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prospero's (corin on UKA) UKArchive
394 Archived submissions found.
Title
Merry Christmas Everybody (posted on: 23-11-15)
Written in the Tyneside Film Theatre watching Naomi Klines film of 'This Changes Everything A cynical view of Christmas.

So once again it's Christmas time, I see it tangled up in rhyme; I hear it far up in the sky Twinkling like a star on high. Yet all the sky seems dark and cold, Unlike the Christmases of old And that bright star that proclaimed birth Has fallen deep beneath the Earth. No Angels sing in harmony Whilst shepherds guard sheep sleepily. Children sleep in unsafe beds As happy dreams drift through their heads. They do not feel the fears they should As danger dawdles though the wood. Their world seems quite safe and warm Protecting them from every harm. Every Christmas slipping past Brings us closer to the last Where presents, food and joys are gone And dreadful screams have replaced song. Only callous, ruthless men Will celebrate the old feast then Whilst all the rest will starve or drown Before the latest tyrant's crown. The living will envy the peaceful dead And wish that they had died instead; If only they had acted sooner Instead of dismissing it rumour. Underneath the coastal flood Cities lie dissolved in blood; Desserts spread across the land; Where crops once grew ther's only sand. From high above our God looks down Wearing his immortal crown And wondering if he really ought To have acted on that crazy thought? Fifteen billion years ago It seemed that only good could flow Down from his foolish first great move, But it had only served to prove If woman cojoined once with man She would open every box and can And let into God's paradise All evils satan could devise. Though God's son should come down to Earth And Mary know miraculous birth, Though Man's rich mind were richly fed By Krishna, Buddha and Mohammed, The harm once done can't be reversed. God surely should have first rehearsed His ambitious, risky plan Before creating foolish Man. Now Christ will have to come again And walk along this darkling plain To stop the struggle and the fight Of ignorant armies in dark night.
Archived comments for Merry Christmas Everybody

No comments archives found!
The Winter Time is Coming (posted on: 13-11-15)
An Autumnal version of 'he Summer Time is coming'

Oh, the winter time is coming And the leaves are gently falling All the summer flowers are dying About the woodland ride. Chorus: Will you come my Hinnie come To see the greenwood turning To a red and golden yellow As the autumn fires are burning, Will you come my Hinnie come? I will build for you a pyre Of logs and scented pinecones And before our blazing fire We will warm us by the hearth stones. Chorus: When the winter storms are raging We will stay beneath our covers And though we're surely ageing We will make the warmth of lovers. Chorus:
Archived comments for The Winter Time is Coming
stormwolf on 13-11-2015
The Winter Time is Coming
Hi David,
I commented on this, this morning from the train but seems to have gone astray. I was saying that I could sing along and could hear you singing it too.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Sorry to spoil your lovely singing:-)

Love

David

sweetwater on 14-11-2015
The Winter Time is Coming
Lovely warms the cockles of one's heart, especially loved the chorus, wish I could hear it sung. :-)) Sue. X

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Sue - but you really do not want to hear me singing it:-)
Thankyou for selecting it as a favourite poem.

Dave


Memorial Service 8th November 2015 (posted on: 09-11-15)
Crab and I went to the Armistice Commemoration service in Central Park Gosforth today.

A large ring of mourners standing quietly Around the small cenotaph; A flag half-masted; Children in their youth association uniforms; Older Army, Navy and Airforce cadets; Soldiers in red and khaki; Mute adults; Crab the Dog shivering But sitting quietly. A single gun fires Then silence; Two minutes pass then a bugle Plays the long, sad notes of the Last Post. After that absurd incongruous prayers Assert a loving God But war goes on in Syria, Palestine, Africa, Iraq. The useless prayers are blown away by the cold wind And the park returns to football, stick chasing dogs and joggers. War carries on as usual.
Archived comments for Memorial Service 8th November 2015
Pronto on 09-11-2015
Memorial Service 8th November 2015
I. too, have written along these lines and had these thoughts. Having participated in and lost comrades to useless, pointless war I see no evidence of the existence of any benevolent deity.
Well expressed sir. I hope the dog didn't suffer too much.

Author's Reply:

sweetwater on 12-11-2015
Memorial Service 8th November 2015
Sadly it was a mistake giving man free will, and hoping his conscience would control things, it's man's own greed that leads so many innocent lives to be lost. I cannot see an end to war ever happening, as man has fought man from the beginning. Sue.

Author's Reply:

Corin on 14-11-2015
Memorial Service 8th November 2015
Hi Sue - free will is I believe an invention by the theologians to try and resolve the contradictions posed by the ideas of an almighty and loving god. As a Humanist I think that we have to deal with the nature of man as it is. Homo Sapiens evolved in the environment of the African Savannah. To survive we had to cooperate as a small group using our brains and manual skills. I think that this means that Man has evolved an innate sense of morality in order for members of a group to live together successfully and build a a larger community. This means that the genes of every member of the group are passed on to succeeding generations However there are situations when cooperation will not resolve the conflict, e.g. when there is a shortage of food or land. This is when tribal loyalties come into play. The members of a group or tribe are more closely related genetically so they are prepared to fight to defend their tribe’s territory.
This works fine in the conditions of primitive societies but in the complex societies of Modern Man i.e. That is Agricultural and Post-Agricultural societies this all breaks down as the tendency of the most ruthless and brutal person (usually a man) to assume power and leadership of the tribe creates the brutality and inhumanity that we see around us today and in the history of the Twentieth Century:-

FIVE WAYS TO KILL A MAN
by
Edwin Brock


There are many cumbersome ways to kill a man.
You can make him carry a plank of wood
to the top of a hill and nail him to it.
To do this properly you require a crowd of people
wearing sandals, a cock that crows, a cloak
to dissect, a sponge, some vinegar and one
man to hammer the nails home.

Or you can take a length of steel,
shaped and chased in a traditional way,
and attempt to pierce the metal cage he wears.
But for this you need white horses,
English trees, men with bows and arrows,
at least two flags, a prince, and a
castle to hold your banquet in.

Dispensing with nobility, you may, if the wind
allows, blow gas at him. But then you need
a mile of mud sliced through with ditches,
not to mention black boots, bomb craters,
more mud, a plague of rats, a dozen songs
and some round hats made of steel.

In an age of aeroplanes, you may fly
miles above your victim and dispose of him by
pressing one small switch. All you then
require is an ocean to separate you, two
systems of government, a nation's scientists,
several factories, a psychopath and
land that no-one needs for several years.

These are, as I began, cumbersome ways to kill a man.
Simpler, direct, and much more neat is to see
that he is living somewhere in the middle
of the twentieth century, and leave him there.

Dave

Author's Reply:


Through the Chilli Studio Window Sadly (posted on: 09-11-15)
A piece for the Multi-Media play I am helping to write for Chilli Studios ( see - http://www.chillistudios.co.uk/ )

Grey sky and grey mind Obscure the wide world. Cars and buses, lorries and vans Come and go. People walk calmly along As if they have somewhere Important to go And intend to get there. Railway lines lie beyond The road and the old stone wall. A Virgin Train From Edinburgh Heads towards Newcastle, Then probably London. The banks of the railway cutting look like a nature reserve:- May, Ash and silver birch; Seeding rosebay willow herb Hide a fecund fauna Of mice, moles,voles and foxes; Ants, moths and whirligig beetles; Worms, slugs and snails, Magpies, crows and pigeons; All unaware that they are Squatting In an illegal wildlife sanctuary. They live a quiet unobserved life Behind the giant advertising billboards Facing the passing traffic And in front of the incongruous Painted graffiti facing the train passengers Passing in or out of Newcastle upon Tyne. The everyday world Is busy and unconcerned about the passing of time But once this place was a glacial plain And before that the floor of a shallow sea. Soon it will al be flooded again Or perhaps part of a global desert. Possibly future palaeontologists Will unearth a thick layer Of strange limbed creatures With enormous skulls, Quietly accepting their Self inflicted Destiny.
Archived comments for Through the Chilli Studio Window Sadly
sweetwater on 12-11-2015
Through the Chilli Studio Window Sadly
Thats weired, I thought this was a new one so went to read and realised it was one I did actually comment on because I enjoyed it so much, earlier in the week now wondering what became of the comment? Sue.

Author's Reply:
These disappearing comments are appreciated so much more than the more obdurate ones:-)

Dave


Through the Chilli Studio Window Sadly (posted on: 06-11-15)
Dedicated to the grandchildren of the world.

Grey sky and grey mind Obscure the wide world. Cars and buses, lorries and vans Come and go. People walk calmly along As if they have somewhere Important to go And intend to get there. Railway lines lie beyond The road and the old stone wall. A Virgin Train From Edinburgh Heads towards Newcastle, Then probably London. The banks of the railway cutting look like a nature reserve:- May, Ash and silver birch; Seeding rosebay willow herb Hide a fecund fauna Of mice, moles,voles and foxes; Ants, moths and whirligig beetles; Worms, slugs and snails, Magpies, crows and pigeons; All unaware that they are Squatting In an illegal wildlife sanctuary. They live a quiet unobserved life Behind the giant advertising billboards Facing the passing traffic And in front of the incongruous Painted graffiti facing the train passengers Passing in or out of Newcastle upon Tyne. The everyday world Is busy and unconcerned about the passing of time But once this place was a glacial plain And before that the floor of a shallow sea. Soon it will al be flooded again Or perhaps part of a global desert. Possibly future palaeontologists Will unearth a thick layer Of strange limbed creatures With enormous skulls, Quietly accepting their Self inflicted Destiny.
Archived comments for Through the Chilli Studio Window Sadly
Mikeverdi on 06-11-2015
Through the Chilli Studio Window Sadly
Excellent, I really enjoyed reading this David.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mike

gwirionedd on 06-11-2015
Through the Chilli Studio Window Sadly
You expect Northumbria to relatively soon go the way of Doggerland?

That would be a shame.

I often wonder what the Doggerish dialect would have sounded like. Perhaps a bit like Basque, with Scandinavian overtones.

Maybe you could think of a more evocative verb than "heads" to Newcastle?



Author's Reply:
You live in Berlin now don’t you. When the Polar Icecaps melt Berlin will be in Doggerland too!

The people in Doggerland, like most of the people in England today, were closely related to the Basgues. Our DNA is very similar. All the invasions of Britain - Celt, Roman, Saxon, Danish, Norman merely changed the rulers and the language not the general population. The Basques came over the post Ice Age land bridge, then the slow global warming of the intergalactic period melted the polar ice and drowned it.

How about ‘crawls into Newcastle’?

Best Wishes

Dave

gwirionedd on 06-11-2015
Through the Chilli Studio Window Sadly
Poor old Europe... Poor old Planet Earth...

The genetic and linguistic history of Britain is truly fascinating. The link between us and the Basques is particularly mysterious and intriguing. Isn't the Basque flag basically a Union Jack in different colours? Why is that? Is there an ancient, pre-historical reason behind that, some kind of reference to a Basque-British link, or is it just coincidence, do you know?

Yes, I think "crawls" works better.

All the best,
Archie



Author's Reply:
I think that our links to the Basque peope go back so far - over 10,000 years that there is no historical or cultural connection left so the flag similarity must be coincidence - after all the union jack in its present form only goes back to the act of Union with Ireland in 1801.
I suspect that the Basques were the first peoples into Southern Europe, after the end of the last Ice Age, about 20,000 years ago and when the land bridge was uncovered they wandered into Norther Europe, including Britain.

Dave

sweetwater on 07-11-2015
Through the Chilli Studio Window Sadly
I think I saw this poem slightly differently judging by the other comments. I was delighted by the day to day life gently coming and going, the lovely description of the railway cutting, against the ugly backdrop of our human life. Then the last verse reminding us of how our world came into being and how quickly it could become unrecognisable once again. That subject never ceases to enthral me. I suppose mine is a far less knowledgeable understanding, but nevertheless I loved your poem. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Hi Sue,
I think you caught the mood of the poem precisely. It was basically a writing exercise for a Multi-media play I am involved in called, ‘Normal Norman’. It is basically about a group of people who are not really normal at all, which is why they are looking out of the windows of Chilli Studios on Newbridge Street in Newcastle upon Tyne while doing some art therapy.

The the incongruity of the explosion of nature between he railway line and the busy road struck me. The theme of momentous change in the history of the Earth and the imminent dramatic change that globa warming will cause has been a a favourite topic of mine for a long time - since 1967 in fact:-

Genesis
by
David M Turner
1967

In the beginning there was night
And the night was Dark;
Yet the spirit of darkness was LIFE
And the LIFE shouted so there was light.
Then Light and Dark came together
And of their union was the Earth.
With the Earth came the Sky, the Sun, the Moon and Stars.

Under the Sun, with the blessing of full time,
The Earth blossomed and bore Men;
But the Men brought death and death Sin
Till Sin grew grew bigger than Men.
Then LIFE became angry.

The ANGER became a wall of water
Which washed over the whole Earth
Except for the highest mountains
All but the brave men on the high mountains drowned.
After the brave men on the high mountains descended,
And there was a new beginning.


Now the beginning has ended:
The end has begun;
LIFE will again be Angry.

This is obviously a retelling of the story of Noah, but it was inspired by a similar story in Ovid’s ‘Metamorphosis’

I hope that you are not very young and won’t have to live through the coming disasters:-(

Maetheforsbye, (see, See http://www.creative-poems.com/poem.php?id=284432)

Dave

stormwolf on 07-11-2015
Through the Chilli Studio Window Sadly
A very thoughtful and also thought provoking piece David. It shows what goes on in that brain of yours. It can be hell to be a deep thinker. I have been acused all my life of "thinking too much" as though it is some kind of fatal flaw.
It does make us tend towards depression at times though. Hard not to be when we see what's happening in the world.
Perhaps it's better not to think? but bugger that for a laugh as they say!
Alison x

Author's Reply:
"It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied; better to be Socrates dissatisfied than a fool satisfied. And if the fool, or the pig, are a different opinion, it is because they only know their own side of the question."
John Stuart Mill, Utilitarianism (1863)

David


I Sing a Song of Lamentation (posted on: 23-10-15)
Dedicated to all our grandchildren born to live on this wonderful planet at such an apocalyptic time in human history. To appreciate the full horror of what is to come read Naomi Klines book 'This Changes Every thing or else call me Cassandra and stick your head back in the nice warm sand:-(

I sing a song of lamentation, A song for the Earth And for the human race And for the long slow progress of evolution. I sing of tears to come Of wailings in the night And innocent children made to lie down In the darkness Among the straw beds of misery. I sing of the greatest loss ever known - If it should be that any will remain To remember this loss that is yet to come. How could it get to this, that such a gift is thrown away. Such a great gift and so hardly earned, So dearly bought and so many years in the making. How can this come to be? And yet it will be And still they stand and deny what is all about them. Can it be that lemmings know what These Homo Sapiens, These so-called `wise men' Have yet to learn? Myths of mass suicide Surround the little rodents, But in fact They have the sense When disaster stares them in the face To do whatever can be done To avoid the coming doom. Though many perish on the way Migrating lemmings hold to their purpose Pursuing relentlessly By the only means they know - Short lemming legs - A way to save their rodent race. Would that man had such courage and such sense To face what must be done And simply do it; To pay the price that must be paid, To act together and to share the pain Even if some individuals must Must make a sacrifice Greater than the rest. Now it seems the paragon of animals Is less than the lowliest of mammals. How can it be that the maker of myths Should chose voluntarily to live out the myths of others? How can the seeing be led by the blind? But of course, greed blinds as wealth grows. This paradox - That the greediest are the wealthiest - Is a deadly truth. Inert gold is poison to men's souls, Now it will murder a whole world. I cry to Great Gaia, Come to our aid, Exert your force, Practice those arts That in former times Transformed so perfectly This small planet From a terrifying Hell into a beautiful Eden. Oh, such prayers are bootless! Gaia and Demeter and Prometheus Are consulting with the Fates. Don't we know yet how Useless to appeal to the three Moirae? Clotho, the spinner, Has spun the thread of human life; Lachesis, the measurer, Has marked out our span; And most powerful, Most impervious of all Silent Atropos, She who will not turn, Standing ready now With her great shears in one hand And in the other Six billion threads of life, Ripened for harvest. Oh I send pointless pleas into the wind; Shed useless tears into the rain; Who stands here with me? Is it not beautiful this tiny planet? A blue and white jewel In the blackness of space. Hard not to think that some Great God Set it there for great purpose And stood back to admire his work. So, there are foolish gods it seems, Or else no gods - And only even more foolish men Unwilling to learn the skills required For the care and maintenance of a small planet. Would that governments had subsidised evening courses in this art - A better use of money than All those classes To keep keep cars on the road to the destruction of the planet - No! Let us be precise - The road leads to the destruction of the planet as a suitable place for humanity to live. We should do the decent thing, sacrifice ourselves to Gaia Before Gaia sacrifices us to Poseidon, Leave our place in the sun And let the rodents have another chance. Dinosaurs had their day, Men have had their moment, Let the lemmings live with our leavings. For all we know there were once Intelligent dinosaurs That briefly ruled the Saurian age. Two hundred thousand years is a small blip In geological time and, For creatures of the land, not much time to Create a fossil record. Look how hard we have had to search To find scant evidence of our own history. Dinosaurs had world enough and time To develop their own brains. Evolutionary forces operated the same way in the Cretaceous as in the Quaternary; Intelligence, tool making, communication and language Would have given them the same power to rule the world as Foolish Overgrown Apes. Didn't Tyranosaurous Rex have hands? So, are we no better than an extinct class of vertebrata? Out of the depths I have cried to You, O Gaia. Gaia, hear my voice! Let Your ears be attentive To the voice of my supplications. If You, Gaia, should mark our iniquities, O Gaia, who could stand? There is no forgiveness with You, That You may be feared. We wait for You Great Gaia, The soul of humanity does wait, But there are no words and no hope. Our soul waits for Great Gaia More than the watchmen for the morning; Indeed, more than the watchmen for the morning. O Earth, hope in Great Gaia; For with the Gaia there is loving kindness, Even if She must be cruel to be kind! And with her is abundant redemption. And She will redeem the Earth From all man's iniquities. The judgement of Gaia is just. They that destroy shall be destroyed That the Earth may rise again from the dead. That Life may live And the World, once again, Come to rights. Let us pray. All Glory be unto thee Great Gaia! Do unto us according to Thy will.
Archived comments for I Sing a Song of Lamentation
stormwolf on 24-10-2015
I Sing a Song of Lamentation
Hi David,
You sure are lamenting but I understand why alright. It's overly long as befits the style and the frequent refs to mythology could be off putting to some.
A real 'humanist' poem.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison,
Well it is a very important topic that needs long consideration I think. As for the myths some of them were Christian :-

Catholic Prayer: Out of the Depths - De Profundis

Psalm 129 Prayer:

Out of the depths I have cried to Thee, O Lord;

Gaia is not only the Greek God of the Earth but also the name of James Lovelocks serious scientific theory that the Biosphere is essentially a single organism that controls its environment to ensure its survival just as mammalian bodies do by controlling their internal temperature.

David


Anaphora (posted on: 19-10-15)
The term ''anaphora'' comes from the Greek and refers to a type of repetition when successive phrases or lines begin with the same words. Often used in political speeches and occasionally in prose and poetry. Dr. Martin Luther Kings ''I Have a Dream'', speech is the most famous example.

I love Anna Fora - She keeps coming back in different guises. I love Anna Fora, She inspires me to write. I love Anna Fora, She always appears when I expect her. I love Anna Fora, She is so originally repetitive.
Archived comments for Anaphora
Nomenklatura on 19-10-2015
Anaphora
My, you made me laugh here. Thanks!
Ewan

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Ewan - I rather enjoy the odd comic poem among the serious ones:-)

Dave


Your Wings (posted on: 16-10-15)
Who she is, where she came from, where she has gone - I know not.

Your wings are invisible But you must have some somewhere As you are a beautiful Angel Your halo shimmers every time You shake your head And silver dust floats Down to settle upon your Elegant shoulders. Your feet never touch the ground Whilst your pinions and feathers Vibrate musically and suspend You an inch or so above the floor. I am always down to earth. It attracts me like a strong magnet Attracts iron. Whenever I try to reach for you Your magnetism is the same polarity as mine And pushes me firmly away. I can see you but never touch you; I can want you but never have you; I can love you but never be requited.
Archived comments for Your Wings
Supratik on 16-10-2015
Your Wings
A beautiful read indeed! Thanks for sharing. Best. Supratik

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Supratik.

Dave

stormwolf on 16-10-2015
Your Wings
Well David,
This is a slighly different style from you but it works wonderfully well. The simplicirty of the lines only highlights the beautiful imagery and the contrasting stanzas balance out the whole poem.
The otherwordly desired by the grounded, never to meet due to natural polarity. One for my fav collection.
What superb poetry I am reading this morning.

Alison x


Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison - This was a NAGAS poem written when I was really down. Thank you for the pick too:-)


love

David

Mikeverdi on 16-10-2015
Your Wings
I like the gentle flow of words, as Alison says, a different style with this one. Great stuff.
Mike
ps.typo first line second verse.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mike - I will correct the typo:-)

BTW - how are you?

Dave


Pronto on 19-10-2015
Your Wings
I really enjoyed this poem. It simply flowed along beautifully and left us in awe and wonder about this apparition of loveliness. Well deserved nib.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Pronto, it was piece out of nothing really - a writing group exercise. It never ceases to amaze me how many poems we have inside that we do not know about.

Dave


Your Wings (posted on: 09-10-15)
Another NAGAS poem

Your wings are invisible But you must have some somewhere As you are a beautiful Angel Your halo shimmers every time You shake your head And silver dust floats Down to settle upon your Elegant shoulders. Your feet never touch the ground Whilst your pinions and feathers Vibrate musically and suspend You an inch or so above the floor. I am always dwn to earth. It attracts me like a strong magnet Attracts iron. Whenever I try to reach for you Your magnetism is the same polarity as mine And pushes me firmly away. I can see you but never touch you; I can want you but never have you; I can love you but never be requited.
Archived comments for Your Wings
shadow on 11-10-2015
Your Wings
Intriguing poem. I liked the metaphor of same magnetic polarity pushing two bodies apart.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Shadow. It was a writing exercise really but I quite liked it:-)

Dave


City of Sin (posted on: 09-10-15)
Newcastle is a Party City especially on a Friday and Saturday Night. Young folk come from all over to have a Stag or Hen Party in the Town.

Newcastle City was a city of sin, The ambulance sirens made a hell of a din; The police that were following right on their trail Raised an even more deafening wail; Every street led to crime and disaster; So the criminals ran faster and faster. Bouncers stood outside every pub; MacDonald's burgers were the staple grub; Beer and shots slid down every throat Enough booze in the streets to float a boat! The Hotspur pub was a chemist's shop Jumping Jack Flash and pills to pop. The streets were full of bonnie lasses Dressed to kill and steam up your glasses; Their legs all went right up to their bums, Their boobs hung out well over their tums Blue Tattoos on every inch of skin - More birds and butterflies are walking in. Shouts and laughter echo down Bigg Market Hen parties in pink are the poseurs target. The police stand around for an iphone pic, A lipstick kiss keeps them out of the nick; Pink balloons fly off in the air The bride is pissed but she does not care. The boys' Stag parties wore tits and bras Looking like monsters that come from Mars The groom was tied to a black bollard Every girl could see he was really hard With his pants pulled right down to the ground - Orgasmic groaning echoed round and round. The buses stopped when the pubs came out So the taxi firms had all the clout, It's fifteen quid just to get back home! Might as well go for a midnight roam Across the town Moor, the cows are asleep, The path's full of dung but the mud's not too deep.
Archived comments for City of Sin
stormwolf on 09-10-2015
City of Sin
Hi David,

This reminds me of going through the town center with you and Mavis after the theatre, It was just as you described. The women disgustingly drunk and incapable with their boobs hanging out. I do seem to remember your glasses getting steamed up right enough haha

Edinburgh has many hen parties of a similar nature but I never experienced the crowds of semi-naked women till I saw Newcastle on a weekend.



AliSON x

Author's Reply:
Yes - the street scenery is always very attractive in Newcastle on a Friday and S
aturday night.

sweetwater on 10-10-2015
City of Sin
Sounds good to me! I personally have never done this, well one just didn't in the sixties in Guildford shame really 😉 great poem, enjoyed reading about all the fun everybody seemed to be having. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Sue - It’s all going on out there right now:-)

Dave

gwirionedd on 11-10-2015
City of Sin
"Her legs went right up to her bum"...

My Dad always said that... and I thought he was a stupid cunt.

Blimey, Dave! The north, eh?

You've just reminded me why I'll never live there. Ha ha ha.....

Actually, their women are hard. I remember marvelling in Liverpool how these birds would totter around in the January snow wearing nothing but two handkerchiefs.




Author's Reply:
"Her legs went right up to her bum"… - It was my Uncle Bill who gave me that phrase:-) Perhaps he was a friend of your dad - he lived in Stepney:-)

Yeah - the the same in Newcastlde in Winter:-)

Dave



THREE SCORE YEARS AND TEN (posted on: 21-09-15)
Birthday poem for my old =university friend, Peter Smith, soon to be (like me) 67 years old!

Summers come and summers go While winter threatens ice and snow, Every leaf upon the breeze Whispers to the aging trees, "Of your three score years and ten Very few will come again, So let those few be treasured more Than all of those that passed before. Life's a joy to be passed on, A gift we gained from those now gone, Show all of those that follow us That they too should depart thus." (apologies to A E Houseman - Loveliest of Trees, the Cherry now)
Archived comments for THREE SCORE YEARS AND TEN
sweetwater on 23-09-2015
THREE SCORE YEARS AND TEN
Can relate to these words, not there yet but it will arrive when I'm not looking! Loved the ageing trees line especially. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Sue,
As old Bill wrote - I have reached my sixth age:-

"The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble.”

I love this line:-

His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank;

To me this means that his old tights not only no longer fit but are now part of a world that is completely lost. Still, it is a comfort to think that “ our lttle lives are rounded with a sleep":-)

David

Supratik on 24-09-2015
THREE SCORE YEARS AND TEN
Excellent read!

Author's Reply:

shadow on 24-09-2015
THREE SCORE YEARS AND TEN
I can relate to this, having reached the magic number. Well put.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Shadow.

'Maethforsbye’;-

May the Force be with you.
That universal Life Force
That created matter and energy
Out of nothing;
Stars and galaxies
Out of a swirling cloud of Hydrogen and Helium;
Planets and Life
Out of the dust from Stella Supernova.
We are all stardust.

David


Carlisle Train (posted on: 13-07-15)
A very old love poem from February 1971

Sadly watching the complex pattern of Tyneside lights Scatter over Durham's hills I think of you. Scotswood Bridge and the river Slip beneath the train's relentless rhythm; Our separation grows; Already the Tyne lies between us, Its waters vaster than All my efforts of five days And darker than they seem Seen by the orange lamplight Blinking out of its inky depths. With you the the night is a jewel of delight, A vivid ecstasy of joy, Mysterious, deep beyond thought, Climbing to an atmosphere so Rarefied, so clear that breathing is an act of pure being. Without you the intermittent stars Are sharp points of pain Reaching from beyond time To pierce my mind with their poignant beauty; The hours are but hours Filled by long minutes, pebbled with seconds. I love you Long for you Need you Desire you. I want to be with you between the warm sheets of our bed And more I want to be forever Between the warm blankets of your love, To be touching eternally the soft silk of your mind, To be fused inextricably with your pure spirit And fly without effort above the Meaninglessness of never ending time Into the dream of all being, all knowing and all love. The train speeds swiftly through the dark night That is yet so much lighter, So much brighter Than the knowledge of your absence.
Archived comments for Carlisle Train
Savvi on 13-07-2015
Carlisle Train
Loved the opening stanza, so atmospheric, sorry but hated the mush of S2, liked S3 except for the mush of line 11 and you have a great close, I can just see you penning this with long hair side burns and flares, please take it to the Corin custom shop, S1 deserves less mush 🙂 Best Keith

Author's Reply:
Thank you Keith for those perceptive comments with which I agree. However with poems as old as this I don’t feel that I have the right to edit them except for typos etc. as I am no longer the poet that wrote them. In any case there was a an edited version that I gave to my wife to be in 1971 but she did not keep it or else lost it!

Maethforsbye

Dave

Gothicman on 15-07-2015
Carlisle Train
A fine poem. Written from a strong emotional base. I do hope you haven't lost lost your romantic pen entirely with the ravenous years, although, this level of enthusiasm belongs to youth!
Trevor

Author's Reply:
Thank you Trevor, No I can still turn out the Mush if I have to. What do you think of this? :-


A Sonnet to my Mistress' Eyebrows
June 12th 2008

My mistress' eyebrows do excel all  parts
Because they frame her dark alluring eyes
That fired into my heart love's sharp darts
And made of me her all too willing prize.
Those arches do so well adorn her face,
Meeting just above a well wrought nose,
That, even hid behind a veil of lace,
Each eye assumes the aspect of a rose.
Brows echo and reflect her lovely lips -
As red as poppies that first bloom in June -
As full as Autumn's orange-red rose hips,
Till all her face sings one harmonious tune.
Then let not Mr Shakespeare mock the lover
Who praises eyebrows and the parts they cover.

It was inspired by this from "All’s Well That Ends Well’ by Shakespeare:-

[JACQUES]
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;
And then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like a furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

I was actually paid for this sonnet £100!!

Maethforsbye

Dave

Savvi on 15-07-2015
Carlisle Train
Dave you are spot on, my apologies, not sure what I was thinking. Why on earth would you change something that is of the moment and snap shot of your past, it should be treasured for what it is and thank you for sharing it. And thank you for making me realise this. Best Keith

Author's Reply:

Mikeverdi on 15-07-2015
Carlisle Train
For me it read well. It came from the hart not the brain. I believe this is where love poetry should come from. To compose the words without having been through the turmoil would be writing blind. We can always fiddle and fuss, but in the end if its what we felt at the time....
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mike

See you in Bristol:-)

Dave


Cathedral of Reconciliation (posted on: 13-07-15)
Written after a visit to Coventry Cathedral

I weep inside this cathedral of wailing souls; Weep for its charred cross Upon an altar of fallen stones; For its little cross of iron nails - all forged anew. I weep for its wind-wide walls, Its soaring roof of vaulted sky, Its footprints of fallen pillars, Its lonely spire tower And heat seared window glass. The souls that gather here speak with the strength of silence. Their language is universal, Even though they They once spoke only in English or German or Japanese, And now speak Peace and Reconciliation. This should be an easy language to learn - Yet Bethlehem lies imprisoned behind a wall of hatred, Baghdad burns daily, Bombs kill children in Basra. War has a simpler vocabulary and no grammar. A new Northern Chapel, Phoenix-like to these ash-scarred stones - A Cathedral of hope - Asserts the power of beauty Over the waste of war. Outside, Saint Michael flies victorious over The desolation of death, Unscorched stones proclaim anew the purposes of peace. Inside the light of love, Multicoloured, glorious, Shines in the dark; Its high windows, Angled towards the centre of joy, Proclaim the works of Man; From the North wall Hanging in all his splendour, Beneficent Christ the Ant Blesses a Ministry of Peace; Facing him in all their glory, Transparent saints and angels Trumpet the right of reconciliation. I command the people of the world To travel here, To open their ears to these silent souls, Their eyes to the beauty of hope, Their hearts to peace.
Archived comments for Cathedral of Reconciliation
MrMarmite on 13-07-2015
Cathedral of Reconciliation
Hi Corin.A wonderful piece of writing on Coventry Cathedral.As I'm a Coventrian and who lives in the city your poem makes me proud that Coventry although it got badly bombed during the war it rose from the ashes hence the Phoenix is on our badge of arms,and the new cathedral next to the ruins of the old bears testament that life still goes on. Once again many thanks in creating a fine tribute to our much loved new and old cathedrals. All the best. Kevin.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Kevin, It was a cold day that I visited your City. Having been born in the East End of London and played as a child in some of the bomb sites still there after10 years of peace I found your preserved bomb site very moving. There is a similar unrestored site, left as a war memorial. in Liverpool known locally as the bombed out church.

As Bob Dylan sang:-
"If God is on our side
He’ll stop the next war.”

Maethforsbye (See http://www.creative-poems.com/poem.php?id=284432)

Dave

gwirionedd on 16-07-2015
Cathedral of Reconciliation
A surprisingly spiritual poem from you, David. I thought you hated Christianity and religion in general?

What do you mean by "Christ the Ant"...?




Author's Reply:
Archie I am very spiritual in a Humanist rather than a religious sense. Chris the Ant refers to the famous tapestry by Gram Sutherland , see:-

http://www.historiccoventry.co.uk/cathedrals/baptistery.php

Can see now why I refer to it as Christ the Ant.

Looking at the website again `i feel immensely moved by the images of this Cathedral - it is something to do with this:-

Seemingly with a defiance that summed up the resolute character of English citizens during the darkest days of World War Two, the decision to build the New Cathedral was made only the day after the old one was destroyed in the blitz. However, Dick Howard the Provost of St. Michael's at that time, did not have retribution in mind. His vision was that the new church would be a sign of faith in humanity and for peace in our future. The Cathedral is an inspiring work of art and transcends, I think , it’s role as an Anglican place of worship.

Maetheforsbye,

Dave


I Awake Uncertainly (posted on: 26-06-15)
This is a very old poem from my student days. Having discovered it again I feel quite pleased with the 22 year old that that wrote this. What it is about I dont really remember, except that it was written in a house that had been turned into bedsits with other occupants upstairs and down.

I awake uncertainly To a morning of bloated smiles. Shattered windows stare into the sky. Down the street swift shadows rise and fall Deserted by the emptiness of time. Along the mountain vales A fierce wind blows, its icy blast Gasping at the air, Ricocheting from every bend It stumbles and swirls Finally releasing its load upon the rocks of far distant shores. - Quick frozen minds are good to eat If thawed before there's Time to utter any thought. Pre-packed in polythene bags No foreign substance ever enters. "Given the precept that education Is not the means ..." The voice trails, lost Among words, confused by sentences. Winter's warmth succeeds dull summer's chill; Seagulls turn in the grey sky; A flurry of wings and an awkward Landing upon the stack of a chimney. How many chimneys are there In this winterland of wonder? Destroy! Destroy! There is no other purpose - Meanwhile, above the morning noises Is a faint sound, Far off, descending from the room above, Chords upon a piano Rising and falling, Arrhythmic but sweet chords, First soft, now crashing angrily, Soft again And that is all.
Archived comments for I Awake Uncertainly
gwirionedd on 26-06-2015
I Awake Uncertainly
I really like the opening two lines:

I awake uncertainly
To a morning of bloated smiles.

Where were you when you were 22, David? Is this Newcastle?







Author's Reply:
Hi - I have been meaning to ask this, I think I have remembered who you are, are you my old friend on UKA - Paul MacJoyce?

Anyway this was written in Newcastle in 1971 when I was a student teacher living on my own because my then girlfriend, now my wife Mavis, was living at home and we had not sorted out our relationship with our parents. It w as a strange time. Later I had to go to Carlisle on teaching practice, so I have studied in all four corners of the country - Essex, Exeter, Newcastle and Carlisle!

I look forward to chatting to you paul. Are you going to Bristol in September?

Maethforsbye,

Dave

gwirionedd on 26-06-2015
I Awake Uncertainly
Well, I changed my name by deed poll to Archie in 2008, because I've never liked the name Paul. It's boring. But yes.

I won't be able to make Bristol this year, as I live in Berlin now. I will be busy working, as an English teacher.

I forget your exact heritage... I know you've lived in Newcastle for a long time, but when I met you, you didn't sound like a Geordie. You didn't say "Haddaway and shite, mon" once.

You're from the south originally, aren't you?


Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 30-06-2015
I Awake Uncertainly
Another poem that is full of melancholic imagery and a very creative and thoughtful mind.
It is almost a journey into the actual mind and thoughts of the poet as it has a thought stream feel about it.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Alison,
Yes - you are right about this Alison. It was a strange time.

Love

David


I Am (posted on: 26-06-15)
With acknowledgement and thanks for the inspiration to William Shakespeare.

I am a tiny fraction of the energy of the Big Bang; The creative flash of a hyperinflationary micro second 
 The faint ripple of primeval galactic density; An inevitable coalescence of the long swell of gravity waves; A passionate fusion of a quadrillion hydrogen atoms; 
 I am the dust of long forgotten stars; 
 The pain of aeons of evolutionary suffering; 
 "Noble in reason; " "Infinite in faculty!
" "In form and express admirable!" "In action like an angel!" "The paragon of animals ! '' I am a Man! I am Me!
Archived comments for I Am
gwirionedd on 26-06-2015
I Am
Man delights not me... Nor woman neither...



Author's Reply:
You don’t really mean that I am sure!

Seriously though when I was severely depressed from January 1914 until May this year I understood wht Hamlet was saying entirely.

I felt like Matthew Arnold:-

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

Sometimes I think that I have too many poems in my head and it s not good for me:-(

Maetheforsbye

Dave

amman on 26-06-2015
I Am
What a piece of work is this. From the infinitesimal to the affirmation of self. 'I am man/I am me'!
I wish the poetry in my head was so accessible.
Regards.
Tony.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Tony - with a bit f help from my friend William:-)

Dave

gwirionedd on 26-06-2015
I Am
Come now, David, I'm sure you hadn't been depressed since the start of the First World War. I suspect you are exaggerrating.

Anyway, I'm glad you're through the worst of it now. Hopefully now you can remain in reasonable good cheer until the outbreak of the Third World War (coming soon to a cinema near you).



Author's Reply:
Well i would have been depressed by the First World War, of course I was ill from January 2014 until May 2015 which seemed like an eternity:-(

Dave

Gothicman on 27-06-2015
I Am
An excellent poem, Corin, like the made from random common dust birth and the listing of positive attributes from sophisticated development, two extremes as it were. (Acks to Stephen Hawkins too!) Not sure if it's a cynical view of creation without a omnipotent God though! Haha!
Goth

Author's Reply:
Gothicman it is intended to be a humanist view of creation without the need for an almighty creator. Science seems to begetting closer and closer to explaining how the universe was created out of nothing. Even so we do not understand it all completely yet. Time and space and mass are still quite mysterious phenomenon.

Dave

Mikeverdi on 28-06-2015
I Am
Late to the feast on this one, just to say I enjoyed the meal.I don't like to think it may be the last supper though, so 'Keep Calm and Cary On' looking forwards to hearing you in Bristol Dave 🙂
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mike, Looking forward to meeting everyone in Bristol - many thanks for organising it.

Dave

stormwolf on 30-06-2015
I Am
Never heard it put like that David but I do love that we are made of stardust.
You are indeed you and you write good poetry an' all.
Alison xx

Author's Reply:
It is quite literally true that we are made of stardust. When a massive star in the middle of a large cloud of condensing hydrogen has nearly burnt up up all its hydrogen fuel and turned it to Helium it first of all grows smaller and hotter until the helium begins to burn and produce carbon. This reaction causes the star to become hot again and expand enormously and turn into a red giant. Eventually the Helium runs out and the star collapses again. If the star is massive enough the intense gravity causes the star to explode as a supernova. In a few seconds all the other 80 odd elements are synthesised by nuclear fusion and scattered amid the hydrogen cloud. These elements react chemically to form simple molecules like water, methane, silicon dioxide iron oxide, ammonia, acetic acid and nucleic acids. This is star dust. When new stars form in the ancient gas cloud the star dust becomes part of the proto star. The heavier material from the star dust forms planets etc orbiting the new star. On Earth it was from this dust that life evolved, (we know not how). The early simple life forms after 3.5 billion years evolved into homo sapiens. Hence we are all literally made of star dust. What a tragedy it would be if Homo Sapiens themselves destroyed life on the Earth that gave rise to this miraculous process of evolution which has taken some 20 billion years.


For Brn 14th July 2012 (posted on: 15-06-15)
This was written after my grandsons birth.

Is this completion, This long-looked-for birth? Holding my grandchild in my arms I feel overwhelmed, Linked again to that long line Of humanity marching out of Africa Into some Brave New World. Like every baby born since humankind First walked on two legs, He is beautiful. Dark eyes swimming In knowledge of the World, Small and soft and perfect, He lies peacefully in my arms. Brn, Brin, Bryn, a small Welsh Hill In the wide heights of a busy Earth, Too small to be yet much noticed But great enough to be counted. Hills can be like acorns, As you approach them they grow. We will plant this little acorn of ours In fertile soil, Tend him with loving care Watch over him And wait for him To bloom.
Archived comments for For Brn 14th July 2012
gwirionedd on 15-06-2015
For Brân 14th July 2012
That's beautiful, David. Good to see there is Celtic running through your family veins.

Is his name related to the name Brian perchance?

Do hills and acorns grow any more than anything else when you approach them?



Author's Reply:
Thankyou Archie, I was referring to some lines in ‘The Prelude’ by Wordsworth:-=


One summer evening (led by her) I found
A little Boat tied to a Willow-tree
Within a rocky cave, its usual home.
Straight I unloosed her chain, and stepping in
Pushed from the shore. It was an act of stealth
And troubled pleasure, nor without the voice
Of mountain-echoes did my boat move on,
Leaving behind her still, on either side,
Small circles glittering idly in the moon,
Until they melted all into one track
Of sparkling light. But now, like one who rows,
(Proud of his skill) to reach a chosen point
With an unswerving line, I fixed my view
Upon the summit of a craggy ridge,
The horizon's utmost boundary; far above
Was nothing but the stars and the grey sky.
She was an elfin Pinnace; lustily
I dipped my oars into the silent lake,
And, as I rose upon the stroke, my boat
Went heaving through the Water like a swan;
When, from behind that craggy Steep till then
The horizon's bound, a huge peak, black and huge,
As if with voluntary power instinct,
Upreared its head.—I struck and struck again,
And growing still in stature the grim Shape
Towered up between me and the stars, and still,
For so it seemed, with purpose of its own
And measured motion like a living Thing,
Strode after me. With trembling oars I turned,
And through the silent water stole my way
Back to the Covert of the Willow-tree;
There in her mooring-place I left my Bark,—
And through the meadows homeward went, in grave
And serious mood; but after I had seen
That spectacle, for many days, my brain
Worked with a dim and undetermined sense
Of unknown modes of being; o'er my thoughts
There hung a darkness, call it solitude
Or blank desertion. No familiar Shapes
Remained, no pleasant images of trees,
Of sea or Sky, no colours of green fields;
But huge and mighty Forms, that do not live
Like living men, moved slowly through the mind
By day, and were a trouble to my dreams.

Looks like I somewhat misremembered this passage as the hill that grew was the big one that appeared behind the smaller ridge as Wordsworth rowed away. but the principle is right as the smaller ridge rises to obscure the large one as he rows back to the shore:-)

Maethforsbye

Dave

Mikeverdi on 15-06-2015
For Brân 14th July 2012
Love this Dave, grandchildren are a true blessing.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mike - this one is just great but I guess that is what all grandparents think:-)

Dave

stormwolf on 30-06-2015
For Brân 14th July 2012
What a tender poem expressing so much love. I hope he treasures it one day when he is old enough to understand the man who wrote it and the bravery it took to keep going.
Alison xx

Author's Reply:


Still Life With Grandchild (posted on: 15-06-15)
Just come back from visiting my daughter and grandson. He is nearly three and absolutely delightful. I wrote this before he was born.

An orange is alive, Its bright citrus skin Diffusing terpenes through the quiet room. The lemon too, A little bomb of citric acid Waiting to explode upon some Dried up tongue And release the sourness of life. Coffee pot and cups live the life we give them, Held in quick hands and Drained to the dregs. A new life, a grandchild, Changes everything. Now it is my life that is still.
Archived comments for Still Life With Grandchild
deadpoet on 15-06-2015
Still Life With Grandchild
I have a grandchild- he just turned 2. They are lovely little people-grandchildren. Love your poem- can just taste the lemon and smell the citrus scent.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Pia, Bran is nearly three and he is a wonderful little person:-)

Maethforsbye,

love,

David

stormwolf on 30-06-2015
Still Life With Grandchild
Beautifully melancholic and deep too.
Being a grandparent rocks!
Lovely to be reading you again and sorry for the delay. Some days the energy is too low for doing more than lounging about like the Lost Cord.
Alison xx

Author's Reply:


D-Day 2015 - for Vivienne (posted on: 08-06-15)
Vivienne Twaddle was my Psychologist in 2004. She taught me a lot and we shared our emotional reaction to the 60th Anniversary of this event in 2004.

There are only old men left now Who remember that day. With difficulty they walk up the sands Where young men ran, racing death up the beach. In the films of memory behind their eyes Can they still see the dying lying upon the sand? Sometimes memories are brighter than any photograph. In their minds their dead comrades must lie there still, Beside the carcasses of concrete forts That sixty years have failed to clear away. That day divided them into young and old: Those that died will be forever young: Remembering them now we see them as they were, With youth in their faces and lives unlived. This day the old men have brought back to them The precious gift that they gave up; With wives and sons and grandsons in their hearts The old soldiers march among the memories of war. Their lives fulfilled, They bring their bright memories of love and life And lay them down among the ranks of wreathed white crosses
Archived comments for D-Day 2015 - for Vivienne
Mikeverdi on 08-06-2015
D-Day 2015 - for Vivienne
Very moving,I know a few who can never forget; how could you I suppose.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mike

gwirionedd on 08-06-2015
D-Day 2015 - for Vivienne
"Racing death up the beach" is a very nice turn of phrase.

I think you should avoid saying "upon". Nobody says "upon".


Author's Reply:
Thankyou Gwirionedd,
Maybe ‘upon’ is a bit archaic but it seemed better for the meter.

Maetherforsbye

Dave

Pronto on 09-06-2015
D-Day 2015 - for Vivienne
Very well written and evocative even for those of us who only took part in very minor, quickly won wars.
We have much to bless those old men for.
Oh yeah, and on this occasion I think it's perfectly all right to use "UPON" I use it all the time; upon my soul I do! 😉

Author's Reply:
Thank you Pronto.

Dave



In The Steps Of Stout Cortez (1) (posted on: 08-06-15)
As far as I can tell I never actually posted this when I first wrote it. It describes the horrors and joys of bi-polar disorder. Notes:- 1&2 Stout Cortez -`On First Looking into Chapman's |Homer' - John Keats 3 Green flash In the tropics the sun sinks at right angles to the horizon and so takes very little time to pass through the twilight zone. As it does so the atmosphere refracts the rays of the sun's light changing its colour from white to red to orange to green to blue to violet all the colours of a normal temperate sunset, when viewing a sunset at sea with a clear horizon the last refracted rays to be clearly seen against the blue background of the sky are green but the change is so quick that it appears that a flash of green light has shone out over the horizon.The setting sun over tropical seas sends a flash of green light as its last rays are refracted by the atmosphere.

In me are all the roads and paths and ways Where men walk through the trauma of their days. I know the deep, dark caves and sunlit peaks Where pain-filled groans contend with joyous shrieks; I know that tunnel where no hope shines a light, Where walls and roofs grow narrower and tight, And the train behind prevents you turning back, And the darkness up ahead has blocked the track; I know the dreadful logic of the pain That argues that the children should be slain; And I have yearned to enter endless night Where no dawn brings the moving, doing light. Yet - I have sat upon a hill in Greece, Seen rising suns through rosy fingered fleece And felt my soul conjoined with ancient bards; And stood upon that peak in Darien (2) And watched above the clouds, the glowing sun Set upon the last land of the West, Still bright with light though darkness bathes the rest, Then sink beyond the Peaceful Ocean's rim To light far lands beyond that long salt swim, And fire a green flash from parting day3 As Time from World to World marks this one way.
Archived comments for In The Steps Of Stout Cortez (1)

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Newcastle and Gateshead Art Studio - NAGAS April 2014 NAGAS - Srange name for a (posted on: 05-06-15)
Some of you noticed that I disappeared for over a year. This is where I was.

NAGAS - Srange name for a lifeboat, But then we are a strange crew - Flotsam an jetsam really. Me? I am drowning, Or I wish I was But Bob and John and Skye Have given me This magic pen to paddle with. I am paddling like mad but going nowhere. Where is nowhere? It sounds like a nice place, I wish I was there now.
Archived comments for Newcastle and Gateshead Art Studio - NAGAS April 2014 NAGAS - Srange name for a

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In the Corner (posted on: 05-06-15)
Another Newcastle and Gateshead Arts Studio ( NAGAS) poem

Look what is in the corner, It's very dark and furtive. It crouches down into a small ball. I think it is me. It is hiding from something I have done, Something I am so ashamed of I cannot articulate it. It has ruined my life But I don't have the courage To come out of the corner and face it. Every night the demons visit me. I cower in my corner, I hide from the world. Then one day a wonderful woman Confronts me. I have no choice but to face it. When I look There is nothing there.
Archived comments for In the Corner
gwirionedd on 05-06-2015
In the Corner
Blimey, this is intense.

I hope the day comes when you accept yourself and get better. Depression is a bastard, to put it mildly.


Author's Reply:
Hi Gwirioned,
Yes you are right about the intensity. Fundamentally ot was just a writing exercise in my creative writing therapy group but because of my very low mood at the time it came out like that. There are a lot more like this so gird your loins:-) Basically I suffer from Bipolar Disorder and have a tendency to go up and down. This last depressive episode was very intense and lasted longer than anything I have experienced before. I blame the Psychiatrist really for messing about with my medication and other things. However I have a new psychiatrist now and he seems to have sorted out the depression at least. Whether the Bi-Polar will also stabilise I don’t know. I am feeling quite energetic and creative at the moment anyway. It may be a bad sign but I hope that I have learned something from the recent experience.

Best Wishes

Dave

gwirionedd on 05-06-2015
In the Corner
Do you mind if I ask - Have you always had Bipolar Disorder, or is it a recent development in your life?



Author's Reply:
Hi Gwirionedd,
Looking back I have had bipolar for most of my adult life. It started at about age 18 and this is typical history. I also started writing poetry at that time too. Being creative is also typical as is the experience of having epiphanic experiences. If you read my catalogue you will see what I mean. The poem thjat I think most explains it is ‘ In the Steps of Stout Cortez’ - see https://www.ukauthors.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=14102&mode=&order=0&thold=0

The highs are clearly very exciting but the depressions are hell as you will see when I post more of the NAGAS poems from my last depressiive period .


Maethforsbye (See http://www.creative-poems.com/poem.php?id=28)

Dave

Coolhermit on 05-06-2015
In the Corner
One day she will be there, Corin 🙂

Author's Reply:
Oh she is here and has been for 48 years:-)

Maytherforsbye, (See

Dave

deadpoet on 06-06-2015
In the Corner
You should never be ashamed Dave. Sometimes we act out of ignorance and powerlessness. We're only human. Release and redemption by way of empathetic people is the way forward. There are very few people on earth who evil without excuse and you are not one of them.

xx Pia xx

Author's Reply:
No Pia,
There are things to be ashamed for. I don’t feel like going into the details right now and anyway you seemed to intimate that you did not really wish to get involved in an any intimate correspondence the last time we wrote each other. As someone said ‘Regrets I've had a few' but not too few to mention:-( Would you argue that any of theseshould not be ashamed of what they did?


Adolf Hitler
Died at 56 (1889-1945)
2


Joseph Stalin
Died at 75 (1878-1953)
3


Mao Zedong
Died at 83 (1893-1976)
4


Benito Mussolini
Died at 62 (1883-1945)
5


Kim Jong-il
Died at 70 (1941-2011)

6


Pol Pot
Died at 73 (1925-1998)
7


Saddam Hussein
Died at 69 (1937-2006)
8


Robert Mugabe
age 91
9


Chiang Kai-shek
Died at 88 (1887-1975)
10


Idi Amin
Died at 78 (1925-2003)
11


Bashar al-Assad
age 50
12


Ferdinand Marcos
Died at 72 (1917-1989)
13


Kim Il-sung
Died at 82 (1912-1994)
14


Francisco Franco
Died at 83 (1892-1975)
15


Ho Chi Minh
Died at 79 (1890-1969)

16


Muammar al-Gaddafi
Died at 69 (1942-2011)
17


Nikita Khrushchev
Died at 77 (1894-1971)
18

Jean-Claude Duvalier
Died at 63 (1951-2014)
19

Augusto Pinochet
Died at 91 (1915-2006)
20


Nicolae Ceaușescu
Died at 71 (1918-1989)
21


Suharto
Died at 87 (1921-2008)
22


François Duvalier
Died at 64 (1907-1971)
23

Perhaps only the determined bastards who are strong enough to climb the greasy pole are infected with the Dictatorship virus, but in my view there are lots of little Hitlers out there:-(

Maetheforsbye

David

gwirionedd on 06-06-2015
In the Corner
I don't think you should be comparing yourself to Stalin or Pol Pot, David. I doubt very much indeed that you have caused the genocide of millions of people. Whatever it is you've done, you're not the same as fucking Hitler!

😉



Author's Reply:
Gwirionedd,
I was not really saying that I have ever been as bad as those buggers, just that there are some things that we should be ashamed of. My actions were quite common or garden faults but nevertheless they caused real pain:-(

Dave


Middling May (posted on: 29-05-15)
Just the right time of year to repost this one:-)

Walking down the street in middling May As twilight faded into darkling day I had a vision of a coming time; Of houses all reduced to dust and lime Of cities lost beneath a coastal flood And bitter armies wading through bad blood. If all this one day should come to pass, If human kind were mown down like grass, If all the civil world should be destroyed I doubt if any gods will feel annoyed Or once regret an earth so much diminished - Divine experiments are quickly finished.
Archived comments for Middling May
deadpoet on 30-05-2015
Middling May
This really struck a chord with me this evening. As the wind has been howling all May month and making me feel like the apocalypse was nigh.
I love "middling" and "darkling"- really so descriptive and fits perfectly to the mood you have created Dave.

Pia xx

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Pia. ‘Midllng’ and ‘darkling come from my reading of old poetry etc. Here is a wonderful quote from John Keats’poem ’To a Nightingale’ , when I was ill this was going through my head quite a lot. especially the highlighted lines 🙁

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
>>>>Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
>>>>To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain—
To thy high requiem become a sod.

Warm Wishes

Dave

gwirionedd on 03-06-2015
Middling May
Excellent poem! Love the sentiment and imagery.

I would just suggest though, to make the rhythm flow better, that you make it "If all OF this one day", and maybe changed "mown" to a verb with two syllables in it. In any case "mown like grass" is a bit obvious: what else would one mow?




Author's Reply:


Newcastle and Gateshead Art Studio - NAGAS (posted on: 18-05-15)
Newcastle and Gateshead Art Studio - NAGAS is a centre for people suffering or recovering from serious mental illness. I have been seriously and suicidally depressed for over a year and have now fully recovered from the depression but probably not from the Bi-Polar Disorder that causes these moods.

DEdicated to NAGAS especially to Bob, Kevin and Skye NAGAS - Strange name for a lifeboat, But then we are a strange crew - Flotsam and jetsam really. Me? I am drowning, Or I wish I was But Bob. Kevin and Skye Have given me This magic pen to paddle with. I am paddling like mad but going nowhere. Where is nowhere? It sounds like a nice place, I wish I was there now.
Archived comments for Newcastle and Gateshead Art Studio - NAGAS
deadpoet on 18-05-2015
Newcastle and Gateshead Art Studio - NAGAS
Corin- it is so good to see you back. I have missed you and have been concerned as I can see I had reason to be. It is such a terrible illness you are afflicted with. It is great to know you are moving forward slowly but surely. What a wonderful place to frequent with peers and supporters. Keep going there and keep shining. Wonderful poem. I am sure you have supported your friends likewise. We can't do without each other, us sufferers of mental illness.

Keep truckin'

best wishes
Pia xx

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 18-05-2015
Newcastle and Gateshead Art Studio - NAGAS
I'm very pleased we've heard from you. And with some good news. Our thoughts go with you David. You have friends here.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Griff. Yes I have missed you tool and Alison and all the others I knew well.

Best Wishes

Dave

stormwolf on 18-05-2015
Newcastle and Gateshead Art Studio - NAGAS
David,
I am so glad to see you back in the land of the living. Depression is such a curse but one that is widely known to so often afflict those of a creative nature who suffer the double edged sword of 'feeling' beauty and ugliness in this world to an extreme degree. You are among friends here. 😃
Alison xxx

Author's Reply:

Mikeverdi on 18-05-2015
Newcastle and Gateshead Art Studio - NAGAS
Pleased to see you are in there fighting and writing. You have many friends on UKA who will be pleased to see you back. I wish you well.
Mike

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 18-05-2015
Newcastle and Gateshead Art Studio - NAGAS
Welcome back, Corin.

Author's Reply:

Coolhermit on 20-05-2015
Newcastle and Gateshead Art Studio - NAGAS
Corin, I tend to depression - curiously enough, poetry - performing it especially - helps me overcome it - I submitted a poem about it earlier this week - I paint on a rictus smile and step onstage - it works for me.

Author's Reply:

Gee on 20-05-2015
Newcastle and Gateshead Art Studio - NAGAS
I'm glad to see you posting and to know you have so much support. It's a hard thing to overcome, but you do sound as if you're making progress. Please take care of yourself.

Author's Reply:


January (posted on: 03-01-14)
For New Years Day

Two headed Janus, before you white snow, Behind you a trail of regrets in your track. That pristine white blanket will be marred if you go, But its beauty won't last, for there's no turning back.
Archived comments for January
Nomenklatura on 03-01-2014
January
Short and bitter, and none the worse for it.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou - not really bitter - It came from a discussion among the Gold Dust Magazine staff about producing a calendar for next year so I started thinking about a project to write a poem for every month of the year.

Dave

Savvi on 03-01-2014
January
Excellent short for piece that weighs in quite heavy. Best Keith

Author's Reply:
THankyou Keith,
I was hoping for a few more verses but they just would not come. Perhaps short and bitter is best?

Dave

Andrea on 03-01-2014
January
Quite the philosopher! I'm glad I don't do regrets...(waste of time)

Author's Reply:
True, True, but I hope you don’t disdain the odd resolution or turning over the occasional
new leaf:-)

David

pommer on 03-01-2014
January
very philosophical.Short but meaningful. Pommer.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Pommer, Now I have to find some inspiratipn for February - Ah! Rhymes with Brewery!

Dave

Andrea on 03-01-2014
January
Absolutely not, David! I resolved to stop smoking and I did (7 years ago)! Might be a bit long in the tooth to turn over new leaves 🙂

Author's Reply:
Well - if you do waych out for what you find underneath them!

deepoceanfish2 on 12-03-2014
January
Just the way I like it.....a vignette with a sting. Well done, David! 😉

Author's Reply:


Yule Fire - 24th December 2013 (posted on: 27-12-13)
If I let this Yule Log go out before tomorrows sunrise then the world will end - Ill not sit up that long to tend a wood fire.

I sit alone, except for the Crab the Dog Beside my Yule Fire, The first that ever I have lit And, no doubt, The very last. I care not of that. In sooth I know not why I am so sad. Next door my family congregate But If they miss me they say nothing. Crab the Dog, the fire. the wine, the Christmas cake Are company enow. This is just another Christmas. Another year, Another day. I know that there are two waiting for me Among those desolate sand dunes And I go to them willingly. A sky full of stars, A moon on the wane Jupiter and Mars A life mostly pain. Don't count the scars, I won't do it again.
Archived comments for Yule Fire - 24th December 2013
RajArumugam on 27-12-2013
Yule Fire - 24th December 2013
love the style, love the moments you've captured so well...

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Raj BTW - the yule log stayed alight and burned all night!

Mikeverdi on 27-12-2013
Yule Fire - 24th December 2013
Filled with sadness but somehow uplifting, I think that must be down to the writing; it's excellent. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mike - the yule log stayed alight and burned all night!

deadpoet on 27-12-2013
Yule Fire - 24th December 2013
Ths was very sad but excellently expressed- very atmospheric..

Piaxx

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Pia - the yule log stayed alight and burned all night!

David

Mimi on 27-12-2013
Yule Fire - 24th December 2013
What a beautiful sadness you have expressed. It seems a lonely place to be...last stanza is a fine resolution.


Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mimi - the yule log stayed alight and burned all night!

Dave

Nemo on 29-12-2013
Yule Fire - 24th December 2013
No rage, just a quiet acquiescence. I like it very much. Gerald.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Gerald.


The Sky is on Fire (posted on: 13-12-13)
"Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:"

The sky is on fire this morning. In the South East Burning clouds threaten The tall trees behind my garden, Some great disaster is going to incinerate The whole world today. Even as I watch The heat is growing From ember red to blazing yellow. Whatever, wherever The dirty deed was done We will not escape now, Even if this soft rain Continues long into the dull day, The fuse has been lit!
Archived comments for The Sky is on Fire
deadpoet on 13-12-2013
The Sky is on Fire
Very powerful words Dave- explosive writing. Rain and dull days do this to you. Much enjoyed..
Stay calm

Pia
xx

Author's Reply:
Thankyou for reading and commenting Pia. Actually it was the lovely sunrise that that did it,. The rain came later - but while the sunrise was still there - and lasted all day just to prove that famous bit of English Weather lore:-

Red sky at night -
Shepherds delight;
Red sky in the morning -
Shepherds warning.

Dave

ValDohren on 13-12-2013
The Sky is on Fire
Interesting poem giving much food for thought. Very novel, enjoyed the read.
Val

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Val, I wrte on my front page:-


A la Wilfrid Owen :-

`My subject is Folly,
And the tragedy of Folly.
The Poetry is in the tragedy.'

This (all by itself) turned into one of those poems.

The tragedy is humanity having the intelligence and understanding and technological ability to modify the Earth to enable human beings to live almost anywhere on it and prospe; to even have enough understanding to be aware of the dangers of an expanding population and the increasing exploiitation of the Earrth's resources and yet still be unable to prevent our global, headlong flight, like a migration of lemmings, over the clliff to extinction.

Truly I despair - the Petrol Heads and the Corporate Dick Heads are sending us all to dammnation.

David



Bozzz on 13-12-2013
The Sky is on Fire
Still on board the lump of rock that touched the sun? A great poem Dave - sumptuous adjectives witnessing dawn and day. Beautifully written. ...David

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Bozzz. No the lump oof rock has gone - it was mostly ice anyway and so got frizzled:-(

Dave


Cry Africa July 1988 For Nelson Mandela : 1918 -2013 (posted on: 09-12-13)
Author's Notes: Originally written in protest against the absurdity and cruety of Aparteid, now posted as a an act of Homage to one of the greatest men of our Times.

Out of Africa we came. O cry Africa, cry Africa. Out of Africa we came when the world was innocent of tears And the land ancient; burdened by its silent years. In Africa, beneath the glowing, blue and golden skies, In Africa was the first word spoken; Africa - now the land of lies. O cry Africa, cry Africa. Africa filled the world, gave us her greatest gift; Out of Africa we walked proud and free, out of Africa before the rift. How Africa filled the Earth with her children's singing; Dancing each continent in turn, till all the world was ringing. Filled a whole world with dancing smiling faces With the beauty of a thousand different races. O cry Africa, cry Africa. How did your children forget the steps of happy dance? How did they lose the smiles in each bright and loving glance? Why have their words lost their voice and melody? Has humanity's sweet song lost its harmony? Cry Africa O, cry Africa Africa, Land of Tears, Sing this sorrow down the years. Cry Africa O, cry Africa Africa, Land of Joys, Dance for him Fill all the world with noise.
Archived comments for Cry Africa July 1988 For Nelson Mandela : 1918 -2013
deadpoet on 10-12-2013
Cry Africa July 1988 For Nelson Mandela : 1918 -2013
Wonderful - a song in my ears and a quality poem.

Pia
xx

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Pia - watching he Memorial Ceremony riggt now:-)

ValDohren on 10-12-2013
Cry Africa July 1988 For Nelson Mandela : 1918 -2013
A great poem, enjoyed reading. Love the repetition, it reinforces the sentiment and emotionality of the piece.
Val

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Val. It is crazy really that we still have racists running around the place and none of them seem to realise that in truth we are all Africans!

Dave

bo_duke99 on 11-12-2013
Cry Africa July 1988 For Nelson Mandela : 1918 -2013
a worthy tribute

Author's Reply:


Christmas Star December 2013 (posted on: 09-12-13)
I had been looking forward to seeing Comet Iolan as a brilliant Christmas Star this December. Oh well:-(

Venus in the evening sky, Then later Jupiter in the East And red Mars to the South. Low above the faint yellow glow From the newly set sun A thin sliver of new moon. Somewhere in that yellow glow Doomed comet Iolan Scatters its detritus around solar system. So this year no Christmas Star. Instead Sun and Moon combine To raise high spring tides And an area of deep low pressure Sucking up the North Sea As the cyclone's fierce northerly wind Blows cold sea water over flood defences Onto vulnerable English plains. Comets are supposed to herald disaster, This one has lived up to tradition. Happy Christmas to everyone in Norfolk, Suffolk and Essex. Watch out for more Christmas Stars next year.
Archived comments for Christmas Star December 2013
deadpoet on 10-12-2013
Christmas Star December 2013
I will indeed look out for Christmas stars though I am not in the towns you mention. But a Merry Christmas to you. Fierce storms indeed- we have also had them.
I like this descriptive poem.

Pia.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Pia - You can still see and enjoy the sight of Venus is the West and Jupiter in the East.

bo_duke99 on 11-12-2013
Christmas Star December 2013
cool, a coherent little journey - Greg

Author's Reply:

ValDohren on 12-12-2013
Christmas Star December 2013
Perhaps it was Venus that was observed 2000 years ago. Very. Likely I believe. Merry Christmas to you Corin.
Val

Author's Reply:


Every Third Thought - parts IV and V (posted on: 18-11-13)
The final two parts of my Swan Song

Part IV So here is another meaning to life; Another reason for living: Save not just your kin but the whole world! Yet consider, If I could, what would be the point? Surely these mis-named Homo Sapiens Are not worth the effort! Would it not be better To let them dash towards their well deserved fate? To hope that, like Neanderthals, They become just a curious layer Of fossilised bones in Quaternary deposits? Oh, this is a tragedy to break the hearts of gods. To have lived all these years, To have come to understand so much, To have seen from these heights of experience, Like Matthew Arnold, The World 'lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful so new'. So full of potential, A very paradise for all humanity, A paradise that could last another Four and half billion years Were the simple rules For the care and maintenance Of a small planet Properly followed, Then to observe A Human Race, Like a mass migration Of thoughtless, instinct driven lemmings, Rush headlong towards destruction; Their eyes flashing dollar bills, Their most urgent need A bigger, faster car, Mere conspicuous consumption Their greatest desire More un-reproductive sex, Their chief indulgences Pizza, beefburgers and beer. Guzzling and gorging their sensual tastes Quite deaf to the warnings of Great Gaia Echoing from the mountain walls. Is this a paradox That the very success of human ingenuity, That the fruits of human understanding That the magnificent achievements of human technological endeavour Should all lead to the inevitable destruction Of civilised society As a new Dark Age rises? Part V Can I really leave this world there? And go to my grave, like Cassandra, Shrugging my shoulders As I prophesy disaster to deaf ears? Can I just abandon to the three callous Fates Those children I will be leaving behind? My own, Frances and Daniel: My daughter's son, Bran My sister's children, Mark, James and Leigh, Their children, Carly, John, Louise And those two beautiful innocents, Freya and Edee? No! No!! NO!!! This is not to be borne! Not without a fight. Six years and ten million lives Were expended In the war against Fascism. For twenty years, if not more, We have known That the environmental threat facing human civilisation Is a thousand time worse than all the horrors Of Fascist hubris And Japanese Imperialism, Yet what have we done? Sat on our hands And let the Petrol Heads, The wealthy Dick Heads And the greedy Corporate Heads Get their own way; Selling, not just the family silver But the future of the whole estate So that they can ride round in bigger, But hardly better, metal machines And swan around the marinas of the world In pointless yachts That will never match the annual milage Of even the humblest of family vehicles. Now it seems that I am Arguing for Continual War Or Perpetual Revolution As the ultimate purpose Of human existence. This is not so, But if war has taught us anything good It is this:- That in situations of the direst distress, When backs are up against the wall And the firing squads lined up To execute their dreadful orders That this is when ordinary men and women Do extraordinary things And when Extraordinary men and women Achieve the impossible. I will not abandon all hope here. Like Dante and Virgil We can pass through the gates of The Inferno And emerge victorious via Purgatory To that Paradise From which Adam and Eve, With wandering steps and slow Were expelled by a cruel, callous and overbearing God More than half a million years ago. Truly Eden was none of God's making. Not six days, but fifteen billion years were required To create this wonderful world, The work of Cosmic Forces Embedded in the very nature of reality By means of a fundamentally simple tool, Evolutionary Change. Dual natured Humanity is its Masterpiece And will live for ever, Like the immortal structure of Deoxyribo Nucleic Acid, Unless Its dark side - rampant selfish greed - Overcomes its illuminated face of love and joy. Here is a truly great reason for living, A cause worth fighting for: To build a Brave New World, A Brotherhood and Sisterhood of Man That will prosper in a world of peace and plenty And, in the fullness of Time, Reach for the stars To build a universal coalition of Life. I assert confidently here, Before I leave this world for Hades' peaceful Halls, That we do indeed Have World enough and Time, For a triumphant army of humanity To march alone by its own efforts Into an eternal, man-made Paradise, To vindicate the pain and suffering Caused by three and half billion years of Evolution And at long length, To justify the ways of Man to God.
Archived comments for Every Third Thought - parts IV and V
bo_duke99 on 18-11-2013
Every Third Thought - parts IV and V
a huge piece, and executed most flawlessly, will read the rest in order, and might comment again if you don't mind, but this is real good

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Bo - you are very encouraging.

Dave

Kipper on 18-11-2013
Every Third Thought - parts IV and V

I do not regard myself as either intelectual or academically gifted, so I do not presume to offer any criticisms of this poem. (All five parts)

All I will say is that I thought it is masterly.

I write for no other reason that I enjoy doing do, and when I read I hope that I will enjoy that too. No problems there then, for this was a very speial experience. Despite the odd section or two which required a little extra concentration, and the pressence of 'Wikipedia' I was enthralled to the end. The insight of the human condition, the juxtaposition of optimism and pessimism, and the conflicting relationship between religion and science held me fast.

In my view just one thing was missing. The Nib.

Great writing.

Michael









Author's Reply:

Kipper on 18-11-2013
Every Third Thought - parts IV and V

I do not regard myself as either intelectual or academically gifted, so I do not presume to offer any criticisms of this poem. (All five parts)
All I will say is that I thought it was masterly.
I write for no other reason that I enjoy doing do, and when I read I hope that I will enjoy that too. No problems there then, for this was a very speial experience. Despite the odd section or two which required a little extra concentration, and the pressence of 'Wikipedia' I was enthralled to the end. The insight of the human condition, the juxtaposition of optimism and pessimism, and the conflicting relationship between religion and science held me fast.
In my view just one thing was missing. The Nib.
Great writing.
Michael





Author's Reply:
Thankyou Michael, your thoughtful comment was very much appreciated. This poem has taken some time to write and I had to be in the right mood to progress it, I finished it on the train coming home from London at the weekend, by the time I got to the end I was emotionally exhausted. It is as you seem to appreciate a deeply felt piece. Sadly I am very pessimistic about the chances of humanity escaping the self made disaster that looms before us. Such disasters have happened before on a small scale. If you are interested look up the history of Easter Island. The two kinds of statues that are found there tell a tragic story about the people who first colonised the island.

Dave

deadpoet on 29-12-2013
Every Third Thought - parts IV and V
Reading this was very emotional for me. I felt hope and despair but the message of universal kindness and coming to our senses- well some should more than others. This is such a good message and I am very glad that I got to read it at last. I have been missing out on something up till now.

Pia
xx

Author's Reply:


Eleventh Hour (posted on: 11-11-13)
Eleven AM 10th November 2013

A clear cold morning; Blue sky and white wisps of cloud; Every detail of the City Sharply defined and brightly lit By weak November sunshine; Gulls and kittiwakes, Awakened from their roosts On the Newcastle Quayside buildings, Turn and cry Above Grey's Monument And a crowded Eldon Square. Strains of 'The Minstrel Boy' Echo off the three sided green, The acoustic of old stone And modern concrete Equally resounding. The City's dignitaries parade in Behind the Lord Lieutenant of Northumberland And his glittering mace, Its crown held boldly upright In the absence of any royal figure. Barked orders And the amassed military ranks Stomp to attention. Army Navy, disgraced Marines And Royal Airforce Make a colourful guard For sad monuments In the centre of their grassed plaza. A single gun Marks the exact moment of that eleventh hour. Pigeons take alarm And gyre above bowed and silent heads. The circling gulls Make plaintive calls To the dead of long ago wars, But it is the latest recruits To these sorrowful ranks That force tears from my fading eyes. Yesterday near Wooten Basset On the Royal British Legion's Field of Remembrance, Small, newly placed memorial crosses, Each with its individual message From mothers and wives, fathers and children On the television screen Suddenly, surprisingly and so sadly Morphed Into the massed graves of the long dead In the cemeteries of Ypres. If there was a lesson for humanity to be learned We failed the examination. It is not as if we were not given A chance to re-sit the test. Next year we will mark a significant century - The start of the War to End Wars, The one that did exactly the opposite That failure forcing us To remember again Those truly brave men Who raced across Normandy beaches Into the annals of military history - Their names forever inscribed in The minds of men With those of Achilles, Patroclus, Ajax and Agamemnon. Greek thought on these absurdities and sufferings Seems to make more sense than modern historical analysis. Powerful and petulant gods, Far from the heights of Olympus, Continually conduct Adolescent disputes On the plains of Earth With humanity condemned To be their chess pieces In a deadly divine game.
Archived comments for Eleventh Hour
bo_duke99 on 13-11-2013
Eleventh Hour
really like the style, lets you expound freely and allows double 'of's to work

Author's Reply:
Thankyou for the gently pointed out notice of my repetition error. I will go fix it.

Dave

Kipper on 14-11-2013
Eleventh Hour
Well portrayed emotions capturing the mood of the day.

I do question the reference to 'Disgraced Marines' even though the thinking is clear. Should one bad event tarnish the reputation of all?

Otherwise an excellent piece.

Michael

Author's Reply:
My thinking on the this is that the ‘bad apple’ defence is reallypoor in this circumstance,, Firsyly the g=regiment s whole is responsible for the training and attitude of its troops when they go into battle. If you send men into a conflict situation you MUST prepare them properly for the experience and the danger that they will indulge in ‘revenge’ killings is an obvious one that should be dealt with. Mre importantly is thte rea damage that this kind of reputation does to the regiment as a whole.In the future if some Marines are captured by Taliban in future what kind of treatment can they expect from their captors now? If some marines are involved in a fire fight situation in the future how likely are their enemy to surrender when they have clearly lost the battle in order to avoid further bloodshed if they fear that they will be summarily executed. Any thinking on this War Crime that attempts to excuse or mitigate the actions of this sergeant who is simple a murderer is just sloppy and counter productive. I support and have great sympathy for the soldiers who are doing their duty despite the stupid decisions of the politicians to perpetuate this lost and un-winnable war. Look at what is happening in Iraq now. Painful though it is to admit, the Iraqi people were better off under the dictatorship of Saddam Hussein than they are now. The whole history of British French and American interference in the affairs of the Middle East since the First World War is a story of unmitigated disaster.

Kipper on 14-11-2013
Eleventh Hour
Corin,
Wow, I seemed to have stirred up some emotion in you which I regret. So let me say now that I think you have midunderstood me. Had we been discussing that 'bad incident' I doubt that there would be a cigatette paper between us. Nor by and large would there be in the wider issues that you raised.
But we were not. My comments were in response to your poem, in which you paid heartfelt triute to those who gave their lives for the benefit of those who were left behind, and the generations that followed. A tribute I might say you made with clear and obvious sincerity.
It is in that context alone that I felt that youre reference to the marines was out of place. Not wrong, but out of place.
Best wishes,
Michael

Author's Reply:
That ids perfectly OK Michael, but I think that the Marines are disgraced by having a murderer in their midst who nearly got away with murder because of the collusion of his comrades.

Dave

Kipper on 18-11-2013
Eleventh Hour
Hi Dave
Yes, on that point I agree, except perhaps to say 'some' of his comrades.
Maybe I'm spitting hairs!

Michael

Author's Reply:


Every Third Thought (posted on: 08-11-13)
Ah am an auld poet aged sixty and foive So ah havent got lang ti stan' 'ere aloive.

Part 1 Now seems it to me this is the time to take review of the life that I have lived, Since, as Hamlet asserted, 'the readiness is all', I will, like Prospero, Devote one third of all my thoughts to encroaching death And that preparation a man should make Knowing that the years are coming To the compass of their natural span. After long life I have a considerable store of thoughts to sift, Having spent many hours in silent contemplation of all the questions That have puzzled thinking men ever the since the Achaeans First found time to debate the apparent meaninglessness of this cruel World. When I was a young boy, simple accounts of purpose and meaning Seemed to provide certain and satisfying explanations as to how and why God's children should spend their days on Earth, Keeping to a narrow path mapped out by wiser minds And ancient texts. Home and school both reinforced these ideas upon my young mind. These were strong bonds Imposed with hard strictures. Emerging sexuality was frowned upon, I did not even realise I had committed Mortal crimes until the gates of Hell Appeared before my eyes, Pointed out in plain words By Jesuit teachers. It seemed that even self initiated sexual pleasure Was an anathema to God And for it we must confess or face eternal punishment. This was a painful dilemma - To admit to such despicable acts To a man you saw every Sunday Or suffer the never ending fire. How my young mind squirmed, How that Catholic Super Ego Lashed the whip upon my back Before my final descent to inescapable depths. Not confessing all, left my undying soul In that black state of mortal sin, But in that state to take the Body of Christ into my mouth Saying nothing, Hiding all. That was unforgivable - Sacrilege! Sacrilege! Sacrilege! Excommunication! Forever barred from the grace of God. Fourteen years old and damned for all eternity! Where was a child of fourteen to go from here? Shame and eternal shame, nothing but shame! My head was down, My confidence rock bottom, My self esteem Non existent, And worse came, Punishing myself for sexual misdeeds With sexual diseases. This was a dire state, That Catholic super ego worked overtime; Not to seek medical cure Was a grave sin of omission. O yes, Catholicism has a word For more sins than you can imagine. For as many ways as you can think of enjoying yourself Are there three sins To wrap your soul with barbd wire. Part II Hiding away in this private hell And guided by an inspiring teacher I consumed English literature, Heaven and Earth, it seemed, were far more complicated Than the philosophy I had been taught . Doubts proliferated. I gravitated with interest and enthusiasm towards the sciences, Where logic and intelligence Refused to countenance contradictions, inconsistencies and absurdities. Science has its own uncertainties But these are expected and allowed for By accepting that there is no absolute truth; 'That all we can know is that we can know nothing!' A paradox of course, But appropriate to our human condition. My previous simplicities and beliefs fell away, Now there was nothing but hard thought. Hemingway and Steinbeck; Lawrence and Huxley; Auden and Larkin Were meaty food for thinking, Most moving, most disturbing, Were those soldier poets Writing from The Inferno Of the Great War. Above all that gentle, loving, martyred Poet, Wilfred Owen, Sacrificed upon an altar of armistice negotiation, Dead at the same age as his poetic idol, With great poems among his papers And the most magnificent metaphor in all English verse Already written: 'And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.' Part III Yet guilt is corrosive, Even the the most beautiful English lyric poetry Cannot undo its harm. Delusions persisted, I lived in fear of death and disease Until at last A woman's love Cured me of the Catholic curse. Now, having escaped death and hell, I could turn my thoughts to life, Jean Paul Sartre and Franz Kafka Taught us how to read meaning out of meaninglessness, It is what it is, 'All this world is but a play Be thou the joyful player' We have our exits and our entrances And must play many parts. Having finished playing the eternal student And the languid lover I began to play the dedicated teacher. That Autumn smelt of chalk dust Settling with an inevitable Tardiness upon my life. Yet, there, in a child's eyes Lay profound joys That should have shaken the world. To serve children is a great privilege, I knew it then and feel it still - 'Pass the parcel boys, pass it on!' Alan Bennet's Hector understood that mighty task, The importance of the role, That has makes Homo Sapiens The most successful species To live upon the Earth The only species to march across all five continents. It seems such a pity that those who could Enable children and teachers To play the game profitably Are more concerned With profit and loss than preparing The new generation for their future lives. As I approach the end that Prospero envisaged, I wonder though, how many future generations will there be? It seems that that piece of work, Is quite finite in faculty, Not so noble in reason, Unfit, obese, un-admirable, Incapable of an angelic action Misapprehensive, Destroyer of the world And all its animals - No paragon. Here is a paradox; That humanity, having learned How to shape the Earth to its own purposes, Its own comfort and delight, Should now be busy destroying it. The Anthropocene mass extinction, In an ironic act of justice, Will extinguish its instigator. Lovelock must be right, The Planet Earth and all the lifeforms Living upon it Behaves like a single organism; If its eye offends it It will pluck it out; When in the Archean Age Earth's warm blanket of carbon dioxide Became too heavy Beneath an energising and warming Sun Gaia took action - Her phytoplankton went to work Building great cliffs of chalk From Earth's carbonic acid soup Thus petrifying the overheated blanket; Her mighty forests grew into the carboniferous air, Storing excessive insulation In anaerobic swamps; Hence, like warm-blooded mammals Shivering and sweating According to need, Gaia maintained the thermostasis So important for life on Earth. Now greed and a lust for speed Have undone all her careful work. Excessive heat is coming And after that The Dark! To a newly blessed grandparent This is sorrowful contemplation. As a young parent It seemed that that life had generated its own meaning, Family was the answer, Something to live and work for, A reason to be joyful, a purpose to facing the future. A place to belong. To protect my family I would have risked any injury, Endured any pain. Even now in my mind's eye I am climbing those Steep stairs with a precious bundle in my arms Or standing beside that small cot One finger grasped by a small fist, Apparently sleeping eyes Still aware of its comforting touch And vigilant to observe The slightest sign that It might sneak away. Any pain felt by those babes Pierced me ten times over; The suffering of some unknown child On television or in the paper Was hard to bear. As they grew to independent adulthood My sensitivity to children's pain Gradually faded, But now I see a horrifying prospect before me. A world population of seven billion With Two billion of them children And all of them Dependent upon continuing World Economic Growth To support their lives. Yet melting polar icecaps, Rising sea levels, Crop failures. Droughts, Floods, Threaten economic stability and will Let loose, Fire Famine and Sword - the Dogs of War And finally set free The four horsemen of the Apocalypse! How can I contemplate a to-be-hoped-for-peaceful-death When this Ogre looms before my mind? Part IV So here is another meaning to life; Another reason for living: Save not just your kin but the whole world! Yet consider, If I could, what would be the point? Surely these mis-named Homo Sapiens Are not worth the effort! Would it not be better To let them dash towards their well deserved fate? To hope that, like Neanderthals, They become just a curious layer Of fossilised bones in Quaternary deposits? Oh, this is a tragedy to break the hearts of gods. To have lived all these years, To have come to understand so much, To have seen from these heights of experience, Like Matthew Arnold, The World 'lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful so new'. So full of potential, A very paradise for all humanity, A paradise that could last another Four and half billion years Were the simple rules For the care and maintenance Of a small planet Properly followed, Then to observe A Human Race, Like a mass migration Of thoughtless, instinct driven lemmings, Rush headlong towards destruction; Their eyes flashing dollar bills, Their most urgent need A bigger, faster car, Their greatest desire More un-reproductive sex, Their chief indulgences Pizza, beefburgers and beer.Consumption Guzzling and gorging their carnal tastes Quite deaf to the warnings of Great Gaia Echoing from the mountain walls. Is this a paradox That the very success of human ingenuity, That the fruits of human understanding That the magnificent achievements of human technological endeavour Should all lead to the inevitable destruction Of civilised society As a new Dark Age rises?
Archived comments for Every Third Thought
deadpoet on 08-11-2013
Every Third Thought
You're only 65 and you're carrying the world around on your shoulders. I hope you enjoy your grandchild for many many years and don't tell them these dark forbodings. :))
Thanks for sharing your thoughts and experiences
best Pia xx

Author's Reply:
Pia - Isn’t that the problem though - there are just not enough people carrying the world on their shoulders and far too many busy greedily devouring it! All the vapourous petrol heads - like that great idiot, Jeremy Clarkson:-

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeremy_Clarkson

burning fossil fuels heedless of the enormous damage they are doing to the environment and the lives of future generations, blithely thinking - oh this is great for me! I just want to go on playing with my big boys’ toys!

The young are the only hope. They HAVE to be taught about the terrible threat that faces them and their grandchildren and how to avoid it, though I despair that we ever will. At present carbon dioxide level are greater that they have been for the last 800 miliion years - at the level of 400 parts per million of CO2 and we just don’t know when they were last at that level but probably during the Permian-Triassic mass extinction, 250 million years ago, when some 96% of living species became extinct. If we go on as we are and create a second Dark Age by destroying the industrialised civilisation on which we all depend then of the 7 billion people alive today only 800 million people will be able to be supported by the simple agricultural civilisation that existed during the first dark age after the collapse of the Roman Empire. It will be swift and 6.8 billion people will die terrible deaths from the Dogs of War - Fire, Famine and Sword who will also wake the sleeping dragon of Global Thermo Nuclear War.

Wilfrid Owen in the preface to his first and last book of poetry wrote:-

This book is not about heroes. English poetry is not yet fit to speak of them.
Nor is it about deeds, or lands, nor anything about glory, honour, might, majesty, dominion, or power, except War.
Above all I am not concerned with Poetry.
My subject is War, and the pity of War.
The Poetry is in the pity.
Yet these elegies are to this generation in no sense consolatory. They may be to the next. All a poet can do today is warn. That is why the true Poets must be truthful.

Well, my subject is Folly and the pity of Folly - The poetry is in the Pity.

David


bo_duke99 on 18-11-2013
Every Third Thought
read this after the later part, as a whole this is a true masterwork - post as a whole and hopefully it get's recognised. Would be fascinated to know about writing conditions, number of sessions - the passion needs no explanation.

PS: Loved this
That Autumn smelt of chalk dust


Author's Reply:


Written in Lampedusa's Caf Mazzara Palermo 4th October 2013 (posted on: 25-10-13)
Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa was an Italian writer, famous for his only novel, The Leopard which is set in Sicily during the unification of Italy by Garibaldi. He wrote much of the novel in the Caf Mazzara in Paleremo.

On the outside wall of the Cathedral of Santa Maria Assunta In Palermo, Sicily, The devil, In the form of an advert for Audi Automobiles, Displays his wares. Inside the Catholic Church Displays its bling - A large altar and all its furniture Crafted in shining silver. Next to the devil's advert A small notice Announcing that Audi Is helping to pay For the Cathedral's reconstruction.
Archived comments for Written in Lampedusa's Caf Mazzara Palermo 4th October 2013
stormwolf on 25-10-2013
Written in Lampedusas Café Mazzara Palermo 4th October 2013
Interesting observation David. Not without deep meaning too. I must admit I do not care for capitals at the start of every line but I used to write like that too. I feel that you could have made this poem more concise and less like "telling us" if you see what I mean.

ie
The devil displays his wares
in an advert for Audi Automobiles,
on the wall of the Palermo's Carthedral.
of Santa Maria Assunta

Just a suggestion but many times a poem works better when the 'telling' is made slightly more convoluted.
I hope you catch my drift here lol 😉
Alison x



Author's Reply:
The Fucking Catholic Church needs all the fucking telling we can fucking throw at it!!!!

Bozzz on 26-10-2013
Written in Lampedusas Café Mazzara Palermo 4th October 2013
The message comes through, Dave, but right now, having wasted resources on over ornate churches for centuries, not a bad idea to use the monstrosities as advertising billboards?! At least selling cars brings more GDP than obnoxiuos bling...David

Author's Reply:


The Winter Time is Coming (posted on: 21-10-13)
To be sung to the tune of "Wild Mountain Thyme'' - I have always wanted to be able to sing (to myself) a winter version of this lovely Scottish folk song so I made one up.

O the winter time is coming And the leaves are gently falling And the summer flowers are dying All about the woodland ride. Chorus: Will you come Hinnie come, To see the greenwood turning To a red and golden yellow While the autumn fires are burning? Will you come Hinnie come? I will build my love a pyre Of logs and scented pinecones And before our winter fire We will warm us by the hearth stones. Chorus: When the winter storms are raging We will stay beneath our covers And though we're surely ageing We will share the warmth of lovers. Chorus:
Archived comments for The Winter Time is Coming
deadpoet on 22-10-2013
The Winter Time is Coming
Nice pictures you conjure up and a pleasant atmosphere...

Pia

Author's Reply:
Quite Autumnal today 🙂

Thankyou Pia

bo_duke99 on 23-10-2013
The Winter Time is Coming
a very neat reworking, classy

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 24-10-2013
The Winter Time is Coming
Hi David
I was singing along there. Very nice.

Alison x

Author's Reply:


For Adele and Phil (posted on: 21-10-13)
Our very own DeepOceanFish2 Deepoceanfish2 inspired the Daily Mail and this sonnet:- Adele and Phil in the Daily Mail

O let not Time to joy deny access, Nor cruel Old Age to Love close its high gates For Life should always seek to make address To every year and every day it dates. This short span between the dark and dark; This sun that shines for such a little while Would waste his work if Man eschewed the spark That Love to our short lives brings to beguile. So, measure not Love's worth with days and years Nor think that only Youth falls in Love's thrall, Forget that Love's long wake is formed of tears Since Life and Love to Death must give up all. So, when you see old lovers joining hands, Mock not defiance of Time's sifting sands.
Archived comments for For Adele and Phil
deadpoet on 22-10-2013
For Adele and Phil
Hi Corin I read the story and looked at the profile- great stuff- so romantic- such a good sonnet. Well done-

Pia
xx

Author's Reply:
THankyou Pia. Phil and Adele are a lovely couple though in fact the sonnet was originally written for Mike Hicks and Esther who I met on holiday in Sicily, however the sonnet applies to both couple and as Adele is a UKA member I dedicated it on UKA to her and Phil.

Mike Hicks is actually more famous than Adele and has his own Wiki page:-

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mike_Hicks_(trade_unionist)

A lovely guy and a man after my own heart politically - “Power to the People!”

Dave

Hekkus on 22-10-2013
For Adele and Phil
I'm always interested in how verse written in an old style can still be relevant. A very competent sonnet.

Author's Reply:
THankyou Hekkus - Well I am old you know:-)

Bozzz on 23-10-2013
For Adele and Phil
Hi David, yes I too enjoyed this piece - well constructed and elegant in expression - Bravo...David

Author's Reply:
Thankyou so much Bozz.

David

bo_duke99 on 23-10-2013
For Adele and Phil
read the article, then enjoyed the challenge of the opening salvo and the whole poem, ta

Author's Reply:
I did not intend this to be a salvo aimed at any one but a simple homage to two l;ovely people.

Dave

stormwolf on 24-10-2013
For Adele and Phil
Lovely poem David in the olde worlde sonnet.
Maybe you will write one for me one day when I find a suitable man, strong enough to suffer me and all my little idiosyncrasies 😉 There again, I would not waste time preparing.....such men are sadly as rare as hen's teeth 🙁

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Love does not exist only in tge old world - that is the point!


For Jane Austen (posted on: 11-10-13)
Visiting Winchester Cathedral Today to pay our respects to Jane Austen and leave some flowers and thi dedication on her grave.

Some deaths humanity will ever mourn; As Mozart from this world too early torn; Or young John Keats, his red arterial blood, All coughed away upon the Roman mud And this dear Jane, still books inside her head, Dropping her pen to rest with these great dead.
Archived comments for For Jane Austen
deadpoet on 11-10-2013
For Jane Austen
That's a very nice tribute Corin.. well done

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Dead Poet

mageorge on 13-10-2013
For Jane Austen
"Some deaths humanity will ever mourn;"
This one, I surely will... Great tribute, corin.

Regards,
Mark

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mark,

Dave


Newcastle Eye Clinic (posted on: 27-09-13)
Rain drops and eye drops in the Autumn of the year and life.

Disconsolate Crow seeks shelter from nearly October rain On a small branch of a large tree. Its dripping leaves Ineffectually protecting crow and I from autumn wet. Meanwhile Larcenous Magpie Hops about the leaf littered lawn Looking for anything An opportunistic thief might profit from. Even in this grey Iridescent blue, flashing brightly, Delights the eye. I am taking my eyes To the Newcastle Eye Clinic To be puffed at and stung, Watered with paralysing drops, Illuminated and perspicaciously peered at. If they cannot perceive the problem And prevent it worsening Future days are like to be Even duller than today.
Archived comments for Newcastle Eye Clinic
Bozzz on 27-09-2013
Newcastle Eye Clinic
Isn't there a song about 'eye drops are falling' Good luck.....David

Author's Reply:
I might need it - cataract in my left eye - Itolde'em.

Dave


Bending With the Wind (posted on: 20-09-13)
O Wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumns being.

Two tall and slender poplar trees Bend and sway with the wild West Wind. Royal rulers of the park, They lord it, head and shoulders Over subjugated bushes and arbours. The wind may warp them, Attempt to unseat them From their erect authority, But ever willing to move with the moment, They bow, then return to regality. About them, a last, lonely swallow skims and swirls, Desperately scooping up the mating swarms Of flying ants - A black mana spilled from heaven At Autumn's command. The first leaves fall, Torn from their holdfasts By these violent winds Issuing a warning of equinoctial Gales approaching from the west. Above the elegant poplar trees Shredded clumps of cloud flee eastwards From harsh Winter, relentlessly pursuing Beautiful Autumn in an effort to stramp Upon her bountiful green and golden skirt tails.
Archived comments for Bending With the Wind
Bozzz on 20-09-2013
Bending With the Wind
The feel of wind and approaching autumn caught well. Enjoyed the read. Small point, do you mean mana or manna? I read feeling it was food from heaven - in which case manna? ....Bozzz

Author's Reply:


Harvest (posted on: 06-09-13)
The combine harvesters have been very busy around here lately.

Now is the Summer of our long content To windy autumn turned with harvest home. Tractors block Northumberland's long lanes And trailers filled with straw scatter the dust Of a long hot season all along the roads. Combine harvesters prowl up and down The slopes of over enlarged hedgeless fields Stripping summer's gold into their bins. The bright blue sky, adorned with wisps of rack, Hangs over farms and woods and hills and towns. The trees, full leaved and heavy with fruit or seeds, Sway gently in the warm late summer breeze. Northumberland is dressed in all its best Green and gold and blue and white array. Tomorrow is the last August's reign, A Wild West wind waits in Autumn's wings.
Archived comments for Harvest
deadpoet on 06-09-2013
Harvest
Very atmospheric for the season. Some nice descriptions. I enjoyed this.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou DP, who can resist writing about the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness?

Dave

Mikeverdi on 06-09-2013
Harvest
You paint a great picture. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mike, but it wasn’t me that did the painting but a setting sun:-)

Dave

stormwolf on 08-09-2013
Harvest
Hi David



I did not get the first line ;-( I recognize the reference to the winter of our discontent) but few, I feel, are aware of any "long content" with things as they stand.

Having got that out of the way....I have to say that I so enjoy your nature poetry, which displays a poet's mind and awareness of seasons. There is something always comforting about your writing when you write like this.

I resonate with the feeling.



Alison x

Author's Reply:
‘Long content’ was not meant to be profound but just a reference to the good summer we have just had (are still having) So it is just a season of mellow fruitfulness poem.

" few, I feel, are aware of any "long content" with things as they stand. “
onal sense
To be honest I think that many people in both Britain and America can claim a long content last about life in the last 60 years. I think I would generally subscribe to that in a purely personal sense, even though since the Thatcher/Blair regnum Society has become much less equitable and those people who have been thrown into the Under Class have suffered much:-( And of course the future id beginning to look very alarming!

Dave

stormwolf on 08-09-2013
Harvest
oops I thought I rated 9

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 08-09-2013
Harvest
We must thank good old Will for giving us so many lines we can adapt and play with, 'the winter of our discontent' being one of them. Nothing wrong, in my opinion, to draw inspiration from them. My only question would be: can the content of a 16 lines poem be described as 'long'?
Apart from that this seasonal poem is skilfully crafted and flows well.

Author's Reply:
O we can thank Will for already having said everything worth saying in drama or poetry

‘Long content’ was just a reference to the many weeks of good summer we have had.

Perhaps we are going to get an Indian Summer??

Dave


In Memoriam Seamus Heaney (posted on: 02-09-13)
For Seaumus who died today.

He is not dead, he has not died, But lives in Ireland's beating heart, He wrote the truth, he never lied Immortal words raise him apart. Like Sappho's, Homer's and Virgil's verse His echo down the years to come The Williams silently rehearse Their tribute to the newly dumb. Shakespeare, Wordsworth and Eire's Yeats, Welcome him to Hade's Halls To sleep with all of poetry's greats Where words and truth and beauty calls.
Archived comments for In Memoriam Seamus Heaney
amman on 04-09-2013
In Memoriam Seamus Heaney
An elegant elegy. Clever 'Williams' reference and he would not be embarrassed in the company of those great men of letters.
Regards.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Amman, a sad loss. Seventy four is not old for a poet.

orangedream on 05-09-2013
In Memoriam Seamus Heaney
They say that great minds think alike, and it seems that we, both, along with the rest, of course, were deeply saddened to hear of his passing.

An eloquent and deeply moving tribute, David.

All the best to you;-)

Tina

Author's Reply:
Thank you Tina - Now who is the greatest living Irish poet?

Bradene on 05-09-2013
In Memoriam Seamus Heaney
Lovely tribute David. I loved the last two lines. Valx

Author's Reply:


Dark Rising Over My Small Realm (posted on: 30-08-13)
hese late Sumer Evenings have been wonderful.

I will walk about my small realm Where the severed moon Tries to pierce the mounting Dark Looming in the East And where the fading West Is caught within a silver net Trawling across the sky Till every bright star caught within its tangles Is immediately extinguished. It seems the gods have now decreed That all the beauty of the World Should be marred so that a void Of Darkness now may reign. A Milky Way no longer dusts the night, Summer twilight is no more Constellations have fled the zodiac, And in my realm I can hear Only the sound of falling water.
Archived comments for Dark Rising Over My Small Realm
amman on 02-09-2013
Dark Rising Over My Small Realm
Beautiful poetry. Late summer/early autumn evenings can be enchanting but all good things...
Cheers.


Author's Reply:

cooky on 03-09-2013
Dark Rising Over My Small Realm
Lovely poetry. I like this

Author's Reply:


Every Third Thought - Parts I, II and III (posted on: 26-08-13)
Now that I am nearly 65 Prosperos injunction seems appropriate, though I may not have kept rigidly to it.

PROSPERO Sir, I invite your highness and your train To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest For this one night; which, part of it, I'll waste With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it Go quick away; the story of my life And the particular accidents gone by Since I came to this isle: and in the morn I'll bring you to your ship and so to Naples, Where I have hope to see the nuptial Of these our dear-beloved solemnized; And thence retire me to my Milan, where Every third thought shall be my grave. Part 1 Now seems it to me this is the time to take review of the life that I have lived, Since, as Hamlet asserted, 'the readiness is all', I will, like Prospero, Devote one third of all my thoughts to encroaching death And that preparation a man should make Knowing that the years are coming To the compass of their natural span. After long life I have a considerable store of thoughts to sift, Having spent many hours in silent contemplation of all the questions That have puzzled thinking men ever the since the Achaeans First found time to debate the apparent meaninglessness of this cruel World. When I was a young boy, simple accounts of purpose and meaning Seemed to provide certain and satisfying explanations as to how and why God's children should spend their days on Earth, Keeping to a narrow path mapped out by wiser minds And ancient texts. Home and school both reinforced these ideas upon my young mind. These were strong bonds, Though they with hard strictures. Emerging sexuality was frowned upon, I did not even realise I had committed Mortal crimes until the gates of Hell Appeared before my eyes, Pointed out in plain words By Jesuit teachers. It seemed that even self inflicted sexual pleasure Was an anathema to God And for it we must confess or face eternal punishment. This was a painful dilemma - To admit to such despicable acts To a man you saw every Sunday Or suffer the never ending fire. How my young mind squirmed, How that Catholic Super Ego Lashed the whip upon my back, Before my final descent to inescapable depths. Not confessing all, left my undying soul In that black state of mortal sin, But in that state to take the Body of Christ into my mouth Saying nothing, Hiding all. That was unforgivable - Sacrilege! Sacrilege! Sacrilege! Excommunication! Forever barred from the grace of God. Fourteen years old and completely damned! Where was a child of fourteen to go from here? Shame and eternal shame, nothing but shame! My head was down, My confidence low, My self esteem Non existent, And worse came, Punishing myself for sexual misdeeds With sexual diseases. This was a dire state, That Catholic super ego worked overtime; Not to seek medical cure Was a grave sin of omission. O yes, Catholicism has a word For more sins than you can imagine. For as many ways as you can think of enjoying yourself Are there three sins To wrap your soul with barbed wire. Part II Hiding away in this private hell And guided by an inspiring teacher I consumed English literature, Heaven and Earth, it seemed, were far more complicated Than the philosophy I had been taught . Doubts proliferated. I gravitated with interest and enthusiasm towards the sciences, Where logic and intelligence Refused to countenance contradictions, inconsistencies and absurdities. Science has its own uncertainties But these are expected and allowed for By accepting that there is no absolute truth; 'That all we can know is that we can know nothing!' A paradox of course, But appropriate to our human condition. My previous simplicities and beliefs fell away, Now there was nothing but hard thought. Hemingway and Steinbeck; Lawrence and Huxley; Auden and Larkin Were meaty food for thinking, Most moving, most disturbing, Were those soldier poets Writing from The Inferno Of the Great War. Above all that gentle, loving, martyred Poet, Wilfred Owen, Sacrificed upon an altar of armistice negotiation, Dead at the same age as his poetic idol, With great poems among his papers And the most magnificent metaphor in all English verse Already written: 'And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.' Part III Yet guilt is corrosive, Even the the most beautiful English lyric poetry Cannot undo its harm. Delusions persisted, I lived in fear of death and disease Until at last A woman's love Cured me of the Catholic curse. Now, having escaped death and hell, I could turn my thoughts to life, Jean Paul Sartre and Franz Kafka Taught us how to read meaning out of meaninglessness, It is what it is, 'All this world is but a play Be thou the joyful player' We have our exits and our entrances And must play many parts. Having finished playing the eternal student And the languid lover I began to play the dedicated teacher. That Autumn smelt of chalk dust Settling with an inevitable Tardiness upon my life. Yet, there, in a child's eyes Lay profound joys That should have shaken the world. To serve children is a great privilege, I knew it then and feel it still - 'Pass the parcel boys, pass it on!' Alan Bennet's Hector understood that mighty task, The importance of the role, That has makes Homo Sapiens The most successful species To live upon the Earth The only species to march across all five continents. It seems such a pity that those who could Enable children and teachers To play the game profitably Are more concerned With profit and loss than preparing The new generation for their future lives. As I approach the end that Prospero envisaged, I wonder though, how many future generations will there be? It seems that that piece of work, Is quite finite in faculty, Not so noble in reason, Unfit, obese, un-admirable, Incapable of an angelic action Misapprehensive, Destroyer of the world And all its animals - No paragon. Here is a paradox; That humanity, having learned How to shape the Earth to its own purposes, Its own comfort and delight, Should now be busy destroying it. The Anthropocene mass extinction, In an ironic act of justice, Will extinguish its instigator. To a newly blessed grandparent This is sorrowful contemplation. As a young parent It seemed that that life had generated its own meaning, Family was the answer, Something to live and work for, A reason to be joyful, a purpose to facing the future.
Archived comments for Every Third Thought - Parts I, II and III
amman on 28-08-2013
Every Third Thought - Parts I, II and III
Hello David. This is very fine writing but because of its length and complexity will, no doubt, be routinely ignored. I like the way you have taken the example of Prospero to contemplate a life well lived with thoughts toward retirement, but also apprehension about the state of the world. The strictures of Catholicism and its lingering effects are well observed and the love of a good woman needed to throw off those bonds. I could go on for ever but need to (and will) study the text more thoroughly to better understand the literature references. I really hope others take the time to read and contemplate this philosophical tour de force.

I know the feeling well, having posted a lengthy short story a few months ago which was pretty much ignored. (Not in your class though)! You say this is unfinished and, if so, look forward to reading the finished/polished article.

Regards.

Tony.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou again Tony - yes I am sure you are right - long poems put readers off. In fact I don’t often read stories or novel chapters on UKA for that very reason:-) However I will read yours in future!

Dave


Concerto for Voices and Double Chorus - In A minor (posted on: 26-08-13)
Variations on a Theme by Wordsworth

First Movement - Allegro . The Voice: Why am I here? Why? Why? I could see in the dark, how here? This is a painful light With no throbbing In the comfort of a warm sea And soothing, reddish darkness. The noise, the noise! Wherefore wailing? Why whining? What questions? Questions without answer? Whisper! Whisper? What is that whisper? This is a cold place and only air; No sweet wash; No floating among the thick tangles; No point of anchor; Only rough rawness And hard edges, fumbling, grasping. Why am I here? Why? Why? I was lighter in the dark; This light is only pain. The noise!The noise! Drumming and beating; Why so much noise? Why am I here? Why? Why? Chorus of the Living: Hush, Hush! Who is it that cries? Who lives? Who lives? Who is it that dies? Who is it that comes with foolish dares? Who is climbing these rocky stairs? Look at the waves on the crowded shore, Who thinks there is room for any more? Who mounts this stage where fools abound? Oh! We know too well that sorrowful sound. Hush, Hush! Who is it that dies? The living, the living, Make bootless cries? Why do they not know that silence rules? Why play so long the part of fools? What use is Time when nihilism wins? Here are no causes and no sins; This whirligig rolls round and round Revenge's practised, pointless plans; All crimes run out with the final sands. The Voice: No! No!! The singing is worse. Why should they sing? Music is just discordant noise. Why is the darkness growing so dim? Let me go back!! Here is nothing but want and need. I am broken, Cut off Separated for ever. No touch will ever replace Union's soft sense, Chorus of the Dead: Togetherness was all. Apartheid is cruel - No hand, no arm, No face, no lip, no breast, Will ever be enough. The milk of human kindness fails. Why am I here? Why? Why? Why am I apart? Why must wailing Come before all joys? Why does whining always follow? Chorus of the Living: All truths are hardly learnt and dearly bought; No one passes through unharmed, un-fought; Know that it is common unto all, All come unbidden, rise, then fall. We are many but the ends are few. We know what we know and what they knew. Those who knew that knowing is best Passed it on, discarding the rest, Like leaves in the swirling Autumn wind, Like remorseful regrets of those who sinned. Sing, sing! Whisper who dares! Sing, sing! Give music your cares. Chorus of the Dead: All truths are tossed into the dying sea, No one waking dreams here - all are free! Knowing and unknowing mean the same; All unplay the endless timeless game; We make no sounds where sullen flues make moans; We know no use for joys or painful groans. Those who think that thinking is the test Pass through as quietly as the thoughtless rest, Like flesh of grass cut down by winter's cold, Like flowers of the field all cut and sold. Be not, be not! Consummation lives Oh! be not, be not! This is all life ever gives. The Voice: Why am I here? Why? Why? I could see in the dark, how here? This is a painful light With no throbbing In the comfort of warm darkness. No! No!! The singing is the worst. Why should they sing When the music is little more than noise? Why is the darkness growing so dim? Oh! Let me go back, let me back in. Where is my warm world? No! No! Let me be not mad!! Let me be not MAD!!! NO!! NOT MAD!!!! Second Movement - Andante Ma non Tropo Chorus of the Living: Don't try to run before you walk Never think before you talk; This is fun, enjoy the day; Love's the link upon your way. See the world before your eyes; Heed not the noisesome nightly cries; Touch the coloured rainbow's arc See how bright stars bejewel the dark Taste the zest of every hour; A sense of balance is your power; All the world before you grows; Every day new wonder shows. Sun and moon and stars are bright, Days are balanced by each night. Wider still your bounds are set, Nor joy nor pain will you forget, Every second, every minute Has its grip and you are in it. A piece of clay on the potter's wheel Grows to his mind, by touch and feel. Yet, if the potter should but choose All form, all shape, will you lose. Don't try to walk before your time, Rely on talk and not on mime; Though every day is meant for fun Sometimes the way will see no sun. The Voice: Show me the way; This is no place to be lost in light, Every road leads to another. Show me the way. Chorus of the Living: Follow where your fortune goes Where the end is no one knows - Builder, joiner, ply your trade That these new homes may yet be made Doctor, dentist, use your skill Make all well that once were ill. Teacher, tutor play your part So men will know of science and art. Follow, poet, follow right To the bottom of the night, With your unconstraining voice Still persuade us to rejoice Every choice will play its part And form another human heart All of you must make your mark So men will know you in the dark. The Voice: Don't make me sing. Don't make me sing! The music is still too loud The words are too hard. Chorus of the Dead: Nothing will come of nothing, let it come! Silence is the space where music rings; The shells of nuts enclose infinity; Eternity in every hour sings. Modulating into C Major:- Chorus of the Living: Oh listen to the music that you hear, This is not the melody of fear. Sweet notes like these are surely worth a song, Does not the rhythm carry you along? The harmonies within are more than chance Now is the time to play and sing and dance. C Major:- The Voice: Oh let this light of love shine in my eyes Let the song of love be my surprise, Although I sleep a long and sweet forgetting Until the sun comes to a final setting I'll turn my face towards the daily light Illuminating every wondrous sight ; And though this brave new world knows joy and pain And pain is loss - yet joy is greater gain. Modulating into A Minor:- Chorus of the living and the Voice in harmony: Voice{ I know the light is singing of great joy Chorus{ He knows the light he sings it in his joy Voice{ How each meadow makes celestial light Chorus{ How joyous is the bright celestial light Voice { Who would not envy this glad growing boy? Chorus { Who could imprison this glad growing boy? Voice { How wonderful is every common sight Chorus{ How wilfully the prison house blocks sight A Minor:- Chorus of the Dead: Now we know forgetfulness Our utter nakedness Can cause us shame no more. In the darkness No touch can restore forgotten sights; That which was will never be again - The rose, the rainbow, Moonlit nights with clouds, Stars reflected in the waters deep; All these insubstantial pageants faded Into the baseless stuff of dreams. Third Movement - Rondo Moderato. A Major Chorus of the Dead Lord what fools these mortals be When they they think they clearly see Why do they listen not to me Then at last they would be free. There can be but one place to be, One eternal reality, In Hades' Halls equality Is the only certainty. All shades sleep there peacefully None will wake up sorrowfully, Here no wars echo noisily, No guns thump in enmity, No titans labour endlessly Building citadels of futility. All else is but insanity This is the fate of humanity Modulating into D minor The Voice: Now there's only work and sleep And every dawn brings woes new made Some we'll lose and some we'll keep Until at last all memories fade. So long the road goes far ahead, Its gradient ever climbing up, No rest no peace and in their stead The bitter dregs of life's small cup. Modulating into F Major Chorus of the Living But no man needs to walk the road alone - Do you think your heart is made of stone? The stars shine through the dark of winter night, Though the inconstant moon denies us light Orion circles ever, sword in hand, Forever hunting for that bright new land. Not in the sky, but on Earth it's found, Wherever love lays her bright girdle round. Modulating into A Major Chorus of the Dead Lord what fools these mortals be When they they think they clearly see Why do they listen not to me Then at last they would be free. There can be but one place to be, One eternal reality, In Hades' Halls equality Is the only certainty. All shades sleep there peacefully And none there wake up sorrowfully, Here no wars echo noisily, No guns thump in enmity, No titans labour endlessly Groining citadels of futility. All else is but insanity This is the fate of humanity Modulating into C major The Voice: To you, for life, I've sworn plight, Together now in awe we stand Before the day and in the light Joined by this never ending band. The road that once seemed hard and long When we travelled all alone Now is filled with joy and song Instead of pain and constant moan Modulating into A minor Chorus of the Dead Lord what fools these mortals be When they they think they clearly see Why do they listen not to me Then at last they would be free. There can be but one place to be, One eternal reality, In Hades' Halls equality Is the only certainty. All shades sleep there peacefully And none there wake up sorrowfully, Here no wars echo noisily, No guns thump in enmity, No titans labour endlessly Buuilding citadels of futility. All else is but insanity This is the fate of humanity. Modulating into D Minor The Voice: Give me your hand and let us walk With wandering steps and slow While we wander we will talk As through the world we go. No matter that Eden now is lost. And we walk alone, Modulating into F Major Together we can bear this cost With love to guide us every day. O it is good to live and love To have a future here with you To see bright stars shine out above And a new one growing inside you. Modulating into C Major One is one and all alone And ever more shall be so But two to three or four have grown, Together up this path we'll go. Chorus of the Living Love is all the food we need, Two live as cheaply as but one. Love sets us truly free indeed To cold, dark night it is the sun. Love knows no law, love conquers all Love is life, life lives for love, For love the birds do sing and call. If love be blind the stars above Would not shine out so bright at all. Or if it is, we'll love the dark And by love's light we will not fall, But aim at love and hit the mark. Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease, And builds a heaven in hell's despair. Modulating into A minor Chorus of the Dead Love is blind and Cupid's bow Scatters arrows everywhere. He cares not which cross path they go And engenders sorrow here and there. Look through the god's kaleidoscope All human passions are but toys Happiness is but false hope, They'll suffer chiefly by their joys. Love seeketh only Self to please, To bind another to its delight, Joys in another's loss of ease, And builds a hell in heaven's despite. Lord what fools these mortals be When they they think they clearly see Why do they listen not to me Then at last they would be free. There can be but one place to be, One eternal reality, In Hades' Halls equality Is the only certainty. All shades sleep there peacefully And none there wake up sorrowfully, Here no wars echo noisily, No guns thump in enmity, No titans labour endlessly Building citadels of futility. All else is but insanity This is the fate of humanity Fourth Movement - Adagio Voice: Auden was right , Poetry makes nothing happen. We might as well drink our way down Cemetery Road As raise our voices in song And trouble deaf heaven with our bootless cries. Where now are Sappho's verses heard? Who reads Southey's dismal laureate rhymes? Who will read those turgid verses that I wrote When I thought that words had power to move And change the world from worse to better state? Surely silence is the rest and should be so, Since honour is but breath, no more, And has no power over silent dust. Chorus of the Dead: When you have read one poem You have read them all; What do you read? Words, words, words And all no matter. Now the wind is North North West And it grows cold, Wear the bottoms of your trousers rolled. Chorus of the Living: Oh the world is beautiful; Love is wonderful; Life is mysterious; In the intersection of the timeless moment Everything happens. We have heard the bells at midnight And we sing "All will be one, All will be one We'll understand it better in the sweet bye and bye, We don't have to worry and we don't have to cry Over in the old Golden Land" Hold hands! Let us all Hold hands To prove our almost instinct Almost true What will survive of us is love First Female Voice: They make me sick, sick!! SICK!!! These men are all shits, shits!! SHITS!!! One foot on land and one on shore To one thing constant never. If they think at all they think with their prick, They are led by their balls and follow the tits And talk through their arses ever! Second Female Voice: No ! No! Not so, Not so! There is universal truth, The Higgs Boson proves it so, Advanced male physique Has been revealed. Sometimes up and sometimes down, Some seem strange but some have charm Some have no bottom, some no top Some are just spin, some highly charged, Coloured and flavoured Entwined and entrapped In eleven dimensional tangled strings Such coiled complexity Cannot be grasped But life and love And human soul are embedded within The quarks and hadrons. It must be so for if it were not What could resolve the ultimate Place of every random particle In a Cosmic void? Schrdinger's cat Would never live But neither would it ever die. At one time the Cosmos Would be and not be, Nothing could exist and Chaos would rule. First Male Voice: Women! Women!! Women!!! All daughters of Eve; Accomplices of Satan; Beautiful to behold, All delight on the outside, Soft and curved and round, Designed to arouse, Determined to entrap. Second Female Voice: No ! No! Not so, Not so! There is universal truth, The Higgs Boson proves it so, First Male Voice: It ain't no use to sit and wonder why But don't think twice, it's all right Once they have eaten our hearts. They want our souls. Nothing! Nothing! Nothing but shame! Shame and eternal shame, Let us die in honour: Once more back again. Second Male Voice: Oh No ! Let it not be so I say Woman that knows truth give me your hand We will walk and search until we find the way Watching and hearing beauty of our land. Chorus of the Dead: Nothing will come of nothing! We are all nothing; We are shades, just shades Sitting quietly in this profound dull tunnel Groined through granit By some great titanic war. No more painful light, Only again the reddish darkness. And a strange throbbing Echoing down around cavernous slaughterhouse. Nothing can soothe the pain We are here beneath a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night. Chorus of the Living: To be a human being takes long life; To learn to speak and sing and love; To create a family and to make true friends; To understand all humanity And justify the ways of Men to God. The Two Male and Two Female Voices: And then you die. Chorus of the Living and the Dead: We are but a quintessence of dust: But such dust, the dust of stars! Yes, what a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel!I In apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! Though our little lives are rounded with a sleep. As silent shades in Hades' Halls: In long dreamless sleep, Yet will we have left such dreams behind That no one Universe could contain. Whatever and wherever and whenever This is the way the World ends, Not with a bang But a whimper! So, sleep in peace and Fear no nightly noises.
Archived comments for Concerto for Voices and Double Chorus - In A minor
amman on 27-08-2013
Concerto for Voices and Double Chorus - In A minor
I was blown away by this the first time you posted it; a real classical tour de force. It should have been nominated then, so I will put the record straight by doing that right now. Absolutely brilliant.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Amman. I have edited this for my forthcoming book so I thought I would repost it. However it is disappointing that few people seem to think that this or a more recent long poem, ‘Every Third Thought’ (still unfinished) are worth commenting on. I suppose that the length puts them off

Best

Dave


Gilded World (posted on: 19-07-13)
The recent weather in England has been wonderful, almost as if someone has been trying to fix the world and finally got it right.

Tonight the world is gilded with wonder and mystery. The warm sun, Now just below the northern horizon, Is touching the high clouds With a rosy hue Left over from a scorching day. The wide blue welkin Is aflame with glory. Through the red mist of departing day A faint, half silver moon watches patiently, Waiting her turn to be Queen of the sky. This is an evening to remember, A time out of time When all was peace and joy When the whole earth was at ease And love surrounded us with balmy air, Glowing, fluorescent light And profound sense of brotherhood between all men. Long let this bond grow in all our hearts. It is our only hope Of avoiding slumbering threats, That, like the now concealed and lurking sun, Wait for a new day to scorch us with new terrors.
Archived comments for Gilded World
Texasgreg on 19-07-2013
Gilded World
Aye, Dave!

As children, we enjoy beautiful weather and take delight.
As adults, we wonder and worry if it'll change tonight...

Enjoy, my friend.

Greg 🙂

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Author's Reply:
Well Gregg, we have had a few thunderstorms but the Weather goes marching on!

Mikeverdi on 19-07-2013
Gilded World
We all need some time in the sun, it's good to see you finding your's; great stuff. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks for reading and rating so generously Mikke

Dave

chant_z on 20-07-2013
Gilded World
In a way England defines a certain kind of weather...:). Beautiful writing! I'd better come over and time it right :). Very fine. Thank you!

Author's Reply:
"I'd better come over and time it right 🙂 “

Ah - therein lies the difficulty - In England we can wake up in winter, have breakfast in spring, lunch in summer and go to bed in Winter.

Thankyou for reading and commenting,

Dave

Bozzz on 21-07-2013
Gilded World
Pleasant thinking suggests that you are an optimist and science says you will outlive a pessimist by 7 years. Sadly for every weather-happy man on earth, some maths says there are ten in despair at their situation. Your well-written prosetry shows due gratitude and hope - bon voyage...t'other David.


Author's Reply:
Trouble is Bozzz sometimes I am an optimist and sometimes a pessimist. As far as the future of thed world goes I am very pessimistic - read Mark Lynas’s book ‘The God Species’ that will cure your optimism. We (Humanity) are rapidly destroying the planet, future geologists will call it the Anthropocene Mass Extinction. As I say in my profile :-

A la Wilfrid Owen :-

`My subject is Folly,
And the tragedy of Folly.
The Poetry is in the tragedy.'


The FOLLY is humanity’s refusal to care for the only planet it has. We turned North Africa into a dessert, destroyed the gentle civilization on Easter Island by destroying the forest that was the islands’s main resource. - we are going through the same process over the whole planet. Here is my apocalyptic vision of what will happen:-

Middling May

Walking down the street in middling May
As twilight faded into darkling day
I had a vision of a coming time;
Of houses all reduced to dust and lime
Of cities lost beneath a coastal flood
And bitter armies wading through bad blood.

If all this one day should come to pass,
If human kind were mown down like grass,
If all the civil world should be destroyed
I doubt if any gods will feel annoyed
Or once regret an earth so much diminished -
Divine experiments are quickly finished.

Dave

Pronto on 22-07-2013
Gilded World
Oh yes the best of everything Aussie weather and English cricket. Great sunny write I enjoyed it very much.

Author's Reply:
And Enlish victories!!!

Dave


The Tidal Tyne (posted on: 05-07-13)
If you ever go to Newcastle make sure you walk across the beautiful Millennium bridge that joins the Newcastle Quayside and the Gateshead Baltic Square between the Baltic Art Exhibition Gallery and the Sage Concert Hall. The City panorama here is one of the greatest in the world.

At low tide A slowly flooding River Tyne Drags its detritus Upstream Past the Newcastle Quayside. A few white yachts, Big boys toys for the very rich, Bob among the driftwood, detached seaweed And discarded condoms. Above the brown river With its flotsam and jetsam Newcastle bridges Gracefully span the water From Bonnie Newcastle to Gateshead's Dirty back lanes And tangled road system. There are seven of them now:- The magical blinking eye of the Millennium Bridge; The immense blue arch Of Tyne Bridge; The rotating roadway of the Swing Bridge, Fourth structure to stand on this place, Preceded by Roman engineering, Medieval stone arches and timber houses, Elegant Georgian architecture, And this last, a masterpiece of Victorian invention, Its massive but carefully balanced structure Turned about by Lord Armstrong's amazing hydraulics. Far above it George Stephenson's Multi-arched High Level Bridge Has carried both trains and traffic Across the river into Newcastle For over one hundred and fifty years. Between the High Level and the King Edward Railway Bridge, Another Sovereign lends her name To an astonishing structure. It is not the engineering that is so remarkable About the Queen Elizabeth Metro Bridge But its purpose. Here the Tyneside underground Metro system Crosses from one side of the Tyne's steep gorge Straight across to the opposite bank, Metro trams briefly emerge from darkness. Then immediately plunge back into it. George V and George Stevenson Have built between them, Like overgrown boys, A grand railway layout. From the air you can see the design clearly. A rectangular circuit crossing the Tyne From Newcastle to Gateshead And back again. At its many junctions Trains travel all over Britain; South to London , North to Edinburgh, West to Carlisle, East to Sunderland and Middlesbrough. On former railway tracks Rapid light tram transportation Links every part of Tyneside, North and South, Even Sunderland! The last of the Western bridges, The second to carry its name, Stands on the Red Haugh in County Durham Carrying a Motorway To link Newcastle and Gateshead To the A1 And all points North and South. Below all the bridges The tide flows faster and fast westwards Taking with it plastic containers, Lager cans, beer bottles And abandoned knickers. The Bridges stand aloof As the garbage of a Party City Passes to and fro beneath them Twice a day for weeks On every flood and ebb tide. One day the sandstone being formed now By Tynemouth bar Will contain a layer Of mysterious objects For future geologists to puzzle over.
Archived comments for The Tidal Tyne
Nomenklatura on 05-07-2013
The Tidal Tyne
You bring back very fond memories of the Toon.
Some lovely description. I wasn't so keen on
'big boys toys for the very rich', although I wouldn't know how to subvert the received phrase to make it more palatable.
Thank you for a great read.

Author's Reply:

Texasgreg on 07-07-2013
The Tidal Tyne
Gave me a visual of a place I've not visited, yet is strikingly similar, (replacing some landmarks, of course), to places here. I read an article the other day which said that without water reclamation, our drinkable water supply would be depleted in a day.

Ouch!



Greg 🙂



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Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 07-07-2013
The Tidal Tyne
Hi David,
This was a lovely meandering look at what obviously 'floats your boat' to keep on the water theme. 🙂
I felt that to make it more appealing to be read, it could do with being broken into chunks.
It is also more like a 'through stream' kind of poem than anything else.
I can see it all so clearly and brings back fond memories of when i came to stay with you and Mavis and you walked my feet off all over Newcastle and beyond. I can see us on the bridge, at the art gallery across the bridge and also me looking up to all those birds nesting in the girders under the bridge.

I feel this stanza alone could be used to construct a much shorter condensed poem, more along the lines of what it is saying in it than the longer poem about the bridges.

Below all the bridges
The tide flows faster and fast westwards
Taking with it plastic containers,
Lager cans, beer bottles
And abandoned knickers.
The Bridges stand aloof
As the garbage of a Party City
Passes to and fro beneath them
Twice a day for weeks
On every flood and ebb tide.

hope the abandoned knickers has nothing to do with you BTW. You are both getting on a bit for any hanky-panky al fresco but hey, whatever turns you on 😉

Alison x

ps typo abandoned you have abandones

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 07-07-2013
The Tidal Tyne
Enjoyed, David - very visual.

Author's Reply:


It's Good News Boys! (posted on: 24-06-13)
Based on this week's news and the Sixty's song 'It's Good News Week' by Jonathan King:- www.youtube.com

It's good news boys! The Government has got a plan For fucking up Afghanistan, Back home we're gonna fly. It's good news boys! The Afghan Army's now in charge, There are no terrorists at large, So goes the great big lie. It's good news boys! No more sandy army grub It's fish and chips down the pub And lot of beer to try. It's good news boys! We're gonna see our families soon; Mums and kids will be over the moon; Oh how they're gonna cry! It's good news boys! When we get back to Aldershot We'll throw a party and invite the lot, Now everyone get high. It's good news boys! No more deadly colouring games Like green on blue and explosive flames; Now no more boys will die. It's good news boys! No more beggars with cupped brown hands; No more Christmas in foreign lands; No Allah to defy. It's good news boys! No women covered from head to toe With dark, suspicious eyes on show And every look a sigh. (Ritardando) It's bad news boys! What's that brown envelope I see Sent from the M.O.D. to me. How could they be so sly? (lento) It's bad news boys! Now we're all on J.S.A. For risking death - ten pounds a day! O Let the fuckers die!
Archived comments for It's Good News Boys!
Nomenklatura on 24-06-2013
Its Good News Boys!
'It's Tommy this and Tommy that and Tommy go away...' just wait 'til the band starts up again!

It was ever thus.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Keith, poor old Tommy Atkins. I don't think our attitude to the Army is the same as it appears to have been in Kipling's though. The Armed Forces today are more professional and more skilled. His was an attack on the public view of soldiers mine is is an attack on the Governments treatment of them.

Dave

Bozzz on 24-06-2013
Its Good News Boys!
Sadly wars are fought and lost for even less reason. This poem is street wisdom put to good use. Bravo....Bozzz.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou for reeading and commenting Bozzz.

teifii on 24-06-2013
Its Good News Boys!
All too true. Well done David. By the way, one typo bys for boys

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Daphne - fixed now:-)

Dave

cooky on 24-06-2013
Its Good News Boys!
Soldiers are like used condoms to those hooray Henry's at Ascot this week. They will always find someone to clean up their mess.

Author's Reply:
Hi Cooky, You have given me a wonderful image here ofthe abandoned Ascot Race Course in the late evening the littered with empty or half empty bottles of Champagne and used condoms and the odd couple still at it!

Dave

Savvi on 24-06-2013
Its Good News Boys!
Great stuff, right on the button, would love to hear you sing it 🙂

Author's Reply:
Mmm - not sure you would really Savvi:-)

Dave

Nomenklatura on 25-06-2013
Its Good News Boys!
Hi Dave,
I'll allow that today's attitude to the armed forces is different to that of Kipling's day. You should be aware that this is a fairly recent thing. I remember very well the attitudes when I joined up in the early 80's: once the euphoria of the Falklands was over, there wasn't much respect the soldier, not the war about then. In fact, I would say attitudes began to change only with the 2nd Gulf War.
Some of the animosity around Garrison Towns before then was exactly that of Kipling's poem. I'm glad it's changed, I just hope it's permanent.
Ewan

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 25-06-2013
Its Good News Boys!
Very very good, David. And I remember that song well.



Author's Reply:
Thankyou Andrea - you must be a woman of a certain age:-)

Dave

Andrea on 25-06-2013
Its Good News Boys!
Moi? Perish the thought!

Author's Reply:

Pronto on 25-06-2013
Its Good News Boys!
Good work poet and now of course they are making experienced soldiers redundant whilst recruiting newbies, I wonder why? Could it be they're getting rid of the damaged ones 'cos they don't want the cost of repairing them or am I just an old cynic mayhap? As an ex soldier(Of the ‘Kiplingesque’ sixties) I know what my money's on.

Author's Reply:
Didn't realise that Pronto. That makes it all the worse.

David

ValDohren on 25-06-2013
Its Good News Boys!
Thought this was an excellent write, very well put together, and love the rhyme scheme. As for the content, its already been said.

Val

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Val, though of course the rhyme scheme and the rhythm were pinched from the original somg.

David

orangedream on 27-06-2013
Its Good News Boys!
A gem, David, a gem.

Tina

Author's Reply:


Subterranean Death-Wish Blues (posted on: 17-06-13)
Describes where I have been for the last four months.

I'm on the pavement Wishing I were dead And all the people running by From my despair have fled. Night lies thick between them Despite the street light's glare. No one perceives my inner pain So I just stand and stare. What is the point of poetry? Just words: just words: just words: Do words really matter? No! They stink like runny turds. In the mouths of politicians, Through lawyer's sticky hands, In the journalist's scoop copy, They run like dry loose sands. Now there's another mouth to feed, A grandson newly born, An object for more suffering From hubris pride and scorn. The news on television proves The world is still insane The poor don't have enough to eat , The killing starts again. I can't bear to listen to it all, Music seems like noise, There is no comfort in the day, No pleasure, hopes or joys. So thank the gods for beer and wine Soon I'll feel alright, And let this day be ended soon By an endless night.
Archived comments for Subterranean Death-Wish Blues
e-griff on 17-06-2013
Subterranean Death-Wish Blues
Ah, poor sod.

Effective wee rant 🙂

I'd try and rectify the arse about face 'from my despair have fled'

But more so, cut 'all' for rhythm. Or reshape line.

No big deal though., John G

Author's Reply:
For that comment John I send you the poets curse, may you be sent to bi-polar Hell for all eternity, condemned to write the same poem over and over again because as soon as you get to the end of it you find it is all arse about face. Even one such depressive episode you would find is a very big deal.

David

Savvi on 17-06-2013
Subterranean Death-Wish Blues
Hi David not a good place to be, still your writing about it so that's a good thing, as is the poem and you capture the tension very well, be careful of what the gods send it carries a heavy price tag. S

Let everyone else's problems be just that. 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Savvi, Yes I am fine now - full of energy and creativity. Next poem/song is called 'It's Good News Boys'. It's about the Government deciding to pull out of Afghanistan and then sack 20% of the soldiers when they get home - good Man management eh????? It is based on an old song called 'It's Good News Week' Listen to it at :-

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q4KzGKnuUuc

Great stuff from the Sixties 🙂

David

e-griff on 18-06-2013
Subterranean Death-Wish Blues
A thousand apologies, young David! I thought you'd come up the other side, but apparently you are still listing heavily 🙂

As I said, no big deal. Here's to a complete recovery.

John G

Author's Reply:

ChairmanWow on 18-06-2013
Subterranean Death-Wish Blues
A journey that many have taken and yet all are unique. Like the imagery concerning the politicians.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mr Chairman.

franciman on 18-06-2013
Subterranean Death-Wish Blues
Well done David - it's a big step.
Jim

Author's Reply:

deadpoet on 18-06-2013
Subterranean Death-Wish Blues
Hope writing gives you pleasure if everything else fails- you deserve it.

Author's Reply:

amman on 19-06-2013
Subterranean Death-Wish Blues
Strong, driving poetic rhythm to these song lyrics, David. Very skilfully composed.
Keep well.
Tony.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Tony


Croquet North Committee Meeting (posted on: 11-02-13)
Could be any committee meeting really:-)

Still winter this first week of February; Cold and grey, Dead leaves blowing in the wind; Dead men moving In a whirlwind of hot air; Dry conflicts echoing over wet lawns; Dislocated noses flapping about; All the usual signs Of approaching Spring
Archived comments for Croquet North Committee Meeting
amman on 11-02-2013
Croquet North Committee Meeting
Hi David.
A cutting edge to this satirical poem. Been to a few committee meetings where noses are metaphorically put out of joint!
Hate to tell you this but it's 25 to 30 degrees centigrade here at the mo. Luvly jubbly.
Cheers.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Amman, yes I am no longer in favour among the committee for making this poetic comment on our meeting. Well 25ºC ? I don't do hot:-)

Dave


Inside (posted on: 08-02-13)
My poem for the last challenge.

Inside I am all broken; Dreams mashed up with potato, Joys choking bronchia, Hopes washed away in blood, Pleasures spat out Covered in phlegm, Love, curdled semen, Certainties, soft as shit, Principles just yellow piss, Desires dried into hard skin. Outside I am just an old man With a white beard and grey hair, Untidy and careless Waiting And knowing That it won't be long.
Archived comments for Inside
deadpoet on 29-12-2013
Inside
I wouldn't think too much about leaving the face of the earth just yet David.
The first stanza was brilliant. So expressive! Second stanza made me a bit sad- though it's realistic.

Pia

Author's Reply:
As I said in another poem - every third thought is devoted to thinking about leaving - that way the readiness will be complete:-)

By the Way I looked up your home town on Google maps and saw that yoou live very close to Helsingor (Elsinor) Castle (Where Hamlet is set) what is it like? Is iit worth visiting? I have never been to Denmark - I think that I am put off by the price of beer there!

David

Buschell on 29-12-2013
Inside
Like how you work your way down the body from the spiritual to the basal...chakra by chakra if you wanna get all new age about it...powerful, poignant stuff, Darren.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Buschell. Alison Stormwolf once did some Reiki healing on me Chakra by Chakra - I was amazed at the effect!


Regards

Dave





Blue Wednesday, 23rd January 2013 (posted on: 25-01-13)
This is supposed to be the most depressing week of the year. I agree.

I don't know where it falls from, This feeling of triste settling upon my mind. Perhaps it is the sad song playing on the audio, Or the book I am reading, Reminding me of our impossible predicament, Or tomorrow's impending failure. Perhaps after all it is all true, That the fourth week in January Really is the most miserable in the year. Certainly I was unenthusiastic yesterday And did nothing to prepare for tomorrow. Well Blue Wednesday will come and go. What do I care? The world can wag at me all it likes. I know who I am, I have stared at the stars and thought them beautiful, I have seen the correct path stretch out before me And heard all the spurious arguments about turning right. Well, I will walk on alone. The only one I would wish to accompany me Cannot come, So, I will lift my head to the wide welkin And observe the Hubble Deep Space Field In all its four pi solid radian glory.
Archived comments for Blue Wednesday, 23rd January 2013
stormwolf on 26-01-2013
Blue Wednesday, 23rd January 2013
Hi David,
You really catch the feeling of melancholy here. I have no doubt it's the most depressing week of the year. I told my son that yesterday when he was feeling very much the same.
Gotta just keep walking.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Clip Clop Clip Clop:-)

Bozzz on 26-01-2013
Blue Wednesday, 23rd January 2013
Hi David, may I add to your woes by suggesting that V2 L1 needs attention. Otherwise your sentiments are augmented by my half full glass approach to everything. Grrrrr. .... Cheers...David Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Thanks David - fixed it!

Texasgreg on 27-01-2013
Blue Wednesday, 23rd January 2013
I know who I am...Aye, my friend! Love your spin.

You deserve this.

 photo sun-1.gif

Greg 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thanks Greg

ValDohren on 27-01-2013
Blue Wednesday, 23rd January 2013
Well captured sentiments here - depressing time indeed. Very well penned.

Val

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Val.

Witchysmyth on 28-04-2013
Blue Wednesday, 23rd January 2013
So sad. These words are a jewel:

So, I will lift my head to the wide welkin
And observe the Hubble Deep Space Field
In all its four pi solid radian glory.

A most enjoyable read.

Author's Reply:
Witchysmyth wrote:-
So sad. These words are a jewel:

So, I will lift my head to the wide welkin
And observe the Hubble Deep Space Field
In all its four pi solid radian glory.

A most enjoyable read.

Thankyou Witchy,
I had forgotten about this. I had organised a performaance poetry event for that day but it was a bit of aa failure and I lost money on the event:-(.Did you understand the mathematics of the ending - in case not I will explain. Angles are are measured mathematically in radians not degrees. One radian being the angle at the centre of a circle formed by two radii that intersect the circumference at the the ends of an arc which is also one radius long.


Crudely it looks like this:-

<)

There are 2 x pi radians in 360 degrees



A Solid radian is the area on the inside of a sphere formed by cone whose apex is one radian. There are 4 x pi soilid radians in the inside of a sphere. Of course if you look at the sky on Earth you can only 2 pi solid radians are visible.

Sorry I love this sort of thing:-)

Dave


A Rare Day (posted on: 21-01-13)
I like freezing, snowy days.

This snow falling onto white ground In bright sunshine Is icily beautiful. The world is in a rare mood Of calm and serenity, Time does not repeat itself. These are unique circumstances and Such moments never return No matter how many days are left. No matter how much beauty falls from the sky Or how peaceful the world becomes. This is an intersection of time and eternity
Archived comments for A Rare Day
amman on 21-01-2013
A Rare Day
A vivid picture of peace and serenity at a particular moment in time. Virgin snow is so beautiful on a still, cold day.
Regards.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Amman, well it has lost it virginity now, time it disappeared:-)

Dave

bo_duke99 on 22-01-2013
A Rare Day
hinted at depths

Author's Reply:
Sorry for only hinting - however the depths of snow have really arrived now:-)


stormwolf on 23-01-2013
A Rare Day
You caught the timeless stillness very well David

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison - well the timeless stillness has turned into eternal and interminable winter now:-( I wish all this white stuff would realise that it has outstayed its welcome:-)

David


purplespirit on 27-01-2013
A Rare Day
Tranquil peace radiates from your poem and grants a moment of serenity and awe. Always it appears so special to meet the virgin snow, untouched nature's beauty. Thank you for this delightful read. Purple

Author's Reply:


Aroint Thee Wytch (posted on: 18-01-13)
Inferno Challenge Poem

The pit gapes for her, Not long now, The old witch can no longer fly, Can cast no more evil spells, She prevaricates, But not for much longer. The Ninth Circle of the Inferno Has an unfrozen hole waiting for her In the ice of Lake Cocytus, Frozen up to her neck she will be able To hector Antenor for betraying Troy to the Greeks Just as she betrayed her country to the Gnomes of Zurich. Even Judas will quail beneath her handbag As Satan welcomes her to his pivatised hell.
Archived comments for Aroint Thee Wytch
stormwolf on 18-01-2013
Aroint Thee Wytch
Very well written David. I have to be honest and say that I do not agree with hating anyone with the intesity that you hate Maggie but I know she arouses very strong feelings in many, for very good reason.
I detest the elites who are poisoning our food and water if I am honest but I try to counteract that with helping others when I can.

Just as she betrayed her country to the Gnomes of Zurich.
Even Judas will quail beneath her handbag
As Satan welcomes her to his pivatised hell.

Sheer genius!

Alison x


Author's Reply:

Corin on 19-01-2013
Aroint Thee Wytch
Thankyou Alison. It will be very interesting I think to see what happens on the streets when she finally goes.

David

Author's Reply:

Texasgreg on 20-01-2013
Aroint Thee Wytch
Aye! Can only guess who "Maggie" is, but it's clear you have an idea on her intentions in life. Very passionate, David.

Greg 🙂

Author's Reply:
Maggie??? Who else but Margaret Thatcher - the Wicked Witch of the West.!

There will be a spontaneous street party all over Britain when she finally goes!

Dvae


The Cockney Tale ov 'Elen ov Troy (posted on: 04-01-13)
Inspired by Ionicus's recent poem, 'Beware Of Greeks Bearing Gifts '

Naw I 'ear tell of an ancien' story Ov a little slapper 'oose farver raped 'er mum Mind her muvver must've been quite hoary Cos it wos a swan that made her cum. 'Er farver sed to Leda call 'er 'Elen An' remember, she's the dorter of ole Zeus I promise I'll wotch owt fer 'er from eaven 'An doan ler'er go runnin' aroun' all loose. Well, Leda married 'Elen orf to Sparta, To some greasy Greek who claimed to be the king But he wern't the sort of bloke she was arter An'nat wos wot started the'ole fing. Aphrodite and Zeus's ole strife 'Era 'Ad a barney as women orften do One said 'er skin wos pala and much clearer The uvver one said, "yours looks like dog poo!" Zeus wos sick of 'avin' his ears battered, 'E told 'em bofe to gerra referee No one really fort that it mattered Til Paris, Prince of Troy, sed 'eed agree. Aphrodite promised Paris 'e could 'ave 'Elen If he would judge her to be queen goddess Paris fought and counted up to seven, He slowly sighed and then at last sed,'Yes'. Alvough 'e was in luv with Aphrodite 'E took King Sparta's 'Elen as secon' best. Naw 'Elen's husband, 'e was very mighty, King of Sparta and leader of the rest Of all the Kings of all the City states. So - when Paris did off with his godly wife- He launched a fousand ships armed by his mates No wonder we call women 'trouble and strife'. The Greeks were camped near Troy on the beach, TheTrojans stayed inside their walled City So the cunning Greeks kept right out of reach Of Trojan arras an' sang this little ditty. "Paris is a bleedin' poofter, King Priam is a Prick, Hector's just a sad shirt lifter, No Trojan has a dick!" But still the Trojans would not come owt and fight They prayed to jealous 'Era to 'elp 'em owt An, save 'em from their besiegd plight, But 'Elen was Zeus's kid so she did nowt. King Menelaus soon go' sick of dis Cos he had'n' 'ad it for a bit. 'E waved 'is spear an' freatened to dismiss Eny captins not wearin' fightin' kit 'E gorinto 'is chariot and charged Strait towards the bolted gates ov Troy, But 'Ector's cavalry 'ad been enlarged So owt they rode, bronze spears at employ. The battle that ensued was a score draw So the Greeks ransacked the temple of Apollo The Vestal Virgins soon were maids no more. Poor Briseis 'ad the worst of all the sorrow, 'Cos Agamemnon and Achilles argued Over which ov 'em should keep her in his tent. Achilles went into a huffy mood 'Cos the King pulled rank so orf 'e went An' sulked, refusin' to fight again for 'im. 'Is boyfriend, young Patroclus, did 'is best To comfert and oblige 'is every whim But Achilles didn't want to be undressed. When the Trojans 'eard Achilles wasn' playing They fort that this wos their best chance to win 'Ector stood 'is soldiers up without delayin' An' told 'em the real war would naw begin. The Greeks soon guessed wot 'e wos goin' to do Agamemnon made one last appeal To Achilles and his friend Patroclus too. "No!" Achilles sed, "I've 'urt me 'eel." Patroclus could not see his countrymen Be left to fight this battle wivout 'elp So he put on Achilles' armour then 'E rode to battle with a mighty yelp. The Trojans were dismayed to see this sight The Greek army gave a long, loud cheer. 'Ector said, "Great! Bring on the fight. I'll kill him dead now 'e's turned up 'ere. 'E charged 'is chariot strai't towards 'is foe An' 'eld 'is jav'lin firmly in 'is 'and, Drew back 'is arm and frew a deadly frow Patroclus stopped and dropped upon the sand. Now Achilles' anger knew no bounds, 'Is grief and guilt drove 'im to Madness Shore, Owt of 'is mouf came 'orrific sounds And dreadful oaths that 'Ector should live no more. Before the funeral pyre an' 'oly games Achilles challenged 'Ector to a duel. 'Ector was no coward to 'is family's names An' came to face Achilles wroth and cruel. 'Ector saw 'im approach the gates ov Troy 'E knew then the fates 'ad cut 'is fread Haephestus' armour 'e could not destroy 'Ector overcome by fear just fled. Free times 'e ran around the City Walls Achilles chased his un'eroic foe Catching 'im outside King Priam's 'alls And killing 'im unmercifully slow. 'E tied the body to 'is chariot wheels And dishonourably dragged it to the shore, Legs first, 'aving 'ooked 'em frew the 'eels, Leaving it to rot there evermore. King Priam, 'Ector's farver, looked on in grief, Andromache, 'Ector's wife cried on 'er son The Greek Kings sighed in profound relief And fought that all they 'ad to do was done. King Priam went to Achilles in the night And on 'is belly begged to be allowed To bury 'is son wiv proper religious rite An' in the end Achilles' to 'im prevailed. Naw the Greeks fought that they 'ad won, That it wos all over bar the shoutin' But the Trojans begged all their allies naw to come An' 'elp them do some looting and some routin'. The Amazons and Eefiopians Responded, sailin' fast across the sea Shoutin' "Awl them bloody Greek plebians Will go to 'Ades for eternity." Agen the Greeks were driven to their ships An' only Achilles faced the female fire, 'E killed their Queen vough he would kiss her lips 'Cos she was so erotic, roused wiv ire. Nex' day the Greeks attacked the walls agen. King Memnon's Eefeeopians fought like a demon And Memnon killed King Nestor's son so then Achilles charged and killed this King Memnon. Still safe behind Troys wall's Paris shot, Aphrodite whispered, "Aim at his 'eel!" As Achilles goes by in 'is chariot." Achilles turned 'is back only to feel The fateful arra in his Achilles tendon. "O, Fetis, Muvver! Soon I will be dead, That's my weak spot, this life I must abandon, In Styx you should 'ave 'eld me by the 'ead!" Naw the Greeks did not know what to do Their great 'ero Achilles was a gonner They couldn't win naw the Trojans knew Nor could they run away wiv eny 'onour. Then Odysseus had a cunnin' plan - "Lets build a wooden 'orse wiv men inside We'll leave it for the Trojans so they can Bring it through the gates while we all 'ide." The plan worked like a dream the next day, The Trojans took the 'orse into the city. That night Sinon led the Greeks away To open up the gates and close all pity. Once inside the Greeks no mercy showed. All the men and boys were killed outright And to the women no respect was owed; No girl remained a virgin that dark night. All the next day the Trojans City burned 'Elen was recaptured by her 'usbands men. Yet to this day women 'ave not learned The lesson that wos taught 'em then. Bootiful 'Elen of Troy we call 'er naw, But in the end they took 'er back to Greece, Yer couldn' see it lasting long somehaw That woman wos just a cocatrice. The moral of this story and this song Is if you're a single man don't take a wife! Cos if you do, it all will turn out wrong - Women are always nuffin but trouble and strife!
Archived comments for The Cockney Tale ov 'Elen ov Troy
Texasgreg on 06-01-2013
The Cockney Tale ov Elen ov Troy
"Paris is a bleedin' poofter,
King Priam is a Prick,
Hector's just a sad shirt lifter,
No Trojan has a dick!"


Lol, favorite lines above...

Aye! Beginning to wonder if your humor has a bit of truth to it as well..

Good job, David!

Greg 🙂


Author's Reply:
THankyou Greg. The truth about women you mean? I think that he truth is that men and women are equally human and sometimes human beings do bad things. Whatever the truth of it all it is a great story. Amacing to think it was composed 2800 years ago about events that happened 3200 years ago, and therefore alarming to think that humanity has not learned anything in all that time:-(

I should do a recording of it I think.

Dave

Dave

butters on 06-01-2013
The Cockney Tale ov Elen ov Troy
excuse my brevity, but my eyes are falling inside my head right now - but i've read this through, start to finish, and allowed the accent to take over and gloss over the clutter of apostrophes required to denote it onscreen...

you make this look easy. i know it isn't. clever writing :rose: and blahdee fahnee, ta boot!

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Butters - there is an audio file now though audacity managed to lose the ending somehow.

Dave

Andrea on 06-01-2013
The Cockney Tale ov Elen ov Troy
Brilliant and clever stuff, David 🙂 Innit.

Author's Reply:
THankyou Andrea - yeah well, its easy writin' in me native tongue, ain't nuffin like a bit ov ve ole rhyming lingo an' scattering haitches all over th'bleedin' shop.

My ole man sed foller th'van an' doan dilly dally onn'e way!

Dave

stormwolf on 06-01-2013
The Cockney Tale ov Elen ov Troy
Amazing David. So well done. quite an epic

congrats on the well deserved nib. I want to here you recite it now 😉
Alison x

Author's Reply:
OK Alison I spent ages doing a recording but half of it went missing - I'll fix the rest tomorra.

David XX


Scrooge Christmas (posted on: 24-12-12)
Rain, Floods and Fog at Christmas - poor old Rudolf.

I feel sad tonight. The whole country is covered By gloomy dark clouds And low mist obscures any visibility. Rain falls on saturated ground So large puddles form on fields and grass, Big pools lie in roads And the path I am walking along Is more of a stream. Flood warnings echo Throughout the electro-magnetic spectrum Whilst christmas tree lights twinkle Incongruously through the night. I know why I feel so sad But I won't say. She should know by now That I can read between lines. Why didn't she space them more closely together? Now I am all alone in the World Apart from Crab the Dog. I feel a big drunk coming on Except There is only the Christmas whisky in the house - It will just have to get opened early. Scrooge Christmas! Fuck the World!
Archived comments for Scrooge Christmas
stormwolf on 02-01-2013
Scrooge Christmas
Don't know why nobody had commented on this poem David. ;-0

The melancholy is tangeable and I, for one, having experienced that level of feeling, can surely identify with it. The first stanza sets the scene of desolation and misery reflected in the prevailing conditions.

The second stanza (totally brilliant) is suggesting rather than spelling out, the problem. The mark of good poetry.

She should know by now
That I can read between lines.
Why didn't she space them more closely together?

The last stanza completes the piece perfectly. Loved the last line.
Bold and no holds barred expression.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
THankyou Alison. I was rather proud of the last two lines with 'Scrooge Christmas' meant as a pun for 'screw Christmas'

David


Happy New Age 2012 12 21 11:12 (posted on: 24-12-12)
I was astonished when I wrote out the date and time of the start of the new age in Big Endian form (Largest units at the left - Years Months Days Hours Minutes) Perhaps there is something in all the mystique about it after all.

This is the precise moment Of Winter Solstice; The Age of Pisces has passed: The Age of Aquarius has dawned: The Mayan calendar has completed its great year But The World has not ended with a bang! Is that faint whimpering that I can hear? Is it the snorting of four Apocalyptic horses? The sky is certainly dark and full of gloom; The rain is pattering on my conservatory roof; War, as usual, is raging somewhere in the World; Coal gas and oil still belch dangerous fumes Into an unstable atmosphere; The Poor are with us yet; The Rich, as is their wont, care not. King Oak has defeated King Holly once again so Light can return to the Northern World; The Earth's axis carries on precessing Around its great twenty five thousand year cycle; The Milky Way revolves about the massive black hole at its centre; The Andromeda Galaxy hurtles towards us Whilst all the other Galaxies recede, Those furthest away Travelling at near the velocity of light. Just in case there is only one planet Among those billion billion stars Where love and intelligence survive, Let us all now: This day: At the beginning of this New Age: Make this solemn vow: "We Will Take Care Of It"
Archived comments for Happy New Age 2012 12 21 11:12
stormwolf on 02-01-2013
Happy New Age 2012 12 21 11:12
Hi David



This to me was a veritable feast of information about the greatness, the magesty of our universe, ALL universes and the total mystery and mysticism of all creation.

Interlaced with man's attempt to understand and also the folly of man to pollute and destroy too.



If I am honest, the last line which should have been the 'killer' so to speak....only exacerbated our futility in the face of such awesome power.



We cannot take care of it. I do so love your writing though which is rich and full of deep thought and good intent.



Alison x

Author's Reply:
It is only the Earth that we have to take care of. We could indeed do it if we started properly now. I suspect, like you, that we won't and that things will get very nasty but it is not too late. I recently went to a lecture at the Humanists by Mark Lynas and he convinced me that Nuclear Power and educating the women of the world properly would save the planet for humanity without over population and Global Warming. But we only have 20 years to do it. We have to get rid of Gaz Guzzlers and use electric cars and efficient public transport, but it is still possible.

David


Roller Coaster (posted on: 21-12-12)
An over extended simile

Life is just a roller coaster Full of many ups and downs, High mountains and steep valleys deep In the country and the towns. There is no way you can get off Until you reach the final stop When all the energy is absorbed At the buffers far below the top. To reach the first long descent Is a slow and weary climb But the view from that high place Is something out of space and time. Yet looking at what's right ahead A daunting sight meets knowing eyes, Between the heights and depths of life A test of human courage lies. You might have hoped you could select Your route and choose how fast to go But once you set out all is fixed, It's a one track ride to the fate below. The only option you have now Is to scream or enjoy the passing time, To feel that every fast descent, Each high speed turn's a joy sublime. When faced with one more slow ascent After speeding down from up on high It's hard to keep the effort up Easier just to wish to die. Yet in the end when all is done When the train has quickly rattled round When everything has slowed right down And you're barely moving on the ground It's very tempting then to ask For one more go, just one last ride And see the bright world spreading out, But that's a wish we're all denied.
Archived comments for Roller Coaster
stormwolf on 21-12-2012
Roller Coaster
LOVELY!!!

You kept on track *groan* 😉
and you did not flog the idea to death but took us all on a merry ride through the highs and lows of life. Again, this is a different style for you and shows your adaptability well.
Alison x

(me? I just go through my life screaming! Would not have it any other way)

Author's Reply:
Alison - I always knew that you would be a 'screamer' - at least three times every ride I should think!

David

Andrea on 21-12-2012
Roller Coaster
Ah, a slice of life, David.

Author's Reply:
I.d prefer a slice of cake!

franciman on 21-12-2012
Roller Coaster
Using a simile is a simple, undemanding write. Using it to great effect is a form of genuine talent. The talent shown here in point of fact.
Not buying a ticket is the real shame.
Merry Christmas,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Jim, that is a wonderful comment and you are right about he tickets, what else can we do but take the ride as it comes and enjoy as much of it as posible.

Dave

stormwolf on 21-12-2012
Roller Coaster
Reply from Corin
Alison - I always knew that you would be a 'screamer' - at least three times every ride I should think!

David

oooh! you are awful!!!....but I like you 😉

Author's Reply:
I like you too!

Savvi on 22-12-2012
Roller Coaster
Your poem flows beautifully and dances on topic perfectly a thoroughly enjoyable read. Thanks S

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Savvi,

This was written as the eponymous poem for a book of the best of David M Turner:-)

Dave

Ionicus on 22-12-2012
Roller Coaster
I agree with a previous comment that this is a departure from your usual style but the analogy of life to a roller coaster is handled well from start to finish, so to speak. Not everyone, though, want an extra go, some wish to get off mid ride.

Author's Reply:
Ionicus I have been in all those places, that is why this poem was written as the eponymous poem for a book of the best of David M Turner. I have nearly jumped off several times - see 'Bridge Over Blackened Water'. This I think expresses it best:-

In The Steps Of Stout Cortez

In me are all the roads and paths and ways
Where men walk through the trauma of their days.
I know the deep, dark caves and sunlit peaks
Where pain-filled groans contend with joyous shrieks;
I know that tunnel where no hope shines a light,
Where walls and roofs grow narrower and tight,
And the train behind prevents you turning back,
And the darkness up ahead has blocked the track;
I know the dreadful logic of the pain
That argues that the children should be slain;
And I have yearned to enter endless night
Where no dawn brings the moving, doing light;
Yet - I have sat upon a hill in Greece,
Seen rising suns through rosy fingered fleece
And felt my soul conjoined with ancient bards;
And stood upon that peak in Darien
Watching, high above the clouds, the glowing sun
Set upon the last land of the West,
Still bright with light though darkness bathes the rest,
Then sink beyond the Peaceful Ocean's rim
To light far lands beyond that long salt swim,
And fire a green flash from parting day
As Time from World to World marks this one way.

David



Aubade for B (posted on: 17-12-12)
An Aubade is a morning love song just as a serenade is an evening one.

This is the time of year to write aubades, Since cold nights last too long for serenades And rosy fingered Dawn waits till I wake. Apollo's fiery phaeton rises late And barely clears the snow topped southern hills, Since his great steeds are weak from Winter's dearth. Though they sleep long they have not strength to rise And drag bright Helios high into the sky, So, when I open my sleep-heavy lids A sight of such great splendour meets my eyes For all the Eastern sky is yellow lit And far above the cold horizon's grey High clouds all barred with red greet this bright day. Now my thoughts to distant lands do turn, To where my love still sleeps in Night's embrace. Thus thinking upon this I envy Night And wish that I lay sleeping in Night's stead That I might hold her close within my arms, Warming with my body her sweet flesh And feel within her breast her loving heart So softly beat a message meant for all - That only love makes all our lives worthwhile Since unlike wealth or status or great power, The more you give away the more you have. As dawn to day outside my window grows I lie in bed and watch the new morn's sun Brightening the world with beauty's light. Now blue and red and yellow fill the sky To welcome this day's rising golden globe As it is hauled slowly from black night To mount the short days splendid throne. Then do I know that my love loves me still Since if she did not all this wondrous world Would fall into a dreadful deep dark void, This Winter would not ever turn to Spring, No flowers would ever grow, no birds would sing And I, once rich, would have lost everything.
Archived comments for Aubade for B
amman on 20-12-2012
Aubade for B
Great classical poetry David which deserves much more appreciation than so far received. 'And rosy fingered Dawn waits till I wake' - terrific expression amongst many more. Thanks for new word for personal lexicon (aubades).
Cheers.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Amman, 'Rosy fingered dawn' is from Homer:-) It is one of the famous refrains in the Iliad, like 'the wine-dark sea'.
The Aubade idea came from Larkin's famous poem, his does not seem to have much of love about it unless he was secretly in love with death:-}


Aubade
BY PHILIP LARKIN
I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what’s really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.

The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
—The good not done, the love not given, time
Torn off unused—nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
But at the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.

This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear—no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anaesthetic from which none come round.

And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace-fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.

Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can’t escape,
Yet can’t accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.

stormwolf on 20-12-2012
Aubade for B
I totally agree with Tony.
All these reads and so far only one comment? It sure can be depressing and dispiriting. ;-(
This is lovely David. A classical feel to it and deeply emotive.

Night's embrace. ye forgot the apostrophe a trifle I know 😉

Super writing
Alison x

Author's Reply:

butters on 20-12-2012
Aubade for B
elegantly penned, heartwarming on these cold days, and mellifluously romantic; the technical skills shown here are a sincere pleasure, even moreso for the fact they support the content rather than vie for attention.

there're two places, only, that cause me to stumble as I read:

And feel within her breast her loving heart
Beating steadily a message meant for all -

shortening Beating to Beat doesn't change the content at all but serves to smooth the line into a neater pentameter.

the other place is here:

To welcome this day's golden globe

only by slowing and stretching 'welcome' into virtually two words can I seem to make this fit the pent of everything else. This is possibly quite deliberate on your part, especially considering the following line, making it read almost as a morning yawn! If not, then another syllable would sort you out 😀

couple of missing apostrophes in Nights/days in the final V, but the ending is so perfectly 'romantic' without feeling cheesy. love it. in fact, it reminds me strongly of Byron.

As dawn to day outside my window grows
I lie in bed and watch the rising sun
Brightening the world with beauty's light.
Now blue and red and yellow fill the sky
To welcome this day's golden globe
As it is hauled slowly from black night
To mount the short days splendid throne.
Then do I know that my love loves me still
Since if she did not all this wondrous world
Would fall into a dreadful deep, dark void,
This Winter would not ever turn to Spring,
No flowers would ever grow, no birds would sing
And I, once rich, would have lost everything.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Butters - you are quite right - I had an alexandrine and a tetrameter in - not deliberate just carelessness. I will look to fix it.

Texasgreg on 20-12-2012
Aubade for B
David,
Thanks for the wrinkle in my brain and the lovely poem.

Greg 🙂

Photobucket.

Author's Reply:
My brain is wrinkled too, it could fit in a walnut shell but that I get bad dreams:-)


King David Cums - Dedicated to Andrea (posted on: 03-12-12)
To see David go to:- http://www.the-keep.ath.cx/images/sculptures/6%20David%20de%20MichelAngelo.jpg BTW the verb to die has an archaic meaning :- For an example of the common sense of "die" meaning sexual orgasm, see http://books.google.co.uk/books?id=tnwAlLgWEhAC&pg=PA228&dq=die+orgasm&hl=en

Out of the darkling gloom of the wild wood he came, One weapon slung over his back The other hanging loosely in full view But limp and sheathed. When he stepped into the faint twilight of the day's afterglow And the newly crescented moon His naked skin shone like marble, His averted eyes dark pools of longing. She watched from the open back door, Relaxed by the balmy air, the soft light And long moon shadows Stretching faintly across the lawn. All was quiet, all still, all peaceful, Then one shadow moved. She saw it moving purposefully towards her Upon strong and slender legs. She raised her eyes and saw the naked curves Rising to a neatly rounded buttock, flat stomach, Strong back, and muscle rippled torso. From powerful shoulders One lithe muscular arm curved up to hold his shouldered sling, The other swung rythmically at his side To the pendulum motion Of his large but gentle hand. Even in the cool of the evening The thin silk robe she wore felt too warm, Clinging to the moisture Where it covered her thighs. Clearly visible, the tendons of his powerful neck Revolved slowly as his gaze met hers. She Whispers, "Who are you?" "Can you not tell?" She looked again at the classical face, The large eyes, the straight nose, the petite lips and firm chin. "I am David, Come to take you." And his great head lowered towards her face, Long blonde curls covering her forehead. Her lips opened, all four of them, As one hand touched her shoulder. He let one weapon slip from his shoulder While raising and unsheathing the other. His mouth covered her upper lips As his hand searched for the nether pair. Gentle fingers probed and caressed Between the soft folds of her robe. The other hand slipped down her neck And felt for her soft curves beneath the silk. Gradually the silk covering slipped from her Revealing firm, slightly parted breasts. His fingers found the dark nipples Which under his firm touch became enlarged and erect. Lips, nipples and cleft of venus all trembled To the concerto cantabile He played on her body With assured and accurate fingering. Low moans came from her throat, A basso continuo improviso. At last he pierced her with his hard sword Thrusting it in deeper and deeper. Again and again and again he thrust, Harder and faster until the harmony Reached a great crescendo And as their voices intertwined in ecstasy, both died.
Archived comments for King David Cums - Dedicated to Andrea

No comments archives found!
A Cure for Writer's Block (posted on: 23-11-12)
Now that Andrea has managed to successfuly lower the tone of UK Authors it seems OK to post this old piece. A respnse to a poet who wrote about having writer's block.

Zo my dear lady, Your vords need zum filter And you zink zat ze brain'z A bit out of kilter? Now vorry no more I 'ave juzt ze zing All my female pazients Love ze help it does bring. Just come right inzide, No need to be shy, Zis comfortable couch Is vere you must lie, But first please remove Zese tight inzibitionz Zat I may observe Your inner conditionz. Ah! zat is much better Lie down and lie still I vill carefully search For ze right place to feel. Yes! Zat iz ze spot Zee ze difference it makes Ze blood now 'as pressure Ze brain it avakes! Now, do not be alarmed I vill come over zere And remove zeese restrictions Vot a vunderbra pair! Vait, Vait, not zo fast I must get myzelf ready Just give me a and Zat's it, nize and steady. Let me loozen my collar It is zo varm in here Now just hold zis tool For me my dear, Viz my instrument in Go slowly at firzt Now vaster and vaster Ja! Ja! let it burzt! Now zat vosn't too bad Vos it my dear? Your filterz are fresher And ze brain feelz quite clear. Ze fee? Don't trouble at all Itz ze practice I zeek Juzt remember my dear To come back next veek.
Archived comments for A Cure for Writer's Block
Mikeverdi on 23-11-2012
A Cure for Writers Block
Oh dear, that is so good. That's my laugh for the day taken care of. Thanks for that one. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thankyou for reading and commenting on this Mike, I am very pleased you enjoyed it.

Dave

Andrea on 23-11-2012
A Cure for Writers Block
Hahaha, love it! Yep, let's lower the tone, why don't we?

Author's Reply:
Ok - I will have to see what else I have got. I think that there is another one bit like this on Creative Poems.

Dave

amman on 24-11-2012
A Cure for Writers Block
Lower away, lower away. This is so clever. So many good lines but, in context, 'Vot a vunderbra pair' made me laugh out loud.
Cheers.

Author's Reply:

Texasgreg on 25-11-2012
A Cure for Writers Block
Aye! Glad I got to this 'un. You need to do more funny stuff as you do it well...

Greg 🙂

Photobucket.

Author's Reply:


Thanksgiving 22nd November 2012 (posted on: 23-11-12)
A bit impudent of me to offer these thoughts today, not being American, but I hope that here is something universal in the philosophic argument.

Who should we thank this day? Not God surely; Where was he from Eighteen sixty one To eighteen sixty five? Placing bets on the outcome? Did he back North or South I wonder? Where was he in nineteen seventeen? Too busy perhaps, processing the dead Already lying in foreign fields To try peacemaking? Where was he in December nineteen forty one? Did his eyes stray from Pearl Harbor To again gawp at slaughter in Europe? On August sixth nineteen forty-five Did we just not hear His great shout of warning? He sent an angel to Abraham and a ram As a surrogate for Isaac's slaughter. Perhaps we were just too busy Watching out for Zeros To see any angels flying over? Whose side was he on That beautiful blue-sky morning in New York On the eleventh of September two thousand and one? When Katrina and Sandy came ashore on American soil Was that a punishment for all our sins? For polluting the atmosphere With oil fumes? For carpet bombing Vietnam, For resorting to shock and awe in Iraq - A good euphemism for terrorism! For trying to bomb the Afghanis into submission? Yet there is plenty to be thankful for, Like the Americans the true Americans, Those they were native to the land, For allowing us to share it In exchange for a few Worthless pieces of treaty paper That we later tore up and unilaterally Rewrote. There are genuine debts enough to be paid. We should thank the pioneers Who trekked across our continent, Who cleared the forests And ploughed the prairies, The miners of Pennsylvania and West Virginia Who won coal from the bowels of the Earth The engineers Drake and Bessel Who drilled down and brought up oil From beneath seams of shale. The railway navigators Who linked the country From sea to shining sea. The inventors, Benjamin Franklin, Edison and Bell, The Wright Brothers, The great Tesla, Who showed Edison How to really transmit electrical power. But most of all the myriad workers, The men and women Who really created The wealth of America, All the long forgotten women Who gave birth And raised children. Forget the Fords and Rockefellers The Krocs and Sanders And especially The Scwabs and the Morgans. Who without all those millions Of ordinary Americans Would be nothing. Let us all join Aron Copeland And trumpet the Common Man.
Archived comments for Thanksgiving 22nd November 2012
cooky on 23-11-2012
Thanksgiving 22nd November 2012
Free speech. A lot of work has gone into this and their are glaring truths that will make some americans uncomfortable. But it tells the truth and I like it

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Cooky, It is a great tragedy really. It seems to me that the Founding Fathers of the United States of America, did a wonderful job in writing the American Constitution and constructed the ideal democratic State BUT they did not foresee the affect that great wealth and the power of corporations would have on the Electoral process and so they did not impose any controls on Electoral spending or better still formulate a system of State funding for properly nominated and endorsed candidates. Today elections in the US are bought with billions of dollars - to misquote Auld Rabbie Burns:-

We're bought and sold for corporate gold-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

My Solution for the US and the Uk is that every Party can try to register individual voters as supporters. Each registered voters has rights to nominate and vote in the selection of candidates. For each registered voter the Party receives a specified amount of money to spend on Election Campaigns. No individual or company or organisation is allowed to donate money to the Parties. In the UK I think about £2 per registered voter for a General election would be right, costing about £60 million and giving the 3 main parties £10 to £25 million to campaign with. Free political broadcasts and mail shots would also be available.

Many of those truths apply to us as well. In retrospect I honour Harold Wilson greatly for keeping Britain out of the Vietnam War despite great pressure from the US.

Texasgreg on 24-11-2012
Thanksgiving 22nd November 2012
Doin' a bit of catch up.
Aye, you would make a super American indeed, my friend!

Matter-of-fact, I bestow honorary Texan as your title.

Greg 🙂

Author's Reply:
Hi Greg - I accept your honour gracefully - as long as I don't have to eat one of those 16oz steaksor give up eating vegetables:-)

Dave

CVaughan on 24-11-2012
Thanksgiving 22nd November 2012
Enjoyed the read as a non-American and non-believer. Think it's Aaron though, if I may be so bold to point out, sorry a bit mean to find any fault in this terrific piece.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou CV - A bit of finger trouble I think but I am gong into hospital next week to have them amputated

Dave


A Cruel, Callous, Chaotic World (posted on: 19-11-12)
For a dear friend with Breast Cancer

O, I have known for a long time That this is cruel, callous and chaoticworld, With no providential gods to guide or steer it. It is subject to all the wilful weather Like a sailing ship upon the ocean; Sometimes sailing serenely across placid seas; At other times tossed about by woeful waves; Often battered by brawling winds; Then unexpectedly becalmed by lackadaisical airs. Uncaring Fates determine the lives of men - Spinning, measuring and snipping As their whims dictate. Noble beings have no choice Except To either change what can be changed Or endure all that is that is beyond human power. Humanity must Acquire the skill to do the one, Build the strength to do the other And develop the wisdom to see which is which. However the Fates do their weaving We can only walk tall through the valleys and across the uplands; Be ever confident at every bright morning; Never despairing on bald streets When the grey day dawns; Many little lives Make great History.
Archived comments for A Cruel, Callous, Chaotic World
orangedream on 19-11-2012
A Cruel, Callous, Chaotic World
An emotive poem, David, with a glimmer of hope shining through the clouds at its conclusion.

Tina;-)

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 20-11-2012
A Cruel, Callous, Chaotic World
Dunno about 'wilful weather' more like 'wilful Bush' and 'wilful Blair' we've got to look out for! Good tempestuous pome, David.

And sincere good wishes to your friend, David - I've been there, it's a tough journey.

Author's Reply:


St Georges Plateau, 11am November 11th 2012 11th November 2012 (posted on: 12-11-12)
The War Memorial outside St Georges Hall in Liverpool is a masterpiece:- The War Memorial outside St Georges Hall in Liverpool

Today the long funeral continued, Ninety four years now of Mourning and remembering. The band, Bravely dressed in military red, Marched to St Georges Plateau; Young men, their lives on the line, Stood smartly in line; Old men, their lives now Now neatly packed into memories, Marched falteringly behind. Above St George's Hall A Union Jack Suddenly caught the wind And unfurled beneath a blue sky And tumbling white clouds. River Mersey gulls wheeled and cried Above the quiet crowd below. Precisely on the hour A gun boomed. For a moment the gulls lost voice, Rose higher into the air And gyred away. For two minutes only the Melancholy calling of Returning gulls Broke a reverent silence. I heard the voice of my grandfather Speaking from Flander's fields And my father From the distant North African desert. I saw a No Man's Land Littered with bodies, A Normandy sea Incarnadined among floating corpses. All this remembering is too much for me - Tears try to wash the waste from my mind; Gulls cry again As the Howitzer Echoes its first boom; A bugle sounds the Last Post; The flag falls to half mast; Elgar's heart-breaking lament for the Great War Resounds around Liverpool's best buildings; Banal words from benign priests, Their inherent contradictions unconsidered, Fall upon the ears of deaf gods; The Good and the Great Lay flowers at the feet of the humble dead; The parade marches off To the tune of 'Goodbye Piccadily' All the way back to peaceful Britain. In Afghanistan the reality of war is still real, But please, at least, let no one be killed today. Afterwards, Looking at the wreaths, The most poignant are the small crosses Laid for some named relative - A father buried beside Anzio Beach; A grandfather, remembered still After nearly a hundred years; Sons and daughters, Now parents of newly orphaned children; Most moving of all, Were the two home-made poppies, Cardboard collages of red and green silk. They named no one, But were clearly the work of young children. Would that this latest war Were the war to end all wars.
Archived comments for St Georges Plateau, 11am November 11th 2012 11th November 2012
Andrea on 13-11-2012
St Georges Plateau, 11am November 11th 2012 11th November 2012
My father and my grandfather too...

Powerful stuff, David.

Author's Reply:
THankyou Andrea. Yes, I have written elsewhere that our parents generation were the Great Generation. They fought the Second World War to save it from German Dictatorship and Japanese Imperialism and then, after all that was over, endured the deprivations of Post-War recovery in order to build the prosperous future that we live in now. We are the lucky generation, peace, prosperity, free University Education all the benefits of modern technology, Television, Mass music distribution, personal computing etc. Our chilldren are likely to be the forgotten generation and their children, if my worst fears are realised, the Lost Generation.

From gutter to gutter in four generations.

Dave

Andrea on 14-11-2012
St Georges Plateau, 11am November 11th 2012 11th November 2012
I'm afraid, sadly, I share your pessimism.

Author's Reply:

cooky on 14-11-2012
St Georges Plateau, 11am November 11th 2012 11th November 2012
Very well written. the write gave me a feeling that you were one of the gulls reporting to God. Good stuff

Author's Reply:

franciman on 14-11-2012
St Georges Plateau, 11am November 11th 2012 11th November 2012
Hi David,
This is superb work and so relevant across the generations.
I believe our parents were the Great Generation because of the Lost Generation in 1914-18. I agree we are the lucky generation because of them, but feel we don't deserve it because we allow the recent Wars of Expediency to take place. For that reason I cannot agree that our children are the lost generation. Unprincipled wars will, I hope, be questioned and extinguished on their watch. And maybe that's our generation's legacy?
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
THankyou Jim, We were just born in the right time in the right place. Our Children are perhaps the unlucky generation, and theirs will be the lost generation, lost in a world population explosion combined with Global Warming and the inevitable Nuclear Exchanges:-(


All Hallows Eve (posted on: 02-11-12)
A repost especially for tonight.

This year on Hallows Eve I shall eagerly await that moment Of Equinoctial balance When the gate to Hades Hallowed Halls Briefly opens to allow All Holy souls once again To walk this too too sordid world. On Midnight's hour My dark accustomed eyes Will scan the window to the world of shades Watching eagerly to see Who walks abroad this only night. Is that my mother Walking without aid And arm in arm with some young man; Why it is my father, Still fifty years her junior Since age has not withered him. There is my sister Smiling now, Her sorrows and her fears all dispersed Into death's gentle embrace, Her beauty restored, Her life in death Outshining her long death in life. There, sitting on the garden bench, My grandfather, the good one who loved us all And gave me sixpences. The other must be that dark shadow Hiding in the trees Still afraid to come to his son's death, Still looking for the funeral he never saw, Still too proud, or is he now Too ashamed, To walk beside the woman his son chose? Oh look, so many shades there are That I would wish to see again. Look at them all, Such a little few I know, Some old friends - Brian And poor withered Brian - But this night he walks Unwheeled and kisses girls Without the fear of recoil. There is Val still arguing with the bosses, And my wife's mother Still singing all the songs so well Arm in arm with an undisfigured husband; Unblinded and unembittered Freely laughing at the nascent moon. The hour has come and gone and now they go. Oh! so very many, It seems an endless line that fades into the night And mists the sky like Moon illuminated wisps. The dead of wars, The old men worn down by work The women scarred by births The children with no adult shade; A long line of suffering humanity Taking this brief view Of their greatest achievement. Listen to their cry; Something there is That they wish us to know And all of us to do.
Archived comments for All Hallows Eve
butters on 02-11-2012
All Hallows Eve
a night to contemplate all of our ghosts...

this feels like a very intimate piece, a look inside your head. of course, it may be pure invention, in which case you made it work anyway.

hope all your ghosts rest easy.

Author's Reply:
No I never invent stuff in poetry - poetry is the holy altar of truth - everything in the poem happened including that bastard grandfather who did not go to see his son when he was dying of leukaemia or give him blood or go to his funeral or help my mother who had given birth to his granddaughter2 weeks before his son died. Let his fucking ghost carry on screaming in agony in HELL!

David - now I am really upset:-(

Andrea on 03-11-2012
All Hallows Eve
Excellent, David - good stuff.

Author's Reply:
THankyou Andrea.

deepoceanfish2 on 05-11-2012
All Hallows Eve
David, I don't know why there are so few comments here. My experience with your work is that you manage to touch upon those most intimate moments related to demise and say what most people would fear to share. Perhaps it is my age but....I understand! A fav read for me....and Thank You.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou for those lovely comments and rating. I was very pleased that you should go exploring my back catalogue and delighted that you nominated some of them fotr the Anthology. (By am I glad that I don't have to edit that as well:-)

David


The Sixties (posted on: 29-10-12)
How easily old songs create that overwhelming feeling of nostalgia.

I sit in a room in two thousand and twelve With my wife and two very old friends I accidentally start the tape player and it begins to play "Beautiful People" by Melanie And suddenly I am transported back more than forty years To a time when the world seemed Full of hope and love, When everything was Going to be all right As long as we didn't Join the mad capitalist Frenzy to climb That slippery greasy pole for Status and money and ambition And carried on believing That we could tear down our own little wall And continue to be a part of it all, But We most of us sold out, Or compromised and Went into teaching, And the World did not change And in fact it got worse Even though Melanie and Dylan and John Lennon Carried on singing, Kept the flag flying high, Kept the banners fluttering In the wind blowing down Distorted streets Until the Thatcherite police Batoned and tasered Their way through the picket lines And the cause was lost. Now these old songs Wake me up again, Restore my hope against hope, Inspire me to write Mournful poems of What might have been, Even though the World, Like the Run Away Train, Is careering down the line Her whistle wide and her throttle back And blowing, blowing, blowing.
Archived comments for The Sixties
Mikeverdi on 29-10-2012
The Sixties
I love all this sixties stuff, its all still real to me, and one song can bring it all back in an instant. I have an article you may wish to read on the site, its a look at 1967. some king people have placed some music on there you will like. Great read my friend. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mike - yes I am still there in spirit.

David

Andrea on 29-10-2012
The Sixties
Well, you know, I'm not sure 'going into teaching (and other professions) sold out, exactly, more like attacking the system from within. My GP is one such, and I know many more.

I do agree with you though, that much of what we fought for then, with such passion and hope, has disintegrated under the weight of man's greed and false ambition, sadly. Seems there's no getting away from the basic nature of the beast, eh?

An excellent write, David.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Andrea Didn't I say sold out OR went into teaching - copping out then:-)

What is a GP?

It is a long discussion to talk about the basic nature of the beast - I am not a Chrtaistian so I don't agree with all this crap about the fall of man. I suppose the short answer is that humanity has a dual nature:-

I expressed it as well as I could in 'When I'm Sixty Four':-


f this seems more like a rant than a nice John Lennon song
Then you can blame that
Aromantic author
Louis De Berniere
For writing `Birds Without Wings'
And coming to the right conclusions
That individually, humanity
Are wonderfully funny,
Often loving and generous,
Even kind to a fault,
But en masse, no better than a flock of sheep,
Willing to follow the afore abused leaders
Down to the edge of the nearest disaster
And walk straight in!

David

ValDohren on 29-10-2012
The Sixties
Many would call it progress, I guess. The sixties was my time too, and those old songs are always a pleasure to listen to again. An excellent write, well put together - love the closing lines.
Val


Author's Reply:
Progress?! Progress????? When all the stupid people in America who are still Republicans are almost about to elect Romney as President. JUst what is going on over there?? Even if they don't do it this time they will soon enough and that will be it, Goodbye Humanity - Gaia will finally act.

Every one who votes Republicamn on Tuesday will be personally responsible for the destruction of Western Civilisation and the dawn of the New Dark Age that is coming. Despardo! Desarado!! Desparado!!!

David

roger303 on 30-10-2012
The Sixties
"Times they are a-changing" but not for the better!
Love it.
Roger.

One small point - the Police didn't have Tasers in those days!

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 02-11-2012
The Sixties
GP = General Practitioner, David. In other words, your doctor 🙂

Author's Reply:

deepoceanfish2 on 05-11-2012
The Sixties
Ahhhh, memories! David, this says it all, I suppose. But...wasn't it wonderful to have been there!! 😉

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Adele - Indeed indeed - How did we fail to pull it off?

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

Wordsworth

Love

David


Blackouts (posted on: 26-10-12)
Blackouts, Black Dogs, Black Moods, they follow you wherever you go.

They come Like sudden showers of rain These blackouts. I must have spent More than half my life In the dark, Or sleeping, Or dreaming, Or wishing For disappearing days And endless nights. I know, You should be Careful about what you wish for! Though now that it is coming - The Doom of Men or The Gift of the Valar - I am unperturbed.
Archived comments for Blackouts
Bozzz on 28-10-2012
Blackouts
Wot - no cats, no birds ? This is a challenging piece - a bit on the bleak side though. Hope you get over the worst - not being perturbed is a good start. ... David Bozzz

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 28-10-2012
Blackouts
I am unperturbed as well, David. I hope it's the Valar.

Author's Reply:


When I'm Sixty four (posted on: 26-10-12)
Will you still need me, Will you still feed me, When I'm Sixty Four.

I read a poem today, 'When I'm Sixty Four' That I wrote seven years ago About the overwhelming effect 'Birds Without Wings' Had had upon me. Now I am Sixty Four - To the day! It seems just like yesterday. I remember clearly Sending the poem to Louis de Bernire And getting a post card in reply. The thought of seven years time Is disconcerting. Still, The readiness is all; Let the world wag; It's all one.
Archived comments for When I'm Sixty four
stormwolf on 26-10-2012
When Im Sixty four
I am sure Mavis will still need you and feed you David! 😉

Scary how quickly time passes...
Alison x

(belated birthday wishes, the bumps will have to wait)

Author's Reply:

ValDohren on 26-10-2012
When Im Sixty four
Never mind, Corin, we're all on the same rotten path (I'm 65) and hate every minute of it !!

Val

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 27-10-2012
When Im Sixty four
Tempus fugit, David *sigh*

Here's a song for your birthday 😉



and another one 🙂





Author's Reply:

amman on 28-10-2012
When Im Sixty four
Like the poem if not the message. Sigh. Many happies.
Cheers.

Author's Reply:

Mikeverdi on 29-10-2012
When Im Sixty four
They say you should never look back, but in the end looking forwards stop's being a good option as it gets shorter. Mike
ps. 66 in December

Author's Reply:


December Morning (posted on: 24-09-12)
The bedroom window in our old house looked out across the Tyne Valley towards Whickham, Blaydon and Winlaton.

In a dark December morning The blue-cold sky shines barely light, Suspending the yellow lamps That decorate the Tyneside hills. The loves of my life Shine out of the window that views the hilltop towns Bright into the the gloom of nearly morn. Here at last is peace and a happy dawn.
Archived comments for December Morning
stormwolf on 24-09-2012
December Morning
A love your work David. There is always an atmosphere to it and this is no exception. I could see the scene in my mind through the writing of it.
The last line had me a bit puzzled. If you are writing about a past house...then you suddenly change to the present?

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Alison, this is an old poem written while we still lived there. It must have been in one of my good mood phases:-) Frances (age 6) and Danny age (1) were in our bedroom as we woke and their reflections were in the window as it was still quite dark in the morning.

Thankyou

David

Texasgreg on 25-09-2012
December Morning
David, your response to Alison gave it even more meaning for me and had to read again. To be manly about it...you write really "cool" stuff. Are you putting together a book of these "reflections" of yours? I think it would be real nice.

Super!
Photobucket
Greg 🙂



Author's Reply:
Yes Gregg - I have been working on a plan to publish a number of 'slim volumes'. I should have done it several years ago - now that I am etting old it is becoming more urgent in case my brain goes to pieces entirely. The first one is to be called 'Roller Coaster' and this will be title poem:-


Roller Coaster

In me are all the roads and paths and ways
Where men walk through the trauma of their days.
I know the deep, dark caves and sunlit peaks
Where pain-filled groans contend with joyous shrieks;
I know that tunnel where no hope shines a light,
Where walls and roofs grow narrower and tight,
And the train behind prevents you turning back,
And the darkness up ahead has blocked the track;
I know the dreadful logic of the pain
That argues that the children should be slain;
And I have yearned to enter endless night
Where no dawn brings the moving, doing light.

Yet - I have sat upon a hill in Greece,
Seen rising suns through rosy fingered fleece
And felt my soul conjoined with ancient bards;
And stood upon that peak in Darien
Watching, high above the clouds, the glowing sun
Set upon the last land of the West,
Still bright with light though darkness bathes the rest,
Then sink beyond the Peaceful Ocean's rim
To light far lands beyond that long salt swim,
And fire a green flash from parting day
As Time from World to World marks this one way.

Notes:
Stout Cortez -`On First Looking into Chapman's |Homer' - John Keats
Peak in Darien -`On First Looking into Chapman's |Homer' - John Keats
Green flash – The rapidly setting sun over tropical seas sends a flash of green light as its last rays are refracted by the atmosphere.

The other slim volumes planned so far are:-
'There Was a Boy'
'A Walk with Crab the Dog'
'Bridge Over Blackened Water'
'Christmasses Like Snow'
'Weeping for London'
'In Memoriam'
'Four Seasons'
'Laughing and Crying'

I will expect you to buy a copy of 'Roller Coaster' now when it is published by Merilang Press.

David



Texasgreg on 25-09-2012
December Morning
Well, I'm sure you must know that the signed copy is my interest...gladly pay a premium through pay pal or whatever you devise. 😉

Greg 🙂

Author's Reply:
OK Gregg - you are giving me a good kick up the ass to get it done! Keep at it - Yours will be the first copy.

David

Andrea on 26-09-2012
December Morning
Very atmospheric, David - lovely!

Author's Reply:
Tankyou Andrea


On Seeing the Holocaust Memorial in Rhodes Old Town (posted on: 21-09-12)
On holiday in Rhodes I was much affected to see the Holocaust Memorial in the Centre of Rhodes Old Town

I will give you tears for the dead; For the murdered. How could it have been That Human Beings, Men, the paragons of animals, Could take other people From this Blessed Isle Deliberately, purposefully And transport them Across the wine-dark sea To the forests of Poland Then Rob them, Inprison them, Starve them, Gas them, And finally Incinerate them? How? How? How? Were they who did this human beings? Were they a part of the Human race? Today they are our allies, Our friends. How can this be? Are Germans human? Or are we all Germans? 'O Time thou must untangle this not I, 'Tis too hard a knot for me t'untie.'
Archived comments for On Seeing the Holocaust Memorial in Rhodes Old Town
roger303 on 21-09-2012
On Seeing the Holocaust Memorial in Rhodes Old Town
A moving piece although i have to disagree about man being the paragon of animals.
I consider animals to be far superior in just about every way.
Enjoyed it. Thanks.
Roger

Author's Reply:
Ah Roger you agree with Walt Whitman then:-)

“I think I could turn and live with the animals, they are so placid and self contained;
I stand and look at them long and long.
They do not sweat and whine about their condition;
They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins;
They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God;
Not one is dissatisfied-not one is demented with the mania of owning things;
Not one kneels to another, nor his kind that lived thousands of years ago;
Not one is responsible or industrious over the whole earth.”


― Walt Whitman

The 'Paragon of Animals' these are Shakespeare's words that I quoted/stole:-)

"What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in form and moving, how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension, how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals! And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?"

They are appropriate I think, because in this speech Hamlet is questioning and appalled by the dual nature of Man that he perceives in the actions of his uncle and mother. The quintessence is a supposed fifth element after Earth Water Fire and Air. This quintessence is unchanging and so represents the true nature of the bodies which are partially comprised of it. For Hamlet this essence in Man is as common and useless as dust/dirt - "Remember Man thou art but and unto dust thou shalt return" So essentially you are putting forward Hamlet's view of Mankind - a thoroughly misanthropic one. Indeed the play is exploring the same question that I raised in the poem, this perverse duality of human nature, at the same time beautiful and wonderful but also vile and evil.

David

roger303 on 22-09-2012
On Seeing the Holocaust Memorial in Rhodes Old Town
Ah yes - Walt "The Father of Free Verse (some say). A complex and fascinating man, in my opinion.
As for Bill - he had a knack for hitting the nail on the head!
Your reference to Hamlet and related observation took me right back to school in Henley-in-Arden where we were force fed the Bard!
Thank you for your educated and informative response.
Best wishes,
Roger.

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 22-09-2012
On Seeing the Holocaust Memorial in Rhodes Old Town
I agree with Roger about the animals. Sadly, I think there's probably a bit of German in all of us. Just give the 'right' circumstance...

A poem full of anguish, David.



Author's Reply:

Texasgreg on 22-09-2012
On Seeing the Holocaust Memorial in Rhodes Old Town
Photobucket
Aye David! We are all "Germans" and accountable for the things we know are going on. Can't nib ya, but can rib ya!

Good Job!

Greg 🙂

Author's Reply:

Weefatfella on 25-09-2012
On Seeing the Holocaust Memorial in Rhodes Old Town
The Human being lives in the physical and the spiritual world at the same time. Animals we are told only in the physical. The problem we have is putting human attributes on to animals.

The other problem is selective memory. I consider myself British, who invented the Concentration camp?

The British during the Boer war.1899-1902. Not the Germans.



The Rhodes community was deported from the island in the summer of 1944. Of the approximately 2,000 Jews on the island just before the war, only either 104 (Varon's book) or 151 (Angel's book) are thought to have survived. Rabbi Angel, citing various sources, says that 22 people died during the deportations, 1,145 died in Auschwitz, and 437 died in the labour camps. Lest we forget Requescant in pace. Thank you for sharing David. Weefatfella. PS Holo = All. caust= burnt. why don't we just say ALL_BURNT.

Author's Reply:
Hi Weefalla,

Well I am a Humanist and a scientist and a rationalist and I do not see any evidence for a spiritual world. We are our genes and our experience. I consider myself to be a spiritual person but that spirit is composed of mind, emotional nature and experience. Our minds are developed John Keats wrote:-

The common cognomen of this world among the misguided and superstitious is 'a vale of tears' from which we are to be redeemed by a certain arbitary interposition of God and taken to Heaven-What a little circumscribed straightened notion! Call the world if you Please "The vale of Soul-making". Then you will find out the use of the world. I say 'Soul making' Soul as distinguished from an Intelligence. There may be intelligences or sparks of the divinity in millions-but they are not Souls till they acquire identities, till each one is personally itself. Intelligences are atoms of perception. They know and they see and they are pure, in short they are God. How then are Souls to be made? How then are these sparks which are God to have identity given them so as ever to possess a bliss peculiar to each one's individual existence? This point I sincerely wish to consider because I think it a grander system of salvation than the christiain religion -or rather it is a system of Spirit-creation-This is effected by three grand materials acting the one upon the other for a series of years. These three Materials are the Intelligence; the human heart and the World or Elemental space suited for the proper action of Mind and Heart on each other for the purpose of forming the Soul or Intelligence destined to possess the sense of Identity. I can scarcely express what I but dimly perceive and yet I think I perceive it. That you may judge the more clearly I will put it in the most homely form possible. I will call the world a School instituted for the purpose of teaching little children to read; I will call the human heart the horn Book used in that School; and I will call the Child able to read, the Soul made from that School and its hornbook. Do you not see how necessary a World of Pains and troubles is to school an Intelligence and make it a Soul? A Place where the heart must feel and suffer in a thousand diverse ways! Not merely is the Heart a Hornbook, It is the Minds Bible, it is the Minds experience, itas not meant to be read as is the teat from which the Mind or intelligence sucks its identity. As various as the Lives of Men are so various become their Souls, and thus does God make individual beings, Souls, Identical Souls of the Sparks of his own essence.

THis poem was not trying to say that the British are better than the Germans or vice versa. It is an exploration of the dual nature of Humanity:-


from 'When I'm Sixty Four' by David M Turner

If this seems more like a rant than a nice John Lennon song
Then you can blame that
Aromantic author
Louis De Berniere
For writing `Birds Without Wings'
And coming to the right conclusion
That individually humanity
Are wonderfully funny,
Often loving and generous,
Even kind to a fault,
But en masse, no better than a flock of sheep,
Willing to follow the afore abused leaders
Down to the edge of the nearest disaster
And walk straight in.

Selective memory is not a problem and certainly not my problem, the real problem is that we still do not recognise that Homo Sapiens are all one race, or more poetically, the brother hood of man.

I do not absolve the British Nation from as much guilt as the German nation. The concentration camps in South Africa are a minor blot in comparison to the great responsibility we share for the Slave Trade and its consequences, the bombing of Dresden, the irresponsibility of the British Empire and its aftermath. Many of the troubled areas of the world are troubled because of the way we drew the international boundaries when the Empire was disbanded. Look at what happened during the partition of India. Iraq is a disaster because we drew lines in the sand trying to make Sunnis, Shias, and Kurds form a single state. The carpet bombing of Vietnam by the Americans was another War Crime. Frankly I despair of Humanity most of the time, but I look back sometimes and see the progress that we have made and a little hope springs into bloom now and then. Global warming will be the test. Unless we manage to organise a world wide coalition to fight a War on Global Warming instead of the daft War on Terror then it will be all up for us as a species.

Indeed, why do doctors say 'cardiac arrest' instead of 'stopped heart'?

David

Weefatfella on 25-09-2012
On Seeing the Holocaust Memorial in Rhodes Old Town
Indeed David, why did you go to all that trouble just to state the blindingly obvious.
Thank you for your circumlocutory reply.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
I suppose because from your comment it did not seem at all blindingly obvious to you.

Try the London Eye!

Happy gyring to you:-)

David


Weefatfella on 25-09-2012
On Seeing the Holocaust Memorial in Rhodes Old Town
You may suppose what you will.

I just thought..... If you couldn't explain it simply, you don't understand it well enough. Weefatfella.......not Weefalla...? try Spectacles. Happy observations.







Author's Reply:
Come on then try explaining to me how a computer works simply in less wortds than I used to explain my poem to you!

stormwolf on 25-09-2012
On Seeing the Holocaust Memorial in Rhodes Old Town
A very heart-felt poem David about the depths mankind can sink in their treatment of their fellow man. The last two lines were ace...questions with no answers.

I respect your humanist beliefs (honour everyone's journey) although I disagree regarding the spirit world where animals also go, so I disagree with WFF about them only being physical.
One day we shall see the cruelty of our treatment of the animal kingdom too.

A sad but necessary reminder of what can happen when we give in to our lower natures and have no real courage to stand up for what is right.

Alison x

Author's Reply:

Weefatfella on 25-09-2012
On Seeing the Holocaust Memorial in Rhodes Old Town
I didn't need you to explain your vacuous doggerel to me. Why you felt the need escapes me. I was only having a Giraffe but your insecurity amazes me, especially the blatant flaunting of such.
Mind you, you are reaching that age. Just in case you have already reached it I will do as you impeached.

A computer works by manipulation of binary coded symbols ( That's numbers tae you ) according to lists of binary coded instruction symbols. Everything in an electronic ( Ae Digital) computer is binary coded symbols, whether it is data or instructions.
Howzat ya Wahoo. The Weefatfella has left the building.

Author's Reply:

Weefatfella on 25-09-2012
On Seeing the Holocaust Memorial in Rhodes Old Town




Photobucket

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 25-09-2012
On Seeing the Holocaust Memorial in Rhodes Old Town
I think you two will have to agree to disagree 🙂

(But WFF is correct about the British and the concentration camps)

And doctors like to say 'cardiac arrest' instead of 'stopped heart' because they like to ponce about with fancy words 🙂

Author's Reply:

Weefatfella on 25-09-2012
On Seeing the Holocaust Memorial in Rhodes Old Town
I apologise to the whole community.
Touche! On both counts Andrea. I humbly Back off with hand on heart and cap in hand. Madame.

Author's Reply:


The Nerds Rule OK! (posted on: 21-09-12)
Today the bankers and political elite and the magnates and chief executives of many countries have essentially created a Kleptocracy, stealing from the State I.E. US by avoiding their due taxes. Then these no-nothings sneer at the scientists, engineers, technicians and programers as NERDS

I am a nerd and I'm proud of it. I'll say it again and again. Some people just make the world work Whilst others grab all of the gain. The Oxbridge arts and farts students Pour scorn on the mere engineers Though they don't have even the rudiments Of science or maths or car gears. If your head is just full of words And your tongue speaks management speak And you can't tell numbers from surds And the factories just look very bleak, Then it's you that I'm talking about, You, reading that long bottom line, You with your trough flattened snout Yes you to whom tax is a crime. Of course they all sneer loudly at us These arts degree ignorant snobs, Using words to make a big fuss Of their pointless high-powered jobs. Yes, words are their weapon of choice Executing again and again, In a cultured ridiculous voice, The arts of insult and arrogant disdain. I'll ask them if ever they pause "Can you make an aeroplane fly With beautiful language like yours Fuelled by social ease as it flies up so high? Of course numbers are dull and quite boring, Mathematics can't strike a good deal. High finance on mere arithmetic soaring Is best settled with an expensive good meal. These executives think they create jobs And stimulate greater world growth Yet all these afore mentioned snobs Have no idea how to do both. A mathematician would quickly inform them, That economies are always described By second order differential equations That can't be solved, hard though they've tried. It's because they have no solution. You can't predict that remote final fate Even numerical computer integration Fails far from system's start state. It's just like the world's weather you see, A rogue trader in hot Singapore, A careless butterfly or uncaring bee Makes hurricanes on seas or trading floor. So let's kill off all of the lawyers Or make them play their expensive word games Far from the media voyeurs And proud celebrity names. Lets reduce the smart talking salesmen, Who lie with slippery ease To sweeping the floors and then Let wise Nerds do just as they please. Get rid of all the rich bankers With their hands on our hard-earned small savings. We all know they're a species of wankers Spouting nonsense and lunatic ravings. Then guillotine the corrupt politicians Of every colour and hue, The rulers and party patricians, Make this brave world be as good as new. THE NERDS RULE OK!!!
Archived comments for The Nerds Rule OK!
roger303 on 21-09-2012
The Nerds Rule OK!
I just knew that bankers and wankers would be in there!
Bang on Corin.
Loved it.
Regards,
Roger.

Author's Reply:
Thats probably because I used the same rhyme in my Christmas Carol for 2009:

God Rest Ye Merry Bankermen:-

https://www.ukauthors.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=24304

David

Andrea on 21-09-2012
The Nerds Rule OK!
'Then guillotine the corrupt politicians
Of every colour and hue' - Quite right! Spot on, I say 🙂

Another epic...much enjoyed

Author's Reply:
Glad you enjoyed it Andrea. I have been thinking about you today:-) I am writing a mental essay about Global Warming and came to the conclusion that the worst place to be when it happens is the Netherlands. I hope you have invested in a pair of thigh waders and that Holland has lots of unemployed Nerrds to deply when the time comes:-)

David

Andrea on 21-09-2012
The Nerds Rule OK!
Yes, that's true. I am living at 2 metres below sea level. If the dykes break, I will have to move in with the guys on the third floor 🙂

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 22-09-2012
The Nerds Rule OK!
You tell 'em David!

Must hear this one recited. It's very topical especially after that arrogant twat Chief Whip Andrew Mitchell’s foul mouthed outburst at a bobby just doing his job.
They really do think they are superior but their day is coming.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
OK Alison I will try.

Thankyou

David

Texasgreg on 22-09-2012
The Nerds Rule OK!
Power to the nerd! Fuck the herd! LOL, I rarely swear, but ya got me goin', bro.. Aye, they find out how much ya got and work math backwards 'till it falls in their purse, not knowing from whence it comes or caring how it'll affect the future of mankind.
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That's what I like about you. You're smart...

Greg 🙂

Author's Reply:
O not that Smart - I am not smart enough to be able to wink online:-)

Thankyou Gregg

David


Indian Summer (posted on: 10-09-12)
Lovely weather for this time of year.

After a cold July and August This brief Indian Summer Is more than welcome But the wild wind Blowing through it now Smells of Autumn. Waves of resignation Roll through overgrown grass; Tented streaks of white cloud Stretch across blue silk; Great trees sway in submission, Their wind dried leaves and winged fruits Forcing them to bow to the inevitable; Seeds are scattered; Leaves, torn prematurely from their holdfasts, Flee across fences and hedges, A migrating flock of ragged, incompetent aeronauts Mastering the air briefly Only to finally crash Onto lawns and roads, Scattering Summer's small hopes Across a dying world. Powerful though this storm is, It is warm and bracing A portent of what is to come. Waiting in the wings are winter's rages. When it finally come we cannot argue That we were not warned. It is too easy to stand here Watching a wild world arm itself In readiness for a great battle to come. Like ecstatic, over confident passengers On a Titanic ship We are dancing and singing As the waters rise.
Archived comments for Indian Summer
Texasgreg on 10-09-2012
Indian Summer
Aye! No telling what's in store for us. There was recent news of a freak tornado in New York City recently. To think I came fairly close to taking a job with F.E.M.A. not long ago...something told me "no" and I heeded.

Well presented David!
Photobucket.
Greg 🙂

Author's Reply:
As Rabbie Burns wrote in his poem 'To a Mouse' after slicing open the mouse nest with his plough:-

"Still, thou art blest, compar'd wi' me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e'e,
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!"

David

Andrea on 10-09-2012
Indian Summer
Yep, looks like that's it for this year - an autumnal feel today, after 29 degrees yesterday!

Author's Reply:
We are off to Greek Summer on Wednesday - Rhodes, bugger the Indian Summers!

David

stormwolf on 12-09-2012
Indian Summer
When it finally come we cannot argue
That we were not warned.
It is too easy to stand here
Watching a wild world arm itself
In readiness for a great battle to come.
Like ecstatic, over confident passengers
On a Titanic ship
We are dancing and singing
As the waters rise.

I read this poem on another level. The coming storms are world events and the people oblivious are those who choose to put their heads in the sand.

Rich and full of lovely imagery

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison - you are quite right, the world is just full of Ostriches at the moment especially Romney and his supporters. It frightens me, but I think it is all too late anyway, The Dark is Rising:-((

ValDohren on 18-09-2012
Indian Summer
Brilliant write, very descriptive and meaningful.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Val

deepoceanfish2 on 05-11-2012
Indian Summer
This is so much more than a weather forecast! Beautifully expressed, David. And a nomination from me.

Author's Reply:


Goodbye (posted on: 27-08-12)
My friend Michaela, Husband, family and dog Benton are going back to Germany.

'Goodbye' is a sad word, No! a bad word Since 'God be with ye' Is an empty wish. I will invent a new word of parting:- 'Maetherforsbye'; May the Force be with you. That universal Life Force That created matter and energy out of nothing; Stars and galxaxies out of a swirling Cloud of Hydrogen and Helium; Planets and Life Out of the dust from Stella Supernova. We are all stardust. When I next look up And see the constellation of Canis Major I will think of Benton And Lucy and Emma And Carson and Michaela. Wherever you go Maetherforsbye.
Archived comments for Goodbye
Texasgreg on 27-08-2012
Goodbye
David, if I didn’t know better I’d say you’re a sentimental softie. No worries mate, yer secret is safe with me…oops! Sorry, hehe.

Really enjoyed!
Photobucket.
Greg 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Greg, you got me in one:-)

Dave

Andrea on 27-08-2012
Goodbye
I like your new word, David 🙂 Maethforsbye with you as well...

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Andrea, practice with your light sabre though:-)

David

amman on 27-08-2012
Goodbye
I hope you sent a copy of this poem to Michaela. A very deep and personal poem which speaks of friendship and future remembrance. I really like this one.
Au revoir.


Author's Reply:
Maetherforsbye Amman. Yes I posted it to Michaela on Facebook. BTW - Benton is a dog hence the reference to Canis Major.

David

Ani on 28-08-2012
Goodbye
From Deep down in your heart, a very sentimental piece. I really like your new creation;Maetherforsbye. Thanks for the read David.
Fureya

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Ani, As Greg observes I am just a sentimental old softie:-)

David


The Autumn End of August (posted on: 24-08-12)
This years swift departure poem

The swifts have gone. Despite their late arrival they left on time But I fear not many will return next year. This wet cold summer was not Conducive to raising Strong healthy swiftlets. The twittering swallows And hardworking house martins are still here But we are left with the Autumn end of August. I hear John Keats echoing in my head And think of the Spanish Steps, Impotent Roman winters And the Songs of Spring.
Archived comments for The Autumn End of August
amman on 24-08-2012
The Autumn End of August
Great title. Like the way you tied in migrating and native bird-life with the seasons, culminating with promise of the songs of spring.
Cheers.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Amman, THis is really a homage to John Keats. His poem 'To Autumn' I always think of at this time of year as the departure of the swifts back to Africa marks the end of summer to me. My poem references his. Keats died in Rome of consumption, aged 25, in a small apartment at the foot of the Spanish Steps, after travelling to Italy in a desperate attempt to fight the disease in a better climate. He is buried in the Protestant Cemetery there. 'To Autumn' was written the year before he went to Italy, when, as a qualified doctor, he already knew he was dying. His Ode is below.

David

To Autumn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'erbrimmed their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, -
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Texasgreg on 25-08-2012
The Autumn End of August
Aye! What Tony said. I might add that I liked it too as it laments next season in advance while I hope for you that you're surprised.

Please pardon my swift departure...

Good job, David!
Photobucket.
Greg 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Greg, you might find my reply to Amman above interesting.

David

Andrea on 26-08-2012
The Autumn End of August
Love the title too - and the poem. Really good.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Andrea, you might find my reply to Amman above interesting.

David

Ani on 27-08-2012
The Autumn End of August
Lovely poem, all brings a great imagery to my mind.
Fureya

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Fureye, you might find my reply to Amman above interesting.

David


Evening at Monkseaton (posted on: 13-08-12)
A Beautiful evening on a North East of England Beach

How can this callous, cruel and chaotic world Give us such an evening as this? A luminescent blue sea Undulating with a gentle swell and Its brilliant white breakers Swirling over the sun dried sand As the rising tide Brings that eternal note of sadness in. A white ship riding gently at anchor In the offing of Whitley Bay, The children and dogs Jumping the foaming waves A setting evening sun Gilding the world, Warm still air Caressing bare arms, Naked legs splashing Through the shallows Of this cold Northern Sea; Such peace; Such beauty; Such wonder; Such a strange, uncertain World In which to live.
Archived comments for Evening at Monkseaton
Texasgreg on 13-08-2012
Evening at Monkseaton
Great escape and wonderful imagery.

Thanks David!
Photobucket.
Greg 🙂


Author's Reply:
Thanks Greg, The North East Coast of England can be very beautiful - but very cold!

David

Inchrory on 13-08-2012
Evening at Monkseaton
It was with some interest for me to note your poetic reference to “Monkseaton Beach”.

My mother owned the farm adjacent to West Monkseaton station. A farm dating back to the thirteenth century in the area, which at that time was called Seaton. The family also owned several farm shops, one in West Monkseaton, and two in Whitley Bay. One at Ilfracombe Gardens the other in Park Avenue.

They later retired to live in Queen’s Road, Monkseaton, Whitley Bay, which is situated between Monkseaton village and the Links fronting the beach. .

The historic village of Monkseaton lies a good mile from the sea, it does not have direct frontage to the beach.

However, it is true that the original Monkseaton predates the hamlet of Whitley and the later town of Whitley Bay by several centuries.

To my knowledge the beach area immediately north of “Whitley Bay” has always been known as Whitley Sands, at least by the locals of my acquaintance.

I often went across the tidal causeway and spent a pleasant evening and sometimes a full night if I could not get back from fishing of the headland at St Mary’s lighthouse; cod were plentiful in those days.



I did write a song about the area on Ukauthors some time back.

It never occurred to me to mention Monkseaton Beach.



Author's Reply:
You are probably right about it not being called Monseaton Beach though we drove there down Monkseaton Drive. Seaton is of course a local name from the Saxon Times meaning a Sea Tun or farm or settlement. Why there are now so many 'Seaton' place names I am not sure, Seaton Delaval, Seaton Burn, Seaton Sluice, Monkseaton, Henry I granted Seton, later to be renamed Monkseaton, to Tynemouth Priory. It was a substantial village in the late 13th century, when Monkseaton Manor was one of ten manors of Tynemouth Priory. They are spread over quite a wide area which suggests that the original Seaton must have been an important place. The Delavals (French De La Val?) apparently got the Manor at the Norman conquest.
Well, now I have learned something.

David

Inchrory on 13-08-2012
Evening at Monkseaton
It is interesting to note that two prehistoric villages were recently discovered under the sea some distance from Tynemouth, ( My brother a deep-sea diver was working for the Tyne & Wear Harbour Authority at the time.) indicating that the coast of Northumberland extended a considerable way into the North Sea some ten thousand years ago.

Who knows, they may yet discover a Geordie Atlantis.



Author's Reply:
Hi Inchory, Well, of course, there are places like this all down the East Coast of England. There are many places where you can find the remains of trees in the sand at low tide and whole villages as in Doggerland on the Dogger Bank neat the mouth of the Thames. Apparently the Thames was once tributary of the Rhine! Prehistoric features which are highlighted near Scarborough include dinosaur footprints and submerged mammoth tusks as well as the colossal sand dunes of Dogger Bank – at a height of 60 metres they are taller than Nelson’s Column – as well as submerged Roman villages.
so I will go and look:-)

David
There you go more stuff I did not know. I am off to Scarborough in October

cooky on 13-08-2012
Evening at Monkseaton
This could be memories of Skegness. lovely descriptions I like this.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Cooky

Weefatfella on 13-08-2012
Evening at Monkseaton
I'm not religious but sometimes when I see what you have described, I could be persuaded.

Beautifully written piece, I could hear the children shouting over the waves and the dogs barking excitedly.

Really enjoyed this and better still. It made me smile. Thank You.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou WFF, It is indeed strange that sometimes the world should fill us with such profoundly spiritual feelings.

David

Andrea on 14-08-2012
Evening at Monkseaton
Love the last two lines, David. An evocative piece indeed.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Andrea, Yes - I can never make up my mind, is it a heaven in hell's despair or a hell in heaven's despite."?

David


sunken on 15-08-2012
Evening at Monkseaton
Hello Mr. Corin. I know not of said location. It hardly matters though. You took me there in the form of poetry. I enjoyed it muchly but will need to get home soon as I've got the gas man coming 'round. Well done on th nib, fella. A very fine write and no mistake.

s
u
n
k
e
n



Author's Reply:
Went again yesterday - different story - Sea Fret over the beach and Then pissing down with rain - someone is having a joke!

Here is a warning:-


The Gas Man Cometh - Flanders and Swann

'Twas on a Monday morning the gas man came to call.
The gas tap wouldn't turn - I wasn't getting gas at all.
He tore out all the skirting boards to try and find the main
And I had to call a carpenter to put them back again.
Oh, it all makes work for the working man to do.
'Twas on a Tuesday morning the carpenter came round.
He hammered and he chiselled and he said:
"Look what I've found: your joists are full of dry rot
But I'll put them all to rights".
Then he nailed right through a cable and out went all the lights!
Oh, it all makes work for the working man to do.
'Twas on a Wednesday morning the electrician came.
He called me Mr. Sanderson, which isn't quite the name.
He couldn't reach the fuse box without standing on the bin
And his foot went through a window so I called the glazier in.
Oh, it all makes work for the working man to do.
'Twas on a Thursday morning the glazier came round
With his blow torch and his putty and his merry glazier's song.
He put another pane in - it took no time at all
But I had to get a painter in to come and paint the wall.
Oh, it all makes work for the working man to do.
'Twas on a Friday morning the painter made a start.
With undercoats and overcoats he painted every part:
Every nook and every cranny - but I found when he was gone
He'd painted over the gas tap and I couldn't turn it on!
Oh, it all makes work for the working man to do.
On Saturday and Sunday they do no work at all;
So 'twas on a Monday morning that the gasman came to call...
Oh, it all makes work for the working man to do.
'Twas on a Thursday morning the glazier came round
With his blow torch and his putty and his merry glazier's song.
He put another pane in - it took no time at all
But I had to get a painter in to come and paint the wall.
Oh, it all makes work for the working man to do.
'Twas on a Friday morning the painter made a start.
With undercoats and overcoats he painted every part:
Every nook and every cranny - but I found when he was gone
He'd painted over the gas tap and I couldn't turn it on!
Oh, it all makes work for the working man to do.
On Saturday and Sunday they do no work at all;
So 'twas on a Monday morning that the gasman came to call…


David

franciman on 15-08-2012
Evening at Monkseaton
The colour scheme, the tone, the theme of this piece are all at one they simply give a complete picture. The perfect picture actually.

cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thankyou very much Franciman

David

SugarMama34 on 17-08-2012
Evening at Monkseaton
Great imagery in this...I was there with the help of your words and what a lovely peaceful place to be it is, full of beauty and wonder. How the world and Mother Nature can change in a blink of an eye.

Lis xx

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Liz,
We went there again on Wednesday and what a different story! Storm clouds and rain pouring down - had to take refuge in the cafe:-)

David

stormwolf on 19-08-2012
Evening at Monkseaton
I share and understand all the sentiments expressed here. Really lovely. I would have broken it up a bit but each to their own.
You always do these wistful poems so very well.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison - I have been meaning to edit this a bit and I think you have a good point, I will bear it in mind.


Pheidippides (posted on: 10-08-12)
Inspired by the London Olympics - the Men's Triathlon actually but I thought it was the Marathon when I switched on.

Greek messenger runner, Pheidippides Never knew what he had started Two thousand five hundred years ago When he ran twenty six miles From the great battle to Athens. Nor do most of us know Whose deed it was; Who did it first. It should be his name, Not that of the little Hellenic village of Marathon, Which is attached to the one truly Olympic Event of the Games. Now thousands of trained runners Have relived his ordeal. Some, like him, Have even died in the attempt. Like him, They are all heroes To undertake and complete this great feat of endurance. He brought great news for us all, That Europe Had been saved from Asia, That the Hellenic ideal of democracy would survive, Even if many dictators, from Caesar to Mubarak and Assad, Would do their best to quash it. Like the human spirit that relishes a challenge It keeps remerging from the darkness Of hubris and oppression. Let us all keep running.
Archived comments for Pheidippides
Texasgreg on 10-08-2012
Pheidippides
Aye! Probably a Texan that named it. We can pronounce "marythawn". 😉

Thanks fer the wrinkle in my brain.
Photobucket.
Greg 🙂

Author's Reply:
Hey Man - W'Geordies divn't thing bliddy Texans caan tork Anglish at aal!

Why aye man hinnie! Howay the lads!!

Andrea on 11-08-2012
Pheidippides
Inspiring stuff, David - well done!

Author's Reply:
Thank you Andrea, Don't forget to watch the Pheidipides Race tomorrow:-)

amman on 11-08-2012
Pheidippides
Topical and interesting. Particularly like the democracy/dictatorship massage at the end. I've run a dozen or so of these and thankfully lived to write bad poetry.
Cheers

Author's Reply:
THank you Amman. You have dome a lot better than me - I have only ever managed one half Marathon, though I did run a lot of 400m, 800m, 1500m and 5000m in my time. Glad you lived to tell the tale.

David

Ionicus on 12-08-2012
Pheidippides
Very topical both in the sporting and political sense.
Strange how events are often related to the scene of an action rather than the participants. Good of you to give some credit to Pheidippides who, if I recall well, unfortunately died after completing the run.

Author's Reply:
Now I am trying to think of another sporting event named after a place rather than an appropriate individual. In Croquet we have the MacRobertson Shield which has become the Croquet World Cup, The Football World cup was named in honour of former FIFA president Jules Rimet. However Brazil now own it for winning it 3 times and of course it was the name of the trophy not the competition.


Concerto for Voices and Double Chorus - In A minor December 2004 - July 2012 (posted on: 27-07-12)
This is a long experimental poem previously posted in 4 separate parts but now revised and completed.It is an attempt to acheive the flow of emotion as evinced by music but in words. The Key changes are hints as to mood. It deliberately contains references to works that have most moved me. An Oratorio of English Poetry commented Nomenklatura. I will give a real prize ( A book of Eliots Poetry or a Chocolate Orange ) to anyone who PMs me with the longest correct list of all the refererences in the Oratorio to English Poetry - Think Shakespeare and Auden and Wordsworth particularly.

First Movement - Allegro. The Voice: Why am I here? Why? Why? I could see in the dark, how here? This is a painful light With no throbbing In the comfort of a warm sea And soothing, reddish darkness. The noise, the noise! Wherefore wailing? Why whining? What questions? Questions without answer? Whisper! Whisper? What is that whisper? This is a cold place and only air; No sweet wash; No floating among the thick tangles; No point of anchor; Only rough rawness And hard edges, fumbling, grasping. Why am I here? Why? Why? I was lighter in the dark; This light is only pain. The noise!The noise! Drumming and beating; Why so much noise? Why am I here? Why? Why? Chorus of the Living: Hush, Hush! Who is it that cries? Who lives? Who lives? Who is it that dies? Who is it that comes with foolish dares? Who is climbing these rocky stairs? Look at the waves on the crowded shore, Who thinks there is any room for any more? Who mounts this stage where fools abound? Oh! We know too well that sorrowful sound. Chorus of the Living: Hush, Hush! Who is it that dies? The living, the living, With their bootless cries? Why do they not know that silence rules? Why play so long the part of fools? And what is Time when nihilism wins? Here are no causes and no sins; This whirligig rolls round revenge's plans; All crimes run out with the final sands. The Voice: No! No!! The singing is the worst. Why should they sing? All music is just discordant noise. Why is the darkness growing so dim? Let me go back!! Here is nothing but want and need. I am broken, Cut off Separated for ever. No touch will ever replace Union's soft sense, Togetherness was all. Apartheid is cruel - No hand, no arm, No face, no lip, no breast, Will ever be enough. The milk of human kindness fails. Why am I here? Why? Why? Why am I apart? Why must wailing Come before all joys? Why must whining always follow? Chorus of the Living: All truths are hardly learnt and dearly bought; No one passes through unharmed, unfought; Know that it is common unto all, All must come unbidden, rise, then fall. We are many but the ends are few. We know what we know and what they knew. Those who knew that knowing is the best Passed it on, discarding all the rest, Like leaves before the swirl of Autumn's wind, Like remorseful, vague regrets of those who sinned. Sing, sing! Whisper who dares! Sing, sing! Give music your cares. Chorus of the Dead: All truths are tossed into the dying sea, No one waking dreams here - all are free! Knowing and unknowing mean the same; All unplay the endless timeless game; We make no sounds where sullen flues make moans; We know no use for joys or painful groans. Those who think that thinking is the test Pass through as quietly as the thoughtless rest, Like flesh of grass cut down by winter's cold, Like flowers of the field all cut and sold. Be not, be not! Consummation lives Oh! be not, be not! This is all life ever gives. The Voice: Why am I here? Why? Why? I could see in the dark, how here? This is a painful light With no throbbing In the comfort of warm darkness. No! No!! The singing is the worst. Why should they sing When the music is little more than noise? Why is the darkness growing so dim? Oh! Let me go back, let me back in. Where is my warm world? No! No! Let me be not mad!! Let me be not MAD!!! NO!! NOT MAD!!!! Second Movement - Andante Ma non tropo Chorus of the Living: Don't try to run before you walk Never think before you talk; This is fun, enjoy the day; Love's the link upon your way. See the world before your eyes; Heed not the noisesome nightly cries; Touch the coloured rainbow's arc See how bright stars bejewelthedark Taste the zest of every hour; A sense of balance is your power; All the world before you grows; Every day new wonder shows. Sun and moon and stars are bright, Days are balanced by each night. Wider still your bounds are set, Nor joy nor pain will you forget, Every second, every minute Has its grip and you are in it. A piece of clay on the potter's wheel Growstohis mind,by touch and feel. Yet, if the potter should but choose All form, all shape, will you lose. Don't try to walk before your time, Rely on talk and not on mime; Though every day is meant for fun Sometimes the way will see no sun. The Voice: Show me the way; This is no place to be lost in light, Every road leads to another. Show me the way. Chorus of the Living: Follow where your fortune goes Where the end is no one knows - Builder, joiner, ply your trade That these new homes may yet be made Doctor, dentist, use your skill Make all well that once was ill. Teacher, tutor play your part So men will know of science and art. Follow, poet, follow right To the bottom of the night, With your unconstraining voice Still persuade us to rejoice Every choice will play its part And form another human heart All of you must make your mark So men will know you in the dark. The Voice: Don't make me sing. Don't make me sing! The music is still too loud The words are too hard. Chorus of the Dead: Nothing will come of nothing, let it come! Silence is the space where music rings; The shells of nuts enclose infinity; Eternity in every hour sings. Chorus of the Living: Modulating into C Major:- Oh listen to the music that you hear, This is not the melody of fear. Sweet notes like these are surely worth a song, Does not the rhythm carry you along? The harmonies within are more than chance Now is the time to play and sing and dance. Modulating into C Major:- The Voice: Oh let this light of love shine in my eyes Let the song of love be my surprise, Although I sleep a long and sweet forgetting Until the sun comes to a final setting I'll turn my face towards the daily light Illuminating every wondrous sight ; And though this brave new world knows joy and pain And pain is loss - yet joy is greater gain. Modulating into A Minor:- Chorus of the Living and the Voice in harmony: Voice { I know the light is singing of great joy Chorus { He knows the light he sings it in his joy Voice { How each meadow makes celestial light Chorus { How joyous is the bright celestial light Voice { Who would not envy this glad growing boy? Chorus { Who could imprision this glad growing boy? Voice { How wonderful is every common sight Chorus { How wilfully the prison house blocks sight Modulating into A Minor:- Chorus of the Dead: Now we know forgetfulness Our utter nakedness Can cause us shame no more. In the darkness No touch can restore forgotten sights; That which was will never be again - The rose, the rainbow, Moonlit nights with clouds, Stars reflected in the waters deep; All these insubstantial pageants faded Into the baseless stuff of dreams. Third Movement - Third Movement - Rondo Moderato. A Major Chorus of the Dead Lord what fools these mortals be When they they think they clearly see Why do they listen not to me Then at last they would be free. There can be but one place to be, One eternal reality, In Hades' Halls equality Is the only certainty. All shades sleep there peacefully And none there wake up sorrowfully, Here no wars echo noisily, No guns thump in enmity, No titans labour endlessly Groining citadels of futility. All else is but insanity This is the fate of humanity The Voice: Modulating into D minor Now there's only work and sleep And every dawn brings woes new made Some we'll lose and some we'll keep Until at last all memories fade. So long the road goes far ahead, Its gradient ever climbing up, No rest no peace and in their stead The bitter dregs of life's small cup. Modulating into F Major:- But no man needs to walk the road alone - Do you think your heart is made of stone? The stars shine through the dark of winter night, Though the inconstant moon denies us light Orion circles ever sword in hand Forever hunting for that bright new land. Not in the sky, but on Earth it's found, Wherever love lays her bright girdle round. Modulating into A Major:- Chorus of the Dead: Lord what fools these mortals be When they they think they clearly see Why do they listen not to me Then at last they would be free. There can be but one place to be, One eternal reality, In Hades' Halls equality Is the only certainty. All shades sleep there peacefully And none there wake up sorrowfully, Here no wars echo noisily, No guns thump in enmity, No titans labour endlessly Groining citadels of futility. All else is but insanity This is the fate of humanity Modulating into C Major:- The Voice: To you, for life, I've sworn plight, Together now in awe we stand Before the day and in the light Joined by this never ending band. The road that once seemed hard and long When we travelled all alone Now is filled with joy and song Instead of pain and constant moan Modulating into A Minor:- Chorus of the Dead: Lord what fools these mortals be When they they think they clearly see Why do they listen not to me Then at last they would be free. There can be but one place to be, One eternal reality, In Hades' Halls equality Is the only certainty. All shades sleep there peacefully And none there wake up sorrowfully, Here no wars echo noisily, No guns thump in enmity, No titans labour endlessly Groining citadels of futility. All else is but insanity This is the fate of humanity. Modulating into D Minor The Voice: Give me your hand and let us walk With wandering steps and slow While we wander we will talk As through the world we go. No matter that Eden now is lost. And we walk a solitary way, Modulating into F Major Chorus of the Dead: Together we can bear this cost With love to guide us every day. O it is good to live and love To have a future here with you To see bright stars shine out above And a new one growing in you too. Modulating into C Major:- One is one and all alone And ever more shall be so But two to three or four have grown, Together up this path we'll go. Chorus of the Living: Love is all the food we need, Two live as cheaply as but one. Love sets us truly free indeed To cold, dark night it is the sun. Love knows no law, love conquers all Love is life, life lives for love, For love the birds do sing and call. If love be blind the stars above Would not shine out so bright at all. Or if it is, we'll love the dark And by love's light we will not fall, But aim at love and hit the mark. Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease, And builds a heaven in hell's despair. Modulating into A minor: Chorus of the Dead: Love is blind and Cupid's bow Scatters arrows everywhere. He cares not which cross path they go And engenders sorrow here and there. Look through the god's kaleidoscope All human passions are but toys Happiness is but false hope, They'll suffer chiefly by their joys. Love seeketh only Self to please, To bind another to its delight, Joys in another's loss of ease, And builds a hell in heaven's despite. Lord what fools these mortals be When they they think they clearly see Why do they listen not to me Then at last they would be free. There can be but one place to be, One eternal reality, In Hades' Halls equality Is the only certainty. All shades sleep there peacefully And none there wake up sorrowfully, Here no wars echo noisily, No guns thump in enmity, No titans labour endlessly Groining citadels of futility. All else is but insanity This is the fate of humanity Fourth Movement - Adagio The Voice: Auden was right , Poetry makes nothing happen. We might as well drink our way down Cemetery Road As raise our voices in song And trouble deaf heaven with our bootless cries. Where now are Sappho's verses heard? Who reads Southey's dismal laureate rhymes? Who will read those turgid verses that I wrote When I thought that words had power to move And change the world from worse to better state? Surely silence is the rest and should be so, Since honour is but breath, no more, And has no power over silent dust. Chorus of the Dead: When you haver read one poem You have read them all; What do you read? Words, words, words And all no matter. Now the wind is North North West And it grows cold, Wear the bottoms of your trousers rolled. Chorus of the Living: Oh the world is beautiful; Love is wonderful; Life is mysterious; In the intersection of the timeless moment Everything happens. We have heard the bells at midnight And we sing "All will be one, All will be one We'll understand it better in the sweet bye and bye, We don't have to worry and we don't have to cry Over in the old Golden Land" Hold hands! Let us all Hold hands, . And to prove our almost instinct Almost true What will survive of us is love First Female Voice: They make me sick, Sick! Men are all shits! One foot on land and one on shore To one thing constant never. Second Female Voice: Second Female Voice: No ! No! Not so. There is universal truth, The Higgs Boson Of advanced male physiques:- Men think with their pricks, Are led by their balls And talk through their arses! First Male Voice: Women! Women!! Women!!! All daughters of Eve; Accomplices of Satan; Beautiful to behold, All delight on the outside, Soft and curved and round, Designed to arouse, Determined to entrap. Second Male Voice: It ain't no use to sit and wonder why But don't think twice, it's all right Once they have eaten our hearts. They want our souls. Nothing! Nothing! Nothing but shame! Shame and eternal shame, Let us die in honour: Once more back again. Chorus of the Dead: Nothing will come of nothing! We are all nothing; We are shades, just shades Sitting quietly in this profound dull tunnel Groined through granites By some great titanic war. No more painful light, Only again the reddish darkness. And a strange throbbing Echoing down around cavernous slaughterhouse. Nothing can soothe the pain We are here beneath a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night. Chorus of the Living: To be a human being takes long life; To learn to speak and sing and love; To create a family and to make true friends; To understand all humanity And justify the ways of Men to God. Male and Two Female Voices: And then you die. Chorus of the Living and the Dead: We are but a quintessence of dust: But such dust, the dust of stars! What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel!I In apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! And our little lives are rounded with a sleep. Among the shades in Hades' Halls: This is the way the World ends, Not with a bang But a whimper! Diminuendo Just a whispering breeze In the rustling leaves On the sleeping trees In Old Forest beside Withywindle Down west sinks the Sun: soon you will be groping. When the night-shadows fall, then the door will open. Sleep quietly then upon your beds, Rest your wise and weary heads, Make no more sound with voices And fear no nightly noises.
Archived comments for Concerto for Voices and Double Chorus - In A minor December 2004 - July 2012
Nomenklatura on 29-07-2012
Concerto for Voices and Double Chorus - In A minor December 2004 - July 2012
Well of course there are no comments, but I hope some of the reads were right to the end. If not, they have missed out.

A brave and ambitious poem. I thoroughly enjoyed it and was reminded in places of Eliot (that's a compliment)

Amongst many, many things I enjoyed were these lines.

When you have read one poem
You have read them all;
What do you read?
Words, words, words
And all no matter.
Now the wind is North North West
And it grows cold,
Wear the bottoms of your trousers rolled.


I enjoyed the idea of the oratorio the references to other works (when I caught them). Splendid.

Author's Reply:
Hi Nomenklatura - Thankyou very much for persisting until the end.

There is a quite a bit of Eliot in this - I expect that you noticed in the final stanza, ~This is the way that the worls ends......" Did you also mean that the poem has some of the enignatic lyricism of Eliots language? If so I am very honoured. This was an attempt to be somewhat enigmatic and use the colour and sound of words to convey meaning. The poem is of course full of very strong beliefs of mine - it is you could say a Humanist Hymn. The essential meaning parallels that of Wordsworth's Ode to Immortality, thgough of course my poem is really an Ode to Mortality. I think that Wordsworth changed his poem when he grew older and his spiritual ideas became more conventionally Christian.

I will give a real prize ( A book of Eliots Poetry or a Chocolate Orange ) to anyone who PMs me with the longest correct list of all the refererences in the Oratorio to English Poetry - Think Shakespeare and Auden and Wordsworth particularly.

Dave

Andrea on 29-07-2012
Concerto for Voices and Double Chorus - In A minor December 2004 - July 2012
Crikey, what an epic! I particularly liked the last 4 lines (although you have a typo 'thjis').

What a read!

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Andrea for reading to the end especially. Since Nomenklatura called it an Oratoria to English Poets - which it also is in a way - I will give a real prize ( A book of Eliot's Poetry or a Chocolate Orange ) to whoever who PMs me with the longest correct list of all the refererences in the Oratorio to English Poetry - Think Shakespeare and Auden and Wordsworth particularly.

Could you advertise this challenge for me in some way? I will edit the 'About' section and put it on the Forum too.

David


stormwolf on 29-07-2012
Concerto for Voices and Double Chorus - In A minor December 2004 - July 2012
Fab David!
I would love to hear it sung. A brave experiment that paid dividends.
Alison x

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 29-07-2012
Concerto for Voices and Double Chorus - In A minor December 2004 - July 2012
I've posted it on the front page David - I think you need to post a deadline on the forums, too.

Author's Reply:

amman on 02-08-2012
Concerto for Voices and Double Chorus - In A minor December 2004 - July 2012
Wow. What an ambitious undertaking. I'm totally blown away.
Can see Elliot, Auden and Wordsworth. Perhaps a bit of Frost too. Obviously Shakespeare; lots of Hamlet and Lear. Not to forget Corin's humour in the 1st and 2nd female voices. I'm too thick to pick out other literary references (being mainly versed in Will Shakes works).
Got to buck the trend and give this a 10.
Cheers.


Author's Reply:
Thankyou Amman for that impressive comment. I will post a list of references on the forum on Monday. Would you let me know where you thought you found a Robert Frost reference.

I am much encouraged by your appreciation of this.

David


For Brn (posted on: 20-07-12)
For my new born grandson

Is this completion, This long-looked-for birth? Holding my grandchild in my arms I feel overwhelmed, Linked again to that long line Of humanity marching out of Africa Into some Brave New World. Like every baby born since humankind First walked on two legs, He is beautiful. Dark eyes swimming In his new knowledge of the World, Small and soft and perfect, He lies peacefully in my arms. Brn, Brin, Bryn, a small Welsh Hill In the wide heights of a busy Earth, Too small to be yet much noticed But great enough to be counted. Hills can be like acorns, As you approach them they grow. We will plant this little acorn of ours In fertile soil, Tend him with loving care Watch over him And wait for him To bloom.
Archived comments for For Brn
amman on 20-07-2012
For Brân
A lovely poem to celebrate your little acorn. Really like the last six lines. Congrats.
Cheers.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Amman

stormwolf on 20-07-2012
For Brân
Oh, this is lovely David. Your pride and love shine through it. I cannot wait to see some pics and he is blessed to have you too.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison,
The pics are here:-
http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.4253942709987.2176908.1328395918&type=3

David

Andrea on 21-07-2012
For Brân
Lovely, just lovely! Off to look at the pics...

Oh, and congrats again!

Author's Reply:

Texasgreg on 23-07-2012
For Brân
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Wonderful and as paternal as can be expected from a man who will no doubt give his all to ensure a balanced and rewarding life awaits this young man.
Photobucket

Stuff I really enjoy! Good job, David.
Photobucket.
Greg 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thank you Greg

woodbine on 24-07-2012
For Brân
A great welcoming poem that does you credit. Congratulations!
John

Author's Reply:
Thankyou John


Advent (posted on: 13-07-12)
Still waiting for the birth of my grandchild

These last days of Advent Are tedious and mysterious, Unreality and uncertainty Vie with anxiety. The world is suspended Time flickers and oscillates Between what was And what will be. Will this child change the world? Of course; All children change the world, This child will change all those he touches. All is in flux, Between birth and death Unreality crystallises out into future. The World renews itself in many ways, These are the days, these are the days.
Archived comments for Advent
franciman on 13-07-2012
Advent
I really the this. It has all the breath-less expectancy coupled with the metaphysical philosophy we all espouse.

Small point-repetition of 'with' in line4.

Great stuff and hope you get good news soon.

Cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jim and for he proof reading. Fixed I hope:-)

Andrea on 13-07-2012
Advent
Very nice, David.

Taking his time, ain't he/she?

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Andrea - yes he is a week and a day late now, takes after his grandfather:-) Apparently there might be news laidter tonight:-D

Dav

Texasgreg on 14-07-2012
Advent
Ah, but this child will change your world in the most profound way. Your world will become so small the sky will come down to meet you. Don't worry, reality will hit you soon enough, LOL.

Another nice tribute for the scrapbook.



Well done, David!

Photobucket.

Greg 🙂



Author's Reply:

Corin on 15-07-2012
Advent
Thanks Greg, He is here!! Aboy called Bran, Expect a third poem:-)

David

Author's Reply:

chant_z on 15-07-2012
Advent
I love Heraclite and so I very much like the overall philosophy of the piece :). It has a very good flow to it that fits happily with the words (and perhaps the philosophy if they're distinct) 🙂 Congratulations on the real thing so to speak.



Fredrik

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 15-07-2012
Advent
I cannot ever say we 'see through the same eyes'..you, a Humanist.......Me renegade but I so undertand the emotions expressed here.
Being a Humanist, you do not have anything to 'appeal to,' 'whereas me, as a renegade......surrenders Bran and Nizhoni and Damien........to a New World....where the darkness is sloughed off...

They come into the world 'hot wired' pre-condtioned to what lies ahead
We need to just now, ride the storm! x


Author's Reply:

Weefatfella on 18-07-2012
Advent
Very much John Donne's No man is an island. Congratulations on joining us Grandparents.
You know you're getting old when your best pal's only 5. I liked the hope in the piece.
Thank You.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Weefatfela - This made me smile "You know you're getting old when your best pal's only 5."

Well I have lots of plans for my new best pal. TRainset in the garden - big kites etc etc

David


A Dark July Evening (posted on: 09-07-12)
For my nascent grandchild

I sit here in the gloom of a wet July evening. All day the land has been battered by torrential rain And now it has arrived here, in the Northern Town I have adopted as my homeland. The Midlands are flooded And I look out in trepidation, expecting a similar fate As raindrops drum a loud tattoo On the conservatory roof. Meanwhile I wait. A birth should be a joyful event Not a flood to be feared, Not a burden to be borne. It is a special birth That of a first grandchild. Perhaps indeed I am too maudlin, Too pessimistic. It is not a great gift to have such clear visions Of the future. There are already too many children. When another comes should we Celebrate or cry? Oh, this child will bring me joy, Will be loved, Will be cared for, Given all I have, But - All those other children, I cannot forget them. This dark evening, These threatening floods Seem like portents of Events I wish not to see. Indeed I will not see them, but now An imminent grandchild stretches the future out Into years that I fear to think of. If I look back I see no utopia Can it be that we, The post war baby boomers, Have seen the best of human experience? When this grandchild is born I will hope not, Yet forward though I cannot see I guess and fear.
Archived comments for A Dark July Evening
Texasgreg on 09-07-2012
A Dark July Evening
Beautiful words from the kind of grandfather that will undoubtedly impart much wisdom and teach empathy.

Outstanding, David.
Photobucket.
Greg 🙂

Author's Reply:

amman on 09-07-2012
A Dark July Evening
I'm sure your Grandchild will light up the lives of the proud granddad and parents. We all hope for a better future and let's hope the imminent future brings better weather for the remainder of your horrendous summer.
Regards.

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 09-07-2012
A Dark July Evening
Boy, I can sure relate. I am expecting my 3rd grandchild (Chris and Tracy! 😉 ) Christmas day.
I am thrilled and apprehensive at the same time. Those little souls coming into this screwed up world....but they deserve the best future we can give them, that is why I expose the New World Order and hate all it stands for.
I wish you all well and the joy a new baby brings will change your life as it did mine.
Let me know!
Alison x


Author's Reply:

cooky on 09-07-2012
A Dark July Evening
This applies to all us granddads. The future is a fearful place when you have bairns.Nature will deal her hand and we will do our best. I like this write

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 09-07-2012
A Dark July Evening
Yes, I think we (the baby-boomers) probably did. At least we here in the West managed to escape the two world wars.

Congrats on the grandchild and lets hope there's hope for the future, eh?

Author's Reply:

ChairmanWow on 09-07-2012
A Dark July Evening
Rich or poor grandchildren are the only future any one is going to get. I say celebrate. But your piece makes its points very well...Congrats!

Ralph



Author's Reply:


The Cat's Away (posted on: 02-07-12)
My wife is off to Liverpool to help our daughter with the birth of our grandchild.

The Cat's away - Hooray! Hooray!! The mice are coming out to play; The dog is sleeping on the bed Without a word of protest said; Master's eating down the pub - Lovely beer and lovely grub; The washing up is getting done, But not yet while there's football on; No tidying up any more Not whilst there's space upon the floor; The Dysoning can wait for now The dust box's full anyhow; Any bits swept from the floor Would soon be just replaced by more; It won't take twice as long next week, Before the cat comes back to take a peek At all the washing and the cleaning Left for me while she is preening Over her daughter's new born baby; In any case I think that maybe The Little Screamer will be late And that of course will suit me great. O my god! The phone is ringing! It's a boy the Stork is bringing. I have to dash to Liverpool, I have been a bloody lazy fool. There's just two hours to clean the mess Or lose my chance to impress. Oh! Bugger that. Who cares a toss For all that stupid housework dross When there's a grandchild on its way To the bright new dawning day? Oh Brave New World! Our joy will win it Now there's such goodly creatures in it.
Archived comments for The Cat's Away
Texasgreg on 02-07-2012
The Cats Away
Aye! Congratulations David. Little ones are too cool! Mind you, you're gonna have to tend to him while the Mrs. fixes your neglect on the house, hehe.Photobucket



Good stuff!



Greg 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thanks Greg, so far so good:-)

Andrea on 02-07-2012
The Cats Away
Typical blokie's attitude to cleaning and housework 🙂

Congrats on the new arrival!

Author's Reply:
Actually I am working quite hard on it - Chicken Casserole, then Spag Bol;, then Cheese burger chips and salad for 3! All washing up done, washing sorted, dysoning done. Shopping list being prepared as I write!

amman on 02-07-2012
The Cats Away
Very amusing. I'm with you; stuff the housework. Congrats.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Amman, life is too short for more housework than strictly necesary

SimonW on 05-07-2012
The Cats Away
I've just started following the twitter feed, this was the first link I clicked and I'm glad I did.

A very enjoyable poem, made me smile to myself as I related to it all.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Simon - beginning to be a bit of a struggle now, washing up washing and ironing to do as well as a my usual jobs mow the lawns weed the garden. Mind - stil having fun:-)


Late Arrival (posted on: 29-06-12)
This years poem about the arrival of the migrating swifts

The swifts were very late this year. A wet April and a cold May Dragged this cold Spring into June. Even now the wind is cool And the skies are grey shrouds of unseasonal gloom. Not until the glorious sixteenth Did I hear them Circling and screaming about the house. Where have they been? Hiding in the sodden South Or cavorting in the vasty fields of France? Will they still have time enough To build and breed this years broods? Future Summer skies with no swifts Would be like a lawn with no daisies Or a night sky with no stars. So many little things there are That make up the the wonder and beauty Of the world.
Archived comments for Late Arrival
Andrea on 29-06-2012
Late Arrival
Can't blame them for being late, bloody miserable here, too. Love it when all the baby birds start arriving in the garden 🙂
Nice pome.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Andrea. Mind it is worse here now though the swifts seem to be sticking it out. Floods and giant hailstones in Newcastle. Pond overflowedf gold fish swimming over the lawn. Roads turned into rivers. Metro flooded, buses stopped, cars abandoned, water up to their roofs, no trains to anywhere!.

If it comes to Amsterdam today you will be drowned!

cooky on 29-06-2012
Late Arrival
I fear for the swifts too. The starling seems to have dissapeared altogether in Sheffield.

Author's Reply:
There has apparently ben an alarming decrease in farmland birds latelt. I hat the farmers - they want a completely sterile countryside - no foxes no badgers, no birds no mice no rats, just so they can make a few extra pence per acre to add to their subsidy hoard. They are subsidy junkies and yet still think that they are the gods' gift to the world though in fact the Poor countries of the world could supply most of our food needs if they were allowed to.


stormwolf on 30-06-2012
Late Arrival
A lovely wistful poem David.
I miss the bees and even the wasps........
To live in harmony with nature is trully to be alive.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison, I hope all is well up North. Here we have been flooded out, goldfish swimming over the lawn Kenton Lane turned into a river, Croquet Lawn flooded and covered with mud. Too much nature I think:-)

David

Texasgreg on 04-07-2012
Late Arrival
David,
Just came across this whilst looking at recent subs.
Aye! Nature is delicate. It does adapt, however not always in ways that are either beautiful or beneficial for mankind.

Really good stuff!

Photobucket.

Greg 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thanks Greg

JackCrowe on 09-07-2012
Late Arrival
Love it Corin. I always measure the summer by their arrival and departure.
'So many little things there are . . ' How very true. I particularly enjoy this time of the year seeing fledglings enjoying warming their feet on the warm Tarmac of country lanes; another little thing!

Author's Reply:


DNA (posted on: 08-06-12)
Getting older but forever young

Old? We are all old. Older than the Earth, As old as the life force Contained within the hydrogen Of the first stars. Stars spawned By the super inflationary explosion That began this curious cosmos. We are all star dust, Dark Matter And Dark Energy; Links in the great chain of being That drives Time and Space, We are the observers That allow the Universe existence, And hence to Life itself. Within our every cell, Zipping and unzipping Are the helixes of immortality. We are forever young and forever old, Forever in the forever changing coils Of Deoxyribonucleic acid.
Archived comments for DNA
stormwolf on 09-06-2012
DNA
Fab!
Where are all the comments? Reading it I was drawn in to the helter-skelter of the helix itself. Yes, we are all ancient, much more ancient than we think, I reckon.
Makes our paltry time upon the earth seem miniscule in comparison (as it is)
It weaves scientific fact in with insighful and thoughtful observation and so it's worth a 9 for me.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison, I begin to think it needs a bit opf editing. Perhaps I should do a recording?

David

Andrea on 09-06-2012
DNA
Quite right, David, couldn't agree more! Yes, please DO do a recording!

Author's Reply:
OK Andrea - I just need to reinstall the recording program as my system has been reinstalled (Didn't fix the problem though:-(


Texasgreg on 09-06-2012
DNA
Lernt somethin' today! Looked up Deoxyribonucleic acid and it wasn't as menacing as the name implies. Name is still intimidating though, LOL.

Gonna go get some light beer to rid my dark matter. Thank-you for bringing it to my attention.

Photobucket.

Texasgreg 🙂

Good stuff, BTW!

Author's Reply:

amman on 10-06-2012
DNA
Hello Corin. Nice to meet you. This is very insightful and clever in its presentation. A lesson for us all.
Regards

Author's Reply:

cooky on 10-06-2012
DNA
Insightful and oh so true. It makes you wonder why people seek to destroy each other, when we are all one.

Author's Reply:

franciman on 10-06-2012
DNA
Hi David,

This, I think, is the greatest story ever told. The contrast between the brevity of life and the infinite nature of the same is awe inspiring. That the dust we return to is the same cosmic dross which fires the universe is a concept which, like the poem, is elegant, lean and immensely thought provoking. Must be in the anthology.

Bravo,

Jim

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 10-06-2012
DNA
A very clever poem and skilfully crafted, David. In the great scheme of things we are, as you rightly say, "Getting older but forever young."
An enjoyable and interesting read.



Author's Reply:


Pointless (posted on: 13-04-12)
This poem has a reference to a famous Irish poem - can you spot it? I have been feeling like the apparent writer of the Irish piece.

Pointless really, pointless all. What should I do with this long day? Every chore, every task, Has no purpose to its time. Doing nothing is much the same, Nothing is the end of all. Nothing badly done will serve To pass these pointless, endless hours. Anything slowly, ill performed Is just as much a work of art. The omnipresent world persists, Its purple hills in the distance rise, But now its ways are all untrod. The roads ahead too steep to climb, The roads behind too many steps To ever disturb this sleep, this death.
Archived comments for Pointless
Bradene on 14-04-2012
Pointless
A nice impression of malaise of the soul, and haven\'t we all felt it at one time or another. Good work David. Valx

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Val, Well some lucky people never feel it but if any of them are ny sort of poet:-)

Warm wishes

David XXX

Andrea on 14-04-2012
Pointless
Yes, certainly struck a chord with me, David. Nice one 🙂

Author's Reply:

Inchrory on 14-04-2012
Pointless
Hi Corin,
I quite enjoyed reading this; it seemed to provide several parallels of thought, which, as we get older, we become it, seems, all too familiar.

Regarding the suggested famous Irish reference, I would hazard a guess to W.B. Yeats.

However, for some reason a poem, which is certainly not Irish, it being Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken” came to mind.
Don’t ask me why, for who knows, which untried road the poet’s word might guide us unwittingly along?
I hope to read more of you,

I find your poetic voice in tune with my rationale.

Inchrory.


Author's Reply:
Inchory - sorry for not replying to or noticing your comment before. You are quite right, the reference is to Yeats's poem, 'An Irish Airman Forsees his Death' And yes the sentiments are similar to Frost's poem.

David


Dust, Dust, Nothing but Dust (posted on: 17-02-12)
A first draft of the fourth Movement of Concerto for Voice Choir and Choir

Voice: Auden was right , Poetry makes nothing happen. We might as well drink our way down Cemetery Road As raise our voices in song And trouble deaf heaven with our bootless verses. Chorus: When you haver read one poem You have read them all. Oh the world is beautiful; Love is wonderful; Life is mysterious; But in the end nothing can hide the ugliness, Or erase the cruelty, Or soothe the pain. Female Voice: Men are all shits! Male Voice: Women want our souls Once they have eaten our hearts. Chorus: It takes a lifetime to Become a human being. Male and Female Voice: And then you die. Chorus: A quintessence of dust: A shade in Hades' Halls: Dreamless sleep: Fear no nightly noises.
Archived comments for Dust, Dust, Nothing but Dust
Andrea on 17-02-2012
Dust, Dust, Nothing but Dust
Not sure if it was suppose to, but it made me laugh 😉

All men are shits, eh? I could actually hear someone singing this, which made me laugh even more...

One slight typo 'When you haver read one poem...'

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Andrea. Laugh or cry its all the same:-)

No I am much better now - writing the [poems helped a lot, so thanks for reading and commenting.

David


He Who is Tired of London (posted on: 06-02-12)
Not as a funny as Doctor Samuel Johnson

I am tired of London: Its fleshpots no longer excite, Its public houses too plastic, Too noisy; Its coffee shops too expensive, Too American; Its emporia too derivative, Too fragrant, Too full of haute couture crap; Its shops too full tourist trivia; Its buildings diminished By Babel towers of steel and glass; Its history obliterated By media gossip; Its arts buried Beneath celebrity culture. I will lay me down on these streets, Paved with stolen gold, And sleep.
Archived comments for He Who is Tired of London
Bradene on 06-02-2012
He Who is Tired of London
Good one David and quite true too. Valx

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Val - but O dear everyone has missed the point of this poem and the reference to Dr Johnson:-) He famously said, "He who is tired of London is tired of life." So rather than being an attack on the debilitating commercialism of modern London it is really a piece of melancholia which explains why I have been absent for so long.

David

Andrea on 06-02-2012
He Who is Tired of London
Couldn't agree more. London born and bred, me - but where has it gone?

Author's Reply:
O dear everyone has missed the point of this poem and the reference to Dr Johnson:-) He famously said, "He who is tired of London is tired of life." So rather than being an attack on the debilitating commercialism of modern London it is really a piece of melancholia which explains why I have been absent for so long.

David

orangedream on 06-02-2012
He Who is Tired of London
As a Londoner, also...like Andrea, I agree wholeheartedly. Wouldn't care if I never went there again, which hopefully, I won't. I know they say we look back on things with those old, rose-coloured spectacles, but it really has changed beyond all recognition.

Tina x

Author's Reply:
O dear everyone has missed the point of this poem and the reference to Dr Johnson:-) He famously said, "He who is tired of London is tired of life." So rather than being an attack on the debilitating commercialism of modern London it is really a piece of melancholia which explains why I have been absent for so long.

David

ChairmanWow on 06-02-2012
He Who is Tired of London
Great, London ruined before I even get to see it. But there will always be an England, right?

Author's Reply:
O dear everyone has missed the point of this poem and the reference to Dr Johnson:-) He famously said, "He who is tired of London is tired of life." So rather than being an attack on the debilitating commercialism of modern London it is really a piece of melancholia which explains why I have been absent for so long.

David

Ionicus on 06-02-2012
He Who is Tired of London
It doesn't sound like the vibrant city that I loved but to be honest it is more than forty years since I was there last and I would not be surprised if it has deteriorated to such an extent.

Author's Reply:
O dear everyone has missed the point of this poem and the reference to Dr Johnson:-) He famously said, "He who is tired of London is tired of life." So rather than being an attack on the debilitating commercialism of modern London it is really a piece of melancholia which explains why I have been absent for so long.

David

Andrea on 06-02-2012
He Who is Tired of London
Well, sorry David, but I do know the Johnson saying (as I'm sure most do), and I did get the melancholia (as I'm sure most did :)).

Author's Reply:

orangedream on 07-02-2012
He Who is Tired of London
Hi again, David...I'm sorry too, for the same reasons as Andrea and I guess, for me anyway, that's what made your poem so poignant;-) Rather than negate it, I think it made all the stronger.

Tina

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 07-02-2012
He Who is Tired of London
No, David, the reference to Dr. Johnson was not missed and I'm sure that, were he alive today, he would have expressed the same sentiments as you. That the capital has undergone a transformation that makes us feel nostalgic of the London of yesterday is a fact that we can't ignore. I can see that one can easily get tired of it.

Author's Reply:

Bradene on 07-02-2012
He Who is Tired of London
Just as the others remarked the Johnson quote was not lost on me nor the melancholia, you'll probably note that this was the first week I have commented or subbed in almost a year. I'm hoping life will get better for me from here. Valx



Author's Reply:

RoyBateman on 07-02-2012
He Who is Tired of London
Well, if Dr Johnson had been asked to pay Starbuck's prices, he might have changed his mind PDQ. I reckon you handled the twin themes of your own melancholia and London's (Well, not ONLY London's...) dramatic decline into mediocrity pretty well. Both come across!

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Roy - Good to know that everyone on UKA is well read after all - (or shopuld the be i'arewell read'. E Griff should do another little lesson on use of collective nouns:-)

David

e-griff on 07-02-2012
He Who is Tired of London
I too got the reference 🙂 (have more faith, son) neat little poem. Do I 'agree' with the sentiments? Ask the younger generation who inhabit it now - twas ever thus, I'm afraid.

Author's Reply:
Whether London has got better in the 40 years since I left my home town. I will always be a Londoner, it is in my blood even though I am now a fully nationalised Geordie. I am generally of the opinion that things have got better, but London is indeed a sad case. It does not seem to have managed the transformation that Newcastle has, certainly public transport is in a mess and If you want to taste the flavour of the East just get the Tube to Poplaristan or Stepneyistan.

David

stormwolf on 11-02-2012
He Who is Tired of London
Well I am glad I never had to get the same reply which in it'self spweaks of fatigue and lack of will. This is a very good poem and the repitition serves it well. I know that so many Londoners no longer feel at home there and also that most Londoners are very devoted to London (well the London they remember).
Your dark mood shines through or is that one of your oxymorons? anyway David. A poem worthy of a nib in my eyes.
The last stanza id absolutely heart-breaking.
Alison x
wishing you well

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison, I have just come back from London tonight, nothing has changed. However England looked beautiful on the way down, carpeted in white and the trees a lace filigree of hoar frost and brightly illuminated by blue sky and an orange rising sun. I thought about a poem but felt easier when we hit the freezing fog just before London.

David


Reading Glasses (posted on: 31-10-11)
Sometimes I wish I was short sighted!

Sometimes when walking around town I just leave my reading glasses on. Everything simply recedes Into a vague fog of unreality. O I can see well enough To avoid oncoming traffic Even though it no longer seems to be a danger And avoiding people is no problem, Their shades slip past without impact All their passing faces quite anonymous. The world is reduced To a comfortable radius In which two paces of paved earth Is room enough. My hands are still my hands, My feet seem real But the rest of fraught reality No longer troubles me.
Archived comments for Reading Glasses
stormwolf on 31-10-2011
Reading Glasses
I loved this again David. Your holiday sure did you good. I could apprecitae that bubble of comfort where one only has to deal with the very bare essentials and the rest can go to hell.
Alison x

Can I borrow your specs some time?


Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison,
Yes, it's a bit like going to bed and pulling the duvet right over your head and
shutting the world right out

Borrow my glasses anytime:-)

David

Ionicus on 31-10-2011
Reading Glasses
You know what they say, David. In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.
In your case we should substitute the one-eyed with wearing reading glasses.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Luigi:-)

Kat on 31-10-2011
Reading Glasses
I really like the sentiment in this. Enjoyed!

Kat

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Kat,

I am going to go to bed now and hide under the duvet - that's even better:-)

David

sunken on 02-11-2011
Reading Glasses
Hello Mr. Corin. This is, for my money, one of your best to date. I myself wear contact lenses. Without them I can see about four feet in front of me before everything becomes a blur. I find said blur quite disconcerting. I once walked into a broom cupboard at a busy pub, believing it to be the gents. I hid my embarrassment by doing a spot of cleaning. I'm rambling. A tip top poem. Well done on the nib and nom.

s
u
n
k
e
n



Author's Reply:

Leila on 02-11-2011
Reading Glasses
Corin most enjoyable and I certainly relate to this...Leila

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Leila, I have been walking around with the glasses on for quite a while just lately, hence the sore head. Perhaps beneath the duvet is a better option:)

ChairmanWow on 10-12-2011
Reading Glasses
Fine write. Seems to be saying when you can no longer see with your eyes see with your heart.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Wow, yes you are right - I hadn't quite thought of it that way, but yes, the internal vision is what matters.

David


Pompei Immortals (posted on: 24-10-11)
Inspired by a visit to this amazing site.

They lie in death And live eternally Forever alive, forever dead, The pain of Death's journey upon their faces. A man Hiding from Deaths breath In some dark basement, Head upon his knees, Hands over his face. A heavily pregnant woman Stretched along the floor, Vainly trying to protect Her dying, unborn child. These of no name, Like those of great name, Will live To the end of human history. These were ordinary men and women But their shades sleep in Hades' Hall of Greats Among Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, Sophocles, Homer, Nebuchadnezzar, Rameses, Moses And Abraham. They are like the shadows Of Nineteen Fortyfive Still visible On the walls of Hiroshima, Reminders of the best And worst Of human experience.
Archived comments for Pompei Immortals
jay12 on 25-10-2011
Pompei Immortals
Wow dark and thoughtful. Inspirational stuff itself. I might have a go at writing something right now and see what I create.

Jay.

Author's Reply:
THankyou Jay - I am very pleased to have inspired you. I read this poem at my writing group today and some suggestions were made by the tutor and other writers there what do you think of the changes?

David

franciman on 25-10-2011
Pompei Immortals
This is such persuasive verse. The parallels you draw are compulsive too. Great Stuff.

Cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:

Jim thanks for the comment and the congratulations. I was upset last night because this piece got hacked about a bit at the Writing Group. Below are the suggested edits - now after the Nib and Nomination I am not sure what to do - Do you think these changes are better?

Like the shadows
Of Nineteen Fortyfive
Still visible
On the walls of Hiroshima,
They lie in death
And live eternally
The pain of Death's journey upon their faces;
A man
Hiding from its breath,
Head upon his knees,
Hands over his face
In some dark basement;
A pregnant woman
Stretched along the floor,
Trying to protect
Her dying, unborn child.

These of no name,
Like those of great name,
Will live
To the end of human history.
These were ordinary men and women
But their shades sleep in Hades'
Hall of Greats
Among Julius Caesar,
Alexander the Great,
Socrates, (my edit - a transcript error)
Homer,
Nebuchadnezzar,
Rameses,
Moses
And Abraham;
Forever alive, forever dead.

sunken on 26-10-2011
Pompei Immortals
Hello Mr. Corin. A strong, forceful and thought provoking piece to be sure. What an amazing place to have visitited. I visited Stoke once. Full of relics it is. Not quite the same I grant ya. Well done on the nib and nom.

s
u
n
k
e
n

lest we forget the limited edition bombay bad boy

Author's Reply:

Kat on 26-10-2011
Pompei Immortals
I really like your original version. It seems like a very inspired piece of writing with depth, and very moving.

Best wishes

Kat

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Kat for that encouraging comment - I was a bit deflated by all the suggested changes though I am a bit worried still about the comments on these lines:-

Reminders of the best
And worst
Of human experience.

Should I have written 'best and worst'? Is there anything about good human experience in the poem? Should it not just be:-

'Reminders of the worst
Of human experience.'


franciman on 26-10-2011
Pompei Immortals
IMHO, I have to say that only the artist can tell you what his painting represents. How the viewer sees it is simple translation. The suggestions strike me as being someone else's view of your visit and inspiration; and wrong on so many levels.

Also, how is it possible to draw a meaningful parallel, by presenting the parallel first?

Athena sprung fully-clothed from the forehead of Zeus. No amount of polishing will change the fact that she is Zeus' daughter Athena. In any case the reader is always right!!

Cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jim - you have boosted my shattered confidence:-)

Kat on 27-10-2011
Pompei Immortals
I very much like the mention of 'the best and worst' - it provides a balance and suggests the inherent good of man/woman (to me), and also fits in with the life-affirming image of 'A heavily pregnant woman' despite the outcome here, and also

'Will live
To the end of human history.' gives a positive twist on the fate of the people in your poem.

I guess 'Deaths breath' should be Death's breath?

Kat

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Kat for that considered opinion. Yes I have spotted that possesive too - I will go and change it.

David

stormwolf on 27-10-2011
Pompei Immortals
Wonderful stuff David. You at your brilliant best! Glad to see someone gave you a nom before I did. The experience obviously oiled your creative wheels.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
THankyou Alison, yes it is an amazing place.


David

Ionicus on 27-10-2011
Pompei Immortals
Dear David, my opinion has always been that the author's version is what counts. He/she may accept the odd suggestion or correction in the case of typos or grammatical error but not a wholesale re-write of the piece. It would be someone else's work altogether.
I don't see anything wrong in your poem apart from the absence of an apostrophe in the sixth line.
Well done on the nib.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Luigi,
It is always a problem I think - it is the author's poem but the reader's honest reaction is valid too. In this case I rather agree with you that I felt it was not my poem anymore. However the criticism about the 'best of human experience' was valid though I felt the poem needed a positive element a for balance. There was also the point that the line 'Forever alive, forever dead' was a repetition, however repetition is not always redundant.

Regards

David


Isle of Capri (posted on: 21-10-11)
If ever you are near the Bay of Naples go to Capri.

I have seen the path to heaven From the top of Monte Solaro On the Isle of Capri. It winds in blue and silver Over the calm sea Towards a bright sun And misty realms Hovering between sky and sea Where all that awaits me Lies shrouded by vague haze. From this high viewing point The water shivers rather than ripples, Its sparkling incandescence delights the eye. There is a profound quiet And the scent of summer Lingers here before being Carried gently heavenwards On Divine breezes Blowing across The sparkling jewel Of all Isles In this inland sea.
Archived comments for Isle of Capri
Zoya on 24-10-2011
Isle of Capri
Beautifully done David!
"The water shivers rather than ripples, "
I love this line!
Love,
Zoya

Author's Reply:


Lilac Socks (posted on: 14-10-11)
Apologies to Jenny Joseph

Now I am an old man I wear lilac socks And a hat with feathers in it And an old jacket with a button hole. And a silk shirt with a paisley cravat. I chat up the barmaids in the pub And they don't run away Because I am too old To be a threat. I talk to children in the park As I walk Crab the dog And they are all attracted to him Though not to me, But I am still be worried Their parents will think I am a paediatrician And do terrible things to their children. I drink more than the recommended number of units of alcohol Every day. I spend my time on the Internet Talking to women in far away places And write very good poems that will never be published Because I am not female. I watch my favourite films And read my favourite books All over again Enjoying them as much as the first time Because I can never remember how they end. When I am hungry I eat, I drink even when I am not dry, I go to sleep for an hour Every afternoon. I play croquet And find any excuse I can, Even losing on purpose, To kiss the women. I swear at the balls When they go the wrong way. I ignore all the silly croquet etiquettes Like turning your back To put the ball back on court And argument vehemently about it If I am challenged. I am very rude to unsolicited callers from Indian call centres Because I can't understand them when They are trying to tell me why my phone is not working, But then, as I said, I am old. I like being old. It is much better than being young Because I can wear lilac socks And a hat with feathers in it And an old jacket with a button hole. And a silk shirt with a paisley cravat.
Archived comments for Lilac Socks
Ionicus on 16-10-2011
Lilac Socks
A good effort at updating her famous poem 'Warning', David.
An enjoyable read, explaining the reality of being old nowadays and cleverly exposing the prejudices and ignorance of certain sections of the population:
"Their parents will think I am a paediatrician
And do terrible things to their children."


Author's Reply:
THankyou Luigi - that stuff about the paediatrician I did not make up - It actually happened in Brighton during a News Of the World campaign about Megan's Law. The poor doctor was subjected to terible abuse.


stormwolf on 20-10-2011
Lilac Socks
Loved it! BTW you are NOT old! You are just daft!

And write very good poems that will never be published
Because I am not female.

poppycock! You DO write good poems but being female does not seem to be an advantage (unless, of course, I offer to shag the publisher) *thinks*
Anyway, I digress. You are a wonderfully warm hearted man David. One of a kind who I am glad to call friend.
Alison x

Author's Reply:


Libert, galit, Fraternit (posted on: 30-09-11)
A Challenge Poem

Tony Blair went for three words too - "Education, Education, Education' David Cameron for three letters - NHS Which is a cheat really since A Three Letter Acronym (TLA) Is really just three words. Neither has the ring of the French motto Originally cried by Antoine-Franois Momoro. I hardly think I would charge over the barricades To fight for more Education or Health Services, Worthy though these objectives are. I suppose we should add 'Sororit' Or perhaps just 'Amit'. No - you can have all the teachers and doctors You like But without equality we are just a bunch of greedy savages Serving our own self interests, Protecting whatever privileges we have acquired, Running around Treading on each other For short term gain And in the end society Will benefit no one And collapse into chaos.
Archived comments for Libert, galit, Fraternit
stormwolf on 30-09-2011
Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité
happening as we speak.;-(

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Yes, that is what I was trying to say. It's the old Tory idea - pay the rich more to make them work harder - pay the poor less to make them work.

sunken on 06-10-2011
Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité
Hello Mr. Corin. I suspect more unrest will erupt soon. I blame Tesco's Clubcard policy. I lost fifty points one week just because i bought the wrong type of pizza. Of course, I went straight onto Facebook to organise a protest. In the end though I resigned myself to playing hangman instead. I'll have a P please Bob. Did any of this help? Hello?

s
u
n
k
e
n

and for my next trick - cheese on toast

Author's Reply:


Sappho (posted on: 26-09-11)
- A challenge Poem

I am in love with Sappho and her charms, Her words in verse my defence quite disarms, Her voice that sings so sweetly to the lyre Turns love's fuel in my heart to raging fire. With every poem that she reads aloud My soul flies up upon a heavenly cloud. I am no longer free but bound in chains Nor care I now for wealth or wordly gains. To her I offered all that I could give, Promised to be true whilst I should live. She said to me with pity in her eye, "Only to a woman will I fly."
Archived comments for Sappho
Ionicus on 29-09-2011
Sappho
How odd that nobody has commented on this good poem considering that it was awarded the Golden Egg in the Forum challenge. Perhaps people thought it might be a controversial topic.
What, these days?

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Luigi - yes I was feeling a little ignored even somewhat exiled


Rushing Away (posted on: 16-09-11)
Hurricane Katia is still causing us problems

Tonight I saw the world rushing away. It streamed across the sky From West to East Anxious to get wherever it might be going. The full moon flew in and out of its folds And stars scattered across its passing Like wind blown seeds on a dry plain. Trees bowed to its swift passage Whilst silent houses lined the route. A roar of departure sounded into the night And welcoming darkness overwhelmed me.
Archived comments for Rushing Away
franciman on 16-09-2011
Rushing Away
David,

I love the allusion to the hurricane's swift passage, if that was the intention?

Cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
That was part of the intention Jim but I was really using it as a metaphor for intimations of mortality:-)

stormwolf on 19-09-2011
Rushing Away
Another 'stoater' from you!
LOVED it.
Alison x

as you could see from my latest poem, we never got it in the highlands. Fit a dissapointment richt enough! ;-(

Author's Reply:


September 11 2001 (posted on: 12-09-11)
A repost for obvious reasons - written on September 12th 2001 - dedicated to all those affected by that terrible event. As my father died when I was 2 I have direct experience of how long the repercussions of this dreadful day will reverberate.

Out of the blue sky come saffron rays of the morning sun, Painting city heights a delicate yellow; And summer swifts, circling and circling Until the empty season is filled with their departure; And the lark descending, a black dot of song, Visible only to the ear against the diffracted azure light; And the insectivorious hum of frantic bees, Working the later flowers before warm days cease; And silver jets, so high that only vapour trails, Like the lark's song, betray their coming to the sky scanning ear; And sometimes such a day as freezes Time Into a blue, translucent block of future rememberings, In which, many years from now, All men know were they were, and what they did upon this day.
Archived comments for September 11 2001

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I Love You (posted on: 09-09-11)
'I am just one too many mornings And a thousand miles behind' From 'One Too Many Mornings' by Bob Dylan.

I love you not too little Nor too much, But too late. I should have been miles to the West And ten years en retard Now you Are just one too many mornings And three thousand miles behind, And I am in that lover's purgatory With no pathway to heaven.
Archived comments for I Love You

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Breath of Autumn's Being (posted on: 09-09-11)
The last, I think, of a series of four Autumn poems this year.

This must be it at last, That long regretted first day of Autumn. Seeds are borne aloft on wings of silk High into a ragged blue sky And yellow leaves bowl across the park meadows. This first gale of the season bends even the tallest trees, But the wind harvests only a few leaves, The rest, still green, Cling tenaciously to their slender twigs. Bouquets of yellow sycamore And bright red flags of horse chestnut Are waving for the Grand Parade of Autumn's arrival. In the park plum and apple trees Await the second harvest of the year. We pick them now Lest their gifts should be wasted. This world of waste Cannot afford to discard more of nature's bounty, Not with such a hard winter coming.
Archived comments for Breath of Autumn's Being
Jolen on 10-09-2011
Breath of Autumns Being
David,
I found this particularly lovely and ever so poignant.

Very good read for me. Thank you.

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:
THankyou Jolen - apparently a real gale is coming on Monday:-(

David


Streams (posted on: 05-09-11)
A repost after some fierce feminist critique from my friend Anne Denison

Like A. E. Houseman, I can part my years Into a score and half a century And love the sight of cherry trees in bloom1; But a score of years is all that's left, And a half century is now well scored. My advantage is I know the worst, But to a youth of twenty all was flux, All to come, all to play for, all to lose. All I have lost is now accounted for And now, content with all that I have gained, I find I view but twenty years with calm. As I look back upon the years now passed, Still recollecting all the pains and joys, I can refuse to draw up crude accounts Of gains and losses, good investments made, Knowing, like Keats, that "Suffering doth make souls," 2 And Soul is such a stuff that makes our dreams.3 Great dreams are the immortal part of Man. So when I dream, not any score of years, Half centuries or three score years and ten4 Will end this supernatural sympathy That leads to universal love and hope. Now, contemplating Time and his swift work, Knowing that mine is more than half way run, Only contempt will I show his face. Do what he will he cannot retract years So freely given and with pain well lived; What's done is done, regrets and all, And what remains is enough to say That living was worth every pain endured And suffering was not endured in vain. Standing here upon this viewing point Where panoramas range from distant peaks Right down to shining shores and seas I see a vision that will comfort me Even as I contemplate the end of my short time. Down every mountain, every rounded hill, There flows a myriad shining silver streams. The smallest lose themselves in greater flows So every current feeds a larger course That runs towards an all embracing sea. And every drop within that ocean's bounds Yet has a place and plays its vital part. This restless ocean of humanity Is fed by struggling streams of passing men, Living, growing and then handing on The wisdom, skill and knowledge dearly bought At such great price of suffering and work. Look now how far this human race have come; I see them walking out of Africa, And spread along the Middle Eastern Coasts With nothing more than rock and hand and brain With which to scrape a living fron the sea, Always learning, teaching, passing on Experience, new knowledge and new skills To those that mark their footsteps close behind. Now Europe, Asia, America is theirs, Australasia and every island too; Each continent that once heard only noise Now loudly sings in the tongues of men; Every tongue is passing on new crafts. A thousand knappers of flint tools Proudly show their scarred and calloused hands; The coppersmiths magicians of the forge - Held by all in awe of fire's power The smelters of bright silver, lead and tin; The artisans of heroic bronze Holding, leashed in fire-forged hard hands, The dogs of war - Famine, Fire and Sword;5 The dirty charcoal burners burners at their kilns Slow firing a new age out of wood With turf topped stacks in gloomy forest glades. Their charcoal feeds the furnaces with fuel To smelt hard iron for the anvil's heel, That acolytes of Hephaestus's6 art - Black Smiths may make the instruments of death And all the wherewithall of cruel war. Behind them though, in multitudinous ranks, March the workers of the crafts of peace - Potters, painters, farmers, fishermen, Gatherers and mistresses of herbs, Spinners, weavers, needle working women, Carpenters and cooks and candle makers, Burnt faced bakers of our daily bread, And builders in hard stone or sturdy brick. Some work with their work-hardened horny hands And some with active brains and thoughtful minds. The carers and teachers of children and the young Are passing on to each new generation All human achievement, so that in their turn They too may pass on these most precious gifts. Leaning on these labourers, stand the great, Emperors and kings and men of science. Look! There are Newton's giants walking tall And standing on their shoulders Newton stares. See Gallileo, Liebnitz and old Boyle; Upon them Davy, Faraday and Kelvin, Then Maxwell relative to Albert Einstein, Those martyrs to radioactivity, the Curies, Sacrificing their lives to radium, But saving thousands of others by their work. Next Rosalind Franklin, Watson and Francis Crick Discoverers of immortal DNA. And topping the pile poor brave crippled Hawking. Beside them all, standing quite alone Exalted by this pyramid of greats Steadying the structure of man's science With far-seeing eyes, sure hand and mind Walks the Titan of all understanding, Charles Robert Darwin Genius of creation. Yet no great woman or great man could be Any part of this flowing stream But that a woman endured the pain of birth And brought her child to adult maturity So still the march moves ever proudly on; A mighty army of doers, hand in hand, Each free and yet dependent upon all; There's none so great that, without the least, They could live this life all men have made; None so small they cannot play a part. As Alexander Pope said long ago7:- "God loves from whole to parts: but human soul Must rise from individual to the whole. " Now I have drunk from this human stream So that my thirst at last is fully quenched; I've eaten from the knowledge on Man's table To satisfy my hunger for the truth; I've walked among the greatest giants who lived And felt my own legs strengthen as I walked; I''ve swum in this warm Ocean - Unity - Its gentle current carries me along And all my deepest spirit is fulfilled. Notes and references 1) Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score, It only leaves me fifty more. And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room, About the woodlands I will go To see the cherry hung with snow. From 'The Shropshire Lad by A E Houseman 2) Letter from John Keats TO GEORGE AND GEORGIANA KEATS. 'The Vale of Soul-Making letter' Sunday 14 Feb.-Monday May1819. Sunday Morn Feby 14th MY DEAR BROTHER & SISTER- Call the world if you Please "The vale of Soul-making". Then you will find out the use of the world. This point I sincerely wish to consider because I think it a grander system of salvation than the chrystiain religion -or rather it is a system of Spirit-creation-This is effected by three grand materials acting the one upon the other for a series of years. These three Materials are the Intelligence - the human heart (as distinguished from intelligence or Mind) and the World or Elemental space suited for the proper action of Mind and Heart on each other for the purpose of forming the Soul or Intelligence destined to possess the sense of Identity. I will call the world a School instituted for the purpose of teaching little children to read-I will call the human heart the horn Book used in that School-and I will call the Child able to -read, the Soul made from that School and its hornbook. Do you not see how necessary a World of Pains and troubles is to school an Intelligence and make it a Soul? This appears to me a faint sketch of a system of Salvation which does not affront our reason and humanity 3) The Tempest, Act 4, Scene 1 by William Shakespeare. Prospero We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. 4) Psalm 90:10 The days of our years are threescore years and ten. 5) "Cry havoc and let loose the dogs of War " Henry V by William Shakespeare. 6) Hephaestus Greek God of Fire - husband of Aphrodite (Vulcan and Venus in Roman Mythology) 7) Essay on Man, by Alexander Pope - EPISTLE IV. God loves from whole to parts: but human soul Must rise from individual to the whole. Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake! The centre moved, a circle straight succeeds, Another still, and still another spreads; Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace; His country next; and next all human race; Wide and more wide, the o'erflowings of the mind Take every creature in, of every kind; Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest, And Heaven beholds its image in his breast.
Archived comments for Streams
RachelLW on 05-09-2011
Streams
Very erudite. I enjoyed it, especially with the references which help a numbskull like me. I felt I really got to grips with it. It's an inspiring work too and I admire the skill and knowledge it takes to write a piece like this. Rachel 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Rachel - you are too kind. It is very difficult to get people to read long poems like this and it was your interest that encouraged me to repost it.

David


A Drawing Down of Blinds (posted on: 05-09-11)
When does Summer end and Autumn begin?

The lovers are gone from the park bench now Leaving the croquet lawn dappled green By the setting sun. The trees. the bushes, the hedges, the grass Make a verdant scene of it all. A few prematurely autumnal leaves Add a flare of vermillion To the green paradise And roosting sparrows twitter in the trees. Summer and Autumn are vying with each other For mastery. It may be September now But it still looks like yesterday's August. When does Summer end? When the swifts leave? When September comes? When the Autumn equinox equals day and night? When the leaves fall in the first gale? I find it hard to let go of summer. Autumn may have its music But gnats, full grown sheep and robins Can hardly compete With bumble bees, lambs and cuckoos. Birthdays and Christmas loom Like dark couds on the horizon And this drawing in of evenings Reminds me of the great darkness that is to come.
Archived comments for A Drawing Down of Blinds
franciman on 05-09-2011
A Drawing Down of Blinds
Hi David,

This has a potent message though woven in a wistful way. I like it as a real contrast to the celebratory 'Harvest Home' poems at this time of year. The humours of regret are on me too!

Cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Jim - Autumn is always a poignant time. Some of the cjanges are welcome but the darkness of winter here in the North is not something to look forward to.

David

stormwolf on 05-09-2011
A Drawing Down of Blinds
Poetry and your best David. There is a tangible sadness and a heartfelt appreciation of nature which I relate to. Nature can mirror our inner feelings or is it the other way round? either way, I really felt this poem and it moved me too.
LOVED the title too.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison, the Title comes from 'Anthem for Doomed Youth' by Wilfrid Owen:-

'And each slow dusk a drawing down of blinds'

I think this the most beautiful line in English poetry, It expresses so much in so few words, particularly the notion that from then on each evening would be an acknowledgement and memorial to the dead of the Great War.

David

RachelLW on 05-09-2011
A Drawing Down of Blinds
Excellent poem. Great opening and closing lines too. Oddly I rather like the drawing in of autumn as you so nicely put it as much as I like the arrivals of spring and summer. Rachel 🙂

Author's Reply:
Yes actually I too quite like the first days of Autumn, though to answer my own question I think that Autumn starts the day that the swifts fly South - it was the 13th of August this year. After that I think of this poem and try to relearn it again:-





John Keats (1795-1821)

TO AUTUMN.



1.



SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.



2.



Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,

Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.



3.



Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.



David



Belsay Trees (posted on: 26-08-11)
The Belsay Trees at Belsay Hall are wonderful - the sound they make in the least breeze is very soothing and calming. Thanks to Franciman for the editing suggestions. See BELSAY TREES

They talk these trees, Whispering, whispering Of news from far away, Over borders and across the sea, Sometimes they roar, Angry and threatening When news of another forest felled Or another wood wasted by fire reaches them. Mostly they like to talk Of birds building nests in protective branches Or resting on twigs during their long migrations. Sometimes they speak of things long ago, The history that the old oaks know Or the ancient history kept by the almost immortal Yews. They sing too, Of skies brightening and fading, Of the wild wood that is gone now But will be again. Rarely do they talk of men, Of their short lives and great hubris. These little men are so vulnerable, Since they have no roots and no flexibility To bend with the great storm that is coming. They will not survive it.
Archived comments for Belsay Trees
RachelLW on 26-08-2011
Belsay Trees
Reminded me a bit of the Ents (I insist on watching Lord of the Rings once a year...I can't help myself so you'll have to excuse the reference!) Love the idea of chattering trees. Like the ending too, very clever. It would improve with pruning (sorry...) for me, but then I like wittling at mine so perhaps that's just me. Enjoyed reading this one very much. Rachel 🙂

Author's Reply:
I love the Lord of the Rings film too and the Ents though my favourite scene is when Aragorn gets everyone to kneel to the Hobbits after he has been crowned - thesetrees are a bit like the Huorns, just biding their time.

I am really looking forwared to the Hobbit when it comes out.

franciman on 26-08-2011
Belsay Trees
A poem that puts life in perspective and us in our place. I also thought it was overladen. I hope you don't mind my suggestion but I took some lines out to see how it would read:-



They talk these trees, Whispering, whispering
Of news from far away,
Over borders and Across the sea,
Sometimes they roar,
Angry and threatening
When news of another forest felled
Or another wood wasted by fire Reaches them.
Mostly they like to talk
Of birds building nests in protective branches
Or resting on twigs during their long migrations.
Sometimes they speak of things long ago,
The history that the old oaks know
Or the ancient history Kept by the almost immortal Yews.
They sing too,
Of skies brightening and fading,
Of the wild wood that is gone now
But will be again.
Rarely do they talk of men,
Of their little lives but great hubris.
Since they have no roots and no flexibility
To bend with the great storm that is coming
They will not survive it.

Sorry if you think me presumptuous, but it is such a great verse.

Cheers,
Jim



Author's Reply:
Not at all Jim - Thankyou for the suggestions - your version reads very well and I have changed it, with a few other changes of my own.

David

Andrea on 26-08-2011
Belsay Trees
Beautiful! I made the link clickable 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Andrea - I must remember that bit of html.


Belsay Hall Croquet Club (posted on: 19-08-11)
Had a great day yesterday playing croquet in sun at Belsay Hall - an English Heritagesite with a castle, an 18th Century Country house and extensive gardens and grounds. Provoked some typical bolshie and potentous thoughts. A la Wilfrid Owen :- `My subject is Folly, And the tragedy of Folly. The Poetry is in the tragedy.'

These trees, Whispering and swaying In a warm, late-summer breeze, Are the real owners of these lands. For now they are content To stand proudly and lordly Around the croquet lawns, Creating a sheltered sun trap For the white-clad players In this garden paradise. The War Lords of old May have stolen them long ago In the riots of 1066 Led by William the Bastard; And their arrogant descendants Over eight centuries Used wealth and privilege To order and reorder These gently sloping hills And rich pastures But trees have infinite reserves of patience And a powerful fecundity. Sir Thomas De Middleton's castle is already in ruins; Sir Charles Middleton's conspicuous display of wealth, That pompous, absurd Palladian palace, Now a mere shell, Uninhabited and uninhabitable. The hoi polloi pay to play croquet on their lawns; Wander around their private gardens Gawp at the dry-rooted ruin. The Middletons have gone now, Kept the wealth and rich farming land of course, But the great trees around Belsay Hall And its lovely lawn Know the truth. All they have to do is wait, Allow greed and folly To work through to an inevitable end And the land will be all theirs again.
Archived comments for Belsay Hall Croquet Club
Romany on 22-08-2011
Belsay Hall Croquet Club
A lovely thought, that those beautiful old trees endure all with vast patience, even in a somehow indulgent manner, standing by in long suffering fashion, waiting for transient humans to do their worst and move on. Great work and an inspired idea.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Romany, I was a bit worried that the ending was too obscure or ambiguous but you have interpreted it precisely. It is a theme i have written about before, the danger that we are going to destroy not the world or even humanity but the advanced and sophisticated civilisation which because of its complexity is vulnerable to such a disruption as Global Warming.

Beurla on 22-08-2011
Belsay Hall Croquet Club

Hi Corin,
Well, these lines brought back memories, as children we just loved to visit the numerous castles that abound in Northumberland, traveling the short distance to Belsay by bicycle was no problem. Unfortunately the hall was still in use in those days but the castle was always an adventure and one could see for miles from its tower.
I can well imagine that strange looking hall which is now in the hands of The National Heritage trust, would offer excellent facilities for a family day out, including the hoi polloi such as me. Second childhoods are a wonder thing.
I am not quite sure that I understand the final observation about greed and folly; to my mind it would appear to be more of benevolence for the enjoyment of all.
Plus there is always the national lottery money to help maintain it.
As I have decided not to do any more scansion on Ukauthors it remains to say I enjoyed reading this.
Regards,
Beurla.


Author's Reply:
He Beurla - the 'greed and folly' reference is to Global Warming - not the to any folly of the Middleton's. Though I don't agree about the Middleton's generosity being for the enjoyment of all. They still legally own everything and by giving control to English Heritage they got Death Duty relief - handed over all the liabilities to the government but retaiuned all the assets, like the furniture and contents and the land.

David


Harvest Moon 17th August 2011 (posted on: 19-08-11)
Crab the dog knows where to find new poems. Thanks to Rachel for the editing suggestion.

At midnight,, Crab the Dog Began to howl at the moon. It was bright And low in the South, A full harvest moon in mid-August. Getting up to let him out Into the peaceful garden I followed him. My harvest, piles of grass cuttings, Lay clear in the moonlight. I could see how harvesters of old Could have worked all night Beneath such a moon. Everything was still and quiet. The stars were all very bright; The night clear and dark and cold. I felt its chill and wanted my bed, Then Crab the dog began to bark again. Some sense that I have not Warned him of the dangers of such a night. In the eerie light The encirclement of gardens all seemed peaceful. But I recall that seeming Is often far from reality Especially in this mystic light That can make the ugliest of sights Appear beautiful.
Archived comments for Harvest Moon 17th August 2011
RachelLW on 19-08-2011
Harvest Moon 17th August 2011
I liked this. It's very atmospheric. Good images. I wonder if you need that whole second stanza though - I would cut it as I can't see what it offers and I think the strength of this lies in the first and last. Just me maybe. Crab the Dog is charming.

Author's Reply:
Yes I see what you mean, it's a separate poem really about the slow progress of Jupiter against the background of the fixed stars - I will go and work on it and remove it from here.

Thankyou

David

Hulda on 20-08-2011
Harvest Moon 17th August 2011
There is something magical and misty about it, like walking in a fog and you never know if you get through or not. I like your writing David, easy for me to relate to it. Obviously you love your dog and you seem to get a lot of inspiration taking the dog for a walk. Take care, Hulda

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Hulda. Yes he is a great dog. Understands every word I say. I understand his too - mind he does nothave a very big vocabulary - "let me out for a piss and a shit" "let me in" "where's my food" "Time to get up" "time to go for a walk" throw my stick" my ball is stuck behinf the TV - get it out for me" "there's a cat in the garden", but he does also say "please" and "thankyou"

David

franciman on 20-08-2011
Harvest Moon 17th August 2011
I too have stood in your garden in the moonlight.
"But I recall that seeming
Is often far from reality." My favourite line, and dare I say it, the crux of the poetry.

You have a gift for capturing the fleeting magic of nature. Excellent.

Cheers,
Jim



Author's Reply:
"But I recall that seeming
Is often far from reality."

You haveit correct Jim, though it did start out as a piece about the August full moon. Seeming and reality is the great theme of Shakespeares work. It is in lots of the plays. Most pointedly in 'The Taming of the Shrew', also in 'Much Ado about nothing' and in "A Midsummer Night's Dream'

Captain of our fairy band,
Helena is here at hand;
And the youth, mistook by me,
Pleading for a lover's fee.
Shall we their fond pageant see?
Lord, what fools these mortals be!

and Hamlet (grieving for his father)

Seems, madam! nay it is; I know not 'seems.'
'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother,
Nor customary suits of solemn black,
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath,
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye,
Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage,
Together with all forms, moods, shapes of grief,
That can denote me truly: these indeed seem,
For they are actions that a man might play:
But I have that within which passeth show;
These but the trappings and the suits of woe.



David

teifii on 29-08-2011
Harvest Moon 17th August 2011
I suspect that edit was good as I like it better now. Can't analyse my comment as I think you did the editing the moment I'd got to the end.
As to Crab's vocabvulary, I was under the impression that he could do a nice line in elizabethan prose.

Author's Reply:
No No - Crab speaks restoration English like his great Hero Montagu the Dog:-) (Samuel Pepys's dog:-)


A Turning World (posted on: 12-08-11)
This years poem to say goodbye to the swifts.

The World has turned over once again. The sky still hangs blue in the north But glows with an increasing fluorescence, Like the dying embers of a bonefire As the bone eaters fall into witching time. Dark descends.upon a swiftless land, Swallows and Martins defy the changes But, just as in Spring, When one swallow does not a summer make, A thousand swallowlets and martinets Cannot prolong it. After the last lingering light has gone from The northern horizon Another illuminates eastern realms. A net of high cloud Tries to entrap it in the wispy fronds of a web of brightness But a gibbous moon exerts all its growing strength Until the unresistible power of all-revealing light Breaks through And the whole sky is Dappled by a complex pattern of magic. The black semiotics in its deep design Shining brighter than the white edges of illuminated rack. Through the bedroom window a masked moon Sails beneath the silhouetted leaves and branches of an ancient pine. Suddenly there is no distinction Between physical and transcendental reality. Artemis rules this inconstant world; The universe goes on changing; As darkness descends entropy gradually rises, This is not a tuneful turning And these are all evening songs.
Archived comments for A Turning World
franciman on 12-08-2011
A Turning World
Evocative, magical even. It has the feel of an ancient incantation. It's how I imagine the Druids saw the world and the changing seasons.

Should it be irresistible?

Cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Jim - I am glad you got the Celtic atmosphere in it - A Bonefire is a Celtic ceremonial fire at Aohain (Halloween). It is exactly what I was aiming at - the turning world is meant to be the changing of he seasons (for me Autumn starts when the swifts go - just as Summer starts when they come) but also about the personal change from being a middle aged man to an old man:-)

Warm Wishes

David

teifii on 12-08-2011
A Turning World
Reminded me of the swifts that flew all summer round my old house in Devon. One day one got stuck between two panes of un upstairs sash window and had to be rescued. he bit me hard for my pains as I carried him down 2 storeys in case he was wounded, and then flew back up. Amazing bird, every tiny particle of his exterior shiny black, eyes, feathers, nails, beak.
y favourite bit of the poem is
But, just as in Spring,
When one swallow does not a summer make,
A thousand swallowlets and martinets
Cannot prolong it.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Daff - I am quite pleased with this one and am still working on it.
How is Dyfi? Crab is feeling a bit upset as we left him with two dog sitters for four days. It seems they disn't do a very good job and he he was forced to piss and shit inside:-(

David

teifii on 12-08-2011
A Turning World
Poor Crab. That wasn't fair on him. Dyfi is fine and he and I are going down to South wales for a couple of days next week for lessons in proper respect for sheep.
CRIMINAL
From the farm by the lake he came
in a secret cloud of shame.
The farmer did not say
just why he could not stay,
but chasing sheep unbidden
is utterly forbidden


Author's Reply:

sunken on 14-08-2011
A Turning World
Very nicely done, Mr. Corin. It remains only for me to slap a Bernard on ya. Mind your legs, he's a bit horny at the moment. I blame Tesco's Clubcard Voucher exchange programme. Thank you.

s
u
n
k
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Author's Reply:
Thankyou Sunk.

stormwolf on 17-08-2011
A Turning World
I loved this David
I loved the feeling the poem gave to me although incredibly sad I resonated to the inner witness and the sadness. I feel that your poetry is incredible and does not get the recognition it warrants. I simply loved this not just because I understand it and feel it but because it is quite wonderfully expressed.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison, yes it was meant to be sad, AS I am sure you understand it I will say no more - just see you on the other side.

David


I Loved You - My effort for the Challenge (posted on: 08-08-11)
An attempt to write a poem in a double rhyme format e.g. A line B A line C D line B D line C Of course many other double rhyme stanza formats are possible - have a go on the poetry Poetry Discussion/Workshop https://ukauthors.com/phorum5/read.php?18,178283,178283#msg-178283

I loved you when the summer was delightful Why even when the Autumn chilled the air. Oh now the Winter winds are cold and spiteful No longer can my sore heart feel or care. So if you call don't think that I'll come running, Though if you smile your face will be as fair, Oh now I know I never will be coming Go away, don't try waiting for me there. You have wounded my deep soul so badly Truly I do not think to live another year Or if I do I'll live my life so sadly For from me you need not fear to hear. So fare thee well wherever you might wander, Though should meet I'll smile and pass the time Surely though on you I will not squander More words like these in rhythm and in rhyme.
Archived comments for I Loved You - My effort for the Challenge
teifii on 08-08-2011
I Loved You - My effort for the Challenge
I quite like it as apoem but must be thick as I don't understand the scheme.
By the way
Though should [we] meet I'll smile and pass the time

Author's Reply:
Thanks Daff - you are not thick!

The format is to have a rhyme at the start of a line as well as the end of a line.

so:-

Dovey bit Crab the Dog,
Lovely though he is,
Crab just lay there like a log
Dabbing at that and this.

Not very good but it will do as an example:-)

teifii on 09-08-2011
I Loved You - My effort for the Challenge
Thanks Dave. Now I get it.

Dyfi says he's very sorry,
humbly rolls on back.
Boss was disapprobatory,
cross, and threatened whack.


Author's Reply:
O that is great - Sorry I misspelt Dyfi's name:-(

David

sunken on 10-08-2011
I Loved You - My effort for the Challenge
Ahhh.... Like our lovely Ms. Daff, I too was confused. Your explanation put me right though. Never seen that kinda format before. Or if I did I was too thick to realise. By the way, don't let that Daff fool ya. She's nowhere near as thick as me. I'm not having her stealing my crown. Nice work, fella.

s
u
n
k
e
n

owl watch 2011 with simon le bon - ukmunky gold +1 Sunday 9pm

Author's Reply:
Nothing wrong with being confused - it's my normal state, almost as nice as being drunk.

David

teifii on 12-08-2011
I Loved You - My effort for the Challenge
Dyfi says he doesn't mind

Author's Reply:
That's good


Final Edition 9th July 2011 (posted on: 15-07-11)
Inspired by a set of contrasting pictures in the Daily Mirror the other day.

Out of the paper they stare, The Innocents' sweet faces And they who admit no wrong. They think that profit is good And making a loss is a crime. If they could do it they would, Time's money and money is time. The grief that resonates still Won't appear in their daily account, Words are worth more than anyone's tears. A bung is enough to unblock Lips sealed by an oath to the Queen. Nothing could possibly shock Those who sanction acts beyond the obscene. A newspaper might die in a week, A child might just disappear - It's all in the headlines next day. When the last edition appears And those who wrote it go home There'll be no one to mop up the tears And no one to pick up the phone.
Archived comments for Final Edition 9th July 2011
stormwolf on 16-07-2011
Final Edition 9th July 2011
Well done David. Very true and very sad too. We should all be rightfully enraged at the level of corruption existing in high places. The last line of the second stanza stands out as not being fitting in too well rythmically but really enjoyed it.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison - the whole thing is just getting worse and worse - it is like a snowball rushing down hill and getting more and more like a totally destructive avalanche.

David

Beth on 17-07-2011
Final Edition 9th July 2011
They think that profit is good
And making a loss is a crime.

people should listen to the poets and stop listening to the newspapers- after all, all they do is try to dictate what we think all the time, mass mind washing really. I did feel sorry for the journalists who lost their jobs though when it was not their fault - regards Beth

Author's Reply:
Thank you Beth. Watching the news tonight the swamp of filth is getting worse and worse - now someone has lost their life over it. How terrible.

David


One Day (posted on: 27-06-11)
Mid-summer nights are magical

One day the the world will trouble me no more. All its noise will be like music between stars; All its bustle like mist rising from a still lake On a dew encroaching summer night; Its anxieties will flow down a flat rock Above a still pool in Glengarry And tinkle quietly into its deep water below; Its pains will flow back and forth like the soft breath Of a sleeping baby, belly filled with milk. Its present, its past, its future slowly fading, Each as real as a dream upon a mid-summer night.
Archived comments for One Day
stormwolf on 27-06-2011
One Day
I thought this was exquisite..it nearly made me cry..and it was so mellow and full of such beautiful imagery that I cannot understand why it has not been nibbed.
I have loved many of your poems but this one is surely one of your best.
Lovely , lovely lovely and into favs for me!
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison, it is not meant to be a sad or depressive poem - just an acceptance of life and its inevitable end and the idea that even after death we are still part of an awesome universe whether you think of it in a transcendental way as you do or a humanistic way as I do.

David

RachelLW on 27-06-2011
One Day
I think this is lovely too. It manages to conjure up the sentiment that you describe; of stillness and peace extremely well. Rachel 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Rachel - I am not always such a miseravle old bugger and this was not really meant to be miserable - just a song of acceptance.

Warm Wishes

David.

sunken on 28-06-2011
One Day
Hello Mr. Corin. I agree with Wolfie of Storm fame. Deserves a nib. Particularly like the line about the music between stars. Tip top. I'll get my placards out on your behalf (for a nib I mean - that wasn't a euphemism). Ahem.

s
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k
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Author's Reply:
Thankyou Sunk - and Crab the Dog has a message for Bernard :- Doofooofgoofsoof Roofuoofloofeoof Ooof Koof!

David

Hulda on 07-08-2011
One Day
It is very well written and you gave it a lot of thought. It is one of the best poem I have read from you, really deep. I loved it. Take care, Hulda

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Hulda for sauch a lovely comment - I have a feeling that was one of those poems that I just dashed off - almost wrote itself - I think I was walking the dog late one evening:-)

Thankyou also for the favourite poem pick.

love

David

Hulda on 07-08-2011
One Day
the poems that pop out from our head without trying to pull it out and the come without even thinking too much , they are the best ones and the most real ones, take care, Hulda

Author's Reply:


Swift Summer 12th May 2011 (posted on: 06-06-11)
For me the arrival and departure of the swifts mark the beginning and end of summer, so Summer's reaign runs from Mid-May to Mid-August.

Into my heart the summer airs Are blown by the whirling wings Of swifts and all these winter cares Cease to howl now summer sings. This bright blue sky; these gyring birds; The evening with no hint of chill; Around my head these echoing words And summer days before me still; All these delights will lift my heart From this long winter's cold and gloom. Though all too soon the swifts depart In my head I'll give them sky and room.
Archived comments for Swift Summer 12th May 2011
JackCrowe on 08-06-2011
Swift Summer 12th May 2011
I love this. You put into words much of what the swift means to so many.

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 11-06-2011
Swift Summer 12th May 2011
I Loved this David. It was short and simply put but totally captured what you wanted to express. Has a nice feel to it too.
If you had enlarged on it you would have lost the feeling so succinct is really good here.

Alison x

Author's Reply:

Romany on 11-06-2011
Swift Summer 12th May 2011
This is gorgeous! Love the last line.

Romany.

Author's Reply:


Blue and Gold (posted on: 27-05-11)
A beautiful evening last night in Newcastle Upon Tyne

So here is the world in blue and gold, A slowly fading heaven Grimed with grey above; From silhouetted rooftop to rooftop It dissolves slowly in copper sulphate and Iridescent solution attacks my heart; Along the westering street Bright golden eyes peer into my soul; The high rack left behind Is the imperfection That creates perfection; All that was ugly is now beautiful And this fading world I leave without regret.
Archived comments for Blue and Gold
stormwolf on 28-05-2011
Blue and Gold
Hi David
Delightfully wistful. Having been to Kenton Lane on a couple of occaisions I can always visualize the sight before your eyes and you have captured the beauty and melancholy sadness of a departing day and woven it in with yur own feelings very well. I really did like the very personal input at the end which made it more than just a pretty image.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison - It is the first poem I have written in a while - not sure why. Something to do with the Pendle Witch I think:-)

Daviod


A Right Royal Wedding 29th April 2011 (posted on: 02-05-11)
The title says it all, but I was not overcome with Royal fervour even if I did see something to cry over.

It is ,of course, always the custom To conclude a comedy with a wedding. Yet the wedding itself can never be comic, Nor was this one, choreographed with precision, Colourful, musical and dressed in the pageantry of the past. Every true wedding though is the same. We cry, I cry, at weddings, Whether they take place in an ancient Cathedral Or a medieval church, a modern chapel Some smart old house, posh hotel or the Town Hall. The heart of a wedding is just two people, Looking into each others eyes, smiling and loving. It is the pure humanity, the continuity The linking of generations That moves us to tears. Let us not say, "we will have no more marriages," But let the story continue Far into a Brave New World That has such people in it, This beauteous mankind. I know, I know there is an ugly side to humanity. We saw it acknowledged today As the beautiful couple processed out of that wonderful Cathedral, Walking slowly straight down down the aisle Until just before the Great West door, They, the greatest in the land today, Turned aside To acknowledge a long dead ordinary man, A man whose name is unknown But who lies in the most revered grave Of this Cathedral full of dead kings and poets, Of England's good and great. All those who marry today or tomorrow, If they truly love each other, Will be as great as this Royal Couple who married today Before the watching eyes of a happy nation And an admiring world.
Archived comments for A Right Royal Wedding 29th April 2011
RoyBateman on 02-05-2011
A Right Royal Wedding 29th April 2011
Well said. I agree, it's intensely touching that this tradition carries on: I believe it began at the wedding of the late Queen Mother and the future George VI when the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier was very new, and she was grieving for her brother, killed in 1915. It shows that we're all, in the end, human...

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 08-05-2011
A Right Royal Wedding 29th April 2011
David
You know I have long been a fan of your work. Long before we actually met. This shows your heart and also your incredible kindness.
There is insight in your poetry always accompanied by a hefty dose of inner exposure.
Its been a few weeks since I read some poems but judging by today I wonder why.
I may come over as a 'lovie' or one who simply says nice things...but the standard of work here leaves me open mouthed many times.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou for that lovely comment Alison. I suppose it was the fact that William and Kate looked so obviously in love that sparked it all off. As you know I have no respect for the Monarchy as an institution but I am quite impressed by the way these two are coping with the greatness that one was born to and the other has had thrust upon her.

N.B." some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some
have greatness thrust upon 'em." Twelfth Night Act 2, Scene 5

David


The Story of a Belly (posted on: 18-03-11)
Writing Group Exercise - 4 Shakesperian references if you care to seek for them - one is difficult the title and whole poem are the reference really.

I was flat once Encircled by size 32 inch shorts, Never bulged out of a T-shirt, Or stretched the bottom of a waistcoat. I used to tighten up like pretensile steel And challenge strong fists To penetrate my defences. I would ride for miles On those slim legs Over fields, down alleyways, Along pavements, Getting wherever the head wanted to go In good time at no cost. At first the bulges were easily delta with Going to bed empty, Unswilled by beer Unlined with good capon. Later the legs could still bear to bear me From Newburn to Wylam and back; Along the Great North Run with no stopping; From Balmbra's to Blaydon. Then, on the Derwent Walk They began to complain, Rather the Achilles Tendons cried, "No more!" Then no exercise, no beer restraint, good eating The bulge kept on growing. Now there is no sprinting, No! Not even jogging. Old Bronchus pipes and whistles As Fair Round Belly Bounces in time to the barely moving feet.
Archived comments for The Story of a Belly
stormwolf on 21-03-2011
The Story of a Belly
Very well executed David. Witty and well written but with a touch of sadness too. Ah, those flat bellies of yesteryear. Why did they depart and where did they go?
Alison x

Author's Reply:


e rescwald (posted on: 18-03-11)
A Writing Group Exercise *Note: from Middle English, Old English and Anglo Saxon. The theshold, the threshold, the threshold, Thereat none can tread without anxiety. There are several ancient customs about thresholds - the stone beneath a doorway - That to stand on it and give someone something is disrespectful to the dead who were often buried beneath it, that for a bride to trip upon it was very unlucky, that if she stepped on it her household daemons would follow her into the new house, that she should be carried forcibly across it to express her reluctance to 'go to the world' i.e. lose her chasitty and have sex with her husband.

Don't stand on the threshold. This is where worlds meet, The inside world, the outside world And the underworld. Cross the threshold by all means But make your intentions clear - Inside to the warm safety of home Or outside to the dangers of unprotected place. Don't dither and stand upon that dangerous stone. Who knows who or what lies beneath? Those who lived here and went before; Those who ventured out Into the dangerous world and never came back; Those who tried to return But never quite made it Into the security and safety Behind the threshold; Wives who tripped at their first entrance Into marital status; Demons that followed them From beneath some other world. This is not just a bar upon the floor But a point of significance The thresshold, e rescold, e rescwald ert nn cannen rescan las agne.*
Archived comments for e rescwald
anth2011ed on 30-04-2011
Þe Þrescwald
Corin, sorry to intrude, but can you send your permission and bio for the 2011/2012 Anth pse?

- Details Here

Author's Reply:

geordietaf on 08-05-2011
Þe Þrescwald
I read this and tried typing 'I stood at the threshold..' into Google. It is clearly a powerful image in the minds of many, including the gentleman who managed to stand at the threshold of a cliff!

You capture the uncertainty of thresholds well, both the threat and the promise. You should do an audio version so we can hear the Anglo-Saxon in all its glory.

Well done

Paul

Author's Reply:
Thankyou for the comment Paul. I guess I put people off with the Anglo Saxon graphology - I thought that they would be intrigued.

That's a good idea about the recording - I have to practice making recordings for Sunday - I have a voluntary job as a recording technician at Tyne Sound News - a charity for the blind that makes weekly local news tapes.

David



The Elephant (posted on: 21-02-11)
Inspired by the last lines from 'A Tall Order' by Raymond Carver:- If she kept watching she was sure to see The elephant step out from the trees and trumpet As he does every Monday. At this lonely house At this hour. Carver's lines are amended slightly to fit my syllabic stanza form.

An elephant with blurred edges steps out from the trees, And trumpets from a long grey gnarled trunk As he does every Monday At this lonely house At this time. From the surrounding hills come a myriad echoes, Like a rumble of distant thunder Ominously applauding The darkling evening And this quiet. Then, very gently, he lifts his great feet from the ground Replacing them softly one by one Upon the short, soft, lawn grass, Kneels upon four legs And bows down. When he stands up again all the world is clapping him, Slowly he fades away into night As he does every Monday At this lonely house At this time. In the morning no elephant footprints can be found But the hills still echo with applause, The lawn is dappled with green, The sky is bright blue And time sings.
Archived comments for The Elephant
geordietaf on 21-02-2011
The Elephant
Really liked this, especially the 'dying fall' at the end of each stanza

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Geordie, I suppose that the dying fall was really Carver's though I did rearrange the delineation and invent the Stanza form. It was an idea of Kathleen Kenny's originaly.

David

stormwolf on 21-02-2011
The Elephant
Aw I won't pretend to understand it....but there was a sort of child-like innocence about it and a happy feel too.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
It is of course experimental and came out of the writing group last wek. It is meant to be a piece of mystery and magic, a strange experience or dream that leaves you intellectually and emotionally disturbed all the next day. That sense that the everyday mundane world is not all that there is, that 'there are more things in Heaven and Earth Horatio than are dreamt of in your philosophy!'

David

Bradene on 21-02-2011
The Elephant
I really like the format and it struck me this would suit Childrens verse really well. I must try one myself. Well Done David. Val

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Val - I look forward to reading the children's verse. Try starting with the same first stanza that I used or substitute a lion or tiger or some other wild beast.

David

Ionicus on 21-02-2011
The Elephant
An excellent interpretation and extension of the original lines. Very effective. Liked it a lot.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Luigi.

David

sybarite on 21-02-2011
The Elephant
I like the format, works very well here. Is there a 'name' for this form and/or rules?

Like a rumble of distant thunder
Ominously applauding
The darkling evening
And this quiet. -- exceptional lines.

Cheers
Teri


Author's Reply:
Thanks Teri,

The format is syllabic verse - i.e. the number of syllables in each line is specified. The Stanza format is 5 line stanzas of 13 then 9 then 7 then 5 then 3 syllables. It is this that gioves it what Geordietaf called the dying fall (which in itself comes from Twelfth Night - 'That strain again, it had a dying fall')



As this came from the last few lines of Raymond Carver's poem I shall call it the Carver Stanza:-)_



David

sybarite on 22-02-2011
The Elephant
Thank you for the explanation. I've been trying my hand at some of the structured poetry forms. I'll add Syllabic Verse to my list. Is there a specified number of stanzas?

Author's Reply:
No specific number of stanzas though perhaps three would work best - I added an extra one as I felt it needed a kind of explanation.

If you want to try syllabic verse the most famous one to go for is the Haiku:-

3 lines, 5 7 5 syllables, but it is more restrictive than that - it has to have some connection with nature and a season of the year and it has to have a caesura - that is a break in the topic or theme or thread of the poem - usually after the second line. Here are 3 of mine -



From beyond knowledge
Came the wave that briefly broke
The great ocean's calm

His tears fell down
First one and then another
Till the lake was full.


Knowledge is power
Understanding is knowing
Knowing is beyond man

It looks like I have omitted the seasonal factor - these are old ones I think before I learnt all this guff:-) Still never mind those are the Japanese rules we can have our own.

There is an English version of the Haiku which is a rhyming couplet of Iambic pentameter. Iambic pentameter is a line of 5 feet (or beats) starting on an unstressed syllable, so it is like a bar of music with 5 beats to a bar and every syllable is a quaver and it starts with the last unstressed quaver of the previous bar (anacrusis) you can say it as:-

de | DUM de Dum de Dum de Dum de Dum
de | DUM de Dum de Dum de Dum de Dum

Now an iambic pentameter line has a natural caesura after the first 2 or 3 feet since you cannot divide an iambic pentameter line into 2 equal portions, so you can make the English Haiku form similar to the Japanese form by inserting a line break where the caesura falls in the second line.

Pope wrote in rhyming couplets and you can take many of them out of the complete poem and read them as English Haikus :-

"Know then thyself, presume not God to scan;
The proper study of Mankind is Man. "

Can you see that in this couplet the caesura falls after 'thyself' so to write it as a haiku it would look like this

Know | then thyself,
^ ^
Presume not God to scan;
^ ^
The | proper study of Mankind is Man.
^ ^ ^ ^

A better example is :-

True Wit is Nature to advantage dress'd,
What oft was thought, but ne'er so well express'd;

I think the caesura to come in the second line of the couplet, so writing this as a Haiku you would have:-

True Wit is Nature to advantage dress'd,
What oft was thought,
But ne'er so well express'd.


So there now you have three new formats to practise:-

1) the carver - 3 syllabic stanzas with 5 lines per stanza of 13 9 7 5 & 3 syllables

2) The Haiku - 1 syllabic stanza of 3 lines of 5 7 5 sylables with a caesura after line 1 or 2 and where the subject has a a nature/seasonal element of reference.he forum workdshop

3) The English Haiku - An I iambic pentameter couplet broken into 3 lines by dividing one of the lines into 2 lines after an iambic caesura.

Now I shall go and post this exercise on the forum workshop.

David






Sonnet to Kathleen Kenny (posted on: 21-02-11)
Kathleen Kenny - Newcastle poet and Creative Writing tutor:- KATHLEEN KENNY

When of our sonnets Kathleen has read each line With her critical, discerning eye How I will wish she would not read out mine Since with each flaw she find's I'll wish to die. She cleaves a split infinitive with her axe Into three portions to be writ again, With adjectives and adverbs she's not lax And winkles out superfluous words with pain. Our tutor is a 'Belle Dame Sans Merci' - In every poem she will find a blot! You see now that your sad and pognant story Has moved her eyes to tears - of sorrow not! She always shows how we could write well But never makes the fault of trying to tell
Archived comments for Sonnet to Kathleen Kenny
geordietaf on 23-02-2011
Sonnet to Kathleen Kenny
Sounds like a formidable lady, but a worthy tribute.

BTW is there a typo in line 3 'How I ill wish...'?

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Geordie (BTW Is that a welsh element in Geordietaf?)- she is not as bad as I made her out:-)
She said nothing about this one so I think she really liked it:-)

off to fix the typos.

David

sirat on 23-02-2011
Sonnet to Kathleen Kenny
I think there's one in Line 4 as well: 'with each flaw she find I'll wish to die' should be: 'with each flaw she finds I'll wish to die'.
Another one in Line 11 too: 'pognant' should be 'poignant'.

Glad I'm not like Kathleen.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou David,
O I guess I blew her up a bit - she is very good really and very sensitive when commenting - I have heard her commenting on complete gibberish and she always manages to find something nice to say:-)
She said nothing about this one so I think she really liked it:-)

David

geordietaf on 24-02-2011
Sonnet to Kathleen Kenny
Re your reply.

Glad the lady liked it, but maybe she's just brooding...

Correct about the 'Taf' bit. I'm from Pontypridd originally though I've lived in the NE for more than 30 years. The River Taff (Taf' in Welsh) runs through Ponty and on to Cardiff - hence Taff or Taffy for Welsh people.

Author's Reply:
In that case I guess I am a Geordiecock! I'm from East London originally but I have been here for 40 years!

geordietaf on 25-02-2011
Sonnet to Kathleen Kenny
All in all then, it's probably just as well you didn't come from Scunthorpe....

Author's Reply:


The Office Garden (posted on: 18-02-11)
A writing group exercise - describing one situation in the vocabulary of another.

In the office I think about the garden; In the garden I think about the office. It is good that I can multitask Like the daffodils with their double product - Seeds and bulbs. When I am in the garden I feel as though I am in the New Paradigm Of flowers and fruits and budding trees. I wear my paper bag to protect me from the frost Held on by paper clips And neatly decorated with punch holes To prevent me suffocating. My desk is a raised bed. Ornamental cabbages enhance the paperwork. My mission is to grow the garden in the office, To be promoted to head gardener And never have to take work home again.
Archived comments for The Office Garden
geordietaf on 18-02-2011
The Office Garden
Nicely done, though I'm a bit puzzled by 'ina' in the 7th line and 'fostd' in the 9th. But then again, I'm not a gardener...

Author's Reply:
Thanks Geordie "I am in a" I will edit it.

David

Ionicus on 18-02-2011
The Office Garden
A good exercise, David. I too am thrown by those two words. Would they be typos?

Author's Reply:
Yes - editing now:-)

Ionicus on 20-02-2011
The Office Garden
Much better now. I can see the woods and the trees.

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 20-02-2011
The Office Garden
a very witty little piece David. I can see you there now, in your little paper hat held on with paper clips throwing a ball for Scab.
Alison x

Author's Reply:


A Long Future (posted on: 14-02-11)
Some thoughts inspired by tonight's wonderful final episode of 'Lark Rise to Candleford' It reminded me strongly of the ending to 'Middlemarch', not quite sure why it inspired me to write about the descent of man, except we can hardly think that we will go on riding off into an eternal sunset.

What will be left when there are No more futures, No more progress? When all the days are spent and counted And the last people ponder their demise What will survive? When there are none to read the books, Listen to the music, Watch the dramas, Is light of light beguiled? Will all that knowledge and meaning Be just flotsam and jetsam On receding tides of history? Ruined cities may remain A thousand years or so, But with no archeologists To reconstruct their plans Will they still be cities? Long lines of sparse vegetation Crossing temperate forests Will make no impression Upon curious enquirers. The concrete roads And iron rails beneath them Will have vanished into thin air. Is this all that mankind will leave - A planet wide layer Of strange fossils And erratic rocks To puzzle future palaeontologists From some strange new species? Philip Larkin will be right - Love will not survive us, Though it will have made the end Endurable.
Archived comments for A Long Future
orangedream on 14-02-2011
A Long Future
Much food for thought, here Corin...and there's dear old Philip Larkin again;-)

Admired these lines in particular;-

"What will survive?
When there is no one to read the books,
Listen to the music,
Watch the dramas,
Is then light of light beguiled?"

Tina x


Author's Reply:
Thankyou Tina. It is something I have pondered on for a while, how much we owe to all those who came before us, not just the giants that Newton acknowledged, those who made the great discoveries and inventions, but also those who did the hard work, grew the food to feed the giants, dug the coal to make the factories work, built the railways and roads to make the economy work. It is a wonderful collaborative effort - a truly Big Society.

David

Andrea on 14-02-2011
A Long Future
It was lovely, wasn't it? So innocent in a way, but so wise they were. Such a shame there will be no more. Great pome, Corin.

Author's Reply:
THankyou Andrea, yes I agree it was a lovely Sunday Night Soap Opera, but the last episode really rose to the occassion and managed to make Soap Opera speak about universal truth - very moving.

RoyBateman on 15-02-2011
A Long Future
Actually, Corin, I'm going to disagree with you - I thought that the poem was MUCH more thought-provoking and genuinely interesting than the shot-through-gauze candyfloss that the producers of "Lark Rise" managed to confect from one of the most moving, unsentimental and fascinating records of rural life ever written. I read the original trilogy years ago and loved it, but I knew that the TV version was going to be nothing like it when it opened on that vast combine-sized field of grain. Oh, dear, they can get the costumes mainly right, so why not the countryside? No Victorian horse-age field was that size!! Nor do most folks wander round mumbling "Oh, yes! Change is a comin'!" Not in the countryside, anyway...for real nostalgia, I stick to Housman. Then, I live in Ludlow, so it's not surprising.
Anyway, it doesn't matter how you got from TV to the poem, but I repeat that the latter was, in my over-inflated opinion, far superior. Well worth the nib.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Roy,
That was a very encouraging comment. In fact in many ways I quite agree with you. The TV version was a typical Sunday evening costume Soap Opera, light and amusing, nostalgia and corsets and beautiful clothes, emotionally comforting. Indeed I enjoyed it very much. I didn't spot the valid criticisms you mentioned, I wonder how easy it would be now to find a farm with traditional fields. It could have been done though - you are correct.
All that considered I still thought that the last episode was beautifully and brilliantly done, making , in the end, a profound comment about human life and history and progress, as Bronowski called it 'The Ascent of Man'.
It is a theme that I often return to, it seems to me that we do not often acknowledge the great debt we owe to all those that lived before us. Oh of course we laud the famous and successful, the scientists and inventors and artists who made dramatic contributions to human achievement, but we forget the ordinary people, those who dug the coal and built the canals, roads and railways - all the developments that were part of the ladder of progress. This is not to forget those who grew the food and did the cooking and made the clothes and did all the other work that was necessary to support the functioning of society and its economy. As Milton wrote, 'They also serve who only stand and wait.'

stormwolf on 20-02-2011
A Long Future
a rather bleak outlook David but I can hear you recite it and I know it is something that weighs heavily upon you.
It ain't over till the fat lady sings 😉
Alison x


Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 20-02-2011
A Long Future
oops forgot to rate it

Author's Reply:


A Ring 1st February 2011 (posted on: 04-02-11)
A Writing Group Exercise

Such a small object to change a whole life But it did, One thing led to another, Other small objects came along And suddenly The world was the right way up. Looking back, Forty years later, it has been a hard path, Like climbing Helvellyn Right to its snowy peak, But on a clear day The view from the top is wonderful.
Archived comments for A Ring 1st February 2011
e-griff on 04-02-2011
A Ring 1st February 2011
very nice wee poem about a life. laudably terse* (for you! 🙂 )

*in its good sense

Author's Reply:
Thankyou John - my wife dsaid is that all you can say about 40 uyears of being together! You can't win can you?

David

Zoya on 05-02-2011
A Ring 1st February 2011
David, you are lucky to have reached the top! Forty years is a long time to survive successfully through a life long alliance...
Let there be many more!
Love,
Zoya

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Zoya - it feels like a Marathon - no that must have been 26 years! Do you think I am allowed a 40 year itch??

love

Dvaid

Elfstone on 06-02-2011
A Ring 1st February 2011
This is a lovely anniversary poem - says so much that's important in a concise and gentle way. I would alter the layout, but that's just a personal opinion. I hope your wife appreciates it. Elfstone

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Elf, yes she did! "O I quite like that one!"

David


Where Do We Live? (posted on: 31-01-11)
What are days for? Days are where we live. They come, they wake us Time and time over. They are to be happy in: Where can we live but days? Philip Larkin

Where do we live? No! not in days But in our heads. There is no reality Except that of the mind Swirling in its warm chemical bath, Generating worlds for us to inhabit, Worlds to delight us, to frighten us, To make us miserable, to make us happy. Yet sometimes, time outside of time Will intersect the deepest layers of mind and soul. Sublime experience Of a transcendental existence Lights the great unreality Where sadness and joy merge Into a singularity of knowing, Defeating mortality For ever and ever, Amen
Archived comments for Where Do We Live?
orangedream on 31-01-2011
Where Do We Live?
I enjoyed this, David, very much and Philip Larkin is one of my favourite poets, as it was my daughter's.

Much enjoyed.

Tina

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Tina - Yes I like Larkin very much too, but a miserable bugger and not very nice to women:-(

David

stormwolf on 31-01-2011
Where Do We Live?
Bravo! standing ovation to this little philosophic gem!
Alison x

Author's Reply:
THankyou Alison - I thought to get a little leg pulling or some "I told you so" digs about this from you - even though you know that I think one can be spiritual without being at all religious:-)

David

geordietaf on 02-02-2011
Where Do We Live?
A real thought sparker is this little gem. The 'singularity of knowing' is a great summation of what all spirituality (and religion) is, or should be, about.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Geordie. It has something to do with T S Elliot and his views on the transcendence of time.

David

woodbine on 07-02-2011
Where Do We Live?
A good complement to Larkin's thought nicely turned and well
thought out.
John

Author's Reply:
Thankyou John - How are you? Haven't heard from you or Bobbie for a while. Hope to see you soon - thinking of a theatre trip to London sometime.

Best Wishes

Dave


Red Rising Moon (posted on: 28-01-11)
A beautiful full moon last week.

A full moon, red and rising, Drifts between high cloud Above the Cotswolds. Her face is stretched and distorted. What could cause such an effect? A great pall of smoke drifts over The village from two bright fires Even redder than the moon. It is a cold night, clear and starlit. As our Moon Goddess flies higher and higher She pales to a delicate pink Until, at last, Its usual mournful face She rides brightly across the sky - The first full moon of a new year. Though the strange distortion Is no longer seen My mind feels uneasy, The date of this new year, Is a cardinal prime number. What does that enigmatic smile Upon her sad face signify? What does she know that we do not?
Archived comments for Red Rising Moon
geordietaf on 28-01-2011
Red Rising Moon
An excellent word picture. The last line is the only disappointment, I feel it needs to communicate something 'ominous and fateful' without just saying it

Author's Reply:
You are completely right, Geordie - I will think about it and rewrite the ending.

David

stormwolf on 30-01-2011
Red Rising Moon
Lovely David I share the feeling that the moon has much to say seeing as she has watched over us like a benevolent mother from the beginning of time.
My only thoughts were to split the poem into two halves but only a small thing. 😉
My main thing is the failing to call her female.
The moon is without doubt feminine energy. She is receptive and nurturing. She governs the tides and women's menstrual cycles. She is receptive and caring.

I am with you completely that often the first portents to trying times are to be found in the heavens.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
THankyou Alison - you and Geordie made some very good points and I have followed them up.

David


Crab's Diary, Grey Wolf 6th, Year of the Shepherd Dog, Dog Life 190 (posted on: 24-01-11)
Crab Goes on a long Journey

Grey Wolf 6th, Year of the Shepherd Dog, Dog Life 190 Master and I up betimes and straight to his exercises in my Great Park with some alacrity. At this time, 8 of the Clock in the morning there be many trespassers about upon my Park exercising therir masters also. HYet I am a tolerant landowner and do permit it providing only that they do make no attempt to steal my Master's throwing ball. If it be lost or stolen I be obliged to go hunting for a good throwing stick that he might complete his exercises properly. Home promptly for breakfast and then straight out again to await the public carriage with a great quantity of baggage for our long journey to the City of Bristol. Off the public carriage at the Way Station to await the great horseless carriages entrain that will carry us there. This is the first time in my lifer that I have ever travelled in this manner. The horseless carriages did arrive with aa great roaring and a high screeching of brakes. I aboard straight to guide Master to his seat . Upon our long journey of some 400 miles we did pass many great cities of the Kingdom; Durham, Darlington, York, Leeds Sheffield Manchester Birmingham, Stoke Upon Trent, Worcester, Cheltenham and our destination, Bristol. En route we did halt at the City of Leeds and did dismount to stretch our legs. At Master's instruction I did piss upon Leeds, since they be but poor players of of the football and greatly inferior to our team of Newcastle United. Master's friend Anne, another of his many dalliances, did await us and carry us in her small carriage to the village of Kingswood and her house. She doth say that it be her house yet the truth be that that the house is the property of her dog, Titcher Pitcher, a rather portly but very assertive Jack Russell. He doth generously allow her, her handyman, James Whitworth, her three children - Miss Amy, Andrew and Daniel Pitcher-Sage, the bitch Sadie Pticher-Sage, and three cats Jade, Whoopee and Timothy Pitcher-Sage to reside there also. I think that this be a poor residence indeed. Though its master doth preserve his rights as Top Dog with much growling, yapping and nipping he is content to allow great disorder to also reign in his house and doth make no effort to constrain his Mistress to put his house in order as long as his dinner be upon the floor at the set time. After dinner all to their beds and baskets. My Master obliged to sleep upon thelong bench ion his travelling blanket and I required to find some small scap of wooden floor that be not encumbered by discarded articles of household appliances and rubbish upon which to lie in some discomfort. Master and household all asleep I up upon Mistress Anne's cushioned seat to curl up comfortable enough to wink awhile. Oh! 'Tis a dog's life.
Archived comments for Crab's Diary, Grey Wolf 6th, Year of the Shepherd Dog, Dog Life 190
orangedream on 24-01-2011
Crabs Diary part V
Enjoyed, David;-) I hope Master has you on a long leash today!!

Tina

Author's Reply:
Mistress Tina - I do need no leash to lead my Master about the world. I would not impose such indignity upon him. He hath taught me well about the dangers of carriages upon the roads and now he doth expect me to keep him safe as we walk down to my Great Park. I do wait at the pavement edges for him when we come to the street end. He hath taught me to press the button to work the stopping signal for him and when the green man has appeared to show all is safe, I rush him across.



Crab the Dog


Gaia in the embrace of Ra (posted on: 14-01-11)
Gaia responds to Ra's advances. A reply to Mitch's poem

As Gaia bathes in your hot winds My excited tail streams out far behind me. Your electrical gyrations Increase my magnetic intensity Until I can no longer absorb the The strength of your embrace. You overwhelm me. A power surge lights up my atmospheric skin, The Earth moves And I am plunged into darkness!
Archived comments for Gaia in the embrace of Ra
geordietaf on 15-01-2011
Gaia in the embrace of Ra
I like the way your choice of almost technical language manages to convey eroticism.

Author's Reply:
Of course that was the whole idea - Mitch describes a very large solar flare which causes a powerful solar wind of charged particles or ions to stream out from the sun. When the flare reaches the Earth its electrical particles are caught in the Earths's magnetic field and spiral north or south depending upon their charge, untll they reach the point where the lines of magnetic field enter the Earth's atmosphere near the poles. As they do so the highly energetic solar particles excite the gas molecules in the upper atmosphere causing them to emit visible light and form the aurora borealis and the aurora australis over North and South Pole respectively. Now he describes the aurora in erotic terms with images magnetic attraction and a bed made up with multicoloured silk sheets and pillows and how Ra (the Egyptian Sun God) kisses Gaia's (The Greek Earth goddess) northern lips (upper lips on her face) and her lower lips (southern lips of her vagina). Very large solar flares can cause a Coronal Mass Ejection in the direction of the Earth so I respond with Gaia's view of such an event - her magnetic field is intensified and extended by the electromagnetism created by revolving electrical particles from the solar flare. The resultant electrical and magnetic fields caused by the interaction of Ra's flare with Gaia's northern and southern magnetic voids causes a climatic global excitation - electrical and magnetic storms - and all the electrical and magnetic devices upon Earth are put out of action, plunging the night side of Earth into Darkness.

Technically this is a real threat and happens frequently in historical terms. On September 1–2, 1859, the largest recorded geomagnetic storm occurred. Aurorae were seen around the world, most notably over the Caribbean; also noteworthy were those over the Rocky Mountains that were so bright that their glow awoke gold miners, who began preparing breakfast because they thought it was morning.
Telegraph systems all over Europe and North America failed in some cases even shocking telegraph operators. Telegraph pylons threw sparks and telegraph paper spontaneously caught fire. Some telegraph systems appeared to continue to send and receive messages despite having been disconnected from their power supplies. On March 13, 1989 a severe geomagnetic storm caused the collapse of the Hydro-Québec power grid in a matter of seconds as equipment protection relays tripped in a cascading sequence of events. Six million people were left without power for nine hours, with significant economic loss. The storm even caused auroras as far south as Texas. The geomagnetic storm causing this event was itself the result of a coronal mass ejection, ejected from the Sun on March 9, 1989.

Another Super Geomagnetic Storm such as the 1859 event would cause far more devastation in our modern electronic world.

geordietaf on 15-01-2011
Gaia in the embrace of Ra
Blimey - I think I've just had a coronal mass ejection...

Author's Reply:
Be careful - they say it makes you blind.

pdemitchell on 15-01-2011
Gaia in the embrace of Ra
Georditaf just nailed it - heh! Just a few minor suggestions:

As Gaia bathes in your ion winds i-alliteration
My excited tail streams out behind me. remove a syllable
Your electrical gyrations
Increase my magnetic intensity
Until I can no longer absorb [the] superfluous the
The strength of your embrace.
You overwhelm me.
A power surge lights up
my atmospheric skin,
The Earth moves (omit or maybe circuit breakers trip to raunch it up rather than the obvious earth moving?)
And I am plunged into darkness!

Clever! I never thought about the power-outs. Great response and ta for some fascinating history indeedy. mitch 🙂



Author's Reply:

Jolen on 18-01-2011
Gaia in the embrace of Ra
I agree, you used the technical terminology seductively and there's an undercurrent of sensuality that makes the reality all the more lethal.

Love
jolen

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Jolen; it was a very interesting idea of Mitch's.

David


Crab's Diary , Dog Days 3 and 4, Year of the Shepherd Dog, Dog Life 190 (posted on: 14-01-11)
Cleo puts Crab out of countenance.

3rd Dog Day, Year of the Shepherd Dog, Dog Life 190 We up betimes and about early to walk in the Great Park. My Master, I think, doth begin another dalliance. This be with a lady he doth often meet in the park. When this be so, he omits the throwing of my ball, though the exercise be needful for his good health. Instead he doth converse most closely with this Good Wife. She also doth have a dog, or rather a bitch, to guide her about the park. This bitch be a German Shepherd dog called Cleopatra though she be no queen. Why any Englishman or Scottish woman should want a German Shepherd Dog as opposed to a good, no nonsense Border Collie I understand not. While my Master and the Good Wife be deep in conversation, this bitch did purloin my ball. When I, to assert my lawful authority, did approach and growl she did mount me and nipped my scruff as if to to put me down. I submit to no such indignity. Wary, I wait my chance and when Master and the new Mistress be again engrossed with each other, I off to the crossroads and, as my master hath taught me, jump up to press the crossing signal and wait for the green sign when all the carriages do halt, then across to the Lane. First I call upon Liz and Jack and Rosco, but my welcome soon outstayed, I to Peter's yard where I find him sweeping leaves so fall to helping him. When he hath collected a good pile of leaves I take them up in my jaw and move them to a better part of the yard for storing leaves. Not long after my Master doth come running up. I proud of my helpful work do stand and wag merrily, but he is in a foul mood and only cry out, "Bad dog! Bad dog!" O 'tis a Dog's life! 4th Dog Day, Year of the Shepherd, Dog Life 190 My Master long abed this day and deep in the dumps. It is the day of his sister's anniversary that did die out of expectation some eight years ago. I upon the bed to cheer him all I could and give him a good wash since he hath no inclination this day to wash himself. 'Tis a Dog's life!
Archived comments for Crab's Diary , Dog Days 3 and 4, Year of the Shepherd Dog, Dog Life 190

No comments archives found!
Vision on theRoad to Newcastle (posted on: 14-01-11)
A moment of enlightenment

Sometimes I see Deep into the mystery of the world; Into its dark underbelly Where beauty and disease Conduct a continual war For its very soul. Will the question ever be decided? Here is a pretty woman on the bus, Her dark hair elegantly held in place By a silver clip. Behind her a wrinkled head Hangs stiffly ossified And almost bald Its fine hairs delicately, pointlessly Coiffured and scarfed. The man made world And the world of nature Contend with each other to be the most beautiful, The most ugly. To my left Grey Street, curves Neo-classically away, Past the pillared pediment Of the Theatre Royal, Down to the muddy River Tyne. Above it a grey gloom Spits its contempt upon Dobson's Masterpiece, Ineffectively washing the dirty streets, Filling the hidden sewers With Tyne-destined streams. Beauty and squalor seem to need each other Embracing passionately, To emphasise the mystery of things.
Archived comments for Vision on theRoad to Newcastle
stormwolf on 14-01-2011
Vision on theRoad to Newcastle
I really enjoyed this David. It was philisophical and observant capturing the sorts of thought that often assail me in a day in town.
There is a certain mystery and a certain song that still haunts the mundane.
Alison x

PS wanted to ask about the punctuation. Why do you start every line with a capital and the use of commas and full stops seems sporadic too? Just wondering. 😉

Author's Reply:

geordietaf on 16-01-2011
Vision on theRoad to Newcastle
Another of those poems that releases more meaning with each reading. I'll keep coming back to this one. Are you local to Newcastle? I live in Washington.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Geordie, Yes I live in Kenton. And you live in Washington? My commiserations:-)

David

orangedream on 19-01-2011
Vision on theRoad to Newcastle
Loved this, David, and hi, by the way. I have missed your poetry but I see you are still as brilliant as ever.

The last three lines of this one, especially poignant.

"Beauty and squalor seem to need each other
Embracing passionately,
To emphasise the mystery of things."

Just beautiful.

Tina x




Author's Reply:
Thankyou so much Tina for such a lovely inspiring comment - I seem to have missed you too - have you been away or is it just me having a bit of writer's block?

love

Dvaid

orangedream on 22-01-2011
Vision on theRoad to Newcastle
No, you're not suffering from writer's block - far from it, David;-) I have been A.W.O.L. but I'm back again. It's nice to see a few old faces, at least...and I don't mean that literally, of course;-)

See you around, hopefully.

Tina x

Author's Reply:
It is great to see you back Tina - I hope all is well.

David


Crab's Diary 2nd Dog Day, Year of the Shepherd Dog, Dog Life 190 (posted on: 31-12-10)
Another entry from the Diary of Crab the Dog

The last year hath ended in with a most bitter winter, starting with a great freeze and much snow. It began even in the month of the Husky and did thaw for a few days only for the month of the Arctic Fox to be most apt for that dog, the land being covered for the whole month with snow and ice. Since the recent freeze began my master hath been visiting the house of a young bitch called Tina, an apt and pretty name for a pretty bitch. He sayeth that this be because her mistress be too elderly and frail to walk her in such treacherous conditions. However I think that he hath an ulterior motive. He doth encourage her with a plentiful supply of biscuit from his great coat pocket and I have great suspicions that he be about to arrange a marriage between she and I. Today we to her habitation where he did compliment her mistress upon Tina's accomplishments and she upon mine. Then both of us confined together upon short leads and taken along the path to my great estate. I like this not. Pretty bitch she may be but she is not the kind of companion I would seek. She doth seem to think that this arrangement between my master and her mistress be all settled for she wanders all about my estate making free with the grass and bushes thereon to spray her mark as if she did have joint rights of ownership. This be a great impertinence. I have not even sniffed her arse-end or gone nose to nose with her, yet she seems to think that I would desire to mount and mate her and share my estate with her when the season is right. Besides this she is a most unadventurous bitch, with little inclination to sport and play, no interest in balls or flying sticks. All she wants is to sniff about my estate as if she owned it. She feigns to take little notice of me and often gets lost behind some bush or other. If she thinks that this tactic will induce me to leave the chase for balls upon the field and secretly consumate this arrangement of my master and her mistress, she be much mistaken. Indeed, I know not why, but I have little appetite for that sort of rapacious behaviour. There will be no pups in my life, I am determined to remain a bachelor dog all my days. I will suffer her to walk with me, but only upon this inducement, that her mistress at the end of each day's exercise doth dole out great quantities of biscuit, that to me be more satisfying than the regular mounting and humping that marriage doth oblige a dog to perform.
Archived comments for Crab's Diary 2nd Dog Day, Year of the Shepherd Dog, Dog Life 190
pdemitchell on 02-01-2011
Crabs Diary 2nd Dog Day, Year of the Shepherd, Dog Life 190
Fun, David! Not to sure about the hathing and dothing though. Reminds me of the book, Fluke. Don't forget the partial eclipse Tuesday morning! Regards. mitch

Author's Reply:
If you read the first instalment of Crab's Diary you would see that he is writing in the style of that great Dog Diarist, Montagu, dog to Sir Samuel Pepys. In any casr dog languaghe changes more slowly than human language and so Crab still speaks in the elegany language of the 17th Century.

David

teifii on 07-01-2011
Crabs Diary 2nd Dog Day, Year of the Shepherd, Dog Life 190
That be an interesting tale, friend Crab. When that it did snow too bad for our boss to walk outside or to drive the van, we did have like visits from Rocky. His boss Emma hath not designs upon us, though; she doth truly worry about our boss and doth fear she will be falling in the snow which doth lie everywhere.
Rocky be a good friend to us and doth love to play with Dyfi and Silver. I be a little elderly for such goings on but I do run about and do bark when they do chase a ball.
Today it did snow again and we did get our hopes up but it bain't deep so the boss did take us into a sheepless field to play. She did say that our Emma be gone to somewhere called Birmingham and Rocky be not allowed to come by his own self.
Jess

Author's Reply:


Solstice Lunar Eclipse (posted on: 24-12-10)
A rare astronomical event occurred today - a total lunar eclipse on the Winter Solstice - if you failed to get up at 6 O'Clock you will have missed it, but see:- http://www.aolnews.com/2010/12/21/winter-solstice-delivers-lunar-eclipse/ The morning star, Lucifer, was visible too - portentous?

Sometimes I can see it all clearly. This morning I watched the Mid-Winter Moon Sail slowly into the dark embrace of Mother Earth And pull a blood-red veil over his sad face As the Solstice Sun Rose for his briefest display of the year. Between them the morning star, Bright Lucifer, Rode high in the East Towards his inevitable descent Into the burning glare at the centre of worlds. This is a rare day. Watching the diminishing moon Behind these modest houses On the shortest day of the year I see too much. The brilliance of Lucifer Is the right moral for all nations Viewing this portentous sight Is a good moment To consider past and future. This morning I weep For all the suffering of four hundred years. Then I find myself gasping At four centuries of incredible achievements. Above all though, I fear for the future. Like this morning's mourning moon I stand in the deep shade Of Matthew Arnold's darkling plain, All around an ominous, bloody glow From the fires of catastrophic wars.
Archived comments for Solstice Lunar Eclipse
pdemitchell on 26-12-2010
Solstice Lunar Eclipse
Not a bad astronomical ode there, Dave, never really thought of venus as Luicifer before. a blood-red 400-year moon and imissed it as it was cloudy in Cardiff. Dang. Happy new year. Mitch

Author's Reply:
The Greeks thought that the Morning Star Hesperos or Phospheros or Roman Lucifer was a different planet from the Evening Star Aphrodite or Roman Venus. It is particularly brilliant at the moment - look out to the South East at about 7 am and you will see it. Almost a daylight object.

David


The Diary of Crab the Dog (posted on: 24-12-10)
After seeing the Lunar Eclipse yesterday my dog, Crab has been inspired to commence a new journal.

The Diary of Crab the Dog Commenced upon 1st Dog Day, Year of the Shepherd, Dog Life 190 
INTRODUCTION 
 
"I am his highness' dog at Kew, 
 Pray tell me sir, whose dog are you?" 
 In this manner did `Alexander' that most celebrated and literary Spaniel of his former glorious Majesty, King Charles II, famously commence his great work `The Book of Doggerel'. I believe that I should begin in like manner:- 
 I am David's dog at Kenton, 
 Whose Merits be too great to mention. 
 Lest it be thought that this be but a currish piece of base flattery to ensure that my supply of bone and biscuit be not curtailed, let me assure all that my master David Turner be a much accomplished Poet and player of the Croquet, a scientist of such enthusiasm that he doth deserve, though hath not yet yet been offered, the honour of being appointed a member of the Royal Society; a master so widely read and fond of the plays that I am sure no other dog can claim such an excellent literary education. However he be also an indifferent player of the recorders and an even more indifferent singer - except when he doth perform in duet with me that most delightful ballad, `How Much is that Doggy in the Window', when it seems that the excellence of my performance of the eight notes of my part doth inspire him to a tolerably good rendition; he is also of excellent and well matured vintage, but upon occasion he doth display some distemper, and is as such the first secretary of the Kenton GOMS (Grumpy Old Men Society). Like his great hero, Sir Samuel Pepys, my master has a someone quixotic nature. Sir Samuel Pepys did honourably name his dog after his great patron, Edward Montagu, Earl of Sandwich in order that he might always be reminded that a man may be among the mightiest in the Kingdom one day and nothing better than a dog the next! My master in his eccentricity hath named me after a most foulsome and odourous cur that did take a part in one of the plays that William Shakespeare, (if he be entitled to such a title) another gentleman that hath more fancy than sense, wrote for public exhibition upon the stage. It is thought by many scholars of this presumptuous playwright, that he himself did own a cur called Crab who was by his master perforce obliged to act this indignity in his play called 'Two Gentlemen of Verona' a most insignificant play to my mind, in which the poor dog must suffer much indignity in order to amuse the audience and contrast his lowly status and that of his master Launce with the elevated status of Launce's master Valentino. This was a cur (in the play) that thought nothing of farting under the table at the Duke's banquet, or pissing upon a lady's dress or stealing pigs trotters from the market place. For this, to prevent the cur from being whipped or hanged, his master was perforce obliged to go into the stocks or submit to whipping himself. This name being so great an indignity to bestow upon a dog that hath noble breeding from the great line of English Border Collies, I am greatly resolved that my master, despite his many merits, shall suffer in like manner, and to this end I do intend to do my utmost endeavour to inflict the like fate upon this master of mine, be he ever so accomplished and well thought of among men of education, and, for the future education of my family's descendants, write and publish my doings and accomplishments in this diary. It seems appropriate that I should begin this journal in the year of the Shepherd, I being a shepherd dog even though my master hath no sheep of his own and does live by his wits and whatever pension pittances he can obtain from Her Majesty's government. For those curs that count the years and days by the Calendar of that Great stealer of days, Pope Gregory XIII, I have explained the ancient calendar of Caninus in Appendix I. 
 If all you young pups carefully read my explanation you will be able to determine quite easily that the date upon this day now be Doglife 190, Year of the Shepherd Dog, Dog Day 1. Briefly the Calendar of Caninus has 12 months of 29 or 30 days. The 11 missing days, the Dog Days, that are needed to make up a year of 365 days are added at the end or beginning of the year depending upon when the First Month of the year, the month of the Grey Wolf, begins. Since months, as is logical, always, begin on the day of a New Moon the number of Dog Days in any year doth vary. As the full moon falleth upon the day of the Solstice in this year of the Shepherd Dog, the year wilt commence with 15 Dog Days. The cycles of moon and sun are a great mystery and of great length and this event when both Sun and Moon are fully seen at the time of Solstice doth occur rarely. Those are rare years when there be 30 Dog Days at the start of the year. This happens when the New Moon appears on the day of the Solstice thus commencing the Dog Month. That great event doth occur in the life of dogs but once every 59 years. Thus most dogs will never see such an event in their lifetime. This year the Dog Days will be a very great feast, even though it will not be a Dog Month. This very year a most remarkable event will take place. Upon the day of the winter solstice this year, not only will there be a full moon but there will be the most extraordinary year that hath been since 1638 by the reckoning of men, or Dog Life 175: Year of the hound. An event chronicled by Alexander, King Charles's Spaniel when the Great King was but 8 years old. Upon the Winter Solstice there will be a total eclipse of the Moon beginning at the sixth hour of the day. This is the first time the two events have lined up on the same day in 372 years. Since this year be most extraordinary in that such a rare event will commence the year, it is thought by all Astrologers and Seers that this will be a great year for Dogkind. This be indeed an auspicious year upon to which to commence my account of the days of dog! A New Age indeed in the History of Dogkind, and one, which, for my part, I do fully intend to record as accurately and honestly as I am able. 1st Dog Day, Year of the Shepherd, Dog Life 190 This morning my master rose betimes. I surprised, but instantly ready to be abroad when he descended the stairs and opened the two doors to exit our abode. He being a most well informed and enthusiastic observer of the heavens I did immediately comprehend that we be about to go forth and observe the remarkable eclipse of the moon that hath been predicted upon the winter solstice for this year. He hath prepared himself with a good pair of looking glasses and a camera to record the event. At once into the Lane we did observe that the great eclipse had commenced already, the western portion of its orb being already obscured by the shadow of the Earth. The sky, quite clear and air very cold, snow several inches deep upon the ground. We did watch as the bright globe of the full moon did gradually darken as it moved into the shadow of our Earth. As it did so the globe did not disappear but became the colour of dark blood. Then the moon did begin to disappear below the houses upon the other side of the lane so Master and I up to the top of Kenton Bank to continue our astronomical studies. To our dismay a great rack of cloud did blow in from the North and obscure all. Master did set up the camera to observe the rising of the New Year Sun but sadly that too was veiled by the incoming cloud. So I about, to find a good stick for Master's exercise. This be a continual duty of mine. Did I not take these duties seriously Master, who hath already a great girth, would be so wide that entry and exit to his house would be a difficult and painful undertaking. Each morning I am obliged to yap into his ears to remind him that it be time for his walk, else he would spend the whole morning upon his counting and writing machine to determine how much he be worth and whether any lady or wench be willing to exchange their favours for one of his. The stick I brought him being not to Master's satisfaction he did fashion it into a smaller and less troublesome device for greater ease of throwing. At last being satisfied that the Moon and sun would not appear more this day of the New Year, he and I home to our breakfast. He to a great bowl of oats and milk, I to no more than to lick out out his leavings. Oh, 'tis a dog's life! Appendix 1 The Calendar of Caninus Dog Astronomer to the Roman Emperor Caligula The Calendar of Canius, the great Imperial Roman dog astronomer, works thus. He counted the first year from the founding of Rome, which Christian men date as 753 years before the birth of Christ. Since the life of a dog be but fifteen years Caninus divided time into epochs of fifteen years, which he called Doglives, the years that make up a Doglife being called:- 
 The year of the hunting dog 
 The year of the courser 
 The year of the hound 
 The year of the shepherd dog The year of the pointer 
 The year of the setter 
 The year of the ratter 
 The year of the tracker dog 
 The year of the guard dog 
 The year of the rescue dog 
 The year of the guide dog 
 The year of the sniffer dog 
 The year of the search dog 
 The year of the water dog 
 The year of the draft dog 
 The year of the terrier 


 According to Caninus there have been 2853 years since the founding of Rome hence there hath been 190 epochs and 3 years. The year be divided into 12 months, each month being alternately 30 or 29 days since Canius had discovered by his great wit and understanding that the moon doth go about the earth every 29 and half days. 
The months of the year in order be:- The Grey Wolf 
 The Dingo 
 The Fennec 
 The Coyote 
 The JackaL 
 The Fox 
 The Arctic Fox 
 The Husky 
 The Red Wolf 
 The Singing Dog 
 The Dhole 
 The Wild Dog 
 However he hath also noted that the Earth do go about the sun every 365 and one quarter days. This was a great discovery of Caninus. He made the Imperial astronomer, Sosigenes of Alexandria to understand this truth and so by his advice the Emperor, Julius Caesar did amend the calendar for the greater convenience of all humanity and add an extra day to the year upon every fourth year. Of course the 12 months of the moon do make but 354 days of the years accompt so there remains each year 11 days that can be claimed by no month. These days are the dog days of the year, a time of feasting, merriment and disorder that be ruled over not by the Royal King but by the Lord of Misrule. By the calendar of men, that Pope Gregory the XIII did instigate, the year begins upon January the 1st, an inauspicious day since it is neither follows the the law of the sun or that of the moon. For those that know only the Calendar of Gregory, the winter solstice each year be upon the 21st day of December. The year of Caninus always begins on the eve of the day of the Winter Solar Solstice when the night be as merry and as long as can be. However the month of the Grey Wolf doth begin on the eve of the first new moon after or on the solstice. The actual day, according to the sun, that the month of the Grey Wolf doth commence varies according to the rule of the heavens. Those days between the Solstice and the first of day of the month of the Grey Wolf are the Dog Days of the year. It was later discovered that Caninus was not correct in his measurement of the days of the year as it was noticed that the year is 11 minutes short of 365 and days so Pope Gregory VIII was obliged to order that 11 days be removed from the year of 1582. It was of course dog astronomers observing the day of the Solstice for the correct calculation of the number of Dog Days in each year who first noticed this anomaly and Pope Gregory's dog had to point out the error to his Holiness. The number of dog days in each year doth vary. Once every 59 years the first day of the month of the Grey Wolf may be upon the day of the Solstice, upon others it may be 29 or 30 whole days after the solstice. When this great happening doth occur there be a whole month of Dog Days which be declared The Dog Month. The cycles of moon and sun are a great mystery and of great length and this event when both Sun and Moon are fully seen at the time of Solstice doth occur rarely and so this be a time of great Festival.
Archived comments for The Diary of Crab the Dog
stormwolf on 29-12-2010
The Diary of Crab the Dog
Hi David
Phew! This was very witty in many places but I felt a tad too long to start with.
It is very full of facts and figures which I feel that only the very keenest reader will feel inclined to plough through all in one go. The majority of writing would be much broken into paragraphs to help make it more readily available for the reader.

It was well written and I can see you reading it aloud and that would allow the many funny instances to be prominent from what I feel was too much information to take in in one go.
I hope this has been helpful for you.
I missed the eclipse sadly but I could visualise in it Kenton Lane no probs.
Alison x
ps give Crab a clap for me. 😉



Author's Reply:
Thankyou very much Alison for those useful comments - it is supposed to be part of a book so it will grow even longer but as a post perhaps I should have published the Appendix on UKA separately. The next entries will be shorter and of course all the stuff about the calandar is just me running away with my astronomical interests. What about the significance of the eclipse from an astrological point of view ? It last happened in 1638 presaging the English Civil War!

stormwolf on 31-12-2010
The Diary of Crab the Dog
and of course all the stuff about the calandar is just me running away with my astronomical interests.

Is this considerate of the reader and whom does it serve?

To be honest, this is what will put people off reading the rest and miss out on the real humour. It can come accross as self indulgent I am sorry to say
Happy Hogmanay though!
Alison x

Author's Reply:


Bethlehem 2002 (posted on: 24-12-10)
Written as Christmas poem in 2002 to highlight the great irony of the season in the place of Christ's Birth, Sadly it is still appropriate today 8 years later.

So, at the length of two thousand years The Lord God commanded his only son; "Again, again!" I say "Thou shalt be made Man, And return to the land of thy birth, To that place that is yet called Bethlehem." And so it was done and Maryam with her husband, Yusef, journeyed to the town of Bethlehem, To the `A` land of Palestine, That their child might be born free. When they came the Inns were all empty, The roads closed to travellers from the West, The rubble was on the streets, the tanks on the hills; And the bulldozers were hungry for houses. When the child was born The hospitals were filled with injured. The curfew barred all access to the streets, The midwives denied attendence on the labouring; The cattle penned, and the shepherds Driven from the hills. The Kings sat in their tents And talked of the Peace Process. In Bethlehem a miracle was wrought; The children trapped by a hail of bullets Caught them from the air and turned them to precious stones. Then, facing the soldiers and guns and tanks Threw these jewels of hope back into the Holy Land. Unto Maryam a boy child was born While the guns rang and flares lit the sky. Maryam and Jusef named their child Shalom, That he might bring Peace to the world. But King Sharon, hearing of this was enraged And ordered his army to search throuh the town For all the first born male children That desired Peace for Palestine. The roads into Egypt were all blocked; Gaza surrounded by a desert of fear , Jerusalem lay divided under heaven, From oppression and hatred There was no escape, So, in Betlehem, in two thousand and two, Poor little Shalom failed to thrive.
Archived comments for Bethlehem 2002
stormwolf on 30-12-2010
Bethlehem 2002
a sad mixing of times and stories David.
No peace it seems to all men.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Yes Alison - the irony of it could not be greater.

David


A Piece of Work 10th December 2010 (posted on: 20-12-10)
What a piece of work is a man.

What a thing it is to be human: To grasp the complexity of this strange world; To bestride the continents from pole to pole Where great thoughts in each new language swirled; To watch the gods' kaleidoscope Whirling in its changes round and round; And hear in every wind an aeolian harp Making harmony of each strange sound; To taste the bitter sweet of love's intensity; And in that greatest ecstasy touch The sensual silk of life's propensity; Then smell the musky odour of decay, Knowing that at the last, we go this way.
Archived comments for A Piece of Work 10th December 2010
stormwolf on 21-12-2010
A Piece of Work 10th December 2010
I really enjoyed this David. It has an olde worlde feel about it and I really felt the emotion in it too.
It grasps the turbulance of life and ends on a sad note. As you are a humanist...you do not see anything beyond this world whereas I see this world as simply a station on the way to so much more.
Anyway, m'dear. have a Merry Midwinter Festival and take heart, after the winter solstice, Grandfather Sun will be on his way back
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison,
I am always glad at the passing of the Solstice - the weather may indeed get colder yet but we can atleast comfort ourselves with the thought that King Oak is back on his throne and that the days are getting shorter:-)

Did you see the lunar eclipse this morning just as the Sun was rising on the shortest day? What does that signify? We only get a full moon on the Mid winter solstice once every 56 years and the last eclipse on the solstice was 400 years ago.

David


David

sybarite on 29-12-2010
A Piece of Work 10th December 2010
Nice, contemplative writing.

To watch the gods' kaleidoscope
Whirling in its changes round and round; --lovely.

I frequently muse along the same lines so this had a particular appeal for me.

Author's Reply:
THankyou Syb,

'the god's kaleidoscope' is a reference to a poem by Wilfrid owen from a Sonnet called 'Happiness':-

Happiness

Ever again to breathe pure happiness,
The happiness our mothers gave us boys?
To smile at nothings, needing no caress?
Have we not laughed too often since with joys?
Have we not wrought too sick and sorrowful wrongs
For their hands' pardoning? The sun may cleanse
And time and starlight. Life will sing sweet songs
And gods will show us pleasures more than men's

But the old happines is unreturning
Boy's griefs are not so grievous as youth's yearnings
Boys have no sadness sadder than our hope
We who have seen the god's kaleidoscope
And played with human passions for our toys,
We know men suffer chiefly by their joys.

Those last three lines are for me among the greatest ever written in English, along with

'And each slow dusk a drwaing down of blinds' also by Owen

and

'The still sad music of humanity' Wordsworth

and

'They hand in hand with wandring steps and slow,
Through Eden took thir solitarie way' 'Paradise Lost - Milton

Notice these lines all seem to be about the tragedy of being human!?


David


Merry Mid-Winter (posted on: 20-12-10)
Mid-Winter Card poem for this year

Mid-Winter Sun hangs low and pale Above the hills around Tynedale Let the river run on down Through Corbridge Bridge to Newcastle Town. When it meets the cold North Sea Its waters will at last be free. Let's celebrate that it is leaving This past year of joy and grieving And face the New Year soon to come With hope and feasting, mirth and fun.
Archived comments for Merry Mid-Winter
stormwolf on 21-12-2010
Merry Mid-Winter
Lovely and poignant David. I really tuned into the feeling in this one and as one for whom the seasons speak loudly, it resonated too
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison.

David

sunken on 23-12-2010
Merry Mid-Winter
A neat little piece and no mistake, Mr. Corin. Tell me, at this feast of yours, will there be Pot Noodle? You can't beat a Pot Noodle. Nice work, fella.

s
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you'll always find him in the freezer at parties

Author's Reply:


I Like Words (posted on: 06-12-10)
Part of the June MacArdy series - (Not her real name)

I like words. You can hide behind them Or between them or under them. When you stick them to the blank page They curl around you Like the gravel shell of a caddis fly larva. Words are good for indigestion. If you bite off too much love And it comes vomiting back up again You can cover the stench with words, Spit them out, again and again All over your piles of technicolour yawn. I am grateful to words, Each one carries away its own little parcel of pain Like a honey bee with two beads of pollen Weighing it down on its hive bound flight. When you have written them all out You can blow them away With a small puff of breath Into random careless winds And forget.
Archived comments for I Like Words
Gee on 06-12-2010
I Like Words
I probably have this all wrong but I read this as words being some kind of protection and also catharsis against the pain that relationships can bring. For me, I found it very effective.

Author's Reply:
You have it spot on Gee - though of course that is not the only kind of pain that writing about it can hep to cure.

David

Jolen on 07-12-2010
I Like Words
Hi David,
I agree with Gee, again! And there are some seriously great images and lines in this poem. I particularly liked "I am grateful to words,
Each one carries away its own little parcel of pain." Yes, this is effective and evocative and just a damned fine piece of work!

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Jolen

David

pdemitchell on 07-12-2010
I Like Words
Catharsis! Bless me for I have sneezed on the pollen! i can feel a lot of anger in this and sometimes anger as a muse can be very effective as here with some gravelly metaphors. I would only suggest some separation (after lines 6 and 12) into three stanzas to improve the presentation as I found it detracted slightly when read. A minor nigglet, David, in a fine piece. Well done. Mitch 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mitch - I take the point about the stanzas - Anger yes - I suppose the vomiting images give that away:-)

David

sunken on 11-12-2010
I Like Words
Hello Mr. Corin. A corkingly good write and no mistake. I was asked recently what my favourite word was. After much deliberation I plumped for Cheesecake. It's just so tasty. I suspect I got the wrong end of the stick.

s
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bottled at source

Author's Reply:
I am afraid that my favourite word is not so tasty as yours it is 'pusillanimous' - tastes and smells of vomit.
I have just poured buckets of this word over Nick Clegg.

sybarite on 17-12-2010
I Like Words
I was on the hook by line 2. Delightfully surprised by the rest of the poem. Vibrant and colorful writing.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Sybarite. Sorry about all the colour in the poem:-)


Burial Right? (posted on: 29-11-10)


They took away my lovely Aunt today And put her in the cold, cold ground Because they said that she was dead And could hear no earthly sound, Then they piled earth upon her head And left her there to lie That is what it means, they said, To live and then to die.
Archived comments for Burial Right?

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For Aunt Mary, 1925-2010 (posted on: 29-11-10)
A lovely woman

There should be tears But just now they won't come. For me she was the last of the Great Generation, The one that fought and won the second world war. They endured all, Rebuilt a broken country, Created a National Health Service, A Welfare State Even though we were in debt Up to our necks to the Americans. They passed on all to us, The Baby Boomers - The Lucky Generation. What she gave me I Have always been grateful for. Now all we can do is hope That we have passed on enough To our children, That we have made the sacrifices Of that Great Generation Worthwhile and enduring. She was a great aunt, As aunt, as great aunt and as great great aunt. What can you do with a lifetime of love? Oh! And now the tears come But they can't wash love away, Nor can today's flash floods Or even the great tidal flood That still threatens London. In the end all we can do is pass it on, As she did.
Archived comments for For Aunt Mary, 1925-2010
pdemitchell on 29-11-2010
For Aunt Mary, 1925-2010
Hi David - another emotive piece and a fine homily to a wonderful woman from a long-gone generation. The only technical glitch is that I've noticed lately is you're repeating words over and over again which is spiking this lovely piece - six greats and five generations. Any chance of a quick edit and ending with line 3 to really make the point: the last of a great generation? Hope you don't mind the comment! Excellent otherwise. Mitch

Author's Reply:
Well to be honest Mitch I don't see how I can make these points without repetition. It is a bit like 'Just a Minute' I think - some words you are allowed to repeat:-) And the repetition of 'great' was deliberate - a pun on being a great aunt i.e. a very good Aunt and a 'Great Aunt' as in Aunt once removed.



Perhaps yoour ears are just too sensitive:-) The same thing happens with people with perfect pitch. They can't enjoy Bach's 'Well Tempered Clavier' because they can hear that in some keys the notes are not in tune. A teacher I worked with had perfect pitch and he could not play the school piano because when he was playing in C it sounded like C#:-)

BTW I am not sure about the 'long gone generation', It is the generation who fought World War II that I am thinking of. Those born from 1900 to 1930. Many of them are still alive and it is only last year that the last of the World War I veterans died. These people don't deserve to be written off yet:-)



David

Ionicus on 29-11-2010
For Aunt Mary, 1925-2010
A lovely tribute to a relative that you must have loved and admired, David. A poem full of good sentiments and excellent lines such as:
"She was a great aunt,
As aunt, as great aunt and as great great aunt.
What can you do with a lifetime of love?"

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Luigi. What did you think of Mitch's niggle by the way - when writing it I didn't think at all about the repetitions. THis poem went on the Memorial Card for her at the funeral and was appreciated by her son. On the whole it sounded OK to me read aloud.

David

Leila on 29-11-2010
For Aunt Mary, 1925-2010
I always enjoy reading poems like this and the love for aunt comes across and the point you are making is being driven home, I do tend to agree with Mitch about editing it would give this lovely poem a softer touch...Leila

Author's Reply:
Thankyou for your comment Leila - I have looked at it again and edited it to reduce the repetition but I also agree with Luigi's point below - I hope I have improved the balance.

David

Ionicus on 29-11-2010
For Aunt Mary, 1925-2010
Sometimes, David, repetitions can be used to give emphasis to a poem. Coincidentally, on ABCtales this week there is an inspiration point which requires the use of repetition of a word or a phrase for the purpose that I stated above.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Luigi, You are right about the repertition . I am astonished sometimes how effectively Shakespeare uses it. I wish I could think of the examples now.

David

e-griff on 30-11-2010
For Aunt Mary, 1925-2010
well, I'm a picky sod, as you know 🙂

First, on 'generations' - you are not using the word in a generic way, but a specific one - so 'Great Generation' is a term in itself, then you have 'Lucky Generation' - these are titles, so it is not repetition, IMO (just as 'I saw Mr Brown and Mr Robinson' is not either). On the second 'Great Generation', you are making clear you are referring back to the title you have defined earlier on. so I think that's okay, frankly.

Second, I understand your play with great, great etc. However, it seems to be a little self-indulgent, and a joke which by its presence distracts from the very real sentiments of the poem, somewhat at odds with them - I think you could make the same point by simply saying:

She was a great aunt,
A truly great aunt,

if you wanted to leave that in

anyway, I've said before I sometimes find your poems a litlle long (although this one is admirably brief in comparison 🙂 ) so editing is always good!

best, JohnG

Author's Reply:
Thankyou John, I wish I had thought of that argument when I was trying to defend the repetition. Now I am beginning to think I should go back to the original, the edit just repeats a thought I posted a while ago in a poem called 'The Great Generation'

The play on 'great' is important to me, not as a joke, certainly it was not intended as such, I have a photo of her standing with all her nieces beside her and that was the image in my mind.

THis was an emotional experience for me, my father died when and I was two and Aunt Mary helped my mother a lot to bring us up, so I think she truly deserves lots of 'greats' 🙂

Warm Wishes

David

teifii on 01-12-2010
For Aunt Mary, 1925-2010
Lovely tribute and I'm sure well deserved. I'm sure the other relatives were delighted to have it at her funeral.
I do agree a bit with Mitch but you can always edit much later just as poetry if you want, while leaving it for now just as you felt it. At this point it is Aunt Mary who matters not poetic correctness.

Author's Reply:
thankyou Daffni.

THis is the edited version which I am still not sure about - but the discussion on repetition was interesting.


David

sunken on 12-12-2010
For Aunt Mary, 1925-2010
Hello Mr. Corin. I touching tribute indeed. I tend to favour repetition in poetry, but then every one is different I guess. My aunty Flo, for instance, favoured calor gas. Ahem. I swear that made sense in my head. Nice work.

s
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Author's Reply:


Economic Theory (posted on: 26-11-10)
The story of our times.

I don't understand economics. My friend, who studied it at university, says he doesn't understand it either. The economists think they understand economics, they try to explain it all to the bloody politicians but they don't understand it either. They think they do, but they don't. And anyway one lot of economists always say exactly the opposite to the other lot. So then the poor bloody politicians have to make a choice. That's exactly where all the trouble starts. When politicians have to make a choice they always end up making the wrong fucking one. Hence we always end up in the shit and the economists and bankers and politicians always end up in the Hunky Dory. The World Economy is what mathematicians call a chaotic system. It is described by second order differential equations, they are insoluble, so whatever you do the end result is always different to what you expect. Except of course you can be sure we always end up in the shit and the economists and bankers and politicians always end up in the Hunky Dory.
Archived comments for Economic Theory
pdemitchell on 27-11-2010
Economic Theory
Hi David - this is wrought and angsty for you! I share the sentiment but the constant repeat of economics in a free-form approach killed it a little for me as a poem - sorry about that. Q: How many economists does it take to change a lightbulb? A: None - since when has an economist ever shed light on anything! Take care. Mitch

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the feedback Mitch - I will have a look and see what I can do.


Silence of the Supermarkets (posted on: 12-11-10)
Armistice Day 11:00, 11/11/2010 A few years ago it had ceased to be the custom for the 2 minute silence to be observed in streets and shops and offices at 11am on November the eleventh. Since so many young men started have lost their lives in Iraq and Afghanistan the practice has revived.

It was eerie in the supermarket today On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. A brief customer announcement And the silence began to spread out across the store. Focussed shoppers realised something Odd was happening, Looked up, Stood still And joined in. After a minute all you could hear was the hum of the lighting and fridges And the noise of children Too young to understand. Another announcement and the supermarkets All over Britain Returned to normality, Whilst young men, In service abroad again, Returned to abnormality.
Archived comments for Silence of the Supermarkets
pdemitchell on 12-11-2010
Silence of the Supermarkets
So true - we don't stop in silence often enough because we all fear our true thoughts and feeling. Mitch 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thanks for reading and commenting Mitch. However have you noticed that at football matches these days there is quite a tradition of observing silence for various people. Sometimes, more imaginatively, they have a one minute noise for someone - usually clapping - which is very appropriate often.

On Radio One they had a two minute noise for John Peel when he died - all music of course and very moving.


David

sunken on 13-11-2010
Silence of the Supermarkets
Hello Mr. Corin. It's a shame it's taken current events to reaffirm such customs. We must never forget. England under Hitler. It doesn't bear thinking about. Maggie was bad enough 😉 Nice work, fella.

s
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Author's Reply:
Thankyou Sunk,
You are invited to the Street Party at Grey's Monument Newcastle Upon Tyne when the wicked witch of the west dies. However I expect that there will be one near you somewhere. I think this is on UKA somewhere but the search engine seems to filter out all the F words!


No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West!


No sodding state fucking funeral
When that Wicked Witch is dead
Get your instruments out and tune 'em all.;
We'll have a street party instead.

We'll blow 'em and bang 'em and pluck 'em
And sing till our voices are hoarse,
If anyone's seen mourning we'll fuck 'em -
With a cunt correction course!

When the news comes early one morning
That the bastardess died in the night
We'll all celebrate the first dawning
Of a world in a Thatcherless light.


We'll put out the flags before lunchtime
Start drinking as soon as we're done,
Eat a TINA sandwich with lime,
Then go out on the Town and have fun.


Well dance down the streets in a conga
Stretching round every big roundabout
We'll sing the old song a bit longer
Maggie Out! Maggie Out! Maggie Out!


We'll fill every street with long tables,
And load them with high VAT
Write about full employment as fables
Give out interest rises for free.

Well stuff a blue dress with Right nonsense
And give it a daft straw hat
And a handbag without any conscience
Though there is no such thing such as that!


In the Town Square we'll build a big bonfire
To burn the blue effigy
And show the dead cunt she's liar
And that THIS is Society


Odysseus and Peisinoe v2 (posted on: 08-11-10)
A dramatic verse. Characters: Odysseus Greek hero who captured Troy by the devious trick of a giant wooden horse and was then cursed by Aphrodite to wander the Mediterranean, blown by malicious winds. Peisinoe One of the three sirens who tried to shipwreck Odysseus on their isle of Sirenum Scopuli

Peisinoe O Aphrodite! Goddess of love, Hear my plea! Answer my prayer! I, who could win win any man Am caught in my own love snare. Crafty Odysseus has outwitted me. My singing filled him with desire. But his gentle voice and heroic deeds Set my once hard heart on fire. My two sisters have left me here And cast themselves into the sea To pursue the swift ship sailing by And lure Odysseus from me. I know you love him not at all He ruined Troy, your beloved city, By his trick with the wooden horse, You too have loved - on me take pity. Ask of me all I have But return him to this rocky shore. I will be mortal just like him And wait right here for ever more. I care not that I will grow old, Year after year, day after day. He will return, he promised me, Great goddess you must find the way. On wings of uncertain winds, I have sent my love to him, Entrusted letters to the birds, My love is no mere godly whim. Deliver my love to Odysseus, Bring him soon back to me. I suffer from love's greatest pain. O! Aphrodite hear my plea. Odysseus Has it come to this? So is this all That I, an idle king, sit in my hall Dreaming of days gone by and deeds once done Waiting, waiting for death to come? All this is dull, what care I now for wars Or remote justice or some peasant's cause Or lands I might yet conquer and then rule. To order men to battle seems now cruel, When wives will lose new husbands loved not long, And children fathers, to whom they should belong. My fame gives me no comfort in this state ? Those deeds I did, that in my youth seemed great, Now seem to be the folly of a man That knows the price of every cooking pan But not the value of eating with his friends Or living to the full each day life sends. To me the gods once sent a gift of love; But I was made of such martial stuff I bade the crew to tie me to the mast And ordered deafened men to sail on past The island of Sirenum where once sang The most lovely nymph to ever love a man. And I, fool that I was and am, Cast away the chance I might have had. It seemed after that I had fallen mad To answer Peisinoe's love so true And swear I loved and ever would renew My vow and come again to live in love with her. But, not a single word of promise did occur - Once her song had faded and my men Released me from the ropes that held me then, Ambition and my kingly pride held sway And I commanded my swift ship to sail away. Peisinoe O Morpheus, maker of dreams, bringer of sleep O why am I so troubled in my rest? The same dream recurs again and again, Always repeating exactly as before. Are you sending me a message from the gods? I am walking in the moons soft light, I hear the whispering breath of a gentle sea As I walk with bare feet in its lapping waves My long white gown to my body clings Made wet and quite transparent in the spray. Then I see him looking straight at me, His passionate voice calling loud and clear, His arms held wide, his hands reaching out I do not doubt that they ache for me. I can not see Odysseus's face Just his shadow dancing on the waves Then fading like the last star of the night. Odysseus Now my aged wife seems not to care Where I lay my head or if I share My thoughts with other women or old friends, Or to where my look and fancy bends. So! Now I mean to try what withered limbs And a heart still longing to fulfil strange whims Might yet achieve before I face the time When I must live in dying bards dead rhyme. My ship is stored, my mariners set sail, My son his duty knows and will not fail To wisely rule this realm and serve my stead, And comfort my poor wife in her sick bed. Now the wind to Eastern Isles does blow. Aeolius, my longing heart must know, Aiding me with his strong western breeze, Which, if it keep, will carry me to those seas Where I left, upon a lonely rocky isle, Unconsummated love waiting while I went to seek the trifles that most men Find, too late, are but a worthless gem - Shining bright but without real worth, No more use than stones in fertile earth. Peisinoe Moonlight creeps and clings to me, Its long and puzzling pattern cast By the bright but distant orb When dark clouds part at last. This speaking ocean splashes now Towards my lonely native shore A bottle with a letter in Written by his hand I'm sure. The message was to wait for him. Can this all he had to say? I have loved and waited long I can wait for one more day. The breeze is changing surely now, In some strange mysterious way , Along the shores and by it's edge, The rocks and stones and secret caves The very air above the sea Resound among the crashing waves. Driftwood, so wet and very dark, Piles up upon the sand In the shape of a great horse Left as a gift upon the sand. Can this be the sign I want? O Aphrodite, queen of love What is happening to my heart? I thank all the mighty gods above. Odysseus O Peisinoe - be upon that strand Where I heard you singing on the sand. My messages of love long have I cast Where ocean's stream would carry them on past, In bottles shaped like to my loving heart, The rocky isle where she lives apart. Though I am old I live and live in love. Look to this setting moon that shines above If I can see it then, if you live, can you. Give me some sign that you see it too, Some hope that I am not embarked too late! You gods let this not be my foolish fate! Oh look! see where that evening cloud Has parted like Artemis's torn shroud And revealed to this watching lover's eye Aphrodite's star bright in the sky! Peisinoe O you mighty and blessed gods Peisonoe, last of the three sirens, Thanks you from the depths of my great heart. I know now that the only man Ever to escape my sway, The only man that I have ever truly loved, Returns to me. These heart shaped bottles at my feet Contain his promise to come again to Sirenum Scopuli. For cunning Odysseus I have forsworn immortality. Like him I grow old That he might, with honour in his age, Love me still. One night of gentle loving is all I ask. Great Poseidon, your encircling ocean stream, Guided by your fish-tailed sons, Proteus and Triton, Has brought these messages to me. To you, in return, I pledge my soul. Odysseus My men! To ship! To ship, let loose the sheets, We sail tonight to do love's greater feats. Peisinoe A sail! A sail! Upon the horizon's misty compass I see a ship. He comes, he comes, That horse emblazoned on the sail means it is he. O Aurelius, blow just between Those extremities of gentle wind and storm To bring him fast to me without mishap upon the dangerous sea. Odysseus My heart aches as if some artery were blocked And all my breath were not enough to keep my soul Any longer to its nascent body tied. My mind whirls as if in Charybdis engulfed. This was folly to return again to Sirenum shores, To leave my ears unstopped when my old ship returned To that sweet shore where dwelled once the melodious three. I little thought such gods of womankind would stay In just one place on this imperfect Earth and wait For half the lifetime of a mortal, foolish man. Now I have heard her sing once more and know I never will depart these rocky shores again. My men I have dismissed and given them my ship To sail it back to Ithaca or where they will With my great treasure split in shares among them all. They are departed hence and here I stand upon the rocks Among the boiling shallows of the island's strand. Her voice calls and echoes sweetly from the cliffs. I see her come, stepping nimbly down the path. She's an immortal goddess but I see she's aged. How can this be? And yet her beauty in my eyes Is undiminished though she looks as old as me. She smiles and calls and holds her arms out wide to me. We clasp each other in a loving, tight embrace. Her lips press hard on mine and my heart beats so loud It is as if I hear the drums of war again. My chest is full of pain like none I felt before. It is more than I can bear, my knees give way, I fall. She holds me up and looks into my eyes with fear. Their brightness overwhelms the sun kissed world of men. Except for their immortal light all light else fades. Is this the end of days? Do I wake or sleep? Peisinoe No! No ! No! No! No! O you careless cruel and callous gods. I curse you all with my remaining strength. Why give life to these poor mortal men? Let them live to learn to live and love Then snatch away the fruits of learning? Unfeeling Fates, why do this dreadful deed - And cut the Odysseian thread Just as he and I were to offer love For the glory of immortal gods. I curse the Olympian Pantheon, All you gods! Listen to your fate. Before I, once an immortal, die I will claim the right to prophesy. A thousand years though you rule the world One will come and overthrow your realm, Though Zeus throw all the thunderbolts of heaven And Aphrodite on him try her charms. Though Hades hide where he will in hell He will turn you all to ancient myth. His weapons are not bronze or steel or fire But mercy love and self sacrifice. His death will be your end not his And it will grant all men eternal life. Poseidon! Take me now into my watery grave To await my resurrection and new life!
Archived comments for Odysseus and Peisinoe v2
Beth on 08-11-2010
Odysseus and Peisinoe v2
Hi Corin, I thought at first that this was a bit long and it was going to be a difficult read but I was soon caught up in the story and I thought it was brilliant, I love this sort of historical poetry and I thought you did very well. This is my favourite image:
Just his shadow dancing on the waves
Then fading like the last star of the night.

Thanks for posting - regards Beth

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Beth - that is very encouraging - I realise that long pieces tend to put people off, myself included but I did hope that the story might capture some readers' interest so I am vey pleased that it worked for you. Actually this started as a joint write with a friend on the Creative Poems site. However I decided to rewrite it to get more rythym and rhyme into it for Peisinoe's part and I also padded it out a bit. The original jointly authored version is at:-

http://www.creative-poems.com/poem.php?id=271150

It's OK I quite understand if you can't be bothered to read and compare the two versions.

David

Kazzmoss on 08-11-2010
Odysseus and Peisinoe v2
I enjoyed it too, David. Glad you posted it here.

Kazz

Author's Reply:
Thanks Kazz


Now None of them are Left (posted on: 05-11-10)
We live in on in the memories of others.

On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month Some of us will remember some of them. I will remember my grandfather Sitting in his wooden armchair Before the cast-iron, coal-fuelled stove In his kitchen cum living room cum bedroom. A slum it came to be called, That tiny one up one down House in Stepney, East London. Aunt Mary vigourously Objected to that, But not exactly homes fit for heroes Certainly. It took forty years for that war to kill him, The arthritic nodules Still growing, year after year, On his much operated arms. He never spoke about it. Now none of them are left, All reunited in death. I bought a poppy today And thought of him again, As I will in seven days time.
Archived comments for Now None of them are Left
Kazzmoss on 07-11-2010
Now None of them are Left
This is the second bit of poetry I have read on here that is more of a story which I personally prefer.

Beautifully thought out and very meaningful. I really enjoyed it.

Kazz

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Kazz,
I have an even longer poetic story that I am still editing. Since you express a preference for narrative poetry I will send it to you to preview.
Thankyou for reading this piece and commenting.

David

pdemitchell on 07-11-2010
Now None of them are Left
Aye, David, a hearfelt tribute as I was moved to write 'Somme' for my great-grandfather. Homes fit for heroes indeedy. Mitch

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mitch,
Now that the politics of it all has subsided into history all that is left is what Wilfrid Owen called 'the pity of war' For that reason I will be at the Cenotaph in Eldon Square Newcastle on Thursday.

David


A Game of Chess (posted on: 04-10-10)
A June Macardy poem (Not her real name) I misread the signals.

A Game of Chess "David! What are you doing?" "You know what I am doing. You know that I am pretending that this pawn I have just taken is not poisoned: that my eyes are on the game: that my arms do not yearn to be around you; that caressing the back of your leg does not mean that I want you but that we are just good friends; that the thumping of my heart does not mean that I love you; that the pressure of your finger up and down my back is just a gentle massage; that the sweet saliva of your kiss on my mouth is just a token of loving friendship and that this queen you have just taken is my virginity." "David, I don't love you!" "I know, I know! I know that the world is empty, that fifteen billion years of pointless nuclear, chemical and biological evolution have never happened and that when the universe stops expanding and all the entropy in it has maximised nothing more will happen, nothing more can happen and everything will be the same for ever and ever, Amen
Archived comments for A Game of Chess
Albermund on 08-10-2010
A Game of Chess
REal powerful emotions expressed in such a way that I get rather bamboozled but at the same time I kind of understand and really feel for this person.. "asa" L7?. cheers, Albert.

Author's Reply:
Basically Albert I am saying so for me its the end of the world or as if the world had never existed.

David



Sexless Love (posted on: 04-10-10)
A June Macardy poem (Not her real name) Not sure I like the term 'making love' as it has a hint of pretence about it. You can make love without sex, and have sex without love. But together it is the supreme sublime experience.

It is not sex! I could love you without sex! I could love you beneath the sheets Of silk kisses. Under the stars of soft touches, In a rain of gentle caresses Between the pressure of tender hugs, Along the quiet shores of Streaming words. I woiuld love you until your very last breath, Until my own soul grows so dim That not even Crab the Dog Can sniff it out. Oh, I could love you long after that - Until every star In every galaxy No longer shines, But alas You will not allow Any of this love To shine out Of the black night Of my soul.
Archived comments for Sexless Love
stormwolf on 04-10-2010
Sexless Love
Very heart-rending David. One of your best yet!
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison - heart rending indeed andf now I know how it feels.

David

pdemitchell on 05-10-2010
Sexless Love
Hi david - sex and astronomy with a hint of coitus interruptus frustration thrown in. I liked it but Crab the Dog...? Aha! the Shakespeare play that Boehrer hated... Gentlemen of Verona - I get it! Sent me off on a false Canis Major trail there. A painful but intersting exploration of the squidgier side of love. Mitch 😛

Author's Reply:
Hi Mitch, There was no coitus in this case so no squidge at all, just unrequited love. Crab the Dog is my dog, named, as you correctly worked out, after Launce the servant's dog in 'Two Gentlemen of Verona.'



David

len on 05-10-2010
Sexless Love
Had a girlfriend once who wanted the sex part, but pushed back at me any hint of love. After sex, she would literally push me over to my side of the bed..{great for the old ego}Being a boy toy ain't all it's cracked up to be...len

Author's Reply:
Well at least she thought you were a good stud:-) But yes, sex without love is like strawberries with no cream. She said men want only one thing, but I think not.

Dvaid


The Deep Sargasso Sea (posted on: 01-10-10)
A June Macardy poem (Not her real name) The Sargasso sea has a reputation for mystery because it is a large circulating eddy of water with little wind, floating weed and a long history of abandoned sailing ships being found there. It is also the strange spawning waters of freshwater eels.

Drowning in this warm sea of love I have sunk through the long fronds of floating weed; Deeper than the tepid layer of poetry Where flashing shoals of silver words Bring some comfort. In these cold waters of rejection A dark purple light reveals little; Painful piranha nibble at my fingers toes and nose; It feels as if Frenziedly mating European eels Are coiling with each other In my very bowels. My tears dilute the salt sea a little. And so I sink down into the dark depths. I yearn for the Monster of Despair To swallow me whole Then spit out the hard-hearted parts of me And leave me forever A ghostly denizen of the deep.
Archived comments for The Deep Sargasso Sea

No comments archives found!
Turkish History (posted on: 01-10-10)
No where more than in the Middle East - in the cradle of civilisation and learning, can you really appreciate the long history and achievement of Mankind.

This land tugs me down, down, down; Down into the darkest recesses of human history. I can feel the weight of it Upon my feet, pulling me Into the depths of its ancient sea: Here are unknown heroes, unsung poets And, most of all, undocumented scientists and inventors. Men and women who invented wheels, formed axles, made carts; Learned how to ride and harness and saddle horses; How to sew, and make bread; How to make bricks of mud, Pots from clay and Tools of stone; How to extract metals from ores. Not one of these men has their name Among the scrolls of the great. But they were the first to fish and plough and build. Upon their foundations Our Great Civilisation is firmly and solidly built. We should have a Tomb to the Unknown Builder, A man of peace and reconstruction To balance those of Unknown Soldiers. Come here to Turkey, to Syria or Iraq to Palestine or Egypt And pay homage to these great men. Eat and drink the fruits of their labours, Admire their works And remember That they did it first That we might follow and enjoy it all. But most of all try, Try like them to pass it on - Pass it on!
Archived comments for Turkish History
sunken on 03-10-2010
Turkish History
I dunno, Mr. Corin. You gets yourself a shiny nib and loads of reads and what happens? I'll tell ya what happens - No one bloody comments! Have you considered cords? I've started wearing them again. They'll be fashionable again come next summer. And that's when I'll discard them in favour of flares. Yes, it's all about being one step ahead. I have no idea how this relates to your excellent sub, but at least I've made an effort. I blame the banks. Nice work, fella. Well done on the nib.

s
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don't talk to me about teflon

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Sunk - perhaps they just did not understand it - never underestimate the general level of ignorance - O aren't I the intellectual snob?

This is a poem about one of my big themes - the importance that ordinary people play in the progress of humanity.

I hear these bankers and CEOs justifying their obscene salaries and bonuses by arguing that they are the makers of wealth , the creators of jobs and the architects of the economy - but none of them are anywhere near as important or valuable as the men who discovered how to make pots from clay, copper from green stones and iron from black haematite. Nor are they as important as all the engineers who by doing their job properly make our world actually work but never get paid as much as the bloody managers.

All the best Sunk,

I enjoyed the humour and I still think you are that guy married to Susanne Holt from the old BBC poetry site - though I cannot now remember his name.

Best of everything

David

eddiesolo on 03-10-2010
Turkish History
I read this and re-read this. Having being to Egypt and gazed upon the pyramids and temples it is rather striking when compared to my lickle house lol.

Good piece, we seem to forget in the West, with our skyscrappers and modern metals the complexity that early builders had.

Enjoyed reading sir.

Si:)

Author's Reply:
Thankyou very much Eddie. As you will see from my reply to Sunken above it is not just the grandeur of achievement that I was referring to here but the importance of inventing all those many basic building blocks of civilisation that these unknown men and women did and the fact that they passed it all on for later generations to build upon and progress.

Best Wishes

David

eddiesolo on 04-10-2010
Turkish History
I agree David, it is the smaller things that are overshadowed.

I saw the treasures in Cairo's museum-some of the smaller items, the pots the writting implements the workmanship into the smaller items is outstanding. Craftmanship passed down through families-over 3000 years old and they look as crisp today as they did when new. Many look like thry could have made via modern machines.

Si:)



Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 04-10-2010
Turkish History
You always have the deep way of viewing things David. Very well done and congrats on the nib
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison - what's in a nib? A bib by any other name would beDavid


Aroint The Witch (posted on: 17-09-10)
A June Macardy poem (Not her real name) Nelson and Colne is a joint town in Lancashire, England and the site of a famous witch hunt in the 17th Century - there still be witches here.

Don't lie to a poet, the maker of lies, For he has the power to further devise Words that will scorn you, reduce you to tears And persuade the wise world through all its long years That you are the siren that sang to destroy Odysseus as he sailed home from Troy And Dido who kept Brave Aeneas from Rome With her womanly arts in her fey Carthage home. Think how Byron slurred his frigid wife Calling her a moral Clytemnestra Through all history her name does wil fester That woman who could not love a real poet, Though she married him. Now we all know it. Aroint thee cold witch of Nelson and Colne, Be gone I'll not listen to your groans and moans. Now I know why you chose to live in the sight Of Pendle's stark hill, and why in the night You cast those strong spells right through my heart - Just to prove the great power of Pendle's old art. But know that from now I strike with this pen, Stronger than swords to defend the poor men That fall into the trap of these modern witches - Conceived by drabs and born in dark ditches!
Archived comments for Aroint The Witch
RoyBateman on 19-09-2010
Aroint The Witch
Phew, I'm keeping clear of Colne, I can tell you. You've put the wind up me good and proper. And here was me thinking that the place (I did visit, briefly, this summer) was better known as the birthplace of Wallace Hartley. Now THERE was a real hero...

Author's Reply:
Good Idea Roy - there is a Coven of them there: Injurious Jan, Wretched Rhona and Big Prat Pat - I am writing a Spenserian romance about the Knights Errant, three Brothers of the Order of the Red Crosse, Sir David the Bard, Sir Roger De Nottingham and Sir Brian De Dagenham. It is the Brotherhood v The Sisterhood. I have finished Book I Part I and will post it soon. Keep an eye out.

Regards

David

pdemitchell on 03-10-2010
Aroint The Witch
Hi David, the arrow in the Musey Witch's heart indeed and poor old Clytemnestra doomed to stink and fester! A fun poet-know it bounce thru classical fare with a killer last line! Mitch 😛

Author's Reply:


Words, Words, Words (posted on: 17-09-10)
A June Macardy poem (Not her real name) Is it possible to have too many poems in your head at the same time?

I am drowning in a rising sea of words. They fall upon me with the sunbeams in the street; Spurt up from cracks in paving stones; Drip from branches of trees; Echo ceaselessly from the walls of buildings; Assault my ears like over-amplified music; Pierce me everywhere, like poisoned darts. Others have reported such experiences at times of crisis or climax But they being, little literate, have only to contend With the most mundane of words: Love, hate, happiness, sorrow, joy, misery; Work, boredom, illness, pain, tiredness, sleep. But I, being a poet, am assailed by words that have Survived years of resistance, For these words came from golden pens:- Auden and Arnold; Byron and Blake; Chaucer and Cowper; Dickinson and Donne; Eliot and Emerson; Frost and Fletcher; Gray and Graves; Hardy and Herbert; Jonson and Johnson; Keats and Kipling; Longfellow and Larkin; Milton and Marvell; Nashe and Owen; Pope and Poe; Rossetti and Rossetti; Shelley and Shakespeare; Tennyson and Thomas; Vaughan and Whitman; Wordsworth and Yeats. These are not words to be easily dismissed - They cannot be turned aside so lightly, Even mine own, for me at least, Have power to persist:- 'We must love one another or die' 'Ah love let us be true to one another' 'For love wears out the breast' 'O rose thou art sick!' 'Thou shall have Queynte enough at night' 'Thy silver locks once auburn bright Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient bright, My Mary' 'Parting is all we know of heaven And all we need of hell' 'Send not to know for whom the bell tolls, It tolls for thee' 'This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper' 'Give all to love Obey thy heart' 'I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference' 'Away delights, go seek some other dwelling, For I must dye' 'The Paths of glory lead but to the grave' 'And love went by upon the wind As though it had not been' 'Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me' 'Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back, Guiltie of dust and sinne' 'Drinke to me onely with thine eyes And I will pledge with mine' "Condemn'd to Hope's delusive mine As on we toil from day to day' 'Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the Midnight with no pain' 'This is the Law of the jungle As old and as true as the sky' 'Day by day he sighed with passion, Day by day his heart within him Grew more hot with love and longing For the maid with yellow tresses. ' 'Our almost-instinct almost true: What will survive of us is love.' 'They hand in hand with wandring steps and slow Through Eden took their solitarie way.' 'Had we but world enough and time This coyness Lady were no crime.' 'Adieu farewell Earths blisse, This world uncertaine is.' 'We who have seen the god's Kaleidoscope And played with human passions for our toys, We know men suffer chiefly by their joys.' 'Art is but nature to advantage dressed What oft was thought but n'eer so well expressed' 'Look in my face: my name is Might have been; I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell' 'Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land' 'For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.' 'Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep - He has awakened from the dream of life.' 'It is better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.' 'Oh - as I was was young and easy in the mercy of his means, Time held me green and dying Though I sang in my chains like the sea.' 'I saw Eternity the other night Like a great Ring of pure and endless light' 'When Lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd And the great star early droop'd in the Western sky in the night, I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-retuning spring.' '....For I have learned To look on nature not as in the hour of thoughtless youth But hearing often times the stll sad music of humanity' 'Be careful where you tread For you tread on my dreams.' I make no claim for myself, Except that of Author's privilege, And so end with these old words of mine In the hope that then The fountain of words will cease:- 'Wherever you go may wisdom grow with you, May love never leave you Though sorrow bereave you.'
Archived comments for Words, Words, Words
stormwolf on 18-09-2010
Words, Words
I felt this was indeed too long David. The poets could have been compressed (if you catch my drift 😉 ) but it was original and well thought out
Alison x

Author's Reply:
I will defend the length of this poem here. I don't mean to suggest that the readers who found it long have a short attention span, but a poem should be just as long as it needs to be. The intention here was to indicate how having an extensive knowledge of the canon of English Poetry can leave you with a mind which, at times of crisis, is overwhelmed by echoing phrases from that great canon. When those echoes all seem to be relevant to your personal situation the effect is to some extant disturbing, but for a poet it also leads to a compulsion to write and follow in the steps of those who have travelled a similar path before.

This piece became something of a writing exercise which would I think be useful for any writing workshop - to list a group of poets - think of a relevant quote and join them together to create a a piece that somehow becomes more than the sum of the parts.On reflection I do not think it was possible to abbreviate this, as Alison suggested privately to 'poets from Auden to Yeats ' as the point was to highlight the greatness of the long line of poets writing in English and also to make it possible for the reader to map the poet to the quote from his or her work.

I always say to people who suggest that my poems are too long, "Go tell it to Wordsworth and Milton!"
I don't compare myself to these giants but they knew and understood the power of a longer piece as opposed to the preciseness of a haiku. Both forms are valid.

Only the reader can determine if my attempt to create that greater effect from the semi-random selection of quotes succeded, but I was pleased with it enough to leave it as it stands.

David

pdemitchell on 18-09-2010
Words, Words
Yep - words, eh? - the syllabub of syllables - the muesli of muses - the dulling breath of oxymorons... a clever fromage of a homage! Mitch :-0

Author's Reply:
Good alliteration Mitch - but what does it mean?

Capricorn on 18-09-2010
Words, Words
I certainly find too many poems/words in my head sometimes - feels like my head will explode!

A good poem, but a little too long - I got lost before the end.

Eira

Author's Reply:
Eira - thanks for reading and commenting - please look at my reply to Alison to see my reply to your comment.

David

RoyBateman on 19-09-2010
Words, Words
You're certainly in danger of Exploding Bonce Syndrome if you attempt to compress this comprehensive treasury of verse into it, especially at the same time. I wonder how many any of us really spotted, but it was good to see Marvell included - I pinched his line for a title of one of my own books. Interesting idea, and I don't claim to have placed too many precisely in context!

Author's Reply:
Roy - I have a small anthology in my head - alas bits of it keep escaping:-)

David


Sailing with Odysseus (posted on: 17-09-10)
A June Macardy poem (Not her real name) A short journey in the wake of Odysseus from Imeler to Dalyian and back

Sailing this evening Acros the wine-dark sea From Dalyian to Imeler I could feel myself like Odysseus Dispersed and lost through the anger of Aphrodite After her beloved Troy Was ravaged and burnt. These wind driven billows, These precipitous hills, Green and rocky as they plunge into the level sea, Are surely the same That saddened his eyes As he searched For the shores of Ithaca. The descending sun Would have marked his way. The golden glow of twilight Over the long mountains Would have saddened his heart As it does mine. I too curse Aphrodite And her careless interference With the hearts of men.
Archived comments for Sailing with Odysseus
stormwolf on 18-09-2010
Sailing with Odysseus
I Loved the way you interwove mythology and the feelings with your own David. I feel it was needing the inclusion of puncuation in the 3rd last line
I, too, curse Aphrodite but a small matter indeed.
Nicely done.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Just updated this a bit and sorry for missing the comment before. I think the punctuation is alright as it is though, eg "I also admire Alison Siwek." but Alison Siwek, I think, is a wonderful woman:)

Thanks very much for the nice comment.

David

pdemitchell on 18-09-2010
Sailing with Odysseus
Ah, curse that foam-born lass, spawned of sea and the poor Cronus-Bobbitted nether-bits of Uranus. Enjoyable mythic references. Mitch 🙂



Author's Reply:
Sorry for not thanking you before Mitch - Yes I curse her ann curse her and curse. There will be a few more June Macardy poems to come - previously suppressed but now to be released upon the world.

David


Letter from a Turner to a turner (posted on: 13-09-10)
Forty years ago I did not think to be back in this private Hell again.

I could have cried myself to sleep, Certainly the tears were in my eyes And cold on the pillow, But it was late The bed was warm from my sleeping wife And Crab the Dog Snuggled comfortably between us. Like a lying poet I enjoyed the tears, Storing them away for this morning And this poem. Never have a relationship with a poet! Everything:- Love; Loss; Joy: Pain Separation; Things that can never be; Are just rough logs for their lathe The descendent of a turner Is worst of all, Especially one having practised turning words For over fifty years. When you are in love with someone Being rejected is a sharp pain - 0h, It never goes away. If I probe hard enough I can still feel the pain Of Theresa simply saying no. That 'no' made a poet of me, But little good has it done Except to have the craft to chronicle all those later pains:- Caroline, Val, Fran, Sylvia, Barbara Alison, Barbie, And now Janet. That is a beautiful list of heart-aching woman-kind. Yet the truth is That the scars they left on me Were mere bramble scratches From walking through the thorny paths I chose to travel along in life. Now have a stilletto right through my heart. Oh a skilfully wielded blade indeed. It twisted and flashed And the fatal stab, when it came, Went in so accurately, so swiftly, That at first I felt no pain, Only a vague ache. Now my blood is on this once blank page. Being rejected because you are :- Too ugly, Too boring, Too scatty Too scruffy, Too gauche, Too gormless, Too married, Are common place wounds. But being rejected for your own good - Oh that hurts, That really hurts. You don't recover from such wounds. ' 'Tis not so wide as a barn door But 'twill serve' Yet I am a fortunate reject - I still have Mavis And Crab the Dog.
Archived comments for Letter from a Turner to a turner
Ionicus on 13-09-2010
Letter from a Turner to a turner
A good read, David. Personally I wouldn't have minded your list of heartaches (Caroline, Val, Fran, Sylvia, Barbara, Alison, Barbie,
And now Janet). A nice final stanza.
Incidentally, my wife is also a Turner's descendant on her mother side.

Author's Reply:
Well since none of these except Jan were ever anything more than heartache I don't think they were really anything to be envious about. And even Jan remains in the purgatory of uncertainty.

Women - they are too beautiful for their own good, ' The power of beauty will sooner
transform honesty from what it is to a bawd than the
force of honesty can translate beauty into his
likeness: '

David

TexasLady on 14-09-2010
Letter from a Turner to a turner
Another good one! Personally, I would omit some of the adverbs...I'm not sure they are really necessary. Another suggestions where less is more:

Yet the truth is
the scars they left
Were mere bramble scratches
From walking through the thorny paths

Your first two list were single word list....I think I would have stuck to that in the last list...

Being rejected because you are:-
ugly,
boring,
scatty
scruffy,
gauche,
gormless,
or married,
Are common place wounds.
being rejected for your own good -
That really hurts.


but, these are just my opinions. Thank you for the opportunity to comment. I did enjoy the poem and good writing always inspires me!

Author's Reply:

teifii on 18-09-2010
Letter from a Turner to a turner
Can't help wondering what Mavis and Crab make of it.

Author's Reply:


Tis Better to have Loved and Lost (posted on: 13-09-10)
Often misquoted really, not knowing what Tennyson was writing about.

Every Bard is first a man. Before he reached immortal fame The poet wrote of love's cruel game. If words can aid us, his words can. "I hold it true whate'er befall; I feel it when I sorrow most 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all." In that verse there is great truth. He wrote it for his greatest friend When death brought friendship to an end; For three long years he lived in ruth. One man can love another so, Though I think such a love implies That in the other's arms each lies, If it was so we do not know. The truth of which this poet wrote Is true in such a tragic case But is it true when man must face Love's short unrequited note? I think not so, how can that be? When the longing in one heart Feels in return rejection's dart And the mind is but blank memory. Tennyson out of his pain Wrote that beautiful lament For Arthur Hallam, then was sent Into the halls of poetry's fame. Out of mine these poems come, Which few will read - just you and me - For them no immortality But I will love you just the same.
Archived comments for Tis Better to have Loved and Lost
stormwolf on 13-09-2010
Tis Better to have Loved and Lost
The last line was so touching and completed the poem perfectly.
Well done David, I wish it was not hewn from your broken heart though.
Alison x

Author's Reply:

TexasLady on 14-09-2010
Tis Better to have Loved and Lost
This is truly beautiful, sir.

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 15-09-2010
Tis Better to have Loved and Lost
I thought this was very good, well expressed and flowing. Well worth reading, which is why I'll comment on the few little glitches, IMO, mostly the rhythm, as I think it's well worth fiddling with a bit more.

'In that verse there is great truth' - read one way it's fine (IN that VERSE ..), but there is a tendency to read it 'in THAT verse ...' which mucks up the line (esp as the other lines start with an iamb). I'd suggest nailing it down by something like,
'In that one verse there is great truth'
which I think removes the ambiguity.

'he lived in ruth' - ruth is a proper word, it is used correctly in context, but it is very uncommon. The more ignorant amongst us (ie me) have a little titter about the more common meaning. That distracts, so only for that reason, I'd use a different word.

'Love's short unrequited note?' - 3 and 4 syllable words cause problems for rhythm, as they don't always follow the metre when pronounced in their natural way. 'unrequited' here is causing a problem. You could cut it to 'Love's unrequited note?' which flows well, but only has 3 beats whereas the other verses have 4 in the last line. It's possible, though.


'When the longing in one heart' - 'longinginone' is a difficult sequence of sounds, and the rhythm doesn't follow the poem's. 'For when the ...' would clarify the rhythm a bit at the start.

'And the mind is but blank memory.' I simply feel with this line it would be sharper as 'And in the mind blank memory' but it is a close thing.

you seem to be on a creative high at the moment, I guess that's the (small) compensation emotion offers us.

best JOhnG

Author's Reply:


Returning to San Francisco (posted on: 13-09-10)
A June Macardy poem (Not her real name) Those were the days my friend We thought they'd never end, But they did.

You take me back to the utopian days Of forty three years ago. To be young then was to be as high as heaven. We thought the Times truly were changing; That a peaceful revolution Was about to take place; That henceforth Love would control the world And a new era was rising From the ruin of war. The old could not understand it. How could they? We were living on the fields of freedom They had bought at the price Of their own precious youth. It must have seemed to them That we were recklessly spending All that they had earned. They knew the cost of Freedom; We thought that we knew its value. The hatreds of War were forgotten; The peace of love seemed right for the times; We were the generation with a new explanation. We loved freely, Dressed colourfully, Grew our hair And put our faith in art and music and song. I see you with flowers in your flowing hair, With bright beads about your neck, Rings on your fingers , Bracelets on your arms And an embroidered dress Hugging you Right down to your bare hennaed feet And painted toes. For you I would grow my hair; Put flowers in it; Wear beads, A colourful shirt and flared trousers. Hug me and I will become slim, Kiss me and my beard will become the colour of ginger, Lie with me and I will be eighteen again.
Archived comments for Returning to San Francisco
TexasLady on 14-09-2010
Returning to San Francisco
1967 - I was 16...it would be two more years before I walked those streets of San Francisco...wondered at the pan handlers...ate fish and chips before entering the park...

You brought me back well written, sir!

Author's Reply:
You are luckier than I then to have actually been there. I thought for a long time that 20 or 30 years later the children of the revolution would come into their own and things would change - but itvseems not so - the snakes in the grass like Bush Blair were just biding their time.

Dvaid


A Mortal Wound (posted on: 13-09-10)
Too personal for any hints - think what you will.

Well, That's it! It's a mortal wound, Not an instantaneous death But a fatal foil hit just the same, Right through the belly; From balls and cock And out through the heart; 'Tis not so wide as a barn door But 'twill serve.' No deadly trauma, Just the slow internal haemorrhage Of life blood Turning to pus and poison. Through broken windows A once strong Double trunked tree Splits asunder, Falls into an angry 'V', Its tangled intertwined roots cracked and broken. There is only one possible end To septicaemia and uprooting. There will be no famous last words; No deathbed reconciliation; No confession; No last rites; Only the dark descending, The ferryman And the welcome shade for all shades In Hades Halls.
Archived comments for A Mortal Wound
e-griff on 13-09-2010
A Mortal Wound
sorry to hear that.

you are not alone. 🙂

G

Author's Reply:
I can never decide if we are all alone in the end or 'just a bunch of lonesome and quarrelsome heros striking out along the open road'



David

stormwolf on 13-09-2010
A Mortal Wound
Dear me, a very sober and painful poem.
Tell the ferryman to take a hike! You have many poems to write yet and wounds can be worn with acceptance and honour. If we were not so sensitive we would not hurt so much.
'Had we never loved sae kindly
had we never loves sae blindly'
Robbie Burns
Now pick yourself up and dust yourself down! 😉
Alison x

Author's Reply:
No - it is not that kind of wound even if the anti-biotics work it will leave a deep scar. Try cutting off a man's hands and both feet and offer him your advice With no hands how will he dust himself off? THough a man's a man for a'that, if he canna walk then he canna walk.

David

pdemitchell on 16-09-2010
A Mortal Wound
Dark stuff indeedy, David, and very poignant. A friend of mine had necrotising cellulitis and looked like his legs had been dipped in acid but he fought back, bless him, to write some moving poetry too. Hwyl! Mitch 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mitch, though this wound was emotional and deeply peresonal, not at all physical. There is no hint in the poem as to what it was except for the reference to emasculation.

David

Jolen on 17-09-2010
A Mortal Wound
One of your best, David. Strong, visual, succinct and poignant. Well done and as long as we can write about it, we're surviving it.

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:
Hi Jolen - nice to see you on UKA - I have been looking out for you and missing you - mu fault too.
I guess you are right - I have survived - there is a lot to catch up on - we need a long chat.

Thankyou for the strong comment. I will explain when we talk.

love

David

teifii on 18-09-2010
A Mortal Wound
It's not really important, what each image refers to. It is a very effective poem and the best ones leave their meaning open to interpretation.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Hi Daff - thankyou for the comment and support for the poem. I know what you mean about open interpretations, I am not sure whether that is really right, but I can think of lots of poems and songs that do seem to have open meanings and they are still interesting - Dylan and his namesake Dylan Thomas are the masters of deliberate the enigmatic. However in the end I think that poetry should be a method of communication - Dryden said that poetry should delight and I try to live up to both these principles. If the meaning of the poem is not communicated then either the reader or the poet has failed I think - though you can of course - as I hope I did here simply communicate an emotion or feeling or atmosphere.

The words that caused this mortal wound of mine have in the end not proved quite so terminal as I thought at first, and in the end the exact cause is not necessary for the poem to stand on its own a- as you seem to be saying. We can all be badly hurt by careless words, especially ones that can never be taken back, so I suppose that is what the poem is about really.

love

David

royrodel on 23-09-2010
A Mortal Wound
it's cold broken and lonely
why deathbed reconciliation when it should have been reconciled a life time ago
last rites ? what about first rites ?
And the welcome shade for all shades
it's just the same as it's ever been and will be
no big deal
the death of a parent destroys your soul for a long, long time
the death of a child destroys your soul for what seems a life time
but death of the mind makes you a monster


RODEL

Author's Reply:
I don't understand this Roy - is it meant ti be a poetic respnse?

Well as Keats said this world is a Vale of Soulmaking - that suffering makes souls. I think that that is true but I am looking forward to my quiet seat in the Halls of Hades. The more I think about the more I think that the Greeks were right about the gods - if there are any, they are just a lot of over endowed teenagers with a wicked sense of humour.


David


To J M (posted on: 20-08-10)
There is no fool like an old fool in love.

In English there is no poetry more sweet Or flowing than a sonnet's fourteen lines. As it trips along on five iambic feet With three quatrains speaking lovely rhyme Somehow the pairs of alternating sounds, The strange rythym of five beats to a bar Make resonating music which resounds Deep in lover's hearts, both near and far Because of you my heart quite overflows With love for all of suffering mankind, Indeed Isay, most of all for those Whom by Cupid's darts are not made blind. A sonnet's last two lines must say what's true And so I say this day that I love you.
Archived comments for To J M
pdemitchell on 22-08-2010
To J M
Hi David - does what it says on the iambic tin. Sonnets are definitely this year's blank verse ... or something like that. cheers. mitch

Author's Reply:


The End of New Triangulum (posted on: 20-08-10)
Why are all the stars falling from the Sky?

At least I will always have Crab the Dog When all the stars of New Triangulum Have fallen to Earth. Did younot seethat bright meteor yesterday Shooting rapidly away from Venus Towards bright Jupiter? Exploding as it fell to Earth In the bright planet's shadow Cast by the Pennine Divide. That bright yellow Main Stream Star Closest to me And shining steadily still Is beautiful as always. Above it the bright blue star, That formed the third and last apex of the triangle, Twinkles and teases enticingly. How long will its brilliance last Before all the the energy that sustains it Is used up and it collapses then explodes Into a spectacular Nova? When it does, the yellow star will still be there, But Summer will never be the same again Without its great triangle In thebeautiful blue twilight Of a summer evening such as this. I will still walk the summer evenings With Crab the Dog loyally at my side. He never gets lost among stars. His nose is always upon the ground. When that triangleless day comes My eyes will be upon it too.
Archived comments for The End of New Triangulum
pdemitchell on 22-08-2010
The End of New Triangulum
Hi David - wonderfully obtuse and astronomically rich. A joy to read! The bigger the star the brighter it burns to end as white dwarf/nova-supernova/neutron star/pulsar/black hole/hyper-nova - we are, of course, the stuff that these stars were made of.... cheers mitch 😉

Author's Reply:


A Letter from Hell to Heaven (posted on: 20-08-10)
Just hope you are not mentioned by name in this:-)

Goodbye is a long word That will echo down Aeons of time Whilst men yet live. I'll not say goodbye But simply God bewith ye And fare thee well Till I see you again. There is no pain greater than the pain of love, Except the pain of leaving love. Leaving unconsummated love is an agony, It burns like the fires of Hell. I thought once to lie On the couches of Heaven with you. Instead I find myself in the second circle Of this deep pit, Looking down at those below And realising to, my horror, How far I have yet to fall. Yet Hell is not so bad, Since I find That all my best friends are here too. All I ask Is that you remember That there is a good postal service Between Heaven and Hell And that you think sometimes of me As you go on your way. Wherever you go may wisdom grow with you; May love never leave you though sorrow bereave you. NOTES: - 1.Goodbye is a word formed by ellipsis from the shortening of the phrase 'God be with ye' 2.Similarly 'farewell' 3.Dante put the Lustful and the adulterers in the second circle of the Pit of Hell in 'The Inferno' n.b. for Catholics to sin thought is as bad as to sin in deed:-(
Archived comments for A Letter from Hell to Heaven
e-griff on 20-08-2010
A Letter from Hell to Heaven
I hoped I would be! (named) 🙂

did you know that 'ye' is simply 'thee' (the singular of 'you', like 'tu' and 'vous' in french). It came about by the misunderstanding of the nordic symbol for 'th' which looks like a 'Y' with a line through .... funny old world, innit? That's why we have 'ye' for 'thee' and 'ye olde tea shoppe' (for 'the'). I don't know if they went to ye yeatre, or a yeme park .....

Author's Reply:
Hi John - yes I Knew that - I think it is a great tragedy that English has lost the 2nd person singullar and therefore the intimacy of using 'thee' to the people taht you really love and the tension of excitement of saying 'thee' to a person of the opposite sex for the first time. When writing this I wondered about the origin of 'Goodbye' because if it cane from 'God be with thee' it would surely be pronounced differently -

'Goodbee' and also you would not say "God be with thee' to everone but generally 'God be with you'

I am not sure how it got to 'goodbye' from the full phrase of wishing farewell. Interesting though:-)

Don't worry John - I will see you in hell - I think we will be in the 9th Circle as all Poets are liars and use their friends and realtionships and all the intimate details of their lives as source material for their work - the ultimate treachery!

Best wishes

David

pdemitchell on 22-08-2010
A Letter from Hell to Heaven
May love never leave you though sorrow bereave you. Cracking last line that and it underpinned the piece nicely. Ye pleasante olde reade indeede. Cheers. Mitch 🙂

Author's Reply:
That line is an old poet's trick - it is from an old poem 'Parting' - a 'baby' of mine so I reused it.

David

stormwolf on 26-08-2010
A Letter from Hell to Heaven
I can see you are burning like the fires of hell 😉 but since you do not subscribe to either heaven or hell...I take it you are using metaphor to describe the aching yearning. Ah well, the fires of love do rage I can see. Alison x

Author's Reply:
You are quite right Alison. Thankyou

Love David


To a Jolly Madam (posted on: 13-08-10)
A love Sonnet

Lest you should think my pen hath but one use And his last, pointed forays shew this aim, Please let me here, for him, make this excuse, And demonstrate he plays a different game. Though he stands to attention when you smile And his one eye ogles your soft buns Yet he is content to stay a while And use his end to write these witty puns! So do not think that all men want one thing, I hope my pen will demonstrate to you That love can, with the softest words, take wing Whilst singing of a passion that is true. And though my pen would penetrate your hole I wish my words could pierce your heart and soul.
Archived comments for To a Jolly Madam
pdemitchell on 14-08-2010
To a Jolly Madam
Hi david - a worthy stab at sonnetry (pardon the pune). i liked the sentiment in the last two lines. I'm still reading that 1850 Barratt-Browning book I found in the charity shiop and the Sonnets from the Portugeses. Marveilleux. Regardz. mitch

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mitch - I enjoyed writing this but the idea is not original as Shakespeare used it somewhere but I cannot find it.

David

stormwolf on 15-08-2010
To a Jolly Madam
Hi David
I found this a strange mixture of romance and comedy. It was well written but the word pen was used a few times a tad too much methought. The second last line made me laugh and the subtle naughty humour did not go unnoticed but the feeling in the poem camer over as well.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison - I am very pleased that you caught and enjoyed it all. You are quite right about 'pen' it is used once too often - I will change it.

David


Too Much Joy (posted on: 06-08-10)
Sometimes a sense of sadness seems to come out of nowhere

I know not from where this sadness falls, I have all I could desire And more. Well - not as much as some would wish But far more than many men Today and certainly those of past times, Could ever hope to gain. This latest joy, So wonderful, So unexpected, Entirely unlooked for, Disturbs my even tenor quite. Can too much joy somehow be a source of pain? Or is this feeling just the music And the evening sky And the last light of a setting sun? When days end like this, With a chromatic fading light Painting dull brick houses And full-leaved trees A bright orange and green Against the dark background Of purple cloud drifting across Pale blue evening skies You could think the world is magical. No! I think I think my wealth of love and life Quite undeserved. I cannot but think of those Who live blighted lives, Those whose deserts, never matched Their paltry treasure, Those who struggled and worked To pass on all they could - All thosepooor men and women Cast by callous gods Into the kaleidoscope of life Only to suffer by their joys. Their tears are in my eyes, Their sorrows in my heart. But their salvation Is beyond my meagre means.
Archived comments for Too Much Joy
pdemitchell on 06-08-2010
Too Much Joy
Hi, David! Straight from the heart - can't fault it. I have a wee query on 'Disturbs my even tenor quite.' and a minor typo in 'All thosepooor men' but all-in-all a melancholic reflective piece I appreciated. Mitch 🙂

Author's Reply:
Hi Mitch - Though this piece has a melancholy ending it is in fact inspired by great joy. The people I was thinking about particularly are my parents and aunts as well as the world's poor and history's dispossessed. What are you saying about 'Disturbs my even tenor quite.' ?

Warm Wishes

David

Ionicus on 07-08-2010
Too Much Joy
'I know not from where this sadness falls,
I have all I could desire
And more.
Well - not as much as some would wish
But far more than many men'

A very good opening, David, which catches the reader's attention and keeps him interested.
You describe the impression that many people have that they are not deserving of happiness and feel guilty that they are so privileged whilst others are afflicted by misery and deprivations.
A cry from the heart, well expressed.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Luigi,
I was thinking here of people who on £100,000 a year say - I'm not rich - just comfortable!

David

pdemitchell on 08-08-2010
Too Much Joy
Hi David - it was just a niggle - just a hanging end-of-line adverb that snagged my eye for some reason - so leave it as it is. Don't forget the crescent moon and four planet conjunction in the West just after sunset on Thursday- Mercury may not be visible but Mars Venus and Saturn will all lie together above the horn of the lunar crecent and then the Perseid meteor shower peak soon after! Again a great piece and worth the revisit. Mitch 😛

Author's Reply:

royrodel on 08-08-2010
Too Much Joy
I've felt this way aswell.
in the news at the moment is the tagic flood in Pakistan,
but I wonder how long have they had to build a sufficient drainage system.
we are lucky, lucky men.

RODEL

Author's Reply:
Hi Rodel - I think that I agree with you. This is a natural event not some man-made tragedy and probably one that could have been averted with some planning. However Pakistan is a poor country even though they spend a lot on military hardware - I suppose that has something to do with the lack of preparedness:-( Even so we can't leave millions of people to just drown or starve.

David

stormwolf on 12-08-2010
Too Much Joy
Your feeling and empathy with the common man (or woman 😉 ) always comes over in your writing David.
My crit would be in the non expressing of your latest source of joy. That would bring the well expressed verses together more for me.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
THankyou Alison.

David


New Triangulum (posted on: 02-08-10)
Note: Triangulum is a winter star constellation

Now there is a new Triangulum In my night sky With an old dark star in the middle. Triangular constellations are so complex. The three peripheral stars of this one Are bright and beautiful - One a red giant, One a steady yellow sun, One a young and twinkling blue. The black dwarf in the centre, Cold and invisible Reaches out to all three With his intense graviatational field But they are not moved. Though attraction exists There is not space enough or time For there to be any meting Of universal minds. I must be content To gaze at distant constellations, To delight in moving patterns Of lumenescent stars, Even though as my star Collapses and fades I wish to be A sparkling super-nova in the sky.
Archived comments for New Triangulum
pdemitchell on 05-08-2010
New Triangulum
Hi David - this was a stellar effort and confusing especially as there is a Triangulm Australe as well - if I remember - here we are my old tatty star book: A white giant β Trianguli with a dim companion. A yellow-white subgiant star α Trianguli another double,aka Caput Trianguli. Delta Trianguli is another double star one yellow and one pale blue star - ah ha! and both of these are binaries too - double-binary system! Sorry, where was I? The black dwarf - wouldn't that be a black hole for the terrifying pull? The terrifying singularity that is I - so to speak. The lighthouse pulsar sweeps, the neutron star, nova, super-nova and hyper-nova - dark matter, a billion neutrinos passing through your finger tip every second.... who say astronomy isn't rich pickings for metaphor? Enjoyable observation.... ecliptic even. Mitch

PS minor typo in line 6.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mitch - As the title says this is a new constellation never seen before by human eyes. As for the Black Dwarf - well that is me, and the whole point is that though grvitational attraction reaches right across the intersllar void at such vast distances it is not strong enough for one star to pull another to its heart.


Maya - Where all is Illusion and Only One Thing can be Known (posted on: 02-08-10)
I love the fading of the evening sky in Summer

I have been here before On the outside looking in, Like a wide-eyed urchin Creeping up to the Duchess's window To peer through, entranced At the gaity of the ball within. Somehow the merrier That world within The sadder the world without Becomes. You can put windows Between yourself and a dark exterior But the evening sky Always fades into night, And the distinction between sky and hill Finally disappears into shadows. We are all shadows, Dancers and voyeurs alike, Prancers upon Maya's great Stage.
Archived comments for Maya - Where all is Illusion and Only One Thing can be Known
stormwolf on 02-08-2010
Maya - Where all is Illusion and Only One Thing can be Known
Hi David, I always wondered if you were a peeping Tom ;-)))
Ok, to be more serious, I understand the feeling in the poem and the imagery was very original and thought provoking too.
We are all shadows,
Dancers and voyeurs alike,
Prancers upon Maya's great
Stage.

There is sadness also and resignation expressed in the last stanza. Of course, we are at odds in our spiritual beliefs 😉
We do go down as shadows but like butterflies I prefer to think we rise again with intense light.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison, Though you are right about our Spiritual beliefs in this poem the interpretation easily accomodates both the theist and the non-theist view - 'Maya' is a Hindu notiion of the world or even a Platonic idea. In Advaita Vedanta philosophy, Maya is the limited, purely physical and mental reality in which our everyday consciousness has become entangled. Maya is held to be an illusion, a veiling of the true, unitary Self — the Cosmic Spirit also known as Brahman. I kind of subscribe to this - our spirits , i.e. our minds and emotions as formed by our genetic inheritance and modified by our education and experience of life - are all a part of the Great Cosmos that gave rise to us and which we instantiate by having observers of it. We come from theCosmos and return to it. We are eternal in the sense that the laws of the Cosmos which gave rise to us through atomic then chemical then biological evolution are the same throughout the Universe. We do not as individuals live on but in that absolute sense of unvarying laws, Brahma - the spirit of Universal life that has given rise to each of us - does. Each of us is part of the Universal whole and the Universal whole is within us all.

David

pdemitchell on 05-08-2010
Maya - Where all is Illusion and Only One Thing can be Known
Hi David. The hanging of the twlight, the zodiac light, the northern lights - the lamps of Gaia.... I love this though 'appears' appeared superfluous in that one line this was a cracking little piece which i enjoyed, well-balanced and the internal rhyme dancers/prancers was a nice coda touch. Mitch 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mitch for all the observant points you made - yes I think that you are right about 'appears' - it is an unecessary qualification. I will change it.

Warm Wishes

David


Their families have been informed (posted on: 26-07-10)
We hear this phrase on the BBC News now with sickening regularity.

"Their families have been informed." So that's alright then - Now we can bandy their names And view the photographs Of fresh-faced young men Standing smartly to attention In their new uniforms. At every new significant number They assemble for a last pasing out parade. A hundred, two hundred, Now three hundred faces, All young; All proud; All eager But most of all - All dead. All over the country Their once-happy families Stoically face a tragic new future.
Archived comments for Their families have been informed
pdemitchell on 26-07-2010
Their families have been informed
Good angry-making stuff, David - I was moved to add:

"Their families have been informed."
So flags at half mast then -
Now we can land them in planes
parade them through the streets
Of Wootton Bassett
to the coronors at John Radcliffe
in their new uniforms.

Cheers Mitch

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mitch, I like the reference to Wotton Basset - I will think about it.

David

stormwolf on 26-07-2010
Their families have been informed
I felt the sense of outrage here David. When does something so meaningful become just another news item to be almost ignored while the families grief is only in its infancy? When will they bring our brave young men fighting a futile war home?
I have come to detest the whole charade.
They neither want us nor appreciate us and the lives lost are a stain on us forever.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Aison - like you I cannot understand the absurdity of this little war in a country so far away. Bring the Boys back Home!!!

David

Romany on 27-07-2010
Their families have been informed
I agree Corin. Every time I hear that phrase, I awlays think 'well there's another broken, heartbroken family.' I wonder how they can even begin to bear it and I hope never to find out. My boys are roughly of the age of the majority of those poor yong men - I look at them and thank God they are not in the armed forces, as their father is.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
THankyou Romany - these reports of young children losing their fathers have a special significance for me, my father died when I was 2 years and 3 months old, I don't remember or the pain of the loss but the effect upon me as a child was enormous and even now as a 61 year old man I can still dig up the emotion that that loss evoked if the right circumstance triggers the feelings.

David

Ionicus on 27-07-2010
Their families have been informed
Exactly my sentiments, David. I cringe every time I hear that sentence. As if that was all that was needed to justify sending those boys like lambs to the slaughter.
There is a lot I could say on the matter but it would take a volume to express my contempt at the futility of it all.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Luigi. I just cannot believe the attiotude of most of our politicians from Blair to Cameron that have chosen to send young men to their deaths from their comfortable Government Office chairs in pusuit of pointless objectives. WE are back to the Lioins led by Donkeys scenario again:-

"Exiled Thucydides knew
All that a speech can say
About Democracy,
And what dictators do,
The elderly rubbish they talk
To an apathetic grave;
Analysed all in his book,
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming pain,
Mismanagement and grief:
We must suffer them all again."

from 'September 1, 1939' by W. H. Auden

May I not be a prophet like Auden (See my reply to Nomenklatura below)


David

Nomenklatura on 27-07-2010
Their families have been informed
I enjoyed this poem, but would just like to say that there is another way of looking at this.

I left the RAF in 2005 after spending the 2nd Gulf War operating out of Saudi, flying over Iraq. I flew in a large multi-engined reconnaissance aircraft. Midway through this very short war the RAF lost a reconnaissance aircraft (a fast-jet as it turned out) my family and those of the other 20 crew-members of our aircraft were (selfishly, I know) very pleased to hear the words 'the family has been informed'. I'm sure you can imagine why.

Author's Reply:
DEar Nomen,

You are quite right - the value of hat notification to other families whose sons or husbands or wives and daughters might have been affected is of course immense though I presume that the Media do not report any disappearance until the families have actually been informed and that service families know they will never be alarmed by any reporting, only by phone calls late at night or in the early morning or strangers coming up their path.

It is the callous complacency of the phrase that strikes me as being unpleasant - the media outlet telling the world that their arses are covered. And of course, latterly it is the frequency and regularity of these announcements that has become quite sickening.

We expect our fighting forces to be prepared to risk their lives for our safety, but surely the arithmetic is all wrong - the attack on the London Transport in 2005 took 50 lives, but now we have sacrificed 300 lives - ostensibly to prevent further such attacks - though in fact I think that we are really doing it to save American face and justify the whole misguided operation as a Nato mission.

The people of Afghanistan have been trying to kill each other for many years, it is a tribal warlord society and there is no way in which we can make such a society become a civilised democratic state. We should just let them get on with it - and deal with any resultant anti-western terrorism here at home - had we spent the money that has been wasted in this useless war on effective anti-terrorist measures it would have been well spent ,instead of wasted and the net total of American and British lives lost been much lower.

It is my opinion that at some time in the near future there will indeed be a war between an alliance of radical Islamic States and the West. The Secular democratic philosophy of the West and the fundamentalist, authoritarian nature of Islamic states are completely opposed. Islam believes that there should be no religious freedom as only Islam has the truth, that the laws governing human conduct are laid down by Allah in the Quran, that only the Mullahs have the authority to interpret the Quran and that the secular arm of the state should implement those laws as interpreted by the Mullahs and the prescribed punishments.
The West believes that State and religion should be separate, that everyone should have freedom of religion as well as the right to have no religion and a right of free speech to argue against the validity and beliefs of any religion or government and that laws should be mutable and democratically decided upon. These philosophies are mutually contradictory. Islam in my view is a nasty and dangerous religious code, as bad as Christianity was in the Middle Ages when the Catholic Church controlled the Western World.



David







Incarnadine the Green Sea (posted on: 19-07-10)
It was a nice day in the park on Thursday, but I had bad dreams.

It is a hard world to understand: The poplar trees are swaying In a strong July wind: The wind is warm: The sun is shining: Bright, fair-weather cumulus Is ballooning across a deep blue background. I feel as if I love all the world, But there is a strong sense Of triste blowing across the park. It is not the opera Streaming through my head From a pair of earphones, Or the slow stealth of time Rolling inevitably towards Autumn, Swallowing years Down its gargantuan gorge A deep underground reservoir of tears For the sorrows of suffering humanity Has been bored into. Tts drill head has exploded. A great artesian well of sadness Gushes over my soul. Beauty surrounds me: The greatest achievements of mankind Buoy me up. This sky: This pleasant land: These wonderful people: The moving music of Mozart and Puccini: This internet connection To a world full of friends: The great novel of Tolstoy Waiting in my bag. Suddenly it all seems too much - Life is full of treasure, Full of pleasures and joys And, though my life will end, That is not what grieves me. If it were demanded of me I would be Christ And take upon my soul The sins of the world, But I cannot - No man can. There is no saviour except men themselves. This child feeding White swans on a rippling lake:: This old lady watching with her dog: These croquet players on the green lawn: Anxious mothers watching their children Enjoy the brightly coloured play park - They all bear responsibility. Jets climb into cumulus filled blue: Cars roar along the road: Newcastle's chimney's and flues Return ancient carbon to a modern atmosphere. Nimbys protest against wind turbines. Around me buzzes an infinity of questions, Further away swarms an infinity of answers, But the infinity of questions is of a different order To that of answers. There are not enough answers to go round; Like the infinity of rational and irrational numbers One is larger than the other. I feel like Wordsworth standing on a pleasant lea; I cannot escape the visions in my head; The tides of sorrow are drowning my soul. It is the waste, The prolificacy, The avoidable disaster as a species Of large intelligent lemmings Rush en masse to the cliff's edge And, unable to stop in time Because of the pressing crowd behind, Dash themselves upon the rocks of reality below Till they 'the multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red.
Archived comments for Incarnadine the Green Sea
pdemitchell on 19-07-2010
Incarnadine the Green Sea
Hi David - this was one hell of a walk with a nice Macbethian coda: "Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather The multitudinous seas incarnadine, Making the green one red”.
Triste is an adjective archaic for sad so tristeness maybe and a typo before the drill head. A huge oscillating piece that got me rereading it several times to draw out the full meanings. Absobing introspective stuff! Mitch

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 20-07-2010
Incarnadine the Green Sea
I really enjoyed this poem and would be good recited. I do feel that it could have been condensed without losing the meaning or feeling. In fact concentrating the words adds punch to my mind 😉 The length itself could put many off reading and although I regnise this is your style of writing....I feel that it would benefit from pruning. Although you use words very cleverly, what you are actually 'saying' can be condensced.
The feeling of sadness runs through it
A deep underground reservoir of tears
For the sorrows of suffering humanity
Has been bored into.
Tts drill head has exploded.
A great artesian well of sadness
Gushes over my soul.
This reminds me of the oil leak in the Gulf as a good demonstration of manking not being good stewards of the earth.
Alison x

Author's Reply:


To Wilfie (posted on: 25-06-10)
Dedicated to my wife's Uncle - a wonderful man whom I greatly loved - but so did everyone else - he was just an ordinary Geordie who worked at the Glass works in Lemington on Tyne. He loved music and opera, he was great with kids and should have been a teacher but :- 'Knowledge to his eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repress'd his noble rage, Yet did not freeze the genial current of his soul' (apologies due to Thomas Gray) A real Working Class hero, a man of wisdom and good advice, who deserves an Elegy as good as Auden's for W B Yeats. (Apologies to Auden too)

Oh! the day of his death was a warm and wonderful day: The morning sun rose into the heavenly blue; June-fresh leaves waved welcome to light; Dew bejeweled grass sparkled yellow on green And the sweet incense of summer scented his dying. Knowing no news the shirted commuters communed with toil; The growing heat hung sulkily on the air, Caressing eyes and skin and hair till they floated Along the moving tide of purpose, to the end of purpose. A dry noon shone lazily over the easy streets, Where sun dresses paraded prettily about the town. Lunches were eaten, shops transacted, money was made, And life, not knowing where to go, went on. Afternoon melted into roads and weary labour, Soaking up expectations of a long cool evening. The hour came, as it must, passing everyone eventually And going home at the last is the sweetest work. In the evening the shadows knew what todo, Marking the passing of light in the proper fashion, Dappling the the lawn with green and green As the day prepared to pay homage to his going. At its end a slow dusk drew the azure blinds; Love's goodly glow faded from the living day Till the waxing stars and the crescent of a red mourning moon Declared the day of his death a warm and wonderful day.
The Epitaph 'Wilfrid Hodgson's laid to rest Where they lay the good and blest; His last day did but try to say The warm and wonderful go this way.

Archived comments for To Wilfie
pdemitchell on 26-06-2010
To Wilfie
Hi david - a wonderful day in the life that the old feller would've been porud of. Afternoon melted into roads and weary labour being my favorite line. Dappling the the lawn with green and green was a bit odd but apart from that it were moving and well-executed. Mitch.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mitch,
'Dappling the lawn with green and green ' was meant to be a description of the many shades of green cast on the lawn by the setting sun and the shadows of the leaves. Perhaps it did not come across.
Warm wishes

David

pdemitchell on 26-06-2010
To Wilfie
hi Dave - even on a re-read aloud, the green and green doesn't quite come over "varied green" "shades of green" "painting the lawn with dappled green" maybe. Anyhoo, 'tis up to you! A cracking read! Cheers. mtich 🙂

Author's Reply:
Perhaps - but the alternative 'dappling the lawn with shades of green seemed a bit too prosaic to me?

David

stormwolf on 27-06-2010
To Wilfie
Hi David
Your love for him shows through and I am sure he would be deeply moved. Like Mitch I found the green and green stood out but I knew why you had done it.
I did not feel 'shops transacted' was right...but I may be wrong;-)
I often think of life as but a brief day and you have taken that theme too here as the passing of the day to night symbolises his passing and to me the imagery of the mourning moon was very moving. Alison x

Author's Reply:
THankyou Alison - I still very much like both the lines you commented on though.

The piece is based on this wonderful Elegy for W B Yeats by Auden:-


In Memory of W.B. Yeats








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I

He disappeared in the dead of winter:
The brooks were frozen, the airports almost deserted,
The snow disfigured the public statues;
The mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.
What instruments we have agree
The day of his death was a dark cold day.

Far from his illness
The wolves ran on through the evergreen forests,
The peasant river was untempted by the fashionable quays;
By mourning tongues
The death of the poet was kept from his poems.

But for him it was his last afternoon as himself,
An afternoon of nurses and rumours;
The provinces of his body revolted,
The squares of his mind were empty,
Silence invaded the suburbs,
The current of his feeling failed; he became his admirers.

Now he is scattered among a hundred cities
And wholly given over to unfamiliar affections,
To find his happiness in another kind of wood
And be punished under a foreign code of conscience.
The words of a dead man
Are modified in the guts of the living.

But in the importance and noise of to-morrow
When the brokers are roaring like beasts on the floor of the Bourse,
And the poor have the sufferings to which they are fairly accustomed,
And each in the cell of himself is almost convinced of his freedom,
A few thousand will think of this day
As one thinks of a day when one did something slightly unusual.
What instruments we have agree
The day of his death was a dark cold day.


II

You were silly like us; your gift survived it all:
The parish of rich women, physical decay,
Yourself. Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.
Now Ireland has her madness and her weather still,
For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives
In the valley of its making where executives
Would never want to tamper, flows on south
From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,
Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,
A way of happening, a mouth.


III

Earth, receive an honoured guest:
William Yeats is laid to rest.
Let the Irish vessel lie
Emptied of its poetry.

[Auden later deleted the next three stanzas.]

Time that is intolerant
Of the brave and the innocent,
And indifferent in a week
To a beautiful physique,

Worships language and forgives
Everyone by whom it lives;
Pardons cowardice, conceit,
Lays its honours at their feet.

Time that with this strange excuse
Pardoned Kipling and his views,
And will pardon Paul Claudel,
Pardons him for writing well.

In the nightmare of the dark
All the dogs of Europe bark,
And the living nations wait,
Each sequestered in its hate;

Intellectual disgrace
Stares from every human face,
And the seas of pity lie
Locked and frozen in each eye.

Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night,
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice.

With the farming of a verse
Make a vineyard of the curse,
Sing of human unsuccess
In a rapture of distress.

In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountains start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise.

WH Auden

dAVID


Prayer to Gaia (posted on: 25-06-10)
The pantoum is a form of poetry similar to a villanelle in that there are repeating lines throughout the poem. It is composed of a series of quatrains; the second and fourth lines of each stanza are repeated as the first and third lines of the next. The first and third lines of the last stanza are the second and fourth of the penultimate; the first line of the poem is the last line of the final stanza, and the third line of the first stanza is the second of the final. Ideally, the meaning of lines shifts when they are repeated although the words remain exactly the same: this can be done by shifting punctuation, punning, or simply recontextualizing

Born of dust that spewed from dying stars O Great Gaia, hear our urgent pleas; Forgive this race that your great beauty mars, You, who breathed life into ancient seas. O Great Gaia, hear our urgent pleas; Let not our folly spoil your great gains, You, who breathed life into ancient seas, Life so small no fossil now remains. Let not our folly spoil your great gains, Through aeons of evolutionary change. Life so small no fossil now remains Transmutates into Nature's wondrous range. Through aeons of evolutionary change. A poisoned world with oxygenic waste Transmutates into Nature's wondrous range. And so our brave new world was graced. A poisoned world with oxygenic waste Changed to another new Archean place; And so our brave new world was graced With cells that filled the Oceans' living space. Changed to another new Archean place, Simple microbes of a myriad forms With cells that filled the Oceans' living space. Became new life, fitter than ancient norms. Simple microbes of a myriad forms; Great Gaia! O Great Gaia hear our cries! New life, defying all those ancient norms; Queen of the forest Titans, of all skies, Queen of the forest Titans, of all skies, Born of dust that spewed from dying stars, Great Gaia! O Great Gaia hear our cries! Forgive this race that your great beauty mars,
Archived comments for Prayer to Gaia
pdemitchell on 26-06-2010
Prayer to Gaia
This is a wonderful Pantoum and no mistake - not a form I usually enjoy as many poets crash and burn horribly but you pulled this off and with a message I heartily endorse too - a primordial soup-fest! Cheers Mitch

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mitch - to be honest hese repitative forms with rhyme, like the villanelle are i think very difficult to pull of in English as opposed to French which has far more rhyming word endings than English. This being so I am much flattered that you think it succeeded but I can see flaws in it. In particular the penultimate verse which I don't think really makes sense and which I constructed really just to get a good final verse.

Warm Wishes

David

sunken on 26-06-2010
Prayer to Gaia
Hello Mr. Corin. As you know, I'm about as advanced as a bran flake. I tend to therefore shy away from pieces requesting advanced crit. No reason why I shouldn't be allowed to say a like a piece tho. This I like, muchly. Hows that for advanced? 😉

s
u
n
k
e
n

he's un-huggable

Author's Reply:

pdemitchell on 26-06-2010
Prayer to Gaia
Hi David - the penultimate verse may be tad forced but it makes sense to me - microbes did defy the earlier norms: vast reservoirs of hydrogen sulpide, bomabardments, volcanoes, low oxygen levels, acid rain... the giant primitive ferns that dwarf modern trees... good on you for offering up the perceived self-critical flaw but it is not as bad as you think. Mitch 😛

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 26-06-2010
Prayer to Gaia
Bravo! Bravo! Brav-bloody-o!
You pulled this off with applomb and I am sure it's very difficult to do. A worthwhile prayer which I second.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison - that was a BIG shout:-)

David


At the End of Cemetary Road - Earby, Pendle (posted on: 21-06-10)
From a visit to Pendle to play croquet for the weekend.

Here Earby's dead Lie in their serried ranks; Some memorialised; Some merely crossed; Some urned And a few simply unmarked. There's plenty of room For one more In a small tent And warm sleeping bag. Would they mind? I'd better ask... Well none say nay. Some have lain here An hundred years and more But I'll only stay till morning. I wish them all a good night And many, many more.
Archived comments for At the End of Cemetary Road - Earby, Pendle
Ionicus on 21-06-2010
At the End of Cemetary Road - Earby, Pendle
A good descriptive poem, David. The only comment I would make is about the repetition of 'more' in the last four lines.
Otherwise excellent.

Author's Reply:
THankyou Luigi - missed the repetition - I will go and edit it.

David

pdemitchell on 21-06-2010
At the End of Cemetary Road - Earby, Pendle
Hi David, kippin' 'neath the cenotaphs, nappin' in the naves, watched o'er by stone angels, snoozin' by the graves... good stuff as ever but as Luigi sez that 'more' repetition popped the bubble for me at the end as the last line seemd to be a bit of a tag-on. Mitch 😛

Author's Reply:
THankyou Mitch - it's not the first time either - slept in a Crematorium grounds in Glasgow once. I was actually just outside the gates!

David

Beth on 21-06-2010
At the End of Cemetary Road - Earby, Pendle
I don't think I would be brave enough to sleep near a cemetry!I liked the way you created contrasts in this poem and the sense of atmosphere- Regards Beth

Author's Reply:
Phish - the dead trouble us not - follow Goldberry's advice,

Then Goldberry came and stood before them, holding a candle;
and she wished them each a good night and deep sleep.
'Have peace now,' she said, 'until the morning! Heed no nightly noises!
For nothing passes tent and sleeper here save moonlight and starlight and the
wind off the hill-top. Good night!' She passed out of the cemetary with a
glimmer and a rustle. The sound of her footsteps was like a stream falling
gently away downhill over cool stones in the quiet of night. '

David

stormwolf on 22-06-2010
At the End of Cemetary Road - Earby, Pendle
Some have lain here
An hundred years and more
But I'll only stay till morning.

loved this!
A shorter poem from you David but filled with feeling and originality. Alison x

Author's Reply:


The Great Generation (posted on: 18-06-10)
To my mother and father and the rest of the Great Generation that made this wonderful Post War World for us. Written 2nd June 2010 - 70 years to the day after the evacuation of the British Expeditionary Force from DunKirk. 'The weight of this sad time we must obey; Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest hath borne most: we that were young Shall never see so much, nor live so long'. From King Lear

We made a promise we swore we'd always remember No retreat baby no surrender Like soldiers in the winter's night with a vow to defend No retreat baby no surrender. From 'No Surender' by Bruce Springstein http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z-YMRbh0OqM They were the great generation; We are the lucky generation; Our children? The lost generation. In three generations We have gone again From gutter to gutter. Seventy years ago today They faced not simply defeat, Not simply annihilation, But the total loss of all That was worth struggling for - Defeat seemed imminent. In the East The Dark was rising. Forces more dreadful Than any the world had seen before Were massing for invasion. The very end of the world seemed nigh. A trapped army of three hundred thousand. Fought on the beaches. Battleships and little boats Fought on the seas. The British Expeditionary Force retreated But they did not surrender. O! we laugh at them now, Dad's Army, Marching with wooden guns, Armed only with picks and hay forks - But they meant to use them if they had to. All the signs said it would come to that. My mother fought on the wards Of the East End Jewish Hospital, A blitz of bombs over it, around it and in it. My father fought In the sands of El Alamein And on the beaches of Italy. That Great Generation did not flag; They did not fail; They fought in the air; They defended our island; They went back to the beaches of France, And despite the cost, re-lit the beacons of Europe. They left us a free country, A world of peace and prosperity, A new land, truly fit for heroes. We enjoyed it all - Free education, free health care, pensions Security from cradle to grave. We have never had to be heroic. To us hard times are a few years Of negative economic growth. OK - we sat out the Cold War alright, But in our centrally heated, Wall to wall carpeted houses. We bought the vacuum cleaners, The fridges and televisions, The radiograms, the CD Players the DVDs. The computers, the internet connections, The family cars, the four by fours, The cheap air flights abroad. And what have we left our children? Nothing but the bill! Debts for their education; A warming atmosphere; The rising seas And once again Global uncertainty.
Archived comments for The Great Generation
RoyBateman on 19-06-2010
The Great Generation
Spot on mate - could this generation do what our fathers did? I think not...and let's not forget that theirs was the second generation in succession to go through that ordeal. We are indeed very lucky - very selfish and all too ignorant of the debts we owe, too. This is a timely, heartfelt reminder and I for one welcome it. I hope many others do too.

Author's Reply:
THankyou Roy - it is so hard to imagine now what ordinary people had to do then. Indeed I have my grandfather's First World War medals as well as my father's from North Africa and Italy.

David


stormwolf on 20-06-2010
The Great Generation
This is one of your poems which moves me greatly David. It dererves to be recited as many of your poems do. It is in the recitation that your feelings come over to add such pathos to the poem.
You have a deep concern for humanity and are a deeply caring person and I am glad to be your friend.
Alison x
ps Happy Soltice.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison - I will get to work on the recital.

David


Where Angels Fear To Tread (posted on: 31-05-10)
As I say I am not alone. From 'You all look alike' by The Byrds :- And if you think I`m ready You may lead me to the castle Where the rivers of our vision Flow into one another I will want to dive beneath The white cascading waters She may beg she may plead She may argue with her logic And mention all the things I lose That really have no value In the end she will surely know I wasn`t born to follow

Shall I go back there, where angels fear to tread? Back to that peak in Darien Back to those Blessed Isles Where a spotted sun Rises out of early morning Mediterranean haze, And the new moon Holds bright Venus between her horns. Do I dare? Do I have strength to hold onto dull Earth With heavy feet Whilst above me A great balloon tugs at my willing arms Trying to carry me again High above the nonus-clouds?* Will I travel again to pleasant leas To glimpse Old Triton Blowing his loud Conch And hurling tridents At iniquitous giants? Or sight Proteus Changing from serpent to leopard to giant iguana Until at last, fearlessly held, He speaks the world's truth Into Cassandra's ears; Only for her fateful tongue To utter unheeded warnings? Yes, there is no choice I must go about the great Cosmos I must dare to look into Super Galactic clusters And Black holes, To peer down to the floors of silent seas Where ragged claws scuttle among slimy weeds. If, like Icarus, I fly too high And fall again into the ninth circle of Hell, Into dark nothingness Tortured by scorn and noise, Drowning, choking, guttering Beneath a living sea of waking dreams, Then I shall be in good company. For many have crossed London Bridge, Poets and painters, Musicians and dancers Ploughmen and plebians, Only to be undone By the brown fog. Note: 'nonus' is latin for 'ninth'
Archived comments for Where Angels Fear To Tread
pdemitchell on 31-05-2010
Where Angels Fear To Tread
Hi David. A good melange of surreal and juxtaposed imagery, classical and science references that grabs the attention. Not too sure about the spotted sun and the nonoclouds - a nono-cloud being a new geek term of one of the latest computer net hierarchy algorithms. Cirrus is pretty high - polar stratospheric clouds (PSCs) are the highest I think though supercells punch into the stratosphere and emit sprite and jet lightning 30 miles high. Did you know time slows to zero at the event horizons of black holes? Beg your pardon here - slipped into nerd mode! A fine piece nevertheless! Mitch 🙂

Author's Reply:
Spotted Sun - I am surprised at you Mitch - don't you know that the sun usually has sunspots on its face??? I looked at the sun with my binoculars as it rose through the heat haze around the island of Kos. I was delighted to see that several large sunspots were visible.

Nonocloud was my latinized version of cloud nine - perhaps nonus-clouds is better?
Cloud nine apparently comes from an American military term for Cumulo-Nimbus cloud - they being the highest of all clouds as they hit the troposhere temperature inversion and flatten out.

Aye I know about sprites and the relativity of time in high gravitational fields. Apparently the Geonav sattelites have to update their version of time every few seconds in order to keep in their clocks accurate enough to calculate distances down on the Earth's surface where gravity is stronger so that time runs more slowly!

If you are interested I will email you the elucidation to all the references in the poem.

David


stormwolf on 31-05-2010
Where Angels Fear To Tread
Loved it David. Full of magnificent imagery and wonderful references to the mythological mixed in with the physical but its all the same you know for all things exist in the eternal now. Oops getting into weird mode like Mitch lol
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison - You mean at 'the intersection of the timeless moment'- yes I agree:-)

I am sending you the full elucidation of this.

David

pdemitchell on 31-05-2010
Where Angels Fear To Tread
Hi David! I understood the spotted-sun reference being a keen astronomer - as the dark areas are called umbrae, surrounded by a brighter region of filaments called penumbrae, maybe umbrae'd - it's a difficult one but when i read the line I thought of spotted dick and measles - so best to ignore me on this one! Nonus-clouds is better - as duh! I missed the cloud nine link altogether! The Cloud numbers allegedly hail from the US metereology dept in the 50's - some say Buddhist levels of consciousness too but they both went up to 10? I found a sixtiesreference in the Dictionary of American Slang 1960, which first printed a definition of the term - Cloud seven - completely happy, perfectly satisfied; in a euphoric state - probably from 'seventh heaven'. Since the 80s we've used 'cloud nine' and even George Harrison used it as the title of an album - which I broke during a house move ominously. But - a fine piece, David - and it generated some internerdy exchanges to boot! Cheers Mitch 🙂






Author's Reply:


Eternal Grief (posted on: 31-05-10)
Posted after watching and hearing 'The Marriage of Figaro' by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart from Covent Garden, broadcast on BBC 4 tonight.

Some deaths humanity will ever mourn, As Mozart from this world too early torn; Jane Austen taken at her greatest height And Keats, to darkness sent as dawned his light. POOR MOZART HAS NO KNOWN GRAVE

Archived comments for Eternal Grief
pdemitchell on 31-05-2010
Eternal Grief
Very true, so many: Robert Johnson buried under a flyover, Van Gogh and so on. Poignant reminders that many a writer or poet dies unrecognised. Mitch

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 31-05-2010
Eternal Grief
ah well, he left so much richness in his music he does not need a place to be mouldering in a grave like poor old John Brown 😉
Lovely pics though.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Yes of course - his memorial is his eternal music (God has it playing on continuous loop on the heavenly tannoys!-)

Thankyou David

sunken on 31-05-2010
Eternal Grief
I heard once of a 'poet' who faked his own death in order to become more popular. It didn't work. In the end he got so depressed he killed himself. His work is still shit. There's a moral for us all there I feel. When I have figured out said moral I'll post it on ceefax (pg 136). Forgive me, Corin. Commenting isn't my forte. I blame chicken tikka. It was invented in Birmingham ya know. Chicken tikka, that is - not suicide. I think suicide was invented in Japan. It's probably something to do with all that raw fish they eat. Ahem. Thank you.

s
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k
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he walks with desmond tu tu - 'hurry up, desmond - we'll miss the bus!'

Author's Reply:


Reflections on High Rise Living (posted on: 28-05-10)
My wife and I once lived on the 10th floor with a wonderful view over Gateshead, the Team Valley, the Tyne Valley and Newcastle.

Outside our window Unreality moves mysteriously. Upon the background of night A bright room has materialised, Hanging there unsuspended. A ghostly alter-world Can be seen in the darkness Two hundred feet above the ground. Below it hills and town roll away Into the night. Long strings of sodium lamps Stretch over the hills And around the wide cityscape, Clinging like a skeletal net Trapping country and town into cruel reality. The room's occupants busy themselves, Or just sit and watch A flickering television screen. Their mouths move But they do not speak. The walls of their home Are quite transparent. Moon and stars shine in. Their world seems quite peaceful - Safe Untroubled - Idyllic. I draw the curtain and terminate their existence.
Archived comments for Reflections on High Rise Living
woodbine on 28-05-2010
Reflections on High Rise Living
Reflections On High Rise Living:
I think to myself, 'seen that, read the book, caught the film.'
But I'm wrong because someone, looking with a fresh eye comes up with a notion, shining with eye appeal and 'why didn't I think of that' atmostpherics, something you want to reach out for and grab but it slips through your fingers.
Long strings of sodium lamps...clinging like a skeletal net is very fine
as is a bright room...unsuspended. Is there a 'd' missing from 'materialise' or is it me being pedantic?

Author's Reply:
THankyou for that lovely comment John - my poetry tutor slagged it off a bit wanting me to delete 'reality' and unreality' but I did move thye first verse at her suggestion. What did you think it was at first then?

Oh the missing 'd' I think that was because I switched things about a bit - thanks.



David

woodbine on 28-05-2010
Reflections on High Rise Living
We have a matching set of tower blocks from the sixties not far from us, and seeing the title my prejudices about them came popping up.
John

Author's Reply:

pdemitchell on 28-05-2010
Reflections on High Rise Living
Hi David - a lovely piece of observation with the last Arnold Schwarzenegger killer line swishing it to an end. Apart from adding a 'd' to the end of line 4, i can't think of anything to improve on it - well done. Mitch

Author's Reply:
THankyou Mitch for the comment and pointing out the edit.

David

stormwolf on 29-05-2010
Reflections on High Rise Living
They say the poet sees poetry in all things, I tend to agree. You have taken a very oridinary scene and shared it with us all and the last line was fab 😉
Alison x

Author's Reply:
THankyou Alison - those flats if you remeber are right beside the Angel of the North!

David

Ionicus on 29-05-2010
Reflections on High Rise Living
Hi David. A nice, descriptive piece. It is true that high-rise buildings can offer a lofty view of the world around us and spur our imagination to describe real or unreal events.
Way back in 2004 I used a similar device in my poem 'Insomnia' but in my case it was a view from the balcony of a 5th floor apartment.
It is always a pleasure to read your contributions.

Author's Reply:

Elfstone on 30-05-2010
Reflections on High Rise Living
I don't like cities and rarely, if ever, do I see them as 'poetic', but you've managed to turn a city-scape into something lyrical here. Elf.

Author's Reply:
THankyou Elf, I think you could be wrong about Cities, firstly we could make them better - we live in a political philosophy that favours private wealth over public squalor.
Here is a photo of the view from outside that flat:-

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v205/curly15/suns-043_filtered.jpg

and some of the beautiful city of Newcastle Upon Tyne where I live:-

http://www.bbc.co.uk/tyne/content/images/2008/01/15/anne_hopper_grey_470x353.jpg

http://www.theviewfinder.co.uk/gallery%20images/GreyStreet.jpg:1

http://www.victorianweb.org/sculpture/baily/1.jpg

This was voted the most beautiful street in the UK by Radio 4 - of course the whol City is not as good as that and Grey street would be much improved by banning the cars on all of it.


I have some other poems of this idea:-

Far across the long lines of gently lolling hills
The evening mist paints pastel hues of sunset in their path.
Street lights all along the valley prick out
Ancient patterns of human settlement
And the towering works of industrial man,
Both old and new,
Proclaim an impudent power over hills and fauna -
An ugly wste of industrial dereliction some declare.
But the world itself finds no contradiction
In breathing beauty and squalor with the same breath.

For the view see:-

http://farm1.static.flickr.com/63/208301156_549a23b7af.jpg

Lemington was a port on the River Tyne that exported coal from the various mines, in particular Wylam mine. Here George Stephenson and William Hedly built the 'Puffing Billy that carried coals from Wylam to the Staithes at Lemington. The coal was also used at Lemington to make glass in the brick furnace you can see in the picture. It was not one huge furnace but a large workshop with a ring of Blacksmith type furnaces all round the inside circumference of the building. The dirty muddy ditch in the picture is called Lemington Gut and is fact the old course of the River Tyne that was diverted in the 19th Century by digging a short cut through a loop of the river thus cutting the port off from its trade.

David




Pendle Avanced Croquet Tournament - In Memory of John Beech (posted on: 24-05-10)
John Beech was a lovely man, a friend of all, Preacher and Founder of Pendle and Craven Croquet Club. Still much missed even 4 years after his death. Obituary for John Beech:- http://www.pendlecroquet.org.uk/news2006.html

John Beech
John Beech 1925 - 2006 Founder of Pendle Croquet Club And much missed by all
The foolish swallows come whilst Spring Still flirts with Winter's icy heart, But a single swift will bring Summer's long awaited start. Last week on May's bright fifteenth day I saw that harbinger fly high Above Newcastle's Motorway And gyre through a cold blue sky. Today their promissary flights Wheel over Pendle Croquet Courts. They bring these glorious summer sights, And Old John Beech into our thoughts.
Archived comments for Pendle Avanced Croquet Tournament - In Memory of John Beech
Ionicus on 25-05-2010
Pendle Avanced Croquet Tournament - In Memory of John Beech
How strange that nobody else has commented on this lovely tribute, David.
Nicely written and very rhythmical.

Author's Reply:
THankyou Ionicus. You seem to have spurred them into action:-)

David

e-griff on 25-05-2010
Pendle Avanced Croquet Tournament - In Memory of John Beech
The gentleman does not look 'old' in that picture, and he seems very nice, open person also.

The poem was fitting and lyrical. The only thing I would question is the 'motorway' reference. while it might reflect something about new/old, today we all have motorways - so 'Newcastle's motorway' doesn't quite say much (or says too much), and a small brushing just there might help some.

--- Even, as a suggestion, 'above the teeming/crowded/ busy/ etc... motorway' I like 'teeming', myself - it can hold its own with gyre (a heavy word which needs some balance, IMO)

G

Author's Reply:
Thankyou for reading and commenting John. The 'old'inthis case was meant to be a term of endearment as well as a literal adjective.

I did have some doubts about 'Motorway' - I used it mainly for the rhyme though it was iterally true that I saw the first swift of the year whilst driving home. Your suggested changes would be a problem though, as they break the meter.

David

stormwolf on 25-05-2010
Pendle Avanced Croquet Tournament - In Memory of John Beech
Lovely, bittersweet and leaves a feeling of sadness but love in its wake. Alison x
Very fine tribute.

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 26-05-2010
Pendle Avanced Croquet Tournament - In Memory of John Beech
I can't see that, David (metre).

You have iambic tetrameter throughout (with a headless iamb on two lines (But../summers)).

'aBOVE the TEEMing MOtorWAY'
exactly replaces
'aBOVE newCASTles MOtorWAY.'
(in geordie or 'english')

The one metrical problem in the poem is 'gyre': it appears you are supposed to read that line:
'and GUYah THROUGH a COLD blue SKY'
ie in geordie, whereas many people would read gyre as one sound , thus clashing two stresses together there. you could try 'gyring' which would probably solve it.

isn't language wonderful? 🙂 best johnG

Author's Reply:

pdemitchell on 26-05-2010
Pendle Avanced Croquet Tournament - In Memory of John Beech
I was delighted to see Gyre and promissary in a poem - and in such a moving tribute to a worthy soul sadly missed. Mitch 🙂

Author's Reply:


Everyone's England ( A riposte to 'England, My England - see below) (posted on: 17-05-10)
There is currently something of an anti-immigrant movement in Britain at the moment typified by this message and poem I recently received - my poem is a riposte to this Little Englander view:- "I find it deplorable the the way the EU has set about destroying England as a nation. This poem is so true and distressing, hence the reason I am sending it to you." The poem is posted after mine.

Now England once was a country it's true, But its name and its rulers came out of the blue From Germany where the Angles were great. They came to the help of a poor Roman state Whose legions had gone back over the sea To defend their own city in warm Italy. King Arthur's great country was soon overrun With Angles and Saxons who thought it was fun To turn on the Celts who had no fighting band And rename the country Angleland. Then the Danes came to eat up a piece of the pie So the Celts had to flee to the West or else die. While Saxons and Danes were squabbling over Romano-Britain's grass and sweet clover A Bastard in France had his eye on the country And slipped over the Channel with his Norman army. The English beat off the Danes in the North Then down to the South they quickly set forth. But Harold their King took his eye off the battle. The English were lost and enslaved as French cattle. After some time - The Norman blood faded Henry Tudor the Taffy and his army invaded. Now England was Welsh and ruled by a Prick, But the Welsh Prick's son could not do the trick. He left a woman in charge of Olde England. In her lifetime she tried to conduct the band, But when the witch died it all turned to disaster. Then it was the turn of a Scot to be Master! King James the Sixth came hurrying south With his strange ideas and a big foolish mouth. When his heirs tried bring back the Catholic religion Great Britain said no to dispute and division. The only choice left was to invite the Dutch And give Britain into King William's clutch. Once again the top cock could not do the trick So to Deutch Land they looked for another big prick! So who are the English? The Celts or the Germans? The Danes the Norwegians, the frenchified Normans? Bastards the Italians knitted and purled, Or slaves they brought from the old Roman World? So just face the truth we're a bit of a mix, A mongerel breed that needs the odd fix Of new blood that comes from that strange place - Abroad From Ireland and Europe and Asia's great horde And Africa's plains, from where we all come. For under the skin we are all just the same. If Britain is great this is why it is should be - Here everyone has the right to be free. ENGLAND, MY ENGLAND Goodbye to my England, so long my old friend Your days are numbered, being brought to an end To be Scottish, Irish or Welsh that's fine But don't say you're English, that's way out of line. The French and the Germans may call themselves such So may Norwegians, the Swedes and the Dutch You can say you are Russian or maybe a Dane But don't say you're English ever again. At Broadcasting House the word is taboo In Brussels it's scrapped, in Parliament too Even schools are affected, staff do as they're told They must not teach children about England of old. Writers like Shakespeare, Milton and Shaw The pupils don't learn about them anymore How about Agincourt, Hastings, Arnhem or Mons? When England lost hosts of her very brave sons. We are not Europeans, how can we be? Europe is miles away, over the sea We're the English from England, let's all be proud Stand up and be counted............shout it out loud! Let's tell our Government and Brussels too We're proud of our heritage and the Red, Whte and Blue Fly the flag of Saint George or the Union Jack Let the world know....WE WANT OUR ENGLAND BACK !!! Martin Clarke http://martinclarke.blogspot.com/2009/03/poem-we-want-our-england-back.html
Archived comments for Everyone's England ( A riposte to 'England, My England - see below)
Jolen on 17-05-2010
Everyones England ( A riposte to England, My England - see below)
I loved your poem, David and the sentiment is dead on. You kicked ass here, dear.
blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Jolen.

David

sirat on 17-05-2010
Everyones England ( A riposte to England, My England - see below)
Interesting slip-up in the second poem: 'Writers like Shakespeare, Milton and Shaw' – Shaw was in fact Irish, born in Dublin, July 6, 1856. The BNP poet could perhaps substiture 'Waugh' (Auberon) who was as English as Alf Garnet himself, and would rhyme with 'anymore' to about the same extent as 'Shaw' does, although he was alive up to about ten years ago which might make him too recent. More (Thomas) would give a very tight rhyme, more of a repetition I suppose, although he is arguably better remembered as a statesman and saint than as a writer. Gosh, it's difficult to write poetry, isn't it?

Author's Reply:
That was not the only one David - but one that I missed when I pointed out the inconsistencies and errors to the sender of the original - e.g. referring to the Union Jack in a patriotic rant about England.

David

e-griff on 17-05-2010
Everyones England ( A riposte to England, My England - see below)
Ah, among the french it's always 'England'. When I send a letter to my sister in law, it's addressed to 'Cardiff, S Wales, ANGLETERRE' and we are all (scots, welsh, irish) ANGLAIS.

yes, they know 'Pays de Galle' and 'Ecosse' but don't generally bother with the finer distinctions!

Author's Reply:
And they call the English Channel 'The Sleeve' - bloody cheek!

David

stormwolf on 19-05-2010
Everyones England ( A riposte to England, My England - see below)
haha what an informative poem David. Of course up in the highlands we remained unconquered apart from a few vikings that gave me my Valkrie nature methinks. I still have the odd urge to paint my face with wode 😉
Wonderfully executed my old fruit...nobody tells a yarn like you.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
What makes you think you were unconquered in the Highlands? Have you forgotten about Culloden and Butcher Cumberland - half you lot imprisoned in hulks on the Thames sounds like a decisive game of conkers to me!

David

Ionicus on 19-05-2010
Everyones England ( A riposte to England, My England - see below)
Dear David, you make a true and persuasive argument about the mongrel state that it's England.
Mind you, nationalistic sentiments are not a new phenomenon.
You must remember this:
"This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,--
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England."
William Shakespeare, "King Richard II", Act 2 scene 1

Author's Reply:
THis was not a natiionalistic sentiment really but a lament by poor old John of Gaunt that England was tearing itself apart in The Wars of the Roses. It goes on:-

This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leased out, I die pronouncing it,
Like to a tenement or pelting farm:
England, bound in with the triumphant sea
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds:
That England, that was wont to conquer others,
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.
Ah, would the scandal vanish with my life,
How happy then were my ensuing death!



David

pdemitchell on 20-05-2010
Everyones England ( A riposte to England, My England - see below)
Who says politics, history and poetry don't mix. In Taffy-land we have a small percentage of uber-nationalists who deface English road-signs and scream at people in 'foreign' owned stores because the assistants cannot speak God's own tongue. The Welsh-speaking 20% tail wags the 80% English-speaking dog and a backlash is slowly growing that could tear Wales in two unless these shrill guys mature. We call them the crachach - as catarhhal as it gets. I'm all for Cymraeg and culture, me, but not cultural oppression and the scrapping of Welsh English-speaking culture and history. What's done is done. The Rebecca riots were the only examples of transvestite guerilla warfare in a proud mix of Welsh and English culture and heritage. nature presents us with a sad fact of evolution - inbred pure breeds die while the more vigorous and gentically richer 'mongrel' thrives! Mitch

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 20-05-2010
Everyones England ( A riposte to England, My England - see below)
Dear David, further to my comment, I know the context of John of Gaunt's speech. I was referring to the profusion of hyperboles used in the oration. To me - a foreign bystander -they read like the words of a passionate nationalist who's lamenting that his country his going to the dogs.
Best, Luigi.

Author's Reply:
Nationalist or patriot with a great love of country? The latter I think.

David


Ghosts (posted on: 30-04-10)
These ghosts are benign. They are all about us. We are made of them and and we make them.

This is a night when ghosts stir; Through the open window Clouds race across a moonlit sky; A hippotamus is pursued by a gaping whale As the slowly closing eye of God Watches beningly over the vast land. The ghosts of two nineteen year olds Make love again, This time knowing how. The touch of skin and soft hair, The wide smiles and shining eyes Are just the same. Afterwards, sleeping in each others arms, Two feel like one in the soft warmth Of satisfaction and love's glow. The strange world turns. We, who were young, fear for our young, Wondering how the world's gaze seems to them. Outside, the silent clouds race towards another day. This peaceful night stays for no ghosts - Impatient tomorrow beckons, Waiting with a bold finger to write In unruffled sands. In my mind sounds a single song Sung by many voices: A choir of ghosts - Those that have gone Joined by those yet to come - Their song Echoing out of the past Right through to tomorrow's hall.
Archived comments for Ghosts
pdemitchell on 30-04-2010
Ghosts
Hi David - I loved the first stanza especially but the last stanza left me with a nagging feeling that a stronger longer narrative of night passing was trying to escape the poem - almost as if Dylan Thomas was one of the ghosts tapping at the windows of your inspiration... an enjoyable, gentle piece nonetheless. Well done. Mitch




Author's Reply:
Thankyou Mitch - Yes I see what you mean - I shall have to work on it. I think that what I had in mind was the ending of 'Heimat' - a German TV series about a small village in the Black Forest and the events affecting it over two World Wars up to about the 60s. The final scene was a party in the village hall but the ghosts of all the people that had passed away over the period of about 50 years joined in. It was very moving I thought.





David

sunken on 01-05-2010
Ghosts
Hello Mr. Corin. I enjoyed this. It has an eerie sense of calm about it. Nice work fella. Muchly enjoyed.

s
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k
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his search for the perfect sprout goes on

Author's Reply:
I was expecting that you would have been looking for two sprouts and a large cucumber.

Thankyou Sunk

David

Ionicus on 01-05-2010
Ghosts
A nice flowing poem, David, with good lines. I very much like the first two stanzas.
The opening of the third "Th strange world turns." is missing an 'e'. An unintentional gap I'm sure.


Author's Reply:
THankyou Ionicus - and I will go fix the error - thanks.

David

stormwolf on 01-05-2010
Ghosts
Hi David
You asked for advanced critique so here is my tuppence worth (although, going by the way the country is going...I am afraid I will have to raise my charge to thruppence.) My services do not come cheap my man.:-)
ok...a beautiful poem that for me grabbed me in its thoughtful embrace and allowed me to see the sky as you portrayed.

Clouds race across a peaceful sky;
I feel this is a contradiction in terms..the verb racing does not speak to the reader of peaceful...although I understand where you are coming from. What about "The clouds race across a moonlit sky"..or the 'clouds race across a a patient sky'...moon-bathed sky / moon-less sky?

anyway...
second stanza is fine but why the use of capitals when you are very choosy where to place full stops? The feeling of the viewer and the inner thoughts engendered is quite beautiful and captured in a moving way.

3rd stanza

Th strange world turns. this typo 'This'
We who were young, fear for our young,
comma after 'we'...as befitting the wondering and the separation of those who wonder....

Wondering how the world's gaze seems to them.
question mark..this is a question

Outside the silent clouds race towards another day.
I would have put a comma after outside...to differentiate the difference
This peaceful night stays for no ghosts;

I would have put a comma after night' You are highlighting that this is residual in the feeling..not gone in an instant, not just experienced in that split second but can work without..everyone is different 😉

Impatient tomorrow beckons,
I would have put a full stop. You are making a statement and also you start the next line with a capital letter that demands a full stop preceding it.
Waiting with a bold finger to write
In unruffled sands.

again why the capital letter when 'In unruffled sands.' is a continuation of the sentence?

Phew, hope you understand where your student is coming from. Your poetry moves me with its depth and descriptive qualities. I am only saying what occurs to me for very detailed crit but the overall message and feeling in the poem could never be extinguished by small print.
Alison x


Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison - a thoughtful and very useful critique and some very satisfying appreciation.



Your first point is very observant and on the ball and the suggestion to fix it - 'moonlit sky' I will use and correct in the source.



The use of capitals at the beginning of each line of a poem is, in my opinion, a useful convention. If you follow your logic to the end all poems would just be written as prose with no lineation whatsoever, but I think that the lineation can add a lot to the expressiveness of a poem and be a good guide to a reciter as to how to read the the piece.



Yes - 'We who were young, fear for our young, ' needs the comma after 'we' to complete the parenthesis.



'Wondering how the world's gaze seems to them. ' this I think is an adjectival clause describing 'we' so does not need the '?'



'Outside ...' on reflection I agree it needs the comma:-)





This peaceful night stays for no ghosts; This is a single sentence I think so no comma needed after 'night' but perhaps a dash or a conjunction after 'ghosts' ?



'Impatient tomorrow beckons, '

here

'Waiting with a bold finger to write

In unruffled sands. '

is an adjectival clause qualifying 'tomorrow' so both clauses are part of the same sentence.



You are right thogh - it is good to think carefully about the punctuation as you can change the meaning or spoil the flow if it is not righgt.



David




deepoceanfish2 on 15-09-2010
Ghosts
Hello David,

So good to read your work again. This is definitely a fav for me.

Cheers for a great read.
Adele 🙂

Author's Reply:


Southend (posted on: 26-04-10)
Southend - resort of many delights in my youth.

Act I Scene 1 Stage centre between two beach huts there is a bench on the promenade at Southend. Stage right the entrance to the pier, stage left the entrance to Adventure Island. The backdrop shows a small stony beach in front of the bench and a large expanse of mud with the sea and the end of the pier in the far distance. Two old people sit on the bench backs to the audience looking out on the mud. Beside them the remains of a picnic. They sit apart at an angle turning to face each other when they speak Ada Bleedin' cold for August. Sid Sun's awt Ada Well it's still bleedin cold. Just because the sun's awt don't make it bloody warm. Sid I fort you said you wanted to get a bit of sunshine. Ada Not cold sunshine I didn't. Sid stands up ready to move Sid Right then lets go back to the pub. Ada No! We said we'd come and look at the place again and get a bit of fresh air an that's what we're gonna do. Sit down here and look at the sea and the pier and breve fresh air. You can sit in the bleedin legion drinkin' all day back in Dag'nam. We didn't pay out good pension money on train tickets to sit inside the rotten bleedin' pubs they've got here, especially at them prices. Sid (pause) Soufend on Sea it should be called Soufend on Mud. Look at it! A scrap of stony beach and then nuffin but mud right out to the end of the bloody pier. Yer can't even see the bleedin' sea unless you walk a mile an' a half out to the end of the pier. Ada There used to be a train. Sid They're gonna open a new tram on it. I read it in the Evenin' Standard. Princess Margaret's gonna open it. Ada She won't be openin it on a day like this too bleedin' cold. They'll make sure she 'as better wevver than this, an they'll probably put sand down to cover all the bleedin mud! Sid I dunno why we come 'ere. Waste of good beer money if you ask me. Ada Don't start that again. You bleedin' do know. It's 'is anniversary. (She pauses a little to control the slight tremor in her voice) Forty years to the day. Sid I fort you ain't supposed to be saying nuffin about that. Ada Well shut up about it then. (pause) Sid Them was good days. Ada What! 'Ow can you say that? Bleedin' idiot good days! good days? Sid I mean before it happened. Ada You're bloody doin' it again. Talkin' about it. We said! Sid I mean during the war. Ada During the war! Good days my foot! Bleedin bombs fallin' day and night. You out playin' toy soldiers wiv dad's army. Sergeant Bloody Bone, marchin' up and down wiv a load of geriatrics holding wooden rifles and firin' wooden bullets at wooden bleedin Germans. Me stuck at home wiv the kid sleeping in that leaky soddin' Anderson Shelter in the garden. Sid There weren't any proper raids in Dag'nam. Nuffin' there worth blowing up. Ada What about the docks and Fords factory? They tried to bomb them didn' they? Got the Princess Pictures and bloody Broad Street instead! Sid And there's the railway to Soufend. Ada Pity the German's didn't blow that up anall. Sid Now you're talking about it! Anyway if they had they probably would've missed and got a direct hit on you in that bleedin Anderson Shelter. Garden was only a 'undred yards away from the shuntin' yard. At least I would've had a quiet life! Ada Good days? How can you call them good days. What do you bleedin' know? Sid ( pompously ) Them days were our finest hour. Ada -What finest hour? Two bleedin minutes was the best you could ever bloody manage usually after a minute your little barrage ballon was all little and as droopy as a bloody ration sausage, all shot to bloody pieces! I' ve had forty odd years of it. When it wasn't dads army it was the British bloody Legion. Poppy Day committee. Christmas party committee, THE COMMITTEE, Secretary, Chairman. Everything except bleedin' husband or bleedin' farver. I wish you'd joined the bleedin' Foreign Legion instead. Sid Couldn't could I can't talk bloody Foreign can I? Ada You can bleedin' jabber away nineteen to the dozen in bloody Rubbish alright! It's your native language cos you were born bleedin' Rubbish. Useless waste of space. Sid They didn't fink I was a useless waste of space at the Legion did they? Not if they voted me to do all them jobs. Anyway I did it for the kids woman. Ada What? Sid The Christmas parties, the bonfires, the cadets. Ada Other people's kids! Not OUR kid! Sid Well I couldn't could I? Ada I told you shut up, shut up! Silence Sid 'Ere Why don't we go and 'ave a quick butchers an see if Princess Margaret's done it yet Ada Done what? Sid Got them new trams going. We could 'ave a ride out to the end of the pier. Ada ( vehemently ) No! We ain't going back on that bloody pier. I told you I ain't steppin' on it ever again. I told you when it happened I ain't never going back on that bleedin pier. We agreed we weren't gonna talk about it, just come here and look. Just sit here and look at the sea and breve some fresh air. That's all! Nuffin else. pause Sid It ain't me that's talking about it it's you. I only said go and have a butchers. Ada Go on then! Go and 'ave a bloody butchers. Only I'm tellin' yer if you go on that bloody pier again that's it I'm getting a divorce. I should 'ave bloody done it at the time. I could have got someone else instead of livin' with a useless sod all these bloody years. What 'ave I got to show for it. Nuffin. Forty years of bleedin' nuffin, bloody council 'ouse in Dag'n'am, plastic furniture, garden that's all weeds and you! I could 'ave had grandchildren. All I've got is a bleedin' big baby that don't never grow up! Long pause Sid Tide's comin' in. Ada No it ain't all you can see is bloody mud. Sid Look look at them bait diggers they're packin' up and coming back in. Ada Bloody bait diggers shouldn't be allowed making bleeding holes in the mud big enough for a kid to drown in. Shouldn't be bloody allowed. Sid You 'ave to 'ave a licence to do it. Ada You 'ave to 'ave a licence to watch bleedin' telly. Doesn't mean the bleedin programmes are any good does it? Does it? Sid S'pose not. ( pause ) See I can see the sea now! Look, them anglers are all starting to cast out on the pier. Ada That's it! The bloody tide's comin' in. Come on shift yer arse. Pack up that picnic stuff. Ada stands and faces the audience. Sid But it's gettin a bit warmer naw, the wind's dropped and we can see the sea we came to see a bit ov sea didn't we. We can watch the kids swimmin' in it. Ada Are you orf your bleedin' 'ead. Why would I want to see bleedin kids swimmin' in the bleedin' sea. I told yer it's time to go. Ger up orf that bloody bench you've got all this stuff to carry. Sid Sit down. Gerup, sit down, What do you fink I am, a bleedin' yoyo? Ada No! I fink you're a bleedin' useless turd, a turd on legs that's what you are! Sid An' you're all bleedin' mouf an' no 'art. Ada What do you expect after forty bleedin' years, a nice bit ov rump steak? Sid gets up picking up the thermos and picnic bag and faces Ada. Long Pause. Sid Ada, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It was an accident I didn't do it on purpose. I couldn't 'ave. Ada ( pause) I know Sid, I know, I'm sorry too. ( pause) C'mon luv, let's go 'ome. They embrace and then walk off stage right hand in hand.
Archived comments for Southend
stormwolf on 26-04-2010
Southend
Very moving David.
The characters were believable and the cockney slang enjoyable. The pathos and sadness of the communication and the undercurrents of unfulfilled lives and bitterness very sad.. The trying to make something of it...all very insighful. The scenery well depicted and the description of the actors with their back to the audience and the space between then all well thought out. I could almost hear the mournful cries of the gulls.
This really got to me and it is nice to read a short play for a change.
Well done
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison, Here's an idea - we could perform it at UKALive if we have one this year. Lots of Scottish Cockneys in London during the war! 🙂

David

Gee on 27-04-2010
Southend
You got my attention from the start when I thought it was going to be funny. Then the story developed into something very different and I found my sympathy switching from one character to another with every other line - something I feel was very skilfully done. I feel the way you presented it worked brilliantly too. Very nicely written.

Author's Reply:
THankyou Gee - - I was trying to contrast comedy and pathos and had to work quite hard to stop it descending into an Alf Garnet parody. Though the story is fiction the characters are real - Ada is my mothers name and her character was based on her cousin Joyce. Sid was my great uncle. I was one of the kids he helped - a Chemistry set from a British Legion Christmas Party started me on a career in Chemistry.

David


The Self-Made Woman (posted on: 23-04-10)
A Riposte to E-Griff's challenge on the Forum for a poem about the 'Self Made Man'.

I saw the self-made woman pose On TV late last night. Her tits looked just like big balloons, Her face was pulled up tight. Her arched eyebrows were mostly paint, Her lips were Dulux gloss, Her teeth were artificial pearls Her hair was candy floss. I dread to think how long it takes Before the glass each day To recreate the whole effect Of vanity's long decay.
Archived comments for The Self-Made Woman
stormwolf on 23-04-2010
The Self-Made Woman
hehe Well, I girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do and the older we get the more time it takes to rectify the damage. Seriously though this is what I call in my feminist rant "The Prostitution of The Goddess" Silly, vacant women who have nothing to offer who sell the power and beauty of the inner woman for man's acceptance and get to look like freaks in the process.
Very witty indeed David. You are back on form old bean!
typo ballons ballooons
Alison x 😉

Author's Reply:
THankyou Alison.
You always look lovely in my eyes, warpaint or not:-)

David

pdemitchell on 23-04-2010
The Self-Made Woman
Yup. vanity's long decay indeedy. The 'tightly' and ITV rhyme didn't quite work for me but the rest was spot on exposing the con in silicon even! Mitch 🙂


Author's Reply:
Yes - it's the stress inversion on 'tightly' that doesn't work. I should work on it but as its only a bit of daftness I probably won't anymore - I did try.

Thanks for commenting.

David

Andrea on 23-04-2010
The Self-Made Woman
Like it - have you been perusing the DM by any chance?

Psst...'balons' should be 'balloons' I think...


Author's Reply:
THankyou for the balloons and the comment - but DM?

David

admin on 24-04-2010
The Self-Made Woman
Yes, that delightful right-wing rag The Daily Mail, which seems to delight in articles about celebs with...er...huge balloons and botox brows.

Author's Reply:

Elfstone on 25-04-2010
The Self-Made Woman
A feisty wee poem Corin and like others I love the phrase "vanity's long decay". And don't get me started on what women are expected to do to themselves these days to be considered acceptable!! (insert bouncing-up -and-down smilie here). Elfstone.

Author's Reply:
THankyou Elfstone,
Although I quite enjoy the scenery I see walking around Newcastle centre on a Friday or Saturday night it does seem to me to a rather vicious beauty competition and the lads seem to be able to get away with anything making no effort at all!

David

Ionicus on 25-04-2010
The Self-Made Woman
Very droll, David. I particularly liked the second stanza.
As for DM, I think it should stand for Daily Mirror. Isn't that the paper famous for page 3 or is that the Sun?
Cheers.

Luigi (pleading ignorance of the gutter press).

Author's Reply:
THankyou Luigi,
I read the gutter press sometimes - but then I often seem to end up there!

David


The Dark is Rising (posted on: 25-12-09)
The view from Northumberland on Sunday

Today the Eastern Border Of England Is well defended. A long wall with castles and towers Has sprung up overnight, Stretching along the coast and Painted a pale-yellow by the winter sun. Beneath clear blue sky England lies cold, Vulnerable under Its thick blanket of bright snow. The enemy is across the North Sea In Denmark, Copenhagen to be precise. The Paece Conference has failed. War is now inevitable England, cold though it is looking, Will be warm enough soon, Too warm by all predictions And these walls and towers of cumulus cloud Will be no defence Against a rising North Sea. The war is lost before it has even begun; England's cities will be destroyed - Not by bombs or missiles But by tidal waters Sailing into undefended estuaries; By summer droughts and winter floods. This Sceptered Isle will be conquered, Its people abandoned to chaos, Its land devastated. The Dark is rising.
Archived comments for The Dark is Rising
Jolen on 26-12-2009
The Dark is Rising
Well, this is certainly a cheery little number! A dark and dispiriting look at a serious problem, David. Well done!

Happy Holidays,
jolen

Author's Reply:
I am not quite sure about this Jolen - I think I will go and rethink it.

Thankyou for reading and commenting.

David

sunken on 27-12-2009
The Dark is Rising
You're a very well travelled man, Mr. Corin. I, on the other hand, am not. I blame the lock on my cell door. It's not as bad as it sounds though, my good fellow, as said door is very well padded. How's that for luxury!? Hello? Enjoyed the piece. I also enjoy the Foxtrot. I would, however, appreciate you keeping my foxtrotting escapades to your good self. It's not considered trendy around these parts. Thank you. You weren't really expecting an advanced crit from a sunk were you?

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you'll believe a goldfish can swim

Author's Reply:
Now I thought a Fox was an advanced critter. I supose a Sunk is quite a lowly critter but then it wouldn't be a Sunk if its natural tendancy was to stay well above sea level!

Thanks for the comment and the words of appreciation.

David


God Rest Ye Merry Bankermen (posted on: 18-12-09)
To be sung to the tune of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

God rest ye merry bankermen let nothing you dismay, Although your shares are worth much less you still will get your pay, But if you take a bonus now we'll tax it all away! Oh tidings of economic gloom gloom and doom! Oh tidings of economic gloom! $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ Now if you think this carol has the quite unpleasant sound Of Britain's poor economy just falling to the ground Just take your gifts and skills elewhere and plot against the pound! Oh tidings of economic gloom gloom and doom! Oh tidings of economic gloom! $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ So bugger off to Switzerland or Russia or Hong Kong And sing the same old chorus from the Banker's Bonus Song But don't expect we'll help them whenagain you do it wrong! Oh tidings of economic gloom gloom and doom! Oh tidings of economic gloom! $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
Archived comments for God Rest Ye Merry Bankermen
sunken on 18-12-2009
God Rest Ye Merry Bankermen
Hello Mr. Corin. Both topical and seasonal. Excellent stuff, in my sunky opinion. Deserves a nib. Well done fella.

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Author's Reply:
I think that Bernard and my dog Crab are of one mind. Whenever I try to sing this carol he begins to howl!

Ionicus on 18-12-2009
God Rest Ye Merry Bankermen
Sterling work, David. Your ironical take on the banker's actions aptly describes the grim situation in which their greed has landed us.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Luigi - it is the audacity that takes my breath away. These bankers nearly ruined the global economy and were taking bonuses for doing so. Then when he government threatens to control the bonus culture that led to such dangerous risk taking they say "O no, you can't do that because we are so good at our job that if we upped sticks and went elsewhere to work you would not have a clue how to run the banking system and your economy will be ruined"!!!

David

admin on 18-12-2009
God Rest Ye Merry Bankermen
Highly amusing. Singing along I was, much to Jesse's dismay...


(ppssst... 'unpleasant' needs attention)

Author's Reply:
THankyou Andrea - yes my singing of it has the same effect on Crab - but I performed it the Theatre Royal in Newcastle on Saturday and the audience even applauded!

David

sunken on 19-12-2009
God Rest Ye Merry Bankermen
Well done on the nib, Mr. Corin. Muchly deserved and no mistake.

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he feels love

Author's Reply:
Thankyou again Sunky.

teifii on 22-12-2009
God Rest Ye Merry Bankermen
Much better than the original version. Happy Christmas David.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Daff - Happy Christmas to you and Dyfi and friends.

David


Three Stone Figures (posted on: 11-12-09)
My submission for this weeks challenge based on the this picture:- http://davidmturner.org/poetry-pics/threes.jpg Similar to E-Griff's - great minds think alike? But E-Griff's was greater:-)

So many things come in threes - Blind mice, troubles, wishes, musketeers. Two is company but three is a crowd. We prefer crowds. If you have to stand Embedded in a stone wall For centuries A crowd of three is better. If two fall out they can each Enjoy the company Of the third. Who are we you ask? That is a difficult question to answer. We are not Persons in a Trinity Or apocalyptic angels, Nor are we Kings or Wise Men. We may look like monks, Or weary pilgrims, Or hobbits in elven cloaks But those are roles for other, More fortunate triplets. We are the watchers, We watch whilst you act. Don't worry, We take no notes, Maintain no ledgers, Keep no accounts Of good deeds done, Bad deeds committed, Omissions. However When we cease to watch You cease to act. No need to panic. The dolerite of which we are formed Was a long time in the making And will be even longer in the breaking. Yet nothing lasts for ever. 'This thing all things destroys' We wear these cloaks To protect us from evil And hoods that we may hear No slanders, Our eyes are fixed And, despite our task, Effectively blind. In all our long vigil We never speak. What good would that do? We stand here like the three wise monkeys. When the watching is over then we shall see.
Archived comments for Three Stone Figures
sirat on 11-12-2009
Three Stone Figures
I can't pretend to be any good at criticising poetry, but I liked the atmosphere of this one, and one line stood out specially for me: 'This thing all things destroys'. I thought I recognised it from Macbeth, but I've had a Google and I can't find it. I think it must be entirely yours. The Macbeth quote I had in mind was probably:

'Tis safer to be that which we destroy
Than, by destruction, dwell in doubtful joy.

Anyway, I thought it was atmospheric and eerie and might well find a place in a magazine like Twisted Tongue or Strange Horizons.

Author's Reply:
THankyou David - how astute you are - the line is not mine (I did put it in quotes) It is in fact Tolkein's, one of Gollum's riddles - the one that Bilbo gets the answer to entirely by good fortune!

"This thing all things devours:
Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;
Gnaws iron, bites steel;
Grinds hard stones to meal;
Slays king, ruins town,
And beats high mountain down. "

And the answer is?

David

e-griff on 11-12-2009
Three Stone Figures
Oh, thanks, David - very kind of you. But I'd maybe say 'shorter' not 'greater' 🙂

I think if this were condensed a bit, it could be sharper (but I've said that before, I know, so I'll not belabour the point).

I think we had the best take on the pic, though ...

JohnG

Author's Reply:
It was a good picture to draw inspiration from - and you are probably right about the length of mine - I did wonder if it was getting too long as I wrote it. My poetry tutor in our workshops says, "Kill your babies!". I should have committed infanticide on this one.

David

stormwolf on 12-12-2009
Three Stone Figures
I enjoyed it and the pic too but felt that it could be shorter as others have said. less is more and all that 😉
Alison x

Author's Reply:


Mr Boudicca (posted on: 13-11-09)
After the style of Carol Ann Duffy's 'The World's Wife'.

I only married her for her big breasts Really. When I met her she was just sixteen And quite biddable - Well all right, She did do most of the bidding And she made all the running, So, it didn't take long For one thing to lead to another and Soon it led up duff alley! In those days You had to jump the besom Pretty damned high And pretty damned quick Once the dough started to rise. Her father was quite a big cheese So when he came charging up to my hut in his chariot I jumped straight away. I really liked the kid But Boudicca wasn't the maternal type. And she was more interested in the family business Than baby milk. Her Dad was the Chief Executive of Iceland. It was OK for a while, I looked after the baby and kept our hut clean While she was off selling frozen chickens. Then the Roman Mafia tried to Bust in on the business. In the end The Icelandi had to agree to pay 'protection' money. While her dad was negotiating With the Romans to supply the garrisons Up on Hadrian's Wall She was in Colchester Running the business there. O, she came back every now and again To give me a good seeing to And we soon had three lovely daughters. Of course they took after their mother. When the Chief of the Icelandi died That was it. She had herself crowned Queen And refused to pay any more protection money to the Mafia. She and her daughters went off to Colchester To tell the Romans Her new business terms. Apparently they tried to flog her. I should have warned them - It only gets her blood up And then she is insatiable. It resulted in the mother of gang bangs - She and her daughters Went through a whole Roman Legion. There wasn't a man left standing When they were finished. Suetonius, the Godfather Was so shocked he ran off to Wales, Leaving London to Boudicca's tender mercies. She persuaded the Tescovante and Morrisonni To join her revolt. Led by the Icelandi wagons A great army of supermarkets Descended upon the City And burnt it to the ground, Followed by Saint Albans. She chased the Mafia all the way up Watling Street To Birmingham by Spaghetti junction. She had the Romans surround and heavily outnumbered. All she had to do was wait until they started On the spaghetti brummonese And then tie them up in knots. But Suetonius had found her weakness. He ordered his men to lift their kilts. At the sight of all that Italian Sausage She and her daughters lost their heads and Drove straight at the Roman Army. Undistracted by spaghetti the Roman Army Kept its discipline And the rest is History. I ended up working in A nice little Italian restaurant in Norwich As a waiter. The cook was a cheerful Italian mamma with no military ambitions. We hit it off And after a few years Soon had our own little Roman Legion Marching around the tables.
Archived comments for Mr Boudicca
Mezzanotte on 13-11-2009
Mr Boudicca
Ha ha, Brilliant and good fun. I don't usually comment on your poetry Mr. Corin, as it is often too intellectual for my little brain, but here you have made a history lesson totally entertaining and accessible to the likes of me.

I adored the first lines, what a great 'hook' to get me to read the rest of the poem, I also loved:...

I was going to quote my favourite lines, but that's not possible, the whole poem is so funny and very clever.

Loved it
Best Wishes

Jackie



Author's Reply:
Hi Jackie - thankyou so much for that rare comment.Since it is rare I shall treasure it all the more. I am pleased you liked it so much.

David

sirat on 13-11-2009
Mr Boudicca
As Jackie has observed, this one is accessible, even to the likes of me. Historically questionable but great fun. The approach taken to warfare by Ms B and her daughters at Colchester would indeed tempt me to become a Roman legionary. Great poetry – eat your hearts out, Carol Ann Duffy and friends.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou for reading and commenting David. Historicaly questionable?? I did the research first! Admittedly I did make a few things up - so the basic facts are true except that it was her husband who was Chief of the Iceni not her father. She and her daughters were whipped and gang banged though.
I am pleased that you enjoyed it.

Best Wishes

David

woodbine on 13-11-2009
Mr Boudicca
You have seriously bent my chuckleometer by sending it off the dial.
Now I shall have to buy a nasty new one with a built in phone.
It was worth it just to read your poem.

Best regards, John

Author's Reply:
Thankyou so much John for such a great comment - sorry about the chuckleometer - not sure you should be using one of those at your time of life:-) Invest in one of these rabbits instead!
Warm Wishes

David

Ionicus on 13-11-2009
Mr Boudicca
Just like Jackie I don't comment on your poetry very often - too formal for my liking - but this one is just up my street and appeals to my sense of humour. The thought of the Roman mafia is not so far fetched as one might think: their taxes and pillaging were no more than protection money.
I wouldn't have categorised this poem as historical but I can see the thinking behind it.
I thought it was cleverly written and the reference to Carol Ann Duffy was shrewd:
"So, it didn't take long
For one thing to lead to another and
Soon it led up duff alley!"
I enjoyed it a lot and I'm sure it will raise a smile for many others.


Author's Reply:
Thankyou for the rare comment Luigi, I categorised it as historical as I tried to stretch it over the known facts as closely as possible - of course I embellished and exagerated. I am very pleased that you enjoyed it.

Best Wishes

David

stormwolf on 13-11-2009
Mr Boudicca
Really enjoyed it David...I would like to hear you recite it too! hint hint.
I will never think of Boudicca (one of my heroines) in quite the same way again. Well deserving of the nib.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Alison - I will send myself a note to do it - I have also promised to do a recording of my version of Mr Tambourine man (singing!:-)

David

sunken on 14-11-2009
Mr Boudicca
Hello Mr. Corin. Good to see that the nibbers are on top of thangs this week. If history had been like this when I was at school I may have learned something. Isn't it windy? Thank you. Hello?

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who's gonna ride your wild tortoise?

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Sunk - history is bunk so they say so don't worry about only knowing this version of history -
You give me an idea though - I have done a few other comical historical narratives so I will do some more and see if I can get a slim volume out of it! 🙂

Wind?? What wind?? Wasted my time on Friday taking down all the garden furniture and putting it away!

David

barenib on 15-11-2009
Mr Boudicca
Hi Corin - yes very enjoyable, I certainly agree with the other comments. I did a piece a while back with a similar basic idea - it's called Mrs Chaucer and is posted somewhere in the depths of my stuff on UKA if you fancy reading it. Anyway - I'm glad you've contributed this to the genre - good stuff, John.

Author's Reply:

RedKite on 15-11-2009
Mr Boudicca
Really enjoyed this David, a constant smile upon my face, look forward to more of your work, a well deserved 10, all the best Daniel

Author's Reply:
THankyou Daniel - its success has given me an idea for a project.

David

Albermund on 15-11-2009
Mr Boudicca
Really clever, witty, enjoyable stuff. You should venture up Duff alley more often. cheers Albert 😉


Author's Reply:

Zoya on 22-11-2009
Mr Boudicca
Very enjoyable, dear David!
I, as Jackie put it, got hooked from the very first line... the rest as you put it is history!
Enjoyed the read!
Thanks for sharing!
How are you doing these days?
Love,
Zoya

Author's Reply:


Mr Tambourine Man (posted on: 30-10-09)
To be sung at my funeral

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, let me follow you, Now I'm tired and I want to rest my head. Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, I'm full of sorrow too But now I'm easy and your path no longer holds such dread. . Well I've walked this long hard road, from South to North East town Just like a circus clown And now I think I'm done performing tricks. Well how I got to here I just can't quite believe No aces up my sleeve And nothing in my mouth, no silver gimmicks. Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, let me follow you, Now I'm tired and I want to rest my head. Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, I'm full of sorrow too But now I'm easy and your path no longer holds such dread. You led me a long race, and I changed my horses twice On the river ice Just how I didn't drown I cannot figure Well I found a helping hand and we formed a four man band The songs were writ in sand But every song we played was wrapped in rigour Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, let me follow you, Now I'm tired and I want to rest my head. Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, I'm full of sorrow too But now I'm easy and your path no longer holds such dread. At last I'm at the pier and the ferryman is here His price it is not dear Two pence is all I have but it's enough. I wave my tambourine to those I leave behind The grieving are too kind, The river's calm and the short trip won't be rough. Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, let me follow you, Now I'm tired and I want to rest my head. Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, I'm full of sorrow too But now I'm easy and your path no longer holds such dread.
Archived comments for Mr Tambourine Man
sunken on 31-10-2009
Mr Tambourine Man
Dear Mr. Corin, just when is your funeral? I'll see if I can fit it into my busy schedule and no mistake. I'm no good at singing though. Hello?

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shaves in the dark and hopes for the best

Author's Reply:


The Musicians Next Door (posted on: 30-10-09)
A bit of a rant.

The uvver night at ten to ten I was in me bed Sleepin like a baby when Black notes shot froo me 'ead. CHORUS Cor blimey O cor blimey! What a bluddy racket Them players bleedin try me And I can't soddin' hack it. At furst I fort, 'its just the tuning,' But the noise went on an' on After 'alf an 'our I was swooning, I could 'ear no bloomin' song. CHORUS The drums were bangin' owt a time I was nearly Mutt an Jeff The hey diddle diddles kept no Harry Lime And played so 'igh I was deaf. CHORUS Then at last it went all quiet I fort, "Fank bleedin gawd" Me old King Lears were in a riot As if me strife had bawled. CHORUS I fort too quick the old joanna Went plinkety plinkety plonk. I wouldn't have give a silver tanner When the horns began to honk. CHORUS I tried to ignore the whole box of toys Put me brass bands over me ears, But nuffin could stop the avant garde noise And at last I conquered me fears. Chorus I gawt up from me bed, me nice Uncle Ted And went down the pairs to the winda There I saw comin' awt of next door's big shed The geezers I wanted t' hinder. Chorus I could see they were wearing black whistles and flutes As they walked to a BBC van Carrying their old mum, violas and suits And they all got in, every man. Chorus There was room for them all but none extra. On the side of the van I could see, 'The Contemporary Music Orchestra Of the BBC' Chorus
Archived comments for The Musicians Next Door
stormwolf on 30-10-2009
The Musicians Next Door
Falling about laughing! LOVED it...sure cheered me up this morning.
I can see this being another for your spoken repertoire that shall have me in fits.
Alison
Rated 9

Author's Reply:


Chagall, Angels and Music (posted on: 26-10-09)
Inspired by some paintings by Chagall:- >>> CHAGALL

The world is full of angels Flying between heaven and Earth And playing such wonderful music. Some days we just look at the ground And hear only the noise of traffic Or the wind in the trees. On special days though, Or if you listen really hard You can see angels all around And hear echoes of heavenly music. When we make music The angels listen, Birds fly freely in and out Of the notes As they drifting with the wind. The snow becomes as warm as fire And naked ladies dance down the road In a joyful trance. But if we stop playing, Even in our hearts, And lay down our instruments All angels fly away. Then are we bowed down Beneath the weight of law, Then Cities become empty and lifeless, Birds perch disconsonantly on branches Or peck at the dead notes lying upon the earth. So pick up those violins and flutes, Embrace lovingly The sensuous body of the cello, Sound the trumpet, Blow the oboe and beat the drum. Go on playing, Play for the birds and the moon, Soar above houses, Fly over towns Float acroos cities. Music will liberate your soul, You will be one with all nature, Night and day will be undistinguishable. The Music Master will guide you, Strings will dance at your command, Keys will sing beneath your fingers And every room will be filled with soft light. Music is the soul of life. The rudest of men, The smallest of children Sway in its arms. From lyrical lute to droning bagpipe The spirit of music Feeds and illuminates love, It draws couples into embraces, Urges lips to kiss. Life is an orchestra, Be you the harmonious player At the command of the Great Conductor's Ceaselessly beating baton.
Archived comments for Chagall, Angels and Music
sunken on 26-10-2009
Chagall, Angels and Music
I've been beating my baton a little too much of late, Mr Corin... Actually, can a man ever beat his baton too much? It's doubtful. Thank god you didn't opt for the 'advanced crit' option, hey? I came, I read, I enjoyed. Surely that's enough? Well done, fella. I hope you won't mind me slapping a Bernard on ya? He was howling like a good un as I read this out. It's good to own a beagle who knows his onions. Tip top. Thank you. Hello?

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Author's Reply:
Thankyou Sunken - beating your baton? Is that the same as bashing the bishop????

Don't beat it too hard then:-)

And thankBernard for me.

David

stormwolf on 28-10-2009
Chagall, Angels and Music
Loved the energy and the teachings too.

Birds fly freely in and out
Of the notes
As they drifting with the wind. should this be 'drift' ?

Birds perch disconsonantly on branches
Or peck at the dead notes lying upon the earth.

loved the imagery here...

Float acroos cities. typo 😉

Loved it David. It reminded me of the film 'Fantasia'
Alison

Author's Reply:


Middleton in Teesdale to High Force (posted on: 23-10-09)
This came from a writing group exercise based on a song/poetry to music track by Van Morrison called 'Coney Island' It is based upon imaginging my response to a possible situation.

I drive along the old road That follows the river, The sign glittering on the rills and runs And shining up from still pools Out of their black depth. All the while Gurgling, bubbling music Played by the rushing river Comes in through an open window. As the road gets steeper The rive sings more loudly. I stop for breakfast at a tree shaded lay-by, Buy a bacon sandwhich And hot coffee. An irridescent blue streak Darts from overhanging bough Straight into a small hole In the steep bank: A kingfisher! I look for you To point it out, But you aren't there. Nevertheless I open the passenger door for you And set off again. The sun still blazes. The river still runs. The road goes on. When I get to the catarct I step as close as I can To its edge. I reach for your hand But it's not there, Though I hear your beautiful voice Singing from below To the moving symphony Of falling waters.
Archived comments for Middleton in Teesdale to High Force
sunken on 24-10-2009
Middleton in Teesdale to High Force
Oo, love the last few lines, Mr. Corin. There seems to be a dark undercurrent to this. Unless, as is often the case, I'm reading it totally wrong. Not exactly an advanced crit is it? I blame truancy, girls and navel fluff. Muchly enjoyed.

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by time he'd escaped the cult it was nearly ten thirty

Author's Reply:
You are quite right Sunk - in fact with a name like that I am surprised you have not tried out the dark undercurrents at the bottom of High Force for yourself! PLay truant and come and meet me there and I will be glad to give you a little push to help you on your way. You will be certain to make the girls scream and I am sure that a little inundation will sort out the navel fluff.

When the dark currents have finally got you to Middlesbrough you can revive yourself with some Yorkshire Boiled Sultana Cake!

Thankyou very much for the wonderful and insightful comment.

David

Romany on 28-10-2009
Middleton in Teesdale to High Force
This is quite tragic I think, someone unable to deal with a loss, going to use the river he finds so beautiful and inspiring as a means to end his life. That's how I read it anyway (there's a lot about suicide this week.) A couple of typos - rive and catarct. Sorry, I seem to be picking on typos today.

Romany.

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 29-10-2009
Middleton in Teesdale to High Force
A very sad poem highlighting the little things that used to be shared and the automatic way one would do so...then the empty realisation ..again and again....
Then the water calls your name..and its safe and its comforting because she is 'in' it..at least it is the gateway to joining her.
I also love rivers speaking as they do about so many things in life like deep currents and the continuum of life and maybe even life after death.
Lovely sensitive writing David. Just what I expect of you.
Alison.

Author's Reply:


Post Cards from Autumn (posted on: 16-10-09)
WE have had an Indian Summer this year but it seems finally to have ended.

Post Card From Autumn One The sky is almost cloudless today, The sun shines pleasantly, The trees in the park Stand quietly around, Full leaved, Forming an undulanting Landscape of rolling hills Against bright blue. Closer to though, Warm-brown carpets Are drawn up over their roots, Their foliage is crisp-dry and Crackling in the soft breeze, Greying at the edges And pock-marked By the black spots Of fungal ravaging time. This is a pseudo-summer, Welcome, but somehow ominous, Like the calm before a storm. Crab the dog and I Make the most of it. He cares not, scampering Enthusiastically across the field To chase his ball, But I ponder other inevitabilities To Autumn and Winter. Post Card From Autumn Two This morning at coffee alarm time The bedroom is dark, The garden window streaked with rain. Defeated by at last By dark rain clouds, Summer has finally Succumbed to Autumn. Even the internal weather Resonates with the morning view. I get up, Make the coffee, Bring it back to bed. My wife sits up in bed drinking hers. I take a few sips And disappear beneath the duvet. When I emerge again she is leaving for work. After the goodbyes I re-enter the Halcyon of sleep, Waking at last I find The coffee cold But that internal Autumn Has brightened And the day ahead is full of possibility.
Archived comments for Post Cards from Autumn
sunken on 17-10-2009
Post Cards from Autumn
Oh bugger, I must have slept through said Indian summer, my good fellow. I shall bask in the warmth of your poem instead. Pass me the factor 30 would ya?

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half man, half asleep

Author's Reply:
Well we had some great warm sunny days in September and even October - perhaps you were playing with the Cowboys?

Griffonner on 18-10-2009
Post Cards from Autumn
I loved the descriptive nature of this - and on several levels, not just the obvious. I loved how you brought some of that out from under the duvet (so to speak) at the ending.

There are a couple of typos I think. But I guess you've already found them. (I always do after I've posted something. Damn annoys me!)

Really great poetry.

Allen

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 21-10-2009
Post Cards from Autumn
I have always enjoyed the seasons through your perception...and having stayed at your home I can see it all so clearly.
Alison

Author's Reply:
THankyou Alison - did you come for a walk with Scab through the hospital grounds with me? That is where it is about.



Mask (posted on: 12-10-09)
A writing group exercise based on some picture generated words

As I walk down the street I wear a mask of passivity. No one notices me. No one sees the turmoil inside. Only a black dog stops, sniffing at me as I pass. Somehow dogs can always tell. It stares up at me, its eyes register alarm, then it disappears quickly, leap-frogging over the feet of other walkers without a care in the world. My world was weighed down, dragging its anchor on the static pavement and I was too heavy too inert to jump over anything. A tear drop rolled down my cheek. I looked around but no one noticed that the mask was streaked now. Their eyes focussed on shop windows, on young girls moving about in crimson sun dresses or white blouses. Everyone was walking down the easy street of easy times. The sun was ironically warm on my back. I had done it in cold blood. There was no passion no anger. The knife was there. She was asleep. I thought of the years behind, imagined the years ahead. Afterwards she lay there a slumped angular form, no longer human, legs and arms contorted into strange postures by her death agony. The blood had soaked the settee and was dripping into a turbid pool on the living room marque floor. I bent double and put my palm into the thickening puddle of blood, still warm it stuck to my hand in gobbets. The hollows of the settee cushion collected blood around her like gravy on a large roast joint. Her pale face contrasted with the red of the blood. I wiped my hand on the wall leaving a fish shaped mackeral pattern. As I stood up I could feel the blood draining from my brain leaving me light-headed and dizzy. I walked up to the large bathroom carefully avoiding the seas of blood, washed my hand and examined myself in the mirror. The music was still playing downstairs in the living room. Involuntarily I began a gleeful dance macabre. I danced out of the bathroom, down the stairs, into the hallway and out to the bright street. As the music faded behind me I stopped dancing and began the long walk home to my small bedsitting room.
Archived comments for Mask
chrissy on 12-10-2009
Mask
Two v small points. 'As I walk down down the street.' double word and why does the dog start as it change to he and then back to it again?
That aside I found this story very well written but I did want to know why this deed was done. What had the woman done that she deserved to die?
This line (I thought of the years behind, imagined the years ahead.) seems to indicate that the victim was well known to her killer but after this the killer leaves traces, the hand print etc., so there can't really be years after because he'll be caught and presumably put in prison.
I liked it but it confused and disturbed me.
I've read it three times. I will probably read it again.
chrissy.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for that Chrissy - yes the dog should be 'it' throughout. I will c hange this and make the other edits you spotted.



As this was of course just a piece of flash fiction writing exrecise I decided I would leave any interpretation quite open. The words ,as I said, were picked out from a group list so really they drove the story - we did not know which word would come next after writing the section with the previous word in. It was the word 'cold-blooded' that turned the story into the direction it took, but also I had been watching the BBC series 'Criminal Justice' that week about a woman who stabs her husband.

"I thought of the years behind, imagined the years ahead." is a direct reference to W B Yeats 'An Irish Airman forsees his death:-



I balanced all, brought all to mind,

The years to come seemed waste of breath,

A waste of breath the years behind

In balance with this life, this death.



The bedsitter was meant to be a clue as to the motive


You now know as much as me about the story:-)



David


stormwolf on 12-10-2009
Mask
A wonderful walk into the mind of a psychopathic killer.
I loved the many ways you highlighted the grotesque details of the crime scene and also the fact that the dog was aware of the dark energy as the unknowing world went about its business, never realising what or who was passing them by.

A very skillfully written short story that has left an indelible mark on my psyche. eeekkk
Alison

Author's Reply:
Sorry to have dented your cycle Alison - I but it is amazing what comes out when you are sat in a room and just have to write.

David


C'est ne pas Vrai (posted on: 02-10-09)
Too late for Daphne's Villanelle challenge. From Wikipedia:- The modern French language does not have a significant stress accent (like English) or long and short syllables (like Latin). This means that the French metric line is generally not determined by the number of beats, but by the number of syllables

The French all think their language is the best, That English is a crude Germanic tongue, French poetry's superior to the rest. To write a virelai or villanelle's the test. Because these forms in French are often sung The French all think their language is the best. How should an English poet then contest The bold assertion, that is is often flung, "French poetry's superior to the rest." Since French with lots of ''s and 'ou's is blest And every single word with rhyme is hung The French all think their language is the best. The English poet will not be depressed Or think, because his words with rhymes aren't strung, French poetry's superior to the rest. In strong iambic meter his verse is dressed. Mere syllable counters, with rhyme that's simply rung, The French all think their language is the best, French poetry's superior to the rest.
Archived comments for C'est ne pas Vrai
Jolen on 02-10-2009
Cest ne pas Vrai
You are too damn good at these sort of things. I really enjoyed this, like your sonnets, it's clever as hell.

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 03-10-2009
Cest ne pas Vrai
I agree with Jolen...you have taken the challenge and run with it.
Alison

Author's Reply:


The Country of the Poor (posted on: 25-09-09)
Inspired by 'The Poorest Company' by Drever, McCusker, Woomble from 'Before The Ruin' http://www.footstompin.com/products/cds/before_the_ruin

I long to be again in the country of the poor Where sparsly furnished houses have an ever-open door; Where mother and my sister and my grandad now abide; Where all the rough but cheerful folk are united on one side. All those days are gone now and we're richer so they say, Yet I feel that we are poorer in the most important way. Like great times when the neighbours all just came outside to meet For a spontaneous street party in a local street. Smart cars and televisions cannot ever once replace The easy joy and laughter that was seen on every face. Uninsulated houses let heat escape into the air But cold could never freeze the real friendship that was there. O where did that far country go I knew so long ago? Small islands of grim poverty now remind all those that know Of the headlands and those barren hills that stood with quiet pride - Now beneath materialistic seas and a decadent tide. I've had enough of surplus wealth bringing only pain, And the desperate corporate greed for every dubious gain. I long to be again in the country of the poor And when, quite soon, I get there, I won't leave it anymore.
Archived comments for The Country of the Poor

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Autumn on the Clock Lawn (posted on: 25-09-09)
About This Poem: September has been very moody here in the North East of England this year. Written whilst playing croquet.

Now Summer has abdicated responsibility For the late season and Autumn roars Through the park trees Like the dragon that it is. Few leaves succumb to its raging breath But the loud crackling in the sun-dried canopy Announces the end of summer's short reign. A scattering of brown foliage Over the clock lawn between the croquet balls Belies any hopes of a longer Indian Summer. This year the turning of the season Feels welcome enough. I am coasting down a long gradient To the end of time. An easy descent, like cycling From Hedley on the Hill To Wylam Village, deep in the Tyne Valley. At the bottom is the gliding river, Tree lined banks, Deep pools And a heedless rush Over the weir beneath Wylam's rickety bridge. From Corbridge to Ovingham to Wylam Damp ashes of a life Slowly settle To become part of Quarternary sediments After the Great Flood.
Archived comments for Autumn on the Clock Lawn
stormwolf on 25-09-2009
Autumn on the Clock Lawn
Hello David

Autumn roars
Through the park trees
Like the dragon that it is.

I loved the way you describe autumn as a dragon's breath scorching the trees.... wonderfully original in my book...I can visualize it turning the leaves soon to red and gold ..I will look on the changing colours with new eyes now
The second verse moves me very much I see so much more here and I resonate with it.

This year the turning of the season
Feels welcome enough.

There is a deep philosophy in the words to me..an acceptance of the seasons of life

I am coasting down a long gradient
To the end of time.
An easy descent, like cycling
From Hedley on the Hill
To Wylam Village, deep in the Tyne Valley.

You are using well loved places to describe an acceptance of the decent and there is almost a childlike joy in it...like taking your feet off the pedals after a life time of cycling uphill and there is a certain sadness but also fun in the free wheeling.

At the bottom is the gliding river,
Tree lined banks,
Deep pools
And a heedless rush

This speaks to me of the still rest and comfort of eternal sleep. I think 'heedless' could also be 'reedless' enhancing that in that place even the water is undisturbed by growth but again moves me in a deep way.

I love this poem and will take it into favourites.
This is my take on it and an example of why poetry moves different people in different ways. It would be good to hear you recite it too.
Alison

rated 9

Author's Reply:

sunken on 25-09-2009
Autumn on the Clock Lawn
Can you believe it's autumn again already, Mr. Corin. Where does all the time go? What happened to summer? Will it be a mild winter? What's the capital of Germany? So many questions, so little ti...

Hello? How do your write and play croquet at the same time? How do you hold your pen? I must stop asking so many questions. Enjoyed your piece - Your poem I mean - Not your piece. I've never seen your piece and if someone says I have they're lying! Ahem. Thank you.

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he took it back to dixons and exchanged it for toaster

Author's Reply:


Cornwall (posted on: 18-09-09)
Cornwall is a wonderful place for a holiday. Many thanks to Jolen Whitworth for her suggested edits.

Here Cornwall stands, Its granite-faced cliffs Obdurate Against a malicious ocean. Heat-hardened slates Grudgingly surrender - Constrained To be battered into Coves and caves. But the sea can win only so much land Even with the help of torrents Tumbling swiftly down From the high moors. This is a land Protected by Faerie; Myth and legend watch over it Merlin's magic permeates the very air Mysteries persist Even in this age of science. Somewhere King Artur lies sleeping Guarded by the knights of Albion. Ancient castles still stand Overlooking rocks and waves, Mostly ruined by war At Cromwell's command. Yet where Archangel Michiel Appeared The fortified abbey still stands Upon Michael's Mount, Islanded twice daily by moon-made tides. Elsewhere man-made tides Ravage Cornwall's horizons. Their debris lies scattered Upon cliffs and moors Stannaries stain the landscape. Chimneys and shafts, Mineheads and mills Rise and fall; Wheels stop and start; With the price of metal Leaving later ruins To decorate the cliffs beside The remnants of castles. For how long will Cornwall stand? Is the magic of Merlin Stronger than the greed of man? Angry seas have glaciers and ice on their side now. Waters rise. Few cliffs of Cornwall Are high enough to hold against A final seige By the armies of Ignorance, Avarice and Folly; Even King Artur with a thousand faerie knights Will be as powerless as Knut To hold back The encroaching tide.
Archived comments for Cornwall
Jolen on 18-09-2009
Cornwall
Hi David,

I love Cornwall and Tintagel in particular. I enjoyed your poem, but I wonder if it couldn't perhaps be pared a bit or maybe a word or two changed to bring out its full flower. I'm gonna play around with it and I'll be back.

blessings,
jolen

Author's Reply:
Thankyou again for help in editing this and for your great encouragement.

David

stormwolf on 18-09-2009
Cornwall
A magical piece ingrained with mystery and magesty. Never been so far south but I do believe it has a charm all of its own.
You always write so descriptively of places. It paints a lovely inner picture for the reader.
Alison

Author's Reply:
WEll you must come with us the next time:-)

David

e-griff on 18-09-2009
Cornwall
I approach with trepidation. I hope, despite our differences elsewhere, we can debate writing (as you indicated) without rancour. (our 'Concorde' agreement, yeah?)

I liked this poem. At its heart, it had a strong story and theme, very powerful.
Picking up Jolen's comment, I was in accord with her view it might be better concentrated more.

Diversion: I have said before to folks: The writer does the hard work and creativity, the editor fiddles round the edges, and truth be told, I am more editor than writer. So here's my version: cut, cut and cut. You may not like the capitalisation (it's modern, as we have discussed on the poetry workshop thread) but even I (an old traditionalist) have adopted some of it.

to jog your creative juices:

Cornwall stands,
granite cliffs
against malicious ocean.
Heat-hardened slates
surrender,
battered into
coves and caves.

This is a land of Faerie:
Myth and legend rule,
Merlin's magic remains;
mystery floats in its very air,
and somewhere, King Arthur sleeps,
guarded by the knights of Albion,
and ancient castles stand
above the rocks and waves.

Elsewhere, man-made tides
ravage Cornwall.
Debris lies scattered on cliffs and moors:
stannaries stain the landscape;
chimneys and shafts,
mineheads and mills.


How long will Cornwall stand?
Is the magic of Merlin
stronger than the greed of man?
The angry seas have glaciers now, and ice,
and waters rise.
Few cliffs are high enough to block Gaia's revenge.
And even Arthur with a thousand faerie knights
may be as powerless as that poor king, Canute.


G

Author's Reply:
No need for trepidation at all Griff. THis sort of discsion is what makes UKA such an interesting and valuable place.

O god - the capitalisation - how did that happen??? I am with you - if capitalisation was good enough for Wordsworth it is good enough for me. I will go and restore all the capitals at the commencement of each line.

Personally I think that the capitals serve a serious and valid purpose because they define the delineation. Sometimes a new line character in the file (or starting a new line in an old fashiomed manuscript) does not mean that the poet intends it to be a new line of the poem.

A poem is divided logically into a number of elements, at its simplest Title, Stanzas and lines.
There is a formal way of defining such a structure in order to parse it.

So Poem:= TITLE, (STANZA) where () means a repetition
now TITLE:= (WORD) and obviously WORD:= [UPPERCASE LETTER](LETTER)+SPACE where [] means optional element
STANZA:= (LINE)+STANZA BREAK
STANZA BREAK:=" "
LINE:=(CAPITAL WORD)+ (WORD )+NEW LINE
CAPITAL WORD:=UPPER CASE LETTER+(LETTER)
LETTER:=UPPER CASE LETTER or LOWER CASE LETTER

Sorry about this - just nostalgically revisiting my doing formal computer program specification:-)

The point is that the capital letter defines a new line of a poem when it follows a line break. I hve written pieces with deliberately long lines so that you do need the capital letter to indicat that this a new line of the poem. But as you say there is fashion in all things, including poetry.

AS to that other cognomen familiar to students at poetry writing workshops - 'less is more' and also 'kill your babies' it is an interesting debate. Certainly your precis of my piece works very well. I will add it to the Discuss poetry Forum thread and see what the general view is. Of couse logically 'less is more is quite absurd - how about this - lets apply it to Wordsworths Daffodils
After successive applications of the principle we are left with:-

'I dance with the daffodils'

or

'Dancing Daffodils'

Then

'Daffodils ' 🙂

I will revisit the piece, but I did want somehow to get the whole experience of a week in Cornwall into the poem.

Thankyou John

David

royrodel on 20-09-2009
Cornwall
I live in the land of camelot also, or so Uri Geller would make us believe.
You mention Faerie folk , I wonder if you're a spiritualist or just to proud to ask.
Now Cornwall is God's creation, make no mistake.
Is the magic of Merlin stronger than the greed of man?
Yes.
Can man change?

RODEL



Author's Reply:
Hi Roy,
Well I am not a spiritualist by any means, but often enough the spirits of the dead live on in the minds of the living.

I have always thought that the Dales were God's own Country.

David

Griffonner on 22-09-2009
Cornwall
A good piece of strong writing IMHO. It defines what you wanted in the way that you wanted, and through your eyes and words. I could see what you were describing - although I think in a slightly legendary manner. 😉

You know, Cornwall is magical, and it is unique. Just as every man and woman on earth is unique. If we all saw through the same eyes, what an even more pitiful world this would be.

Author's Reply:


English Weather, 12th & 13th September 2009 (posted on: 14-09-09)
On the East coast at least what a dramatic difference one day made.

What a change from yesterday! O! Come back yesterday With your soft winds And summer sun And mellow fruitfulness. Such a glorious day that spontaneous festivals Filled the streets And the world seemed perfect. Now the gods punish us For our folly In thinking that, Even for the briefest of days, Their cruel, callous and chaotic world Should, could or would Sho w perfection For more than a few short hours. Autumn has been elipsed. Instead of an intervening Season of mists, Harsh winter And cold Borealis Came down like the wolf on the fold. As usual, perfection does not last very long. The gods have put the world back to normal. Indian summers are only for Indians; There will be no Summer of Love; And there will be no peace in our time.
Archived comments for English Weather, 12th & 13th September 2009
Jolen on 14-09-2009
English Weather, 12th & 13th September 2009
David,

This is a favorite of mine from your pen. The weather has been glorious and then, as you say, normalcy was restored. But, I, like you, appreciated the reprieve.

On the technical side, you have a space between sho w and I'm not sure about the semi-colon in both of those lines in the end of your poem. I'll have to read this through again.

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 14-09-2009
English Weather, 12th & 13th September 2009
You are at your best when writing about the land David. You capture so much..
I shared in your joy here by reference..and I am saddened by the depressing note at the end which highlights for me the whole crux of the poem in a deeper way in that we are at the mercy of "the gods" and that mankind always spoils everything precious.
Alison

Author's Reply:


Morfa Bychan (posted on: 07-09-09)
Morfa Bychan ( Morva Bickan ) is Black Rock Sands near Porth Madog in North Wales, just East of the Criccieth and Lleyn Peninsulas. A perfect place for a beach holiday with children - sun, shallow sea, waves, rocks, rock pools, shells, shrimps, fish, sand dunes, cliffs, caves, tunnels, a stream running across the beach and the beauty of Wales.

Here is the edge of the universe Where sky and air Sea and sand Land and bedrock And the unbelievable beauty of being All meet. Curious air invades The dark heart of cliffs Where wild breakers have Pierced ancient pre-Cambrian levels. Here sky and land Sea and mist Merge into mysteries. Peninsula after peninsula Pokes its long nose Into the purple haze of eternity An all embracing sea Washes the long, shallow shelf of silver sands With ceaselessly tumbling white foam. The waves sound continuously Chanting the long vowels Of the oldest language, "Haaaahhh Saaaahhh, Haaaahhh Saaaahhh, Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna Hare Rama, Rama Rama - OOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIUUUUUMMMMMMMmmmmmmm.......... Here all differentials Are obliterated And all things that are, are. Single and multitudinous World, Universe, Cosmos - The One Soul - Sings a great chorus, A first and final Perfect Cadence From Lost Chord To Home Key Amen A Men Aaaahhhh Meeeennnnnnn...........
Archived comments for Morfa Bychan
stormwolf on 07-09-2009
Morfa Bychan
Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna
Hare Rama, Rama Rama -
OOOOOOOOOEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIUUUUUMMMMMMMmmmmmmm..........

when I first read this I thought you got all carried away dancing and chanting and fell off the cliff 😉

ok, seriously, David..a total celebration of the wildness, mystery and wonder of the landscape...sounds a very exhilarating place to visit. You painted a vivid picture which was enhanced by the obvious emotion of the moment.
Alison

Author's Reply:

sunken on 09-09-2009
Morfa Bychan
I've said it before, Mr. Corin, you should write for the tourist information board. Your poem is like literal vacation. I'll be frank, I've sand between my hairy toes, and it's not unpleasant. Thank you. Hello?

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forever in plastic

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 11-09-2009
Morfa Bychan
David,
Your poem is lovely and reminds me of how I felt when I went to Scotland. A very personal and spiritual experience. You have done Wales justice here, my dear.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:


A Double Century of Dead (posted on: 04-09-09)
Partly a repost but updated written 1st February 2006 and 18th August 2009

First Test: England v Iraq This was not a century To be proud of scoring. There were nervous nineties No doubt for those Whose determined decisions And pusillanimous votes Made the young men play On a pitch with such a vicious bite. Throwing away wickets In pursuit of victory Might be the right tactic In a game of cricket; But throwing away lives In Phyrrhic wars Of dubious legality And pitiful pointlessness Will leave a carcass of dishonour For history to scavenge upon. At the least Language will profit from it. We have the `bushed war' - Where you win all the battles But remain on the losing side, And the `blairism' - A lie that changes from day to day Getting further from the truth With every twist of meaning. These hundred faces On a single page of newsprint Make a poignant passing out parade. Their average age twenty nine And too many of twenty or under. No! - too many of any age at all. Let there be no more centuries; No more games on foreign fields; No more solemn music On blustery airfields - Only the sweet sound Of willow on leather Whether England win or lose. First Test: England v Afghanistan In cricket a double century Is a great achievement, But in Afghanistan They play by different rules. The wickets areall minefields And the bouncers are explosive; The spin is completely unpredictable; Their bowlers bowl underhand And their close fielders are suicidal, While the deep fielders Lie hidden in the long grass. And there is no boundary. Eleven men against Eleven hundred Is the local rule, Though the eleven Defend their wickets and Field all the tonkers With great courage As one pinch hitter after another Throws his bat wildly at the ball. The most viscious sledging Fails to distract them from their duty. It is all exciting stuff But hardly entertainment. The crowd look on mostly aghast Some cheer on the sidelines And others stand pompously In the members pavilion Muttering mealy mouthed platitudes. A few, Some thousand or so, Are distraught with grief. In Afghanistan A double century is a defeat.
Archived comments for A Double Century of Dead
stormwolf on 04-09-2009
A Double Century of Dead
A very sobering assessment of the ongoing tragedy of man against man...
skillfully contrasted to a game of cricket.
Am I naive in thinking that once we knew what we were fighting for? freedom against invaders etc...but now the enemy is all around and inside borders and who the hell is the enemy anyway anymore.???
As you know, I am inclined towards believing in dark agendas, manipulation of the masses and insidious advancement of the New World Order..and I don't care who knows it.
There is something VERY sinister afoot...and young men are dying daily..for what?
Alison

Author's Reply:
I thought I had replied to this comment before Alison, but thankyou again anyway. No it is the politicians who are naive in thinking that fighting a war in Afghanistan will do anything to stop terrorism in Britain or America. Alright nearly 3000 were killed in New York and over 50 in London, but the initial attack destroyed Al Qaida in Afghanistan and now they have mostly gone elsewhere. If the Afghans are stupid enough to let the Taliban back then they have enough experience to know what will happen next. We should spend the resources on fighting terrorism at home, not by sacrificing young lives in a futile war.

Well the New World Order will come but it will be sea levels 70 metres higher than now and a New Dark Age.

David





Zoya on 04-09-2009
A Double Century of Dead
On England vs Iraq:

...And, the pitch is read with human blood,
and it a sticky wicket...
...And oil is spilling from underneath the earth,
and they are lapping it up...

Right?

On England vs Afghanistan:

...It is the 'poppy field' which serve as pitches,
and the bouncers are bouncing off the 'mines'...
And there is no room to duck,
'cause at the silly mid-on,
they are waiting to catch 'heads'...

Two brilliant pieces onf analogy, dear David!
Love,
Zoya







Author's Reply:
Spot on Zoya - it is becoming very hard now every time the BBC announces that another one or two or three young soldiers have been killed. This is a sill war now. Al Qaida have moved on and if the Afghanis want to continue their forty year old war and carry on obeying their War Lords and thinking that it is real Macho to own and fire a gun at living human beings and abuse their women we should just let them get on with until they come to their senses in their own good time and not risk the life of another soldier or through any more money into the sewer that is Afghanistan.
Warm Wishes

David

hoopsinoz on 04-09-2009
A Double Century of Dead
ust superb - fantastic symbolism, sentiment and sober comment.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Hoopsie - Do you play Croquet by any chance?

David

Griffonner on 04-09-2009
A Double Century of Dead
I love the way you have constructed this, and delight at the symbolism et cetera. What a shame the ashes are no longer those of the stumps, eh?

*appreciatively*

Allen

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Allen for such a nice comment. What's all this about the Ashes - have those wimpering Ossies done a switch on us because they lost?

David


Farewell Harry Patch (posted on: 10-08-09)
Thousands of people lined the streets of Wells, Somerset, to watch the funeral procession of Harry Patch, the last British veteran of the First World War trenches.

Farewell Harry Patch. Last Tommy to go. We will blow a bugle for you From sad Somersetshire, Bury you in the tomb of The Known Soldier And remember you, Not for deeds of glory' Or for for duty duly done, But for firing not to kill, For opposing the glorification of war With parades and memorials, For wanting to put war politicians and generals Into an arena With enough guns and ammunition To slaughter themselves, For breaking the silence of eighty years To tell children that War is juste waste, For having lived the life Which all those wasted lives would wish. The Unknown Soldier In his cold, solitary tomb Embraces you now; A million men lying in massed ranks Cheer you to your homecoming, Even though the politicians Still refuse to fight And continue, in the tradition of Abraham, To sacrifice young sons On the dubious altars of Iraq and Afghanistan. Bringing those boys home Would be a more fitting tribute To you Than the poignant notes of The Last Post Echoing around Wells Cathedral.
Archived comments for Farewell Harry Patch
Bradene on 10-08-2009
Farewell Harry Patch
A well written and thought out tribute to a brave and valiant soul. Val

Author's Reply:
THankyou Val. Yes a greatman who will be lomg remembered. I thought he should have ben buried in Westminster Abbey in the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

David

sunken on 11-08-2009
Farewell Harry Patch
Hello Mr. Corin. I think Val said it all. As did your good self.

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Author's Reply:

RoyBateman on 13-08-2009
Farewell Harry Patch
A worthy tribute, mate. Brought tears to the eyes. It's virtually unbelievable to think that, until a few days ago, we still had a living link with my grandparents' generation. We won't see men like that again.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Roy for reading this and for the rewarding feedback ( I would make the whole world cry if I could :-).

My Grandfather, like Harry ,was called up at age 18 in 1916 just in time for Paschendale. Fortunately he survived too but his health was ruined.

David

Jolen on 15-08-2009
Farewell Harry Patch
I'm with Roy, David, this moved me to tears and I am surprised it's not nibbed. A very fine piece of work in every regard.

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:


Gargoyle Gurner (posted on: 31-07-09)
A weekly challenge entry.

It was the school trip to Durham Cathedral That started it. "It looks just like David Gurner Miss, Said Micky O'Sullivan, Grinning round at everyone. "He's Gargoyle Gurner!" They all laughed Even though the teacher told them off. "Gargoyle Gurner!" "Gargoyle Gurner!" "Gargoyle Gurner!" They all chanted in unison. They used to call me Harelip But from then Gargoyle Gurner stuck. On the last day of the school year though They stopped laughing. I made sure I got Micky O'Sullivan first, Then Desmond McCormack, Then Iain Ford, Then as many as I could before the police came. They didn't believe I'd found the gun And ammunition in an abandoned car In Atkinson Road But I did. In the end I told them that Stephen Earl and Mark East had got it for me. They believed that. They'rein here too. I'm only twelve So I only got eight years. I'll probably be out when I'm sixteen. Then I'm going to burn down Durham Cathedral.
Archived comments for Gargoyle Gurner
sunken on 31-07-2009
Gargoyle Gurner
Blimey. Strong stuff, Mr. Corin. I wasn't expecting it to take a turn like that and no mistake. There is a section that seems to be repeated for some weird reason -

Ref.

In the end I told them that
Stephen Earl and Mark East had got it for me.
They believed that.


This morning a few subs were posted to the site twice. So it may have been caused by some glitch with the server. I blame that Andrea woman. Do you know that she hunts down owls with prime objective of keeping them awake during the day? Disgraceful behaviour! If you meant those lines to be duplicated then I apologise. I is but a simple sunk. A neat piece, in my opinion and no mistake. Thank you.

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if manilow can do it - so can I - Come on, sing along - I made it through the rain... la la la la la la....

Author's Reply:
THankyou for reading and commenting Sunk and for the sanity check - but I could have told you I am insane before you did it!

THis piece just got darker and and darker as I wrote - and the really scary thin is that all thenames ore of real children!

David

shackleton on 31-07-2009
Gargoyle Gurner
You're a scary man, Corin. You've just made me check if the back door is locked. Enjoyed the read.

Author's Reply:
THankyou for reading and commenting Shackleton. THis piece just got darker and and darker as I wrote - and the really scary thin is that all thenames ore of real children!

David

stormwolf on 31-07-2009
Gargoyle Gurner

A peep into what makes someone a psychopathic killer. So many of the American school killers had a burning resentment towards their fellow pupils.
I really enjoyed the structure of this and the way the end came as a surprise but was still loaded with menace.
Alison

Author's Reply:
THankyou for reading and commenting Ali. THis piece just got darker and and darker as I wrote - and the really scary thin is that all thenames ore of real children! Also thankyou for pointing out the underlying intent of the poem to everyone.

David

Ionicus on 31-07-2009
Gargoyle Gurner
Hi David, when I read this on the Forum I thought I was looking at the winner. The judge thought otherwise but I haven't changed my mind.
I believe something has gone astray in this version, though.
There are two mentions of Stephen Earl and Mark East. Did you mean to repeat those lines?
Also, just to nitpick, Micky becomes Mickey later on.

Author's Reply:
THankyou for reading and commenting and pointing out the necesary edit Ionicus. THis piece just got darker and and darker as I wrote - and the really scary thing is that all the names ore of real children!

David

pombal on 01-08-2009
Gargoyle Gurner
Hi Corin - I too found it disturbing - but that was the point. Excellent.

Author's Reply:
THankyou for reading and commenting Pombal. THis piece just got darker and and darker as I wrote - and the really scary thing is that all the names are of real children!
And congratulations on the Egg

David

macaby on 01-08-2009
Gargoyle Gurner
I have read a few of the poems fron the challenge, this one is the best so far. It starts off inoccently with name calling and ends in a tragedy that unfortunatly happens in our society. We had one case this year in Germany, some schoolboy killed about 20 or so fellow pupils from his school before he shot himself. Very dark indeed.
mac

Author's Reply:
THankyou for reading and commenting Macaby. THis piece just got darker and and darker as I wrote - and the really scary thing is that all the names are of real children!

David

Bradene on 02-08-2009
Gargoyle Gurner
Sorry I'm late, life a little hectic just at the moment. When I read your poem David I found it brilliant yet deeply disturbing, A great piece of writing and certainly a great read. Best regards. Val

Author's Reply:
THankyou Val. THis piece just got darker and and darker as I wrote - and the really scary thing is that all the names are of real children!

David


Plainsong of the Library Lifts (posted on: 17-07-09)
Newcastle Upon Tyne now has a wonderful new Central library - A cathedral to learning and literature and art with all the latest hi-tech wizardry. My thanks to John (Egriff) for the editiing suggestions.

Enter the new Cathedral of Newcastle Central Library reverently. Walk silently up the great staircase To the eighth floor. Listen quietly and respectfully. Beside you the lifts are praying - A solemn plainsong for your ascension into heaven:- Ground floor lift going up. Doors closing. Lord one doors opening. Lord who is one do close sin to all. Lord we too do hope in you. Lord free we who come and do hope in thee Lord, for doors open in our mind Lord alive, you do close our hearts to sin. Lord insist we do open in our hearts to you. Lord heaven's doors open to they who lose sin. Lord, wait and clothe us in glowing gowns. Lord we ate for this is your body Life going down, please Ground us Lord so your door opens to us.
Archived comments for Plainsong of the Library Lifts
e-griff on 24-07-2009
Plainsong of the Library Lifts
okay, I'll own up. I don't know enough about plainsong to understand the second verse - my ignorance.

and did you mean 'listen respectively' - if so it's an odd use. but it may be me being ignorant again ....

best JohnG


Author's Reply:
Hi John - Well I think that this was probably an ambitios piece to atempt and as no one elsehas commented I suppose that I did not succeed.



It is about standing on the staircase in the library and hearing the talking lifts with one of those calm musical recorded voices telling the pasengers what the lift is doing. There are several of them working all at once and as the Library design is a 3 dimensional open plan so that you can see all the floors from the ground floor you can hear the lifts on all the floors. See:-



http://www.bbc.co.uk/tyne/content/articles/2009/06/03/central_library_open_feature.shtml



Standing there it sounded like a choir of nuns chanting plain song, except of course that from the stair case every word was not very clear so,



"Floor one doors closing" became - Lord who won do close sin to all.

"Floor two doors opening" became -Lord we too do hope in you.

"Floor three doors opening" became -Lord free we who come and do hope in thee

"Floor four doors closing" became - Lord, for doors open in our mind

"Floor five doors closing" became - Lord alive, you do close our hearts to sin.

"Floor six doors opening " became - Lord insist we do open in our hearts to you.

"Floor seven doors closing" became - Lord heaven's doors open to they who lose sin.

"Floor eight going down" became - Lord, wait and clothe us in glowing gowns.

" Ground Floor one doors opening" became - Ground us Lord so your door opens to us.



This of course is all poetic licence as the building only has 4 floors 🙂



Plainsong is a kind of hymn sung in unison. Very simple musically but sometimes complex melodically. See:-



http://www.stmarymagdalene.ca/choirclips/candlemas_2006_introit_suscepimus.mp3

O h - and of course I meant 'listen respectfully' - Thanks for that John.



David




e-griff on 25-07-2009
Plainsong of the Library Lifts
ah okay. I thought it was referring to a particular plainsong so I should recognise the words. I think the clue I needed was the lift announcements sounding like appeals/prayers. perhaps you could add something deftly to indicate this, or have the first ones as clearly lift announcements, which mutate slowly into the prayers with each one to make your point.

Author's Reply:

discopants on 25-07-2009
Plainsong of the Library Lifts
I didn't know they'd demolished the old one to start again from scratch- the old library was hidden away but the new one looks pretty impressive. With the Laing Art Gallery just down the road, they're maybe creating a little artistic zone! How is it for the library user?

As for the poem, I needed your explanation to John to understand the structure/intent of the second stanza although once explained, I can see how it works!

Author's Reply:
Hi Keith,
Thankyou for commenting - sorry it is a bit obscure - but in answer to Egriff's comment I did think that:-

"Beside you the lifts are praying -
A solemn plainsong for your ascension into heaven"

Was a deft enough indication of what I was talking about - still perhaps his idea about having a few clear lines and then the obscure ones is a good one - I will try it.

The new Library is brilliant thougfh it is of course - as with all libraries nowadays - more of a rental shop for CDs and DVDs etc and technology centre than a library.

The Laing Art Gallery has also been greatly improved with a new entrance and a modern art square outside it - However it still suffers from the drawback that, after the corrupt Labour Administration of the sixties and the destruction of the heart ofthe City Centre to build Motorways and offices, it faces the wrong way. The back of it - a dreary brick facade faces onto John Dobson Street and the splendid entrance Portico faces a small no through road now.


David


Mid Summer Dusk (posted on: 06-07-09)
In northern England at mid-summer dusk lasts until nearly midnight (summer time that is so not true midnight) The sun is just below the northern horizon sothat is where the light lingerslongest.

Let the bright world fade, Like this mid-summer day Dimming into darkling blue on The northern horizon. Old eyes are too sensitive To the glare of folly As it floods the world Slowly, inexorably. The short night that approaches Will be long enough To gaze for a last time Upon so many wondrous jewels of artifice. Daedalus, who crafted the first Of so many great conceits Will cry out to Prometheus, As the dark night descends, 'Why, O Great God did you Risk the wrath of Zeus To give such a precious gift To such a foolish race?' When the rosy dawn comes That I will not see Who will be left? What will remain? Will a new Renaisance And another Daedalus Greet the the rising sun Of a new golden age? Or will the god's great gifts of Of logic and reason again go to waste. Will humanity, like a plague of lemmings, Find some new disaster and rush to jump in. When the dinosaurs died Only mice survived. Let the mice try again And let the lemmings remain drowned.
Archived comments for Mid Summer Dusk
Jolen on 06-07-2009
Mid Summer Dusk
Hi David,

Your poem is dark and solemn, but rich for it all. You have a couple of typos.

In the second to last verse, us is twice and I think you may wish to add a question mark after the last line in that same verse. But this was interesting and evokes a great deal of feeling.


love,
jolen

Author's Reply:

barenib on 07-07-2009
Mid Summer Dusk
Hello Corin, I'm afraid logic and reason are only applied selectively. If anything gets in the way of making money, they don't want to know, however strong the logic. Keep up the good work! John.

Author's Reply:
very true


To a Young Girl in Distress (posted on: 03-07-09)
Written in response to a very depressive piece by a young writer on another poetry site.

To be human is to want to be wanted, To want to be loved, To want to be; To want to be, More than all else, A part of it all. Alone we are only Dry leaves in The wet west wind Of Autumn's breath Scuttling along gutters, Settling into the dark crannies Beneath the hedges' thicket. Be not alone, Take my hand that holds many hands, Living and dead. Feel the warmth of my blood, The pulse of my life, The strength of all those other lives That feeling your pain Absorb all the hurt That you have to share, Knowing that this long chain Of human hands is stronger Than grief, Too tightly bound For rejection to break; Knowing that in the end Only love survives it all, And that more than all else Love needs life. Do not call death Soft names in mused rhymes, But live in me and let me also Live in you.
Archived comments for To a Young Girl in Distress
Albermund on 03-07-2009
To a Young Girl in Distress
A wonderful response. cheers, Albert

Author's Reply:


Housing Estate Swifts (posted on: 03-07-09)
Swifts are my favourite birds - their coming and going mark the beginning and end of summer.

In the summer-blue canopy of sky Housing-estate swifts skim and swirl, Flutter and glide, soar and dive; Delightfully unchoreographed, their aerial ballet Patterns still air with criss crossing curves. Endlessly fascinating, the beauty of their flight Holds my eye to the infinite-seeming blue. In evening sunlight, rows of houses Stand in a soft glow Silently emanating an absolute certainty of houseness, Content with functional definition, Letting the quiet world Declare its simple action of worlding, Till I too feel an overwhelming acceptance And pass peacefully down the day Into my own street and my own house.
Archived comments for Housing Estate Swifts
Sunken on 03-07-2009
Housing Estate Swifts
I'm about as advanced as a teabag, Mr. Corin, but I knows when something flows, and this flows. Particularly liked -

'Delightfully unchoreographed, their aerial ballet'

Lovely stuff and no mistake.

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annie get ya suitcase

Author's Reply:

RoyBateman on 05-07-2009
Housing Estate Swifts
Well done for giving the swift a bit of publicity - they're supposed to be in decline, though we've got a good few round here for the first time ever. Fascinating flight, I agree - apparently they'll be off before too long, unfortunately, the first migrants to leave. (The Boss is big in the local RSPB...) Different and all the more welcome for it!

Author's Reply:
I agree entirely Roy they usually come from Mid-May to Mid August so about anothe 6 weeks before they go I think.

Thankyou for reading and commenting.

David


The Elements (posted on: 29-06-09)
A prose poem - I think?

Earth and ice and crimson sun fire flare in the still air of cold blue,while the crescent moon and bright planet ride the new night behind the dying day; Watery clouds float across its stratospheric brightness, catching the ground grey of soiled hills betwen sky and earth. The elements dance before eye and heart, singing the while of a single soul forever free, somewhere between the setting sun and the last light that shines always over hills of thought beneath the night of memory. The world dissolves into a single eye where sky and sun and ice and hill fuse into this only instant of pure thought as Time loses its bluff and all that is and was and will be stands before the essential moment, drawing a line from the primordial element to the soaring mind; And time out of time tells of the unity of world and soul among ever falling stars and still space.
Archived comments for The Elements

No comments archives found!
Football Hole (posted on: 29-06-09)
The Football Hole is a small rocky cove on the North Sea coast of Northumberland.

I stand on this rock Under blue air And at my feet the shining sea Copulates gently with the jagged arms Of its prison walls. On this prison-rock-shore Creeping molluscs crawl over the wet bones Of their ancient antecedants Carrying on their backs the future shore of a future sea. Time lies fragmented in layers of stone Stretching itself upended down the endless beach For merciful waves to bring dissolution and oblivion. That long history, from shell to fish To amphibious form, then lizard and mammal And all knowing men, Lies before my eyes, Lapped up by wave after wave, Imperceptibly slipping down eternity's tongue. This moment lies now On the floors of modern seas, Hardening to a crack of petrified time Starting its long journey from shore to shore Waiting to be marked By whoever stands at the edge of some future sea To watch forgiving waves take the last vestige of me
Archived comments for Football Hole
Sunken on 30-06-2009
Football Hole
You seem very well travelled, Mr. Corin. The furthest I've been is to Tesco and back. What a strange name for a place 'Football Hole'? A thought provoking ending and no mistake. Our time here is very brief. Mine is even briefer as I really need to pee. A neat sub. None of this was very advanced was it? Sorry. I blame additives. Thank you. Hello?

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chew well before swallowing

Author's Reply:

royrodel on 03-07-2009
Football Hole
This puts me in mind of Conan Doyle, you know the sherlock holmes guy

RODEL

Author's Reply:
But why????

CVaughan on 17-07-2009
Football Hole
A thought provoking poem Corin that is deep (no fun) with meaning I found in it. Placing oneself in the aeons of time and its weathering & such effects creating the environmental effects on flora and fauna. I very mich loked the analogies and imagery. Frank

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Frank for talking the time to read and comment. This poem is the one someone will have to read for me at my funeral:-(

David

CVaughan on 17-07-2009
Football Hole
Apologies, I just read my comment. Can't type can I for toffee? Sorry, meant to say I very much liked, not trying to be funny.

Author's Reply:


The Ghost Road (posted on: 19-06-09)
About This Poem: You need to have read 'The Ghost Road' by Pat Barker to understand the references, but they are from Melanesian mythology as studied by Major William Rivers before World War I:- Ave = the God of destruction Tomate = a living ghost, a human being certain to die soon. Sondo = the home of the ghosts - Hades

I am Ave. I sing of Ave The all powerful; The one; The only; There is nothing before Ave And nothing after. When I sleep worlds waken; When I wake worlds die. I opened one eye And amphibians died. I opened the other Dinosaurs became extinct. Now I have both eyes open. War has woken me; Greed tried to devour me; Waste has withered me; Humanity is tomate. They live - but Ave Follows them all. They walk the ghost road to Sondo. Their skulls will decorate My new world.
Archived comments for The Ghost Road
Sunken on 19-06-2009
The Ghost Road
Hello Mr. Corin. Good to see you back and no mistake. Strong stuff. I guess we're all tomate? You do realise you're in danger of teaching me something?

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he sees tanned people

Author's Reply:


Lungfish (posted on: 27-03-09)
It was the lung fish that started all the trouble - coming out of he sea onto land!

Small fish, small pond; Small fish, big pond; Big fish, small pond; Big fish, big pond; What does it matter? In the end, here I am On the summit of this small bank In the great mud flat, Struggling for breath, Surrounded By an archipelago of ponds And a straggle of flapping fish Passing pointlessly from one pool to another. In the distance is a cool forest, A brave new world - But this is the peak of my achievement, This heap of soiled sand On the spring high tide line as the waning moon Ushers in neap tide shallows.
Archived comments for Lungfish
Sunken on 27-03-2009
Lungfish
Damn that lung fish! If it wasn't for him I wouldn't have to wax my nipples! Ahem. Sorry Mr. Corin, but sometimes I just get so annoyed with evolution. I blame that Darwin bloke. Did you watch the great sperm race on the tele box this week? It was very interesting and no mistake. All of those billions of sperm and mine made it! I've never won anything before. Anyway, good to see you again. You always give me food for thought. Some would say that's a bad thing. I'm used to their sarcastic comments tho. I have evolved a thick skin (well actually it's a green parker that I got from Oxfam).
Nice one Corin.

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at the height of his depression he would sit naked at the edge of drained fishpond

Author's Reply:
THanks for the comment and the laugh Mr Sunken. I was a bit disappointed by the sperm thing as the male sperms got their kit off but the female ones didn't. Y I ask were they X rated?
I will do my best to send you a few more crumbs later.

David

orangedream on 27-03-2009
Lungfish
"Surrounded
By an archipelago of ponds
And a straggle of flapping fish"

I love the way you always make your poetry 'come alive' with all these wonderfully colourful descriptions. These lines in particular.

And such a poignant ending.

"A brave new world -
But this is the peak of my achievement,
This heap of soiled sand ..."

Much enjoyed.

Tina xx



Author's Reply:
Thankyou Tina.

David

Sunken on 29-03-2009
Lungfish
Yes, I was about peeved about that too, Mr. Corin. I'm still feeling a little smug about winning the egg though, especially with easter around the corner, so I guess I can forgive the programme makers this one oversight (although it was a feckin big oversight and no mistake). I wonder if the egg's in the post?

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his letterbox has been crudely sawn into the shape of an egg?

Author's Reply:

RachelLW on 29-03-2009
Lungfish
I think this is excellent. It has a lovely, lyrical quality and is cleverly written. Beautifully written. I wondered about the first few lines as whilst I understand their relevance they don't seem to match the beauty of the lines that follow them or the sentiment, but I'm not sure it matters as I do get why the first lines are there. I hope that makes sense, some of what I say often does not. Rachel.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Rachel for your comment. You are right - I was not sure about those first four lines either.

How about this :-

At first I was a small fish in small pond,
Then a small fish in a big pond,
Eventually a big fish in a small pond.
I was never a big fish in a big pond.

What do you think?

David

Jolen on 30-03-2009
Lungfish
Hi David,

I told you that this was good! I'm glad you posted it here. I enjoyed reading it again and seeing what others had to say.

love
jolen

Author's Reply:
THankyou Jolen - I bow to your wisdom and thankyou for your encouragement.

David


Those I wish I'd Kissed (posted on: 02-02-09)
A Writing group exercise.

Those I wish I'd kissed Are too many to name - All the women in the world, Such wonderful creatures are they. And mum one last time, But a warm kiss not a cold one, And the same for Trish My poor abused sister, Who never had enough kisses Though she gave away many. Oh alright Theresa who cares more about dogs And cats Than men; And delicate Caroline, Who came to visit me Though I never knew why; And Fran with her arm in mine Letting me walk her home; And Diane With her crooked smile And soft body. Most of all my beautiful kitten, Lost in a world of words and wishes - So close and yet so far. Now I make up for lost time Kissing at the least opportunity Poor frail and wrinkled Rita, Fragrant Margaret, Busty Jacqui, Elegant Yvonne, Mad Spikeyanne, Blind Ann - Only those kisses don't count Being stolen at meeting or parting, A nice gesture, A symbol of real affection, Reciprocal, but without That essential pressure of real desire. And the men? Just one - my father Who left for the land of cold kisses Long before I learned that only warm kisses mattered. Now I can see That my store of kisses is not depleted Despite all those I gave away, But Some lessons are learned too late. Though, as Petrucio says to Katherina, Better once than never For never too late.
Archived comments for Those I wish I'd Kissed
Mezzanotte on 02-02-2009
Those I wish Id Kissed

An attention grabbing tiltle.

Really, i thought this was such a lovely original poem. i really enjoyed reading it, both funny and rueful. I liked the land of cold kisses. My only criticism is that, for me, the last two lines weaken the poem, as they seem to lack the strength and feeling of all that came before, although, i don't know how I would finish this myself.

Best Wishes
Jackie

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Jackie - though it is not really original as the idea comes from a poem by Kathryn Symonds.
I can see what you and Daff mean about the ending - the joke flattens the mood. I could just delete the last 3 lines - what do you think?

David

teifii on 02-02-2009
Those I wish Id Kissed
Surprising what challenges can call out of us. I really like this. But I too feel the last two lines don't fit although they made me smile.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Daff, I can see what you and Jackie mean about the ending - the joke flattens the mood. I could just delete the last 3 lines - what do you think?

David

Sunken on 03-02-2009
Those I wish Id Kissed
Well I quite liked the last two lines. It's the best offer I've had all week and no mistake. Hello by the way. It's me, sunks. An enjoyable read, Mr. Corin. It has given me much to think about.

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he thinks in the recovery position

Author's Reply:
Hello Sailor - Pity you're Sunken - otherwise I would have given you a ride.



David

teifii on 04-02-2009
Those I wish Id Kissed
Hi David,
Much prefer this ending
Some lessons are learned too late.
Though, as Petrucio says to Katherina,
Better once than never
For never too late.
Daff

Author's Reply:

discopants on 04-02-2009
Those I wish Id Kissed
This had me thinking back to who might figure in such a poem if I tried this topic out. How about a sequel entitled 'Those I Kissed But Wished I Hadn't'. That could be an interesting one...

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 05-02-2009
Those I wish Id Kissed
I thought this was wonderful, so sad and so true. Must say the humour, if any, was lost on me, I didn't find it funny at all! But then, reading through the comments, you've probably deleted some lines as those last two as they stand are perfect imo.

This:

'And the men?
Just one - my father
Who left for the land of cold kisses
Long before I learned that only warm kisses mattered.'

...reminded me of my old man. Too late now, what they missed, eh? And what we missed, too...

Author's Reply:

jay12 on 25-03-2009
Those I wish Id Kissed
So good I could kiss you (just joking!)!

Author's Reply:
Well that would make a very short poem - 'Those Who Wished they had Kissed Me!'

Here is a kiss any way!

David

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Inauguration January 20th 2009 (posted on: 23-01-09)
Watching History being made today - Tuesday 20th January 2009.

Today I will be crying For the greatest nation upon earth; Fortheirlong commitment to democracy, Andtheir system of government And for holding true to its values; I will cry For a long history of injustice; For the many brave people who started a fight long ago And who, at long last, Will seetheir victory come to pass. I will cry for a Republican President who said, "On the first day of January in the year of our Lord, One thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, All persons held as slaves within any state, Or designated part of a state, The people whereof thenceforward, and forever free: And the executive government of the United States will, Recognise and maintain the freedom of such persons." I will cry for John Brown; For Dred Scott, The unfreed, freed slave; For the Little Rock Nine; For another Republican President Who sent the Army in To defend them from baton wielding State Troopers; For Linda Brown, Who had to ask the Supreme Court to let her Go to school; For the Greensboro Four, Franklin McCain, Joseph McNeil, Ezell Blair, Jr., and David Richmond Who went without lunch for weeks - Inspiring others to do the same - In the cause of equality; For the Freedom Riders Who suffered beatings Simply for travelling legally Upon a public transport system; For Rosa Parks Who sat on a bus whilst a white man stood, Who was arrested and sacked, Who was undaunted and unafraid, Who should be here to see this day Sitting in a seat of honour; For another President, a democrat, Who sent in the Army to enrol James Meredith at University; For his successor, President Johnson, At long last signing into law A Civil Rights Act And most of all For Martin Luther King - Imprisoned and murdered Merely for having A dream. I won't be crying for the racist bastards Who hung strange fruit on southern trees; For the Confederates still fighting a lost cause; For the ridiculous Klu Klux Klan In their ridiculous sheets and hats; For nearly assassinated George Wallace; Or For every bigoted, racist redneck With insufficient intelligence to Understand a simple sententence:- "We hold these truths to be self-evident, That all men are created equal, That they are endowed by their Creator With certain unalienable Rights, That among these are Life, Liberty and The pursuit of Happiness. God Bless Barrack Obama. God Bless America!
Archived comments for Inauguration January 20th 2009
reckless on 24-01-2009
Inauguration January 20th 2009
I do very much hope it marks a change for the better. Our own government could take a leaf out of his book. Here's hoping for better things.

Author's Reply:
WEll he seems to have made a bold start - let hinm continue in this vein.

David

uppercase on 27-01-2009
Inauguration January 20th 2009
I feel so lucky to have lived to see a black man in office. I saw the injustice in the South to our fellow man. I went to school in an all white world. It was wrong then and it will ever be wrong. Thanks for the poem and God bless us all for we are one....erma

Author's Reply:


Concerto for Double Chorus and Voice in A Minor - Third Movement (posted on: 19-01-09)
I recently posted the third part of this long poem with the first two parts which were posted several years ago. I feel that the new content got lost among the old so have decided to kep it in separate parts. If you should wish to read Movements one and two they are at:- https://www.ukauthors.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=13937 and https://www.ukauthors.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=13891

Third Movement - Rondo Moderato. A Minor Chorus of the Dead Lord what fools these mortals be When they they think they clearly see Why do they listen not to me Then at last they would be free. Transposing into D minor The Voice: Now there's only work and sleep And every dawn brings woes new made Some we'll lose and some we'll keep Until at last all memories fade. So long the road goes far ahead, Its gradient ever climbing up, No rest no peace and in their stead The bitter dregs of life's small cup. Transposing into F Major Chorus of the Living But no man needs to walk the road alone - Do you think your heart is made of stone? Stars shine through the dark of winter night, Though the inconstant moon denies us light Orion circles westward sword in hand Forever hunting for that bright new land. Not in the sky, but here on Earth it's found, Wherever love lays her bright girdle round. Transposing into C major The Voice: To you for life I've sworn plight, Together now in awe we stand Before the day and in the light Joimed by this never ending band. The road that once seemed hard and long When we travelled all alone Now is filled with joy and song Instead of pain and constant moan Transposing into A minor Chorus of the Dead: Lord what fools these mortals be When they they think they clearly see Why do they listen not to me Then at last they would be free. Transposing into D Minor The Voice: Give me your hand and let us walk With wandering steps and slow While we wander we will talk As through the world we go. No matter that Eden is lost. We walk a solitary way, Transposing into F Major Together we can bear this cost With love to guide us every day. O it is good to live and love To have a future here with you To see bright stars shine out above And a new one growing in you too. Transposing into C Major One is one and all alone And ever more shall be so But two to three or four have grown, Together up this path we'll go. Chorus of the Living: Love is all the food we need, Two can live as cheap as one Love sets us truly free indeed To dark night it is the sun. Love knows no law, love conquers all Love is life, life lives for love, For love the birds do sing and call If love be blind the stars above Would not shine so bright at all. Or if it is, we'll love the dark And by love's light we will not fall, But aim at love and hit the mark. Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease, And builds a heaven in hell's despair. Transposing into A minor Chorus of the Dead Lord what fools these mortals be When they they think they clearly see Why do they listen not to me Then at last they would be free. Love is blind and Cupid's bow Scatters arrows everywhere. He cares not which cross path they go And engenders sorrow here and there. Look through the god's kaleidoscope All human passions are but toys Happiness is but false hope, They'll suffer chiefly by their joys. Love seeketh only Self to please, To bind another to its delight, Joys in another's loss of ease, And builds a hell in heaven's despite. Lord what fools these mortals be They will never clearly see Or ever listen once to me, Never yet shall they be free.
Archived comments for Concerto for Double Chorus and Voice in A Minor - Third Movement
e-griff on 25-01-2009
Concerto for Double Chorus and Voice in A Minor - Third Movement
This requires a deal of attention to appreciate. I haven't even read the first parts yet. As you know, I'm looking at this on the 'Write it like this' forum.

Perhaps we can persuade some others to take a look?

Author's Reply:
THankyou John - obviously it was conceived as a long piece and long, potentially difficult pieces do put people off. It is experimental, though perhaps becoming more conventional as it unfolds.

I am off to look at the forum as I had not noticed the discussion there.

David


Renewing the World (posted on: 19-01-09)
Crab the Dog likes to walk at night in snow or rain or wind.

Sometines the world Likes to paint itself anew - A bright planet and a hidden moon Shining through diaphanous clouds Work in contrasting brush strokes Upon the canvass of the evening sky. Planets and stars require precise pointilism, But the ever shifting pattern of high clouds Demands broad brush strokes And a magical luminescence. Rushing winds constantly reset The wide background of cloud and night. Black winter trees wave fruitless fingers Before before the ever changing scene. At last a reluctant moon appears In waning glory between wind broken cloud. Jupiter, accepting That he can no longer outshine Artemis, Retires behind the incoming storm. The world is thoroughly swept But not really renewed. In the morning Economic storms will blow harder than any wind, Children will still be hiding from bombs And rockets And peace will still be a pipedream.
Archived comments for Renewing the World
Sunken on 21-01-2009
Renewing the World
Hello Mr. Corin. It's a shame this hasn't had a comment yet. It's even more of a shame that I'm the first. Many poetical lines and a hard slab of reality at the end. What more could anyone ask for? A top piece, in my sunken opinion.

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Author's Reply:


An Awful World (posted on: 29-12-08)
The photos are at:- http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap040309.html http://www.geocities.com/dt33789/cosmic-structure.jpg

This is an awful world. When the bright light of day Illuminates every aspect, Every detail, Of the nitty gritty What can escape an observant eye? The magnificent Cathedral Is only blocks of sandstone, Grains stuck together by mud and slime, Its surface sooted by the grime of ages And flaked by the ice of many winters. The magnificent woods are worm eaten leaves, Rot infected trunks and broken branches, Littered by the detritus of last year's growth On black mud and dirty soil. The closer we look the less we see, Day deceives us all. That blue sky, an overarching firmament, Seems bright and beautiful But it is only atmospheric dust Scattering light and obscuring truth. The half moon peers palely through But behind it a whole Cosmos Lies concealed. Faith can not reveal such truths. Faith is a useless instrument Unlike those of Science and Technology. These man-made giants Are built upon the sure foundations Of logic and reason. 'Knowing' is the great prize. Knowing how the world works Builds planes that fly faster than the speed of sound And sends rockets far above That light-polluted, truth-obscuring sky. Here satellites carry the chatter of mankind All around our awful world. Here the Hubble Space Telescope - Supreme eye of science, Glory of engineering, Artifice of logic, Triumph of reason, Reveals awe in all its greatness. Two of its photographs alone Cower all human hubris Defeat all false faiths. Along the Milky Way Stars like dust bejewel the sky But in Hubble's eye These are mere candles to the noon day sun. Through this eye we see The deep structure of space, Faint differentials built into the first second of The birth of the Cosmos Now spread about our sky for us to look in awe at. Other instruments hear the hiss of background radiation From that Big Bang. Hubble reveals the clusters of galaxies - Clusters of superclusters, Stetching like a great net across the night sky. Through its eye we see Far into the distant reaches of the Universe, Far into the past. A tiny area of the sky, A mere 2.5 arcminutes across, Two millionths of the vasty cosmos Yet it encompasses Billions of stars And galaxies almost as old as the Cosmos itself. Faintly they show their age - The redder the older. Let us all stand here And wonder at a truly awful world.
Archived comments for An Awful World
Sunken on 30-12-2008
An Awful World
The universe is truly mind blowing tho isn't it? I'm not a god head, but space does blow me away. I still can't get my head around infinity. How can something not end? Mind you, Emerdale's being going for years too, so perhaps it's not that mind blowing after all.

Yours, awfully

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red sky at night - sheds on fire again

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Sunken for reading and commenting.
As toi nfinity think of this:-

The surface of the Earth has no end - you can crawl around it and never fall off and it is also infinite since if you had a pencil that made a single point you would never be able to completely cover it with points!

David


Corin on 30-12-2008
An Awful World
Thankyou Sunken for reading and commenting.
As toi nfinity think of this:-

The surface of the Earth has no end - you can crawl around it and never fall off and it is also infinite since if you had a pencil that made a single point you would never be able to completely cover it with points!

David



Author's Reply:

sirat on 30-12-2008
An Awful World
I'm very interested in the science, whatever about the poem. Your first picture is a Hubble Ultra Deep Field one from the NASA website, duly labelled, but I wasn't sure what the second one was. It looks like one of those high resolution computer simulations set up to test various theories of how cosmic structure (galaxies, galactic clusters, voids etc.) got started. There are a lot of rival explanations.

If there's anybody out there who doesn't know what we're talking about, have a look at the Sloan Digital Sky Survey site HERE.

Just a couple of little quibbles: "detritus of last years growth" – should be "year's" (possessive)

"Two millionths of the vasty cosmos " – "vasty"?

Also, I'm not sure you can turn "awe" into a verb: "...sky for us to awe at".

I completely approve of the sentiment expressed though. Here's the same sort of idea set to music: The Word of God – Kathy Mar.



Author's Reply:
THankyou for those comments David.



The first image is from part of a dispaly at the Citee D'Espace in Toulouse. The display shows images of the Universe as yogert successively further and further from the Earth. This is the last image in the series.Actually it is a bit of a fiddle - if you look at it carefully it is like a wallpaper pattern with the same small image repeated. the small image shows an area of deeps space taken by the Hubble Space Telescope, but at a smaller magnification than the deep space field image. When you look at distant galaxies you can see that galaxies occur in clusters of galaxies just as a galaxy is a cluster of stars. These clusters of galaxies have a distinct if random structure like a 3 dimensonal net. The image is, I think, computer generated from actual observations so that all the clusters in the image are about the same distance from the Earth - if you include the nearer and further galactic clusters what you see is a sky peppered with galaxies. This structure reflects the minute diffences in density of matter during the original big bang in the first nano seconds of the life of he universe. If the original density had been completely uniform then the universe would not have evolved into stars and galaxies since the gravitational pull on every atom would be the same in every direction nd they would not then have been pulled together to condense into stars. The same difference in original density was observed when the background radiation was discovered. The cosmic background radiation (sometimes called the CBR), is the afterglow of the big bang, cooled to a faint whisper in the microwave spectrum by the expansion of the Universe for 15 billion years (which causes the radiation originally produced in the big bang to redshift to longer wavelengths). It is not completely uniform, though it is very nearly so . NASA's Cosmic Background Explorer (COBE) satellite observed the variations in the temperature of the background radiation. See



http://csep10.phys.utk.edu/astr162/lect/cosmology/cbr.html


As to 'vasty' you can argue the toss with Old Bill about that one:-

But pardon, and gentles all,
The flat unraised spirits that have dared
On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth
So great an object: can this cockpit hold
The vasty fields of France? or may we cram
Within this wooden O the very casques
That did affright the air at Agincourt? Henry V Act 1 Prologue


Thanks for the technical comments

Merriam Webster has it has a noun and intransitive verb.
1: an emotion variously combining dread, veneration, and wonder that is inspired by authority or by the sacred or sublime
2archaic a: dread , terror b: the power to inspire dread.

So you are probably right as I am using it with sense of 1: but didn't George Bush say he was going to 'shock and awe the Iraqis'?


David



The Christmas Story (posted on: 26-12-08)
Myth Legend or fantasy?

There is a legend, that has long been told, Of a baby boy, born miraculously in an appallingly rough barn Some nineteen hundred and eighty or so years ago. Upon this very night some claim. Perhaps it was not such an exceptionable occurence after all. At that place in those days most peasants slept above their beasts.; But it seems a poor place to us, Cossetted in our centrally heated and fully carpeted houses, For a life to begin. Imagine the scene for a moment - The legend has it that the night was bitter, Freezing outside, snow on the hills And no heating within, Except for the steaming breath of a few oxen and sheep. A young girl, Mary, and an old man, Joseph, Both inexperienced in such matters, Trying to cope alone, So the story suggests, With the birth of her first child. They were already exhausted from a long journey on foot Across difficult country; Anxious and tired; Strangers in a strange town Not knowing where to go Or who to turn to. Suddenly their worst fears were realised; The symptoms of oncoming labour present themselves. The poor girl must have been very frightened - Perhaps the stress of such a difficult day Had induced a premature birth. It hardly seems credible that they would travel so far If she had been nine months pregnant. However, the legend says nothing of such things; Presumably she lay on the straw And endured the pain of that first delivery, Without anaesthetic, while poor Joseph looked on. Did he know what to do? Again nothing is written. Perhaps he ran to the crowded inn and and fetched a midwife of sorts. Or did all the women of the street come crowding in To offer their adviceand experience? By tradition Joseph simply stayed. We are not even told if he offered any asistance. By custom he should recite psalms as the birth approached. Somehow, instinctively, like animals in field or forest, Mary managed the birth. No doubt her screams disturbed the animals in the stable. The blood and afterbirth mixed with the straw. The risk of infection was high And the danger of death from exposure for the young infant Very severe. However there seems to have been no ill consequences For mother or baby. Mary wrapped thechild in swaddling To protect him from the cold; But they had no bedding for the bairn And an animal feeding stall acrb - Was improvised as a cot. It was a humble beginning for a man Who, two thousand years later, Is known all over the world. One curious thing - In the story Mary was said to be a maid a virgin. She and Joseph were betrothed, That is engaged to be married, But at the time of the birth, still unwed. Mary was an unmarried mother but surely no virgin! A child born outside marriage is, To mdern minds, not considered very strange, Though still regarded as unconventional. Today, and perhaps then, a quickly arranged marriage Would be the usual procedure. In those times customs were strictly laid down by religious law. If Joseph was the child's father Then surely they would have married earlier. Joseph seemsto have undertaken to marry Mary And accept responsibility for the child Knowing himself not to have been the father. He was an oldish man, A prosperous carpenter. Was it that he needed a wife to secure his domestic comfort And engaged to marry the girl through some bargain with her parents? Mary herself came from a rspectable family, Her integrity and honesty are not questioned, Yet in the legend an angel of God made her pregnant Whilst she remained virginal! At least that is her account of it. Anyway the boy came to be born. By this one birth the whole world should be altered; Mankind made whole andall evil faltered. Is it possible could one birth, one man Wreak such havoc on nature's master plan And in less than half a lifetime could he change Generations yet to come? All this is strange. Look out upon our violent sordid era Is this a world where peace draws ever nearer? Has evil been redeemed? Is man made whole And mended of the errors in his soul? Or is it all no more than myth and legend A silly story no one could defend That somehowgrewout ofa few bald facts That chart a decadent empire's desperate acts
Archived comments for The Christmas Story
macaby on 26-12-2008
The Christmas Story
myth or legend? the way i see it is, you either have faith and believe in the virginal birth etc etc. i myself think it is no more than a myth( i was raised a catholic), i liked the dry humour that you put in the story made me smile, and there are a lot of unanswered questions put forward in your poem. the same ones i used to ask myself in earlier years. overall i enjoyed the read .
ps i noticed a lot of typing mistakes maybe you should look over the poem once more.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Macaby - Yes I noticed the typos in the original but forge t to edit the version here - thanks for pointing out. I will go edit it now.

David

royrodel on 28-12-2008
The Christmas Story
God bless you sir for keeping the dream alive.

RODEL

Author's Reply:
You puzzle me Roy - is this pure irony? There is no dream. All is no more than myth and God is dead.

David

Zoya on 29-12-2008
The Christmas Story
Dear David,
You make the highly romantic story sound realistic and ask so many questions...
Over all a very interesting read!
Happy New Year!
Love,
Zoya

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Zoya - A Happy New Year to you too.

David

teifii on 04-01-2009
The Christmas Story
You certainly bring the story to life, myth though it probably is. It does read as prose, which is fine for telling a story and for arguing a case, but I did find myself a little surprised at the end to find it rhyming. And yes, you do need to edit out all the typos.
Hapy new year to you.At least we get some fun out of the event.
Daff
http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm


Author's Reply:
Hi Daff - Happy New Year to you and the dog and cat and sheep - I have forgotten the dog'd name is it Teifi?

Thankyou for the comment on this - I thought I had replaced the typo version with the corrected version but perhaps there are some left in. Anyway - you are right the style was meant to be prosy as in in telling a legend - spoken narrative in fact - the transition to rhyme came about almost accidently but I thought it sounded good to summarise in rhyme so I developed it. Did you not think it worked?

David

teifii on 06-01-2009
The Christmas Story
Hi David,
I think having the two styles works fine but I'd have put the prosy bit as prose. But that's just me. It's OK as it is and very well argued.
As to Dogs, Teifi Dog has been gone some years and the present successors are Dyfi [pronounced Dovey] a boy, and Jess, a girl. Dyfi has a lot of excess energy so he and I are getting a chrismas present of a scooter and harness so he can put it to use and save my knees on dog walks.
Happy New Year to you too.
Daff
Come and see me at my book shop http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm


Author's Reply:


Sentinel (posted on: 15-12-08)
March 29th 1992

While the world sleeps Its silent watchers sip lemon tea And listen to old songs Lest, feeling neglected, callous gods Should gather up the few fragments Of scattered truth And seek a New Cosmos upon which To spit their spleen And pour foul scorn.
Archived comments for Sentinel
teifii on 21-12-2008
Sentinel
Love the image of the world's guardians drinking lemon tea.
Daff
Come and see me at my book shop http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm

Author's Reply:


Anonymous (posted on: 15-12-08)
For Pat and Raymond Bell

From a page of staves and dots An anonymous voice spoke Simply and clearly; A voice three hundred years old. The three of us, Sitting together in this pleasant room, Called it again into life. As the ancient cadences moved among the music My mind held the image Of this unkown composer Sitting at his wooden table Quill to hand, recording the notes For us to play this day. I was grateful for his music, His lilting melody, simple enough For my fingers to make the the flute speak; For his classic harmonies Delightfully shared With these two friends, And glad to give life To a forgotten mind That lives now in mine.
Archived comments for Anonymous

No comments archives found!
Layers (posted on: 12-12-08)
You can see a copy of the image that provoked this piece (inspired is NOT the right word) at:- http://rbih-free.blogspot.com/2008/06/were-men-and-boys-only-victims-of.html It is from the massacre at Srebrenica July 1995 and taken by Croatian freelance phographer: Darko Bandic

On my floor a layer of newspaper protects the veneer of new varnish. The week's news lies about the room sadly discarded; A cricketing triumph - three wickets in three balls; Futile protests against bombs in the Ocean of Peace; The fall of Srebrenica - dangerous safe haven; Two boys, intent upon hooking fish, cruelly murdered; An actor with stage fright staging his escape; Hoses wilting in the globally warmed sun. The thinnest smear of black ink upon white newsprint Proclaims the good and bad, the salacious and heroic; `No information is too private, no tale too horrific To justify the the curiosity and amusement of our readers, They have a voracious public interest.' But one image screams from from the scattered print upon the floor; A young woman, casually dressed for the summer In blue shorts and and a soft pink woollen top, Neat and fashionable in a Marks and Spencer sort of way, The thin belt tied about her neck suspends her from the tree Head cocked to one side as if listening for a loved one And bare feet several feet above the forest floor. She hangs peaceful in death. In the midst of war Her feet, having finished with running, find no refuge From whatever loss forced her to this place and this time Except the strong branch of that sturdy tree. The layer of print upon the layer of paper Covers my layer of new varnish upon the layer of boards That form my dining room floor. Above the protecting layers upon the floor The skim of plaster forming the ceiling Awaits a new coat of white emulsion. Layering the floor above lie floorboards, underlay and carpet. Above that floor another ceiling of paint and plaster and joists Snuggles beneath its warm blanket of thermal insulation, By now well dusted with a thick covering of dirt. To protect them, roof joists and a network of battens Carry overlapping tiles of good Welsh slate; A final layer of protection between World and Home Exposed to all that wind and sky can throw. Given enough laminations the illusion of security Creates the peace and warmth and comfort of a home, A space within the world's vast space to be and to belong, An inside to its cruel and callous outside. But illusions are fragile; When shells fall like rain a single shower Easily pierces all those carefully decorated layers. Tiles and plaster, paper and wood part into debris And security flies through the perforated laminations Into the wild winds of fear and chaos. The thin veneer of civilisation is no more protection Than the brittle pattern of overlapping tiles upon my roof. Its carefully constructed layers of government Rest upon joists of justice and freedom. Interleaving networks of laws and rights Support invisible bonds of mutual trust and love; Laminations uniting individuals, families and communities Into a cooperating self-supporting society. But civilised societies, like houses, Are vulnerable to the weather.
Archived comments for Layers
teifii on 14-12-2008
Layers
Brilliantly worked out content. The sustained allegory of physical layers for the more abstract and much more frightening ones. I read it three thimes and will read more. Better make it a favourite.
Daff
http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm - come an look.

Author's Reply:
THankyou Daff - Have you seen the picture? Even now, years later it has the same impact upon me - so sad so overpowering.

David


In Time of Waiting for Work (posted on: 12-12-08)
Refers to Hardy's poem 'In Time of the Breaking of Nations'

Only a man bearing bricks in a hod To another with mortar and trowel, And, true to his levelling rod, A wall rises above the bare soil. Only a pattern of brick upon brick Repeated row upon row, And a house, yet but two courses thick, Appears where the foundations show. Families yet to be born When these builders long have been still Will be glad that they laboured this morn And practised their time-honoured skill.
Archived comments for In Time of Waiting for Work
Sunken on 12-12-2008
In Time of Waiting for Work
Bravo, Mr. Corin and no mistake. I feel so ignorant in your presence. The only poetry book I read as a kid was a Rupert the Bear one. To be frank, I always thought he was a bit of a tosser. It's those stupid trousers of his. Anyway, enjoyed this. I have a habit of wrecking things I like. With this in mind I am allowing Bernard to have free reign over this here comment box. He smells of tarmac by the way. Your guess is as good as mine...

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Author's Reply:

teifii on 14-12-2008
In Time of Waiting for Work
Hi David,
Well deserved Bernard. I'm a sucker for anything hardyesque and this poem does Hardy's memory justice. Have added a nom to your Bernard.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Dear Daff - Thankyou for your kind comment and nomination - Perhaps I should institute a Crab Award - but what should it be for do you think? Crab doesn't really appreciate poetry - only balls! He likes the outdors though and nature - Could I give awards for the best Nature Poems?

Dafydd


Breakfast in the Garden (posted on: 08-12-08)
Written on May 17th 1992 On May 2, 1992, a complete blockade of Sarajevo was officially established by the Bosnian Serb forces. Major roads leading into the city were blocked, as were shipments of food and medicine. Utilities such as water, electricity, and heating were cut off. The number of Serbian forces around Sarajevo, although better armed, was inferior in number to the Bosnian defenders within the city. Hence, after the failure of initial attempts to take over the city by the attacks of JNA's armored columns, the besieging forces continuously bombarded and weakened the city from the mountains, fortified into at least two hundred reinforced positions and bunkers.

Blue sky and spring sun; The wallflower scented breeze; Pink apple blossom And flickering poplar leaves; The summer swifts darting; Birdsong everywhere; This is the worlds peace And my small share. Busy insects humming; Cat sleeping in the shade; A distant plane humming, And suddenly I'm dismayed. Breakfast in Sarajevo Beneath the same blue sky; Machinegun fire And shells screaming by; Children crouching frightened On the cellar floor; This is the worlds peace - Theirs no more.
Archived comments for Breakfast in the Garden
Sunken on 08-12-2008
Breakfast in the Garden
Hello Mr. Corin. You have a habit of making me feel like a complete ignoramus. This is a good thing. I've done nothing but moan about insignificant things today. I'm going to get someone to kick me up the arse. It shouldn't be hard to find said person. Thank you for supplying some perspective.

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dispensing with pants

Author's Reply:

Kazzmoss on 09-12-2008
Breakfast in the Garden
I remember watching those blue skies of Sarajevo and the birds singing, the fields and mountains and then there was the gun fire, she shells and scenes of devastation too. You conjure up the comparison nicely.

Author's Reply:

teifii on 14-12-2008
Breakfast in the Garden
I'm agraid this is the only peace many get these days. Good poem.
Daff
http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm - come an look.

Author's Reply:


From Troy 12,000 BC to Sarajevo 1993 AD (posted on: 08-12-08)
Written in February 1993 after watching a mass burial of victims of the Siege of Sarajevo - Worse was to come in Srebrenica in July 1995 with the killing of an estimated 8000 Bosniak men and boys. At least they have finally caught the bastard who ordered the massacre and the Siege of Sarajevo.

There is no acting the grief of these mad times, When mass graves nightly fly a gawping world And lamenting voices sing a song so clear, That in their trembling shrieks and throbbing cries They sound the still sad music of the spheres All singing words that every language knows Whilst every nation acts deaf though it hears. These songs of of grieving resonate our bowels And richochet through time from war to war. A constant drone that sounds the fall of Troy Before the Greeks and treacherous parting gifts; The death of Turnus at the birth of Rome; Crusades that ebbed and flowed as tides of faith Bestrewed the sands of time with cross and sword; The cannons' roar just outside Moscows walls And on the field of bloody Gettysburg; The single shot that slew a million men From Sarajevo's streets to Flander's fields And echoes yet and thirsts to kill again
Archived comments for From Troy 12,000 BC to Sarajevo 1993 AD
Sunken on 11-12-2008
From Troy 12,000 BC to Sarajevo 1993 AD
A very powerful write, Mr. Corin. Every nation acts deaf, and it would seem every poet too. You deserve more than a crappy few lines from a sunk for this. A tip top piece and no mistake.

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he can tell genuine from bollocks

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Sunken

macaby on 11-12-2008
From Troy 12,000 BC to Sarajevo 1993 AD
i remember back in school, i read some war poems . kiplings gungha din(i think that was what it was called) wilfred owen too, when you read poems like theirs or yours as well, you can feel the pointlessnes in war, (the loss of large numbers of innocent human life, and the mass killings like you have stated here) whereas in the movies war is mostly always glorified.somehow man doesn,t learn, who knows do you think it would be different if woman ruled the world?well i enjoyed reading your poem, well written and a lot of good points are stated within. i liked the lines about the one shot, sarajevo and flanders.it is madness when you think about these 2 lines, one bullet millions dead. yes it,s a sad world we live in, but i,m sure we will manage to destroy it eventually.

Author's Reply:
THankyou Macaby, The Death of Wilfrid Owen one week before the armistice at the age of 25 was one of the great disasters to strike English poetry - like the deatth of Keats at the same age of TB in Rome.

David

teifii on 14-12-2008
From Troy 12,000 BC to Sarajevo 1993 AD
The comment is obvious and so well stated. I think it is a subject none of us can avoid thinking about these days. You put it well and the rhythm helps to bring the point home and make it memorable.

>>All singing words that every language knows
Whilst every nation acts deaf though it hears. Excellent

Daff
http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm - come and look.

Author's Reply:


I Owe Asclepius a Cock (posted on: 01-12-08)
Asclepius was the Greek god of medicine and healing.

After a while A man grows weary Of the world And all its wicked ways. There are only so many days So many dreary dawns So many dazzling downings Of the sun a man can endure. All things, save one, are past cure, But, when all occurences have been encountered, When all calculalations have been made Then the profit and loss can be counted. Now the last hill is mounted, The final meal eaten. Many goodbyes said. Time to walk the last mile.
Archived comments for I Owe Asclepius a Cock
Romany on 01-12-2008
I Owe Asclepius a Cock
I think many of us are world weary, but not necessarily tired of life. I hope that's true for you too. As always, an interesting poem.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
THankyou Romany - you catch the mood of the poem correctly, at least at my age (60) life is happy but somehow seems just a mere repetition of pleasant scenery as the boat drifts downstream until it is time to cross the bar.

David

Sunken on 02-12-2008
I Owe Asclepius a Cock
I'll probably be a randy old bugger and suspect that my last words will be, 'Show us ya tits'. I think ya can get away with that kinda talk when you're knockin' on a bit. Ahem. Sorry Mr. Corin. You're poem deserves a far more thoughtful comment... Trouble is, it's bloody freezing here and I'm struggling to type, let alone think )-:

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he fell at the first fence

Author's Reply:

sirat on 02-12-2008
I Owe Asclepius a Cock
You've got a lot of interesting ideas here. I have never come across the notion that it was the god Asclepius that Socrates was referring to in his last words. Most scholars have assumed it was somebody like a neighbour or friend of that name. The usual translation of his last words is:

'Crito, we owe a cock to Asclepius. Make sure that the debt is paid.'

In other words Socrates' last thoughts were of scrupulous honesty and integrity in human affairs.

There might be something in what you say though, because the god Asclepius had a reputation for bringing people back from the dead. In fact Zeus killed him with a thunderbolt for doing it. In Greek mythology he was also the first person (well, okay, god) to be born by what we now call Caesarian section. His mother Cornonis, wife of Apollo, was killed for unfaithfulness and the unborn baby was cut out of her womb. Hence he was given the name Asclepius "to cut open."

Mind you, I think your poem works whether you know any of that or not. Depressingly realistic.

Author's Reply:


Point of Departure (posted on: 28-11-08)
Central Station, Newcastle was designed by John Dobson and constructed in collaboration with Robert Stephenson between 1845 and 1850. The opening ceremony, attended by Queen Victoria, took place on 29 August 1850. The building has a classical styled frontage, and its trainshed has a distinctive roof with three curved, arched spans. A portico, designed by Thomas Prosser, was added to the station entrance in 1863. See:- http://www.twmuseums.org.uk/inc/img.php/images/uploads/exhibitionimage/original/5120532.jpg/275/275/fill Central Station Newcastle Upon Tyne 1849-50 by JW Carmichael The Laing Art Gallery Newcastle

We must build a great temple to Prometheus, A palace, where all four elements Conspire to enable arrival and departure. Coal, water, fire, steam, Brought under control by the mind of Man To pay homage to our creator. We defy the gods and all their vultures! No longer will we walk upon feet, Or be carried and pulled by dumb animals. No! We will ride the world on wheels of iron, Powered by a horse of iron Down this great iron road into the future.
Archived comments for Point of Departure
Sunken on 29-11-2008
Point of Departure
Hello Mr. Corin. For some reason I read your poem in the style of Churchill. I used a marker pen for a cigar. I'll be frank, it almost brought a tear to my eye. 'Stirring,' that's the word. Thank you.

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ps. how do you remove indelible ink from your tongue?


Author's Reply:
THankyou Sunken - there is only one way to resolve the marker pen issue - lots of 'jaw-jaw'.

David

Munster on 29-11-2008
Point of Departure
Hi David, this poem allowed me to go back in time wonderful memories of the past, steam was the way to go.

Tony

Author's Reply:

BaBy_PoeT on 29-11-2008
Point of Departure
Hi David, this poem of yours has got so many truths in, and how time and techonology is changing. some countries peoplel are still travelling using hourse and camels, but in others that is something you do when your on holiday and costs a hell of a lot too.
but anyways a wonderful poem and loved the picture you added.
take care
xXxBPxXx

Author's Reply:

RoyBateman on 30-11-2008
Point of Departure
Wonderful - you distilled that great outburst of energy and optimism that fuelled the Railway Age into just a few telling lines. Being a lifelong steam enthusiast - and a lover of wonderful station architecture such as Newcastle, York and Huddersfield - I really appreciated this!

Author's Reply:

delph_ambi on 30-11-2008
Point of Departure
An elegant poem about one of my favourite places. I was lucky enough to stay the Royal Station Hotel a few years ago, which as you know is practically on the platform. Wonderful views of the station. Inspired me to write a story which I entered into the Bridport competition this year. Won't win, of course, but I didn't half enjoy writing it, just as I enjoyed reading your gloriously nostalgic poem.

Author's Reply:


Pigeons in George Square Glasgow (posted on: 24-11-08)
Walter Scott, Queen Victoria, Prince Albert, poet Robert Burns, inventor James Watt, chemist Thomas Graham and politicians William Gladstone and Robert Peel must now live among and endure the attention of the feral pigeons.

Even in November the randy cock pigeons of George Square swagger around the streets, fluffing display feathers, though their iridescent shine - dirty and tattered is surely quite unattractive, even accompanied by a continuous, 'vecooo! vecooo!'. The hens, weary of a long season of copulating and breeding, just carry on scratching around the stone desert of the square, seeking discarded sandwiches, bits of pizza crust, almost empty crisp packets, the least crumb. All day these urban rock doves fly and strut, fly and strut, some on mere stumps of feet. They are the scavengers of a decadent society, somehow holding on to life by Spending every hour in the same repetitive activity, day after day walking, Pecking, flying up to avoid unheedful feet, flying down after another's windfall, Shitting, squabbling, roosting, sleeping, waking Only to begin again the sordid struggle with existence for another blank day in the grey square. Where will they go if the rain of rubbish ceases? Back to their native rocks and cliffs and the eternal note of sadness sung by wave upon shore, Leaving the urban wreckage to other desperate gatherers of abandoned scraps.
Archived comments for Pigeons in George Square Glasgow
Sunken on 25-11-2008
Pigeons in George Square Glasgow
Hello Mr. Corin. I've never really thought about the meaning of a pigeon's life before. It does seem a bit pointless doesn't it? Then again...

'Spending every hour in the same repetitive activity,'

It doesn't sound that different to ours. I do draw the line at crapping on complete strangers tho. Apparently that does go on in certain parks around these here. It has a name but I can't remember what it is. Imagine that tho... Going to a park in the dead of night to shit on a complete stranger. Ahem. I feel as if I've gone astray with this comment. I do apologise. Please don't make me think too much. A cracking write. Deserves more attention. I blame bad positioning and Girls Aloud. Thank you.

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geisha girls 4 - spice girls 2

Author's Reply:
THankyou Mr Sunken - I see that you have hit the sub-text right on the nose again. I wouldn't have done that if I was you though - when it comes global credit crunch old Sub Text is a mighty big shitter!

David


Better Once Than Never (posted on: 14-11-08)
A writing group exercise based on proverbs :- "Better once than never, for never too late." Petruchio's version of 'Better late than never' from 'The Taming of the Shrew'

We are old to be playing this game, All its prizes behind us, There is No need, No point, In starting all over again. Yet not to be playing, To rest content With the trophies of the past Seems like accepting The easy ways of the Lotus Eaters. I will not pause and be content to rust unburnished. Whether for prize or no I set out to climb these enchanted slopes. Though we are parted by ocean and land And have just this one chance To consumate love, I will play This ancient, dangerous game. Better once than never, for never too late.
Archived comments for Better Once Than Never
Sunken on 16-11-2008
Better Once Than Never
Hello Mr. Corin. When you think of it, taming shrews isn't that impressive is it? Taming a lion, now that's something to write home about. Given that you still have your hands of course. Ahem. I enjoyed your piece. It made me think. That'll bloody teach ya won't it! (-;

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last shadow puppets 3 - orville the duck 2

Author's Reply:


Discarded Summer (posted on: 10-11-08)
A Walking Crab the Dog Poem

At our feet lay A thick accumulation Of discarded summer - Dirty yellow, brown And the occasional splash of red. Crab the Dog scampered Happily over it. I, in my wellingtons, Waded noisily through The seasons detritus. The Celts were surely right To think of this as the year's end With summer lying upon the ground And all its fruits harvested, Even though it is a bleak Time of year to be celebrating a new one. We face now A slow descent into darkness - Into that 'drear-nighted December' Of John Keats. Crab the Dog cares not, As happy to walk through Gloomy winter evenings, Depressing drizzle, Slushy snow, As through the dazzling Splendour of high summer. His world of rich smells And fascinating sounds, To him, Is as exciting now As ever summer was. Living always in the present The circling of the seasons, The ceaseless unwinding of time Trouble him not. So - Let the dark days come, There is always Christmas, Even though one day There will be a New Year - Celtic or Roman, With no Christmas in it.
Archived comments for Discarded Summer
Sunken on 11-11-2008
Discarded Summer
Hello Mr. Corin. I like this more than thick toast with loads of butter. The opening is a corker and no mistake. Here are a few more things I like:- vision express, spearmint, joy division, hula hoops and space hopping. Thanks Corin. I hope that helped.

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yes sir, i can rain-dance, but i'll need an overcoat

Author's Reply:
Dearest Sunken - I think I am more of a fried bread man myself - preferably in pork dripping. Of course Crab the dog likes anything - toast, fried bread, ham or a nice slice of sunken poet.


David

barenib on 13-11-2008
Discarded Summer
Corin, I enjoyed this and liked the contrast between the dog's happy acceptance of whatever the time of year with the ever constant human weighing up of everything. I'm intrigued by the slightly mysterious ending with 'no Christmas' - when we're no longer here, perhaps? John.

Author's Reply:
HI John - Thankyou for the comment - yes that is thenature of dogs - treat them well - i.e. feed them and take them out and they give you loyalty and devotion - happy todo whatever you are doing - Crab loves helping with the weeding! I dig them up, he catches them, kills them and then gives them a decent burial - usually right where I have just dug them up!
As tothe poem -yes I was thinking that one New Year I will die before Christmas comes round again, but if you count Celtic and Roman New years it can only happen if you die between Halloween and Christmas day!

BestWishes

David


An Historic Day - 5th November 2008 (posted on: 10-11-08)
To those of us who were there it feels like the sixties all over again.

It's a bad habit this - Weeping openly on public transport. Yet I don't feel ashamed of it, Rather the opposite, Proud to have A poet's sensibility and insight Into the ordinary and momentous. On a London to Newcastle coach I saw the probability of A drowned city And a broken world. Today, on a Newcastle to Glasgow express Reading an historic edition Of my daily paper, I see the possibility Of a new one. The tears were for all those Black Americans Queuing patiently To vote For the final end of A long injustice And the hope That together Black and white May yet save the world.
Archived comments for An Historic Day - 5th November 2008
Jolen on 10-11-2008
An Historic Day - 5th November 2008
Well, David, I was just a wee lass in the 60's but I caught the bug, freedom, revolution and love are ingrained in me. I enjoyed this piece and feel that you have spoken what so many of us are feeling. I know I wept when Obama won and I pray that the light he's shining burns bright for all of us and for a long time to come.

blessings,

Jolen

Author's Reply:
We'll you'll just have to get out here and find yourself a nice long-hared young man and celebrate by making love not war!

David

littleditty on 10-11-2008
An Historic Day - 5th November 2008
David - you brought tears to my eye - sweetly and simply told xx

Author's Reply:
Dear LD - I am sorry to have made you cry, but you were not the only one to do soon thatday - I cried again all through the acceptance speech.

David

admin on 10-11-2008
An Historic Day - 5th November 2008
Nice - I liked it a lot. And remember vividly the civil rights movement of the 60s. Perhaps it wasn't all in vain after all, eh?

Author's Reply:
THankyou Admin. The civil rights movement of the 60s was never in vainbut this is its final triumph.

David

len on 12-11-2008
An Historic Day - 5th November 2008
LOvely thoughts, David...I too felt the spirit of the sixties in the outcome of this histopric election. I once read that there is less difference in the dna of the entire human race than there is in a single group of Chimps. I for one am thrilled to see a fellow Irish-American as my president.. :o)..len

Author's Reply:

delph_ambi on 12-11-2008
An Historic Day - 5th November 2008
Moving poem that encapsulates the hope that so much of the world is feeling now.

Author's Reply:


Sixtieth Eve October 21st 2008 (posted on: 23-10-08)
"You are old father David," the Blue Poet said , "And your beard is more silver than bronze; "Yet you persist writing words straight out of your head "And singing such nonsense in songs."

On the eve of events Is the right time to consider their significance. It is nearly Samhain Eve And the time for blood lettings. Let my blood first. The years have rendered me a suitable sacrifice, Nothing can harm now. I see the dark sky Over the house roof And that quiet place Where a long peace dwells. Not love nor betrayal can affect me more. New Ages end in old age. It will always come to this, Scorn Time as much as you will. I can enter the roundness of water And the ear of corn. They hold the key to whatever future Remains. Time will have his way. This day, like many another, Will fade into the darkness of history And tomorrow will shine bright for a while, Until all memory of memories has faded And only bare confusion returns.
Archived comments for Sixtieth Eve October 21st 2008
TexasLady on 23-10-2008
Sixtieth Eve October 21st 2008
I enjoyed this poem...and I'm old enough to identify with it...

Let my blood first.
The years have rendered me a suitable sacrifice,
Nothing can harm now.

Very well written! I'm curious about the lines preceding the poem. Who wrote them?

Linda


Author's Reply:
Hi Linda - thankyou for your comments - something seems to have gone wrong at UKA as my modification of the poem and previous comments have disappeared.

The four line verse is something writen by me based on he famous poem 'You are old Father William' and written in response to another Texas Lady on Creative Poems:-

http://www.creative-poems.com/poem.php?id=207866 who commented on this:-

In My Youth October 1968

"In my youth", said the Young Man,
"I would often walk in the rain,
But now the sky is always blue
And the sun has scorched my brain."

"In my youth", said the Young Man,
"I was often sad
But now I'm a burbling bundle of joy
And I'm going slowly mad."

"In my youth", said the Young Man,
"The people were in chains
But now they're made of chocolate
And melt when it rains."

"O In my youth", said the Young Man,
I yearned for to be free
But now I yearn for nothing more
Than truth to evade me


In My Youth Revisited October 2008(A bit of poetic licence - my 60th Birthday is on the 22nd!)

"In my youth", said the Old Man,
"I would often run and dance,
But I know now it's no use at all
And best all left to chance."

"In my youth", said the Old Man,
"I knew so very much
But now I know I nothing know
Of life and love and such."

"In my youth", said the Old Man,
"The people were all rich
But they spent it all on cars and bling
And brought us to this pitch."

"O In my youth", said the Old Man,
I yearned for to be free,
But now I yearn for one thing more
To make an end of me.



David


Sea and Moor and Sky (posted on: 20-10-08)
Another writing group exercise. A prize to anyone identifying the place. I think that there are enough clues in it.

In this place many skies meet sea and moor, Stretching high and wide over hills And across a castle guarded North Sea. Rosy fingered clouds Cover dawn's approach Dappling grey waves with pink flecks. Mackerel skies mirror tideless sands, An inverted beach rippled By last nights waves. Subtly shifting banks of rack, Like rainbows in shades of grey, Settle upon cold sea and hide the moorland tops. Cloud blankets, Stretching from horizon to distant hill tops, Fail to warm cold days. Sometimes pantheistic mist Permeates everywhere, So that sky and sea and moor are all one. Or sun-bright days Spray infinite shades of greens and blues Upon floors and walls of paradise. Out of the West banks of gold lined clouds Mount the moors and threaten Paradise with hell. Afterwards high mare's tails And wisps of cirrus Glow red and golden in the mercy of evening. A fading luminosity Silhouettes hills into monstrous shapes Passing its glow to an iridescent sea Constellations appear in the evening pageant And stars like dust Cloud into a Milky Way. When black night settles Only the wash of waves And distant lighthouse flash keep the world real.
Archived comments for Sea and Moor and Sky
red-dragon on 20-10-2008
Sea and Moor and Sky
This is superb in its wonderful descriptions. At a guess, I would suggest Dunstanburgh Castle, or maybe Bamburgh. I see from Google earth that both remain unspoilt. Anyway, wherever it is, the poem's a gem. Ann

Author's Reply:
Congratulations Anne - you are spot on - What do you want a pivture of Bamburgh Castle or Dunstanburgh Castle. That whole Coastline from Craster to Holy Island is just mgcal.


David

Sunken on 22-10-2008
Sea and Moor and Sky
Blimey, that Ms. Dragon is a bit clever. I thought it was my late gran's bungalow. You've described her wallpaper to a T and no mistake. Nice one, Mr. Corin. Thank you. Hello?

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devon 3 - cola 4

Author's Reply:
Well - that is how it happened - this big gang of Ts came round and threatened me, demanding a horror story so I immediately thought of your gran's wallpaper - by the time I got to the end they had all run away bar one, so I poured boiling water over him and drank him up!

David

discopants on 22-10-2008
Sea and Moor and Sky
Ah yes, I was going to suggest the castle opposite Holy Island (I can never remember which one of the two it is)- the Newcastle to Edinburgh train journey is worth the money for the views alone!



Author's Reply:
The one opposite Holy Islnd is Bamburgh. And bit down the coast is Dunstanburgh and Warkworth.

David


Self Portrait in Mirror (with cups) (posted on: 19-10-08)
A writing workshop exercise - These sems to be very god at stimulating ideas you would never have thought of else. The blue text are the deletions my tutor suggested. Any comments?

That's me, The real me. Not that inverted, sullied flesh, Right handed and left brained, Standing there back to the camera As if cold shoulders could slough off sin and failure, As if getting old were an achievement, As if surviving on lucky feet Were something to be proud of. Why is he holding those two empty glass mugs? Are they graphic metaphors? The purple one never filled, The blue one drained to the dregs. Behind the looking glass Time goes backwards. When he gets to 1967 Perhaps he will fill The purple mug with courage And empty that cupful Of despair Into the River Exe. Then, The figure before the mirror Will turn around And face the camera.
Archived comments for Self Portrait in Mirror (with cups)
teifii on 20-10-2008
Self Portrait in Mirror (with cups)
That workshop really paid off, David. It's a great poem. The river Exe was once my receptacle too for depositing despair etc.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Yes Daff - it is something about the randomness of the exercises that makes you think of things you would never normally have written about.

You had two cut out pictures to look at and then write a short poem about each picture then a longer poem called :-

Self Portrait in (pic 1) with (pic 2)

Thankyou for commenting.

CRab had to go to the dentist this week for a root filling!

David

red-dragon on 20-10-2008
Self Portrait in Mirror (with cups)
Very unual take on this and a great way to stimulate the thought processes. I think I have a purple mug somewhere, too, which I never had the courage to fill at the right time. Ann

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Ann - the exercise came from a poem by Collette Bryce called Self Portrait in the Dark (with cigarette).

David

littleditty on 22-10-2008
Self Portrait in Mirror (with cups)
i liked this too David, and the other Portrait one which i will go and read again - liked the purple and blue of this , together is that ultraviolet? Good expression xx

Author's Reply:
THankyou LD - perhaps you might like to comment on the edits suggested by the tutor.
THat sounds like a good idea for apoem - Portrait in Ultraviolet - revealing all he things that visible light does not show!

David

TexasLady on 23-10-2008
Self Portrait in Mirror (with cups)
Very well written! and I agree completly with the additions. Good work. Linda

Author's Reply:

TexasLady on 23-10-2008
Self Portrait in Mirror (with cups)
...ooops...sorry, I meant I agree with the deletions... But, I've read it several times, and I still like it! Linda

Author's Reply:


The House Where I Was Born (posted on: 10-10-08)
Started out as a listing exercise in my Writing Poetry Course.


I remember, I remember
That Eighteen Ninety Eight
Terraced house where I was born.
Fourrooms and a scullery.
Two bedrooms upstairs.
Each with a cast iron fireplace that worked
And old fittings for gas lights on the wall.
It was luxurious being ill with measles,
Lying in Mums bed, the fire blazing away
And Aunt Dainy sitting there reading me stories.
Normally there were no fires.
In winter Jack Frost created wonderful patterns on the window panes -
The inside of the window panes.
Getting dressed in bed,
Under two eiderdowns
And all the blankets you could find
Was a skill quicklyacquired.

Downstairs
A front room,a kitchen,
And a scullery.
The front room was sacrosanct.
No one went in there.
It gotused for the Coronation Party,
I remember that.
Later it became Aunt Dainy's boudoir,
A Victorian relic.
It too had a fireplace,
But an ancient electric fire provided the heat.
The wiring was very dodgy.
Uncle Tom's gerry-built power supply
From light switch to socket
Looked neat,
But if you put your hand
On the wire
Half the heating was coming off the cable.

The kitchen had a black iron range
With indoorcoal cupboard
And a built in dresser.
Really it served as living room
And
Dining room,
The setee inconveniently
Behind the square oak dining table.
In winter four of us
Huddled round
As close as possible
To the fire.
Curtains and long stuffed sausages of felt
Tried to keep out the cold
From the rest of the house.
The iron range was great for making toast.
This room was the heart of a family,
Listening to 'Sing Something Simple'
On the old steam radio,
Or 'Workers Playtime'
Or my favourites -
'Listen with Mother'
And
'Uncle Mac's Children's Favourites'
The excitement when this mundane entertainment
Was replaced with a television.
Now the telly
Not the fire
Was the centre of the family.
At school I could now speak knowledgably
With everyone else about
'Robin Hood' and 'Waggon Train' and 'Emergency Ward Ten'.

In the single story off shoot was the outside toilet
And scullery.
Strictly speaking the scullery was the kitchen.
The old ceramic sink
with a cold tap but
No hot tap;
The gas copper in the corner
And the redundant brick-built, coal-fired one
In the alcove between the outside loo
And the back of the scullery;
The grey gas cooker;
The perforated zinc food safe;
The curtain below the sink
Hiding oven cleaner, brillo pads, vim and washing soda;
The wobbly draining board and metal table;
The uneven, lino-covered, concrete floor;
The worn step
Beneath the back door;
The green casement windows that no longer opened.

Even now this little house
Is loaded with
Memory and feelings -
They all bring back some event of childhood -
Sitting in the sink to be washed;
Standing at it to clean teeth or wash hair;
Lighting the gas rings in winter
To warm the otherwise cold offshoot;
The copper bubbling away on a Saturday night
To heat hot water for a large tin bath
In front of the kitchen fire.
The excitement when the brick copper
Was finally taken out;
When the iron rangewas replaced with a
Tiled fireplace in faded,
Degenerate Art Noveau,
Though itstill made good toast and
Excellent baked potatoes;
When the Ascot water heater
Was installed;
The day the flood water
Crept slowly up the backdoor step
Then flooded over
To float lino and mats;
Sitting at the old enamalled table
Shining shoes
With the brush marked 'BROWN'
Or the unmarked one for black polish,
Or making rock cakes and jelly with Mum,
Or with an expanded chemistry set
Converting the scullery into an unlicensed laboratory,
Then later the same with back bedroom
Making explosives from sulphur
And potassium permanganate,
Or distilling alcohol over a naked flame,
Building astronomical telescopes from
Cardboard tubes, dismantled microscopes
And optician's lenses.

Thinking about it now that little old house
Contained all my formative influences:-

Mother;
Poverty;
Cleanliness;
Science;
Love.
Archived comments for The House Where I Was Born
Sunken on 12-10-2008
The House Where I Was Born
Hello Mr. Corin. I can't help but think that the now generation is missing out. It's all just become too easy. Perhaps the credit crunch will put pay to that. I believe rickets is making a comeback... Was he any good? An informative and thought provoking piece, in my sunky opinion. And now, if you don't mind, I really do need a piss. Thank you.

s
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k
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he really does need a piss

Author's Reply:
Dear Mr Sunken,
Turner Flashbacks Ltd are very sorry that our product should have had an unfortunate diuretic effect upon you. Perhaps you have been skim reading this rather long product of ours. It has been reported that skimming can be rather dangerous and might indeed have had such a side effect upon you. We will submit your report to our research team. Please keep in touch and if any future products of ours should have any similar effects be sure to let us know. WE do not need samples as we can produce our own quite adequately.

Yours

Mr David Turner

Customer Dissector

Turner Flashbacks and Horrorabilia Ltd
Memory Lane
Auldlangsyne
Arghshire


Blood Harvest (posted on: 06-10-08)
Now dark Autumn is really here. Ostensibly at least, about the Celtic Harvest Festivals and the Celtic Wheel August 1st - Lammas - Grain harvest Equinox September 21st - Mabon - Fruit harvest October 31st - Samhain - Meat Harvest. If you feel a reference to something more portentous you could be right.

Tonight, For the first time, I walked out Of the kitchen door Into my garden And smelt The scent of dark Autumn. No more warm days. No more Mellow fruitfulness, The second harvest is all gathered in. Instead damp cold, Mould and decay, Fireworks, Bonfires and blood Are in the air. Over it all Orion the hunter Strides through the eastern sky Seeking his share Of the Earth's bountifulness. The wheel turns and Now We must all prepare For Death's Scythe.
Archived comments for Blood Harvest
Sunken on 07-10-2008
Blood Harvest
Hello Mr. Corin. There is a sense of foreboding about this that seems to mirror the current climate. I blame fat cats. last year, at this time, I accidentally blamed flat caps. I shall never make this mistake again. A tip top write, in my sunken opinion.

s
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k
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houston, we have a postal delivery

Author's Reply:
Yes Sunken - I have Four Bodings too! The first is my wife, she is always boding me, then there's the dog he bodes very loudly in the middle of the night and wakes me up to let him out into the garden, the other two are a bode foot and a bode head - but I think that had something to with some bode wine last night!

Thanks for the comment - listened to the news this morning and these bodings jut seem to be getting worse and worse.
Thank God (who doe s not exist) that I'll be out of it soon - certainly before the bodings get too big to cope with!


Bode Wishes

David

Doughnut on 07-10-2008
Blood Harvest
It must be really chilly in the UK, with the banks folling like autumn leaves. The only crunch in Bulgaria is when Lili Ivanova, our septuagenarian diva,shakes her old bones on the podium.

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 08-10-2008
Blood Harvest
Hi David i saved this to read right now -'tonight i walked out' -i'm back from a Celtic band in a bar in Brazil - and i think it was one of the best shindigs - they were really great ! Thanks for a great read - nature in every line - and evoked that smell of the first days of Autumn, the days of equinox and approaching winter,even though it's early Spring here! Cold enough though - so it is now with me -thank you -i feel a poem coming on - cheers David xxx

Author's Reply:
THankyou Little Ditty - Did not realise you lived in Brazil - sounds great!

David


Prado (posted on: 06-10-08)
I think I overdosed on culture on holiday last month! The Prado is the National Gallery in Madrid You can see Jeff Koons 'Art' here:- http://www.cloudform.com/wp-content/66210137-venedig-dog-jeff-koons1.jpeg http://artobserved.com/artimages/2007/11/jeff-koons-hanging-heart.jpg http://www.govindagallery.com/pages/exhibitions/seliger_05/seliger_gallery/images/jeff_koons.jpg These were unbelievably actually hanging in the public rooms of Versailles Palace.

Wandering around the Prado I found myself becoming angrier and angrier. Every room, filled with with magnificent painting Invoked my ire. El Greco's Crucifixion from a view Down a long corridor And through several doorways Was so real, So cleverly executed, It seemed that Christ, In three dimensional reality, Was about to fall off his cross To lie bloodied and dead Upon the museum floor Before the eyes of astonished onlookers. In another room Long dead aristocrats Flaunted heir arrogance and wealth; A child of thirteen Sneered magnificently At generations of voyeurs In his silver satin suit. Everywhere fat babies With stumpy wings Fluttered around Sanctified and sanctimonious figures. On display here Is a long history of propaganda And indoctrination. The genius on display Is beyond all doubt. Even artists I have never heard of Or have no memory for Are skilled far beyond the ordinary. Sometimes, its true, The shepherds look At infant Jesus Not quite with wonder and astonishment But as if they are thinking, "Why, it's just another ugly baby, Red faced, squashed ears and crying!" Irritatingly Some fanciful critic Comments that the artist Uses Christ's birth scene As an excuse To paint the Etruscan landscape. But the purpled hills seem deliberately vague Compared to the dominating Rock of the Nativity. No this is clearly indoctrination Conforming to strict orders - A sell out - Or else blind stupidity To the obligations of real art. Compared with such collaboration The defiance of Van Gogh Or Gauguin Are so much greater. To hear the call and just follow it, Wherever it leads, That is artistic nobility - True nobility. Even Picasso Came to feel that Commercial success Degraded his work - Painting innumerable scrawls In a vain attempt to Devalue his complete oeuvre. Now artistic frauds Seize the opportunity, Banking on deliberate obfuscation And absurdity. The more incomprehensible The more meaningless the work, The more it will sell for. Jeff Koons large inflated balloons Like giant childish toys In the magnificent rooms Of Versailles Palace Shout loudly That the Emperor Has no clothes. Half a preserved cow Cannot really be worth A Michelangelo statue Or A Holbein painting; Even if the latter are Indoctrination Or Propaganda.
Archived comments for Prado
teifii on 07-10-2008
Prado
I totally agree with all the content but the breaking up into lines irritated me. To me it read as prose, but very good prose.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Daff - do you think that I broke it up into lines that were just too short. Or that it is simply journalistic and unpoetic in content and expression, - here it is as prose:-

Wandering around the Prado I found myself becoming angrier and angrier. Every room, filled with with magnificent painting invoked my ire. El Greco's Crucifixion from a view down a long corridor and through several doorways was so real, so cleverly executed, it seemed that Christ, in three dimensional reality, was about to fall off his cross to lie bloodied and dead upon the museum floor before the eyes of astonished onlookers.

In another room long dead aristocrats flaunted their arrogance and wealth; a child of thirteen sneered magnificently at generations of voyeurs in his silver satin suit.

Everywhere fat babies with stumpy wings fluttered around sanctified and sanctimonious figures. On display here is a long history of propaganda and indoctrination.

The genius on display is beyond all doubt. Even artists I have never heard of or have no memory for are skilled far beyond the ordinary. Sometimes, its true, the shepherds look at infant Jesus not quite with wonder and astonishment but as if they are thinking, "Why, it's just another ugly baby, red faced squashed ears and crying!"

Irritatingly some fanciful critic comments that the artist uses Christ's birth scene as an excuse to paint the Etruscan landscape. But the purpled hills seem deliberately vague compared to the dominating Rock of the Nativity. No – this is clearly indoctrination conforming to strict orders - a sell out - or else blind stupidity to the obligations of real art.

Compared with such collaboration the defiance of Van Gogh or Gauguin are so much greater. To hear the call and just follow it, wherever it leads, that is artistic nobility - true nobility. Even Picasso came to feel that commercial success degraded his work - painting innumerable scrawls in a vain attempt to devalue his complete oeuvre. Now artistic frauds seize the opportunity, banking on deliberate obfuscation and absurdity. The more incomprehensible the more meaningless the work, the more it will sell for. Jeff Koons large inflated balloons like giant childish toys in the magnificent rooms of Versailles Palace shout loudly that the Emperor has no clothes. Half a preserved cow cannot really be worth a Michelangelo statue or a Holbein painting; even if the latter are indoctrination or propaganda.

David

teifii on 07-10-2008
Prado
Much better like that. One isn't diverted from the qyestion in hand by wondering about how it should be read. Actually a good article, I think.
Daff

Author's Reply:


Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam (posted on: 26-09-08)
Written after visiting Toledo and Cordoba Cathedrals.

Strange reallly that the glory of God Should be so expensive - Even his greater glory. Cathedrals all over the world Stuffed with the same kind Of expensive tat As can be seen here In this beautiful cathedral of Toledo. These priest's chausibles And bishop's mitres Embroidered magnificently on cloth of gold With silver thread; Emerald studded silver crossses; Staves of gold; Bejewelled chalices; Diamond decorated ecclesiastical crowns. To add to this The collection of 'Holy Pictures'. Rooms full of El Grecos Sanctifying with his art Cardinals and saints. A glrius talent Sold to the Holy Catholic Church For common lucre. Perhaps he believed it all And thought his talent Well served and well paid. A good investment by the Church though - Just these few rooms Must be worth millions of pounds. Counting all the churches in all Christendom As well as the Vatican's great horde Would amass enough bullion To fill a fair sized vault in Fort Knox. Why was poverty such a difficult vow to keep compared with Chastity and obedience. A.M.D.G.
Archived comments for Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam

No comments archives found!
La Rambla (posted on: 26-09-08)
Inspired by a beautiful black woman walking down La Rambla in Barcelona recently.

I have seen the bright world in the morning Head held high and beautiful Walking down gold streets of dawning Thinking Fortune dutiful; Known noons of dryness kneading All the blood from head shaped stones; Written on the world by bleeding; Sang of love to would be crones; Felt the cool translucent evening Light a glowing sky and sea; Thought life interfused with meaning But black night falls too easily; Realised at last that nothing Outlives day's bright mystery. All that is is quietly waiting Insulting night and history.
Archived comments for La Rambla
teifii on 26-09-2008
La Rambla
Very musical David, but I lost the meaning in places.
'thinking Fortune dutiful' -- I had trouble imagining that one could think Fortune 'dutiful' and as for the would be crones -- is there anyone who wants to be a crone?


Author's Reply:
Thankyou forthose thoughtful commenets Daff - I was perhaps stretching the meaning to get the rhyme ("Words thattear and strain to rhyme)

It is loosely based on this verse of 'Lay your Sleeping Head My Love' by W H Auden:-

Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of sweetness show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find the mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness see you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.


'thinking Fortune dutiful' was meant to refer to the optimism of youth

And 'would be crones' was meant to be in the sense that Time dictates that all beautiful young girls would become crones in the end .


But as you observe I was really going for the music in this.

love

David



Toad Watching - with apologies to Philip Larkin (posted on: 05-09-08)
Another old poem from a period of unemployment - the Larkin reference is to two poems of his - 'Toads' and 'Toads Revisited' particularly the second which gives an opposite view to my poem.:- http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/544.html http://plagiarist.com/poetry/4886/

Being toadless On a park bench Gives you a different perspective. The toady ones, walking around In their grey suits and slightly immodest ties, Or prim skirts And nearly revealing blouse, Don't seem that content. Lunch hours little time last And wearing their sense of power For a while outside Doesn't seem much compensation For all the inside hours. The emperors clothes are revealing; Living without the illusions of power Other peoople's power seems pointless Like pedalling on a powerful exercise bike - The world pantingly going nowhere While the toads get a free ride.
Archived comments for Toad Watching - with apologies to Philip Larkin
orangedream on 06-09-2008
Toad Watching - with apologies to Philip Larkin
Wow - there is so much to take in with this one, dear David. So am going to go and re-read it.

It is certainly quite a 'unique' poem, if you know what I mean;-)

Loved that line:-

"And nearly revealing blouse, ..."

Says it all, really:-)

Love,
Tina xx


Author's Reply:
You should really read the Larkin poems first:-) I am just spoging off him really 🙂

Love

David OX


Sandalwood Pyre (posted on: 05-09-08)
BBC News 21st May 1991: Bomb kills India's leader Rajiv Gandhi Rajiv Gandhi, the 46-year-old former Indian prime minister, has been assassinated. He was campaigning for the Congress Party on the second day of voting in the world's largest democratic election when a powerful bomb, hidden in a basket of flowers, exploded killing him instantly. Hindu cremation is supposed to be necessary in order to free the soul from its bodily prison.

They are burning souls today In the sweet smoke of Sandalwood. All over the world the sad smoke diffuses And a million souls soar up with the dancing flames. Into the hot air the searing haze hovers And the image of a weeping sun burns my eyes. The atmosphere is humid with suffering and sorrow. Among so many souls, how is one soul ever to be free? 24th May 1991
Archived comments for Sandalwood Pyre
orangedream on 06-09-2008
Sandalwood Pyre
Quite beautiful David, not only to the ear, but to the eye as well.

A chilling and memorable last line:-

"Among so many souls, how is one soul ever to be free?"

Tina x



Author's Reply:


More Haste Less Speed (posted on: 05-09-08)
Aunt Dainy (real name Annie Le Dain) was not a real aunt but in fact my father's nanny. She looked after him and 4 siblings after her mother died. My Grandfather Captain Turner was a friend of her father Captain Le Dain a Jersey port pilot. When her mother died she came to work for the Turners as a nanny. Passed on to different generations for many years. A few years after my father died in 1950 she came to help my mother bring us up - so I was raised by two women! Just like a lesbian family! She was bright as a button and fit and healthy well into her nineties only suffering dementia at the very end when she died aged 101.

I was rushing around the house this morning, Late as usual, Trying to make up time And everything was going wrong - Cups falling on the floor, Glasses breaking, Essential items left behind. Suddenly she came alive again! I heard her old voice, "More haste less speed!" That wise white-haired head, One hundred and forty years old now, Was smiling at me As she always did. The love was still in her eyes. "Yes Aunt Dainy," I replied, "You are quite right." I calmed down, Slowed down, Thought what I was doing. Aunt Dainy sat down And carried on with her crocheting Later I saw her go out In her soft velvet trilby, Her loose belted camel-hair overcoat, Red fox stole And sensible shoes, Striding firmly up the street On her ninety tear old legs. "Isn't she marvellous?" everyone said. Yes she certainly was marvellous But not for being old and fit And very determined, Just for loving children Who did not belong to her; For sacrificing marriage To her old mother; For living through two World Wars - One under German occupation; For facing spinsterdom And poverty And homelessness With cheerful fortitude. I loved her And still love her And wish she were here To tell me Every time I need to be reminded, "More haste less speed!"
Archived comments for More Haste Less Speed
Jolen on 06-09-2008
More Haste Less Speed
David,
I enjoyed this piece so very much. You paint a very real and accessible portrait of your 'aunt' and I'm sure she's pleased with it and watching over you still.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
THankyou Jolen

orangedream on 06-09-2008
More Haste Less Speed
Pure magic, this, dear David. How well you describe Aunt Dainy. I can see her - red fox fur as well. She sounded a remarkable woman. As a child, you were undoubtedly very lucky and if Aunt Dainy knew you as an adult, I am sure she would have been proud of a job well done.

Funny the things that stick in one's mind. One of my dear old nan's favourite sayings was, "A stitch in time saves nine!" Bless her.

Enjoyed. Thank you, David.

Tina x



Author's Reply:
Thankyou Tina - I will send you a picture of her.

David

teifii on 08-09-2008
More Haste Less Speed
A lovely tribute, David. I'm sure she'd be delighted.
Putting on my instinctive proof reading hat 'tear old legs. ' she ould be 'year old legs. '


Author's Reply:


''And Each Slow Dusk a Drawing down of Blinds'' (posted on: 05-09-08)
THis time of year and this kind of weather always make me recite Keats's Ode `To Autumn' in my head. It is a much sadder poem than it seems, for Keats - a qualified doctor - knew he was dying of consumption (TB) and was unlikely to live to see another Autumn and so it proved to be. The title comes from Wifrid Owen's 'Anthem for Doomed Youth' My acknowledgement to James Whitworth for some editing suggestions

This evening Summer lingers on England's lap. All day great rocks and towers Have drifted over her face As if like Burnham Wood Coming to Dunsinane, The Alps were coming to Northumbria. In the light of a hidden sun I saw a great open-mawed red dragon Seeking easy prey to consume As it ascended above the western horizon. Above me an indigo-blue curtain Drew across the sky - A perpetual image of mourning For the long lost dead. These are Keatsian days, Beautiful and unbearably poignant; Days for saying good-bye to the world; Days for letting go; Accepting the inevitable. This evening sky Is an ode to the world's passing; The dark rising in the east A funeral to Folly; The red glow in the west A lament for the loss of a bright world; That single star in the sad South Is great Jove, Ablaze with anger And determination for revenge.
Archived comments for ''And Each Slow Dusk a Drawing down of Blinds''
Sunken on 05-09-2008
And Each Slow Dusk a Drawing down of Blinds
Hello Mr. Corin. What a corker of a poem. I liked the intro too. I am as ignorant as they come, so it's good to learn something. I shall no doubt return to this. A tip top piece, in my sunken opinion.

s
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k
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she was pushed into love

Author's Reply:
Well Sunk - this I consider to be the ultimate accolade! Forget Nibs or ratings or Nominations - A comment from Sunken without a flippant remark or an hilarious aside is the greatest praise of all. I really appreciate your humour Mr Steve Holt but this is something else!

Warm Wishes

David

Jolen on 06-09-2008
And Each Slow Dusk a Drawing down of Blinds
Hi David,
I've read your poem several times now and like Sunken, I get more out of each read. This has some beautiful lines and the overall sadness is, as in the Keats poem, haunting. But the good news is that every Winter has a spring, and for every drawn blind, another is opened.
An accomplished piece of work, which I enjoyed, in spite of the heavier theme.
blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Well it is ttue about Winters :

"O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? "

but is it true about Dark Ages?

It is time to start asembling the 'Foundation' and I hope that someone somewhere is at the task now.

Read Issac Asimov's 'Foundation' or else make hay (and love) while the sun shines.

And (too late for you and I ) take this advice from Philip Larkin:-

"Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself"
Love

David

orangedream on 06-09-2008
And Each Slow Dusk a Drawing down of Blinds
David, a brilliant piece of writing, no doubt. Wilfred Owen - one of my favourite poets.

As Jolen says, despite the darker undertones, this poem is rich in wonderful imagery.

Amongst my favourite lines:-

"I saw a great open-mawed red dragon
Seeking easy prey to consume
As it ascended above the western horizon. "

I could just see that cloud formation in my head. You described it so aptly.

And these:-

"The red glow in the west
A lament for the loss of a bright world;
That single star in the sad South ..."

This one is certainly going on my list of faves.

Much love,
Tina x






Author's Reply:
Tina - I think I probably need not explain this to you but I hope that you find the detailed thinking behind it interesting. This is about more than saying goodbye to Summer. The loss that I forsee is so great that even Owen's 'Anthem for Doomed Youth' will seem like a kids poem. I have an horrific vision that America is going to elect a 72 year man as President with a loony woman as vice president - when he dies a couple of years into his term of office she will do all she can to hasten the four horseman of the apocalypse.

George Bush has been a disasterous American President - especially considering that he should not legally have been elected in the first place, and I have no doubt that McCain will be as bad. I hateGeorge Bush with a passion that is to be reserved only for those in the Ninth Circle of Dante's hell which is where he will end up (if there is any place such as hell) along with Hitler and Stalin. Dante himself put Judas in that ninth circle. Judas merely betrayed Christ but in so doing gave him the opportunity for Martyrdom he was seeking, Hitler only tried to kill the Jews, Stalin eliminated his own people and his friends and supporters, but Bush has sacrificed the whole world for personal wealth and the hubris of being the most powerful man in the world for a mere 8 years. Still humanity I guess is just doomed and deserves to be so if 200 million supposedly educated Americans can make the same mistake 3 times in a row. The very fact that it is a close possibility just highlights what I have written before:-


That individually humanity
Are wonderfully funny,
Often loving and generous,
Even kind to a fault,
But en masse, no better than a flock of sheep,
Willing to follow the afore abused leaders
Down to the edge of the nearest disaster
And walk straight in


I only really have one subject any more - like Wilfrid Owen who said:-

"My subject is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry is in the pity."

I say:-
My subject is Folly, and the tragedy of Folly. The Poetry is in the tragedy.

love

David

silversun on 07-09-2008
And Each Slow Dusk a Drawing down of Blinds
David,
After reading your explanation in the reply to orangedream's comment, I have to say that I didn't get the whole depth of detail behind the poem, but the apocalyptic dread is certainly in evidence.

Just a couple of things, though:

At the end of the first stanza, the blue seems a bit out of character; unless there is a specific reason for the choice of colour, something more mournful, perhaps? A wide blue curtain reads, to me, like the sky, which is confusing when it is drawn across the sky.
A poetic opening two lines are balanced very well with the hard imagery of the ending, although the repeition of bright is a little awkward to me. Maybe 'Ablaze with anger'.

Those aside, the language here is right up my alley and though the tone is apocalyptic, this is a considered and measured response to what you have seen as a great problem. I like that kind of subtlety.

James


Author's Reply:
hankyou James for those thoughtful comments. The two edits you suggest I fully agree with.

I am changing "wide blue sky" to 'dark blue sky' unless you can suggest something better than 'dark' I need something that emphasizes the copper sulphate blue of an almost night sky.

I dod not notice the two 'brights' and your suggestion is excellent.

You write 'what you have seen as a great problem' as if you don't agree? This is about more than saying goodbye to Summer. The loss that I forsee is so great that even Owen's 'Anthem for Doomed Youth' will seem like a kids poem. The problem I refer to is of course global warming and the apocalypse that you refer to is the coming of a new dark age and probably much worse before we get to the stability of a new dark age. I have an horrific vision that America is going to elect a 72 year man as President with a loony woman as vice president - when he dies a couple of years into his term of office she will do all she can to hasten the four horseman of the apocalypse.

David

teifii on 08-09-2008
And Each Slow Dusk a Drawing down of Blinds
Dispiriting but well written, I think is my verdict. So probably true.
I too was rather thrown by 'wide blue curtain' but most of his I found very effective.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Yes Daff, James noticed that but I have updated it - what do you think?

love

Davids

silversun on 23-09-2008
And Each Slow Dusk a Drawing down of Blinds
Oh no, David, it is not that I don't agree, more that I haven't thought about it. You obviously have since you wrote the poem, whereas I haven't 'seen' it at all really.
With regards to the 'darkling blue curtain' that you have now, I agree that a word more specific than dark would work better, though I don't have one off the top of my head.

James

Author's Reply:

teifii on 25-09-2008
And Each Slow Dusk a Drawing down of Blinds
Yes, better, but how about -- an indigo curtain.
That's me with my painter's hat on.
Daff

Author's Reply:
THankyou Daff - why didn't I think of that??


love

David


Cat on Lap (posted on: 01-09-08)
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter, It isn't just one of your holiday games; You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES. First of all, there's the name that the family use daily, But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular, A name that's peculiar, and more dignified, Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular, Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride? Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum, Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat, Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum - Names that never belong to more than one cat. But above and beyond there's still one name left over, And that is the name that you never will guess; The name that no human research can discover - But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess. From T S Eliot's 'Old Possum's Bool of Practical Cats' So my new kitten will be called Carrie, Charonferrycat and ???????????? Kitten arrives on 25th September for Crab the Dog's Birthday present!

Five cats is a lifetime And my fourth purrs Upon my lap as I write. The first one was but a poor drowned kitten Never to be resurrected Ghosting often through our childhood yearnings. Sammy was the cat of first home Living in our love and in our bed Fulfilling needs that later children met. Whisky, was the family cat, Attacking all intruders, Burglars, friends and and cat sitters alike. Bobby, our inherited cat and Whisky's uneasy companion. Outlasting him in life and affection. The fifth and final Shall be called Charon And ferry us into that good night.
Archived comments for Cat on Lap
teifii on 01-09-2008
Cat on Lap
The intro was so good I almost didn't expect a poem to follow. Nice poem but I do hope Crab doesn't think it's an edible prezzie.
Daff

Author's Reply:
O Crab knows how to behave with cats.

love

David

Sunken on 02-09-2008
Cat on Lap
Let me get this straight, Mr. Corin, you are buying your dog a cat for his birthday? I realise that writers can sometimes be a bit doo-lally, but this is surely beyond the pale and no mistake. I need to go and think about my commitment to said pastime as I do not want to end up like this. And now, if you do not mind, I have a parrot to bid on for my beagle, Bernard. Good day (-;

s
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he once saw a girl chewing gum with her ass

Author's Reply:
Crab the Dog says, "Sunk don't be so foolish,
A dog and cat can become very good friends,
But whoever heard of a dog and a parrot
Coming to more than the worst of bad ends?

The feathers will fly, the fur will come out,
A beak in the eye is sure to cause pain.
Though a bird in the mouth is worth two in a cage,
The barking and squawking will soon start again.

orangedream on 03-09-2008
Cat on Lap
David - I adore this poem. Our cat, we christened Chess, but we call her Chessie (among other things;-) She adopted us as her family when we moved in to this house, seven years ago. She was in a bad way, limping and all, but now she is a black and white bundle of mischievous health.

The last line of your poem blew me away and I loved hearing about all the various cats that have been part of your life.

I do hope your new one settles down OK and makes good friends with your dog!

Tina x

Author's Reply:
Dear Tina,
The new kitten will be called Carrie for his/her everyday name and her proper name will be Charonferrycat and her third name of course only she will know!

love

David

kulabula on 07-09-2008
Cat on Lap
David,

'Smitten by a kitten' I daresay. As a fellow cat lover 'tis obvious that you too are enamoured by the 'luvlies' too! Yeh, totally agree with you on the 'ceremonious' naming of kitties. It's a nice task though but it would help if one knew there 'personalities' first, wouldn't it? Nonetheless, 'Cat on Lap' is a fine structurally flowing write that 'purrfectly' captures the meow-otions of cats as pets ingressing and egressing through our family lifetime.

John

Author's Reply:


Love Weeping (posted on: 22-08-08)
For a friend

Today from far away I heard Great Love weeping, weeping. Beside her on the ground I saw Misery keeping, keeping All his darkest thoughts for her While she was weeping, weeping. And every word that Great Love spoke In pain was steeping, steeping. The only comfort I could bring Was my own weeping, weeping, But nothing stayed dark-shadowed death From his slow creeping, creeping. Now every day, from far away, I still hear weeping, weeping. For ever now I swear my heart Great love is keeping, keeping.
Archived comments for Love Weeping
teifii on 22-08-2008
Love Weeping
Very sad and beautiful, David. I like the effect of the recurring repeated rhyme.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Daff,
I am sure I have read that repetition device somewhere but I cannot track it down - any ideas?

love

Dafydd & Crab

PS Crab was in big trouble today for telling me to kick his football out into the garden - it landed on the greenhouse and broke one of its panes - you should have seen the look on his face when he heard the crash and me swearing - he stood there for five minutes looking at me instead of rushing off to catch it as he usually does!

teifii on 24-08-2008
Love Weeping
Yes, I'm sure you're right and I googled a few repetitions that sounded familiar but none came up. Now that is going to haunt me.
Poor Crab. I bet he thought you'd gone quite mad. Good thing he didn't rush into the glass to get his football. I recently bought Dyfi a big new ball, just small enough to get his jaws round and it bounces in different directions and makes an odd noise. He loves it and so far I have not broken anything with it.
Daff

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 24-08-2008
Love Weeping
Hello Mr. Corin. I'm a big fan of repetition myself. I believe it's in my genes. I do like to live dangerously sometimes tho. This can manifest itself in many ways. This morning, for instance, I will be having three rounds of toast instead of two. Enjoyed the poem.

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report him to the positive police

Author's Reply:

Jen_Christabel on 29-08-2008
Love Weeping
I liked this very much, especially the repetition. Nicely done David.
Jennifer x

Author's Reply:


A Marshy Day (posted on: 18-08-08)
Another Aveling Marsh poem - You can see the place at the RSPB Rainham Marsh Reserve.

It is a marshy day; The joyous west wind Rushing down river Bearing on its back A constant stream of fair weather cumulus; Whipping along a cavalry charge Of white horses Struggling against a flood tide Coming up the wide river; Weaving in and out of Reeds and rushes; Rippling tall grasses; Bending bush and high scrub Till the whole world shakes With the power of wild air As it veers towards the estuary. It is a marshy day; Overnight rain spilling Into stream and pool The normally lazy River Mardyke Brown and deep and fast; Marsh frogs Delighting in wetness Water voles Walking on water Where thick mats of algae Carry them across; Dragon flies, Like a squdron of bi-planes, Skimming across ditches and ponds Delicately depositing eggs Into the fecundant waters, Damsel flies, All dressed up for sex In their brightest blue And desperate for it. It is a marshy day; Heron and egret Stalking shallow waters for Foolish fish fry; Swans and cygnets Swimming the drainage ditch Like a fleet of ships of the line Neck to tail, Captain Penn in the van And Admiral Cobb in the rear; Kestrel, crow and gull Lording the sky Wherever it stretches away To distant low horizons. A wonderful marshy day.
Archived comments for A Marshy Day
barenib on 18-08-2008
A Marshy Day
I wasn't sure that you can have a 'marshy day' at first, but by the time I'd read to the end I was convinced! It's all about becoming immersed in the landscape and all that goes with it, and you've provided plenty to paint a marshy picture in the mind's eye. John.

Author's Reply:

teifii on 22-08-2008
A Marshy Day
What a wonderful piece of observation. I like marshes and this really brought that one to life. I love the water voles walking on water. Also
Kestrel, crow and gull
Lording the sky

I think there is a typo in ship[s] of the line.
Daff

Author's Reply:


Landscape of the Future (posted on: 18-08-08)
About This Poem: Avely Marsh is on the banks of the River Thames near its estuary where the M25 crosses the river via a tunnel and a suspension bridge. The contrast between wilderness and the modern world is dramatic.

On Avely Marsh two worlds coexist; Reeds and rushes stretch to strange horizons Beside highway flyovers and High Speed railway lines; Pools and streams survive Beneath pylons and wind turbines; Ships and barges navigate the river Whose power made the marshes. Herons and egrets, Voles and marsh frogs Don't resent a modern world Adding its drama to their landscape The elegant Queen Elizabeth Bridge Arching over the estuary Unites two worlds As well as two counties, Adding beauty to both. Distant traffic on it, Eurostar trains speeding across the marsh Bring it a new life Beside that of swan and gull, Kestrel and crow. Here is proof that these two worlds Can survive in harmony - This will be the landscape of the future - If we give it a chance.
Archived comments for Landscape of the Future
Sunken on 19-08-2008
Landscape of the Future
Blimey, I almost missed you Mr. Corin. I thought I'd commented on at least one of your subs? How weird. I blame lack of sleep and a tendency to drift. I like your landscape poetry. You could write a poetical atlas for people who are lost in the land of words. Ahem. What am I on about? Anyway, yes, a tip top sub and no mistake. Thank you.

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sometimes, when we touch

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunken - that is a brilliant idea - I will steal it for my next slim volume - I have 'A Walk with Crab the Dog'; 'A Teacher's Journey', 'There Was a Boy' and now ' Lost in the Land of Words - An Atlas'.

Thankyou

David

Doughnut on 20-08-2008
Landscape of the Future
I've always prefered this kind of poetry to the ryming stuff. The poet's role in the modern world, as important as the Pope's. They are the guardian of a country's heritage. Thanks for this. Duncan

Author's Reply:

Queynte on 21-08-2008
Landscape of the Future
Nice pome, Cozza. Some beautiful ideas and a lovely ending. I'd like a bit more description though. At the moment you're being rather lazy and just naming the various animals, whereas I think you could paint a stronger and more poetic scene by describing how they look, what they're doing and so on. Same goes for some of the modern imagery. What do the wind turbines look like? What do they remind you of?

All the best,

Queynte


Author's Reply:


No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West! (posted on: 15-08-08)
About This Poem: There has been some talk of late abut giving Margaret Thatcher a State Funeral when she dies - well it can't be too soon for me because I am going to the Spontaneous Street Party instead. If you are in Newcastle Upon Tyne meet beside Grey's Monument as soon as possible after the news hits the streets - if it happens after 9pm we will start at 9am the next day. See you there!

No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West! No sodding state fucking funeral When that Wicked Witch is dead Get your instruments out and tune 'em all.; We'll have a street party instead. We'll blow 'em and bang 'em and pluck 'em And sing till our voices are hoarse, If anyone's seen mourning we'll fuck 'em - With a cunt correction course! When the news comes early one morning That the bastardess died in the night We'll all celebrate the first dawning Of a world in a Thatcherless light. We'll put out the flags before lunchtime Start drinking as soon as we're done, Eat a TINA sandwich with lime, Then go out on the Town and have fun. Well dance down the streets in a conga Stretching round every big roundabout We'll sing the old song a bit longer Maggie Out! Maggie Out! Maggie Out! We'll fill every street with long tables, And load them with high VAT Write about full employment as fables Give out interest rate rises for free. We'll stuff a blue dress with Right nonsense And give it a daft straw hat And a handbag without any conscience Though there is no thing such as that! In the Town Square we'll build a big bonfire To burn the blue effigy And show the dead cunt she's liar And that this is Society
Archived comments for No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West!
Jolen on 15-08-2008
No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West!
David, As you know, I think this is brilliant! But where is the audio? That is the icing on the cake! This deserves to be nibbed, and I hope it is! You've totally cracked me up and with a very, very smart and funny (and true) piece of work!

BRING ON THE AUDIO!

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Audio in place - but now we need a tune.

Sunken on 15-08-2008
No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West!
Brilliant. I've been waiting for maggie (small m) to die for years. When I first saw that headline about the state funeral I actually thought she'd died. I was just about to celebrate with a bowl of crunchie nut cornflakes... until I realised my error. When will she die? It seems to be taking forever. State funeral!? What the fuck are they thinking of. Nice one Mr. Corin.

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Author's Reply:
THankyou Bernard - Nice to se that not all the auld aquantices have totaly sold out to the Turquoise Tories.
Good night
David

Andrea on 15-08-2008
No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West!
Hmmm...very unlike your usual stuff David. Can't argue with the sentiments though 🙂

Author's Reply:
WEll Andrea - somebody has to keep the Spirit of Lord Macaroon alive on UKA. but I try to do a wide range of stuff from Sonnets to Macrants - don't you remember the row about 'Pinochet is Dead - Yes!'

On the day come and fly over and join the Party in Newcastle!

You can stay here.

love

David

teifii on 16-08-2008
No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West!
Couldn't have put it better myself [or even half as well]. Hope someone does a tune for it and you sing it for audio. I'm still chuckling over your Geordie performance.
In all seriousness however, I must say, because I have been thinking it for ages and nothing to do with sentiments in your poem, with which I heartily agree, but ever since they've been going on about a state funeral [God forbid!] I have been flinching at the tastelessness of publicly considering the funeral of someone who is still alive and whose family must be suffering. She was a real bitch and did a lot of damage when she had power but now I think she should be allowed to die and be forgotten while our non-existant society gets on with trying to repair the damage.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thankyou for reading and commenting on this Daff. I am sure the old bitch is laughing to herself about all the fuss and thinking 'O Good WE are going to have a nice funeral when we go'!

Well she won't be forgotten -nor should she - for similar reasons that Hitler and the Holocaust should not be forgotten. Of course in comparison to those historical crimes she was only a minor scourge on the face of humanity but she did cause the death of people in the pursuit of political power.
love

David

glennie on 16-08-2008
No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West!
Nice vitriol and I'm pleased there are a few who share my disgust of this evil little imp but I feel you show her too much respect by hating her so. Let her wither and die with that other evil imp, Hindley. No street party, just piss on her and Pinochet's respective graves.

Author's Reply:
Respect I pay none - the despicable should rightly be despised - I piss upon them all and refer you to these poems if you wish to read about the nature of my pissing:-


Pinochet is Dead!! 10th December 2006 -YES!!
https://www.ukauthors.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=18127&mode=&order=0&thold=0

Spring on the M62, M1, A1M
https://www.ukauthors.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=19347

Warm Wishes

David

Queynte on 21-08-2008
No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West!
I really don't see why some people can't express themselves without swearing etc etc etc, educated people don't need to swear etc etc etc bollocks.

But seriously, this is a truly inspiring and uplifting poem, Mr Corin, and I loved the audio. It is real bitterness and spite, and a wonderful antidote to the insipid attitudes that are often all around us.

The rhyme of 'funeral' with 'tune em all' is especially well-crafted. Also, "a handbag without any conscience Though there is no thing such as that!" is very funny, not to mention true of the old bitch.

However, I'm not sure about the line about the TINA sandwich. It's a bit obscure. What the hell was TINA, and could it go in a sandwich? I think you should change this line, because it lets down the sequence of strong, immediately identifiable images, and amongst going "Yes!", at this point we go "Eh?" - Well, I do anyway.

Other than that, I think it's a great poem. The metre isn't perfect, but I don't think it needs to be. The ending is superb.

Queynte


Author's Reply:
TINA - Ah you have not studied your Thatcherite History O Level or if you have its a fail!

One of the old bags favourite saying when she was about on another wicked act of e conomic destruction was to say, "There Is No Alternative!" which earned her the nickname among her cabinet whipping gang of Tina. The line of courseis a pun on Tina and Tuna - I did spell out in capitals as a hint to the hignorant that it was an acronym 🙂

David

Queynte on 21-08-2008
No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West!
Oh, hang on, I've just noticed a minor mistake. In the last line of the penultimate verse, you say "There is no thing such as that" and in the audio you say "There is no such thing such as that".

You're getting confused and tripping over your suches, Mr C. Just one 'such' will do, before 'thing'.


Author's Reply:

Queynte on 21-08-2008
No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West!
Don't you think? About the 'such'?



*lifts glasses*

'Tis I - Le Clerc!


Author's Reply:

Andrea on 21-08-2008
No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West!
Ah, ze Pink Panther in (bad) disguise, non?

Alors, vous have been rumbled je crois!

Author's Reply:

AlexClay on 26-08-2008
No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West!
Nice angry poem, but shouldn't the tactic be to starve her of the oxygen of publicity? Let her fade into obscurity with little discussion and hopefully she'll sling herself off Bechy HEad or fake her own death in a canoe and piss off to America. She's only one daft Tory, let's not overestimate her place in history.
****Smiles and tuckes his Maggie voodoo doll away, which has a grand total of 49768 pins in it****

Author's Reply:
Well I think I replied to this point before - Should we let the world forget Hitler and what he did? Similarly his place in history? Unfortunateley she has a had a great effect for the worse on British Politics and the political fulchrum - shifting it far to te right - Why did the Turquoise Tories (New Labour) go in for even more privatisation and not re-nationalise the natural monopolies for the benefit of all - Railways, Gas Distribution, The National Grid, and most of all water. Why is the state allowing private companies t make a profit out of the people that the State Justice system deems should be locked up. These things are all her legacy and we need to condemn it and her, least she rise from the dead.
David

AlexClay on 26-08-2008
No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West!
I guess I always question the ability of one person alone to have the power to shape history. Let's not invest that daft old bag with any great degree of influence. Even Hitler was nothing special really, many shared his views, and he was ably assisted in his rise to power by sympathetic elements of the Old Conservative Right...and he was given great ammunition by the Allies punitive treatment of Germany after WWI. Maggie is a symptom, not a cause. Big busines, men and money, Spooks and mercenaries shape the world, not some delirious grocer's daughter with a plum in her gob. Although she can't have helped, obviously.

Author's Reply:

deepoceanfish2 on 12-10-2008
No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West!
David,

What a brillient things is this! Now, if you could write a sequel about Ronald Reagan, you'd make my day!

Warm regards,

Adele

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Adele - Great to hear from you. Trouble is that Reagan is Dead - not that I am averse to speaking ill of the dead. I will give it a thought. Thanksfor the comment.

David

e-griff on 26-10-2008
No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West!
I'm listening to audios. The reading of this was good, I liked the energy and the clarity. I was surprised at the lack of strong accent, as you always imply that in text on site. (shows assumptions can be wrong)

Appreciated the reading very much.

The content? Childish, IMO. There's more to the world than a cheap shot. But I'm guessing it's not down to you anyway ...

G

Author's Reply:
Childish eh? - Tell it to the miners! There will be a very strong childish reaction if she is given a State Funeral - you wait and see - and the spontaneous street parties will be a phenomena never seen before in British public life.

Dave

e-griff on 27-10-2008
No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West!
to be clear: above, I wasn't talking about the sentiment, just the mode of presentation. While I can see this is a good rabble rousing performance piece for a live audience, I'm saying that the sentiment could be possibly expressed more effectively (and persuade those not already on-side), if as a piece of writing on a site like this it was more subtle and clever and less 'in your face', that's all.

Author's Reply:

royrodel on 07-04-2009
No Sodding State Fucking Funeral For the Wicked Witch of the West!
superb,
long live Mrs Thatcher.

RODEL

Author's Reply:


Loving Your ABC (posted on: 08-08-08)
An anymous dedication to some poets and others.

I do not know how one heart Can grow so great As to love A and B and C, Unless it be that balanced Upon the steady fulcrum of an M An alphabet of loving sits so evenly That all the letters have a place and part. I name none, But A is such a spirit That all of lost mankind Can find a mother there, And healing strength And wisdom from The spirit of humanity - Of those who lived at other times In other places far away - And words to comfort every troubled soul. Then B has such a heart That she would take into her care Every soul now lost And find them comfort there. Blessed beyond all grace Is any heart that B enfolds in hers - For it must grow so great With love's great joy That all the world Is compassed in one breast. If C had not the fortitude Of patient, quiet endurance, Too many people Would be deprived of love And borrowed strength; Too many lives Would slip into the dark And never know the comfort Of the spark that lives in one But lights so many faces. None could possibly see that light So courageously held up Without loving its brave source. A D, the Dog Woman, far away on mountain slopes Yet here too, Kennelled within my breast. Of other letters I could name an E, Now lost among the passing crowds Of passing youth; An F long departed far from here; A J that made a long long leap Of faith and landed In the arms of love safe and secure; An S who rides an engine Powered by love Even if it crashes now and then; And Y and V And other As and Bs and Cs Even a Z And all the other letters in between. For love is such a stuff it seems to me That it like to the primal atom Exploding when the Universe began. A little, such a very little, starting first And then, in hyperinflationary pushes, Faster even than the speed of light Filling all the vasty cosmos Of our skies. I walk today along my city streets And watch with joy, around me This Brave New World Of faces smiling, joyful, loving; Filling me with love For all this family of Man Till, though it seems my heart Has expanded all it can, I hear of one more birth And find there is yet room For another child inside.
Archived comments for Loving Your ABC
teifii on 08-08-2008
Loving Your ABC
Very interesting idea and well expressed. Funnily enough it reminded me of my rare three days in London for Ukalive. because I usually see the same people all the time, even those I don't know personally being familiar, London was an experience. I couldn't stop people watching. In fact on one occasion my friend had to shout to me to get off the bus as I was so engrossed.
Daff

Author's Reply:
THankyou Daff - Should have given you a mention too -

A D, the Dog Woman, far away on mountain slopes
Yet here too
Kennelled within my breast.


Look again and it will be there!

love

David

Jolen on 08-08-2008
Loving Your ABC
David,
This is gorgeous! Especially wonderful as I know who a few of them are. And I heartily agree with you on the those. What a interesting and clever way of showing your respect for them.

love,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

teifii on 09-08-2008
Loving Your ABC
Thank you David. I am honoured to be included.
Daff

Author's Reply:

orangedream on 09-08-2008
Loving Your ABC
I love the 'Daff' lines, David. Beautiful! As is the rest. I agree with Jolen, what a lovely and clever way to show your respect and admiration.

Much enjoyed:-)

Tina x

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 09-08-2008
Loving Your ABC
Hello Mr. Corin. A smashing idea for a poem and no mistake. I still struggle with reciting the alphabet. I always get the letter T in the wrong place for some reason. My doctor has recommended alphabet spaghetti of the Heinz variety. I prefer Pot Noodle though (beef and tomato flavour).

Just how useless was this comment?
A. Quite useless
B. Very useless
C. Munky league

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she closed the door, filled the kettle and counted the money

Author's Reply:
THankyou for that idea - I made some alphabet soup tonight for my tea - most of the letters were quite easy but I did have a lot of difficulty with the S-its head kept yapping and its tail kept wagging - in the end I had to cut them both off - do now its more of a C 🙂

Warm Wishes

David

Doughnut on 10-08-2008
Loving Your ABC
Of the spark that lives in one and lights so many faces. This could even be an alternative title for the poem. And the beauty of it is, as you say, that each of your friends adds something different to others lives, and yours. Brilliant.

Author's Reply:


Weeping For Jane (posted on: 04-08-08)
THe film 'Becoming Jane' is a conjected story based on known facts. Certainly Jane was very intimate with the young lawyer, Tom Le Froy. His Aunt, supposedly Jane's friend may well have been the one who actually warned his family about the undesirable liason he was forming. Whatever - she never married, we have the novels and she had a loveless life.

I never knew until the credits rolled That Tom Le Froy Called his elder daughter Jane. It said so much. All the conjecture in the film 'Becoming Jane' Could be ignored Until that simple historical fact Rolled up the screen. It justified everything And the tears rolled down my face. To think that this wonderful woman Could have been separated From her only soul mate By mercenary calculations And proud family. No wonder she attacked them so much, These preservers of property And destroyers of life. Oh Jane we love you, The gifts you gave us are beyond price And now we have no way to pay Except by the preservation of your name In eternal memory. But what is memory When life is gone and wasted? As Falstaff said of honour: What is in that word memory? What is in that word memory? Air! Nothing but warm air! Oh! I too would rather be loved Than remembered.
Archived comments for Weeping For Jane
teifii on 05-08-2008
Weeping For Jane
Well, although I agree about the choice, at least when it comes to memory that is where books come in. Several generations have gone now but her books are still read.
I remember one day turning on the radio with no idea what programme was on and hearing someone reading and thinking, 'Oh what beautiful writing!' and then discovering it was her.
Hope she's reading somewhere and likes your poem.
Daff

Author's Reply:


Sunflowers (posted on: 04-08-08)
Written for Tina and dedicated to her daughter, Andrea who loved Sunflowers.

They burst into glory, as we do, In late summer; Reflecting, mimicking the sun. All day their faces follow it round Stretching up, ever nearer, To the source of all life. Taller than the greenhouse The first sunflower of Summer Smiles upon the world. Like us they come From earth and a small seed; Grow into glory and then fade and die. I saw a field of sunflowers once In Southern France, Standing in October's dying days. Their heads were bowed, Their glory quite gone, Green and yellow All converted to dull brown. They stood like a vast crowd of mourning mothers, Heads bowed, Permanently facing the South West And the setting autumnal sun. Their browned and blackened heads Appeared like a grave of mass decay But among the mould spotted heads And dry, dead leaves The seeds of next years flowers Waited to be harvested.
Archived comments for Sunflowers
SugarMama34 on 04-08-2008
Sunflowers
Hi Corin,

I loved the imagery of this poem and I did its sentiment too. You paint a beautiful picture with your words that I'm sure Tina will enjoy just as much, if not more, as I have. A lovely simple tale that I have enjoyed reading.

Sugar. xx

Author's Reply:
THankyou Sugarmama34 for that lovely comment - But! What happened to the the other 33 though? Just curious - I suppose you must come from a long line of Sugar Mamas - a very sweet family?



Love



David

Sunken on 04-08-2008
Sunflowers
Hello Mr. Corin. I think Ms. Sugar has pretty much summed up what I was thinking (she says it better tho). I can't imagine Ms. Orange being anything but chuffed.

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leeds 2 - sunflower 4

Author's Reply:
THankyou Sunken but I think you got that wrong - Leeds 2 : Newcastle United 5
David

red-dragon on 04-08-2008
Sunflowers
Hi David, they were just bursting into flower when we were in the south of France late June, in their first flush of youth. A lovely tribute to Andrea. Ann

Author's Reply:
THankyou Ann - did the tin tent go to France too?

love

David

Andrea on 04-08-2008
Sunflowers
I love sunflowers. The 'dead' ones in France (and elsewhere) are not really dead though, the seeds are waiting to be harvested to convert into oil, so they live on, to nourish us.

Nice one Corin 🙂



Author's Reply:
THankyou Andrea - yes and I am very grateful for them too as they make a nice addition to my morning muesli mix!
love

David

orangedream on 05-08-2008
Sunflowers
What can I say, dear David, except I am deeply moved by your wonderfully penned poem. Thank you so very much. It will be a lasting tribute to my daughter. To think that not only did she inspire people when she was alive, she goes on inspiring them even after she has gone. Yourself, a case in point.

Too soon her petals faded,
one by one
as the sun sank low
in September skies,
but they seeds she shed
are spread far and wide
as Autumn's days
softly mellow.

Tina xx

Author's Reply:

Bradene on 06-08-2008
Sunflowers
I loved the last stanza, with all its hope for a future, a new generation. A lovely thought and a touching tribute to Tina's daughter. Very nicely presented David. Val x

Author's Reply:


(posted on: 18-07-08)
A Walking the dog poem.

The stars are out tonight And at eleven o'clock In the still-blue sky Of these northern latitudes The Summer triangle Shines as a single constellation Occupying the whole of the darker southern Hemisphere. Altair, Deneb, and Vega Shine like three fairy lamps Hung high above the trees for a Midsummer Midnight feast. In the southerly breeze Confused scents of high summer Waft over the field. Crab the dog's nose should be Totally overcome by the Complex aroma of verdant summer, But he hunts unerringly through the tall grass For his small ball And quickly finds it. Small insects hover in the fading light Even as dark silhouettes Of bats swerve upon them. On such a night as this I should swear eternal love to my one darling, Write such words as will ever be remembered, Have the whole world join me in song, Scatter peace and plenty about the Earth, But Idylls carry their own transience; Summer, like love, Like life; Is ephemeral; The night sky slowly becomes dark; Summer's triangle becomes lost Among Aquilus, Lyra and Cygnus; Hercules and Bootes; The blanket of the Milky way tries to smother it And the whirling of the great cosmos Turns towards Autumn and the great square of Pegasus.
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Summer Triangle (posted on: 18-07-08)
A walkingthe dog poem.

The stars are out tonight And at eleven o'clock In the still-blue sky Of these northern latitudes The Summer triangle Shines as a single constellation Occupying the whole of the darker southern Hemisphere. Altair, Deneb, and Vega Shine like three fairy lamps Hung high above the trees for a Midsummer Midnight feast. In the southerly breeze Confused scents of high summer Waft over the field. Crab the dog's nose should be Totally overcome by the Complex aroma of verdant summer, But he hunts unerringly through the tall grass For his small ball And quickly finds it. Small insects hover in the fading light Even as dark silhouettes Of bats swerve upon them. On such a night as this I should swear eternal love to my one darling, Write such words as will ever be remembered, Have the whole world join me in song, Scatter peace and plenty about the Earth, But Idylls carry their own transcience; Summer, like love, Like life; Is emphemeral; The night sky slowly becomes dark; Summer's triangle becomes lost Among Aquilus, Lyra and Cygnus; Hercules and Bootes; The blanket of the Milky way tries to smother it And the whirling of the great cosmos Turns towards Autumn and the great square of Pegasus.
Archived comments for Summer Triangle
Sunken on 19-07-2008
Summer Triangle
Hello Ms. Corin. If only walking my communist Beagle could inspire poetry like this. Alas I am only drawn to shapely arses and tits. I blame a lack of discipline. Smashing stuff and no mistake.

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kit kat 3 - twix 4

Author's Reply:


The Glory of England (posted on: 04-07-08)
We should all be in St Nicolas's Hospital now and our political leaders in the High Security Ward of Bamburgh Clinic.

This is the glory of England; Long evening sunlight in late June Dappling grass and trees yellow and green, High cirrus painting sky blue and white, Soft breezes and balmy airs Caressing nose and skin with scents and soft touches. The grounds of this old hospital Are an asylum from a mad world. That most English of sounds - Church bells at their Monday practice - Echo from tall hospital buildings So that the hypnotic ringing Seems to come from all around, As if half a dozen churches were practising at once. When this pleasant sound Is drowned by the strident Call to prayer five times a day That will be England finished; Conquered by a stealthy invasion, Sacrificed to a mad, politically correct god Who somehow escaped hospital confines And brought Summer to an end.
Archived comments for The Glory of England
Sunken on 04-07-2008
The Glory of England
Isn't England great when we get sunshine, Mr. Corin? I know it doesn't happen often, but when it does... I've been bird watching today ;-p Most enjoyable and no mistake. Just like your poem.

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toasted pleas

Author's Reply:
Right Mr Sunken - it is good to know that someone is keeping an eye on the situation. I hope that you take your shotgun with you when you go birdwatching so that if you see any illegal immigrants you can dispose of them humanely, watch out for those swifts and swallows - they just come here to take advantage of our free flies, never pay any tax - breed like ... well like swalllows, until we are swamped by 'em. And then there's all these bloody cuckoos - taking advantage of our nurseries and never paying a sou in child care costs - it's a disgrace! Shoot the lot of 'em I say!



David

orangedream on 05-07-2008
The Glory of England
David, what can I say? Only that I feel richer for reading this.

Tina xx

Author's Reply:
THankyou Tina - but what about the political message - are you comfortable with it - does it sit alight on the poem?

David

Romany on 06-07-2008
The Glory of England
Firstly, did you realise you have used 'dappling' twice and both are very close to each other?

Secondly, I really appreciate the way you have made what was very possibly once an asylum for the 'mad' into an asylum from the madness. Clever and astute and actually true in a number of cases, as you are obviously aware.

Thirdly, I sincerely hope this is never the case. We are losing our identity and our power as a nation as well as individuals in this country - please God (any one you like) that we will all wake up and save ourselves before it is too late.

You have managed to put across your message in way that could not possibly be taken as offensive, except by the most radical individual perhaps, who must be looking for conceived slights just about everywhere. This is a very big and controversial subject, but one that needs raising I think.

Oh, and all done with your usual eloquence.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
THankyou for the reminder Romany - actually yes - I had noticed this and edited the source and forgotten to edit the submission. I will do it now and make the other polishes I thought it needed.

It was very perceptive of you to realise that St Nicholas's Hospital in Gosforth Newcastle Upon Tyne is in fact a Victorian Lunatic Asylum and still a psychiatric hospital - and yes I did write the play on 'asylum' deliberately.

St Nicholas's is a beautiful Hospital - it was once enormous with extensive grounds , which included a farm, for the occupants to work a cricket ground (where I now walk my dog) and a beautiful little Theatre.

When you consider how we treat the mentally ill now the Victorians seem very humane.

Thankyou also for your supportive comments about the political message.



WArm Wishes



David

orangedream on 06-07-2008
The Glory of England
The answer to your question David is yes. As Romany said you made your very eloquent point in such a way that it could not be taken as offensive in any way. It is a big subject and a very important one and one of which, no doubt, we shall hear much more of in the not too distant future.

Tina

Author's Reply:
THankyou again Tina, your comments are very reassuring as I would not wish this to be considered a rascist piece. THanks to Romany I have polished this a little as well.

David


The Clock Lawn (posted on: 20-06-08)
Written whilst playing croquet on Tyneside Croquet Club's Clock Lawn on a glorious June day.

The lime trees in the park have bi-greened leaves That flash and flutter in this warm June breeze, Alongtheir boughs bright emerald sunlight flames - Running, dancing playing at leaping games. It is as if Saint Elmo, tired of seas, Had landed and set fire to these trees. The ceaseless movements fascinate the eye, Like burning logs or waves beneath grey sky. Beside them static poplars gently sway Thus sheltering the lawn for croquet play. Children in the park all play with glee Since summer's grace has loudly set them free; Six cygnets and a pair of swans slow-glide Where silver roach and prickly perch swift-hide. May trees and grass and children, birds and fish Each grant you all a gracious summer wish
Archived comments for The Clock Lawn
Romany on 20-06-2008
The Clock Lawn
This is just lovely Corin, I love the imagery, the colours and the senses, and if I'm not mistaken, it is unusual for you to write in rhyme? I really enjoyed this.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou so much Romany, in fact it is not unusual for me to use rhyme and meter as you w ill hear if you come to the UKA get together next month - Only I warn you now - I shall be singing, so bring some ear plugs. I switch between formal stanza forms and free verse as the mood takes me, often using iambic pentameter as in this example, since that is the meter that brings outthe lyricism of the English language best -if it was good enough for Milton, Shakespeare and Chaucer who am I to demur?

Warm Wishes

David

orangedream on 20-06-2008
The Clock Lawn
What an idyllic picture you paint here, David. Have played croquet myself, years ago when I was a gal ... but I think I have told you that before.

What a pity I shall miss your dulcet tones. Maybe if you sing loud enough I shall hear you! Even all the way away to East Anglia! Bet you've got a great voice but no doubt I shall hear all about it through the proverbial grapevine!

Tina:-)x

Author's Reply:
Hi Tina - Will do a recording of this and post it and you will hera how untrue your words are - but if enthusiam can make up fr lack of tunefulness I may get away with it!
David


A Sonnet to my Mistress' Eyebrows (posted on: 13-06-08)
About This Poem: In the Seven Ages of Man speech Shakespeare spoke contemptuously of third age lover's poetry:- "And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. " So (hopefully) just to prove it can be done I offer this sonnet.

My mistress' eyebrows excel all other parts Because they frame her dark alluring eyes That fire into my heart love's sharp darts And made of me her all too willing prize. Those arches do so well adorn her face, Meeting just abovea well wrought nose, That, even hid behind a veail of lace, Each eye assumes the aspect of a rose. And last of all, but far from being least, They echo and reflect her lovely lips As red as roses that first bloom in June, As full as Autumns orange-red rose hips And all her face sings one harmonious tune. So let not Mr Shakespeare mock the lover Who praises eyebrows and the parts they cover.
Archived comments for A Sonnet to my Mistress' Eyebrows
Romany on 13-06-2008
A Sonnet to my Mistress Eyebrows
Beautiful poem! And based on eyebrows too! Very skilful and sensual work. A couple of small typos:

abovea well
veail

One or two stray 'a's' there! Lovely poem.

Romany.

Author's Reply:

red-dragon on 13-06-2008
A Sonnet to my Mistress Eyebrows
Very skillful and readable sonnet, David - in addition to Romany's suggestions, put an' in Autumn's. I would like to nominate this when nominations are open again (as long as I remember!)

Author's Reply:

orangedream on 14-06-2008
A Sonnet to my Mistress Eyebrows
I agree with all that has been said, David. A lovely poem indeed!

My favourite lines:-

"As full as Autumns orange-red rose hips
And all her face sings one harmonious tune."

Tina :-)x

Author's Reply:

Macjoyce on 14-06-2008
A Sonnet to my Mistress Eyebrows
I've got a bit of an eyebrow-fetish too...

No, but seriously, women's eyebrows can be pretty. And this is a very pretty and witty sonnet, Dafydd. The last line is the best.

A couple of problemettes though: You do rather overdo the 'rose' imagery. You use that word three times, once to decribe her eyes and twice to describe her lips. The rose comparison is something of a cliche, I'm afraid.

Also, you have a bit of a problem with metre, my friend:

"My mistress' eyebrows excel all other parts"

'Excel' is out of kilter here. And:

"That fire into my heart love's sharp darts"

You're missing a syllable. Maybe 'sharpest'...?


Author's Reply:

Futant on 14-06-2008
A Sonnet to my Mistress Eyebrows
I really liked this. It is a very beautifully odd sonnet. I liked the couplet in the end, it is very true.

Kristijana

Author's Reply:


A Double Century of Dead (posted on: 13-06-08)
About This Poem: THis is NOT a poem I wanted to repost - Now I grieve for another 100 young men - the victims of political hubris:- Britain's military says 3 soldiers killed in Afghanistan, bringing total to 100 since 2001 LONDON: Three British soldiers were killed in a suicide attack in Afghanistan on Sunday, bringing Britain's military death toll in the country to 100, officials said. The soldiers were killed while on foot patrol about one kilometer (less than one mile) from their base in Afghanistan's Upper Sangin Valley, Britain's military said in a statement. A fourth soldier was also wounded in the attack. The Daily Telegraph said the blast occurred when an insurgent detonated a bomb strapped to his chest. Dedicated to the now over 100 British service Personal who died in Iraq and the 100 who have now died in Afghanistan. Notes for non-cricket players: This poem refers to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan as a kind of deadly game of cricket. A century of runs is a renowned score in a cricket game. The nervous nineties is the psychological effect on a batsmen when he has nearly made a century. Willow on leather is the noise made by a willow cricket bat hitting the leather ball.

This was not a century To be proud of scoring. There were nervous nineties No doubt for those Whose determined decisions And pusillanimous votes Made the young men play On a pitch with such a vicious bite. Throwing away wickets In pursuit of victory Might be the right tactic In a game of cricket; But throwing away lives In Phyrrhic wars Of dubious legality And pitiful pointlessness Will leave a carcass of dishonour For history to scavenge upon. At the least Language will profit from it. We have the `bushed war' - Where you win all the battles But remain on the losing side, And the `blairism' - A lie that changes from day to day Getting further from the truth With every twist of meaning. These hundred faces On a single page of newsprint Make a poignant passing out parade. Their average age twenty nine And too many of twenty or under. No! - too many of any age at all. Let there be no more centuries; No more games on foreign fields; No more solemn music On blustery airfields - Only the sweet sound Of willow on leather Whether England win or lose.
Archived comments for A Double Century of Dead
delph_ambi on 13-06-2008
A Double Century of Dead
The cricketing imagery works well. A poignant and moving poem.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou DA

MywordsandI on 13-06-2008
A Double Century of Dead
Being an ex-soldier myself,

I often wondered at the pointless reasoning for our deployment, many time it could have been avoided, but leaders dug-in and with political spin, forcing war simply one sided.

Shame, lives must be lost in today’s battles, but it has been one of man consistency’s, war that is, conquering, and controlling, who said to do and die? and die, we do rather well.


Author's Reply:

AlexClay on 14-06-2008
A Double Century of Dead
The cricket imagery is an excellent counterpoint (right word? who knows) to the brutality. There's nothing more ridiculously civil than a game of cricket on an english village green. I agree with your sentiments....Troops are in Afghanistan for what? To enable farmers to produce heroin that kills kids and destroys families? to find Bin Laden, hiding in a wheely bin? to snuff out terrorism? (but that's a global phenomenon). Why exactly are they there? The Russians were pilloried for invading Afghanistan. My own feeling is that 9/11 required a permanent show of force by the West, so we have theatres of war with no real war aims underpinning them. Like a chicken farmer plagued by foxes, the West just set the dogs loose.

Author's Reply:

Munster on 15-06-2008
A Double Century of Dead
Hi, We read the stats, and to some politicians thats all they are, its something I still have a problem understanding.
who had the famous saying jaw jaw not war war.

Enjoyed your work. Tony

Author's Reply:

littleditty on 18-06-2008
A Double Century of Dead
Very moving David - have you sent it out into the world other places?
Nicky xx

Author's Reply:

teifii on 19-06-2008
A Double Century of Dead
I didn't see it first time if it's a repost. But is is really good. the cricket imagery is perfect, not only because it is such a contrast but also because it is so English, like the other side of a national character coin with a good and bad side.
Very moving.
Daff

Author's Reply:


Shoreham Harbour (posted on: 30-05-08)
Shoreham is a small port in West Sussex on the South coast of England at the mouth of the River Adur. Like all such places, the working of river and tide, boats and ships is endlessly fascinating.

Where the River Adur meets the sea Must have been a wild place once; Sea and tide, river and current, wind and sand Struggled for mastery of the bare landscape. Now the river is bridged and piled, Sea and tide constrained by walls and groynes, Wind restricted to blowing across Tarmaced and cemented over mud banks. The former levels are mostly all built upon, Urbanised But not conquered. The flood plain of the Adur Seems a dangerous place to build homes. Even on its north bank, Guarded by gently rising Downs, The risk is there. Docks, factories, offices, pubs Face the swirling river confidently. Beneath the surface of the small town Water continues to work: It runs off through culverted streams Into the river; Wind sweeps sand onto the road; Tides deposit mud Wherever their spreading floods creep. The Adur's levels may seem constrained, Controlled, Converted into tedious sprawls Of over-priced 'luxury' flats And conventional houses But river and sea, wind and tide Will simply wait Until the time comes To make a newer. Higher level.
Archived comments for Shoreham Harbour
orangedream on 31-05-2008
Shoreham Harbour
What a strong point you make with this excellent poem, Corin.

Why DO they continue to build again and again on flood plains. As you say so eloquently, when will the planners learn, when will they ever learn.

"The Adur's levels may seem constrained ...
but river and sea, wind and tide
will simply wait ...
to make a higher level."

A great read this one:-)

Tina x

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Tina - and though the bungalows - bungalows mind you! - built between the river and the Beach at Shoreham Beach on the South side of the river must already have a significant flood risk, I was not really thinking about thierisky practice of building on river flood plains but about the more significant flood risk due to global warming and rising sea levels. At Shoreham harbour it is very clear. If the Greenland Icae Cap melts in 50 years time sea levels will rise 7m - Shoreham beach will be under 5m of sea at high tide and the town will be flooded.

Warm Wishes

David

RoyBateman on 01-06-2008
Shoreham Harbour
Yes, harbours are fascinating places, even the workaday ones that aren't simply tourist traps. I know Shoreham quite well, and like most of the south coast it's suffered from badly-planned development for ages - certainly since before the last war. If anyone's demented enough to buy places on flood plains - good luck! I think the market will sort this one out: no house insurance, no sale. An interesting and thoughtful piece.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Roy - See my reply to Tina above - this is really about Global Warming though it is daft building on a narrow strip of land between an Estuary and the sea!
David

Sunken on 01-06-2008
Shoreham Harbour
Hello Mr. Corin. Isn't it warm? I have my fan going, but I'm still too hot. I blame arses and tits. Anyway, that's hardly of any relevance with regards to your excellent poem. You should work for the tourist information board. How much nicer it would be to acquire knowledge via the gift of verse. I hope you have found my comment both informative and helpful. Thank you.

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somewhere over budgie

Author's Reply:
Hi Sunken - I am your only fan? You always get me going! I shall apply for the Tourist Information Board job tomorrow,. Will you give me reference, please?

Meanwhile please be careful about flying over the budgie - they have very sharp beaks and if they attack from below ...!

Dvaid

red-dragon on 01-06-2008
Shoreham Harbour
Hi David, I don't know that part of the world, but you made it come alive for me. You do 'paint' landscapes well. And make pertinent observations in the process! ann

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Ann,

See
http://www.glaucus.org.uk/Footbridge004.jpg

and
http://farm1.static.flickr.com/60/153871355_0a20a0f34f.jpg

You can see how serious any sea level rise would be in this part of the worls!

David


Swifts (posted on: 16-05-08)
Two related swift arrival poems from 1992

When the Swifts Come - May 15th 1992 ---------------------------------------------- When the swifts come then will this gentle spring To youthful summer give up her careless days; Who, like the girls in softly falling white With long brown hair that billows in the breeze, Walks down the easy streets of easy times, Lending her smile to all who pass her way, Till we shall think such days will never cease And joy shall swiftly soar on scimitar wings. The First Swifts - May 16th 1992 ------------------------------------- On first waking, through the open curtains, I saw new-arrived swifts Skimming into blue sky. Suddenly the air was full, Their black shapes climbing and gliding Around the house and over the garden. Like a covenant with joy they have returned Another summer to its rightful time And made me glad another year is mine.
Archived comments for Swifts
Sunken on 16-05-2008
Swifts
'Lending her smile to all who pass her way, '

What a smashing line, Mr. Corin. It would appear that spring is in the air (along with the smog of course). A very enjoyable read. I can feel my sap rising already. Good day.

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gets tired easily

Author's Reply:

teifii on 17-05-2008
Swifts
Two lovely poems Corin. Only quibble; I'm sure you could think of other words to replace one 'easy' and one 'first. They are far to near each other to be comfortable.
Daff
PS
I used to have swifts nesting under my eaves in Devon and once found one between the sash windows and had to extricate it. As we were on the second floor and I didn't know if it was hurt, I carried it down and it hung on with its shiny black claws. Every bit of him was shiny black. He wasn't hurt and zoomed back to the sky.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Daff - I rather like the echo of "easy" in the first poem - If I remembe correctly I did it deliberately for emphasis but you are right about 'first' in the second poem.

Editing now.

David

eddiesolo on 18-05-2008
Swifts
Lovely pair of poems.

There is something amazing about watching swifts I think.

Enjoyed reading sir and brought joy to my heart and a smile to my lips to know that when the swifts arrive they bring the summer...hopefully lol.

Take care.

Si:-)





Author's Reply:


On the Isle of Sycarax (posted on: 16-05-08)
A fantasy of an old man yerning for his youth!

If in this, my old age - I had Prospero's Books and Staff I would not cast them into Inky depths of inland seas Or break that wand of power But use instead its magic In love's cause All for you my sweet princess of mystic lands. With these aids we'll sail away To Enchanted Isles Set in shining turquoise seas Like emeralds upon a dress of taffeta. There you will be my sweet and twenty And I your slim, soft bearded youth. Sounds and sweet airs will follow you Where'er you tread; A thousand twangling instruments Hum about your ears, And clear voices sing to you of my true love. Warm winds soft lift your Long fair hair, Caressing your beauteous face As gently as shall I. Sweet fruits and and delicate flowers Hang upon boughs above your head Within easy reach to be culled And straight enjoyed. Nothing is there there That is not for our pleasure and delight. Arm in arm we'll stroll along the strands And sing each other songs Or listen in full rapture To poesy's rhymes. A simple rocky cell before the calm lagoon Will be our home, Decorated with shells and gems And woven mats upon its floor of silver sand; Our bed a heap of fragrant sun-dried petals Packed in a silken sheet. Beneath another will we lie In each others arms. Then, all passion spent, We'll sleep each long night through. Above us - ever conjoined - Venus and Mars And constellations of gods and nymphs Circle across the wheeling, starry welkin, Till morning's dazzling eye Wakes us to loves anew. And another day of loving dalliance Begins.
Archived comments for On the Isle of Sycarax
delph_ambi on 16-05-2008
On the Isle of Sycarax
Utterly gorgeous, timeless romantic poetry. Only one crit: the line 'Nothing is there there' was a bit clunky. I would change it to something like: 'Nothing will there be'.

Author's Reply:
"Nothing is there there
That is not for our pleasure and delight. "

Hi DA - I rather liked this line - the whole piece was meant to sound slightly Shakespearian as, of course, it is based on 'The Tempest' and the island is supposed to be Caliban's Isle - Sycarax being his mother. Your amendation still requires another 'there ' I think to mean what I was trying to say:-

'Nothing will there be there
That is not for our pleasure and delight.'

as

'Nothing will there be
That is not for our pleasure and delight.'

Means that in general everything is for pleasure, not just on the Island.

But thanks very much for commenting so appreciatively.

David



Emerald on 16-05-2008
On the Isle of Sycarax
Lovely and dreamy and very reminiscent

Emma x


Author's Reply:

Rupe on 16-05-2008
On the Isle of Sycarax
I liked the implied fragility of the poem - it's beautiful and lyrical, but we know, I suppose, that life can never be like that for long. Change or disillusion always comes along & so, placing the idyll against a reality of old age, you highlight the sense of fragile bliss. Good stuff.

Rupe

Author's Reply:

Rupe on 16-05-2008
On the Isle of Sycarax
I liked the implied fragility of the poem - it's beautiful and lyrical, but we know, I suppose, that life can never be like that for long. Change or disillusion always comes along & so, placing the idyll against a reality of old age, you highlight the sense of fragile bliss. Good stuff.

Rupe

Author's Reply:
You have got it exactly right Rupe - the whole poem is meant to be a restatement (in somewhat different circumstances) of Andrew Marvel's coment to his coy mistress, "had we but world enough and time". Realising that we have not is a profound triste, or perhaps as Tolkein put in 'Lord of the Rings' the doom of men - mortality - was in reality the gift of the Valar to Mankind.

David


Air Traffic (posted on: 12-05-08)
THis year's swift arrival poem.

Even along this North Sea coast, Where fogs and frets often drift in Off the cold waters when an easterly breeze Blows over Tynemouth's cliffs, A May-bluesky soars deep into class A airspace. Air traffic routes converge here As flights from Europe and London Head for the Great Circle over the Atlantic That is the shortest line between Europe and North America. In the bright sun and refracted blue Of its scattered light, Silver jets are almost lost In the vastness of airspace, But that their long vapour trails, Slowly dispersing in the jet stream, Draw flight patterns High above the land they are leaving. Staring fascinated at the route maps High above me Another set of aerial traffic Zooms into view. With black wings and forked tails The first swifts and swallows of summer Skim through unregulated airspace Flying by Visual Flight Rules. There are no collisions, Some may have run out of fuel Or suffered catastrophic engine failure On their long flight Following the Africa to Northern Europe route, But the miracle of returning swifts Is with us again. It is a real feat of navigation Without instrument or compass, Except for the bright sun and wheeling pattern of stars.
Archived comments for Air Traffic
eddiesolo on 12-05-2008
Air Traffic
Brilliant piece!

What more is there to say, excellent comparison here.

Enjoyed reading very much.

Si:-)


Author's Reply:
Thankyou Eddie for such an appreciative comment - and for the nomination I would guess - I am much honoured.

David

Leila on 12-05-2008
Air Traffic
I enjoyed reading this and found the third verse particularly strong, in my opinion it's so good it could almost stand alone ...L

Author's Reply:
THankyou Leila - What I was particularly interested in was the glory of this particular day - the blueness of the sky, the bright vapour trails of the high jets and then the appearance of both swallows and swifts on the same day. I wanted to connect them in some way but you are right -the third verse on its own - with a short reference to the jets could have stood as this years swift arrival poem. I have a tradition of writing both swift arrival and swift departure poems each year, as for me they mark important turning points - the beginning and end of summer. Here are two older ones never posted before:-

When the Swifts Come - May 15th 1992
----------------------------------------------
When the swifts come then will this gentle spring
To youthful summer give up her careles days;
Who, like the girls softly falling white
With long brown hair that billows inthebreeze,
Walks down the easy streets of easy times,
Lending her smile to all who pass her way,
Till we shall think such days will never cease
And joy shall swiftly soar on scimitar wings.

The First Swifts - May 16th 1992
-------------------------------------
On first waking, through the open curtains,
I saw the first swifts
Skimming into blue sky.
Suddenly the air was full,
Their black shapes climbing and gliding
Around the house and over the garden.
Like a covenant with joy they have returned
Another summer to its rightful time
And made me glad another year is mine.


The Soldier (posted on: 09-05-08)
*King Henty IV Part I Act V Scene 1 Falstaff: Well, 'tis no matter; honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honour set to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air!

In foreign deserts half a world away Shady spots of England now abound, While among the rocks and glare and heat of day Cool strips of Scotland, Ireland, Wales are found. The claims to these remote new territories Is written with a dreadful dark red pen Far from unsearing strands of British seas, On sand soaked in the blood of our young men. And think, these young lives sacrificed for what? So Muslim men for Falstaff's mere hot air Can sacrifice a daughter who was not Obedient to comand and still would dare To love an English soldier that had won her By duty done and showing her true honour.
Archived comments for The Soldier
Dazza on 09-05-2008
The Soldier
Have you been watching "Crusades" on BBC Three? What an eye opener. This ditty reminded me of some of this in essence even though I am clueless when it comes to Falstaff! Dazza..

Author's Reply:
Sorry I seem to have missed that unfortunately - sounds very interesting.

Now how can you be clueless about Falstaff when I put a big note on purpose for you in the 'about' section?

AS to your reference to a 'ditty' - were it serious I would take offence. THis a sonnet based upon Rupert Brooke's famous sonnet about the First World War 'The Sodier', after which ,of course, I have titled my piece.

David

Dazza on 09-05-2008
The Soldier
David, I apologise for my flippant and ill informed comment, I will instead just say this-I liked your sonnet. Dazza.

Author's Reply:

orangedream on 10-05-2008
The Soldier
Another super poem, David. I am not too knowledgeable on Shakespeare as you know but I am familiar with the sonnet by Rupert Brooke.

Your poem, however, stands in its own right and I feel richer for having read it. Thank you.

Tina :-)x

Author's Reply:
THankyou Tina - it seems a topsy turvy world we live in - I cannot even usefuly send money to Burma sinch the government are stealing all the aid.

David

Munster on 10-05-2008
The Soldier
Hi There, a fine poem well written and a very nice read.




Author's Reply:

Romany on 11-05-2008
The Soldier
This is not meant to be at all flippant, but I want to say that I am pleased to see you have included Wales, Scotland and Ireland in this, as a pose to merely England. That stood out for me and I think it's important.

I enjoyed the rhythym to this, which I think is the same as the original work that prompted it?

Honour - what DOES it mean exactly? I understand absolutely what you are getting at here and I think you have done so cleverly and sensitively. The very thought that Muslim women can be stoned to death, strangled etc for a lack of 'honour' in this day and age defies belief almost. Honourable that most certainly is not - why can't they see that?

Anyway, a pointless question in reality. Maybe humanity as a whole will wake up one day.

It is always a pleasure to read your work and to be educated by you and your passion for, and understanding of, classical literature.

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Thankyou Romany for such a thoughtful and insightful comment. It is impossible for the express how strongly I feel about this - almost 100 years after Brookes wrote his poem and Wilfrid Owen in his poetry,demonstrated how wrong Brookes was, we are still sending young men to die pointless deaths in foreign lands and simply for the 'honour' of the politicans that sent them there. It was utter hubris on the part of Blair to decide to send them - thinking hat somehow he could fix the world by being 'brave' enough to send young soldiers to their deaths - I cannot measure the depth of contempt that I now have for a man I once admired. He is Catholic - so may he burn in hell for all eternity! There is no way he can receive absolution for such a mortal sin without making a public admission that he was wrong and a public apology to the parents, husband, wives and children of those who were killed!


Ravensworth Arms - Lamesley (posted on: 28-04-08)
Quite appropriate really - this hotel is where Charles Dodgson (Lewis Caroll) wrote Alice in Wonderland (and also where Catherine Cookson was conceived!)

The view through this pub window Is quite amazing really If you think about it. My adopted Tyneside Hills, Bestrewn with long lines of yellow lights, Either side of the mile wide Team Valley, Mark out its sprawling extent. This is a valley carved out by a mighty river, A great torrent gouging through These carboniferous shales and limestones. Yet the Team is no more Than a dirty ditch; A restricted stream Culvert and banked; Dominated by roads and buildings Where the wide valley Has become a huge industrial estate Of factories and offices, Lorry parks and vast railway sidings. Impossible for such a great valley To have been moulded By an indolent River Team As it idles its placid way Down to the anxious Tyne. The answer to this mystery is Ten thousand years old, From the time when These Durham Hills Were sculpted and rounded By the Northern Ice Sheet. Ice sheet and glacier Built such a tall dam Of debris from Pennine heights That the River Wear Could no longer flow North To its sister river Tyne. It waters amassed a great glacial lake Drowning most of Durham. Not Noah nor Moses nor King Canute Could hold back the tides for long. When the waters finally had their way River Wear turned East To find a new passage to the North Sea, Leaving the Lake of Durham To empty itself into a flooded Tyne, Teeming through Durham's Northern hills To gouge out this wide valley That I admire now. All over the County of Durham Other denes and gorges cut into the landscape Between its fertile plain And North Sea or River Tyne, Each with its own small burn, Like the River Team, Gurgling down its pre-formed course. Sitting here supping beer The thought that this land was once Below a thick field of ice Suddenly becomes alarming. I have a sudden vision of the valley being filled again, Not with ice, but sea water, As the last of those Northern Ice Caps Melt in less than a century. If the Southern Ice Caps Suffer the same fate The whole valley will be an Inland Sea And those beautiful yellow lights And their snaking patterns Will all go out A Dark Age indeed.
Archived comments for Ravensworth Arms - Lamesley
discopants on 01-05-2008
Ravensworth Arms - Lamesley
I've been to the Ravensworth Arms a few times but not for a few years now. If I'm ever back there, I'll be looking at the landscape around me in a wholly different light.

dp

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In My Youth Revisited (posted on: 18-04-08)
I thought it was time to update this piece.

In My Youth October 1968 "In my youth", said the Young Man, "I would often walk in the rain, But now the sky is always blue And the sun has scorched my brain." "In my youth", said the Young Man, "I was often sad But now I'm a burbling bundle of joy And I'm going slowly mad." "In my youth", said the Young Man, "The people were in chains But now they're made of chocolate And melt when it rains." "O In my youth", said the Young Man, I yearned for to be free But now I yearn for nothing more Than truth to evade me In My Youth Revisited October 2008(A bit of poetic licence - my 60th Birthday is on the 22nd!) "In my youth", said the Old Man, "I would often run and dance, But I know now it's no use at all And best all left to chance." "In my youth", said the Old Man, "I knew so very much But now I know I nothing know Of life and love and such." "In my youth", said the Old Man, "The people were all rich But they spent it all on cars and bling And brought us to this pitch." "O In my youth", said the Old Man, I yearned for to be free, But now I yearn for one thing more To make an end of me.
Archived comments for In My Youth Revisited
Sunken on 19-04-2008
In My Youth Revisited
Hello Mr. Corin. Happy 60th for Tuesday. Was that first piece really written in '68? Did you have flowers in your hair and practice free love? It sounds bloomin marvelous to me and no mistake. It costs me a bomb at the local massage parlour. Good day!

s
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k
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she sleeps in french

Author's Reply:

Munster on 19-04-2008
In My Youth Revisited
Again happy birthday,