Master Po Known by his followers here at ‘WOL’ by his pen name ‘Po’. An abbreviation of Poemagraphic. Po lives in the South East of England in North Norfolk. He has been writing poetry since the early eighties. Po has made a life study and practice of meditation, which he started after becoming only the fourth person in the UK to attain a black belt in the Korean martial art of Hap-Ki-Do. He is also a Forth Degree Reiki Master Practitioner. Po has also studied Parapsychology; The study of mental phenomena that cannot be explained by known psychological or scientific principles, e.g. psychic ability, mediumship, extrasensory perception, remote viewing, etc. In the past, he wrote and published several articles on the paranormal, including 'Seeing and sensing the Aura' 'How to develop mediumship' 'The differences between ghosts and spirits' 'The truths of hauntings and possessions'. Having studied parapsychology for over forty years he went on to appear on BBC ‘Look East Live’ Halloween special, and having his own weekly radio phone-in and talk show on ‘Future Radio FM’. Plus, being a regular contributor in the ‘Paranormal Norfolk’ magazine. Po is mediumistic, seeing, hearing, and sensing those who have left this world behind. He has conducted literally hundreds of private consultations and undertaken numerous ‘serious’ paranormal investigations throughout the South East of England. His experiences are a great source of inspiration for much of his poetry. Please feel free to contact Po either here at WOL, or email: email@example.com His sample ‘Cocooned’ below was the winning poem at the annual Reepham music festival.
Cocooned Finding new complexity in handwriting dexterity Searching for lost artistry in the guise of poetry At times the images so surreal, in my mind a cotton reel Unravels till a tangled thread weaves a web around my bed Then ‘Itsy Bitsy’ comes to call. Arachnophobia cause me to fall Awaking with a nasty bump, in my throat a ticking lump. As I yawn, a black widow falls and bites my naked toe. Then scampers off somewhere to hide… No antidote to be applied What will now become of me, and my newly found complexity? At the proverbial ‘curling up of toes’, ‘Itsy Bitsy’ runs up my nose and proceeds to weave a silver thread, that leads me back into my bed A cobweb covered woven duvet, now shrouds a corpse where once I lay ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 11/11/19 11:00 Memorial The little white wooden church The small white wooden church had not an empty seat. With an overflowing congregation, so many on their feet. Spilling out of the door, to pay their last respects. Far more than I had thought, and more than most expect. The service was quite poignant, a fitting tribute that’s for sure A lost and fallen comrade, this memorial was for. We bowed our heads in prayer, and silently we stood United in our grief, as a band of brothers surely would. After the service, I marched across the empty parade square Back towards MT, by a familiar sight, stood standing upright, there. A stark remnant of the Berlin Wall, perched like a sentry, alone, standing tall. A small section that was removed, torn down, smashed in a fall. Ending endless suffering, tyranny, and scorn. Globally it seemed then, a time of peace had been born. Whilst standing in its shadow, an unseen presence drawing near That of a true and gallant hero, who many hold so dear. What was his death for, it seemed so futile, and totally in vain Lost in a war, that truly was insane. Based on 'Blair’s dodgy dossier', fictitious, full of lies. The cause of many thousand deaths, and the reason today we cried. Po https://www.writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=96796 May 2020 The Mad Hatter's Tea Party I wonder if the Reaper likes a cup of tea He could join us at my tea party I’ll invite him along to see He could sample my tasty layer cake and my posh conserves maybe he’ll be nice to me And I'd give him his just deserts If I need a knife to cut my delicious carrot cake perhaps he’ll lend me his razor-sharp scythe I hope for heaven's sake as I wield a downward blow it slices off his head I'd make a tasty effigy of 'The Reaper' in gingerbread That would be quite funny Que the Queen's well-worn catchphrase... "Off with his head!" As we watched it rolling down the hill and headless dead he lays. But who would then collect the souls at their end of days? Gosh! What a quandary that would surely be Who do you think might know... What was that vicar dear, Oh! Would you like more tea? Po
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Clouded Judgement (24/05/2020)
Let me out! (21/05/2020)
The Mad Hatter's Tea Party (19/05/2020)
‘Without so much as a by your leave’ (18/05/2020)
The End (17/05/2020)
A mesage of hope and inspiration. (not a poem) (15/05/2020)
Oh! Death where is your sting? (14/05/2020)
Signum crucis (07/05/2020)
Unmarked grave. (05/05/2020)
The descent into Hades’ and beyond! (27/12/2019)
Santa's Pride (20/12/2019)
A party fit for a Prince (06/12/2019)
Costa Lot (17/01/2019)
Out of his reach (12/01/2019)
|Wk 21||1 event|
Hover over an event to see the details. ( open mic event, Write Out Loud event)
Tuesday 19 May 2020
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