Poetry Blogs (2016, tribute)

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Almost M. J. Lemon

Oh rise MJ
So they can say
Bukowski's looking down from heaven
Giving the nod to pen of Lemon

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dedicationtribute

Closing Time (For Leonard Cohen)

Tonight as I lay
Myself to troubled sleep
I shall shed such tears
Not of profound sorrow
But of exalted joy
For the oneness of your poetry
For the wisdom of your words
Written and spoken from your heart

For your sights unseen
For your songs unheard
For your tastes untraveled

Tonight as I lay
Myself to troubled sleep
I shall dream such dreams
Where Jesus takes me down to The River
An...

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leonard cohentribute

RIP Mr Murphy

A Tribute to Paul Murphy

who died today - my friend & inspiration

Farewell my friend 
For now you're gone
To sing your words
With angles strong
With top hats raised
We say so long 
You Ranter, Raver
And Poet of song

Go give God a good rant! 
RIP you nutter xxx

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deathtribute

Art Attack

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Art Attack.

Kalashnikovs spit deadly hate
Upon the streets of grey Paris.
An art attack, the deadly fate.
Je prie pour eux - Je suis Charlie.

A sketch of these disturbing times,
twelve martyrs die for liberty.
The clanging of Notre Dames chimes.
Je prie pour eux - Je suis Charlie.

Bullets of hate will not erase
the sable brush strokes of the free,
dripping red on these bloody days...

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freedom of speachje suis charliekyrielle formparis attackstribute

Last Orders

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Last Orders

I come on Thursday, sit on wooden chair
where poets congregate in strange half light,
sharing their thoughts with those who gather there -
the words are spoken, soaring, shining bright,
warming us as we leave to face the night.
The bear pit darkens, but forever hosts
the rhyming, raging, ranting, Tudor ghosts.

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ballade royal formclosurepoetry nighttributetudor housewiganWOL wigan

Death Of A Poet / Anthem For Doomed Youth

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Death Of A Poet

The grey November sky has lost its light,
just one more boy has fallen to his death,
another lad who won’t survive the fight
or pass beyond this final exhaled breath.
Though many soldiers leave this war unheard,
their stories lost forever, never told,
this one will paint us pictures with his words
that will not lose their power or grow old.

A week beyond that fatal can...

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Anthem For Doomed YouthShakespearean Sonettributewilfred owenWW1

Thirty Plus Years In An Open Necked Shirt (audio version)

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Re-post from earlier last year - now with audio and music backing

Thirty Plus Years In An Open Necked Shirt.

Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke
a walking bag of bones
staggers out onto the stage
like Woody from the Stones
rapid fire delivery
sprays all with Salford tones
jitters, jives, ducks and dives
wrestling with the microphone

Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke
in much need of a comb
sh...

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CROWS OF ALBIONjohn cooper clarketribute

It's the Music that Matters!! - A Poem For Sophie Lancaster - Never Forget X

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It’s the Music That Matters!

 

The Metalhead strums his air guitar

The Indian sings while playing his sitar

It’s not the colour of his skin

- It’s the music that matters!

 

Panpipes in the mountains

Music in the fountains

It doesn’t matter where it is

- It’s the music that matters!

 

Synthesisers and Electropop

Strut your stuff and bop till yo...

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Musictribute

My Mother's Gentle Hands

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My Mother used to comb my long hair.

When she hit a tangle I would cry

out in pain.

 

She would place her gentle hands

upon my head and whisper, "I'm sorry

darling but you must endure the

pain so that your hair will be shiny

and beautiful."

 

When my life hits a tangle I long fo...

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mothers. childrentribute

As it is Johns 70th today, here is my tribute poem

 

 JOHN
 
 

 
John the artist played at a pace that didnt slack
He was a bold young figure, the leader of the pack
Quarried in that Mersey town and crafted into rock
Solid from the outset, his band was hard to knock
More talent than the many other groups that were around
The Beatles got the world to dig their Mersey sound
Apprentice served in Ham...

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PeaceTribute

The Gift

The Gift 

                                                                                                                      

“You have his hands” they say.

Blunt, broad, and strong;

the rounded nails and heavy palms, his grip.

Some memory, stored within each line,

each fingertip, each scar, from half a life away.

Old-leather hard with work and age;

weather-carved and worn with every s...

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familyremembrancetribute

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