Hello everyone how about I do the opener=first verse and then everyone who wants to can send a verse in to add to the poem. We will see it's progress then eventually when it's nice and big I can stick it all together to see which way it's gone and what our combined brainpower has come up with. OK so here is the opening verse.
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BONE DRY
A child stares through a dead mans eyes
Cant even spare moisture for the tears he cry’s
Drought is everywhere ,landscape and soul
Food is nowhere ,an empty bowl

BONE DRY (Verse 2)

A cracked photo of a far foreign land
viewed through a rippling curtain of sand.
How could he begin that first step alone?
to that land of his father's his memories blown.

To himself has only been obliged
Through the storms of passion realised
Tears of sorrow help to heal
It is what you are, what you feel

water, "please more water", he cries,
he watches as his brother dies.
A single tear in a pitiful streak
rolls quietly down his wasted cheek.

He rises but falls back again.
Unable to bear the pain
Off what he had seen and heard.
But to soldier on was his watch word.

Across a barren land he trudges,
his footsteps in the sand just smudges.
An oasis of friends and fertile soil,
his dreams to diminish this toil.

Screened by film
a dead man's eyes
reel the pain
too strong to rise
too weak to die
too lost to find
sad testament
to our man kind

A rock is shade from the burning sun

His feet are guided, this little one.

Disbelieving, he falls to his knees.

What can he see beneath the trees?

You're probably in Manchester.
You're probably in my home.
You're probably in my heart
but never far from my soul...

You might be in Manchester, but your not in an Oasis
You can't draw a judgement on any kind of basis
This journey doesn't end in a northern town
You've miles and miles to travel
To find your crown

maybe we should rename this, " lets all chip in and have one big joke", or maybe "lets all chip in and compare the starving kid in africa (or wherever in the 'third world') to the deprived kid in manchester - oh, lets not forget the weather though!

Sorry everyone, I actually thought that this was an interesting thing to watch, and developed really well. It was facinating to see how different peoples styles adapted to one poem.

So come on chaps - let's put Manchester behind us and have some decent verses out of you both - you are both good poets who I have a lot of respect for. I do take your point that we need something uplifting toward the end - nothing more depressing than 3rd world starvation - we need something hopeful - I wasn't able to manage that...

Hey this was meant to be a friendly kick about , if a bit of humour was interjected then maybe it gave it a breather , so now to the next bit. Lets but a positive spin on it,but just to add something - believe me when you see a kid who's been kicked to death in an alley in Manchester for whatever he has in his pocket maybe that is worse in a way than the poor lad we started off with --- as in, we should know better and we have the resources to be better , the child at at the start did not.
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ok, so if we can't move Manchester to the mountain ( or barren dry oasis) lets try and move the mountain to Manchester. Here goes;


Nothingness, is what he sees
beneath those dry and barren trees.
A single tear slides down his dusty face
the only water in this barren place.

Far away in another place
the wind whips round a dirty face.
Hollow cheeks and vacant eyes,
a young boy huddles down and cries.

At least he's warm, he sniffs and sighs,
and sqirms as a rat runs by
rests his weary head against the pane
watching images of one who shares his pain.

Well done Nicky... Now it's up to someone else to write a verse and carry this on. Win

His eyes turn and glance away
As a light breeze begins to sway
Deep within his spirit comes alive
Hope and passion will survive

A figure sighs, crouches near
a warm smile , a gentle tone
'It's OK son we'll find your home
I promise you we'll find your home'

With eyes of one who's been here before
and a trembling hand that was unsure.
Reached out to touch a mother's face
and then dissappeared without a trace.

People often wondered what became of him
Eyes pierced the night sky as though on a whim
He never forgot from where he came
And helped so many others do the same

My contribution: A, a, have, it, at, on, the, my, so, ?, ha, ..., !, did, not, becomming, verily, somwhat, thanks anyway, Jimminicricket. ... That should keep the group going for a while.

Hopefully by now you will have seen how the "Big poem" looks cut and pasted together in the Blogs section. I didn't want to leave out Andy n and Spencers Manchester diversion which also occured in this thread. I have been tinkering and this is what cane out... what do you think guys?

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MANCHESTER DIVERSION

You're probably in Manchester
but you’re not in an Oasis.

You might be in my home
but you can't draw a judgement
on any kind of basis.

You're probably in my heart
but this journey doesn't end
in any northern town.

You've miles and miles to travel
but never far from soul.
As you try to find your crown


(Andy n and Spencer)

It's tricky to try and cut up peoples styles and put them back together keeping a rhythm , Winston has made a good start with the Manchester 'chronicles'. I wonder if anyone can take all the contributions and edit them in such a way as to keep a universal rhythm, thus ,making it as though it was produced by one person. Now that's a tough one, anyone fancy a go?.

Hi Spencer,

this project you suggest is for a person with a bigger brain than me. lol.

Have enjoyed messing with you and Andyn's Manchester Chronicles however, hope thats ok. It has just been edited a little more now and there may be more to come. I hope this is ok with you?

win x

Hi spencer, I have been having a look at this, trying to keep the whole poem together - the starving kid in africa, the deprived kid in manchester and the weather. May need a little help, with polishing etc etc. Have had to leave it alone for a day - it's giving me brain ache lol :-) poor little thing ( my grey matter ) is overworked. Will put my effort here on this thread, so everyone can offer ideas for change and polishing.

Nicky x

Well Nicky and Winston it is a tricky one , a bit like a Rubik's cube. When you take it one way something else exposes itself and then you have to plan ahead to incorporate that part and so on and so on ..........
Mix chess with scrabble and then add the worst bit ... the human factor.

Well, my dad taught me how to play chess, and then refused to play me because he was fed up of a little girly voice saying 'check- mate Dad', - he hated losing at monopoly and had to have the most pieces of cheese too in Trivial Pursuit! -( He finally accepted me into his quiz team at 16 haha )- and I used to cheat at scrabble!
Do I get any brownie points for that? lol.

Ok Spencer. Finally blogged it, and a headache it has been, forgot I wasn't that good with the rubix cube, used to frustrate the hell out of me, give me chess and scrabble anyday. lol. Anyone want another bash - you are welcome to, or even improve upon it. Managed to squish the two elements together, by twiddling and bridging and moving verses about, with the fine editing help and suggestions of steve mellor and dave bradley. Thanks guys.x

Why do we put ourselves through this ordeal ?. The answer - we are poets ,sensitive and impulsive. I love it everyone who writes prose and poetry knows exactly what I mean , I think , er maybe, perhaps. Oh sorry did I mean too sensitive , er maybe, oh sorry ,erm , yes that's it.

I abhor your personal attack upon my genius and integrity, your bile and bitter recriminations flood my soul with the tar of burnt ambition and...err, No I don't, I agree with you!

: )

Jx