowing every coroner is a breathe navigating

myself up a spider's bath.

Our words are lovers, my love;

a path of slippers whispering, lost

traipsing in fierce barnicles,

communes of moths hurting in the dark

painting memory with a lick of tact,

longing for sleep and the labyrinths

of us

and the rust of promises...

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Also by Marianne Daniels:

Bethany | Cinderella | A Secular Affliction | Miss Proteus | Cosmopolitan Suicide | The Sons | A Palette |

Spoken Word Gigs This Month

The following is an as yet incomplete list of my spoken word open-mic gigs over the next month.  If you're around please come along to listen or perform. 

Sunday 29th November 2009
The Foundy
84-86 Great Eastern Street
Host: Vis the Spoon
Showtime: 9:00pm

Tuesday 1st December 2009
Y Tuesday at the Poetry Club
Three Kings Public House
Clerkenwell Close
London EC1
Hosts: Ceri ...

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Also by Alain English:

Poolroom Poetry | Panto Schedule | Emotional Poetry | Employment Poetry | Unholy Occupation |


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It stalks, that stalk

That veiny beast

Claims victims in the dark

Malevolence is manifest

Each time it meets its mark

And thus succumbs

Another gate,

A portal to the truth

Consigned the virgin innocence

To the memory of youth.

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Also by Christopher Dawson:

Petal | Bingo | Dereggub | Bound by Silence | Tom Ketchum (a bastard of a piece) | Power of Thought | What's it all about | Norm. | Coming to you. | Coward Review | Astute Coccinellidae |


This is Paris if I close my eyes

The smell of roses and the taste of rich coffee

Words of greats; Baudelaire, Flaubert

This is Paris

The touch of an artist, the sounds of gentle guitar

I hold out my arms to feel the breeze of the Seine

This is Paris

The feel of cobbles and the bustle of busy streets

Street sellers selling art and memorabilia

No violence, just movement, like waves of near ...

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Also by Claire Alexandra:

Time Begins Today | I am | By Night | Superstar Revival Club |

a poem for a girl i can never have unless a miracle happens

based on my mad dreams from last night after having too much beer and watching the stunning nick cage film Knowing too. this came to me and drunkenly i did it in my phone and then wrote it out. i cant ever tell the gal coz she wont wanna know. i believe we'll be together in another life. but i want her now but she not want me. such is life.




What strange dreams I have. Of HM, of ...

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a mad poem on a bus driver lol | some more poems | some plane/war poems from my new plane poem book |



I've dreamed of this night
For many a year, pondering
Playing out this wicked bout
a chess-boxing match
between a man i deeply respect
But my time is now

The story began here...

I stared into his eyes, he glared, so solemn
I remember the iris, speaking in a tone
humorous yet solemn
some great enigma
His voice just as mysterious
As that sly, chilled expression
Trembled softly

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Also by Ridge A. Dillard:

Rapture |

test run for blog entry comment disablement procedure.

.....hello......testing (THIS IS NOT A POEM- PLEASE DO NOT COMMENT) ......testing......hello.....(am I really doing this?...I should be poking sticks at the weather...)......testing comment disablement procedure......please enable the 'tick' should you require comments to be posted......(god I thought I ticked all the right boxes.....but he did....apparently)...testing.....hello.....(PLEASE DO NOT...

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Also by Tommy Carroll:

I dreamt of the end-of-the-world last night! | Betrayed | The stops | I Leant Against The Wall | thole swoopstake | Advice to the Elderly November the Fifth. | The shame of social embarressment of a man farting loudly in a lift full of women. | The shame of sexual disfunction of a man with no trousers. | The shame of Impotence discovered by a second party. |

The Mercy on Silver Street

17th July 2014

 Dear Shane,

We’re writing this letter to you from our old table at Café Denis on Silver Street. Please excuse us for not contacting you on a regular basis, but you seem so very far away. The truth is, we didn’t know if you wanted to hear from us at all anymore, especially after everything that has happened. I know we are taking a bit of a chance, but you might read thi...

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Also by Ralph Dartford:

The Sodium Songs | Victoria | Violet | Fugitive | Radio Day | Rainbow Fade | Can Sweeten the Ocean | Henry Miller at Denny's | The Red Rose of Palookaville | Nineteen and the Mermaids | Pressure Drop |

Just Three Thoughts


A     Fly in the Butter


I love a word

            Whose position can

                            Confound the sense

                                                            Of syntax plan

 And leave a phrase

            On its fine sound preening

                            Quite ambiguous

                                            As to its...

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Also by Cynthia Buell Thomas:

Girl in a Lake |

blocked ears

then vincent ford wrote them

composed those great lyrics

you put the passion into it

the world sang along

the world still sings along

where are you bob marley

what of the composer vincent ford

the job is yet to be completed

'no woman no cry' still misunderstood

never the lyrics of a misogynist

telling a woman not to cry

assuring her everything will be okay

still many do not get it today

listening skills at an ...

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Also by jabulani mzinyathi:

scattered | thought tracks |

Pro-articulated Ladders

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(for those who feel the shopping catalogues overstate their products.

Image: allthe sky.com)


Insomnia wakes the dreamer,

 Blinking through double-glazed eyes,

 Up from the warmy bed

She searches winter’s frosty skies.

Padding across carpeted floors,

 Past polished dresser

And out of the door,

 She carries her pro-articulated ladder.

Up against the eves the...

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Also by jane wilcock:

Horse Power | Perfect |

No time like the present.

No time like the present

No present like the time

Tick ,tick, tick

A life of grime


Cant turn the clock back

On we go

Suppose you could relax

And go with the flow


Join the rat race

Behave yourself

Take that look off your face

Don’t get left on the shelf


Do as your told

Stand in line

May I be so bold

Is it a crime


No time like the ...

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Also by Spencer Robertshaw - 07703 558825:

Musicians | Powertool | The man who would be king. |


You say you love me,
but you don't know me.
You will never see
who I'm to be.

Four days past.
Your love can't last.
You went too fast.
Now, I'm past.

My mind,
my heart
you can't find
or tear apart.

Now, I will disappear,
slip through your fear
because I can't stay here.
Destiny lies beyond the clear.

Untitled (Based on an old poem)
by, Melissa R. Mendelson

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What's For Tea, My Love?

What shall we have for tea, my love?

I don’t fancy the chippy an it’s not fridey night anyway.

I ad beans on toast for brekkie

Which wer very nice, by the way

Love to love your brekkie.


How ‘bout a chinky-poo, my love?

And yeah, I know we were at the buffet the other day

But it’ well nice, well tasty and...

Ok, we don’t ‘ave the do, reh, me.


Oh, oh, oh, my litt...

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Streetwise 2000 Book

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The new Streetwise 2000 'Head Wobble' book number 2, 'Where Is Your Head At?' has just been launched.

Myself and many other young people have contributed to this handbook that gives personal insights, poems and information on many different conditions and problems that young people may face.

If you would like an example of my poetry/ educational writing or know any young people who would benefit...

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Also by Gemma Lees:

A Little Bit More |

Artist Supporting Artist

Artist supporting Artist

Supporting Art


Not underground

Not under the radar

But above it.




Artist supporting artist

Paintings on the wall

Not hanging by a thread

Not hung at all

But painted onto it.


The wall being the backdrop

On which the artisan paints

The back ground

For every artist’s palette.


Etchings, sketchings,

Lines and hills

Dips and gullies



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Also by Beulah:

No Warning | An Artist’s Reflections | S.O.S. | Going Home | At the Core | The Conclusion. |

collaborationcommunityearthfamilynaturenetworksnurturen artiststruthworld

That Tomorrow

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Global warming

Ozone breakdown

Melting ice

Animal extinction

Islands lost to sea


Shifting plates

Lava flow

That tomorrow’s today away

That tomorrow’s today away


A child is born

Cry of uncertainty

Tear in mother’s eye

Searing heat

Unforgiving wind

Fly’s swarm

No rain, only pain

Crops fail, again

No food, no milk

Infant die

That tomorrow’s today away

That tomorrow’...

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Hopes and Dreams

These shamans with their second sight

might tell you they are guided-

by misted past lives,

future spirits,

a distant queen,

a prophet....

or two.

They will wring their hands,

face the awful agony of clairvoyance-

annoyance and blessing they say,

heads shaking

with the pain of it all.


Cross my palm-

for the next hour

on my carousel of wonder

you will sit-

and in a bit

I will te...

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Also by sian howell:

2 | Sticks and Stones |

geek tragedy

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Tragedy me,

Oh alas

You can see it in my face

I made the wrong choices listening to all those negative voices

That I followed and swallowed like a chocolate cup cake whole

Instead of letting it pass my lips

Or spitting it out

I doubt I will ever be able to sort it out

I traded love for alienation

Work for boredom

Depression saturates me like vinegar po...

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Also by Daniel Hooks:

Rendition of my heart |

alienpoetdandan hookspoetpoetry

the usual Texas chain saw massacre scenario

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the usual Texas chain saw massacre scenario

one day I’m really going to have to deal with my problems
if anything they ruin my dreams
I prefer tropical shores and love making dreams
not blood dripping
hanging on the edge for deal life dreams,
in some I even die.
I suppose I have got used to them
the horror always hurts, but its familiarity becomes is its own enemy
its little Achilles’ heel.
seems theres dra...

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Missing you.....

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you smell me....


from the fragrance of my cologne....



you hear me......


whispering in your ears sensual words of love...



you see me......


in the corner of your eyes........



you touch me.....


when you are asleep dreaming at night....



it hurts me.....

to know your all alone without me to hold you tight.....


(c)2009 jeff.w

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Also by JEFF.W:

ghost... | back of your mind.... | one thing i know to be true..... | MONA LISA |

Under the Wire

Descending panting from the top
(where god is always in the lower case)
The wind bleached lichen
gives way to greener stuff.
We re-assert a modicum of breathless grace
and skirt the bog (why is such a vastness called a 'mere'?)
much as we skirt the subject
never managing to reach the nub of it.

At the bridge we part
before all our alibis expire.
In your face the rumour of a tear
and I am just a hank of woo...

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Present Moment

An awakened spirit can never rest,

like tidal wave with frothy crest.

Rushing forwards, breaking high,

erupting, soaring, never shy.

Ecstatic seizure of a world in motion,

a powdered mountain, swelling ocean.

Never knowing what he shall find,

Never regretting what's left behind.

An adventurous soul must be free,

feels desperate under lock and key.

Like wing-clipped bird fi...

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Also by Andrea:

Wives And Girlfriends |


I want this
More than you perhaps know
The promise of peace
The seduction of your grace

Am I caught like an insect
Unable or unwilling to escape?
Your embrace closes around me
Like the venus fly trap
And I am on the verge of surrender.

The reality of past hurt rings
Like alarm bells in my deafened ears
But silence grows
And I am drawn
Like a moth to a flame.

All consuming, all forgiving
The taste of your l...

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Also by Andy Williamson:

A Day in the Life (2) |

Taj At Sunset

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                      The Taj Mahal

                      Stands before me.

                      White and pure

                      Its slender minarets

                      Reaching to the heavens

                      Its  jewelled mirrored eyes

                      Glinting in the dying light.

                      Perfectly symmetrical


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Hopeful Recovery

I stir from my sleep the feelings are there

As I draw my morning breath my minds in despair

The gnawing and the clawing on my guts they take revenge

These demons that haunt me they never seem to lend

To lend respite to my dilemma

They just burn like glowing embers

Taking over my mind it feels so never ending

As I go on pretending and pretending

Pretending that I'm trying when inside I feel...

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Also by bernadette herbertson:

Freedom of the Butterfly | Left versus Right | Mixed Emotions |


This one's not for

the anthologies or

that how-to-do-it book on poetry; perhaps

just for an open mind or mike :


it's simply to describe, attest, that

writing poetry is like

a really satisfying shit..


aaah, that's better, I really needed that...

now to get on again with life...


some further joke about

Reader's Digest

fortunately escapes me.


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Also by michael shepherd:

'Obligations' | Philip Levine, poet. For Jim. | George Seferis, poet | Reading the poems of Billy Collins | Olde Englisshe rondelaye | Anna Akhmatova, poet. | Two Cows Deconstruct Derrida |

What's It All About?



‘What’s it all about - Alfie?

Is it just for the moment we live?’


What’s it all about?


Catholics know

That it’s all in a piece of bread

The breaking of and the partaking of

Transubstantiation is a very long word

Can you spell it?

And I’d so love to join them

But bless me, I can’t


Born agains know

As they jump in and out of water

Praising the lord and trying oh so ha...

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Also by Isobel:

Coming Home | WOLOP S for October |

Boots of Spanish Leather

From an almost comfortable battered saddle

I straddle a pale camargue mare

Balanced by boots of Spanish leather


In low water stretching to the sun

A flamingo dancer in feathery sunset pink

Cast her net for blushing shrimp


Salty sweated hide and sea kale scents

Subside as afternoon’s stored energies run out

Grey stillness descends

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The Cleethorpes Treaty


Politicians got their

treaties mixed up.

They agreed for

Cleethorpes to be

the capital of Europe

and for Jedward

to be the new President.


There was no referendum.


'The Sun' was appalled

because they had no influence over it.

They shifted their allegiances

to Skegness and

'Strictly Come Dancing' instead.

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tales and thank-yous from the dark side....

Just a quick shout-out to say that Friday's Poetry Kapow was a handsomely-dressed bunch of poetry fun. Thanks to our open-mic poets, featured artists, contributors of STUFF, light and sound and bar-folk, documentors, fortune-teller (!), and other willing punters and participants. Video and audio recording will be available soon. Thanks to photographer Anna Berry for her stunning gallery of the eve...

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Red plimsolls, step outside.


Gold, green, auburn and burgundy

permeate pavements, walls.


Palms, fingers – caress Magnus the cat: His eyes smoulder.


Squirrels forage, tails like ships

in a whirlpool of leaves.


Black and white collie scarpers past

trees splutter.


Red plimsoll’s step inside

They Squelch. 








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poetry from Tudor House, November 2009










Mother says I eat fast when I’m unhappy,

Like I have got used to there being no time.

She looks for signs like this

Knowing that only after

Will she find out what was wrong,

Pours the wine, loosens tongues,

Serves up all the desserts I have ever loved.

There are more courses ...

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The wind blows wild as Rooks explode

In buffeted delight.

Spreading their wings into the squall

In roistering, reckless flight.

Their swirling tangled dance of joy

Proclaims a mastery

Of three dimensional excess

And death to Gravity.

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Also by Barrie Singleton:



The Naming of Moons

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Feast of New Fire, as Sun’s Moon swells in sky.

Then Earth’s Moon, as seeds sprout under soil.

Balance Day and Night: New Life Feast, Moon of Eggs.

Dangerfire: Lucky’s Moon; Green leaf and grass blade.

Moon of Blossoms, Moon of Bees, for Lith at Solstice.

Sky’s Moon: sun is overfull, but Look not Sadly.

Gatherer’s Moon: Set store by, like squirrel.

Balance Night and Day: Windy Moon blows...

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Long lost they lay beneath the ice
in which their skated feet had cut a slice
as they once pirouetted together in delight
on a sparkling winters moonlight night.

The press would say they ran from view
and for a week or more theories anew
of where they went and how they slipped
past those that this accident had tricked

Pressed together their souls entwined
all troubles past, think of them kind
for such ...

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Logic, Reason, Perception, Experience.


If logic is reason

And reason is perceptive

Then it is perfectly logical

To perceive reason

As individual experience.


Because one logic battle's another's

For ultimate experience of reason

And for unknown reason's

They all experience righteousness

Through reasoned perception's of previous experience's.

In mathematics this is known as unknown 'x'



If i perceive my own ex...

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Also by Kealan Coady:

At Least We Tried. | Man of Many People. |

For what?

It will kill me
the pain
I'm sure it will.
Be the death of me!
Or will it?
I'll fight!
Tooth and nail
to the grave
I will.
For nought,
will render me
Not yet
a living,
I'm sure!
Or am I?
Am I sure?
I'm defenseless.
I'm Vulnerable.
I'm inert.
I lie here
and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
For what?
For love? Hope?
A second chance?
Another life
that wil...

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It came on swift wings.
A whisper.
A soft caress
that smoothed the colour
from her cheeks
and painted her lips
with twilight.
Sweet jasmin breath
ruefully swept
with a gentle hush
amongst warm auburn tresses,
playfully ruffling
and settling,
sweetly serene.
the sun slips
behind the horizon
to joyous farewell,
as an orchestra
of Cicadas
take up their wings
in harmony
to perform
their final s...

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Feed me, feed me now

Everyone is,


or less

that's the way it is

it's hidden but


naturally we pretend

and dissimulate, but

life exposes us and

love outflanks us, and

youth is no defence

How can we live seventy years without


nothing learned, no insight

gained as to how we are

relentlessly driven.

yet change is possible.

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Thinking about talking in bed

We have finally settled for the night
Sleep last on the list

The wait is on to find words succinct but sweet
That will settle and soothe us to sleep

A significant silence stretches out before us
It seems to go on for an eternity
I wait, revelling in its poignancy

Not willing for false sentiment
I’ll wait for words that ring true

Finally the wait seems to be over,
Your cough punctures the...

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I sat in the front room

Boy scouts came knocking at my door

They asked if I wanted any jobs doing

I said yes

Jeff couldn’t do them anymore

Jeff was dead

They didn’t know

I knew

I loved Jeff so

Time for me to join him soon

But better get these jobs done first

They were on his list

I thanked the boy scouts

They reminded me of Jeff

He always did the jobs


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Day after rememberance

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The radio clicks on; John Humphries yaks about Afghanistan
Hell man! Does it ever stop?
The light calls through the curtains laughing about a bright winter morning.

You are warm and languorous next to me
But you don’t want to move; trapped by our tangled limbs.
This morning it will be me that brings us tea to sip whilst we talk in bed.

The big black dog has left and in it’s place
A small wiry terrier sh...

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