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savvi's (savvi on UKA) UKArchive
245 Archived submissions found.
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Two go on their first adventure (posted on: 29-07-16)
first holiday abroad

Passporte, said the sombre night desk without looking up from its book. The huge key took us to a tired room so we climbed in bed. Wake up! sleepy head, squealing like a child chased by monsters she threw back the blinds, I caught them in my open eye, aqua blues and gold Majorcan hues white-washed into the room, we floated on the shimmer. Hopping into shorts and tee's we glided down marble steps ''Ola'' as she swept. The pool sparkled and giggled through my squint to the sounds of dragged plastic chairs and wet slapping feet. I shared my sun bed with Clive Barker and snorkelled with Jacque Cousteau, walked in pine forests so quiet we could hear ourselves breathe and feasted on fish with eyes. We sophisticated each sunset, dressed white under bougainvillea as fragrant as the wine. Growing like my fingernails for the very first time.
Archived comments for Two go on their first adventure
gwirionedd on 29-07-2016
Two go on their first adventure
Ah, Majorca... That was my first holiday abroad too. Must be a bit of a British cliche.

I'm intrigued by the fish-eyes. I hope you didn't eat the eyes too?

Archie



Author's Reply:


Sanctified syncopated Sunday (posted on: 29-07-16)
just another Sunday morning

Sunlight laser cuts the blackout blinds and the chimney breast nest sets off like an alarm clock, breakfast worms are tap danced across gray roof slates and devoured in a crescendo of wake up calls. My damaged head reminds me how much wine I took to bed, still unsure on legs that thud each step. The bathroom slaps me cold tiled in my feeling old, can't handle it face. Piss proud I lean cheek first to taste the spearmint on the splattered mirror. There's a boy I used to glimpse, with punk cut, bleached blonde hair and morning stubble, sitting thin in a mohair jumper and joggers, his voice was cigarettes drawn through nicotine stained fingers that pointed out the freedom of self belief and dole queue days. The boy disappeared into long hours and the arrhythmia of insecurity. The kettle rumbles and clicks, spills hot as I yawn into decafe. I slide back the conservatory door and bathe in a burst of warmth that races into cooler rooms. My faded favourite chair has been harvesting heat, enough to feed my aches for a while. I ignore the hay fevered flower beds but they still shout "look at me" and get busy doing what gardens do. The dog finishes off my cereal bowl then curls like a cat on my lap. I thank God for her bad breath masking my own and making Sunday a day for sitting in my underpants and vest.
Archived comments for Sanctified syncopated Sunday

No comments archives found!
Under the up and over door (posted on: 25-07-16)
just a garage really

We built the garage without cigarettes, it still has the bruises. The fluorescent tube is blackened now but it coughs loud enough to send spiders checking corners. I twirl a finger on the worn down vice It shudders through rust, sets my teeth on edge. I'm not sure what it is. There's a layer of dad on these walls, concrete under the paint. I shake a few old spray cans ball bearings ride the empty insides, motor bikes on the wall of death, pilot goggles and a piss pot helmet. There's a layer of me too, a scrawny bit dipped in grease split fingered and blood blistered. Its not about the smell either, cooked engine oil and turpentine. To look at it its nothing but relegated MFI draws and cut down Formica work tops, nails in jam jars and extra strong mint tins. No, it's not about any of that. It's about craftsmanship, taking care the penciled scope and scaled up repair the weight and balance, air and brush, handmade projects, screwed and bolted, glued and tacked, a chiseled rose on gold leaf thorns. All metal filings on my memories that glint each time the door goes up. Yes that's it, that's what I see when I'm able to look.
Archived comments for Under the up and over door
gwirionedd on 25-07-2016
Under the up and over door
Most descriptive poem about a garage I've ever read.

Nice one, Savvi. You have a keen linguistic imagination.


Author's Reply:
Ha ha thank you gwirionedd yes a garage by any other name. Best Keith

Mikeverdi on 25-07-2016
Under the up and over door
Fabulous, this is truely moving. I felt this poem, it resonated love. It took me nearly 20 years to collect my father's ashes. I miss him every day.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Glad you got the essence of the poem Mike, thanks for the kind comments and sharing, best Keith

sweetwater on 27-07-2016
Under the up and over door
This isn't a garage for me, it's my dad's wooden shed, hand built by himself, with any planks and old left over doors he found in the huge garden when we moved in. A carpenter at heart, so many much prized tools loved and cherished. As were his well used gardening tools.
Such a visual poem, all those images leaping from the page, to take me back home. Wonderful. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Its always nice when a poem links to another memory, very happy you found an affinity in the lines Sue. Also many thanks for the 10 very much appreciated. Keith

pdemitchell on 27-07-2016
Under the up and over door
Cracking keenly-observed sepia-toned descriptive, Keith - a layer of dad and a layer of me indeed - from genes to genuflection to genuine affectionate reflection in one swell foop. Mitch

Author's Reply:

pdemitchell on 27-07-2016
Under the up and over door
Cracking keenly-observed sepia-toned descriptive, Keith - a layer of dad and a layer of me indeed - from genes to genuflection to genuine affectionate reflection in one swell foop. Mitch

Author's Reply:

Supratik on 28-07-2016
Under the up and over door
It's not about garage for me at all. The poem is moving and has all the qualities of a fabulous poem. Thank you for sharing. Supratik

Author's Reply:

cooky on 28-07-2016
Under the up and over door
A mundane subject turned into a Cathedral of man. I like this

Author's Reply:


Love again (posted on: 25-07-16)
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If this Robins breast could burst again with song so loud it carries hope, then could he dream of winter sun so warm the snow would melt.
Archived comments for Love again
Mikeverdi on 25-07-2016
Love again
Yep, that does it for me😊
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike ๐Ÿ™‚

sweetwater on 27-07-2016
Love again
Love this, so simple, sweet and for me, perfect. ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue, its good to know it works. Best Keith

Supratik on 28-07-2016
Love again
Brilliant! The poem has an instant connect with the readers of the world.

Author's Reply:

cooky on 28-07-2016
Love again
This poem says so much in just a few words. It confirms the power of the pen.



Author's Reply:


Tea in the park (posted on: 18-07-16)
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Sparrows fight over scone crumbs beaks covered with jam and cream, serviettes swirl underneath the faded bandstand. A lone trumpet bends blue notes to the spit of rain that calls home tumbling clouds, rolled on a cool breeze. The smart marching bands have loosened their ties, broke ranks to filter through the quiet of the town's narrow streets, away from the clap of bunting and melted ice-cream faces. Blown away sheet music softens in the shower, ink washed codas ending under mud soaked feet. The weary brass section looks to the burnt out baton as the conductor taps for one last request. The hiss of rain stops, hurried legs slow as the sun rakes through the trees, a glorious finale for the die hard umbrellas and folding chairs that raise an empty wine bottle to toast the sun away with the day.
Archived comments for Tea in the park
Mikeverdi on 19-07-2016
Tea in the park
I like this idea, it works for me. The opening verse is excellent, I would like to see less is more tried on the following verses. I think there's an easy edit to make it sharper. This is just me, others may not agree. It's your poetry after all, and I still like it.
In friendship
Mike





Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike yes that's a good call I have been playing around with this one so it could do with a trim. Thanks for the feedback. Keith

pdemitchell on 24-07-2016
Tea in the park
I enjoyed this imagery and structure Keith - but may I suggest the last line be reworked - the sun rakes through the trees and is toasted away? Maybe:



for a glorious finale

amongst die hard umbrellas; folding chairs

that raise up their emptied bottles

to toast its red and fading rays.



Mitch

Author's Reply:
Thanks for that Mitch yes I keep changing the end and I do like your suggestions I will have a look, best Keith

cooky on 26-07-2016
Tea in the park
ooh this captures the moment of English culture. I like this

Author's Reply:


New Orleans (posted on: 18-07-16)
Lyric and Vocal by me over music curtesy of the most excellent Eigengrau _

https://soundcloud.com/razzerleaf/new-orleansmp3 Johnny going down to New Orleans He got bright white sneakers and Red n Blue Jeans He got his tail wrapped tight around his arm All this junk is keeping him calm He dances real strange inside his mind He'll probably sleep for ever this time Dirty dust road keeps taking him back He just don't see the depth of them tracks thought this view would make everything new but the damn night sky keeps everything blue Johnny washed up nice and clean He damn near drowned a riverboat queen played that house kept turning them cards if you cant pay you'd better bite down hard Now Johnny been down to new Orleans he lost his sneakers in a black jack dream Johnny found god and got himself clean started telling them folks what to believe Now Johnny going down to New Orleans He got bright white sneakers and Red n Blue Jeans Now you could learn a thing or two Because Johnny's just the same as me or you.
Archived comments for New Orleans
pdemitchell on 19-07-2016
New Orleans
Hints of Walk on the Wild Side by Lou Reed and even Zappa going on here! mitch

Author's Reply:
Ha I'll take that, thanks Mitch

Savvi on 19-07-2016
New Orleans
Thanks Mitch, I guess both would be seen as an influence so I'm happy with that. Cheers Keith

Author's Reply:

sweetwater on 21-07-2016
New Orleans
Shades of the late sixties early seventies I think, loved it, great words great rhymes, especially enjoyed lines twelve and sixteen. ๐Ÿ™‚ Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue, it was the music that made me want to put some words together for this, to be honest i'm notthat sure what I was thinking :Blush:


Heavy Ipods (posted on: 11-07-16)
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Only the radio had the power to keep my attention for an hour each Sunday night, just after a bath and a bubble beard shave. The rest of the time I was a distraction to the class, well at least that's what it says in those musty pink report books in the loft. The top twenty meant as much as match of the day, James Bond or the head rolling out in Jaws. When it was over at 7:00pm I was always left feeling a little depressed called it Sunday night tummy. Dad rarely spoke between smokes so when he shouted upstairs for me to come down, I did like a hotwheels car on orange track, here he said and don't say I never give you nowt. A brown cardboard box with blue faded art work, it smelled of stock cupboards and warm dust. I threw my hand around his neck going in for an unmanly kiss, I got stubble scraped instead, but at least it was a sign of affection. That day my world was transformed. It was time for me to leave the capsule and in one black leather driving glove I mimed the night away too My Coo ca choo. Move over Alvin Stardust, with my tape recorder by my side, I had arrived.
Archived comments for Heavy Ipods
sweetwater on 14-07-2016
Heavy Ipods
Oh how I can share this with you! Not the shaving bit obviously lol.
That hour on a Sunday was absolutely essential listening, but almost impossible to get a perfect recording before the DJ caught you out.
Great poem, wonderful memories, thank you ๐Ÿ™‚ Sue.

Author's Reply:
Ha ha, yes, thank you Sue I forgot about the DJ talking over the track, so many recordings ruined. Best Keith


The Green Jackets are coming (posted on: 08-07-16)
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The park tunnel was long enough to lose peripheral vision, it dripped even in dry weather. Sometimes I would sit in the shadows watching kids run like bumper cars sparking fear onto blackened bricks. I was learning. A test for the playground huddle. Have you heard? when we leave at four the Green Jackets will be waiting by the bridge before the park, its winter, it will be dark. There was this girl walking home, on her own. Four of them jumped her. ''What did they do, what did they do?'' They stripped her and carved Green Jackets on her back with a razor blade. Children spun like sycamore seeds, their coats twirling held only by the hoods, a tribal chant began. The Green Jackets are coming, the Green Jackets are coming. Through every class room at every age, the story spread spinning in its seat, tears where beating snot bubbles to lips. By four o'clock the police where there guiding panic stricken animals through school gates that creaked with laughter in the wind. I have grown. You're weak, needy and vulnerable, safe behind your screens, pickings for someone as well schooled as me in telling you what to dream. Reaching out down copper wires, I can listen through a billion phones, watch you through your webcam uncensored, unchecked and unconstrained. I can sell you God in the morning and whiten your smile in the afternoon, I can make you drool. control any gullible fool who still believes, the Green Jackets are on their way.
Archived comments for The Green Jackets are coming
Mikeverdi on 08-07-2016
The Green Jackets are coming
I'm getting the writing, it's great. I have no idea about the 'Green Jackets'though. I thought they were an army regiment, if so I could do with an explanation. Was the attack a real thing?
Mike

Author's Reply:
Lots of this is based on experience Mike but the Green Jackets in the poem are an urban myth. Thanks for taking the time. Keith

Pronto on 08-07-2016
The Green Jackets are coming
I'm with Mike (Comment above) I served along side the Green Jackets but nothing did I recognise here. Where did I go wrong?

Author's Reply:
I guess it needs some work Pronto, it has nothing to do with the people you served along side. It's not you, the poem is ambiguous. Best Keith

pdemitchell on 10-07-2016
The Green Jackets are coming
Savvi, I think ths must refer to a mythical local gang in Wigan in the late sixties - a rumour spread that a gang of over 100 black lads from Manchester who had hair bleached white hair and wore green blazers were coming there to cause a riot. It was crap but lays the foundation well for the sinister spin-controller of the second part! Mitch

Author's Reply:
Spot on Mitch although my version of the gang was based on skin heads but you do need a passport to go from Newton-le-willows to Wigan :)Lol

stormwolf on 10-07-2016
The Green Jackets are coming
I agree with the other commenters about not understanding who the Green Jackets were. 🤔I did take it they were a perhaps fictitious band like the Bogey Man though. The writing was superb. 👍
I can sense the turnaround in the second part. The tables have turned and the vulnerable one is now in a position of power but still not quite getting it. 😕
Is it that the age group who like to torment the younger ones all the way through school are now old and vulnerable to fear or is the person addressed in the final stanza a particular person that was a bully?
If it was tweaked to make these things more evident you have a great poem here.
Alison X

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison
I think it needs work, I was trying to look at how and why con-artist start out, and how events can be manipulated by a simple lie or rumor. Thanks for commenting its good to see what works and what doesn't. Best Keith


Just the two of them now (posted on: 01-07-16)
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I wasn't sure I would remember the house an old photograph was all I had to go on, self seeded plants softened the cracked paving slabs but the driveway was still black and white. Uncle Arthur's skeleton opened the door his face was gouged like sculptor's clay, heavy lines under prominent cheek bones thumbed deep down into eye sockets. The meniscus of old age had bottled his vision but he still had a Whiskey gruffness in his voice that reminded me of forgotten songs and pearl inlays, all made to fit the only three chords he could play. Pyjamas protruded from under his clothes as he moved around the room to his chair, touching each ledge like a child learning to walk, stroke is such a gentle word. The room had kept hold of its memories damp crept up from the carpet to meet a veneer of dust, slowly making it hard to see, hard to remember. He spoke in bursts, bending each exhaled breath to make the sounds. One word at time he told me he much he missed my mother. ''She was my baby sister'' I know I said and took his hand. His old Jack Russell lifted its head and sniff the air. ''He's fuckin farted again'' I know I said, and let go of his hand.
Archived comments for Just the two of them now
Mikeverdi on 02-07-2016
Just the two of them now
Oh yes, this says it all. For me you have captured the truth, the essence of the situation. I saw it as I read it, played out on a tv sitcom. Tremendous writing,too many exceptional lines to mention them all...'forgotten songs and pearl inlays' brought back memories of my father. True class that I will nominate.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Wow thank you Mike really very pleased you like this one and yes my visits are a bit like a sitcom I never know what is going to happen next. You're a gent, much appreciated. Keith

sweetwater on 03-07-2016
Just the two of them now
Amazing images, I could see it all as though I were part of the scene. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue very pleased the poem came across. I gave it a heavy edit.Best Keith

pdemitchell on 03-07-2016
Just the two of them now
Great descriptive and imagery - minor typo with 'memory's' insteas of 'memories'. Well writ, indeedy. Mitch

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Mitch, the y's are now ies. Much appreciated. Keith


Ripped leather flowers (posted on: 24-06-16)
rememberance trip to a road side memorial

Each year the pavement is buried, pillion passengers carry crushed flowers tucked inside black leather jackets, faded faces veiled under gypsofilia, drinking beer from old vases. Diminished tributes falling flat on just another wasted road-rash. Once vibrant petals lose their colour and that string tied photograph fades like the sepia memories they try to crayon in each year. Swapping stories like trading cards, old bikers stuck in slip-road ruts. You wont find me leaning on that tree throwing posies at your feet or nailed on a lamppost cross wearing that flaking crown of chrome. What's that you say boys? yes, back in the day boys. Maybe I did sell out, but it's late and I'm not your mate, so ask me again about our friend and I'll tell you how your story ends.
Archived comments for Ripped leather flowers
sweetwater on 26-06-2016
Ripped leather flowers
Too many bikers face a similar fate, either as the object of the tributes or as those placing them. I love bikes but even with all the new safety clothing the riders don't always get away with it. a very thought provoking poem. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue, yes I'm afraid I have lost too many good friends to these damn machines, and yet I still have one in the garage ๐Ÿ™

cooky on 12-07-2016
Ripped leather flowers
Wearing that flaking crown of chrome. Now that's a wonderful line.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks cooky it did seem to fit the occasion. best keith


Field mice in my pocket (posted on: 17-06-16)    
Dark

Mother was too pale to cough black, Father became the house, a face of weathered granite melded with the stones, kept crooked by the constant wind raging off the moors. When I look to the fields the scarecrow sees me, he's been whispering. When the weathervane turns his snakes hiss across the crops, I don't want to listen anymore but the ground connects us. I watch the walls at night, my back to the flames, creatures come to dance behind me. He told me not to turn so I watch a life of shadows flying with the sun and rain, straining to see the subtleties. He's moving closer to the house, I call the children in from the washing line they've been out all day flapping like larks on the breeze. I hold them to my cheek smell their folded hair. He's outside the window now, I haven't moved for days. The house growls as the wind changes direction and he's sitting at my table, insects sprawling from his outstretched hands. It only takes a touch. I'm in the top field listening for two travelers as they cross the moors, one is very weak so I tell him he wont make the journey. Then I move a little closer, I know he can hear me.
Archived comments for Field mice in my pocket
sweetwater on 18-06-2016
Field mice in my pocket
Wow, I will keep on reading this, I have to admit I don't fully understand the meaning, but it is so full of depth, excitement and wonderfully written lines holding amazing images that I really don't need to understand it to know that I get completely immersed in your words. I adore the 4th line, so very clever. I have your Morning Mice printed out on my computer room wall. I think this will be joining it. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Sue you are very kind, very happy you liked this one and the Morning mice, I don't do many love poems so that one is a bit special to me too. Best Keith x

Nemo on 19-06-2016
Field mice in my pocket
Keith, this is outstanding! Although I can't fathom out the inner logic in this, for me it generates a wonderful sense of place which is very Northern and primevally rugged. There are so many resonant lines; I think the best is 'I call the children in from the washing line

they've been out all day' or maybe 'The house growls as the wind changes direction.'



We need more people on this site reading quality poems like this. I'll nominate it.



Cheers, Gerald

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Gerald I am humbled by your comments. I really appreciate the Nom and Nib

pdemitchell on 19-06-2016
Field mice in my pocket
I agree with Gerald about the washing-line children stanza. This is one of your best - full of dark brooding almost Gothic imagery. It should be nominated. Mitch

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Mitch, very please you enjoyed this one. Best Keith

pdemitchell on 19-06-2016
Field mice in my pocket
I agree with Gerald about the washing-line children stanza. This is one of your best - full of dark brooding almost Gothic imagery. It should be nominated. Mitch

Author's Reply:


Guilty gifts (posted on: 20-05-16)
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She wanted to feel small again, still brave enough to shout her name into the head wind, to breath herself alive in the rising swell. The pier was deserted as she stepped over the danger sign that danced on its rusty chain. Through the murk of stirred up sand her red raincoat appeared disrespectful to one so angry, one so hungry. The wooden boards flexed like sleeping ribs as a large wave spewed over a little caf้ soaking her favourite Sunday morning spot to sip hot Mocha. She would watch the red of the sun behind closed eyes and inhale the sea-salt air, the way her mother had always done. Far off in the deep its mass was moving, a vast sea cat timing its run for the neck, each thudded step counted in the waves as she ran towards the spray, a surfer would have known what was coming. The ocean smashed through the decking, a sledge hammer on piano keys, its mouth tight around her legs and chest as it carried her deafeningly into muffled silence. On a warm Sunday her usual spot was taken, a man watching his son crab fishing on the rocks. " I've got one" the boy shouted, guiding his catch into a bucket. He didn't notice the red shape shifting in the sand surfacing only to fold across the rocks, a small offering as the guilty tide bowed with outstretched arms and stepped away.
Archived comments for Guilty gifts
Mikeverdi on 20-05-2016
Guilty gifts
Tremendous writing again, you captured the the tragedy so well. I was gripped from the start.

I would ask where the idea came from?

Author's Reply:
Thank you Mike the idea is a mix of snippets, the peer from a stereophonic song (local boy in a photograph) and the red raincoat from a scary film from the 70's with donald sutherland chasing what he though was his lost daughter around Venice.................well you did ask Lol. Best Keith

sweetwater on 21-05-2016
Guilty gifts
Oh gosh, terrific story, I was not expecting that ending, you had me hooked from the start, so cleverly written I was there watching. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Glad you enjoyed this one Sue sorry not been around much to read and comment. Bets Keith

pdemitchell on 22-05-2016
Guilty gifts
Good strong tragic narrative - the coat drifting in swell of the victim of the seventh wave. Well writ and depicted. Mitch

Author's Reply:
Glad all that came across Mitch, really appreciate the feedback. Best Keith

Mikeverdi on 07-06-2016
Guilty gifts
I remember the film...don't look back. Bloody scary at the time. 😊

Author's Reply:
Ha ha yes it scared the pants off me


Innocence returning (posted on: 20-05-16)    
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There's a cold breeze coming through the back door causing it to creak on its hinges, Grandad's gone across the backs to feed his pigeons. I find him inside the empty loft closing derelict cages, gently I place an arm around the confusion. Using soft words we stumble outside towards real moments. The overgrown allotment glistens through droplets, strung out across gossamer connections that tremble in the cold morning light. We hear the rush of racing pigeons and watch them disappear overhead like ghosts into field mist. Grandad stood staring at the sky, "they're not coming back are they son?" I put my coat around his shoulders, 'no Grandad they've been gone too long". We start the slow walk back towards the house, "someone will have to tell your Nan she loved those birds" "She's dead Grandad, Grandma's dead".
Archived comments for Innocence returning
stormwolf on 20-05-2016
Innocence returning
Oh Keith. So very sad. As you may know I am watching my mum being lost to Altzeimers and it's an agony all round.
The poem made me cry as some of your have done in the last. Well done on the nib.
A couple of apostrophes missing ( grandad's grandma's ) but very moving and insightful
Alison X

Author's Reply:
Sorry about your Mother Alison it is really tough, this is only a memory know for me but it is still sad. Thanks for the Nit will sort it out. Sorry I am only just coming back, I had hoped to be more consistent with my presence, hence why I posted but alas, not so.

Mikeverdi on 20-05-2016
Innocence returning
'Gently I place an arm around the confusion' This is so gut reachingly descriptive. The whole piece reaches inside of me.
Great writing about a growing problem.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Mike you are very kind with your comments. much appreciated Keith

sweetwater on 21-05-2016
Innocence returning
So, so sad, beautifully expressed, a complete story in those few lines. I too have tears in my eye. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Sue such sad times but they always seem to find a way into my pen. Best Keith

pdemitchell on 22-05-2016
Innocence returning
Yeah, a piece all carers would resonate to and I agree with Mike "Gently I place an arm around the confusion" sums it all up. Mitch

Author's Reply:
I agree Mitch the poem turns on that line so its good to know it works, many thanks Keith

TOMBO on 22-05-2016
Innocence returning
A very fine, sad poem. I particularly like the lines
"using soft words we stumble outside
Towards real moments."
and "like ghosts in field mists"
But the whole poem hangs together very well with a good rhythmic flow. Very impressed
Tombo

Author's Reply:
Hi Tombo
Many thanks for the 10 very happy you liked the poem. best Keith

Gothicman on 22-05-2016
Innocence returning
For me Keith, freely-written poetry at its best, you at your best, and into favourites, and nominated (if it hadn't already been!)
Trevor

Author's Reply:
Hi Trevor
Your comments are very kind and I'm very grateful for the Nom but not sure who to thank. I have lots of new poems but I am holding off posting until I can spend more time reading and commenting on others work. Best Keith


O Level Art (posted on: 01-04-16)
My O level art exam

We'd been given the choices weeks before, I was supposed to produce sketches, developments of my ideas but as usual, I had hit the oh shit button that read "only press on the morning of the exam". Paper soaked in cereal pencil sharpened with a bread knife. The choices were simple It came from outer space. The contest. From the ocean. "OK its 1:30 you may begin" I didn't have much to go on but I set out to fill the sheet in bold greens and brownish branches, a nest nestled in with the rest, bright yellow beaks ready and wide for a wriggled grey returning worm, carried by a not black female blackbird. There were two teachers with an external moderator who kept looking at me and mumbling. I thought is was about my lack of preparation as they reviewed my carbon copied breakfast. Can I have a word he said? of course sir, what is it? Well, its about your composition, it doesn't fit the stipulated criteria. Oh shit is said and started to look round, there were gold and silver flying saucers, fluorescent green football boots, 3D chess boards, boats in full sail and even a giant squid that seemed to reach out. What were you thinking? Well sir I was of the opinion that when there are five fledglings and one worm, its quite a battle to see who gets fed and most nights in our house that's a contest. Oh, was all he said, so I climbed back inside gave them scrawny necks and little stubs for wings, made sure one was thinner than the rest, placed him at the edge of the nest.
Archived comments for O Level Art
stormwolf on 02-04-2016
O Level Art
aww your poems often have a very insightful, tenderness about them Keith and this is another. It was funny of course but the last stanza was very telling. You were the true artist, using the imagination to bring to life on paper, albeit in your own fashion...something that was in your heart.



I got a bit confused on first reading then realised these were the choices. I think it would have been helpful to have it in apostrophes.



The choices were simple

'It came from outer space.'

'The contest.'

'From the ocean. '



but to be honest I don't know if that is right ;-(

Anyway,enjoyed it and it will be a poem I will remember from you like the one that is my fav 'I Can't Immagine Why'

That one made me cry.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Sorry I didnt reply Alison got a lot happening at home so been away for a while, thank you for the very kind comments and advice much appreciated. Keith x


Street performer (posted on: 21-03-16)
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Our friend Robin flexes his muscles and blocks the path, breathing fire he swallows worms like swords, juggles twigs for the nest. If he had a hat I would give him a penny.
Archived comments for Street performer
Supratik on 22-03-2016
Street performer
A clever use of the name...bird or the character..one wonders. It's a pleasure reading ... the lines. Supratik

Author's Reply:

sweetwater on 22-03-2016
Street performer
Very nice. Succinct write, ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:

pdemitchell on 22-03-2016
Street performer
Holy Batman, Redbreast! A pretty little ode d'homage to our favourite garden/DC twig-juggling visitor. Paul

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 23-03-2016
Street performer
Awwww, bless ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:


When you're lost in a strange town (posted on: 21-03-16)
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Confusion is like any town, to find it you will need to drown, drink yourself from under a table, find a street called willing and unable. Fumbling around for rubber keys, crawling on your grass stained knees. Open the door with a crash bang clatter midnight feasts of spread cheese crackers. Relieve yourself on your brothers bed convinced you've used the toilet instead then climb inside the wrong way round until the morning when you're found Wake up with your mothers screams thinking this strange vivid scene is going on inside your head, not lying cold, in a piss wet bed.
Archived comments for When you're lost in a strange town
Supratik on 22-03-2016
When youre lost in a strange town
Strangely interesting. I felt like a chhi (an Indian expression which means when you are in the middle of shit) many times, but couldn't help re-reading it...the poem kind of attracts you. ๐Ÿ™‚ Supratik

Author's Reply:

pdemitchell on 22-03-2016
When youre lost in a strange town
Ah the wobble-woozy of a washed out tosspotted teenaged stumble into bed after one over the liver-crippling eightish or more. I remember if well. Kind of. Paul

Author's Reply:


Chalk Dust (posted on: 11-03-16)
school days

Bum fluff shaved spots freshly squeezed, pull on my shirt dirt round the sleeves. Polishing shoes on the back door mat, hands now covered in cherry-blossom black. Morning assembly senses off track, grin at the fainted kid with his colour coming back. Even though I listened I'm not sure what was said, try to avoid hard knocks who tell me I'm dead. Tuck shop sugar rush Dr Death's chews. For god sake leave him alone and give him back his shoes. Slip into slumber hand print on my cheek, board duster alarm clock propels me from sleep. Lunch time arrives with the Ice cream van, don't have much money so I scav what I can. Concrete buildings dark grey in the rain. Corridors yawning young minds to drain. Letter home to parents kept in for a month. have you been drinking Boy? Well sir, I had a glass with lunch. The boy doesn't listen a distraction to the class; he cannot keep playing the fool if exams he is to pass. Nearly an adult now so careers advice I got, something beyond expectation please sorry we think not. Last bell run like hell, no teachers now to nag left with a sense of achievement, new art work on my bag.
Archived comments for Chalk Dust
Mikeverdi on 11-03-2016
Chalk Dust
Looks like we had similar school days HaHa! I was kicked out at fourteen.
Mike

Author's Reply:


Johnny Look-back (posted on: 11-03-16)
A man in my old town

I've seen his house and its dereliction, the newspaper piles, documents and flyers turning years into tunnels and bridges of grime. Mold on old net curtains that hide the decay, each room overcrowded by his collections. There goes Johnny Look-back dirty, Johnny Look-back, in his grimy old Colombo Mac his back is bent to pick up bits of cigarettes while kids throw sticks. He takes three steps then turns around to look at things left on the ground, then takes them home to line his maze and this is how he fills his days. There goes Johnny Look-back poor old, Johnny Look-back.
Archived comments for Johnny Look-back
Mikeverdi on 11-03-2016
Johnny Look-back
Johnny look-back, every town has one. I could see him doing his rounds on North Hill in Plymouth. I was filled with sadness after reading this. The rhyme is excellent, its not obvious to me if the first verse is an explanation, or part of the poem. In saying that, as it doesn't rhyme I'm probably being stupid. I liked this a lot.
Mike

Author's Reply:

pdemitchell on 11-03-2016
Johnny Look-back
The tragedy of hoarding neatly put. I'm sure the inhabitants of Mold will forgive you for a certain net curtain pun. Paul

Author's Reply:

sweetwater on 12-03-2016
Johnny Look-back
We had Jimmy two sticks, scared the life out of everyone for years, then suddenly he changed completely and became a very nice, friendly man. No idea what caused the change but it was very welcome. Great poem showing another side of the human character very sympathetically. Sue ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:

Supratik on 13-03-2016
Johnny Look-back
Wonderful. Every line, every word.

Author's Reply:


The Plastic Bag (posted on: 04-03-16)    
Love

The kettle grumbles loudly before it settles down, four floors up my routine steps on, pressed on quartz for each pulse. I keep watch in that quiet moment, leaning on the window sill, arms folded I slip away and wait, watch the street even if he makes me late. ''He's here'' I say out loud, loud enough to clang the jailers key but there's only me inside. Outside the day blows all things east everyone has to walk at an angle. You march in polished shoes, pressed trousers needle through a forced open raincoat the button straining as much as your face, you never see me, whatever the weather. I would normally watch all your steps but today the wind has filled a plastic bag, it moves like a Chinese dragon towards my window, breathing fire into my face. Then it's gone and I chase its tail back towards my morning man. But you have been watching the same spiralled dance. Your gaze puts a hand inside me, pressing my boiled up blood it pushes me from the window then pulls me back with the same pounding excitement. I look again, and you are still there smiling up at me, I wave.
Archived comments for The Plastic Bag
Mikeverdi on 04-03-2016
The Plastic Bag
I found this enthralling, beautiful even. I loved it. The idea would never have occurred to me. I'm not going to nit pick, just nominate.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Wow Mike thank you very kindly, really appreciate the Nom glad you enjoyed the poem. Keith

pdemitchell on 05-03-2016
The Plastic Bag
I loved "pressed trousers needle / through a forced-open raincoat" a lovely little interaction observed between the curtain-twitcher and the morning man. Paul

Author's Reply:
Many tanks Paul for taking the time to read and comment, very much appreciated.

franciman on 05-03-2016
The Plastic Bag
22 reads for a work as good as this?
A story keenly observed and packed with subtlety. Loved the Plastic Chinese Dragon, and the way the poetry engaged all of my senses. I wanted to applaude when the man looked up!
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Hi Jim, the reader count has gone up since your post, many thanks for commenting and very happy you enjoyed the poem. Thanks Keith

Gothicman on 06-03-2016
The Plastic Bag
Your proven poetic ability shining through here again, Keith. Always preferred myself the subtle beauty of the telling of everyday events, the simple drama and observable eccentricities of normal living. For me, modern freely written poetry at its best. This already nominated, but I'm nominating your "The Cherry Trees" after hand, as I'm troubled by how too much distraction can affect one's susceptibility to this special type of poetical messaging. Like this, seen now as a beautifully constructed piece.
Trevor

Author's Reply:
Oh wow thanks very much Trevor and thank you for the kind words I'm really pleased you liked both poems. Much appreciated Keith


mike (posted on: 08-02-16)
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A renegade rabbit called Mike, stole carrots from Tesco's each night, tunnelled under the shops, for organic crops, then peddled away on his bike. Now Mike was a greedy young rabbit, troubled by a carotene habit, soon he stopped caring, the raids got more daring, he was caught with a kilo of carrot. Breaking rocks with his teeth in the yard, the time he was doing was hard, each night in the shower, a Hare called him flower, and tried to catch him off guard.
Archived comments for mike
amman on 08-02-2016
mike
Nice one, Keith. Very amusing.
Cheers.
Tony.

Author's Reply:

pdemitchell on 08-02-2016
mike
A Watership Down and out avoiding picking up the soap in the shower. Made me wiskers twitch it did. Paul

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 09-02-2016
mike
Very good! Quirky and fun. 😎
Alison X

Author's Reply:

Supratik on 11-02-2016
mike
Amusing indeed!
Supratik

Author's Reply:

sweetwater on 11-02-2016
mike
Haha, added a smile to the day ๐Ÿ™‚ sue.

Author's Reply:

sweetwater on 11-02-2016
mike
Haha, added a smile to the day ๐Ÿ™‚ sue.

Author's Reply:

shadow on 11-02-2016
mike
What a sad tale of a rabbit with a habit. Poor old Mike!

Author's Reply:

Savvi on 04-03-2016
mike
Mike came out clean now he's fine
and does better things with his time
visits young bunny's at school
tells them why he broke rules
and explains the cost of his crimes.

Thanks to all for your kind comments sorry I didn't come back sooner. Much appreciated Keith


Author's Reply:


Historical thoughts (posted on: 08-02-16)
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Each footprint falls, as I recall our markers on this land. not blown away, on windy days we hold them in our hands. Worn crumpled snaps of head-back laughs, dancing on the train. You sheltered me, set me free, held breathless in the rain. We've burnt desire, as logs to fire, now naked in the hearth. I brush your hair, you only stare, inside I'm torn apart. The fence is too tall but we'll fight for it all, our history on the wane. I sing each note kept afloat, by saline in the vein. You ask our name, it's still the same, written on your wrist. Our time goes slow, you wouldn't know, out drifting in the mist.
Archived comments for Historical thoughts
pdemitchell on 08-02-2016
Historical thoughts
This is awesome but the syllable count needs a little tweaking here and there for when read aloud there are 'sticking points' that disrupt the most excellent rhythm ie 'heads down holding hands." Could do with an "and" for example. I enjoyed nonetheless! Paul

Author's Reply:
Thanks Paul and yes this is a bit of a rough cut, thanks for the tip I will revisit. Best Keith

stormwolf on 10-02-2016
Historical thoughts
Hi Keith
I totally second Mitch. The rhythm sticks in a couple of places that detract a tiny bit from what is a really excellent poem. Sometimes I read and do not comment but when a poem is good like this, it deserves to be perfect. 😜
The poem is tenderly heartbreaking. Well done.
Alison X

Author's Reply:
Thank you Alison, I will have to go over this again.Best Keith X

Bozzz on 10-02-2016
Historical thoughts
A beautifully worded poem. Yes there are a couple of hiccups in the rhythm, but in my view the one Paul Mitch selected is not one of them โ€“ depends entirely on how you read it. For me the two most important are :
In V3 L2 I would eliminate the โ€œtheโ€ and say โ€œas logs to fireโ€
In V5 L6 I would make it read smoother by using โ€œtheโ€ instead of โ€œthisโ€. Alliterating sibilants is always risky.
Agree with Alison โ€“ it deserves to be perfect. Bravoโ€ฆ.David


Author's Reply:
Thank you Bozzz for the pointers I will have a look there is quite a bit of borderline cliche that I need to address also. Best Keith

Supratik on 11-02-2016
Historical thoughts
A beautifully written poem. Every stanza leaves with a beautiful pain, but this one is my best:
"Crumpled snaps,
photographs,
dancing on the train.
You sheltered me,
set me free,
breathless in the rain."
Bravo!! Supratik


Author's Reply:
You are very kind Supratik and much appreciated. Keith


The Camels Eye (posted on: 05-02-16)
Combe Martin

An old gouged-out tin mine that cried white at high tide, washed away summers on a sharp-stone barefoot beach. Churned over messages scratched onto duck stones where rockfish spun like crocodiles, gorging on smashed whelk under the overhang. Each morning the sun would shiver in the swimming pool before the caravan warmed with coffee and kippers.
Archived comments for The Camels Eye
sweetwater on 05-02-2016
The Camels Eye
Lovely images run through every verse, loved the caravan, coffee and kippers. I've had many holidays like that, no kippers though, ๐Ÿ™‚ Sue.

Author's Reply:
Oh you should try the Kipper sue but they must be accompanied with bread and butter....yum, thanks for commenting and sorry I'm so late. Keith

Pronto on 06-02-2016
The Camels Eye
Beautiful images conjured of idyllic holidays long gone. Loved it.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Pronto very happy you enjoyed the poem, sorry took so long to come back. Keith

pdemitchell on 06-02-2016
The Camels Eye
"gorging on smashed whelk" - a cool descriptive line imbued with vinegar and the caucus of raucous seagulls...

Author's Reply:
You have such a way with words ๐Ÿ™‚ being listening each week to your submission you really are on a roll keep up the great work, sorry so late here. Keith


No Excuses (posted on: 05-02-16)    


The pellet hit your breast and took my breath, my mind followed a rising panic of realisation, I had taken a life. I had laid the breadcrumbs hid behind the garden wall waited in silence as you landed, lined the sight, squeezed the trigger it was all my responsibility. Your body was still warm as I tried to revive you, soft and limp like you were filled with water. The colour of your beak the clarity of your eyes the perfect design of your feathers all wasted by me. I buried you in the garden and made promises I have kept. The following year I saved a fledgling thrush, raised it on worms, set it free when the weather turned warm, gave it back your life. He visited the garden a few times then stopped, I still kept looking. Maybe he made new friends or maybe the other birds told him what I was really like.
Archived comments for No Excuses
amman on 05-02-2016
No Excuses
Hi Keith.
To me this paints a picture of a youngster's guilt, remorse and penance. Nicely portrayed. Like the ending.
Cheers.
Tony


Author's Reply:
Thank you Tony good to know it comes across, thanks for commenting Keith

sweetwater on 05-02-2016
No Excuses
This one had me in tears, twice, I read it twice, it says everything for me, the thoughtless action with no realisation of the awful truth to follow. I can imagine the terrible horror you felt. You have written this so beautifully, and with such sadness, I was captivated by it. It's going into favs ( so I will need a tissue on standby! ) Sue ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue, sadly this one is true, I've never picked up an air riffle since that day. Best Keith


Self Belief (posted on: 01-02-16)
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He promised to hold on. A LeMons start on Merseyside streets. Even next doors dog had come out to watch and we had to wait until the ice cream van had gone. Its bell signaled the start and we were off, a steady jog peddle faster, keep peddling, keep peddling, his words tapered off. I was to find out later how good it feels to let go and see that little bike wobble its way up the road; I began to believe I can? I can I am! Three big shinny pennies fresh from the mint he said. I placed them inside a white leather satchel underneath my seat. They stayed there until the queen turned green. I spent the money on two packs of candy cigarettes, that I smoked on a school morning in November.
Archived comments for Self Belief
Bozzz on 01-02-2016
Self Belief
A wonder you were not arrested for defacing Her Majesty's coins of the realm! A lovely short story Keith.... Yours, David

Author's Reply:
Oh come on Bozzz she's always doing it, you leave her alone for ten years and their she is greener than a green thing ๐Ÿ˜‰ thanks David

sweetwater on 02-02-2016
Self Belief
This took me back, reminded me of flying along the paths on my scooter ( a proper one, big wheels, wooden footboard and red handlebars ) when I was ten or eleven or even older. No fashion princesses at thirteen in those days! Large pennies, satchels and sweet cigarettes. Ahh the memories ๐Ÿ™‚ Many thanks for posting this trip to the 'good old days.' Great read. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Nostalgia is one of my guilty pleasures Sue, I can see you on that scooter......fashion princess sounds like a good title for poem 👍Best keith


Do as I say and no one gets hurt (posted on: 01-02-16)
swear words gone Sue ๐Ÿ™‚

Everybody get down on the floor hands above your heads. I wont tell you again you're grammar is shite. Don't you dare move or I'll cut out a stanza. You! get down and shut your mouth. I don't understand a word you're trying to say so drop the metaphors. You two old gits are a right pair of end rhymes, don't make me capitalise your lines. Now listen up, everyone empty your pockets, I want all your poetry every scrap, note pad and idea. Come on shorty that means you as well, what the hell is this three line rubbish? dig deeper.
Archived comments for Do as I say and no one gets hurt
sweetwater on 01-02-2016
Do as I say and no one gets hurt
Yes you are right, lots of swear words, I really liked the poem and the idea behind it. I read with the swearing and again without, and I can say in all honesty it worked just as well without the swearing. Being me I do not believe in obsenities in poetry, ever but I honestly thought this one is so good you do not need them to make your point. And if it was free of the swearing I would put it into favs. ( apologise that I can't ๐Ÿ™ ) Sue.

Author's Reply:
hey Sue I think you are right it doesn't need that level of profanity so I made the edit, I was originally going for a kind of pulp fiction poetry heist but it did come across quite vulgar so thanks for helping me make the change, best Keith

Supratik on 01-02-2016
Do as I say and no one gets hurt
I accept all kinds of poetry. In India, Englishes float around freely, some the Brits wouldn't recognise... :-))... I tried my hands in pedestrian poetry, wanted to give it its due place, but intellectuals rubbished them as a disgrace to Milton and Shakespeare. I like the content and the catapult. Cheers! Supratik

Author's Reply:

Supratik on 01-02-2016
Do as I say and no one gets hurt
I accept all kinds of poetry. In India, Englishes float around freely, some the Brits wouldn't recognise... :-))... I tried my hands in pedestrian poetry, wanted to give it its due place, but intellectuals rubbished them as a disgrace to Milton and Shakespeare. I like the content and the catapult. Cheers! Supratik

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Supratik, I made some changes but i'm glad you liked it. Cheers Keith

sweetwater on 01-02-2016
Do as I say and no one gets hurt
Aww Thank you, that's so kind and much better, can put into favs now, ( I don't mind if you change back now though ) thank you very much, xx Sue xx :-))

Author's Reply:
You are welcome Sue, I actually prefer it this way and I worked in metaphor ๐Ÿ™‚

pdemitchell on 01-02-2016
Do as I say and no one gets hurt
Yo Keith! I do like a bit of angsty, me. I hope 'you're grammar' is a deliberate mistake! Better without swearing - "Chickentown" by Cooper Clark is powerful but (s)wearing.

Author's Reply:
Angst you got, now give me you're elfin poetry, and of course all my mistakes are deliberate. Love Cooper Clark saw him live in the 80 s he was blooming marvellous. Keith


The Cherry Trees (posted on: 29-01-16)    
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We nearly called you May but they wanted to name you Blossom you burst bright into life all pink and white, summer still waiting for your smile. The pram could move from car to cradle, carried under filtered sunlight, a cherry flower canopy softened the sting on delicate eyes. It was a perfect morning the damp had just left the ground, insects had come to play and you were lost in its lullaby. I would like to think the beauty of that day took away your breath but there are other theories I've read too many times. On a blustery day underneath those branches we dispersed you, watched you as you settled to the ground. In the quiet of our home I made tea and looked to the garden, the trees had laid their blanket over you, giving up their colour to keep you warm, as they do every year.
Archived comments for The Cherry Trees
Pronto on 30-01-2016
The Cherry Trees
Heart-achingly sad poem for a lost infant so beautifully expressed.

Author's Reply:
You are very kind Pronto, much appreciated. Keith

Gothicman on 31-01-2016
The Cherry Trees
My impression was not quite as Pronto, less a metaphor, more simply a dedication to the beauty of a garden tree that had bloomed and shed its leaves through special times in growing family life, a loved onlooker. A beautiful poem and delightful read for me.
Trevor

On re-reading Keith, the third stanza makes me doubt my first impression, a sudden tragedy not easily explained, like David, either way, it's a beautiful and moving poem.

Author's Reply:
Its always good to see something read in a different way and I love this interpretation, and yes in the most part it fits, Thanks Trevor. I'm glad ou enjoyed it. Best keith

Bozzz on 31-01-2016
The Cherry Trees
Agree with Trevor, a delicate and beautiful memory of a friendly tree, an event in the garden - every year. Either way, a lovely piece....David

Author's Reply:
Thanks David your comments are always welcomed and appreciated. Best Keith

sweetwater on 31-01-2016
The Cherry Trees
I was thinking more of the loss of a baby, but whatever the truth behind those lovely tear inducing words, it is most certainly a beautiful poem. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for the kind words, and yes this one sadly is about cot death but also the beauty of the cherry tree also. Best Keith

Savvi on 07-03-2016
The Cherry Trees
Thank you for the Nomination Trevor I really appreciate it. Keith

Author's Reply:


Steam Train People (posted on: 29-01-16)
I'm drawn to eccentric people

In a wet pavement world conveyed in beige I sip railway coffee, eat my lunch from old tin-foil amongst the drone of my daily muse. For all the rolling stock and countless Big Diesels, every now and again a steam train, bright red or green polished brass, loud and brash, spitting coal, untamed, unpredictable. For those moments when their tracks run to my door, I get to climb aboard pick up the shovel, see if the furnace holds. Of course there is a danger that these engines burn out, even explode, but they are spectacular and I have to watch, I have to ask, be involved and find out their story. I can only ride the footplate for a while, until the next station stepping off into the muffled crowd of coats, tepid coffee and paste sandwiches.
Archived comments for Steam Train People
Bozzz on 29-01-2016
Steam Train People
Searching for the unobtainable - the complete list - is the fancy of many in the league of train spotters. Mine was in postage stamps, others find joy in similar pursuits. you have written beautifully a sample of the happiness in the of the past that will touch millions- Bravo Keith... Yours...David

Author's Reply:
Many thanks David, there is something very special about a steam engine. Much appreciated Keith, hope you still have the stamps

pdemitchell on 29-01-2016
Steam Train People
"polished brass, loud and brash" - cracking double alliteration and semi-rhyming - you could even go for the magic triple with 'bold' instead of 'loud' and maybe spitting sparks or embers. Awesome imagery - I could almost smell the damp anoraks of the train-spotting ghosts in the platform mists. My Uncle Joe used to sneak me into the Holyhead railyard when I was four and let me ride on the side steps of a Pannier 'Duck' shunting engine as he took me up and down the siding while I was hanging onto the bars to see the pistons and wheel bars working. Dangerous as hell but Lordy, what a memory! He would have been sacked on the spot these days but it seemed a different world in 1960. Paul

Author's Reply:
Thanks Paul Holyhead sounds fun and your are right the HSE would be all over it these days of measured risk management, they are taking all the fun out off life. Thanks for your comment, best keith

ifyouplease on 29-01-2016
Steam Train People
very interesting, well-written

I have to ask, be involved
and find out their story.



Author's Reply:
Thank you if you please, yes this one has a double meaning really I was also comparing steam trains to eccentric characters, that I'm also attracted to. Thanks Keith

Pronto on 29-01-2016
Steam Train People
I can be such fun to be totally absorb by a hobby. Great read it played with my mind and conjured up vivid pictures of mighty steam engines.

Author's Reply:
Indeed it is Pronto, glad you enjoyed the poem, Best Keith

Supratik on 30-01-2016
Steam Train People
A beautifully written poem has an instant connect with people across the world because of its simplicity of the object taken as a rider. I love the lines:
'and I have to watch,
I have to ask, be involved
and find out their story.'
Blessings.


Author's Reply:
Thank you for the kind words Supratik, glad you enjoyed the poem. Keith

sweetwater on 30-01-2016
Steam Train People
Brilliant poem, when I lived in a village we had occasional steam trains go through the small station, I watched every time I knew one was due, but if I didn't know and heard the whistle it always sent a thrill through my mind. Such power and beauty in a steam train, scary and awe inspiring at the same time. Thank you for bringing those memories steaming back with your marvellous poem ๐Ÿ™‚ Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Sue for the kind words, much appreciated, I can still get to see them as occasionally one will run on the old Derbyshire line, so impressive. Keith

Gothicman on 30-01-2016
Steam Train People
Yes, Keith, those wonderful Fred Dibnah types, a rare breed of knowledgeable enthusiasts from a forgotten age, at least if it wasn't for their love and dedication for superb, high-quality and powerful engineering. You must have quite a few historical railway centres in Derbyshire (perhaps you work at one)? In the early sixties, I regularly took the last scheduled steam trains that went from Canterbury to Reading, hopping on at West Croydon and off at Woking to continue my journey. Like you, I love anything old railway (this heartfelt poem must be true experience) and the people who keep it all surviving.

"polished brass, loud and brash,
spitting coal, untamed, unpredictable."

An atmospheric poem, enjoyed it in its entirety. Thanks for the memories!
Trevor


Author's Reply:
There is a great steam museum in Manchester that is well worth a look, I worked at the Vulcan foundry that had a huge steam heritage some of the trains still run in India today. Best Keith

Ionicus on 30-01-2016
Steam Train People
A well written and enjoyable poem full of imagery.

Author's Reply:
You are very kind Ionicus much appreciated, Keith


Potpuourri and paint (posted on: 22-01-16)
Family life

Yes it's true that materials play their part, bricks and mortar, wood and glass, a colour you found for the front door that makes the Maple burn its brightest, but they are all just pieces of a collective, It's formed in layers not specific things or places. It's the wet nose of a dog that nudges onto tears, a strip of morning sunlight that makes the dust dance and finds the cat curled, a coffee mug and its coaster rings that briefly fog the glass. It sits beside us all for family TV, stretches out when someone leaves the settee, kisses in the kitchen waiting for the kettle and echoes round a Sunday table leaving laughter on dried up peas and gravy drips. You can see it breathe as curtains lift, Its heart is found on the mantel piece, tracking life in time-checked glances. It's in that box with all the bits the drawer with batteries and paper clips the photographs with aging styles the turning pages that make us smile the garage cobwebs and fluorescent light the tins of screws and moths at night it's under the sink at the back of a cupboard, a vessel of life to be discovered.
Archived comments for Potpuourri and paint
stormwolf on 22-01-2016
Potpuourri and paint
Aww a heart-warming appreciation of all the things which make a house a home. Very imaginative and tender too.
BTW one word repeated by mistake
Itโ€™s the wet nose of a dog that
(that) nudges onto tears,

Nice to read.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Glad you got it Alison, thanks for spotting the double, much appreciated. Best Keith

pdemitchell on 24-01-2016
Potpuourri and paint
laughter on dried up peas and gravy drips.

Makes ya smile and salivate at the same time!

Good work.

Paul

Author's Reply:
Ha ha yes it does, thanks for pointing out that line. Best Keith

Supratik on 25-01-2016
Potpuourri and paint
A beautiful painting of those precious unnoticed marks that make a home. I read this in the morning with a lazy warm tea mug beside me. Supratik

Author's Reply:
I hope it briefly fogged the glass ๐Ÿ™‚ thanks for taking the time to comment, much appreciated. Keith


On a cold and frosty morning (posted on: 22-01-16)    
.

Behave yourself tonight, and please don't embarrass us, she warned. But five drinks in I'm tumbling backwards setting the clock for 17 again. A non-smoker cadging cigs, swallowing shot glasses then another pint, swapping party anthems for Springsteen and Motorhead, I air guitar my way to the wrong side of another day. Her gun metal frown was one step in front ready to take the head-shot. My reflection in the bathroom leaned towards me and smiled, hollow-eyed. I staggered down stairs two bumped steps at a time. Hello love, having a gud time? Get in the car we're going home. Two miles in I'm 52 again snoring in the passenger seat with a deep frost approaching from the east.
Archived comments for On a cold and frosty morning
stormwolf on 22-01-2016
On a cold and frosty morning
This was hilarious. I think we have all been there. Well, we are only middle-aged once and life is far too short to behave in my book! Very well written.
Alison x

A nom I reckon.

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison sorry I missed your comment and wow, your very kind nom, very much appreciated. Keith

Gothicman on 22-01-2016
On a cold and frosty morning
Yes, this one's got your "high standard" mark on it, Keith, a real slice of life when the need for reality dampeners set in, and much enjoyed.
Best, Trevor


Author's Reply:
Ha yes I agree, thanks Trevor sorry I missed your comment. Best Keth


A night-time disturbance (posted on: 18-01-16)
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A night-time disturbance The sirens made me look another boy, a runner from the borstal fences lit up like thirty foot tennis courts, knee deep in mud by now. They'll catch him they all ways do, he'll be back in church on Sunday with a smirk and a smokey eyed pose for the confirmation girls, their innocence lap dancing over his dangerous, laid back torso. The colliery lights distract me from the chase, they frame the concrete office blocks like a dystopian novel. A tale of tunnels beneath the house. A mile down, mutant workers bred underground with diamond tipped fingers designed for cutting coal. The helicopter has switched to infra red, a Martian tripod, wars with his world as the spot light tracks him down. It won't be long now before he's back playing tennis on his own. With that thought I get back in bed and dream him into our kitchen, follow his muddy boot prints across the tiled floor and up to our bedroom.
Archived comments for A night-time disturbance
sweetwater on 19-01-2016
A night-time disturbance
You have amazing lines in this captivating poem, I especially enjoyed the Confirmation girls the innocence ...laid back torso, and the diamond tipped fingers...cutting coal, just perfect. Sue.

Author's Reply:
You are very kind Sue thank you

pdemitchell on 20-01-2016
A night-time disturbance
Good mix of famous novels and an independent narrative.

Author's Reply:
Glad you got them ๐Ÿ™‚


Baba Yaga (posted on: 18-01-16)
Slavic Folklore

Phallic mother I am the forest, a death that rots beneath my leaves can swallow whole each mind of man or gently blow on bone. Come sit inside to grind our paste, a cloud across the moon, see which sister shows her face, on chicken legs the room will turn, your path will twist if we conspire, now ask of me a dream, a quest shadows run if I desire. You fail your test, I take your flesh and breathe your Russian smell. The willow wisps so soft The wizard calls the storm All creatures thump the ground. A thousand swarm are by my side a Firebird burns behind my eyes, grasping feathers, hands in flames through these woods I rise again.
Archived comments for Baba Yaga
Bozzz on 20-01-2016
Baba Yaga
I like this poem very much - a hungry forest indeed.....Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Thanks Bozzz scary stuff indeed ๐Ÿ™‚

Supratik on 21-01-2016
Baba Yaga
Beautiful rendition. Best. Supratik

Author's Reply:
You are very king Thank you, sorry so late with a reply I thought I had answered. Best Keith

pdemitchell on 24-01-2016
Baba Yaga
I was researching Slovenia for my novel 'Changeling' and this brought it all back. Haunting stuff rendolent of Goldenhorns and Kernunnos... Paul

Author's Reply:
Ooh that sounds interesting tell more, I first came across this put to music by a group called Gong scared the pants off me. ๐Ÿ™‚

pdemitchell on 31-01-2016
Baba Yaga
I am writing a 2,5 million word parable in an nanology called the Nexus. And Gong with David Allen and the later Planet Gong were a major influence in British Progressive music! Worth a Google and YouTube. Paul
www.pdemitchell.com
www.reverbnation.com/pauldemitchell

Author's Reply:


On the way to market (posted on: 01-01-16)
What do you say to parents that have lost their only son to war.

The chiming town hall clock had dropped poppies from its hands to land on the statues feet. Just like the soldier he wanted to copy the boy chased toy gunshots down council streets. The rivers combine birds, angel and eye flowing out to be drowned in sand storms attacking themselves behind blind spots and heat stroke, the comedians tell another joke. As I step up to the door a lions head bold as brass looks at me and winks, proud to have been a part, proud to take the knock, the sickle and scythe cuts their house in half as I find half the words.
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The Camels Head (Combe Martin) (posted on: 01-01-16)
Cliff top walk

As the sky coughed up and scattered a storm all the stories of secret caves and smashed up boats,treasures lost to darker depths, seemed possible. The wind played a shooting game with any seagull foolish enough to chance a bungee jump. The cliff top walk had gone wrong no way down and no way back even the sheep had got together to stare and discuss my madness. The overgrown path trembled beneath me in sync with the boom of each angry wave I understood true terror of height and it pinned me to the floor, surrounded by thick bramble and delicate yellow flowers. I began to think like a smuggler rolling like drums of rum I followed the sheep runs, a soldier under barbed wire. Escape from a cannons roar cries lost in sea mist and salt spray. Breathless I hacked my way behind the lea of the Devon coast. Relief held my body, scratched and bloodied I fell back onto the main track down and stuck two fingers up to the sky laughing insults at the sheep who bleated as if to say, I told you he was maaaad.
Archived comments for The Camels Head (Combe Martin)
Bozzz on 02-01-2016
The Camels Head (Combe Martin)
Good friend - camels do not have heads - only arses for farting and humps for holidaymakers! I know the route too well - got lost in fog - glad to find my car not stolen from the small car park in the wood; many lose theirs. Excellent descriptive work....David

Author's Reply:
A gouged out old tin mine
gave her an eye
that cried white
at high tide.
Washed away summers
churned over messages
scratched onto duck stones
with flakes of chalk.
Dinghy dragged black and orange
across sharp edged barefoot beaches
were Rockfish spun like crocodiles,
gorging on smashed whelk.
And each morning the sun
would smell of coffee and kippers.




Nemo on 03-01-2016
The Camels Head (Combe Martin)
Similar to walks I've done in Dorset and Somerset. Enjoyed your graphic account, Keith.

Cheers, Gerald.

Author's Reply:
Your very lucky Gerald a lovley part of the world

Mikeverdi on 09-01-2016
The Camels Head (Combe Martin)
I enjoyed this account, coastal walks are part of our life. As you found they don't always end as they start out, always worth it though.
Mike

Author's Reply:
I love how the view changes over each out crop not to mention the sea birds....ahh roll on summer


Jamaica Inn (posted on: 21-12-15)
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Five years difference and sharing a bedroom. I stare at the blue and white wave patterns in his candlewick bedspread they seemed to move in the half-light. Go on, please tell me the story again. Piss off and go to sleep, it's two in the fucking morning and we are leaving at four you little fucker. Keith, wake up, time to go. Dad had turned off the heating and the water. I wrote the note for the milk man and drew a small Kilroy was here in the corner. It was still dark outside as I climbed into the car in my Kevin Keegan slippers and flannelette jarmies. I slipped inside the sleeping bag and positioned my pillow, allowing my teeth to chatter into a laugh. All the trees and fields look the same as they roll by, cold, lonely sheep like bushes in the gloom of daybreak, the mist gases me to sleep again. By the time we reach the Cliffton suspension bridge, the sun is up and on me as I hold my breath for the crossing, my brother tries to make me laugh. Somerset smells of cider and we cheer as the sign passes, the heat puts me to sleep again. Down into the clotted cream of Devon, we stop at Barnstaple for breakfast, a milky flask of coffee and marmalade on toast. We keep quiet listening to dad snore, he needs the rest or he could kill us all. I can see the sea, I can see the sea, I can see the sea, shouts my brother, beating me for the third year running as we pass the view point. Welcome to Combe Martin, just another four hours to wait in the car until the caravan's ready. Mum did you pack my trunks ? Shhh your dad's trying to sleep. I lower my voice to a whisper. Hey Chris, tell me the story again. Shut up, we're here now, who needs stories
Archived comments for Jamaica Inn
Mikeverdi on 21-12-2015
Jamaica Inn
HaHa! Love it! Living here I've never had to miss Devon&Cornwall, we still used to play spot the sea though. Congrats on the Nib.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Mike, you're so lucky living there, Merry Christmas


In the Willows (posted on: 21-12-15)
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I can still run I know what's around each corner, no need for hesitation, but if I stay too long I might never go back. Granddad couldn't remember how to go from hospital to house, such vulnerability, place names he lost to scrabble, turned over blanks, always starting a new game. His Captains map washed away in a blood clot. So, I keep my hood up never make eye contact, long term memory more precious than short. I have my map it's crumpled, stained with an old tea bag for authenticity and kept beneath the look on Granddads face, lest I should forget how to get back to these streets and who gave me my name
Archived comments for In the Willows
sweetwater on 21-12-2015
In the Willows
You have some marvellous lines in this, ' His captains map washed away in a blood clot' and 'kept beneath the look on Granddad's face' to name just two. This is going into my favs.

Author's Reply:
You are very kind and I'm glad you enjoyed this one, much appreciated, Keith


Cold Snap (posted on: 07-12-15)
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I'm not sure it knows, it only thinks itself pretty, polishing lakes with its still breath, a pale complexion reflects, flurried by the laughter left behind as it drifts over, filling fields with silence deep enough to drop small birds in colour.
Archived comments for Cold Snap
Gee on 10-12-2015
Cold Snap
I really like the imagery in this. It makes me think about the story of the Snow Queen in some way, the cold, ignorance of the way other's might feel.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Gee sorry so late, I thought this one had gone cold ๐Ÿ™‚ no pun intended


Monthly Disorder (posted on: 09-10-15)
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The month of October is blowing me over, there's a trail of clothes that she wore but she doesn't care, she's just dyed her hair and her towels are wet on my floor. She's losing weight at a very fast rate her appearance is becoming stick thin. Of course it's not fine, I've know a long time that her leaves get thrown in my bin. But what about me and my OCD, I want to put everything straight. There's too much crap been dropped in my lap, anxiety eats from my plate. Roll on the render that's brought by December and the falling flakes of dry skin. With everything white I'll itch in the night as eczmas starts to move in.
Archived comments for Monthly Disorder
shadow on 11-10-2015
Monthly Disorder
Love the idea of October as an untidy female who drops her clothes everywhere. The bouncy rhythm and internal rhymes suit the humour of the piece perfectly.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks shadow much appreciated. Keith


Missing (posted on: 13-07-15)
When someone leaves you behind, you can stay lost for a long time.

It was a strange sensation, lying upside-down on a grass bank, looking at the sun to see flying saucers. I remember a tear as they took you, your face a back seat white spot. I've watched the skies for your return, time lapsed through the years. My body has been snatched, but it still thinks and talks the same, my skin is thin and easily peeled, it would reveal a younger man than me. Did you ever try to escape or settle in that place with me erased, an artist hidden amongst the zebra with too much water on your brush. You would recognise me if you looked, I'm lying upside-down, staring at the sun waiting for the same sensation. My life is long since black and white, the stripes remind me to forget.
Archived comments for Missing
deadpoet on 13-07-2015
Missing
I don't think this poem is black and white but that is a very good analogy to loss. I enjoyed reading this.
xx

Author's Reply:
You are very kind to comment DP and I'm very happy you enjoyed it, I wasn't sure readers would get this one. Many thanks Keith

Mikeverdi on 15-07-2015
Missing
I get the loss thing Keith, but this is weird, that stuff your smoking....best stop HaHa! ๐Ÿ™‚
Mike

Author's Reply:
Ha Ha, Arrest me and take mi ganja.Thanks Mike, made me laugh

Gothicman on 15-07-2015
Missing
I read this briefly earlier, between travelling. This is your usual brilliant semi-cryptic self, Keith. Some superb descriptions like "your face a back seat white spot", and all the rest just as well expressed. I do hope you're not discouraged by the lack of response, You and the equally brilliant Gerald keep good free poetry rolling along. Gerald perhaps more the understated messaging variation. Very refreshing.
Trevor

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind words Trevor, yes I too enjoy a good Nemo. I would never be discouraged by this site, too many good poets and writers to learn from and the lessons are free :)...and I include your good self in that. My problem and lack of presence is to do with work and relocation, but hope to doing more reading and writing in the near future. Best Keith


Apprenticeship (posted on: 13-07-15)
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Apprenticeship It is by far the biggest document I have, too large to fit in the flame proof box they insisted I bought. I often wondered why it was so big, perhaps it was to match the four years of training that lead to the final signatures. It was such a proud day. We were in the boardroom, the best china was on the trolley and the tea had been scalded next to a plate of posh biscuits. Dad was well prepared, he had set fire to his nasal hair with a small party candle and used half a styptic pencil on his, over-zealous shaving cuts. A Brylcreem bounce set off his best blue suit and he had spent at least an hour polishing his slip on shoes. He always reminded me of a Teddy Boy when he dressed to impress and I think he quite liked me saying that. Mum looked like she was going to be sick with nerves; I had only seen her in that state on one other occasion and that was when I asked her what a vagina looked like. By the time the biscuits got to me there was only Rich Tea left and in my book they don't really make it as a biscuit, never mind a posh one. Mum was listening intently to some big speech and didn't notice me swap out the Bourbon that was delicately balanced on the side of her saucer. The document that followed the biscuit plate was as big as the Times newspaper. Signed first by the Power Station manager, then dad and finally passed to me. Nobody told me not to put my tea cup on it and the ring that followed still makes me smile today. It seemed to be the only thing mum was bothered about, it was the same when I put a greasy finger print on cousin Pats wedding album and I didn't understand why she went mental then either. The station manager gave a little speech about electrical engineering in modern factories and made some smart arse comment about me, now being competent to wire a plug. "You do know how to wire a plug" he asked. "Of course I do, Red to green, blue to bits" I said hoping for a laugh, it never came. I always thought indentures were something you kept in a jar at the side of the bed now I know that they are far too big and important for that. It's in the loft somewhere, lets hope we don't have a fire.
Archived comments for Apprenticeship
deadpoet on 13-07-2015
Apprenticeship
"biscuit plate was a big as the" as big as

Sorry- but the clarity in this was so good that I thought a little typo should be corrected!



Author's Reply:
Hi DP, many thanks for your kind comment and thank you for the typo, all corrected now. Best Keith

Bozzz on 15-07-2015
Apprenticeship
Delightful story Keith - I am sure your toolbox would tell an interesting one too. My belated Congratulations! As a young design draughtsman, I can remember being involved in designing a steam control valve for a GEC power station - circa 1940 perhaps. Cheers, David

Author's Reply:
Thank you Bozzz, as an apprentice instrument technician I probably calibrated the said valve, everything was pneumatic in those days...even the three term controllers. They just press a calibrate button now without having to think or understand, but wheres the fun in that !!!

Mikeverdi on 15-07-2015
Apprenticeship
Yes, liked that,great little story Keith. I was wondering what year this was... Also did you stick at the job? Just asking ๐Ÿ™‚
Mike

Author's Reply:
In Project management now Mike so still in engineering and this was 1985, cheers Keith

Popeye on 18-07-2015
Apprenticeship
Nice work, took me back to my apprentice days, very much enjoyed ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Popeye you too eh, there is no cure you know ๐Ÿ™‚


The Magic Cottage (posted on: 19-06-15)
finding somewhere special when you need it most

Lodged between the humps, Camel carried not spilling a drop I gulped and gasped for freshness, following ley-lines with hedge row rabbits. The candles have been stealing light with knowledge of how short a life can be, when wrinkles pool before they run. Imagine then on sun-baked stone climbing high inside the rose, thatched for a welcome nest, wattle daubs warmth south facing over its step. In this place there is light enough for all creatures to turn their faces. In this place there is enough.
Archived comments for The Magic Cottage
Gothicman on 19-06-2015
The Magic Cottage
Like this Lewis-Carrollesque Poem, some fine phrasing. Good to see your work again, Keith, written in your own special style.
Trevor

Author's Reply:
Hi Trevor thanks for your kind words it's good to be back. Not written anything for ages so need some oil. Best Keith

Mikeverdi on 19-06-2015
The Magic Cottage
I really like this Keith, its quirky and needs to be read a few times. I don't pretend to get the full import, but like Trevor ...I love some of the lines, change that , I like All the lines.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike it's just good to get something down, really appreciate the comments best Keith

Nemo on 19-06-2015
The Magic Cottage
Hi Keith. I find non-sequiturs in this and I'm not sure if they're deliberate but I love the profundities - esp. the second and final stanzas. Overall, there's a magical and surreal effect which I enjoyed.
Gerald

Author's Reply:
Hi Gerald I had to google sequiturs as I thought you used them to prune bushes 😁I can see what you mean the first two stanzas could seam unconnected but in my head they both lead to wanting/ finding the magic cottage, hope that makes sense. Best keith

chant_z on 20-06-2015
The Magic Cottage
Needed careful reading over and over and it wasn't just my language stitches. Very delicate piece.

Author's Reply:
thank you chant-z very much appreciate your comments thank you for taking the time to read and read again. Best Keith

wow I have just seen this one has been nominated so who ever that was Thank you I am truly grateful. Keith


Sitting on my chest (posted on: 16-03-15)
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I was a sickly child, always breathing, a bronchial battering spun under control by inhalers that popped and whizzed spinning powder down my tubes, always pounding. Violet had an ice-cream van, our dog used to bite the tyres it smelled of sprinkles and sherbet, and I knew how he felt. "They make your chest bad, stupid lad" and they did, so I stayed off school. Action Man zip wires, parachutes and wet suits ski gear and shaved hair eagle eye and facial scar a bridge too far? Mum said cider ones with all their E's were probably the worst, strawberry mivies might be ok but whose to say best to keep the vice at bay. No one seemed to notice or care about the clumps of white dog-hair and that I was left to play, in a house with a habit of nearly forty fags a day, always breathing.
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Bringing down the annimal (posted on: 06-03-15)
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Standing on a street that's where it started, with a push and a slap. "What are you looking at? get out of my way and give me that! What did you say? you little brat!" Each day I took a piece, nibbled on his flesh, the soft parts of his mind, made him small, made him afraid. Then the shudders started, broke down, begged me to stop, uncontrollable and I had done that; I had done that, it sat me down cold, Samson without Delilah. Two hours we talked till I worked out why and what I had done. Listened to his opinion of me, the pages of my scrap book, detailed and gruesome, hard for me to look. It's good at hiding now, until someone stands lost in my long grass. I hear it coming through the trees tension lifts its chains, bringing ugly games. I hope the dart never misses the thick part of its leg, we wouldn't want it inside our heads.
Archived comments for Bringing down the annimal
e-griff on 06-03-2015
Afraid of what might be
Intriguing poem. No doubt it can be improved technically, but reading it I was focussed entirely on the meaning, to the exclusion of that.

Author's Reply:
thank you for the comments e-griff, much appreciated. Best Keith

Romany on 07-03-2015
Afraid of what might be
I agree that it is intriguing. I wonder do you mean a carving knife OF resolve, rather than on?

Author's Reply:
Hi Romany, no, what I was trying to say was that I was cutting away his resolve. I don't like that line so much so I think it needs work. Thank you for the feedback much appreciated, Keith

stormwolf on 08-03-2015
Afraid of what might be
Hi Keith,
I think this deserves a rewrite.It is powerful and leaves a lasting impression but mostly due to me being familiar with your style. I feel you need to trim it down and elucidate more who is who.(who is victim , who is bully)
You may also want to give it a title that highlights the end stanza for greater effect but just suggestions.

Standing on a street
that's where it started,
with a push and a slap.

"What are you looking at?
get out of my way
and give me that!
What did you say?
you little brat!"

See how a change in the punctuation and spacing gives it more oomph? Well, that's how I read it anyway ๐Ÿ˜‰

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison.
Thank you for spending time on this, and as ever you are spot on and very much appreciated I will take your offering and do some more work, many thanks Keith


Something in the water (posted on: 27-02-15)
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Only dogs could hear the crunch of loose stone and the hiss of air-brakes swinging in off the bypass, curtain sided carrier of substances unknown. Fat George brushed cake crumbs from his ''keep on truckin'' tee shirt and drained the last dregs from his coffee stained flask. He liked to work alone wallowing in the cabs clutter, paper work became fresh floor mats, delivery note were used as plates for hot buttered transport cafe toast. Two drums he had to drop no label's, no questions for cash just the way he liked it. A delightful spot above the village beside a beck. The drum rolled down Easter egg hill splitting as it hit the tree lined hedge, contents glugged like eels into the grass, soaking the substrate, slithering soluble into the water course. The surface of the village pond broke with fissures, bleeding silver under a sharp black sky. The capsized eyes begged the moon and cried a chemical curse. Another late night drop George was nervous the night so bright brought caution and irritation, he snatched at the last drum and slipped. Pinned by his unsecured load a scream crossed sheep covered fields dropping distant to the ear of a working dog tired from the days obedience, it growled quite in its bed. Acid claimed his face and chest eating flesh, one eye survived longer than his windpipe. As he thrashed the damp night air in to his veins clouds swam like fishes to their mother, the moon, shadows returning to darker pools.
Archived comments for Something in the water
Mikeverdi on 27-02-2015
Something in the water
And some may say 'Good riddance to bad rubbish'...in every way. I will just say good writing ๐Ÿ™‚
Mike

Author's Reply:
Ha ha yes they would Mike, Thanks for the kind words. Keith

franciman on 27-02-2015
Something in the water
This is super work. I love the balance between 'story' and 'Imagery'. I have a single problem, mate. It looks unpolished. No examples. you will see the errors for yourself. Happy to nominate this though, as John will pick the edits up if it makes the anthology.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Wow, thank you very much Jim, very much appreciated. It does need some work I will work on the edit. Cheers Keith

e-griff on 27-02-2015
Something in the water
I thought this was unusual and successful in what you tried to do. The only significant quibbles I have are 1. the phrasing 'two drums he had to drop' and 2. 'labels'

Otherwise, enjoyed it.

Author's Reply:
Thanks e-griff very helpful, I will tidy up. Best Keith

sweetwater on 27-02-2015
Something in the water
I liked this, stomach turned over a bit at the last two verses, but I also thought he got his come uppance. I feel more sorrow for the wildlife than I do him! Very good read. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Me too Sue, it is a little far fetched by poetic licence and justice but I'm glad you enjoyed it. Best Keith


Fingernails (posted on: 28-11-14)
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He knew what he was supposed to be, two stroke raced in his blood line. By the age of ten his dermatitis hands could rebuild a gearbox and most engines, he was good at connecting with his father. At seventeen he was still pretending in his worn out patched up jeans and scuffed up road rashed leather, long hair seemed to match the image, but he hankered for change and its approval. A young man's dilemma can easily King Kong its way to the top of the Empire State. In one hand he had the girl and the other, swatting planes away for fear of getting caught, he needed to escape. A damp tiny flat was perfect for that, the journey from A to B or biker to mod. Clothes became his bodies' passion nervous of the target on his back. He burned his brightest into mirrored chrome, smiling at a true reflection. Clubs and drugs took away time passing hands and faces in dark doorways but the morning paper always unfolded with a coffee and a shave. I like to think he found a pillion for his scooter, who tasted the same without the shame, a two wheeled screamer that would hug him hard and hold on tight to his fish tail.
Archived comments for Fingernails
Mikeverdi on 28-11-2014
Fingernails
Great writing of a time I remember, I went to 'pot' myself HaHa! Some great lines and imagery flowing through out. As you may gather I REALLY liked this one. ๐Ÿ™‚
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike I really appreciate your comments, and yes pot is something I lost a few years to..or did I gain a few years with. ๐Ÿ™‚ Glad you liked the poem. Best Keith

Gothicman on 30-11-2014
Fingernails
Some excellent descriptive lines here Keith, with an off-key word choice that you have a particular talent for; makes it so much more of an intriguing read.
Must be a Velocette with that fish tail? You have a natural feel, and find just the right angle for writing this type of descriptive poetry! Should it be "body's passion" when singular? Great writing as usual from you. Trevor

Author's Reply:
Sorry I'm so late getting back to you Trevor, I don't mean to be rude I just don't have much time lately, and yes Velocette or Vespa take your pick ๐Ÿ™‚ thamks for the kind words and the nit I will put it straight. Best Keith


Who's at the door (posted on: 21-11-14)
Written for the smaller ones in my family

Meet Pinto the mouse and his family of three, who lived by my pond in the roots of a tree Elmina his wife and their two naughty boys, Hushka the quiet and Deano the noise. One night in a storm came a tap at my door and there they stood just three of the four. The rain was so heavy their defenses had burst and poor little Hushka had washed away first. Deano explained he'd lost sight of his brother, had tried to follow but was held by his mother. They'd searched for two hours in mud and in rain, through garden swamps, shouting his name. Oh please can you help us? said Elmina in tears, he's easy to spot with his big pink ears. Well It is five o'clock and I've just cooked my tea, but of course I will help, now where could he be? I searched behind bins and under my car, 'where ever he is he can't have gone far.' I looked in the hedges and onto the lawn, I'm sorry I said but it looks like he's gone. It was then that we saw him with huge tearful eyes, he'd followed the smell of my microwaved pie. I asked if they'd join me and offered them crumbs, with rumbling tummies they stuck up their thumbs.
Archived comments for Who's at the door
Mikeverdi on 21-11-2014
Whos at the door
That is just lovely, would you mind if I printed it off? I have someone I could read it too. ๐Ÿ™‚
Mike

Author's Reply:
I would be very happy if you did, many thanks Keith

pommer on 22-11-2014
Whos at the door
That is really lovely, and well written.I think I shall read ti to my great-grandson.Be lucky, Peter.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Peter for the kind comments, I hope your great-grandson enjoys it. Best Keith

stormwolf on 23-11-2014
Whos at the door
Made me smile...tender hearted lovely tale for kids.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison i started to do some sketches but only got as far as the first one, drawing is very difficult. ๐Ÿ™‚


Late Again (posted on: 14-11-14)
Driving to college

We were always late on Mondays, snow only made it worse. The light was just behind us, a cold night's eye widened as you drove. half asleep I watched the morning making shapes, dropping through mountain mist pockets feeling gray-scale against the Mexico's yellow. Gently we drifted, millimeters above the apex then gone like smoke in a draft. If you're going to hit a tree Cedars are splendid and solid. If you think you might die, then its shape will be quite dramatic against the planted bulbs and hand place flowers. The force broke both my legs. I couldn't cry, I had to listen to you choke. The note arrived during the first lesson, someone made a joke about a crash, it turned out to be pretty sick.
Archived comments for Late Again
Mikeverdi on 14-11-2014
Late Again
SHIT! That was great writing...begs the question, was it real?
Mike
ps. Mexico, was that the ford escort?

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike, poetic liecence, but yes it was a yellow ford mexico, and yes the driver died, unfortunatley I was the dick in college making the joke,that turned out to be a sick one that I deeply regretted once the news came through. Best Keith

Gothicman on 15-11-2014
Late Again
Yes, fine anecdotal free verse with interesting content. I think after "drove" should be comma, and "hand-placed"? Is this for real, did you break both your legs? A narrow escape, drifting over the apex on ice! Another fine piece, Keith.
Trevor

Author's Reply:
Hi Trevor sorry so late, life is taking over at the mo, thanks for the kind comments and the Nits I agree with all and will edit. Thanks Keith

Nemo on 16-11-2014
Late Again
A gripping write and I enjoyed the details. You said you were a kid. I don't remember school being called college in those days. Or was it post 16? Small c on cedars? Were the chairs flipped or the cigarette ash? I'm confused by the word order of this bit. Usually there was revolting chewing-gum stick on the underside of the chairs.
Cheers, Gerald.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Gerald, you are correct to point out the kids line it doesn't really work I will need to review it, the chairs in the canteen were fixed, four to a table and they were on hinges so you could get out and you could smoke in there as well. Cheers Keith

deadpoet on 16-11-2014
Late Again
Oh this starts off very atmospherically and ends just like the true story- dramatically and sadly. There is definitely contrasts with the happy go lucky college kids and then the accident where it gets serious. It's so hard for kids to relate to the finality of death when it's noone close to you and there will always be the sick joker though I don't think they mean that bad- usually don't know what to say I think. Something the people involved never forget. Well done on a sad story. Cynical with the cedar but that's life and death. A way to explain sorrow . Cedars are beautiful. Makes me think of David Gutherson's Snow Falling on cedars- good nature desriptions . A very expressive poem.

Author's Reply:
Hi dp sorry so late with reply its good to read your comments as I now know the poem came across the way I intended, thank you for reading so well and commenting. Best Keith

sweetwater on 16-11-2014
Late Again
There is such a lot of information and interest here, The horrible canteen, the beautifully descriptive piece, and then the end that does literally hit you with shock at such sudden finality to a life. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Hi Sue sorry so late life is taking over at present, thank you for your comment its always good to know how the poem comes across, much appreciated Keith


Skinny Dips (posted on: 07-11-14)
An English madrigal

My heads outside the window as we drive, the perigee beams slideshows of the night we swam beneath the buzz in naked light. Electric phase of youth, dry mouths collide, dipped quiet as the deep reveals its bite; My heads outside the window as we drive, the perigee beams slideshows of the night. And did a hot touch, soft, mean to revive? with bodies wrapped to warm, when held so tight, I cannot see but feel my way to sight; My heads outside the window as we drive, the perigee beams slideshows of the night we swam beneath the buzz in naked light.
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Jack in a box (posted on: 07-11-14)
My entry for the weekly challenge 'Fireworks'

The sherry glass squeaked inside the tea towel as Jack finished off the last of his supper dishes. He switched off the kitchen light, settled down for the nightly news. His fingers waggled, roughly licked by a friendly tongue. His eyes closed behind strong readers, the completed crossword slid over his belly onto the floor. Unaware of the pair arguing outside. You do it. Get stuffed it was your idea. Do it you wimp. No it was your idea, you do it. Ha, I always knew you had no balls, wait till I tell the rest of the lads. Ok! Give it here then, but you're doing the next one. The boy scurried to Jack's door and rattled the brass knocker, lit the banger, shouted wanker and dropped it through the letterbox, on top of the mail Jack forgot to pick up. The TV was as loud as a Western and Jack could sleep through gun shots, never heard the knock or the call, didn't smell the smoke as it blinded the hall.
Archived comments for Jack in a box
Ionicus on 08-11-2014
Jack in a box
The tragic outcome of a senseless prank. The reality of such an horrific act comes across very clearly.
I thought it was a good contender for the 'egg'.

Luigi

Author's Reply:

Mikeverdi on 11-11-2014
Jack in a box
Agree with Luigi, you captured the senseless stupidity well.
Mike

Author's Reply:


Baptism of tears (posted on: 31-10-14)
finding a missing child

When the floods finally came you were down in Dallas, washing cars by day and floors by night . They found you drinking whirlpools amongst the sidewalks and cigarettes, bare knuckles bleeding in the rain. You had your followers, institute inmates that shook their heads and chewed their hands, pills that held the banks from bursting. Slowly you began to surface, regression split the shell and gave you a name. He took you when you were five; I sat on your bed, watched from your window, for twenty years I saw you playing in the yard, heard your voice in every playground, prayers whispered onto candle light, washed your bedding every night. The buzzer sounds as the door lock clicks, the room smells of urine and bleach. The warder points towards the window, I sit between you and the misty garden view. You fight to stall emotion but cry out ''Mother'' and I am reborn.
Archived comments for Baptism of tears
sweetwater on 01-11-2014
Baptism of tears
This was very hard to read, as losing a child is unimaginably dreadful, and I admit I passed it by a few times before I dared to read. But I am glad I did as the writing is amazing, with such meaning, and very sad. A beautiful piece, if that is the right word. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Its the right words in my book Sue, thank you very much for your kind comments. Best Keith

Gothicman on 02-11-2014
Baptism of tears
Keith, this is a fantastic poem, reminding me of a Michelle Pfeiffer film where I think her son was kidnapped when small and after many years turned up by chance knocking on her door as delivery boy, leaving her with an uncanny feeling of knowing him, which she then pursued. This tragic poem is skilfully written, excellent descriptive lines, progression, and conclusion. Yet another red nib miss to my mind. Free verse doesn't get much better than this, a lesson in message interest value, structure, and conciseness. Superb, well done! Trevor

Author's Reply:
Trevor you are very kind, sorry I haven't been commenting much lately work has taken over at the moment, I am still reading though when the chance presents itself, and thank you for the nib, very much appreciated Keith


The dark room mob (posted on: 31-10-14)
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It could have been penned by Enid Blyton, summer break kids find a secret entrance the pantry floor our place of residence A wooden hatch broke the seal of the tomb, adjusted eyes peering into the gloom. It quickly became our three knock door lit by torches and fast silver fish, musty carpets and bits no one missed solving crime in days of darkness our motto "To carry on regardless" Only the members had seats in this club of course, you need a pass to get in, complete with a cellotape taken print, signed and bound by a drop of blood, there for each other, the dark room mob. In that crime room our cases were solved, neatly wrote up and filed in a box I recall the mystery of the milk bottle tops. When neighbours complained of damage done early by visiting vandals or something more scary. We each took turns to stay awake all night compiling the evidence found in my report, and the notes I took for a statement in court. That while number 10 slept away with their dreams, it was a sparrow that had it away with their cream.
Archived comments for The dark room mob
Mikeverdi on 31-10-2014
The dark room mob
Wonderful, I loved it 'there for each other, the dark room mob'...just perfect.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks MIke happy you liked this one, and many thanks for taking the time to comment. Best Keith


Tiptoed Spinnerets (posted on: 17-10-14)
a short poem

Reaching for the highest branch, spiderling balloonists hold tight to gossamer draglines fly fishing on springtime thermals, always falling. Opening the car door a money spider crash-lands across my eyelash, runs for cover and tickles my ear.
Archived comments for Tiptoed Spinnerets
sweetwater on 17-10-2014
Tiptoed Spinnerets
This is beautiful, lovely wording. " gossamer draglines " is perfect to describe the spider's thread. Last 4 lines made me smile. Sue ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comment Sue, this fact about baby spiders actually using threads like hot air balloons really grabbed my attention. Best Keith

Gothicman on 18-10-2014
Tiptoed Spinnerets
This is you at your usual best again, Keith. Each line a treat to read, and that descriptive ending is superb, things happening on the periphery of vision, wonderful poetry, deserves better recognition.
Trevor

Author's Reply:
Sorry so late getting back Trevor and thank you for the kind words. Best Keith

stormwolf on 19-10-2014
Tiptoed Spinnerets
Delightfully detailed description of the little things so many miss but makes fine poetry.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison, this one started life as a three line short form, but I didn't seem to do the spiders justice. Good to know it works, sorry I'm late getting back. Best Keith

Kipper on 19-10-2014
Tiptoed Spinnerets
Hi Savvi
I guess most of us will have experienced this from time to time. I certainly have but it never occurred to me t write about it.
Pity. You did and it's great. I just read it again and yes; it's great.
Michael

Author's Reply:
Hi Michael I had never realised that they actually fly, well float, you know they have been found on weather balloons and 1600km out at sea. I just had to write about it ๐Ÿ™‚ Best Keith


The Last Dance (posted on: 10-10-14)
.

They've been waiting too long holding hands in the departure lounge emotions sat on, strapped shut, sickness pills took. With arms that keep the house together she peels him from warm sheets, his head rests, heavy cheeked on her breast lips pushed over the gum line. His night-shirt slips whitewashed over a wasted shoulder, legs hang limp unable to stand. She pulls him in tighter than bound feet distorting just the same, keeps repeating his name as their waltz slows to a shuffle.
Archived comments for The Last Dance
Gothicman on 12-10-2014
The Last Dance
Again, too vague and with no motive or consequence to their actions, not enough common reference and cohesion, The last dance is usually about who you're going home with, what is being promised later, why they've paired up, for example, usually erotic or romantic, but "lips pushed over the gum line"? This would only work if a humorous poem, a parody of Town Hotel Saturday dance slappers! Even if it's tiredness, exhaustion, half-drunkenness, after a long evening of dancing, it doesn't promote any special theme or situation..too vague..but with your talent for this type of understated writing it will gel sometimes and then it's masterly. All of course just my opinion...Trevor

Author's Reply:
Trevor
Thank you for the honest feedback, vague seems to be my theme this week and the whole story line here has been lost based on your comments, I'm not sure this one has enough invested for a complete rework but parts may surface again, either way it would need a sizable edit. Best Keith


Fireworks (posted on: 10-10-14)
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Hand prints briefly fog the glass, that's the way it's done now too much choice and given choices, decisions made by tantrums. It used to be easy, cow-bells in the hall signalled our arrival, They had their positions, a vinyl recliner and a swivel chair that reached for a boney kiss smelling of strong tea. My eye was on the window sill, wrapped in brown paper, not to be opened, dark blue Standard I did my best not to explode. As the hand prints fade dad digs deeper, the tantrum turns to comics already thinking of sweets. When the fifth comes time will be spent organised trying to get junior away from the bedroom and his hand held display. But he hasn't collected wood, fought off raids, set his hair on fire, siphoned petrol from a neighbours car or asked a penny for the guy. So why would he care.
Archived comments for Fireworks
Bozzz on 12-10-2014
Fireworks
Hi Keith, this digs deep as a parable. My instinct says we are celebrating for the wrong reason - today many would celebrate if such an attempt succeeded. Nice write...David

Author's Reply:
I think you are probably right David Thanks for your comment. Best Keith

Gothicman on 12-10-2014
Fireworks
Yes, I'm with David here, do we celebrate the brave attempt or the getting caught before the act? I would like to help a few politicians with their rocket careers! I enjoyed the historical sentiments in this Keith, but, I think you slightly overdo the understating of this type of free poetry sometimes. We, the readers, need some easy references to get us into the poem even if there is an indirect, understated theme running throughout keeping cohesion, in this case firework night. The basic story here is a bit vague, perhaps too episodal i.e. too personal to just your experience of this traditional celebration, needs to be a little more common experience to keep the reader in touch and interested. You have the talent for this type of writing that's for sure, for there are some excellent phrases and expressions otherwise in your work...Best, Trevor

Author's Reply:
Trevor
You make a good point, all to often I miss the translation, it is a fine line to tread between making it boring and far too obvious and completely leaving the reader behind, of course some readers see a lot more than others and I have been guilty in the past on many occasions for not filling in the blanks, I will take your comments to the edit. Much appreciated Keith


Hand Eye Co-ordination (posted on: 03-10-14)
x

She just stepped out! A pale blue Ford slammed on sending her into the air; no sound came out, only a deep thud. Tights were torn at the knees blood darkened in the nylon. Asking to go home for a cup of tea I took it to be a good sign, embarrassed because she'd lost control. The phone box stunk of piss handset half melted by some Zippo. In the panic my lips touched a gobbed on receiver, I thought of AIDS and swallowing spittoons. Ambulance please, there's been an accident, Park road shops no they don't have fucking numbers hurry please, she's in pain. Her name was Eileen, it was embroidered on the pink slippers in which she shuffled to the perspex off licence, twenty B&H and a half bottle of whiskey every Friday night with sausage chips and gravy, but this was a Thursday, she'd run out of milk and I couldn't stop her.
Archived comments for Hand Eye Co-ordination
Mikeverdi on 03-10-2014
Hand Eye Co-ordination
WOW! Another deep meaning piece from you, it felt part of a longer story; I could have read more. I guess this means it was well written ๐Ÿ™‚
Great stuff!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Hey Mike you are too kind, this one could have been a short I guess but I always lose things in the grammar and punctuation. I will stick with poems on the main site they feel safer to me. Best Keith

Gothicman on 03-10-2014
Hand Eye Co-ordination
Yes, you're quite a master of free verse, Keith, another well-written descriptive slice-of-life. Never think a person is okej while the adrenaline is still pumping, the shock comes later with the pain! Grocers, unlike the off-licence and the chip shop, across the road, typical! Trevor

Author's Reply:
Hi Trevor, you are quite the master yourself, I don't always have time to comment but I read everything. I still have a passion for rhyming couplets but free verse is a little less discerning about meter. Thanks for your comment, Keith


Learnt Behaviour (posted on: 03-10-14)
v

She stood in front of the pram repeatedly smacking into an unseen cry. Greasy hair and dirty clothes her body moved in a way that hinted at issues and sheltered housing. Take it away at birth, tubes should be tied, can't even look after themselves, who the hell shagged her. shouldn't be allowed to have a child, No eye contact or opinion, he was somewhere else shrinking into the shopping center, watching the automatic doors in crisis. I caught her hand holding on at the wrist, she came back from behind her eyes a sail boat emerging from a storm. Its nappy was full clothes covered in sick, how could I explain what a child needs to a mother that needed the same.
Archived comments for Learnt Behaviour
Mikeverdi on 03-10-2014
Learnt Behaviour
A story that is fact not fiction, a daily observation in every town. It hurts to read it, I'm sure it hurt to write it; to witness it breaks your heart. You told the story well, the metaphor's worked 'a sail boat emerging from a storm'...perfect. Who to blame and how to fix it? questions that social workers have been asked for ever.
Thanks for posting and highlighting this situation.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike, how to fix it indeed, break the chain I guess but the how still remains. Best Keith

sweetwater on 03-10-2014
Learnt Behaviour
Grandparents, parents, mother then in a few years baby too, like poison dripping through the bloodline. If we could go back through time and change past generations this would not happen, but we can't and it may well be too ingrained to even try now. Its very sad (and annoying ) but they too are all part of the community. Brilliant poem, great empathy with the poor, useless and beaten down mother. Sue.

Author's Reply:
Hi Sue
Care in the community has it's draw backs, most of which center around the lack of community there was a time when the mother in this poem would have got the care she needed to bring up a baby. But not now IMHO. Best Keith

Gothicman on 03-10-2014
Learnt Behaviour
Great to see you back submitting your fine poetry again, Keith, and this one is excellent as is usual for you. Yes, teaching children by using violence, an inlearnt behaviour from one's own upbringing; not easy to break that chain reaction. When in London recently, I saw a woman hitting a little screaming girl repeatedly on the back of her legs, but, unlike your narrator here, I just asked her to please not to hit her child anymore. This was met by a tirade of abuse directed at me giving the impression to the fast passing people that I was molesting her! It stopped the child abuse, but the memory of that little girl's screams and her "Sorry Mummy" to no avail, made me quite depressed for the rest of the day. One feels sorry too, for the mothers who struggle in a difficult role, often abused themselves and deserted by the child's father, who themselves are often worse when it comes to physically beating their children or deserting family responsibilities. Mike is right, how to fix it, like religious indoctrination, hard to break the chains... Trevor

Author's Reply:
You are very kind Trevor, I know what you mean, it is at a point now were it isn't worth saying or doing anything for fear of being seen as interfering. Thanks for your comment. Best Keith

stormwolf on 04-10-2014
Learnt Behaviour
Incredible Keith. You do these kinds of poems so well. Was going to nominate it but someone beat me to it. The last stanza really hit home (pardon pun)
I think I would have put the second stanza in inverted commas...they are the words of others... so to highlight that although the reader gets it alright.

Excellento!

Alison x


Author's Reply:
Alison you are very kind, not sure who did the nom and nib but I am very grateful, its a good idea to identify the spoken others words, I did have these in italics but changed at the last minute, I will have a play. Many thanks Keith

e-griff on 04-10-2014
Learnt Behaviour
Very effective concept, well expressed.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks e-griff , I've not posted in ages as just to damn busy at work, so it is nice to get this kind of reaction and support I am as ever extremely grateful. Best Keith

Supratik on 05-10-2014
Learnt Behaviour
A poem that hits and leaves the heart wrenching. Description is much more than being poignant. It leaves you with numb, with a silence that unites the need of the mother and the child in that common chord.

Author's Reply:
Hi Supratik
Thank you for your considered reply, I really like the way you interpret the poem and the end lines, very much appreciated. Keith

ValDohren on 05-10-2014
Learnt Behaviour
Excellent work, very well expressed, so sad and poignant. A situation all too common, and Social Workers fail far too often.
Val

Author's Reply:
Hi Val, thanks for your comment, not sure the social worker network was ever ready to cope with the case loads when thy started closing the mental institutes and pushing people into the community. Many Thanks Keith


Beast of burden (posted on: 08-08-14)
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A heavy horse to swing my legs, haul my slumped cargo in its cart, parked by garden chairs. Offer me cake to help me mend cut off the crusts for afternoon tea, I'll tremble crumbs for sparrows while you flap wrapping blankets. I want to stay, cold is a differential measured between hands that will pull me back in before the light condenses and our sighs become visible again. Your story is quickly told, standing silent in the field a vignette in my arid soil. I stole your best pages. Spit polish your shoes switch on the sign, slip loose from the yoke. I will wilt quietly tonight ready to take your morning guilt and another flower from your dress.
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Broadside (posted on: 01-08-14)
My attempt at being fed up of being discreet in this weeks challenge indiscreet

The pressure of your oceans, compresses me in the dark, running silent from the enemy just below life's sonar. A green screen liar creaking at the seams, giving away my adult dreams for words of empty ballast. Too long lonely in my bunk, time I started the engines, loaded the torpedo tubes. Cabin fevered on the phone, telling her why you won't be home. I'm breaking surface, opening the hatch, salt spray on my lips with you and yours in sight, coming up broadside. Fire one, fire two, ramming speed.
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Happiness Forgets (posted on: 25-07-14)
My attempt at this weeks weekly challenge....underground...all welcome prose or poetry find us in the forums

A loose suited cool linen swagger eclipses the burden of daylight adjusting down well-trodden steps, nicotine fingernails trail on billboard walls to an ugly door that opens with a mumble. The bar stools gesture through half closed eyes lifted from beer mat stares, closing again with a head back sip. Hips sway through pungent clouds, reverb touches seersucker on stilettos, heavy handed from a dub step base. He falls familiar to a corner seat and closes his mind, behind the aroma of a Black Russian, he slips under the underground again.
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Coastal features (posted on: 25-07-14)
Getting ready for Cornwall

Open wide a mouth of gargled sand, let rivers spit out rocks from dribbled lips. fading light fills eyes with rolling skies, as storm-cats claw their kittens from your pools. Footprints throw up stubble on smooth cheeks, till once again the Barber's whetted-blade scrapes its trade across your weathered face, tethered upright sails will chase the foam. If I would dare to climb and brush bleached curls of coloured shrubs that wave across your brow. Then I could rest and feel the pounding pulse, that calls me here to heal within your arms.
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Green, Green, Gone (posted on: 18-07-14)
.

Strange that it had grown on the side of a sandstone slab. A huge knarred hand reaching out to touch another world, held by an underground prison. I thought of it as old, generations had played at its wrist, swung from its finger tips. The rope had been robbed from a coal mine, It gave out black blisters and was hung by a rumour. The pendulum effect was magnificent, motion sickness spun from the canopy to the creak of a rolling Galleon. Roots collected skin and blood from thin boned boys on summer days that shared a look at dirty books, before they chanced the rope and felt the kiss of bark. They chopped off its hand with no one to hold it, broke up the slab, sealed the wound with tar, built houses over its tomb. I walked up the hill to see it gone, my clothes grew with each step, until I stood as a small boy remembering, how I once learned to fly.
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Slow news day (posted on: 07-07-14)
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The first to leave the room were your cats, followed by a stench breaching the doorway, snarling across my face, the heat only made things worse. I turned off the breakfast show and placed a cushion over the scars, leaving the remote in your grip, just pressing the button without touching flesh. I didn't want to feel the cold. Two lots of Saturday papers missed their morning coffee and completed crosswords. Then on Wednesday you were headline news. 'Blood on her shoes' the pets had slept at your feet and feasted on swollen ankles. I opened a window through which the cats returned. I would like to say, sorry for their actions, but they only wanted water to quench their thirst for blood. I saw you later that day in a teal dress and matching hat, the one you sometimes wore for church; stepping out of house into the arms of family and friends I'd never seen before. You looked less alive but happy. Don't blame the cats, the local paper said it's natural to try to survive.
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Hunger Games (posted on: 04-07-14)
My entry for the weekly challenge (Competition) Competition was one of the topics for my O level Art exam 1980. One of the teachers that stalked the room had a go at me for painting a nest full of Blackbird chicks and mother returning with a worm. She asked me to justify how it fitted the topic.

The council provided all the extras each time she opened her legs. He wore two tone brogues, drove a Ford Capri for cigarettes and six packs, a shell suited pop to the corner shop. She was always heavy with the next claim and stayed in bed nursing hangovers back to sleep, while children took care of her and each other. I can still see their eyes, being dragged from failed double glazing, older sisters would cover mouths, in case a social worker called, shouting through the letter box into the hall. They played with Marlboro building blocks, stacked on soiled bedroom rugs, taxi's there and back to school for clean clothes and ever so grateful lice jumped hugs. Dad was kind on Friday nights before they slammed and locked the door, he would leave a bag of chips in the middle of the floor. One between seven, was quite a competition when the youngest was three and the eldest, eleven.
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You're Leaving Home (posted on: 27-06-14)
Off to study

I was pressing your parachute with a travel iron, when the wind took you, scattering a trail of books, pizza and a bedroom floor, but what for? a debt the size of my first house? Your prize a zero hour contract, three years to grow your own beard. I wonder will your canopy ever fill enough so you can see through the fringe flicked pout, to a landing spot, maybe a tower block tree, a pupa cocooned, changing inside, to whatever it want's to be. You still have the key.
Archived comments for You're Leaving Home
Mikeverdi on 27-06-2014
Your Leaving Home
Your writing continues to enthral me, this in my opinion is superb. I hope it gets the plaudits it deserves. In my favourites and I would nominate if open.
You have captured the essence of that time... Flying the nest etc.. Great metaphor through out.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Mike you are very kind, and I very happy you think it worthy of your favourites that means a great deal to me, I am always happy to get any feedback. Thanks, Keith

stormwolf on 27-06-2014
Your Leaving Home
Hi Keith,
I have seen you blossom in the time that you have been posting. Your work has a new boldness to it that the reader takes on board. It's difficult to describe the difference when that happens but it just feels more fluid, more authentic, not trying too hard etc.

So many good images and metaphors. The only thing I was wondering about was the title.
If you are saying 'you are' leaving it should have an apostrophe (you're) but if the poem is all about 'the' leaving ie 'your' leaving, then it's fine as it is. A tiny thing but worth asking.

Anyway, a tender poem and the last line made me smile in that bittersweet way ๐Ÿ˜‰
Alison x


Author's Reply:
Damn and blast (you're) how many more times will I get it wrong...don't answer that, thank you for pointing it out all changed now. I am learning a lot here as you say, we have some great poets and reading poetry is my favourite pass time, when I get the time. I like to see what works and what doesn't and keep trying to improve, it is interesting to see different techniques being used by different poets and I love it when someone steps out of the box. I have been trying to find my own voice and that may sound pompous but I could pick out one of your poems in a book full of poetry because you have your own voice and it shines through in all your work, this is also true for Mike, franciman, and PDmitchel to name but a few. So I will keep trying different things and reading lots until I get there and meanwhile take encouragement from your comments. Best Keith


Sleeping in fields (posted on: 23-06-14)
Edit 1 thanks Alison and Mike

The Cider threw me off my feet, steeped before an apple sleep, watching bats cross coastal downs, head first goes the hedgerow clown. The day had yawned and let me be, crusty eyes blink morning trees, filtered fresh behind olive blinds, a straw hat halo that fades with time. Pulling corn stalks I make my stand and take a scarecrow's offered hand. The ground turns hard with little trace of summer ways in a winter place. As snow takes hold blown into drifts I see a shape as day light shifts. A body curled against the cold, the scarecrow whispers, it's time, you're old. Original The Cider threw me off my feet, watching bats cross coastal downs, head first through the hedgerow, steeped before an apple sleep. The day had woken way before me filtered fresh behind olive blinds, haloed by a crushed straw hat, crusty eyes blink sunlit trees. Pulling corn stalks I make my stand and take a scarecrow's offered hand. The ground turns hard with little trace of summer ways in a winter place. As snow takes hold blown into drifts I see a shape as reality shifts. A body curled against the cold, the scarecrow whispers, it's time, you're old.
Archived comments for Sleeping in fields
stormwolf on 23-06-2014
Sleeping in fields
Oh I liked this. I had to read it a couple of times. I may be translating it wrongly but to me it speaks of life and the fleeting nature of it.
The silly, care-free days of summer (youth/ adulthood)
then the sudden painful realisation that time has passed and such days are now gone ;-(
The ground turns hard with little trace
of summer ways in a winter place.
The final lines are very sad and moving. The scarecrow comes over (to me) as some kind of archetype figure understood and embraced on another reality....
then the final lines of comfort and understanding.
Very moving Keith.
Of course I may be reading it too deeply but does that matter if I am?
On the crit side
I felt the rhythm needs a bit of a tweak here and there and the rhyme lines keep changing or it would be absolutely outstanding but I thought it was very original and will remember it for some time. always a sign of a poem having made an impression.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison you see it all, I have reverted to type and gone for an edit using good old rhyming couplets. Thanks Keith

Mikeverdi on 24-06-2014
Sleeping in fields
Cant fault it Keith, it captures the melancholy side of my imagination; it told me everything. We can always seek to improve but.....

Mike

Like Storm, I've been back again to listen...pure magic mate.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike I have gone for an edit. Bets Keith

stormwolf on 25-06-2014
Sleeping in fields
Hi Keith, I just listened to the recitation. The ending brought tears to my eyes. A lovely poem with a great edit.

I would put the last four words on their own line as they are the crux of the poem.

Taking into favs,

Xx

Author's Reply:
Sorry Alison I missed your comment, thank you for the feedback, I hate hearing my own voice played back, I have put the words back as per your suggestion. Thanks Keith


Closing Time (posted on: 16-06-14)
I won't ask you again

Can I have your glasses now please? Have you no homes to go to? I'm staring at two full pints, I'll probably be sick but right now it seems worth the risk. The cold air has been let in, lifted my head with a silly grin. The big lights reveal all the tacky sights disrupted faces squint at reality the scraping of chairs is muffled by the hiss left over from loud music. The zombie hoard moves towards the door, rolling like an episode from voyage to the bottom of the sea. It's then I use my one last chance, asking sympathy for a leg trembling romance; not even a back of the club glance. So on I go drawn by a diesel engine drone and the smell of deep fat, cheese burger and chips consumed to be splattered in pavement patterns, to be stepped in by Sunday shoes, disgusted on the way to their pews. But it's all OK at three am, I'm pissing like a horse again and hear the rain on the roof, proof that the streets will be healed running like clear liquid that forms on a scab. Refreshed ready for their Sunday best and my curtains drawn, day of rest.
Archived comments for Closing Time
Bozzz on 17-06-2014
Closing Time
A proper British night out - Mr Gove should relish your words and have them enshrined in the syllabus. Well written Keith - enjoyed too....David

Author's Reply:
Hey Bozzz please accept my apologise I have just been going through old poems and for some reason I had missed this one....sorry Keith

sweetwater on 18-06-2014
Closing Time
As a person speaking from completely outside this realm, perhaps just a half of cider at Christmas, I found this truly captivating, felt a bit sick myself by the burger van, and was very glad it rained before morning. Really enjoyed my venture into 'the dark side'! ๐Ÿ™‚ Sue.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comments Sue, unfortunatley I know far too much about this realm, not so much these days though as the recovery period seems to get longer and it really isn't worth it. Best Keith

stormwolf on 18-06-2014
Closing Time
Made me smile. I sure remember some nights from my younger days. The sudden harsh lights going on at the end of a dance was enough to test even the strongest of beer goggles.;-0
Always best to slink out before the horror.

Things still seemed better back then though. Nowadays it's open till 4 am and the streets are a drunken disgrace.
Think we saw the best of it.

Alison x



Author's Reply:
I think you are right....we saw the best of it, but this is probably the mantra of every generation. The only difference is of course we know we are right. ๐Ÿ˜‰ Best keith

Kipper on 23-06-2014
Closing Time
Nothing like a bit of nostalgia. I thought you got it just right; the last minute rush, and the urgent need for a pee and a burger, whichever came first.

That was then, and now? In bed writing and reading for UKA

Michael

Author's Reply:
Thanks Michael, I find myself thinking of the past more often these days, must be my age, yes that was then, and now we swap one drug for another. Long may it continue ๐Ÿ˜‰ Best Keith


Too old to be rescued (posted on: 13-06-14)
My poem for the weekly challenge-Emergency

Jess didn't make it out, they listen from a blistered field her barking raised and frantic, too old now to be rescued, neighbours put their buckets down and turn silent to the beaten farmer. His voice carries above the flames, face distorted by the fire-fight reflected desperate in his eyes, they close slowly, resigned. But the grass sways with a secret and the wind brings a child's cry as Jess drags something backwards through the door.
Archived comments for Too old to be rescued
Popeye on 14-06-2014
Too old to be rescued
Thought this was a sad little tale....until the last line, great twist which gives relevance to the entire poem. ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Popeye, glad the poem worked, much appreciate your comment. Best Keith

sweetwater on 14-06-2014
Too old to be rescued
Well thank goodness everything was alright in the end, worried I would be upset for Jess all day. I wasn't too sure about first two lines, don't know what a toke is, but it did lead into the poem well, and I was captivated by the story.

Author's Reply:
A toke is to inhale the smoke from combusting marijuana (urban use) the harder you suck the quicker it burns ๐Ÿ˜‰ Jess was never in danger, unlike those judgmental on lookers, who I could have made die with shame....the power is in the pen you know...happy you liked it, I thought it was a bit lassie come home, but I used to watch...and enjoy Lassie. Bets Keith


Reliant Robin Super Van III (posted on: 13-06-14)
What a car she was, ahh, I miss the smell of engine oil hitting the exhaust manifold in the morning.

I used to complain that dad didn't invent, he had no contraptions or any intent, nothing he made could keep me content. He lived in his garage for nearly a week, and built me a car that needed a tweak, friends helped my push it up the street. All of sudden and to my surprise, I got me a girl to sit by my side, out on picnics and scenic drives. Upon the cliff tops on that ill-fated day, the steering column went the wrong way, over the edge to our deaths some would say. But as we plunged to our final fling, Toot sweets she began to sing, and then the car grew fiberglass wings.
Archived comments for Reliant Robin Super Van III
sweetwater on 14-06-2014
Reliant Robin Super Van III
A school friend's dad had a reliant, she said if they wern't careful going round corners they overturned, well, that impressed me! ๐Ÿ™‚ Sue.

Author's Reply:
Very true, and quite scary ๐Ÿ™‚ thanks Sue

stormwolf on 14-06-2014
Reliant Robin Super Van III
There's a moral there somewhere, I swear there is ๐Ÿ˜‰
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Yes there is, don't buy a Robin Reliant ๐Ÿ™‚ cheers Alison

expat on 15-06-2014
Reliant Robin Super Van III
Ha-ha - three wheels on my wagon!
I had a Reliant Regal in my younger days and had a few unintentional adventures in it including a roll-over and being unable to steer for half a mile down a muddy back lane because the rear wheels were following previous tyre tracks like a Scalectrix board.
Happy days... for anyone watching. ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Ha me too, snow was the worst.....happy days. Best Keith


Mouse trap (posted on: 06-06-14)
have you ever played it ?

Mmmm, nice cheese said Mrs Mouse, nibble nibble, Mr Mouse said he agreed, this for me is the place to be. But wait, what's that? cranking of cogs and then a slap, this shouldn't happen should it ? that boot just kicked the bucket. Look there! a ball is coming down the stairs. Stand back! its racing down the track. Oh it'll be grand, it's stopped at the pole with the weird hands. Wait a minute? There's a bath tub and a ball's fell in it, (Sorry I just farted, aww did you have to) Yes! Because the ball has fallen through, (dramatic gasp) Hello Mrs Mouse….erm hello, who's that (she said from the corner of her mouth) Hello Mr Mouse…..erm hello, no idea (he said from the corner of his mouth) Why is he dressed like that? Who me, I'm Dave the diver, do you like my shorts? they only cost a fiver. I'd love to stay for a bit but the balls about to hit, watch this for a random back flip; Jeronimooooooo echo, echo, echo. He landed with a splash (splash) Its time we made a dash (which way) we'll never escape that falling trap (too late) Well Mrs M; it looks like the end, behind bars again( he takes her in his claws) I'll carry you through this darkest night, take flight to fields of dimming light, to dance inside our delicate dreams. And I too my lover, shall starve without your every breath, among the scent of summer flowers, to kiss with you in morning showers If our hearts could beat with.... (ok you can put me down now; put me down they've gone)
Archived comments for Mouse trap
QBall on 09-06-2014
Mouse trap
Thereโ€™s a bath tub and a balls fell in it,
(Sorry I just farted, aww did you have too)
I believe this should read - - -
Thereโ€™s a bath tub and a ball's fell in it,
(Sorry I just farted, aww did you have to)
Otherwise an entertaining piece.


Author's Reply:
Thank you Qball for the crit, all is changed, glad you found it entertaining. Best Keith


Makes Jack a dull boy (posted on: 06-06-14)
For those who have to work late.

A Blackbird taps for worms in the evening heat, the garden colours fold quiet as a monastery, shadows slowly take the grass a darker green, the wrought iron seat sits empty without its queen. Discussions sink to ipads and facebook screens, I'm trapped importing images for a work-place play. The dark has filled the drive to a house that's closed its eyes, doors are not allowed to wake, softly held by guilty hands, a touching paw and smiling tail soon returns to cornered curls. I search by fridge light for dried up food that fits the mood, a ghost inside a half full room that slides between cold sheets.
Archived comments for Makes Jack a dull boy
stormwolf on 06-06-2014
Makes Jack a dull boy
I search by fridge light for dried up food that fits the mood,
a ghost inside a half full room that slides between cold sheets.

What are you on Keith?
I want some

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Ha Ha, It's the dried up shrooms Alison, they made me mad. ๐Ÿ˜‰ keith

Mikeverdi on 08-06-2014
Makes Jack a dull boy
It's a pity the site has been down, this deserves far more attention; great writing again from you. Congrats on a well deserved Nib. So many great lines, I was looking for the Nom button.... Oh well I'm going to break my rule and give it top marks.
Mike


Author's Reply:
Mike you are too kind, however thank you for the encouragement and great rating. Best Keih

QBall on 09-06-2014
Makes Jack a dull boy
As a non-poet, I liked it.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for taking the time to read it Qball very much appreciated as are your comments. Best Keith


Procession (posted on: 02-06-14)
Short form poem

The crows are blowin two step jazz, linked wings shoulder the coffin, mama magpie second lines with all her finery showin.
Archived comments for Procession
Mikeverdi on 02-06-2014
Procession
So simple....So good.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike this one has been hanging around for a while, needed just to get it on paper. Best Keith

Elfstone on 02-06-2014
Procession
Somehow reminiscent of Mahler's 1st Symphony (3rd mvt) - and also a bit of a tease - who's the funeral for? I want to know more! Elfstone.

Author's Reply:
In my mind this is set in New Orleans, thanks for the Mahler's 1st just been ironing and listening :-)...still working on the answers to your questions. Many thanks Keith

stormwolf on 03-06-2014
Procession
Ok, you have me as 'Mother Crow' 'wanting / needing to know more.
This has to be the taster for a few more verses...😜

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mother Crow..I mean Alison ;-)working on the extended edit. Best Keith


Good Morning London (posted on: 02-06-14)
just looking at things.

Scrubbing nylon brushes scratch the backs of dirty streets. Outside the shops with sagged oak beams, untold news is gagged with string. Rubbish crushed by talking trucks reverse away a day of waste, underground she groans awake on gyroscopic legs. Quiet queues that crave Chai Latte, commune on phones with robot thumbs. Wired heads are sealed by force-fields that keep in the morning dead. The shelter tells its guests to go, slow limbs dress out of place and trace the steps they've come to know, handed out with backstreet grace. Styles hang without conclusion, collars fold against the old, track suits tuck inside cross trainers, while winkles pick Italian soles. Traffic fills like grain to silos, till the volume stems the flow, slowly revving to the grind. Moving faster watched by time, tunnels belch the crowds in lines, non-stop feet reveal the smart, the tough, the cocky stronger harder stuff, the map readers, the pigeon feeders, the lunch time sitters, the park keep-fitters, the slightly mad, the latest fads the single parent working dads, the bus riders without a seat, all proudly swing with London's beat.
Archived comments for Good Morning London
Mikeverdi on 02-06-2014
Good Morning London
I enjoy reading your work, you always hold it all together for me. I can relate to this one, I'm not often in the big city, but I think you capture it well. I just spent time in Bristol, not much different except no tube ๐Ÿ™‚ I loved 'the map readers, the pigeon feeders etc... a real snap shot.
Thanks for posting.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike for your kind words, don't go very often myself and I'm usually glad to get back home purely because of the pace it run at, and that is what I was trying to capture in the last stanza. Best Keith

Bozzz on 03-06-2014
Good Morning London
The cosmopolitan air is well caught, Keith - a random mix of spareness and jollity, dirt and excess - a very good write.....David

Author's Reply:
Thanks David, I guess this could be said of most city sights, in fact I think there is a bit of Manchester thrown in for good measure, thank you for your comments... Keith

stormwolf on 03-06-2014
Good Morning London
Hi Keith
This reminded me of my last visit to London which was not a very happy one.' I could see things had changed tremendously.
You caught the chaos and the many different people's agendas and styles.
The eclectic style of writing fitted perfectly the subject matter with very many good images.
I remember it in the swinging sixties but now I just thought it was more heaving than swinging 😜

Well done though
Alison x


Author's Reply:
Me too I dont go so often and I have to say it becomes less and less of an attraction to me. I guess I just love Derbyshire too much. It took me ten mins to get someone to stop and give me the time, a simple enough request not sure what is happening to our society, I could just be getting old but it was like I didn't excist or was speaking a different language. Thanks for taking the time. Best Keith

sweetwater on 04-06-2014
Good Morning London
Very good, captured the fast paced, insular world brilliantly, glad I don't live there. Just one question last verse, third line, is it supposed to be none or non stop? Its such an intricate and datailed poem I feel it deserves a rating. ๐Ÿ™‚ Sue.x

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Sue for your generous rating and the nit...all is ship shape now much appreciated. Keith


Regional Gala (posted on: 30-05-14)
Embarrasing situation

I stood skull caped on the blocks, like a before and after shot, the afters were huge Wigan wasps, and known to win at any cost. Although I'd made the final five, supporters gave me quite a ride, even the bus-full of so called friends, had already guessed how it would end. In lane three, he said my name, hearing the laughter start again, I focused on the chlorine calm, the ropes and floats my lucky charms. The gun goes off and I explode, entered the water like a toad, lying behind the orca pack, six kicks in and I'm at the back. I'm really skinny but I've got big hips and it's hard to find Speedo's that fit, so as I thrashed through air and water, my trunks slipped down in the first quarter. At this point though I still had a choice, I should have listened to my inner voice, I'll give you a tip, please do not try, to swim bare arsed doing the Butterfly. Imagine that crowd and what joy they took, watching white cheeks go down then up, I finished third but I'm sure no one cared, they couldn't stop laughing at what had occurred.
Archived comments for Regional Gala
Mikeverdi on 30-05-2014
Regional Gala
HaHaHa! just brilliant! I will be laughing all day, is it true...oh I do hope so. (sorry)
Mike

Author's Reply:
Every word is true...I still have the bronze certificate...somewhere. Thanks Mike for the sympathy ๐Ÿ˜‰

Bozzz on 30-05-2014
Regional Gala
What have we missed ! Great fun my friend. Small typo in V2 L2 - me quite?

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the Nit Bozzz, sorry yes you missed it and there is no chance of a repeat, I would need duck fat..lots of duck fat to squeeze into them budgie smugglers now. ๐Ÿ™‚


Druids and drinkers (posted on: 30-05-14)
motorcycles and drink didn't mix

We spent all day spread soft on woolen threads bike helmets sided pillowed heads, posing with corn stalks on our lazy lovers rug. The grass was cut Victorian, clover cooled our summer cheeks, it took me a day of drinking, to find the Druid her fourth leaf. I placed it as a pendent to her yellow white-green chain, wore it crowned a hippy chick, that fed on bags of fingered chips, cradled in her lotus legs, whilst evening air slapped straight our heads. But the night had brought me more, wobbling onto twisted slats, we sat in the balm sipping beer gardens, and still I thought it safe to ride, my mind inside a crash test dummy, I heared the groans of bone and blood, smashed into steel, just parked, no one sat behind the wheel. I'd slipped inside a tarmac curve, you woke with swollen limbs but ligaments would mend enough for Monday morning limps. You believed its luck ran out, not much left inside the leaf, just enough to get you home, my stem required a wreath.
Archived comments for Druids and drinkers
Mikeverdi on 30-05-2014
Druids and drinkers
I loved this one, wonderful writing.It would be hard to pick out a line or verse...perhaps the third (as an ex hippy) was mine. Thanks for posting.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Mike, very happy you enjoyed it, most of this is true. Best Keith

stormwolf on 01-06-2014
Druids and drinkers
Hi Keith,
Really enjoyed the imagery and the contrast between her delightful daisy-chain dreamlike world and the harsh smashing of the bike.
Not too sure about this stanza

we sat in the balm sipping beer gardens,
and still I thought it safe to ride
and hear the groans of bone and blood,
smashed into steel, just parked,

To me this says you thought it 'safe to ride' and 'safe to hear the groans' etc
that's how it came across although of course I know what you mean but feel it needs amended slightly.
Well done on the nib and very delighted you have done me the honour of taking into fav poets ๐Ÿ™‚
Aliosn x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison you have hit the nail, I have been struggling with that Stanza, now I see it so thanks for that, I will try and fix it. You a very welcome fav the pleasure is all mine ๐Ÿ™‚


Oh Jesus I have promised (posted on: 26-05-14)
Things get a little manic in morning assembly ( Strong language warning)

Mr Blackburn bellowed and stabbed the sharp keys of the schools grand piano. No, no, no, no; no! He wanted back a public school past, where the boys could sing in perfect pitch, and he would get goosebumps telling tales of how the audience held their breath. His compromise was comprehensive, and he hated everything it stood for, he twisted with bitterness in plain view and couldn't accept their version of; to. Four hours he made them stand, repeating the same song over and over again ! and you are not leaving until we get it right. ''Oh Jesus I have promised tew serve thee tew the end'' Stop, STOP ! Head-boy, where are you, get out here boy, now ! Let us ask for some divine inspiration, repeat after me, Our dear lord, help us sing the word toooo, for we shall not go home until we doooo. The headmaster spat the last words through gritted teeth, teachers were watching closely from the wings, his meltdown close to the liquid phase. He had the Head-boy by his collar, presenting him to the rest of the assembly, a dangling ventriloquist's dummy. The boy spoke clearly. Our dear lord, help us sing the word tew, else baldy Blackburn will pop a screw, and I really just don't give a shit, so fuck him, and fuck yooo tooo. The teaching staff moved as one like warders in a mental asylum, they wrestled the headmaster off the stage, the audience held their breath.
Archived comments for Oh Jesus I have promised
stormwolf on 26-05-2014
Oh Jesus I have promised
Absolutely loved it!
One of your very best. Hilarious but with underlying deeper issues and some poignancy.
So many great phrases, just very entertaining. I could see it all. Bit confused about wrestling him onto the stage....thought it would be off...but I suppose depends where he started. 😜
Anyway, great start to my day.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Alison he's Off now not On, I agree its visually better, it sounds daft but the only reason it was On was because the piano is on the floor ๐Ÿ™‚ don't ask. Oh and when you commented for some strange reason I had missed out the last line, so I put that in as well. Cheers Keith

JohnHolmes on 26-05-2014
Oh Jesus I have promised
Brilliant, Savvi. Reminds me of Tony Harrison's "Them & [uz]. Rated 10. Fantastic poem.

Author's Reply:
Thank John and thanks for mentioning Tony Harrison Them and Uz just googled it...bloody brilliant

JohnHolmes on 26-05-2014
Oh Jesus I have promised
I forgot to hit the rating button : )

Author's Reply:
Thank you greatly kind sir.

pdemitchell on 26-05-2014
Oh Jesus I have promised
Excellent - especially "His compromise was comprehensive" I recall the shell-shocked horror of grammar school teachers in the early comprehensive hell of the 70s. Mitch ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
twas from such recollection that there poem did birth. Thanks Mitch.

Mikeverdi on 27-05-2014
Oh Jesus I have promised
Wonderful writing, I loved it. I held the school record for the cane...19 times in one lesson; I couldn't hold a pen for the rest of the day.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Now why does that not surprise me ๐Ÿ˜‰ thanks for the comment Mike much appreciated. Best keith


Kitchen chatter (posted on: 26-05-14)
My entry for one of the weekly challanges

The cutlery drawer said the glass was a whore for drinking all night with some hands, a bottle of wine said she's out all the time, the glass said you wouldn't understand. The tap on the sink said the plug hole stinks and that limescale lowers the tone, the recycling bin said just ignore him he's always up polishing his chrome. The kitchen table claimed the chairs were unable to sit still with their legs underneath, the chairs agreed and were really quite pleased, as the mop bucket peed on its feet. The gas from the hob, left on by a knob, filled the room for most of the day, it's believed that a spark switched on in the dark, blew the poor cooker away.
Archived comments for Kitchen chatter
Elfstone on 26-05-2014
Kitchen chatter
I smiled at this ๐Ÿ™‚ One typo - "draw" should be "drawer"? Elf.

Author's Reply:
bloody draws to a close and drawers to close phonetically for me its draws but I changed it so thank you glad it made you smile. Best Keith

pdemitchell on 26-05-2014
Kitchen chatter
Nice bouncy ditty with the Elf-spotted typo. Made me smile ๐Ÿ™‚ Mitch

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mitch, much appreciated. Keith

Mikeverdi on 27-05-2014
Kitchen chatter
I thought this was excellent, don't know why its not received more comments. Very clever writing.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike, Just happy to get some feedback and I always like to read crits as still learning. best Keith

Bozzz on 29-05-2014
Kitchen chatter
When mankind is extinct this banter will no doubt entertain the rats who will take over. A pointed delight Keith.....David

Author's Reply:
Hope your right Bozzz ๐Ÿ˜‰ thanks for your comment, much appreciated. Best Keith


Pop crimes (posted on: 23-05-14)
Dispicable

Evil no, you make me laugh, we were young, enjoying life each night we would drink wine, eat bread and swiss cheese. Oh please, there was no plot or plan, just the oom-pah and a touch of polka. Caf้ culture at its best, cheap cigars, strong coffee and back room bands. No I don't hate it; popular culture has its place, nor do I feel that I'm a disgrace, a simple tune to bring in the custom, it was never meant to sell a million. My Name, Werner Thomas from Davos, I'm not the one to whom you should speak, I believe the Tweets took it to the streets. you say its a crime but I've done nothing wrong, I only gave Europe the Birdie song.
Archived comments for Pop crimes
Mikeverdi on 23-05-2014
Pop crimes
Oh Dear! Hung by the neck until sick if I got my hands on him if he really did write it Ha Ha!
Mike

Author's Reply:
He wrote the music and to be honest thats the most anoying part of it. Off with his head. Best Keith

sweetwater on 23-05-2014
Pop crimes
I liked the Birdie song, Only one I could remember the moves to! ๐Ÿ™‚


Author's Reply:
Aaaargh nooooo, In that case I am making a citizens arrest for aiding and abetting ๐Ÿ™‚

stormwolf on 24-05-2014
Pop crimes
OMG. Not only a pop crime but a crime against humanity and the scourge of many a wedding reception to boot!
Alison x

Author's Reply:
I know, I wonder how many more times I will have to endure being draged to the dance floor to the sound of the Accordian oooo it makes me shudder. Keith


Before the white boards (posted on: 23-05-14)
those that can teach

You don't forget a covalent bond when pupils are dressed as beach balls, and tectonic plates are easy to grasp when desks divide a continent. But Billy Bentham had a pub lunch and came back with greasy lips, ready to burst and beat the shit out of any would be noise maker, rule breaker, I wasn't a chance taker. So I sat and watched the playing field crows meeting at the murder. Dodging the borrowed shorts brigade skulking off for a bike shed smoke, with pale legs and black plimsolls a flat footed 1500 meter cough. Others went to Malham cove so they could recall a limestone pavement, categorise real rock samples, with home made hammers, too precious to throw away like the memories they still keep, nearly thirty years later. But Billy Bentham had a bulbous nose, riddled with tiny red veins, each one swimming in whiskey, the fumes were monotone that killed inflection, dictated daily from a syllabus bed time book. He was easily mistook, for a teacher.
Archived comments for Before the white boards
Mikeverdi on 23-05-2014
Before the white boards
Oh In like this a lot! This for me is a keeper. Some great lines and it hangs together well. I love verse three. I had a teacher who was always pissed (I think we all did back then) but teaching me he needed to be!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike I dont think he would get away with it in todays H&S culture, but yes I agree it was a common occurance, every tuesday for Mr Bentham. ๐Ÿ™‚ Best Keith

Ionicus on 24-05-2014
Before the white boards
Quite a coincidence that my poem, which follows yours, is also about a teacher. Perhaps your Billy Bentham was driven to drink by the behaviour of unruly students like the ones I describe.
I rather enjoyed some of the descriptions in your poem, especially that of a murder of crows on the playing fields.

Author's Reply:
Oh no my Bily Bentham did not allow unruly and didnt care who he hit or how hard, I think he retired early in the end. Glad you like the bored look out of the window. Best keith


Foreign bodies (posted on: 16-05-14)
do you carry a donor card?

I used to see you through the ice, your hair alive black eels, writhing spliced against the white, were stagnant waters feel. My hands would beat a branch snap rhythm, to cause a blip or start the trace, but then I wake. They cut their catch on frozen shores, each item stole to save, you gave whats yours to give, we took your hollow to the grave.
Archived comments for Foreign bodies

No comments archives found!
Second Skin (posted on: 16-05-14)
When clothes were important

Six months it took to grow my hair long, a rough as muck look to feel I belong, I needed the clothes, reflections of me, something grubby and ripped at the knee. So I waited until my brother got fat, and took the tight leather from off his back, his biker boots I saved from the bin, the cobbler laughed when I took them in. Steel plated cleats complete with new zips, he restored the scuffed leather, all was hand stitched, a nervous how much, for the work he had done, son I can't charge you, I've had too much fun. A bottle of bleach poured over new jeans, the family bath had never been so clean, rinsed in cold water to stop them from rotting, so bleeding tight they stopped me from squatting. A jumper came next for under the leather, knitwear from Nan to keep out the weather, brown wool she bought, so what could I say, I would have to wear black, some other day. All on a journey of bikes beer and friends, forever an image of myself to extend, caught in the fibers a DNA of my youth, even the drug squad could use them as proof. The jumper I kept, its upstairs in the loft, sometimes I lift the lid from its box, the first thing I smell is just musty and stale, then I get cigarettes and a hint of brown ale.
Archived comments for Second Skin
Mikeverdi on 22-05-2014
Second Skin
When we were young....oh dear ๐Ÿ™‚ you should have posted a photo as well HaHa! nice one mate.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Maybe I will one day ๐Ÿ˜‰ thanks for stopping by Mike much appreciated. Keith


A recipe for disaster (Meatballs) (posted on: 12-05-14)
Mother nature is cooking

Take one fresh lake and bring it to the boil on six ruptured gas mains, strip willow leaves from a hundred trees, cut away their trunks drop in the branches then slowly blanch, on three gas mains. One herd of cows per each meatball, a suggestion is to use ten, blend inside a hurricane. Next turn up the sun to full and fry them in their own fat, at Nevada on the salt lake flats. (no seasoning required) Once the meat is completely cooked, turn down the sun to a simmer. Scoop out the Superbowl and wash clean with a flood, then dry with several cyclones. Use a large satellite dish to sieve the tender branches squeeze three Italian tomato plantations and mix in gently with a twisted railroad track. Place all inside the Superbowl, add the meatballs and garnish with the willow leaves you saved earlier. Remember to invite God to dinner and if he cant come, ask Mother nature.
Archived comments for A recipe for disaster (Meatballs)
Bozzz on 13-05-2014
A recipe for disaster (Meatballs)
Thanks, but I promised Mother Nature I would come for fish and chips today. You know well that all bad weather is the Devil's work - not my department. Enough of this blame culture stuff.
Bozzz on behalf of ... Good fun Keith - enjoyed the smell.

Author's Reply:


Library Brooks (posted on: 12-05-14)
Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption (Hope Springs Eternal) Stephen King

For the first time in months my hands are steady. I know now I'm ready, my suit is pressed Sunday best. The paper bags I fill each day are as empty as the room in which I sit marooned, without the chance of passing ships. The books I pushed are all but blank, perhaps they map my thoughts on plans of getting caught, meet my friends and shake their hands. Each morning I try to shine my shoes, today they step on table tops, unable to care about the drop, this knot was tied as I left my cell. The plasters soft and falls away, chiseled with a simple knife I waiver rights to an unwanted life. Brooks was here...returning my book.
Archived comments for Library Brooks
e-griff on 13-05-2014
Library Brooks
Unusual.

BTW did you mean 'waive'?

I appreciate the story, the sentiment. But technically you rhyme pressed and best in the first verse, then don't in the others. This is slightly confusing when reading. If you made the other three verses similar, I wonder if you should split the last line into two lines. Certainly

'my suit is pressed,
Sunday best'

works well that way. (friends and hands near-rhyme)

I like marooned and ships - 'plaster's soft'?

Made me think - in a good way. ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:


Drinking with family (posted on: 09-05-14)
Needs must

The bicycle seat scraped the rough brick wall, fringe matted to his forehead, smoothed by a grubby mud hand. His puffing cheeks reflected red in the chrome of Billy's front door. He rocked from foot to toe, already slipping off his shoes. Can I use your loo? as he shot past his uncle in hot socked feet, streaks on the kitchen floor. Ay up sweaty Betty. I suppose you'll be wanting a drink? Yes please, got any Coke ? Coke! you'll have corporation pop when you're in this house, If you want bloody coke go your mams. Waters fine thanks. Don't forget to wash your hands; and flush; and put the lid down. Oh that's better, thanks Billy, where's aunt Eileen. Never you mind, now supp up and bugger off you mucky pup. The pure pint glass was guzzled in one complete with sound effects of glugs and ahhhs, slammed down bar tender style, and finished with a contorted belch. You get that from your mam now sling your hook and watch my car with that bloody bike. As the boy peddled away Billy wiped the kitchen surface and put the glass in the dishwasher, cheeky bugger he smiled.
Archived comments for Drinking with family
stormwolf on 09-05-2014
A stop off
Lovely and heart-warming. Could benefit from some attention to punctuation Keith but only pointing it out as you have a grand little poem here.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison sorry it was a bit rough I have had a tidy up and give it a new title. Best Keith

sweetwater on 09-05-2014
Drinking with family
Really enjoyed this,that casual dropping in for the loo and a drink and confident both would be supplied speaks volumes about close family bonds. Sue.x

Author's Reply:
Many thanks for the comment Sue you got the poem spot on and that makes me happy so thanks for taking the time, best Keith

ValDohren on 11-05-2014
Drinking with family
Life in full glory - good one Keith, enjoyed reading.
Val x

Author's Reply:
yes Val the exuberance of youth, thank you for your comment. best keith


Liquorice and blackcurrants (posted on: 09-05-14)
Forged in hell and sent to destroy

The black sticky hedgehog rolls round your mouth, shedding his crisp purple shell. Born without spikes, he waits for the bite, then takes whatever he will. He sticks on his back, crowns fillings and caps, and the odd piece of tooth that you'll lose. Only takes ten percent, with the dentists consent, because he's paid every time you chews.
Archived comments for Liquorice and blackcurrants
stormwolf on 09-05-2014
Liquorice and blackcurrants
hahaha very drole.

It's my mum's chocolate eclaires that do it to me ;-(
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Opp I know all about them as well but there not as evil as l&b's 😜best Keith

Andrea on 09-05-2014
Liquorice and blackcurrants
Gawd, my choppers have all fallen out just by reading!

Author's Reply:
Ha ha thanks Andrea, I reckon these sweets cost me about ยฃ50 a chew 😁

ValDohren on 10-05-2014
Liquorice and blackcurrants
Mmmmmm, love those liquorice and blackcurrent sweets - I'm into mint crumbles at present though, easier on the gnashers !
Val x

Author's Reply:
Mint cumbles mmm they sound nice are they filling pullers ? they sound like they might be ๐Ÿ™‚

Bozzz on 11-05-2014
Liquorice and blackcurrants
Truly the devil in the Tantalus. Disguised as s saviour in lozenge form for sore throats. Nailed at last. Bravo Keith ...David

Author's Reply:
Thanks david I havent been able to chew one since the 1980's so I thought I would bring up this isssue. best Keith

e-griff on 13-05-2014
Liquorice and blackcurrants
May I suggest?

It's a nice little bouncy rhyme which should have a 'boom-boom!' at the end.

How about tweaking it gently? Try this:

And then takes whatever he will OR he's taking whatever he will.

With the odd (if you use and in the preceding verse)

Who's paid every time that you chews.

I'd also make it into two verses, not four.

But that's me. ๐Ÿ™‚




Author's Reply:
Thanks for the crit, very helpful I will take your suggestions into the edit. many thanks Keith


How old are you? (posted on: 05-05-14)
Pushed to the limit

Hot rays breed car rage, twice my size half my age, foolish ways dumb days. Drunk too much acting tough, said his girl looked a bit rough, foolish rebuff slapped hard enough. The Doctor said its not right, for a man my years to fight, foolish sight but I'm not that bright.
Archived comments for How old are you?
expat on 05-05-2014
How old are you?
Very chortlesome. ๐Ÿ™‚
A couple of commas in the mix might smooth the rhythm but it's probably due to my uneducated eyes.
Anyway, I like it.
Steve

Author's Reply:
Thanks Steve I think you are correct, I will have a look, this one was a bit rushed with limited pre-edit, glad you like it though. Best Keith

ValDohren on 05-05-2014
How old are you?
Tut tut, have you been fighting Keith ? - fancy saying the poor girl's a bit rough. Made me giggle.
Val x

Author's Reply:
Sorry Val (stares at the ground and twists his foot) it wasn't me they made me do it. ๐Ÿ™‚ Best Keith

Pronto on 05-05-2014
How old are you?
This struck a chord with me. Last week a foolish old man(74-ish) took offence because I didn't wait until he made his mind up whether he'd cross the road or not. Ran across the car park full of rage and hate shouing he'd smash my effin' head in. Luckily for him he stopped one pace short of an eye gouge. They walk among us!

Author's Reply:
Oh yes the Road rages in all of us and sometimes the beast boils over, been there myself, not pretty. Best Keith

Kipper on 05-05-2014
How old are you?
It is a curious phinominum that getting to a car can denude some people of their normal good sense and good manners. Come to think of it, it can have the same effect on pedestrians too.
Not you of course - or me!
Michael.

Author's Reply:
Phenomenon, di doo di did doo, its the muppet show tonight. Sorry could resist. No of course not you or I, I'm a good boy...now. ๐Ÿ™‚ Best Keith

Mikeverdi on 06-05-2014
How old are you?
Yep, been there on both sides of the car door Ha Ha! nice one mate!
Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike yes both sides of that door is a pretty lonely place when reality kick in and you take stock of your situation. I call it the oh shit moment. Best Keith

stormwolf on 07-05-2014
How old are you?
Hi Keith,
You made every word count here. Not easily done in such a short poem. Made me smile.
Been partial to a bit o' road rage on occasion myself ;-(
Once at a junction, a guy came up and kicked the door of my Isuzu trooper as he thought I was over the line by the lights. Well, that was too much for me so got out and chased him up the street.
Another time I was stuck in bucketing rain on a Monday morning trying to get to work. I could not move my car anywhere so hazard warning lights on, I dialled the RAC.
Only to have a woman in a big Jag slow down, put down her window and make a rude sign at me while gesticulating wildly putting her finger to her head as though I was nuts!!!.
I think I may have mangled her good and proper if I had got my hands on her. I mean to say, did she really think I was choosing to sit there like that?

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison
Its such a common thing and one you cant forget, the Jag driver I have met in many places clearly they know how to push buttons. It is probably just as well they keep driving else mangle is probably the best description. Best Keith


On the cubicle door (posted on: 05-05-14)
I hate moths

I'm supposed to be working, not staring out the window at a fluttering frantic dance, Its body twitches more than its wings, something brings a shudder. I've held so soft the gentle steps of netted butterflies but yet, my body and its hair alarms, stand up on neck and both forearms, a rising tide against the charms of the ugly monstrous moth. It tapped again and asked my name then whispered through the glass. I see your sweat and chance a bet we trapped you in a toilet. On camp field loos we made you choose, between paper and pure panic. Stuck in your space we moths embraced, the spirit of the manic. Two on your head one on your leg, the fourth we cannot mention. You half way through a number two, upped sticks and made a dash. Out through the door, slipped on the floor, skid marks and gravel rash.
Archived comments for On the cubicle door
sweetwater on 05-05-2014
On the cubicle door
What is it about moths I wonder, They have aquired such an underserved reputation. your poem beautifully sum's up most people's opinion and fears about the poor creatures. I too would rather not be that close to one either. Thoroughly enjoyed this amusing poem. ๐Ÿ™‚ Sue.x

Author's Reply:
Undeserved!!! phaw nasty little creatures, I got one in the mouth once whilst singing on my bicycle its wings stuck to the roof of mouth I don't have a good history and I'm sure its the same one keeps coming after me. Thanks for the kind comments Sue Much appreciated. Best Keith

Kipper on 06-05-2014
On the cubicle door
I, that is we, are seasoned campers and caravaners; almost half a century. I, that is she, know all about moths, and spiders, and daddy long legs to name but a few.
Your poem caught the panic spot on and I - of course I mean she - left many a meeting before business was concluded.
Good read, Michael


Author's Reply:
Thankfully the latest caravans have enough facilities to avoid late night trips to the moth lair. "left many a meeting before business was concluded" I like this and its much more subtle so I might try to use it if that's OK? Best Keith

Kipper on 07-05-2014
On the cubicle door
Be my guest.
Michael

Author's Reply:


Morning Mice (posted on: 02-05-14)


Warmth has helped you to uncurl, spread soft amongst the bedding, A breeze has brought the swaying stalks, that whispers food from foraged fields, a trace reveals a hungered look that strokes your eyes to saucers, babbled under fresh melt brooks. A stretched out smile sets sail on curled up coracle leaves, urgent through the rapids, then eddies tremble through the reeds deep inside the riverbank, we twist entwined by tails, and dance before the harvest has time to find our veils.
Archived comments for Morning Mice
sweetwater on 02-05-2014
Morning Mice
Loved this, could picture the whole scene, beautifully worded,

great imagination. Sue.X



Author's Reply:

pdemitchell on 03-05-2014
Morning Mice
that strokes your eyes to saucers,
babbled under fresh melt brooks.

Yes.... a wonderful two line gem in a great rural idyll ode. Well constructed and it seems a lot of thought has gone into this that I really appreciated. Bravo.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks mitch, yes I took time with this one, of course Mrs Mouse would never know or appreciat it. Best Keith


In case you haven't noticed (posted on: 02-05-14)
It catches us all

It sits inside the noises that come out, bending down results in little shouts, a lunch time drink of sherry from a cup, then falls asleep as quick as it woke up. It's how much grey falls on the barber's floor, as though this hair has not been seen before, it's found two pairs of glasses on your head, and passes out whilst sitting up in bed. It's hidden in the page that you can't read, with blood so thin that it can't stop the bleed, it takes your skin and covers it with dots, and colours larger parts with liver spots. It doesn't hear what's said or even care, it's quite content just sitting in a chair, it thinks a lot on things about its past, with capacity for wind that is quite vast. It checks each day to see who else is dead, goes back to putting butter on white bread, it knows the empty house still smells the same, and sometimes as it wakes calls out her name.
Archived comments for In case you haven't noticed
ValDohren on 02-05-2014
In case you havent noticed
Oh yes Savvi, can relate to this. The last line is so very poignant too.
Val x


Author's Reply:
Thank you Val it has me in its grip but I'm still fighting, yes it was meant to be fun but got darker at the end not sure why maybe just my experience of the reality. Best Keith

pdemitchell on 03-05-2014
In case you havent noticed
It sits inside the noises that come out - I love that line! a delightfully odd and introspective ode.

Author's Reply:
thanks Mitch there are many great poems about getting old so I tried some different angles on old themes, glad it works. Best Keith

sweetwater on 03-05-2014
In case you havent noticed
Is this hiding round the corner for us all? Its insightful and empathetic, and just a litle scary. Sue.x.

Author's Reply:
Just stay in denial like wot I do. I rekon I'll be dead before I realise I'm getting old. ๐Ÿ™‚

Bozzz on 04-05-2014
In case you havent noticed
Not sure I have entirely solved the riddle. 'Thicko' strikes again. That said it is cleverly rhymed - but rhythmically i suggest removing the "it" from V1 L4 to get the right number of beats in the line....David

Author's Reply:
Its just old age david not really a riddle more a theme, as ever your on the money and pick up my least favourite line, I will have a look as there is more to do than the length although you are spot on to point it out, the rhyme in that line also sounds forced. Many thanks Keith


Natural born addict (posted on: 28-04-14)
.

Baby by the coke machine, hanging on the line, nine months gone. Baby arms are not so clean, response teams been assigned, losing her first one. Baby fades in ambulance dream, just one more time, says it's just for fun. Baby born inside a scream, weaned between the lines, never knows its mum.
Archived comments for Natural born addict
sweetwater on 28-04-2014
Natural born addict
A dreadful situation faced by too many innocent lives. Not that I know much about it, My first thought was the coke machine held fizzy drinks! But I do know it is a very good poem. Sue. x.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Sue I'm glad you got the ambiguity. Best Keith

pdemitchell on 28-04-2014
Natural born addict
Bravo - a grim sparse expose of addict babies and my kind of gritty dark... mitch

Author's Reply:
many thanks Mitch glad you like the dark I often spend time there as do you. Best Keith

stormwolf on 29-04-2014
Natural born addict
Concise and stark. The no frills style in perfect keeping with the lack of any joy in the circumstances portrayed.
Well done Keith
Alison x


Author's Reply:
Glad that strip down came across as I have another version with images that doesn't really work. many thanks Keith

Nemo on 29-04-2014
Natural born addict
Hi Keith. I feel as though I've read this before or you've written something similar. Interesting, the way you draw attention to the tragedy but keep a tight hold on emotion. And it hits harder for that.
Good one.
Gerald


Author's Reply:

Kipper on 04-05-2014
Natural born addict
I confess that did not 'get it' at first; it is of a world that is foreign to me. However, after reading the comments of other readers the penny dropped.

Reading again I 'got it'.

Heart rending stuff.

(Sorry to be a bit slow)
Michael

Author's Reply:


The wood knows you know (posted on: 28-04-14)
.

Another pair of hands and fresh backed books, tucked neat deep inside, dried wells now hold pens, spent gum faults my finish, sharp lines furrow my face, trace the years of learning. Turning minds around again grain gives away too smooth soothes another pair of hands and full backed books.
Archived comments for The wood knows you know
Bozzz on 30-04-2014
The wood knows you know
As the old librarian said. Like the spent gum - history. A brittle subject. Back to Methuselah? Like it....David

Author's Reply:
David many thanks for taking time as ever you see it all. Best Keith


Mr Barker (posted on: 18-04-14)
Someone who inspired me a great deal, the title leads into the poem hence the lower case C

chose to teach, it didn't choose him, it spat at him, brushed and pushed, showed him all its failed floors and ugly scuffed shouting rough corridors, it laughed manic in his face, tried to trip him, open his case. He trembled and could't control the class or his body, holding chalk was a chore. Offered my advice for free, keep away before you infect me. I was outside college frozen, as the elephant shuffled onto the ice, rattled by its bones ready to die its legs shook with each mouse size step. Shoulders heavy under the weight of knowing it would only get worse. I fell, offering an apologetic hand, taking an arm as strong as a spasm. For the first time I saw it, the tired effort beneath such frailty, grey wrinkles of desperation in search of normality, hiding in the chaos of the herd. As the elephant drove away I half raised a hand. From then on when Mr Barker, chose to teach, I chose to listen.
Archived comments for Mr Barker
Pelequin23 on 18-04-2014
Mr Barker
those that inspire us should never be forgotten

Author's Reply:
Many thanks for the comment P23 and the great rating. Best Keith

Bozzz on 20-04-2014
Mr Barker
Those that see the inspiration hidden also need praise. Good my friend. ......David

Author's Reply:
Many thanks David, too much to say about Mr Barker I would never do him justice. Best Keith

stormwolf on 20-04-2014
Mr Barker
Sad and moving ๐Ÿ™
Alison X

Author's Reply:
many thanks Alison from the heart this one. Best Keith

pdemitchell on 22-04-2014
Mr Barker
I had no such sensei, troubled or otherwise, only my demons - this homage was inventive image-wise, almost surreal, as well as affectionate and it's not easy to mix all three this well. Mitch ๐Ÿ˜‰

Author's Reply:
Sorry Mitch I have missed this one some how, thanks for taking the time to comment the feedback is helpful as I will keep coming back to this one I know its a bit bumpy to start so will give it some time. Thanks Keith


Fast food Freddie's final feast (posted on: 14-04-14)
The perils of obesity

Bilious from binging, nose blotchy from booze, he rolled to the mirror with everything to lose, more down his neck, swallowed hamburgers and coke curtains for clothes around a humongous bloke. The stretch mark folds of skin had a whiff, that Olive his wife would obligingly lift, an amazing arse that he would ask to be wiped that the poor young woman would wash each night. This mega mouthed monster swallowed many meals, before the vomiting of vittles' had lost its appeal, he would scoop the sick from his Harley tattoo and drink it down with a guzzle or two. Grey graveness and gravity gasping for air, never needing to kneel or get out of the chair, stuck seated and swollen like a barrage balloon, Freddie was sure that death would come soon. Always ready for a fowl or fried feast, he pestered and parried the question of grease, joking out load about Jabba the Hutt, his jaw always needing to be wired shut, prone to pissing himself when he parped, positions that plodded the beat of his heart, crying each night this chunky cheeked chappy knew losing lumps could make him so happy. A miracle happened Fred junior was born and Olive had raised him all on her own, then one wet evening she went out for the night leaving baby with Freddie unaware of his plight no cry or whimper not even a peep for Freddie had feasted the fallen asleep and fat filled folds flopped onto Fred's head, unable to breathe they buried their dead.
Archived comments for Fast food Freddie's final feast
Pelequin23 on 14-04-2014
Fast food Freddieโ€™s final feast
the dangers of our lifestyle are often ignored till its way to late...

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 16-04-2014
Fast food Freddieโ€™s final feast
Oh dear! A salutary tale and no mistake!
Extreme obesity is really revolting and although some have health issues many are simply gluttons. Fact.

Away to weigh myself now ;-(((

Alison x

Author's Reply:

ValDohren on 16-04-2014
Fast food Freddieโ€™s final feast
The sad plight of many in today's world, and on the other side of the coin and the other side of the world, there are many starving. Alliteration noted.
Val

Author's Reply:


Counting the cost (posted on: 14-04-14)
.

It's raining on the beach, the cattle should be lying down, not crawling to the abattoir, heavy hoofed before the bolt. The rolling stock lurches, lambs press their faces, bleating through wooden slats, sheep look on above them, lost. Carcass pie crusts are latticed over lime pits, cooking in the chemical heat, trains bring in another baker's dozen.
Archived comments for Counting the cost
Pelequin23 on 14-04-2014
Counting the cost
if I wasn't vegi already this would almost be enough to turn me vegi!

Author's Reply:
Its good to know it works on some level, many thanks P23. Best Keith

sweetwater on 14-04-2014
Counting the cost
Reduced me to tears, such a heartbreaking fact. Every creature is a life not just a 'product'. Glad I don't like meat. ๐Ÿ™ Sue X.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the great rating Sue, this one is a bit blunt. Best Keith

Bozzz on 14-04-2014
Counting the cost
Will god ever forgive the smell? - it hides our own. Worth the ten...Bravo Keith..... Salute you...David

Author's Reply:
I wanted to capture the small but couldn't find the words....I may pinch yours in an edit ๐Ÿ˜‰ Best Keith

pdemitchell on 14-04-2014
Counting the cost
I'm a vegitarian, I only eat vegitarians: Hannibal Lecter

Mitch ๐Ÿ™‚ Well writ but I still eat meat, alas, despite this powerful ode.

Author's Reply:
Ha Ha thanks Mitch, this one is also about war so you can carry on for the mo. Best Keith

amman on 15-04-2014
Counting the cost
Very clever, succinct expression, Keith. Powerful images. Wish I had written this.
Nominated and into favs.
Regards.
Tony

Author's Reply:
Wow thanks Tony for the kind words very much appreciated. Best Keith

stormwolf on 15-04-2014
Counting the cost
Hi Keith
A real diversion for you and good to see. It really does help us to go outside the comfort zone and God knows, this is outside MY comfort zone to read.
Hard-hitting, merciless , acute imagery of suffering and contrast.
Upsets me greatly to read but that is the mark of great poetry, if the intention is to bring to attention some dreadful thing. I long for a world where no animal or child suffers. Reckon it's not going to be this one.

Well done.
Allow me to nominate it.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
I Reckon your right Alison many thanks for the Nom it is very much appreciated. this one was also about war specifically beach landings and the holocaust it is great to see how others interpret and caught the main theme. Once again many thanks, Keith

ValDohren on 16-04-2014
Counting the cost
It begs the question, if you or I were God, would we build a world wherein animal eats animal to maintain itself - I don't think so ! Powerful and thought-provoking write, although I imagine we have all thought on this issue already.
Val

Author's Reply:
I have been thinking about it a great deal lately and many times before, If I were God I would have made Peas taste like Bacon ๐Ÿ˜‰ best Keith


Sword and Scales (posted on: 11-04-14)
Things change in the rain

With the little one on my shoulders and the other under my arm, I followed St Michael to his mount My bare white ankles and hairy toes had indents where the socks had been, trousers rolled up above the knee like the old photographs of dad, a bow legged Jimmy Dean, and mum, a spoon playing Norma Jean, held at the corners with sticky tabs, Blackpool beach before they had. Me and the kids meandered the monastics but the monks didn't speak or appear, I'm sure I heard one count to ten when asked of Robin and his merry men, there's a downside to a Disney DVD the upside is a cuddle on a Sunday settee. Orange juice and chicken crisps, cream tea for two, a moment on the lips, then flip-flop back down on cobbles like clowns, waiting in line for a boat back to shore, bored captives in the taxi queue, we watched the weather in a storm-bringers spell, a battle raged between us and hell, St Michael astride the Cornish rain, the boats bumped ashore again and again, we looked like we had swam. But I still believe that on that day the rain restored the balance for as we stood in see-through clothes the water washed away my phone no more work or message tones. We played in the streets of our archangel's home, Marazion, his oldest throne.
Archived comments for Sword and Scales
Pelequin23 on 11-04-2014
Sword and Scales
surreal but touching in a strange way I like it

Author's Reply:
Many thanks P23 I joyed writing this one.

stormwolf on 11-04-2014
Sword and Scales
Hi Keith,
Your poetry always makes me smile. There is much tenderness in this and you are obviously a great granda.
You are very in touch with your imagination and the important things in life.
There is a lovely thread of fantasy running through the poem.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Sorry Alison I thought I had replied, and thank you for your considered comments and kind words Marazion is a lovely place, I still go back each year but mostly for the pub lunches ๐Ÿ™‚


Building in the UK (posted on: 28-03-14)
Why doesn't the UK attract foriegn investors to build new factories ?

We want to build a factory, employment is the plan. First some flood alleviation we can't build without a dam. The newts are called Great Crested and the bats are pipistrel, we need to find them all new homes in those trees we cannot fell. The parish councils mad elect and all the local planners, are given jobs for the sake of jobs, carried out devoid of manners. Whats that? you want some water not to mention electricity, you'll need pipes, cables and connections but we don't have the capacity. Now before the community lets you begin, we need to talk about the noise, odour and permits, discharge and waste Its OK we'll send round the boys. Have you thought of soil samples, look out for something white. Stop work! it could be human bones, or an iron age settler's site. We are worried about the visuals and the impact it could have. So we contacted English Heritage and they would like it clad. You will work from nine till five and shutdown at weekends, the neighbours have opposed the build, so these rules you must not bend. Finally each palm is greased and we can start our task. Well sorry chaps we'll spend in Spain, at least Zorro wears a mask.
Archived comments for Building in the UK
QBall on 29-03-2014
Building in the UK
Rhyming poetry is what I can understand and you have got your points across on this reader. New to critiquing here, but I think you deserve a slap on the back . Good job.
Les Q

Author's Reply:
I think is a bit clunky QB but I just wanted to get it off my chest, with any luck I will cough it up now you have slapped my back ๐Ÿ™‚ best Keith

Bozzz on 29-03-2014
Building in the UK
Summed it with panache Keith, a delight to read. Could not quite understand the impact of Zorro and the mask - but Saturday is my usual thick day. Not a bat man, but pipistrelle deserves its elle....great stuff...David

Author's Reply:
Elle it shall be, not sure its a thick day for you it could be me, I was trying to say all these agencies out to make a living for themselves are robbing without masks, zorro I saw as a spanish robin hood ?

sweetwater on 29-03-2014
Building in the UK
I enjoyed reading this, it's rythmic, knowledgeable and humourous. And the first two lines of the last verse are very true. But I couldn't work out wether you were for the building and against the conservationists, or vice versa. Or simply sitting on the fence, so to speak. ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
It is more of an opinion of how these agencies conduct their business, If I had to choose with what I know I would not build a manufacturing base in this country, because the amount of red tape and regulation is beyond ridiculous. Don't get me wrong I understand we need to control brown fields, rivers, pollution and environment. But you have to go through it to see how OTT it all is oh and how much cost it adds to any would be investor. Best Keith

pdemitchell on 30-03-2014
Building in the UK
In Wales, we have the cracchach insisting all the literature and adverts and even staff are bilingual too. Mitch ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
I think it's a good thing, from what I remember the language and culture was fading away in many areas, I lived in Blaenau in the late 80's clearly it wasn't fading there. Best Keith


Too Quiet (posted on: 28-03-14)
For the prose challenge......a quiet night

It was one of those nights when even the trees were listening. Birds had swapped their evensong for a conspiracy theory and sat with cocked heads waiting for anything out of the ordinary. Jack Wingham stepped out of the underground barrack into the trench. ''I don't like it, it's too quiet''. ''Do you mind old chap some of us are trying to sleep'' said a voice from further down the trench. It was James Murdoc a most unlikely soldier that could only be described as a pain in the arse who talked incessantly about nothing. It was too cold to sleep and they both knew it. Jack pulled up the thick wool collar of his coat in defiance of the searching chill that had long since been in his bones. Every now and again he would indulge himself and try to recall the warmth of a deep hot bath; he could only bathe for a few seconds. The feeling would end as the icy fingers of damp field air, slipped inside his jacket. He shook his head, ''god it's bloody freezing'' he said through a ventriloquists mouth. ''Be quiet and look to your left'' said Murdoc. ''Why what is it?'', ''it's a Nightingale'', ''I can't see it what's it doing?'' asked James. Murdoc laughed falling to one knee in the mud, then with showbiz hands he sang. "A Nightingale sang in Berkeley Square" ''Piss off'' said Jack laughing. He had immediately took a shine to this new found clown and asked him if he smoked. The laughter trailed away and was soon swallowed by the cold empty blackness of the night. Jack's trembling hands tapped out two cigarettes, one he offered to Murdoc the other to the flaking skin around his lips. With a metallic click he snapped open his lighter and set spark to wick. Dieter Shenkal was in a good mood; actually he was in a great mood. His gullet had been warmed by a soothing nip of brandy, stolen from a French farm house and his belly was full for the first time in weeks. He felt lucky tonight and he had found a new resolve to make the most out of his situation. He barely noticed the dull glow that danced only for a second, like a cheap firework. Yet still he fixed a point on the horizon, calmly he reached for his rifle, never taking his eye from the mark. ''What do you see?'' asked Hans Bowerman blowing smoke into the marksman's face as he spoke. ''Not very much with you puffing on that thing, well I'm not sure it could be nothing; wait there it is again''. Murdoc had given up smoking two years before but he had been watching his new found friend's cigarette, keep time to the conversation for long enough, willpower gone, he had snatched the lighter from him and lit his trophy. With a drag that seemed to burn an inch he coughed and spluttered the exhaled smoke, picking bits of tobacco off his tongue. With a wild swing of the hand he stubbed out the cigarette on James's rifle ''Jesus, be careful will you?'' ''Sorry I thought I had given these damn things up, but it appears not, pass me your lighter will you?'' Any light-headedness or sign of dullness caused by the Brandy had gone from Dieter. The range finding fire ball of the second cigarette had called on all his training. He set the cross hair and held his breath; the lightest of touches on a finely balance trigger that he had practiced and perfected a hundred times a day in training. Tim Newton was half laughing at the two Jokers by his side and if he was being honest he was very glad of their company. He was a simple soul, more akin to cattle and mud than conflict and killing. He had miss-spent most of his youth avoiding school by working on his father's farm and hunting Deer and small game in his spare time. ''Hush'' said Tim all traces of laughter now gone. ''What do you see?'' asked Murdoc reaching for his field glasses and scanning the darkness. Tim didn't answer he was holding his breath. ''For god's sake Timmy your making me nervous'' said Murdoc whose thoughts were already returning to the un-smoked gift he had been given as he dismissed Tim's skittish acts as trench madness. Murdoc's thumb rolled round the wheel of Jack's lighter, the third light appeared like a solar flare. Dieter was engulfed by the target, all time slowed then ceased, all he could hear was his own heartbeat, counting down the moment; three, two, one. Tim's bullet hit Dieter full in the chest and the force sent him backwards off the trench wall. Tim had squeezed the trigger and Murdoc had nearly swallowed his cigarette, ''bloody hell Timmy what the hell do you think you're doing? You nearly gave me a heart attack.'' ''Me?'' said Tim with a smile, ''I'm just chasing shadows, and If I were you I'd give them things up for good before they kill you and while you're at it try to make a little less noise''. Hans had scrambled down the mud slide wall and was frantically opening Dieters coat he was shouting for help as he applied pressure to the dark stain pumping across his shirt. ''Help me, hurry, someone help me''. Dieter was coughing and laughing at the same time. His hand reached inside his shirt and he pulled out a silver flask complete with a bullet hole. It was precisely at that moment Hans had registered that he was covered in Brandy and not blood. He was so surprised his mouth fell open, dropping the lit cigarette he had managed to keep with him, directly onto the chest of the Christmas pudding that was Dieter. As Murdoc and Wingham moved away saying something derogatory about the mad country bumpkin, Tim was looking across at the dancing lights inside one of the enemy trenches. ''Just shooting shadows; just shooting shadows'' he said under his breath.
Archived comments for Too Quiet
Nomenklatura on 28-03-2014
Too Quiet
What a start! A really good opening sentence.

I found some things a bit 'tell-y'
It was James Murdoc a most unlikely soldier that could only be described as a pain in the arse who talked incessantly about nothing.
Why not show us this?

I think 'defiance to' should be 'defiance of', but I'm willing to be corrected.

'Through a ventriloquist's mouth' well done with that, I could see it.

'Showbiz hands' is almost certainly anachronistic. First use is 1942 in the US I believe. 'Show business' would be fine as it first appeared in the 19th century.

You switch focus in the middle of the passage starting 'Dieter Schenkal' you probably need an extra line break when you switch back to the Tommies.

'Murdoc whoโ€™s thoughts were already returning' you want the relative pronoun 'whose' here. 'Who's' means who is or who has and is nothing to do with possession.

Great to have the switching of sides throughout and on the whole you handle that well. Not a huge revelatory twist but it was enjoyable getting there. The third light was almost unlucky for the Hun.

A very enjoyable read.
Thank you.
Ewan

Author's Reply:
Ewan thanks for the pointers all very helpful to take into an edit. Much appreciated Keith

sirat on 28-03-2014
Too Quiet
An interesting plot, if a little difficult to follow on first reading. It might help if there was a more distinct separation between the scenes in the two trenches. You could do it by having one in italics, or by some kind of section dividers. The single skipped line doesn't work as both a paragraph break and a section break.

At first I assumed the setting to be World War 1 and not World War 2, but the song 'A Nightingale sang in Berkeley Square' establishes that we are in the 1940s and not the 19-teens. There was of course much less trench warfare in the Second World War, but some along the Maginot Line and the so-called 'Atlantic Wall'. Setting the story in World War 2 gives the added irony that the soldiers have failed to learn from the misfortunes of their predecessors, when 'Lucifers' cost lives in the same way.

The atmosphere was well established in a small number of words, though some of the description in the opening paragraph seemed to me to border on the flowery, and the ending, with the brandy-soaked soldier going up like a Christmas pudding, was brilliant.

I noticed one grammatical mistake in the narration: 'He had immediately took a shine to', but apart from that the writing was technically fine. A good piece of flash fiction.


Author's Reply:
I think you are being very kind and I thank you for that, I will try to improve the separation thanks for the pointers. Keith

bluepootle on 28-03-2014
Too Quiet
A great subject for flash fiction, with both sides getting a good crack of the whip and coming to life.

I want to grab it and put lots of returns in it so that each line of dialogue gets its own paragraph, and maybe some section breaks, just to make it easier to read! It's quite difficult to follow. The writing itself is enjoyable though.

Author's Reply:
Yes I think it needs a good sort out for clarity, thanks I will give it a go. Best Keith

Note to self Flash Fiction....thanks

e-griff on 28-03-2014
Too Quiet
The makings of a good story. I can't help commenting on the fact that your punctuation is way below par, which makes it difficult to read. I also think mixing two ideas is a bit much in such a short story - by Christmas pudding did you mean he was set on fire?

I did not understand really how the German was shot, and surely the trenches were deep enough that lights, etc could not be seen, and you were only a target if you stuck your head above the parapet?

A bit rushed at the end. ๐Ÿ˜‰

Author's Reply:
So to clarify
its a good start.....damn I thought I had finished.
punctuation is below par.....I guess that depends on your handicap.
difficult to read.......I agree as do other comments, I will try and make things clearer.
mixing two ideas isn't a good idea.....I thought I only had one.
Brandy, xmas pud and a lit ciggy.......Yes he was set on fire.
A rushed ending........I didn't rush the end so it must need some work.
Many thanks for your comments I will try and use them in an edit.
Thanks Keith

e-griff on 28-03-2014
Too Quiet
! Of course the German was above the parapet trying to shoot the other bloke. Sorry I'm slow.

Author's Reply:
That's how I envisaged it ๐Ÿ™‚

Bonnie on 28-03-2014
Too Quiet
I thought this was very good. I had to read it twice to work out what happened to Dieter - I read too fast.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks for the comment Bonnie, I don't think its down to your speed reading, I think it needs clearing up so thanks and I will try and fix it. Best Keith

Bonnie on 28-03-2014
Too Quiet
I thought this was very good. I had to read it twice to work out what happened to Dieter - I read too fast.

Author's Reply:
You type two fast as well ๐Ÿ™‚

e-griff on 29-03-2014
Too Quiet
I understand that it's pointless to complain about a genuine problem you might have, but you must be able to remember to start a new line for each speaker. If not, write it on a sheet of paper and keep it in front of you on the final edit. Look at other rules you could treat in the same way. Or you could find a writing partner who will go through and fix things.

Whether you have a problem or not, the point is the reader has difficulty and that's not what you want.

Author's Reply:
I don't have a problem, the par/handicap reference was a golf one.....and I guess I was saying I'm not very good at golf, but you already know that. I welcome the crit, in fact I need the crits to improve. I did not know you should start a new line with each speaker, so this in itself is excellent feedback (that I can use) and I can see how that would improve the clarity. I know you well enough now to understand you can be blunt and I really don't mind that but try and remember some of us are still learning, and need experienced writers to throw us a bone with a few pointers, like wot you have done ere. ๐Ÿ™‚ Best Keith

Mikeverdi on 31-03-2014
Too Quiet
It's a good story, for me that's the important bit. If I were going to publish it (other than on here) yes there are things an editor would pick up; that's what they are for. Using UKA for the editing brings mixed blessings on this page (as I have found). Mr.Gruff is usually right, his bed side manner could do with a tune up, but we all know this; including him. ๐Ÿ™‚ I enjoyed the read (and the repartee') thanks for posting. Mike

Author's Reply:

TheBigBadG on 01-04-2014
Too Quiet
It's a snappy piece and with a bit of tidying up could work well I think. You keep the pace up and have some good details in there to make your characters distinctive and recognisable. The ending made me smile as well to the extent that it suddenly turned from visceral trench horror into a farce. I like being caught off-guard like that.

With the details, definitely take note of Sirat's comments about history above. He's good on things like this (there are other history-buffs around as well remember, you can always mine them for details on the forums). I'm not one of them!

The thing you do need to sort out is relatively simple, however, and that's the structure. So new paragraphs for new speakers, some clear distinction between German and English (the italics is probably the least invasive solution) and the like. It's mostly been said above already.

The spelling/grammar thing has also been noted - best to think of it as a science more than an art. And never ever ever trust spell-checkers. Just trust me on that one. A couple of typos left are: He had immediately took (should be taken) and miss-spent (should be mis-spent).

As for 'throwing bones' (he who lives in a glass house shouldn't...?) maybe pick up a copy of the Oxford A-Z of Grammar and Punctuation. For one thing it covers direct reported speech. Cheap, demystifies a bunch of fundamentals and is suitably compact.

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 01-04-2014
Too Quiet
Punctuation around speech. Follow these models:

'Go home.'
'Go home, ' he said.
He said, 'Go home.'
I remember he said 'go home' to me.

You can use a question mark or exclamation mark in place of the comma in example 2.

Speech is just a quote, but a weird US convention was adopted that the punctuation is within the quote at the end in that case.

In terms of tips from old hands, you might find the writing forums useful. They start with punctuation and go through all aspects of writing. ๐Ÿ˜‰

Author's Reply:


It's all in the mind (posted on: 24-03-14)
.

I saved my mind to a memory stick so I can reboot each time I get sick. My version control says don't ask me and I've started to sing in MP3. Each time I try to remember a name I ask for a password and start again. My memories are lost on a cutting room floor because I don't have a driver for an MP4. Sometimes little things keep coming back but its usually just the audio track. I'm beginning to think my file is corrupt as most of my speech is foul and abrupt. The surgeon says she can remove the tumor with a 20% chance of a weird sense of humor. Half of me wants to stay complete and the other half is terrified of Crl Alt Delete.
Archived comments for It's all in the mind
Mikeverdi on 24-03-2014
Its all in the mind
Ha Ha Ha! This is brilliant, I love it.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Mike thank you for being so generous. Best Keith

Kipper on 24-03-2014
Its all in the mind
Me too.

Michael

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Michael. Best Keith


A long way down (posted on: 24-03-14)
.

As I stepped off the building, the world turned through 90 degrees and I strolled past neighbour's windows, looking down inside their rooms warm, bright, family life behind glass. Vibrant with activity, sit down meals, office workers greeted with kisses, children fighting over the tv remote, dog stretched out in front of the fire, siblings giggling with bath time bubbles, passionate couples arguing over nothing, bodies showering away the days grime, dad wrestling with three little monsters, a lady near the ground floor even waved. As I stepped onto the pavement I said ''my world isn't too bad'' But I was walking faster than I thought. I left my note under a rock, so it didn't blow away.
Archived comments for A long way down
Mikeverdi on 24-03-2014
A long way down
Good bit of 'Show don't tell' going on, loads of ending to ponder on; love it!

Author's Reply:
Thank mike for the considered comments, much appreciated. Keith

pdemitchell on 25-03-2014
A long way down
Nice perpendicular skew with the ironic splat neatly side-stepped. Bravo - I do like this off-beat off-tangential takes on life.... Mitch

Author's Reply:
Good to see you got it Mitch and many thanks for the great rating. Best Keith

Ionicus on 26-03-2014
A long way down
A point of no return. Clever poem, well done.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Luigi much appreciated. Keith

QBall on 26-03-2014
A long way down
Think it is great, but, you know me. I am no poet

Author's Reply:
I know you yes, but I live in hope that one time you will throw in a poem to the Weekly Challenge....sorry for the shameless plug....again.


An evening in (posted on: 17-03-14)
parental

Scribbled carbon lines, crumpled petals scattered on bed linen. The man is hunched over gentle strings and headstocks, with a worn down pencil ready behind his ear. Separate by time and a devil driving delivery, the lady traces lines for number games and finds things tactile to touch lost to creativity and classrooms. The man's youth is framed by the door; he glances inside their rooms but doesn't see the footage he is filming. One day he will understand the fleeting image he has surveyed, the detail that today is shelved for tomorrow's recollection. Affection is passed inside a memory, deepened by each visit, currency invested until he is ready to spend.
Archived comments for An evening in
pdemitchell on 17-03-2014
An evening in
A cracker of a snapshot-sepia-sortie into the realms of domestic-voyeuristic memory making! Mitch ;O)

Author's Reply:
Thanks for commenting Mitch its much appreciated, this is one of three poems split from one that was way too long I was hoping they would stand on their own but I think they may run better together. Either way thanks for the encouragement. Best Keith

usutu on 19-03-2014
An evening in
Dear Savvi,



Thanks for reminding us that sometimes we are not ready to confront ourselves until we are, well, ready.



U'sutu
Rated 9.

Author's Reply:
Dear U'sutu
Many thanks for your comment and welcome to UKA I always find it very interesting to understand better what the reader takes from a poem so thank you for the feedback. Best Keith


After tea (posted on: 17-03-14)
Parents

Two plumes of smoke, stream and splutter, one born of cigarette the other, solder. The man peers over taped rimmed glasses, through an eye piece, into the circuit of an unwanted radio. Items lie in waiting, petrol tank and urn, both requiring gold leaf and a steady hand. Separated by smoke and asthmatic repercussions the lady sits in an adjoining room. Reading light poised over the latest library card choice, she smiles and redirects a tear with the touch of a finger as the author's words invoke emotion. The watcher feels the balance; he understands needing to be apart, together, the pleasure of repair and the presence of words. Moving unseen between these rooms, his snapshots are taken for future recollection and saved under admiration.
Archived comments for After tea
Kipper on 17-03-2014
After tea
A married couple of a certain age (euphemism for old) each busy with their own interests, independent of each other but depending.
I detect a very familiar scene, comfortable and safe.
Nicely caught.
Michael

Author's Reply:
Thanks Michael, I think this scenario is repeated in many households and, thank you for your comments Keith

pdemitchell on 18-03-2014
After tea
A wonderful observation familiar to many families as grown up kids watching their parents settled into a particular and familiar groove. Mitch

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Mitch you have it spot on and that's encouraging cheers Keith

Popeye on 19-03-2014
After tea
I tinker with an old computer I,m rebulding, then stop to write a few lines. The wife sits in the next room creating greeting cards. Savvi snaps a picture with his quill ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thank you for the great rating Popeye much appreciated, I hope that computer works better than this one, the picture can be found everywhere I suspect. Thanks Keith

Mikeverdi on 19-03-2014
After tea
Something most of us can relate too, after years together words are not always required; it's almost telepathic. well penned.
Mike

Author's Reply:
telepathic is a great word for it, I can always sense that she wants me to do something else ๐Ÿ™‚ other than relax. Cheers Mike, Keith


Collections (posted on: 14-03-14)
Weekly challenge - omelette

A collection snatched from warm nests a goblin's rob for vanity but what to do with the children, they sit inside and await their fate. Under my breath I whisper, this isn't going to hurt, I pin prick both ends and blow. Blood and tiny bone, sinew and flesh splatter my plate. A dozen breeds in total, heavy in my murderous hands, enough for a Frankenstein omelette.
Archived comments for Collections

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Owned by the council (posted on: 14-03-14)
grand parents

A budgie swings from the old man's ear, pecking at a skin tag pendulum beneath his eye. The lady's brittle frame is wired with stronger steel, her darned stocking legs protrude from the threadbare giant's chair. The house is old and cold, cacti fight for survival in pools of condensation window sills speckled with mold miss the scrape of sandpaper and the gild of gloss. Four bars hiss as gas gets consumed; only serving to melt the soles of upturned slippers. In close proximity camphorated oil warms to its nightly application. The watcher loves their fragile bones, he understand that affection is currency spent on echoes of children gone before. Regardless he squeezes hard against steel and rests his head on a cardigan perch.
Archived comments for Owned by the council
sweetwater on 14-03-2014
Owned by the council
You paint a vivid picture, very sad but with loving empathy too.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sweetwater much appreciated its funny the images that appear when you think back. Best Keith

pdemitchell on 14-03-2014
Owned by the council
Awesome free form (niggle: does 'ladies' in line 3 need punctuation?) and such a sharp atmospheric concoction you can smell the misty-eyed moisty warm decliners in recliners and the wisp of smoke from slippered heels. Where be the NIB? Mitch

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the nit Mitch and kind stuff, I love the smell of burning rubber in the mornings. Best Keith

Bozzz on 14-03-2014
Owned by the council
The density of description should turn even the hardest IDS supporter. Good prose, Keith, enough to earn a nib - but these encouragements seem to have become rare birds. That said, what little is seen seems biased towards prose, so I worry whether all is well in the machinery of UKA. ...David

Author's Reply:
free verse or prose seems to be a re-occurring question for debate for me the main distinguishing difference is the use of sonic devices such as alliteration and assonance etc....its OMHO but I would class this as free verse. As for the machinery ! at least I can logon at present so happy days ๐Ÿ™‚ Thanks David much appreciated as ever. Best Keith

Mikeverdi on 15-03-2014
Owned by the council
Top class my friend, normal service at UKA will undoubtably return with the Boss (The sainted Andrea). In the meantime please accept my ten.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Mike you are too kind many thanks for the great rating. Best Keith

Nemo on 15-03-2014
Owned by the council
Yes, this is Nib stuff, a nice splurge of good English vocabulary and hurtful observation. Superb 'cacti' bit. Should be 'lady's' if there's only one lady and some punctuation after 'bones.' Judging by the effect rather than sentence structure or length, how can anyone call this prose? You don't need 'grand parents' in the intro.
Ever onwards, Gerald


Author's Reply:
Thanks for the Nits Gerald I will get straight onto them. This is actually part 1 of three parts I have decided to split them so I don't bore anyone. best Keith

Ionicus on 15-03-2014
Owned by the council
Hi Keith. A powerful free verse poem showing empathy for the sad circumstances of old peoples' life.
I do think that in the third line it should be 'lady's' and in the fourth line can I offer threadbare instead of thread worn?
A good write.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your comment and the nit and I will take threadbare its a better fit and it picks up the end rhyme. Best Keith


Cereal box camping (Cymru am byth) (posted on: 07-03-14)
Motor bike ride and a cheap tent.

We had to eat four boxes of Cornflakes, the coupons were cut on dotted lines, five long weeks for the tent to arrive, six weeks in the garden each summer. Twelve years later, bungee clipped to the petrol tank of a Honda, shoe-horned between ruck sacks and bin bags we vibrated into Wales. The weather was dripping forked lightning, clawing its way down Snowdonia, the light and birds had all but gone. I pegged the last guide rope as the heavy hiss of rain chased us in. Laughter cut through musty canvas zipped together in sleeping bags. Youth in hibernation waiting for warmth, hostage to a mountain squall. Torch light revealed the finest mist, dispersed droplets forced on fabric, passing through the filter paper walls, everything was wet with shining examples. Thunder clapped us into action, riding down village bound, rain-dancing for a bed and hoping for a breakfast. Are you married she asked, with one open eye, then answered herself with a no, deduced from ring-less fingers. Separate beds then she said as she gestured us in, I have the room below yours; you'll find we have creaky floors. Breakfast was stuffed with silent smiles, twenty pounds paid at the door, leaving like school kids on the last day of term, fetherlites left in a drawer.
Archived comments for Cereal box camping (Cymru am byth)
Mikeverdi on 07-03-2014
Cereal box camping (Cymru am byth)
I often get told off for using the word Brilliant...so what, this is Brilliant! A terrific story well told, I loved it. So many great lines 'Thunder clapped us into action' Brilliant! Ah... there I go again.
Mike

Author's Reply:
Wow Mike thank you for the very kind words and excellent rating. Best Keith

Andrea on 07-03-2014
Cereal box camping (Cymru am byth)
I really like this. Love N Wales, too. My son rides a Suzuki - he'd love to open the throttle up and race up Snowdonia. And you should have remembered the curtain ring on that finger ๐Ÿ™‚

(I think 'shoe horned' should be one word - or at least hyphenated, and 'canvass' should be 'canvas', unless you're trying to solicit votes for the Tories :))

Author's Reply:
I swapped the Honda for a Suzi but alas I crashed it. Thanks for picking out the nits, all changes made ๐Ÿ™‚ damn I never thought of a curtain ring....how romantic. Best Keith

ChairmanWow on 07-03-2014
Cereal box camping (Cymru am byth)
Nicely done. Always wanted to visit Wales...

Author's Reply:
Thank you CW, you should go its a beautiful part of the world. Best Keith

jdm4454 on 07-03-2014
Cereal box camping (Cymru am byth)
"Twelve years later, bungee clipped
to the petrol tank of a Honda,
shoe-horned between ruck sacks and bin bags
we vibrated into Wales."

What a wonderful poem. I could picture this as if I was at the busstop when you vibrated into town....jim


Author's Reply:
Many thanks Jim, now you mention it I think I remember some people by a bus stop and to think it could have been you ๐Ÿ˜‰ best Keith

pdemitchell on 09-03-2014
Cereal box camping (Cymru am byth)
Shi'w mae! We in Wales never stop vibrating... ahem. Great narrative and descriptive with the decisive snap of a Saran Wrap. Mitch ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Only Good, good, good, good vibrations I'm sure ๐Ÿ™‚ Thank you for your kind comments. Best Keith

Nemo on 10-03-2014
Cereal box camping (Cymru am byth)
Sorry I missed this - I only look in the poems section - to me this is a poem not that appalling thing 'prosetry' - full of 'brilliant' lines. I used to cycle a lot in North Wales - half a century a go. You'll go far, my son. regards, Gerald

Author's Reply:
Hi Gerald, thanks for stopping by and the kind comments, please don't apologise I am terrible at the moment I never seem to have enough time to read poems never mind post comments something has to change. Best Keith


Seasonal Starwars (posted on: 14-02-14)
Reflections of the way life used to be.

As the rain started I thought of dashing for the car and the umbrella in the boot, I was annoyed by windscreen condensation. You tried not to blink and walked like a bouncer giving the sky an evil eye. Then you drew a smiley face on your window. As snowflakes fell I thought of salt and clearing path ways. I wondered if I would get to work in the morning. You tried to catch each crystal first like a goalkeeper then in your mouth. Your breakfast footprints were first in the garden. As the wind rattled the house I thought of buckled fences and blown over rubbish bins. With a screwed up face I tried to tie it all down. You raised a school coat sail and skateboarded up the hill. Then with your cape flapping you looked down and scoured the city for criminals. As the sun became unbearable I thought of factor 30 and finding shade. Complaining about the heat and being sick of sweating. You waged water pistol wars filling balloons at the outside tap. Then you crossed the desert forty days and nights without food or drink. Now, as you think of umbrellas, factor 30 and blown over rubbish, I remember how much fun can be found when we have time for the seasons. You're taking me home for our usual Sunday lunch, we're heading into heavy snow fall but I'm sat in a star-field piloting an X-wing and about to make the jump to hyperspace.
Archived comments for Seasonal Starwars
stormwolf on 15-02-2014
Seasonal Starwars
I almost missed this one. This is so very heart-warming, I found myself smiling as I read it.
Yes, captures wonderfully the different ways we can react to the same conditions but one has the imagination taken into play. It reminded me of my fav one of yours about the pink tutu.;-)
I used to drive my mother mad when she took me and my sister down the street. she walked along beside my mother.... I used to walk backwards, climb on walls and jump on drains.
I confess, I have never lost the desire, much to the amusement of my little granddaughter who says "what ARE you doing grandma?

The last stanza was just so right. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em!

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison sorry I'm late getting to this, yes it is a bit in the same vein as the pink tutu, I hope you never stop climbing on walls, I still think I'm in my twenty's and when I was twenty I acted like a 15 year old ๐Ÿ™‚ Stay young Keith

Nemo on 15-02-2014
Seasonal Starwars
Nice evocative switches, Keith, between the imagined and the real world, the child's and the adult's. Slight slips, 'rattle' for 'rattled'? And 'your' for 'you're'? And 'When' for 'when'? Regards, Gerald.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Gerald for picking out the nits much appreciated all are now corrected. Thanks also for the kind comments. Best Keith


Separation trauma (posted on: 14-02-14)
Short form

Baby orca sold as a slave, mothers long range whale song, trainer held on the bottom.
Archived comments for Separation trauma
stormwolf on 14-02-2014
Separation trauma
Yes. There is a certain justice in nature. I enjoyed this very brief poem Keith.
The extreme brevity highlighted the power.
Alison x

Author's Reply:


Don't do as I say (posted on: 03-02-14)
Go on give it a go

Cut and paste this into word, no stop, that's absurd. Blink, each, blink, time, blink, you, blink, read, blink, a, blink, word, no stop that, blink. Go cross-eyed and read the text below. Again absurd but don't let it converge                      I                  AMNOT              BLINDJUST              NEERSIGHTED How many crits do you see so far ? I have two but don't worry if you have more than a few. wordstheselearnwilltoyoulove get back in order, these words will learn to love you. Bad wordssssssssss, stop it. So let's find a light bulb and stare at it, close your eyes and look at the white bit, as it pulses count the colours. I get three, purple, green and oh; two, what about you ? Have you done anything I've asked, no. Then start again and complete the whole task I'll wait here………No = goto start else next line. This time stare at the bulb 30 seconds longer and cover those closed eyes with your hands. Then follow the only liquid light, hold it tight until its dry, now in the memory of your eye a planet is created. Soon you will see a black spot moon, each blink releases powder flash that lights your mind in a deeper place base jumping spiral stellar trace, to roll round words and burn up lines capture sobs on platelets of rhyme, sky write its name inside your mind, never quite sure of what you'll find. Now let the planets drift away. Counting backwards three, two, one, open your eyes, journey on.
Archived comments for Don't do as I say
pdemitchell on 06-02-2014
Dont do as I say
Phosphenes or nonanism leave you teary-eyed but don't stare at the sun or Murdoch will leave you permanently blind. An interesting off-helter kilter thang with "capture sobs on platelets of rhyme" the high five pointy star for me.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks PD, not quite sure were this one came from, cheers Keith


Stripping Puppet(Song) (posted on: 03-02-14)
I tried my hand at a rock song lol, please don't take me any more serious than I take myself. Re-worked from an older poem posted a few weeks back.

A stripping puppet dancing on your own, A stripping puppet dancing on your own, Thinner than our threads that used to fit, we make up so you can leave again, taxi into town a burned out clown, tumble till the neon shuts you down. Restless hands beat rhythms on my chair, pretending to myself that you still care. I can only walk the worn out floor, a dog that waits behind a nightclub door. Taking turns to spin you on your stool, playthings pass the parcel as you drool, stretching alter neck goes out of shape, grace is sipped away without a trace. Morning milk clinks early in the street, guilt has ploughed a furrow for your feet, clatter bangs the door with no surprise, another night of chewed and swallowed pride. A stripping puppet dancing on your own, A stripping puppet dancing on your own, A stripping puppet dancing on your own,
Archived comments for Stripping Puppet(Song)
Bozzz on 04-02-2014
Stripping Puppet
Never mind the rock song, Keith, stripped of the repeats in the first and last stanza, it is a very good descriptive poem. I like it...Yours, David


Author's Reply:
Many thanks Bozzz the original poem didn't get much interest save a comment from Bo but I do like the poem in its own right I wasn't sure if people got it but it also crosses over quite well as a song, clearly it needs work but the topic is ok thanks for taking the time David. Best Keith

pdemitchell on 04-02-2014
Stripping Puppet
Good observational sleaze-fest and difficult to put to lyrics and music but this could work. basically, I've been there, vomited on the T-shirt. See my similar in Neon-Pretty! Mitch ๐Ÿ˜€

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mitch Loved Neon Pretty it seem we have something in common except you can sing ๐Ÿ˜€
PS I did post the Audio.


HMS Glory (posted on: 31-01-14)
Uncle Frank

When uncle Frank came back, he said he'd been held behind bamboo walls while his body ate itself. Edna gave him rice pudding, it nearly killed her. He gave away a bayonet and a black-sashed HMS hat, things like that scared him. I hung them on my wall but they still shook when a door slammed. The chip shop round the corner changed hands to Mr Yip, so future fish suppers were caught in the Volvo. Edna complained it was too far to drive, so she cooked. Frank liked a pint on a Friday night with the lads at the Labour club, mellowed by sitting too long in his chair, broken by heart and panic attacks. I was his taxi collecting at ten so Edna could relax and meet with her friends. Then belching bitter, he asked me to stop and went inside Mr Yips for a nice piece of Cod. He said he'd forgot why he was so angry and that Mr Yip seemed a very nice man, too young to even remember the war. I called him a pillock and said ''that's his son'' and that was it, just like that, Frank asked me could he have his hat back and told me all about the black sash.
Archived comments for HMS Glory
Bozzz on 01-02-2014
HMS Glory
Somehow the strangeness of this piece is attractive. One keeps reading in the hope that loose ends with become clarified - somehow, no. Interesting and hard for me to assess - but then I am thicker than usual today. Cheers, David

Author's Reply:
David I would never describe you as thicker ;), thank you for your comments Keith

Nemo on 01-02-2014
HMS Glory
An effective and understated portrayal of someone who fought the Far East and was a prisoner of war, I think. Some of the vagueness stems from the piece being a child's recollection, I think. Would line 6 be better as 'he nearly killed her'? Regards, Gerald.

Author's Reply:
Gerald you see it all, I was trying to be clever and not make it so obvious with the rice but you are not the only one it seems that has pointed this out so I will consider my options, thanks for commenting Keith

pommer on 01-02-2014
HMS Glory
Yes, I understand.I worked with a guy once who had been in a Japanese prison Camp.When I quite unintentionally mentioned having a rice pudding he nearly killed me.He apologised,and explained why.
Line 6 could also read:"He nearly killed her" or "He felt like killing her". I like the poem,no offence meant by my remarks. Pommer.

Author's Reply:
Pommer I am always grateful of feedback crit and any other comment so no worries at all, I will have to have a think about the Rice it seem others think like you also. Cheers Keith

stormwolf on 01-02-2014
HMS Glory
Should the sixth line be 'he nearly killer her' ??
Anyway, original and interesting Keith. Congrats on the nib

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Alison I will have a look at line 6 but I quite like the idea of the pudding being the guilty party causing all the trouble. Best Keith

franciman on 02-02-2014
HMS Glory
This does what poetry is supposed to; it flips the picture book in the reader's head. It has to be the finest verse I have read on here for the past year. I've nominated it and, though I don't normally announce my nominations, I wanted you to know how much this piece touched me.
Superb.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Wow Jim you really are too kind and I am deeply grateful for your comments and nomination it means a great deal to me. I don't really know what to say other than thank you. Best Keith

Andrea on 02-02-2014
HMS Glory
I don't do poetry, as everyone knows, but I thought this was brilliant!

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Andrea I am glad you enjoyed the poem. Cheers, Keith....we will have you entering the weekly challenge next ๐Ÿ™‚

Nomenklatura on 02-02-2014
HMS Glory
An excellent poem, reflected in some of the comments. I'd be looking to get this published, if I were you.
Regards
Ewan

Author's Reply:
Hi Ewan, thank you for the vote of confidence, with a bit of luck it could make the 2015 Anthology, well at least its in the running now ๐Ÿ™‚ many thanks Keith

Andrea on 02-02-2014
HMS Glory
Ah, I have entered the weekly challenge many times, and have even won once or twice ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
I know ๐Ÿ™‚
It was just a cheap shot at free advertising. It worked.............If any one wants to enter the weekly challenge they will be more than welcome this weeks word is Paint. ๐Ÿ™‚ and all it may contain.

amman on 03-02-2014
HMS Glory
Very good indeed, Keith. Deserves the nom.
Cheers.
Tony.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Tony much appreciated. Best Keith

Mikeverdi on 03-02-2014
HMS Glory
Tremendous Piece Keith, everything has been said, I will just add my congratulations to the others. Mike

Author's Reply:
Mike your comment and kind words are much appreciated. Best Keith


Free entry before 6:00pm (posted on: 24-01-14)
Early doors drinking is not a good place.

I sit and pick the label from a bottle of Newcastle brown, drowning seems to be the forecast, bubbles shoot like space invaders, gathered gas collects in the neck conspiring to make me cough. Programmed spots do a lonely robot, they seize the moment take their chance, the floor is empty so they dance. My table tops awash with slops, I fold and float a rizzla boat and sail outside for another smoke. Some random bloke starts to tell me his drunken story how he lost his family and a toe to frost bite, he just needs a roll-up to make it alright. Its happy hour, so I smile and knock back, pernod mixed with cider and black, the red witch trips tongues, turns eyes into slits but no one around me gives a shit. Shinny Happy People starts to play, I make a move backwards off my stool, a prostrate fool stuck in a strobe light, someone said it might freeze tonight.
Archived comments for Free entry before 6:00pm
Mikeverdi on 24-01-2014
Free entry before 6:00pm
I like this, some great lines; the Rizzla Boat bit is So good. The Early Doors thing is something I know well from my working days, prostrate has taken away my ability to consume vast amounts of ale, and that's a bugger! I like the way you set the picture in the readers mind; Great stuff. Mike

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Mike those early doors are placed on slippery slopes ๐Ÿ™‚ Thanks for your comments much appreciated. Keith

Nemo on 26-01-2014
Free entry before 6:00pm
Sorry I haven't got this earlier - it deserves much more attention. I feel enebriated reading this, the atmosphere and decor are so effectively conveyed. I love the throw-away last line. I acknowledge that you have incorporated some rhyme which takes some doing to avoid it being obtrusive but I'm not sure what it does for the poem. A failing on my part, perhaps. Great poem, thanks, Keith. Regards, Gerald.




Author's Reply:
Hey thanks Nemo I am equally sorry for getting back too late, thanks for the feedback its quite strange at the moment I feel my poems must have some Rhyme within them. I know its not rational but I donts seem to be able to stop myself at the moment, maybe I need to be more disaplined and work within the rules for a while. best Keith


The Garden of Eden (posted on: 24-01-14)
.

Warm summer nights ready salted, outside the pub on a worn down step. Glass coke bottle and two thin straws.
Archived comments for The Garden of Eden
stormwolf on 25-01-2014
The Garden of Eden
Hi Keith,
I thought this was a very bold poem that really worked. I felt the punctuation or layout could be improved to highlight things.

Warm summer nights(,) ready salted,
outside the pub on a worn down step,
glass coke bottle and two thin straws.

OR

Warm summer nights
ready salted,
outside the pub
on a worn down step.

Glass coke bottle
and two thin straws.

but it's your poem and your baby.

I do however, feel you need a comma on line one. The second stanza is bare and 'in your face' effective.
It makes the reader see it all. Like many good poems, it is not what it says but what it alludes to that matters.
The title is meaningful and very pertinent and telling to the whole ethos of the poem.

I feel so many just shove on a title as though it does not really matter but personally speaking, I feel a well thought out title not only encourages the reader to venture further but can also highlight the angst or feeling in the poem more that many words.
In this way, I feel that the title of a poem is of crucial importance.
Well done

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison
Sorry for coming back late and many thanks for the considered comments, I agree with you totaly and I prefer your layout so I will take that and say thank you ๐Ÿ™‚ Best Keith


Out of the labyrinth (posted on: 20-01-14)
A poem about Icarus

Laughter trails behind us, beating faster to the breast, cliff tops drop beneath us, sea breeze glides to rest. A warning not to touch, or slip on heated streams, warming just too much, inside a clouded dream. I drowned crystal cerulean, whitewashed days away, heavy on the oceans bight, a fallen feathered stray. Tar stains on my back cannot blemish me, wax runs red to legs, the sun has set me free.
Archived comments for Out of the labyrinth
Nemo on 20-01-2014
Out of the labyrinth
Nifty writing, Keith, just before you hit the ground. Regards, Gerald.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Gerald back to earth with bump ๐Ÿ™‚

Bozzz on 21-01-2014
Out of the labyrinth
A subtle bird to be sure. Think I'd prefer a 747 if I have to make the journey. Stay close behind in our wake if you want to save energy. Nice piece. ...David

Author's Reply:
Thanks David I find myself wanting to save energy more and more often these days 747 sounds good

Bozzz on 21-01-2014
Out of the labyrinth
A subtle bird to be sure. Think I'd prefer a 747 if I have to make the journey. Stay close behind in our wake if you want to save energy. Nice piece. ...David

Author's Reply:


Knit Club (posted on: 20-01-14)
one for the weekly challenge

It started in Betty's basement letting, by bulkhead light you could hear them clicking, increased in number they practiced their knitting. Once a week she would round up the gang, every stitch they plotted and planned, each ball of yarn was wound by hand. Underground rebels that nobody knows, seedy markets and tacky craft shows, sharing needles and quilted throws. A guerrilla army in camouflage knitwear, plotted their assault on Trafalgar Square, cashmere carpet bags to carry their gear. They used a Code name, called it Fame, some went by bus some by train, gentle old ladies are given free rein. The morning papers said no one had warned us, the people who did it were known as yarn bombers, Nelson was pictured in bright pink leg warmers.
Archived comments for Knit Club
Elfstone on 20-01-2014
Knit Club
I loved this when I read it in the Forum and I still do. It was so hard to choose. The idea of Grannies heading off to dress Nelson in pink leg warmers is so Monty Python and quite wonderful. Elfstone

Author's Reply:
Thanks Elfstone I do enjoy the weekly challenge it seems to keep me writing and I had a lot of fun with this one thanks Keith

Nemo on 20-01-2014
Knit Club
That's very revealing knowledge of the art of knitting, Keith, and an amusing poem, too. Enjoyed it, Gerald.

Author's Reply:
Knit one Pearl one drop two ๐Ÿ™‚

Ionicus on 20-01-2014
Knit Club
Sharing needles, eh? A dangerous activity no doubt.
A clever and amusing poem.

Author's Reply:
I might of known you would be the only one to pick up on that line you reprobate you, ๐Ÿ˜‰ Thanks fr your comments Keith

stormwolf on 21-01-2014
Knit Club
Hi Keith
Original and quirky. Gave me a laugh ๐Ÿ˜‰
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Glad to hear it Alison, I had some fun with this one, thanks for commenting, much appreciated Keith

Mikeverdi on 21-01-2014
Knit Club
Agree with the others..great fun mate; love the leg warmer idea!

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike much appreciated. Keith

Bozzz on 21-01-2014
Knit Club
Women who can write knitting instructions are known to make excellent computer programmers. Vee-necked apps to you. They make good conversation in doctor's surgeries too.
Enjoyed the clatter - thanks, David

Author's Reply:
When I was young and we ran out of toilet paper my mum used to cut up old knitting patterns into squares so I have studied the subject in some detail ๐Ÿ™‚

ValDohren on 23-01-2014
Knit Club
Glad I don't knit, would hate to be a 'boring old lady.' Very amusing write, certainly different. Just one little typo, last line 'Neslon' should read 'Nelson.' I'm a bugger for noticing typos, must be my secretarial background !!
Val ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Hi Val thanks for spotting the typo I could have read that a thousand times and still missed it. Also thanks for pointing out boring as that's not what I was going for, so its now gentle its smother without the ing as well thanks Keith

amman on 24-01-2014
Knit Club
Enjoyed this, Sav. The wrinkly guerrillas, eh.

Author's Reply:
Sorry Amman I had missed your comment, guerrillas yes unfortunately I wrote down gorillas in the first take ...doe what a plonker.

Jaybee on 13-03-2014
Knit Club
What a superb bit of prose/poetry. Can imagine those knitting needles flying along mysteriously producing all sorts of weird and wonderful outfits.

Love the last part about Nelson in pink leg warmers, so funny!!

Author's Reply:
I had fun writing this one Jaybee thanks for commenting. People do actually do this.


Susceptible to change (posted on: 17-01-14)
There is a first time for everything

Young enough to notice change, she softened the moment with milk-washed skin, I am trapped my mind reset, defined her perfect silhouette. I hid this treasure rather well, buried beneath books, storyboard Beanos, desperate Dandys and angry looks. My eyes now opened in a primeval light, reality catches me playful as a dog bite. Cheeks first reddened by rushed mouths are held in trembling hands. Something wakes with new born plans, our snakes scurry to find a home, Medusa smiles then turns me to stone.
Archived comments for Susceptible to change
Elfstone on 18-01-2014
Susceptible to change
I've read this a couple of times savvi and I'm still not sure what it's about. The words are well crafted, but I can't grasp the overall meaning. I'm sorry - probably having a 'senior moment' (did I say "moment" - make that "morning"!!) Elfstone

Author's Reply:
This was about that transition from not thinking about girls to noticing everything about them and that first kiss. Don't worry I always have trouble taking what is inside my head to the page and reader. Thanks Keith


Winter warmer (posted on: 17-01-14)
Always pleased to see you.

The drawn in night shudders me home. Chapped hands, too tense to tilt large coat buttons. Stocking toes suckle under her warm belly, like nuzzling puppies.
Archived comments for Winter warmer
Elfstone on 18-01-2014
Winter warmer
I can just see a big warm dog curled up by the fire! I used to do that with my collie - she was very tolerant of my cold feet! I love the lines

"The drawn in night

shudders me home."

- so descriptive. Elfstone.



Author's Reply:
Sorry I'm so late to this, this was one of those cold night poems after I complained to my Yorkie Cairn cross that she wasn't big enough to warm my toes ๐Ÿ™‚ Thanks Keith


The Blue Belle (posted on: 13-01-14)
A Villanelle

No bikers find a welcome through this door, if Babs and Ron say no then keep away, but I've been there too many times before. Oil and grease tread rainbows on the floor, since you've been gone old Richie starts to play, no bikers find a welcome through this door. Six brown and mild and I will stop the war, pool cues drawn by kids that drink all day, but I've been there too many times before. A gang of lads that just don't know the score, one more drink then they'll be on their way, no bikers find a welcome through this door. The whiskey gang play doms in friends of four, glass man George riffs solo's on his tray, but I've been there too many times before. The dawn chorus chills the hour I deplore, but there are simple rules you must obey, no bikers find a welcome through this door, but I've been there too many times before.
Archived comments for The Blue Belle
barenib on 13-01-2014
The Blue Belle
One of the hardest forms to do well in my view, and I think this is a pleasing example with some nice touches - John.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks John this form is hard to pull off and is better with a less blunt theme but i gave it a go. best Keith


A negative of Dorian Gray (posted on: 13-01-14)
See what you can recognise

I fall through, embossed by sleeves, captured thoughts that never age, these moments are mine to travel, Suggestive on your zipper sticky fingers fish for babies, billion dollar bites the bate, nevermind the neon typeface. Prism out my bright new colours, a place were I begin, climb the causeway of the holy, kiss the mouth of the crimson king. Hindenburg is helpless smoke cigars inside the Graf, muscle bound beside the rider, burning hell from gravestone blast. London's on the stage calling all guitars to smash, fly with me to Battersea, on pigs across its stacks, picked up Ziggy from the club, snorting stardust. I have run inside these vivid scenes it seems I do not age, yet every image I see reflect subjects me to myself with lines I learn and then forget. My soul was sold for pocket money, my face, long since replaced.
Archived comments for A negative of Dorian Gray
Bozzz on 15-01-2014
A negative of Dorian Gray
Hi Keith, I confess I could not pull it together, but I would love to "fly with (you) to Battersea, on pigs across its stacks", a great line. Sorry, but thicko strikes again...David

Author's Reply:
Hi David, never a thicko. As the picture of Dorian Gray aged he remained young. My take on this was that when I listen to the music and look at the album sleeves it only seems like yesterday and I still feel young whilst my face is aging rapidly:) the descriptions are all record sleeve artworks. Hope this help clear things up. Best Keith

Nemo on 15-01-2014
A negative of Dorian Gray
Keith, maybe take away the comma after 'reflect' as you recall lines from 70s groups but struggle to retain them -just like me. I've stopped listening to Led et al and have turned to Mozart - much more life-affirming and sorrowful at the same time. Cheers, Gerald.

Author's Reply:
Mozart...its a phase...you'll be back, once a rocker always a rocker. Thanks for the nit I will have a look, cheers Keith


Thick Skin (posted on: 10-01-14)
it can take a lot of insults and abuse before its over.

I lost every key, even the ones I threaded on boot lace round my neck, I hid them at the backs of drawers, blue-tacked under table tops but you still took them. I mind myself in unlocked rooms, respectful of what I was, sipping at the waterhole, holding host with all that sat, drinks would go flat and I would burn plastic in the ash trays of furtive conversation. Your words now fall ferrous, on childlike courage, iron fillings in a magic show that hides the true possessor. All I have is a matching pole, tip painted red, ready to repel. I hear you at the door, your entrance snaps my mood takes the blossom too soon, damages nerves and I'm impugned once more. You take away and I subtract then watch ten years before I act, deep inside your cold rebuff. This armchair armadillo, has had enough.
Archived comments for Thick Skin
stormwolf on 11-01-2014
Thick Skin
Hi Keith,
I caught the self recriminations and the restrained anger. The last line was was great!
There are a few things needing fine tuning. ๐Ÿ˜‰
I hid them at the backs of draws, (drawers) ?
blue tacked under table tops (blue-tacked)
not sure about comma line 5 second stanza

You take away and I subtract
then watch ten years before I act,
froze (frozen) deep inside your cold rebuff.


This poem could be a real winner with some slight alteration.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the Ahem fine tuning Alison I have had a tidy up. Best Keith

Nemo on 12-01-2014
Thick Skin
Some amazingly moving lines, especially the last two. I agree with Alison, a few adjustments are needed for greatness. Gerald.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Gerald much appreciated. Best Keith


The Occasional Artist (posted on: 10-01-14)
A bit of a romp

She mixes her palette with three fingers of Gin that thickens as the day begins. Opens the door as the post arrives, with a pout she asks it to step inside. Lets take your shirt, trousers and tie off with those pants, I'm really quite shy leave on the cap, I'm quite fond that. now sit yourself down and try not to frown, oh honey your quaint, but I need to paint. So suck in that tum and stick out your bum, I'll try to be kind to your saggy behind Its looking just fine need a little more time. Hurry it up I've got cramp in my foot my nose is itchy and my eye is twitchy, and please don't snap but I have to get back. OK then be gone, I'm just about done, I knew from the start, I'd suffer for my art, I need to lie down, on the chaise longue. You stay on the coach I'll see myself out. OK, if you must, put your face on my bust, don't button your shirt, help me out of this skirt. But you said get dressed and I lost my zest, well I've seen ugly men and your way worse than them but my pickings are slim, you'd better pass me the Gin.
Archived comments for The Occasional Artist

No comments archives found!
Silence of the student (posted on: 03-01-14)
The night train

A whistle and the carriage dims, bleeding power to the drive. I'm inside buttoned to the neck, checking messages like the rest, without glasses on predictive text, wondering what I might say next. The city's concrete stalagmites, erode away to shadow shows, bedrooms flicked on page curl corners above the derelict spray can walls, Gazza loves Shaz and Shaza wos ere, primitive scrawl won station of the year. In 1974 I watch each window and hope to glimpse bare flesh or at least something less mundane than a lampshade on a dresser, a dance of veils behind thin curtains. Changing tracks bumps my head on the glass and rolls a piss filled bottle across the crisp packet floor, it touches a shoe-less swollen foot with ankle bracelet and painted toes. I pretend to watch the dark in disgust, setting up my angle of incidence to an interesting reflection, she catches me, looking out into the mirror. I push hard on the seat in front a student and his baggage, fast asleep annoyed by the tiss tiss tiss, that his skull candy leaks. I take the Swiss army from my laptop bag, hurting a nail pulling unused scissors, small enough for a finger thumb cut, he doesn't miss the beat or even wake up.
Archived comments for Silence of the student
Bozzz on 03-01-2014
Silence of the student
Reminds me of a business friend who chose the time his homeward train to get "maximum frippet count". Good read, yes Keith, well done...Have not seen you much of late. welcome back, David

Author's Reply:
I never heard of a frippet count but I can guess ๐Ÿ™‚ Thanks David I havent had much time latley due to work, I have been in the forums a bit but only on and off, best Keith

Mikeverdi on 03-01-2014
Silence of the student
I liked this a lot, some great lines 'a dance of veils behind thin curtains' love it! Congrats on the Nib. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike much appreciated, I'm not sure who the Nib came from. Best Keith

Nemo on 04-01-2014
Silence of the student
I feel inspired to get writing by this: such detailed scene painting that I feel I've been in that carriage! Bis smile, Gerald.

Author's Reply:

JackCrowe on 04-01-2014
Silence of the student
Yes, I like this too. Very familiar and well described scenes.

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 08-01-2014
Silence of the student
OMG reminds me of trying to get home to Edinburgh from the UKA away do in London! lol ๐Ÿ˜‰
Nice to see you posting again and congrats on the nib! ๐Ÿ˜‰
Alison x

Author's Reply:


Glaciated uplands (posted on: 03-01-14)
.

We pull our clobber from the boot, shod with cleats and rain-proof macs, sauna in the morning flask. Down gated steps then on to copse, slurry tanks and cattle troughs. Sliding signs of glacier plates, with frozen rocks for diamond teeth cuts thin aretes that reach the peak, sink deep inside the corrie, melt waters flood the valley. Mud slips ragged as giants run, drumlins smooth as fresh laid eggs. Moss-filled pillows and bracken beds, fauna threads through limestone walls, red faces cool in deafening falls. Our blankets spread for weary legs, wind on wing, two brothers at play, clamouring Rooks flee the treetops sway. Parting clouds rake sunlight to flames, the mountain looks down and whisper our names.
Archived comments for Glaciated uplands
Elfstone on 03-01-2014
Glaciated uplands
I learned a new word from this - I had never heard of "drumlins" - so thank you for that. It is a very well constructed poem, but one line jars to my ear: "an apple bite arรชte " is the wrong rhythm. I'm also curious as to who the giant who looks down is - do you mean the sun? Elfstone

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Elfstone I have had a go at an edit based on your feedback much appreciated. Keith


I wish I didn't love her so (posted on: 18-11-13)
she plays around

Thinner than our threads that used to fit, we make up so you can leave again, you taxi into town a burned out clown, then tumble till the neon shuts you down. Restless hands beat rhythms on my chair, pretending to myself that you still care. I can only walk the worn out floor, a dog that waits behind a nightclub door. Taking turns to spin you on your stool, playthings pass the parcel as you drool, stretching alter neck goes out of shape, grace is sipped away without a trace. Morning milk clinks early in the street, guilt has ploughed a furrow for your feet, clatter bangs the door with no surprise, another night of chewed and swallowed pride.
Archived comments for I wish I didn't love her so
bo_duke99 on 18-11-2013
I wish I didnt love her so
a fantastic achievement (except for the relationship and that, obvs)

Author's Reply:
Sorry bd I thought I had replied to this one just to say thank you, I have now put this one to a song that I am posting this week. Don't worry I don't take myself seriously. ๐Ÿ˜‰ Keith

bo_duke99 on 18-11-2013
I wish I didnt love her so
a fantastic achievement (except for the relationship and that, obvs)

Author's Reply:


One girl and her dog (posted on: 18-11-13)
Growing together

Faces at the window again, I suppose I should move, maybe a little stretch, that's me done back to mum, keep my ears flat don't look round, soon be warm nuzzling down. Snatched away inside a bag carried like a takeaway, holes in the side, car ride, falling over into bends, legs shiver decompressed, I break the surface without mother, hands pretend to play like brothers. Faces at the window again, makes my limbs tremble, smile and be sure to stand giant in your cot, smile. Those that can, stand those that can't smile anyway they can, lost sailors waiting for the sharks, treading above the shifting dark, its mouth fits round my hips, lifts and blankets me. It's cold, told its my time, outside for a car ride, tree tops flash like rats across worn-out blue broken tiles, teeth and head vibrate with the door, I never felt such things before. My room it said in pink, a net above my lice ridden head, just for show they said, it might keep out the bites, that used to crawl and pillow fight. Lipstick below my shaven fringe, call me Anne, so I won't but I'm sure I can. Playful teeth nip at my wrist, another mouth wants me to exist, and so I pinch soft skin and fur, twist fingers round his pointed ear. In this place we need each other, learning to play as sister and brother.
Archived comments for One girl and her dog
bo_duke99 on 18-11-2013
One girl and her dog
needs a proper look, but top work

Author's Reply:

Bozzz on 19-11-2013
One girl and her dog
The inside story - long overdue. Juxtaposition in the teller makes it a touching piece - improved for me by the final descent into rhyme and rhythm. Enjoyed this Savvi....David

Author's Reply:


Nan (posted on: 15-11-13)
Poem about my Nan

College foyer on the phone, seeing if she's made it home. Yes who's that, what do you want? switch on your ears Nan, its Keith, oh my god, Henry it's the police. Painful joints and blue rinse hair, Bingo to play from a comfy chair, nip upstairs and fetch my dabbers. Cabbage cloaks the common room, then pies on Thursday afternoons. Hello love come on in, have a look in the biscuit tin, hunched back and rheumatoid claws, hips that click and weight she can't gain, false teeth smile that never complains. To pass the time, on crumpled hands I stick thin skin together. Blow pipes and liquid tubes bruised by pygmy pins she starts to ask about my day, in a joined up breath that's all she would say.
Archived comments for Nan
Kipper on 15-11-2013
Nan
Hi Savi,
Being at the tail end of a large family, my grans are a something of a mystery to me. One I never knew; the other an old lady who, despite living within walking distance, seemed so far away before she died.
So I tried to put myself in your picture, and I felt that it was quite a comfortable place to be.
Your affection for her is clear and I envy you.
Michael

Author's Reply:
Michael, sorry I have some how missed your comment please accepts my apologise, this one is very dear to me so I am happy it came across, many thanks Keith

deadpoet on 16-11-2013
Nan
I was very fond of my one Gran and this poem shows such affection. I liked it very much.

:)Pia

Author's Reply:
Sorry DP totally missed this one but many thanks for the feedback. Keith

Bozzz on 16-11-2013
Nan
I like this one Keith - resonates for me to the point where I feel an urge to copy you somehow sometime. Well done. My Nan was born in Dublin, the eldest of 13 - there's a start.

Author's Reply:
Do it Bozzz what a start and what a story different times and hardships. Best Keith...sorry so late not sure how I missed these.


Market day (posted on: 08-11-13)
Memories of Market day

Scraggy arsed and pigeon chest frosted tight without a vest. Risking heat from a balance flue a choice of cold or co2. 7:05 the trucks arrive brings the concrete slab alive. Scaffold poles build bamboo shelters, morning mister do you need a helper? Now then scrawny bit, how much do you want? you little shit. Squeezes my arm, knots on cotton I know you graft I've not forgotten. Traders appear as the white vans land, throng starts to build in canvas stands, hands wrapped round polystyrene brew, just finish off and there's a fiver for you. The stalls open up announced by a chime, the town hall clock hands us the time, all shapes and sizes roll in to look, groups stand and listen caught on a hook . Grandma, mum, daughter, and child, once more into the north west wild, be sure to rummage in every box, and never pay what they say it costs. Toddlers jousting with passing ice creams, rogues are gathered selling knock off jeans. An old fruit crate brings a welcome break, to watch these apples roll round my plate.
Archived comments for Market day
Mikeverdi on 09-11-2013
Market day
Good descriptive writing, you may want to correct the typo after the clock bit ๐Ÿ™‚ I much enjoyed the read. Mike

Author's Reply:


The wind (posted on: 08-11-13)
In remembrance for an old Navy soul

Carries its freight, rattle and clang, trails anchors into land. Sea storms and poppies greet an old sailor, slopping early rise rum. Flutters the skirt of his Cancan tattoo, spits out tobacco bits rolled for his first brew. Smoke blows complaints in sheltered accommodation, drinks to remember what he gave for our nation.
Archived comments for The wind
orangedream on 08-11-2013
The wind
Emotive and haunting.



Tina

Author's Reply:

Kipper on 08-11-2013
The wind
Then and now, very timely.
Michael

Author's Reply:

Sid43 on 09-11-2013
The wind
I like your poem. Nice imagery.

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 09-11-2013
The wind
One of my uncles was lost at sea in WW11. Another shot down and spent years in a POW camp. Father (RAF) made it, but was screwed up for life.
Your pome resonated.

Author's Reply:


Sleeping rough on canvas (posted on: 27-09-13)
sensationalised but the problem doesn't go away

I commissioned the painting at Bethnal Green without my consent. On a tiled wall, in my own excrement, I hand grouted the tube station masterpiece. Some would say, In these times he did his finest work. My critics called me a dirty bastard and showered me cold with a fire hose. I felt warmth for the first time, bunked in a steel farmhouse, belly full of bread and cheese, nervous about the new colours, biting the bristles of my brush.
Archived comments for Sleeping rough on canvas
Bozzz on 28-09-2013
Sleeping rough on canvas
Hi Keith, Sorry, but what exactly is the problem? Yours in thickness...David

Author's Reply:
Hi Bozzz
This is about the homless mentaly fragile, that have been ousted from institutions into care in the community who then drop away onto the streets. Best S

Bozzz this is the first time I have been able to get on and post comments on the main site in ages, my computer just keeps freezing uo as though the links dont work, do you know if there is a problem ?


Eternal sentinels (posted on: 23-09-13)
Something to highlight the horror of anti-personnel mines that don't know who they are attacking or why.

The cardboard teddy had a yellow silk ribbon that taught you big boy laces. He saved me from dizzy spots and button pops, when bending down to double knot. Your army boots had eighteen eyes, some missing from the cleat, no ears to listen for the click. They brought your body back, the man said incomplete. At two years old, we stole first steps on painted paper sheets, so when we hide you underground, I'll give you back your feet.
Archived comments for Eternal sentinels
orangedream on 23-09-2013
Eternal sentinels
Chilling, Savvi.

Tina

Author's Reply:


Self-Seeded (posted on: 23-09-13)
This is a rework and post, the original had references to witches and spinster stereo types, that I used to show how cruel children can be, but I didn't like the feel it gave and it detracted from my original idea that was simply to write a poem about love and friendship found by a chance meeting.

The never used drive could make you gasp, self-seeded Columbine, burst through cracks, rampant now, since mother passed. Alone she stares with radio two egg on toast and an infused brew. A little girl on holiday from school, collecting petals could seem cruel, stealing colour is against the rules. Delicate heads to a mechanical claw further than planned, greedy for more. Lost to the beauty of the purple pink shower, didn't hear the door, won't be missed for hours, Tesco bags stuffed with intricate flowers, oh don't be upset and here, wipe your eyes, if you'd like to make perfume, step inside. Two hours it took to grind out the essence, from pungent petals a flirtatious fragrance, three small bottles ready as presents. One, the young girl gave to her mother, she kept one herself, which left, one other. The girl and her friends called round the next day, she gave them juice served on a tea tray, oh I've brought you a gift, if that's ok? why of course it is, she smiled with delight. That was the start of the perfume club nights. The young ladies' visits put her pension on hold, always looked shocked by the stories they told, she helped them bloom, vibrant and bold. Now every year when the Columbine appear, she places a drop behind each ear.
Archived comments for Self-Seeded
Bozzz on 23-09-2013
Self-Seeded
Pleasant sentimental piece. Story well-told. For me the rhythm is bumpy in places. In my view, rhyming verse like this does depend on smooth flow to gets good effects for the reader......David

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the feedback David, I will have a look. Best Keith

cooky on 23-09-2013
Self-Seeded
Good subject matter and beat. I like this.

Author's Reply:

ValDohren on 23-09-2013
Self-Seeded
A lovely read Savvi, reminiscent of my exploits with rose peals.
Val

Author's Reply:


Covert manoeuvres (posted on: 20-09-13)
A Fancy dress for revenge- my entry for the Prose challenge

Every light in the house was on. The fancy dress had spilled out onto the front lawn. Juliet was screaming expletives at a drunken Romeo. Thankfully they were drowned out by music that met us in the drive way. It was so loud that the garage doors vibrated like the skin of a steel bass drum. We pushed our way through the front door using the sharp end of a Pinot Grigio as a cattle prod. ''Has anybody seen the phone?'' shouted a beret clad French man heading off upstairs with a string of onions round his neck. I had, it, was heading off up the street with the answering machine, carried by some dodgy bloke in a stripy jumper and a mask. I thought it best to say nothing since I can't speak French. Oh sorry, I'm forgetting my manners. I should do some introductions. I'm Bruce and this is my partner Robin. We are stood in the extremely large kitchen of the biggest bitch that ever walked this earth. My ex, Marilyn Munro, she's over there by the fridge shoving her tits up, so Zorro can leave his mark with a ball point pen. OK so it's a bit weird, wanting to crash a party incognito, just so you can check up on your ex but….shit she's looking over, ''Come on Robin, to the Bat Cave! There's not a moment to lose. It's payback time.'' Mission one…loopy juice. We arrived at a large dining room that was the main source of the music. All sorts of famous people filled the packed dance floor. They moved like lava lamps to the psychedelic tune. A rather hefty Twiggy was dancing with Jim Morrison both with their eyes closed and looking like they had swallowed the sixties. Just beyond them was our primary target so we made our move. The Punch bowl had just been replenished. It looked quite sophisticated with sliced fruits floating amongst the ruby elixir. From inside my coat I produced a large bottle of Absinthe. With Robin as my look out I completed the mission. Mission two was easy. The sound system was on random play. It had more hours of MP3's than Romeo, on the front lawn, had excuses. I cranked the volume up to a, I'm phoning the police right now, kind of level. We were just heading out of the room as the throng went crazy, incited by the guitar intro of Mr Brightside. ''Holy Killers Batman'' said Robin ''just look at them go.'' ''That will make them thirsty,'' I replied. I stepped outside onto the rear terrace of the house and headed for the shadows. I had sent Robin to conceal himself in Marilyn's on suit bathroom. So far everything had gone to plan. The bitch would be sorry she dumped me. I'll show her who the looser is. I quickly became Bruce Wayne and walked round to the front of the house waiting for the Police to show up. The Punch was having the desired effect and I had half the neighbourhood reaching for their phones. Party goers were wandering around outside staring at their hands as if some magical force was running through them. Two, man size Goldfish were trying to swim in the ornate fountain at the front of the drive. Another group had turned up dressed in green leotards. They had petals round their heads and yellow painted faces. They were now standing amongst the flowers gently swaying in unison. This group of would be sunflowers were all speaking in a strange, plant like language. A large, fluffy green bird that went by the name of Orville, was trying to climb on top of the garage roof, announcing as he climbed, that he thought he could fly. Things were getting out of hand and I was glad to see the drainpipe give way, since his landing was cushioned by his large green arse. I heard the crackle of a police radio and two officers appeared, both were on foot and responding to a complaint call. I sprang into action. ''Hello commissioner Gordon can I help you?'' '' Yes you can sonny, is this your party? And my name isn't Gordon.'' ''Sorry officer, no it's not my party but I can take you to the young lady whose parents own the house.'' ''Ok then Sir, lead on.'' Mission three…overnight guests. ''I think this is her bedroom'' I said as I knocked and opened the door. Once I had the two cops inside, the lights went out. Thwack, Biff, Pow, Thud. The lights went on. Miraculously the two officers were tied up together. They had gags on their mouths and pillow cases over their heads. We quickly bundled them into Marilyn's wardrobe and left the room. The party was slowing down as I became Batman again. Miss Monroe had changed into a black leather one piece and was whipping Zorro up stairs to bed. The dynamic duo, exhausted from their covert activities fell asleep, sitting on the sofa. I heard the doorbell and saw the blue flashing light. Upstairs, Miss Whiplash had passed out on the bed fully clothed and Zorro had vanished into the night. She had woken with a start and was now staring in disbelief at the carnage outside her bedroom window and the police car on the drive. ''What the hell do you want at this time of the morning?'' Just at that moment she heard a police radio behind her, she opened her cupboard door and screamed; sweet. We stood in the morning sun as the police escorted her away, strutting in her high heels, hands cuffed behind her back. As they reached the police car she stood talking to the arresting officer and I'm not quite sure what happened, the sky seemed to darken for a brief moment and a cool breeze ran in through the front door as if it was bringing in a change. All the cats from the surrounding houses came out to see what was happening they swarmed around the roadside, brushing against legs, jumping on car bonnets and making quite a din. My focus returned to the show I had orchestrated. She was helped into the car and the officer had just placed his hand on top of her head. She turned struggling to break free and looked straight at me. '' I'll get you Batman'' she shouted. ''I'll get you.'' ''Holy cats Batman this is a catastrophe!'' ''Oh I'm not so sure Robin; I think I may have found my nemesis.'' ''Holy nemesis Batman.'' ''For god sake Billy shut up and wave!''
Archived comments for Covert manoeuvres
OldPeculier on 22-09-2013
Covert manoeuvres
I thought this was great. I love all the characters running around in fancy dress. 'A rather hefty Twiggy' and Zorro with his ball point pen.

An excellent idea and well written, it had me chuckling to the end.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks OP I had fun with this one, I really enjoyed your take on the theme. Best S

bluepootle on 22-09-2013
Covert manoeuvres
Ahh, I loved the ideas in this! Some great phrases - I liked people moving like lava lamps in particular. I could really feel the atmosphere of the party.

I think you've put 'berry' where you mean 'beret'.

I liked the framework - mission one, two, etc, which gave it some drive. Very enjoyable.


Author's Reply:
Thank you for commenting and for pointing out berry, I have made the correction, I hadn't thought of the missions giving it drive so that is really helpful feedback and something to take away. Thanks S

TheBigBadG on 22-09-2013
Covert manoeuvres
It's really quite trippy, isn't it. The fluidic take on people being their costumes is played well and the little details really help. The cattle prod for one, and the cats all coming out at the end. At once comic and also deadpan enough to be all pretty surreal, which I like. I mean I know it's a story about someone getting one over on their ex but it also works if you forget that and think that batman does just want to get one over on Monroe. It also does a good job of keeping you on your toes because I wasn't sure what the whole plan was until pow, biff, zap. Nicely done.

G

Author's Reply:
It is a bit trippy I guess, actually my fist take on Mission One was to put LSD in the punch but I didn't seem to fit. All said I'm happy with most of it and thank you for taking the time to read and comment, much appreciated. S


Jilted John (posted on: 16-09-13)
Just a bit of fun

Rough waves on a trawling trip, she was hooked on my top lip; tuna in her fishnets. Blue notes on her clarinet, sounds better when it gets wet; flared by my woodwind. Eyes on her peaks were twinned, the metal in my leg was pinned; tattooed on her skin graft. Rocks slapped the landing craft, flopped floating on a lifeless raft; tickled by my sea pen. Quick dressed said Mister Benn, she asked me to count to ten; rubber on the tar mac. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Archived comments for Jilted John
gwirionedd on 26-06-2015
Jilted John
"Rocks slapped the landing craft" indeed.

Ha ha ha



Author's Reply:


The last supper (posted on: 13-09-13)
This is quite blunt, domestic violence.

Muffled shouts and upstairs bumps, heavy hands hit bruising thumps, body dragged by clumps of hair, whimpers spit from bloodied lips, her beating close to breaking, control now gone he carries on, expression slips unconscious. Two fish fingers and smiley faces, run to find their hiding places, terrified chants wet amber pants. Don't worry, we always get by, look at me, boys don't cry. The older one a gentle son, runs to save a rag doll mum. Achilles steps, flight unchecked, stabs a bread knife in his neck, splash patterns streak the wall, emergency services won't be called, laddered tights, she staggers to stand, held up straight by smaller hands, Oh dear god, just leave him with me; you two please, go finish your tea.
Archived comments for The last supper
franciman on 13-09-2013
The last supper
Keith, this is the best poem I have read here, this year.
It hurts. The reader feels uncomfortable, reminded of his inability to intervene. The picture is stark, blunt as you say. But there is a strange sense of reassurance at the end.
Too cruel to be enjoyed; too compelling to put down, and too many great lines to highlight them here.
Just great verse.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Wow thank you Jim, I very much appreciated your considered comments and the nib and nom I have wrestled with this one, so it is great to receive such positive feedback. Many thanks Keith

stormwolf on 14-09-2013
The last supper
I agree with Jim.
When you pull it out of the hat, you excel as in this one.
One mark lost for rhythm or would have been a ten for me.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Alison, this does need some tightening and I now think it's worth it, I wasn't sure as it is very blunt. Best Keith

Sorry not been commenting, my PC has been rebuilt and is still playing silly beggars.

Kipper on 14-09-2013
The last supper
In my long life I have never experienced or known domestic violence, so I can't begin to understand the hurt, in all it's ramifications, to those who have. You have opened a widow to this dark place.
Very powerful.
Michael

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Michael, I have some experience but not at this sensationalised level, and things are always much more complicated than I portray them here and I thank you for taking the time to read and comment. Best Keith

Kipper on 14-09-2013
The last supper
In my long life I have never experienced or known domestic violence, so I can't begin to understand the hurt, in all it's ramifications, to those who have. You have opened a widow to this dark place.
Very powerful.
Michael

Author's Reply:

Algy on 14-09-2013
The last supper
As a child in a home where domestic violence was not unusual, in 1952, aged 11 when my mother was being attacked, and my 2 young siblings were crying in their bedroom, I smashed a glass quart bottle of beer over the head of the assailant. He left the next morning. A knife as in your poem was the next option.

Author's Reply:
Hi Algy, one of my fears in writing this was that I had gone over the top and that the complexity of the effects on the family had been traded for the shock factor to sell the poem. My understanding of such things enables me to conclude at age 11 you were one brave child, thank you for sharing this, very much appreciated. S

Kipper on 14-09-2013
The last supper
In my long life I have never experienced or known domestic violence, so I can't begin to understand the hurt, in all it's ramifications, to those who have. You have opened a widow to this dark place.
Very powerful.
Michael

Author's Reply:

Mikeverdi on 14-09-2013
The last supper
A horror story some know all to well, I had a daughter and grandchildren who experenced it once... and once only. I delt with it. Ten from me for the guts to tell it like it is. Mike

Author's Reply:
Wow Mike thank you for the great rating, I agree sometimes support is the only possible intervention, ignoring it is not an option. Best Keith

pommer on 15-09-2013
The last supper
A horrible shocking tale well told.Those of us who,have never experienced domestic violence can't possibly feel the anguish.
Well told Savvi, Pommer

Author's Reply:
Thank you Pommer very much appreciated. S


The wrong result (posted on: 09-09-13)
OU results are given on Christmas eve, failure was not an option after six years of study.

Frozen farm tracks, crunch in disgust. Pocketed hands, pull shoulders round. Bright ideals flash through blowhole vents. Cobwebs caught ultraviolet cantilever the fence. Well trodden paths of horse and mule, class working class, has paid to be schooled.
Archived comments for The wrong result
Bozzz on 09-09-2013
The wrong result
Keith, apart from the angst, I found it hard to gather the meanings and make the connections. But then I am pretty dim on Mondays and beg explanations.... David

Author's Reply:
Hi David this one is rather simplistic and was written about a memory of failing to achieve the required level in an exam towards my BSc not much more to say its about what I felt and saw on a walk to clear my head as I felt I had let everyone down including myself. best Keith

stormwolf on 10-09-2013
The wrong result
Hi Keith,
I really got into the poem and thought the first two stanzas were excellent. Short, sharp and very descriptive.

The last one confused me a bit. I got the gist of it of course, I just did not quite understand

class working class,
has paid to be schooled.

Why class to start with? I feel the last two lines need alteration. They do have power...and they do highlight the angst but they do not read right in my humble opinion. If that was sorted it would be excellent.

Alison x



Author's Reply:
Hi Alison thank you for the comments, I will have a look at it as you suggest, in answer to your question. I was trying for word play ie the class working and being working class. I had to put a great deal of effort into my studies as my previous academic achievement was poor and the expectation on me was to start earning money at the age of 16 and forget uni so I started my degree at the age of 24 and graduated six years later. The paid to be schooled was on two levels, the financial aspect and the cost to my family and the support they had invested in me. Best Keith


Public Convenience (posted on: 30-08-13)
For the weekly challenge erm last Wednesday

Find my spot and dare to linger, Marlboro light, crook of my finger. Breathless belief the time is right, I see the man, jeans too tight. Knowing glance strips me bare, swaggered approach, the reason I'm there. Got a light? He says leaning in, takes my hand, can I let this begin? Didn't have to say a word, experienced smile, so why so scared? Slammed behind a cubicle door, bodies push, wanting more. Feel the rise of pleasure within, scream a name; zipper caught skin.
Archived comments for Public Convenience
franciman on 30-08-2013
Public Convenience
Keith this is brave poetry. I found it sad, cynical and funny, and begging me to read again. Deserving of at least half an egg!
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind words Jim but this was left wanting more along side your poem, happy for you to get full egg, well deserved. I also like Flannel. Best K

amman on 02-09-2013
Public Convenience
Hi Keith. I totally echo Jim's words. Cynically sad and deserving of the nib. Almost won the challenge, but pipped at the post. Sorry.
Cheers.
Tony.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Tony, I believe you chose the right poem. Best Keith


The first on nine orders (posted on: 26-08-13)
If angels exist then they could be passed loved ones that only stay around until we don't need them.

Edit 1 I move between moments, follow thoughts that stalk your day, check each card the dealer flicks, keeper of your scattered deck. Idea's drift through static, taking essence from my trace, silver streamed inside a dream to stroke your sleeping senses. I come to rustle flower beds, drum out the sleepless nights, float melancholy on rippled silk, displace a shadows shifting place. Then unravel while needs divest, as morning song returns to nest, my presence folds diminished past within a whisper's wisp. Original I move as fluid, no substance or breath, just an idea of me that feels you, your days, dreams and sadness flicker like cards scattered from a deck. Your memories crackle as static, taking essence from my form, carried closer into thoughts to scent an unknown sense of me. It rustles through flower beds, twists inside a sleepless night, pushes melancholy into rooms, bends a shadow in tea light . I unravel as you grow strong, your song returns to nest, my presence fades complete, slipping in a whispers whisper.
Archived comments for The first on nine orders
Bozzz on 26-08-2013
The first on nine orders
The good fairy that replaces your tooth under the pillow overnight with a sixpenny bit. Fluid does have mass, but angels do not deal in particle physics - thank goodness. I liked this one......David

Author's Reply:
Thank you Bozz I had a re-think on the mass. Cheers k

deadpoet on 27-08-2013
The first on nine orders
I really liked this. It gives that ephemeral feeling. I think you may be right. I would like to think so too, that I am being followed by his angel having recently lost my Loved one. dp

Author's Reply:
It would be nice to think this is true. I hope it is. Best S

Mikeverdi on 27-08-2013
The first on nine orders
I like this one too! Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike very much appreciated. S

stormwolf on 27-08-2013
The first on nine orders
Some lovely lines here Keith and as said, it has a haunting (pardon pun) and ethereal feel to it in keeping with the subject matter.
It rustles through flower beds,
twists inside a sleepless night,
pushes melancholy into rooms,
bends a shadow in tea light .

Really lovely and the voice behind it is perfect
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Alison, I cant seem to settle on this one I have had a major edit but I'm not sure it has all been improved ๐Ÿ™ best K

Nemo on 28-08-2013
The first on nine orders
I tend to blame these whatever-they-are for things going missing around the house. Some really magical (poetic) lines. I can see you going far, my son.

Author's Reply:
Yes, I never thought of that, that would be just like my mum and dad to be messing with things from beyond. Made me smile. Best K


Action without choice (posted on: 23-08-13)
helping out at the disco

Stackable poxy plastic chairs pretend to be disco seats, you even combed your hair, coloured lights on your feet. Your suit is tailor made for the trisomy chromosome twenty one, never been laid or gone out on your own. You bit me as you kissed me because you need to eat. With a coke can on your knee rocking just behind the beat. Teased about that girl friend and she's up for it alright, gyrating with your best friend, it's all kicking off tonight.
Archived comments for Action without choice
Nomenklatura on 23-08-2013
Action without choice
ah memories...
Evocative and enjoyable.

Author's Reply:
yes, disco doesn't change much, this was quite a recent event. Best S

stormwolf on 23-08-2013
Action without choice
Made me smile and think back....

Your suit(e) is tailor made


Alison x

Author's Reply:
Argggggg, I always get that wrong, thanks Alison, not sure that I have got clarity with this one its about watching a friend of mine that has down's syndrome at a disco I was helping at. Best Keith

amman on 24-08-2013
Action without choice
Made me smile too, Sav. Down memory lane, indeed.
Cheers.
Tony.

Author's Reply:
Thanks amman, I don't think the village hall do's have changed much in 40 years, well maybe the music and I fear that's for the worst. S

Weefatfella on 24-08-2013
Action without choice
 photo 915e0b75-fce7-4fc2-9921-556099197c13_zps1f6b3c50.jpg
Community center disco.
Woo hooo.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Aye WFF and kids with special needs adds a whole different dimension to the phrase kicking off, my friend is so very strong, and when he gets going he's hard to stop. Cheers S

Bozzz on 24-08-2013
Action without choice
Keith you have the atmosphere beautifully and the rhyme, but for me a few adjustments to equalise the beat are needed to makes this one fizz. Just an opinion...David

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much David, the meter is a bit off, trying to squeeze in trisomy 21 to indicate down's was a little clunky to say the least, I will have a play to try and improve things. Best Keith


Problems and promises (posted on: 23-08-13)


Run Keep me from your skies, fill my mouth with autumn, hide silent in the forest, until the twig snaps. Run Watch the oars float away, stay still within your seat, tremble fingers on deep water, wait for the fish to bite. I'm sorry Bind my hands too tight, make my fists unfold. Foundation on a bruise, sunglasses for your lies. I'm so sorry Paper mache some masks, stretched thin on balloons, we'll dress Sunday best, and forgive my abuse. Help me Find the bars that hold my page, rage in every screw top bottle. I am and I will always be so let my feet find broken glass, on every step I fail to take, drench my shirt in stale pain, but let my shadow feel again. I promise This time, things will be different. Come here.
Archived comments for Problems and promises
Mikeverdi on 23-08-2013
Problems and promises
I'm sure this will resonate with so many people 'Foundation on a bruise, sunglasses for your lies'. Excellent writing, I hope this gets the attention it deserves. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind words Mike, I will try and do an audio to this as I'm not sure the voice comes across. Best Keith

Bozzz on 24-08-2013
Problems and promises
I agree with Mike, this is high class free verse. The messages are fragile yet sharp. Bravo .....David









Author's Reply:
Thank you David, your comments are very much appreciated, as are the generous ratings. Best Keith

ValDohren on 25-08-2013
Problems and promises
Very poignant Savvi - brilliant work.
Val

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Val you are too kind but I did enjoy writing this one. S

Nemo on 25-08-2013
Problems and promises
I read this as a succession of striking images, jagged strident pain-filled little paintings, a bold combination of words. It could hang in Tate Modern.

Author's Reply:
Nemo
Thank you for your considered comments, this means a great deal to me as I wasn't sure the poem worked this way. I quite enjoy writing darker poetry and have to force myself into the light. Thanks again S


Circuit City (posted on: 19-08-13)
trying to find the problem with my PC my mind wandered

As I drive down copper tracks, I bathe in a dark neon afterglow that partially lights the blue hue of micro farad Marriott's. Solder hillocks line the road connecting the underground. Coloured bands of static railway resistors sit in sidings. High rise relay tenements, that click, spark and chatter. Shopping centres on steel stilts, LED traffic lights stuck on red. The processing plant pulses radiated heat over the city. Rising plumes of disturbed dust vortex from bladed fans. Overheated streets melt rivers of flux, unseen commands hold basic control, mindless society complete daily tasks, memories are cherished until cached.
Archived comments for Circuit City
ValDohren on 20-08-2013
Circuit City
Very good Savvi, great description of a circuit board, and an inspired analogy.
Val

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Val for your kind comments I'm having real trouble with the site at present it keeps locking up every time I try to post so hope this gets through. S

Nemo on 21-08-2013
Circuit City


Author's Reply:
Nemo thanks for the rating. Too kind Savvi

ValDohren on 21-08-2013
Circuit City
It got through okay Savvi, but I know what you mean, the site has been troublesome of late - not the circuit board in my computer then !!!

Author's Reply:
Oh that's a relief I was ready to throw it out of the window, I thought I had a problem. seems to be ok but a bit slow at the moment...lol sounds like me ๐Ÿ™‚

Nemo on 22-08-2013
Circuit City
I wonder what has happened to my comment on your poem? Anyway, the 9 rating I think is appropriate for such a cleverly assembled and intricate write. G

Author's Reply:

Nemo on 22-08-2013
Circuit City
I wonder what has happened to my comment on your poem? Anyway, the 9 rating I think is appropriate for such a cleverly assembled and intricate write. G

Author's Reply:
I know this has been happening to me as well, hense my comment, hope the problems are not to serious ๐Ÿ™


Nap time stories (posted on: 19-08-13)
Tired children by the pool under Majorcan sky's

Stop fighting or I'll belt the pair of you, get over here and lie on your sunbeds. Go easy she said they're both tired, instead of shouting tell them a story. The dragon didn't come easily but the two boys had it in chains, it would fetch a good price at…………. She tore through the building fighting the battle of all battles both boys clutching to her wings……. The giant fireball melted the robots who spilled clockwork innards as the tried to escape the. Silence fell around the pool, nodding heads curled into beds, my voice trailed off soft, relaxing I picked up my paper. You can't leave it there, said a man behind me. No, what happens next? said another and another. Truth was, my muse was asleep and I had no idea. Ah well pass me that Sangria.
Archived comments for Nap time stories

No comments archives found!
If it's the last thing I do (posted on: 16-08-13)
All the, erm, fun of the fairground

You try sticking a dart in a card, it's hard. It's ok dad I don't need a teddy. Throwing a hoop over some loot, isn't cute. It's ok dad I don't want a teddy. Hurling a bean bag is a coconut blag, quite sad. Dad, I said no teddy! This crappy air gun couldn't kill or stun, no fun. I don't want a teddy. Hey we're in luck here's the ducks, give me that hook I told you I'd get you a teddy; I wanted the big white one.
Archived comments for If it's the last thing I do
Weefatfella on 16-08-2013
If its the last thing I do
 photo 915e0b75-fce7-4fc2-9921-556099197c13_zps1f6b3c50.jpg
I can never win anything but a bloody goldfish that dies two days later.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Ha Ha yes me too that would have been a better focus than the teddy. Best S

ValDohren on 17-08-2013
If its the last thing I do
I never won a teddy or a goldfish - they say its not the winning but the taking part that counts, well tosh to that !! Very good Savvi, a cute little read.
Val

Author's Reply:

teifii on 17-08-2013
If its the last thing I do
Really made me laugh. I was expecting a punch line but it was better than expected.

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 18-08-2013
If its the last thing I do
'I wanted the big white one.'
Always aim high, that's what I say. A fun read, Savvi.

Author's Reply:


Falling (Song) (posted on: 12-08-13)
I have turned the sonnet (Falling) into a song, warning novice at work

Am.....................................C...............Em You're dancing barefoot in the morning dew, to lose yourself in nature's waking call. Garden freshness seems to breathe through you and spiders spin their webs lest you should fall. Bm.A.....E......Bm.A.....E I'm falling,     I'm falling Your lips sip water from a heavy flower, that bows its head before it takes your hand. The traces left by heavy summer showers have given grace to eyes that watch you stand. I'm falling, I'm falling The moment breaks with noises in the street, you turn your smile and see me move away. The paving stones are patterned by damp feet, that follow me to arms that hold your sway. Bridge The sweetest rain taps windows once again, our first embrace adds colour to the frame. You're dancing barefoot in the morning dew, to lose yourself in nature's waking call. Garden freshness seems to breathe through you and spiders spin their webs lest you should fall. I've fallen, I've fallen
Archived comments for Falling (Song)
orangedream on 13-08-2013
Falling (Song)
Both lyrical, and lovely;-)

Tina

Author's Reply:
Thanks Tina for taking the time to listen and comment, I know my limitations but I do enjoy doing little things like this but they do take a long time. Best Keith

deadpoet on 13-08-2013
Falling (Song)
A real fairy tale- which I always enjoy.

Author's Reply:
Ha I guess it is I found the sonnet to be a quite difficult to write but not as hard as singing and playing. Cheers Keith

Mikeverdi on 14-08-2013
Falling (Song)
Hello, mixed emotions from me on this one. I liked the words and the idea of setting them to music; here I'm afraid, for me it went wrong. I think the cords you have chosen were played out to stridently, I think the words require a more delicate touch; can you finger pick? As I said the idea is a good one but I think you need to try again with the music. Please remember it's your thing, and this is only one mans opinion said in the spirit of friendship. I have played and written myself. Mike

Author's Reply:
Mike
Very much appreciate your comments, the problem with me is I 'm very limited musicaly I did actually think it wasn't light enough but finger picking is not a selectable option. I have sent it to a freind who has the ability to write somthing good enough to stand on its own but I'm affraid it will never get past my 3 chord wonders. Thanks Keith


Time Traveller (posted on: 12-08-13)
George's Morris Traveller

Coachmen crafted lines, walnut dashes centre stage, aged ash swept above the arch, seamless to the lacquered touch. The window frame grows moss along the wood, each panel has been buffed to light the chrome twice dipped. George's hat and Ethel's cane, have their place for countryside walks, hampered by picnics and old age no polish can restore. Today the seats are folded down, George has made a makeshift bed, trembling lovers held entwined, fumes will take them one last time.
Archived comments for Time Traveller
stormwolf on 12-08-2013
Time Traveller
OMG! That brought me out in goose-pimples Keith.
A sure sign of having been deeply moved. You have written a gem. Happy to nominate it
Alison x
(into favs)


Author's Reply:
Wow Alison I didn't expect this so thank you very much glad it got through, and made sense I'm never quite sure. Best Keith

ValDohren on 12-08-2013
Time Traveller
Heart-rending Savvi, very moving indeed.
Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val very kind and thanks for the great rating. Keith

Weefatfella on 12-08-2013
Time Traveller
 photo 915e0b75-fce7-4fc2-9921-556099197c13_zps1f6b3c50.jpg
Oh My God! Surprising ending.
Very well done indeed.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks WFF it seemed fitting. Keith

Mikeverdi on 12-08-2013
Time Traveller
I can only echo the previous comments, simply brilliant. Mike

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Mike that means a lot coming from you. Keith

deadpoet on 13-08-2013
Time Traveller
What a delight- especially the last lines.

Author's Reply:
Thank you dp I wasn't sure the ending would go down too well so thanks. Keith

Bozzz on 13-08-2013
Time Traveller
Shock, horror, but not awe. Poison is mercy on some occasions. The choice of a Traveller was as inspired as your words.....David

Author's Reply:
Many thanks David as ever you see it all,not sure how this one came about could have been the repeat of assisted suicide that has been on the news again recently, anyway Ethel was terminaly ill and Goerge didn't wait for a court ruling, a Morris traveller seemed a fitting end to a couple such as I imagined them. Keith

Nemo on 14-08-2013
Time Traveller
Well crafted and skillfully engineered to achieve its shock effect. I 'enjoyed' this, Keith. Gerald.

Author's Reply:
Gerald many thanks for your kind words and taking the time. best Keith


Cheap hotel shower (posted on: 09-08-13)
We've all been in one

That's a bit crap ugh hairs in the bath head won't stay up and ouch its too hot then freezing flipping cold grotty stained curtain stuck to my arse bang my elbow then my knee slows to a dribble ahhh god help me melts my scalp adjuster is stuck nozzle falls off lands on my toe shit shit shit nearly slip can't turn it off floors awash no shampoo soaps on a rope water so hard can't get a lather ask myself why did I bother now where's the bloody towel !!!
Archived comments for Cheap hotel shower
stormwolf on 10-08-2013
Cheap hotel shower
hahaha gave me a right laugh. Yes, depressing as hell when you land in one of those dives right enough. (especially if on occasion they are charging an arm and a leg ;-( )

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Yes you're right its twice as bad it your paying over the odds for a crappy room, I have actually ended up repairing some of them over the years just because its easier especially when abroad. Thanks for commenting Keith


Falling (posted on: 09-08-13)
A Sonnet

You're dancing barefoot in the morning dew, to lose yourself in nature's waking call. The gardens freshness seems to breathe through you and spiders spin their webs lest you should fall. Your open lips sip moisture from the flowers, that bow their heads before they take your hand. soft pastels brought to life by summer showers set free the captured eyes that watch you stand. This moment breaks on noises in the street, you turn your smile and see me move away. The paving stones are patterned by damp feet, that follow me to arms that hold your sway. Again, the window tastes the tap of rain; our first embrace adds colour to the frame.
Archived comments for Falling
stormwolf on 10-08-2013
Falling
Hi Keith ๐Ÿ™‚

A real change of style for you. It is very romantic and works really well. A few wee things here and there..



Your (you're) dancing barefoot in the morning dew

and lose yourself to natures (nature's) waking call.

(G)garden freshness seems to breathe through you

and spiders spin their webs lest you should fall.





This line stands out

My moments broke by noises in the street,



I know what you are saying but broke here is not good grammar...it should be broken but maybe that would alter the rhythm.



The paving stones are patterned by damp feet, ..LOVELY!



The last two lines seals it all nicely. A tiny bit of attention and it's really good.



Alison x

Author's Reply:
Alison thank you very much for taking the time to crit this, really appreciated and all corrected now, I agree it was a departure for me I just thought well if your going to do a sonnet it has to be a bit soppy but it was a lot harder than I thought especially trying to avoid clichรฉ. many thanks Keith

franciman on 10-08-2013
Falling
Hi Keith,
A sonnet that really sings. 'your dancing' is an Americanism, but one that works really well here - very intimate. The imagery is soft edged in that wonderful photographic blur.
Maybe - 'to lose yourself in nature's waking call.'
I agree with Alison about "broke'.
A 10 for me and nomination with a little tweak.
cheers,
Jim


Author's Reply:
Many thanks Jim, I like the to instead of and it's a smoother transition so I'll take that thanks, and a huge thank you for the nom. Keith

amman on 10-08-2013
Falling
Apart from the grammatical stuff mentioned by Alison this is well composed with lovely romantic language/sentiments. Well done, indeed.
Cheers.

Author's Reply:
Thank you amman I struggled with this one a bit as I don't have too many romantic bones in my body so the language doesn't come naturally. Cheers S

stormwolf on 11-08-2013
Falling
Lovely Keith!
I don't believe you don't have romantic bones...your words betray you ๐Ÿ˜‰ Good to see this getting recognition and great to hear you recite it.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Ha Ha maybe I'm getting in touch with my softer side or maybe its sun shine and warm weather, who know, normal service will resume shortly. I have made some small changes to try and improve the meter and the beat. Thanks K


Leaving long ago (posted on: 22-07-13)
wallowing in self pity

Seem to be so alone, talk brings nothing new, we're only drifting through old emotions, me and you. Listen for the empty house, melancholy flower ears, folded deep by wasted years, apathy that no one hears. Asleep, I slump in stranger bars, no grief for feelings lost or words I've spat and coughed, it's time the shirt came off.
Archived comments for Leaving long ago
Nemo on 22-07-2013
Leaving long ago
There's a very poignant sadness in this which I can identify with. However, I feel there shouldn't be a comma at the end of line 3. Gerald

Author's Reply:
Definetly a bit sulky and self indulgent, I agree about the comma it gives it an unwanted bump, consider it gone. Thanks your feedback much appreciated. Keith

Mikeverdi on 22-07-2013
Leaving long ago
Like this one Keith, I've had cause to write these myself; I always found it helped. I may be wrong but I see it as a song with acoustic guitar. Mike

Author's Reply:
Its funny you pick this out Mike as the first stanza was to be the opening verse of a song that I gave up on and it found its way here instead but now you've mentioned it I may go back to it. Thanks S

stormwolf on 22-07-2013
Leaving long ago
Really sad and infused with feeling.

The simplicity of form and short lines are in keeping with the fatigue and resignation in the situation.

A lot in this short poem.

I think a couple of commas would really add to the reading and emphases.
after 'emotions' in third line would be good and one after asleep here "Asleep, I slump in stranger bars, "

(it's) in last line ๐Ÿ™‚

Really liked this Keith

Alison x





Author's Reply:
Thanks for the help Alison I will get to the edit, glad you said fatigue as that was how I wanted it to feel. Many thanks. Keith

ValDohren on 23-07-2013
Leaving long ago
Love this Savvi - nothing wrong with a dollop of self-pity, makes good poetry IMHO.
Val

Author's Reply:
Too true Val, too true. Thanks for commenting.S


Go on granddad (posted on: 22-07-13)
My granddad or at least part of him ๐Ÿ™‚

On the coat rack behind the front door, wedged above a waxed cotton mac, forty years plus its condition is poor, that's where granddad keeps his flat cap. The clear plastic lining drips lubrication, leaves its mark on the back of his neck, an all-weather helmet for any occasion, Brylcreem stains on farmer Giles check. He slides it on then settles it down, tugs at the peak then twists the rim, finds its place caressing his crown, this daily routine becomes part of him. Carefully conceals a comb over bald patch, nan thinks is funny she has to laugh, him and his hat have become too attached, He even wears the damn thing in the bath. From the hand down one arm, across the thick of his shoulders, down the other then into the palm, once again goes that hat shaped boulder A party piece that deserved a clap when granddad stoops and rolls us his cap. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Archived comments for Go on granddad
cooky on 22-07-2013
Go on granddad
I like this. Memories of granddad always brings a smile and that's how it should be.

Author's Reply:
It certainly is how it should be, thanks for the comment. Best S

stormwolf on 22-07-2013
Go on granddad
Heart-warming and one that some will really be able to identify with. A dying age it seems in a throw-away world.
Well done Keith. If the rhythm had been a bit tighter it would have been a 9 ๐Ÿ˜‰ (grandad's)

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison, I agree it needs some work to tidy up the meter, rushed it a bit to get it down will try and edit. Cheers Keith

ValDohren on 22-07-2013
Go on granddad
Loved it. Grandad's have all got a cap, not that I knew either of mine - but I can imagine.

Val

Author's Reply:
Hi Val both my children never really knew their grandparents which is a shame I suppose, I'm not a Granddad yet but I've already picked out the cap. ๐Ÿ™‚

Mikeverdi on 22-07-2013
Go on granddad
Excellent writing. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you Mike much appreciated. S

pommer on 22-07-2013
Go on granddad
Well done,I got one of them. Great granddad now for some years,but I lost my lovely crash helmet. Those were the days of Hells Angels still got some of my leathers.Good writing. Be lucky, Pommer.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Pommer you need to practise rolling it, I've always had motorbikes only fair weather riding now of course as the cold plays havoc with mi joints. S

deadpoet on 22-07-2013
Go on granddad
Granddad's have to have a cap of sorts. Nice one- so vivid.dp

Author's Reply:
Many thanks dp, they do don't they its almost part of the contract. Mine will be a black bob hat without the bob. S

Ionicus on 23-07-2013
Go on granddad
An affectionate portrait of a granddad describing his daily routine and his quirks.
The opening stanza leads us to his flat cap which has become an appendage to his head: 'He even wears the damn thing in the bath.'
A good and flowing poem, Keith. Enjoyed it.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks for your kind comments and the generous rating much appreciated. S

Weefatfella on 23-07-2013
Go on granddad
 photo 915e0b75-fce7-4fc2-9921-556099197c13_zps1f6b3c50.jpg
Absolutely brilliant Keith.
I loved it.
I could see the old guy rolling his bunnet, as we call it in Scotland.
I was recently in my old father-in-law's house.
He died two years ago.
His trilby was hanging behind the door.
I missed him sorely when I caught sight of it.
Really enjoyed your pome mate.
Thanks for the memories.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:


Me and You (posted on: 15-07-13)
For the poetry challenge- keep it short about a loved one

Bite my breathless lip creator of all moments calls myself to slip deeper into darker green weightless in my flight I glide inside your dream.
Archived comments for Me and You
franciman on 15-07-2013
On the shoulders of giants
Hi Savvi,
I don't quite get the start, but then I am enthralled by the effortless gliding into dreams etc. Imagery is really rich, and I get the feeling that the recipient of the verse will get the meaning effortlessly. This strikes me as very intimate poetry.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jim, I dont really do this kind of poem so yes its a bit of what I see, and you are expected to know what I see...;-) I'm always doing that. S

stormwolf on 16-07-2013
On the shoulders of giants
Hi Keith,
I felt this was quite erotic. All that gliding inside the dream ๐Ÿ˜‰
Lovely and a perfect example of a short poem that gives the reader a feeling when reading it.
I liked that the poem could be read differently by different people too.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison I understand erotic as this bubbles into that due to how passionate I feel about the piece, there is a reason I dont do this kind of stuff and its mostly because I feel I never do the subject justice. thanks. Keith

deadpoet on 18-07-2013
On the shoulders of giants
Well I think you definitely did the subject justice. Such passion and a nice change from deceased loved ones.. Well done. really enjoyed this.DP

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind words DP I have really enjoyed all the posts for this one and its great to see such a turn out. Thanks again S


which one are you (posted on: 15-07-13)
Animal welfare

Who would wean a walrus cub or crack a pup seal with a club. Who would walk a rescued stray or gamble which dog dies today. Who would scrub small Indian ears or pull out tusks for souvenirs. Who would climb to see them rut or crosshair sights inside a hut. Who could drag a scented trail or let the hounds rip head to tail. Who would farm and let bulls be or caustic burns around each knee.
Archived comments for which one are you
karen123 on 15-07-2013
which one are you
I would be the first line -
A clever poem showing how humans can be so completely opposite to each other

Author's Reply:
I never doubted it Karen, thanks for your comments. S

Pronto on 15-07-2013
which one are you
That we are capable of both these opposites is mind boggling!Your poem carries truth with simplicity well done.

Author's Reply:
Unfortunately it all comes down to supply and demand. and we must have our things. S

pommer on 15-07-2013
which one are you
Well done.There is too much cruelty inflicted on our animals.
Thank you for sharing,Savvi. Be lucky, Pommer.

Author's Reply:
I agree, however I would be the first to order a steak so this is a stab at the suffering caused at the hands of spectacle, tradition and frivolity. Thanks for your comment S

Andrea on 17-07-2013
which one are you
Well, I know which one I am. Nice one, Savvi.

Author's Reply:
I do too, when can I have my rifle back ๐Ÿ˜‰


Dear sir, I think.... (posted on: 12-07-13)
For fun and a bit of swearing

Dear Tim Stick your job as far as it will go, I've never liked you or your BO. Instead of hassling me, get yourself a life and while you're out there try and find a wife, one you get to keep this time, you arse hole. Yours sincerely The only hard working employee you've got. "Yeh right who am I kidding? we all know I don't have the balls to send it" As the fly landed on the soft membrane of the touch screen, the flow of electrons tickled his feet and mistook him for a well place finger, through the fly's pixelated eyes he could just make out the word, Send Noooooooooo.
Archived comments for Dear sir, I think....
Nemo on 12-07-2013
Dear sir, I think....
I enjoyed this, Savvi! Very funny!

Author's Reply:

Pronto on 12-07-2013
Dear sir, I think....
What a hoot Savvi and a great way to end a non-working relationship.

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 13-07-2013
Dear sir, I think....
hehehe LOVED IT!!!

The fly's pixelated eye was pure genuis! As though it was not bad enough to see it flying off with one vision, he saw it with hundreds.

Really, really original and very funny.



Alison x (into favs! )

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 13-07-2013
Dear sir, I think....
Very funny, Savvi -made me laugh ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:

Weefatfella on 13-07-2013
Dear sir, I think....
 photo 5031cf9b-61d2-4fbf-912f-998c505fb4bc_zpsd7cccd97.jpg
Ha! Good old Karma.
Whit's fur yie will no go bey yie.
made me larf.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:

Kazzmoss on 14-07-2013
Dear sir, I think....
Haha! Love it! Haven't we all wanted to do that.


Author's Reply:


The Song (posted on: 12-07-13)
My effort for an old weekly challenge

Slid off the train, into pouring rain, grey northern sky's, half close my eyes. The march of mates, through platform gates, shine bright the lads, and balding dads. Off into town, buy the first round, drink after drink, Miss Lilly's pink. My ticket rips, the audience flips, the opening bars, in come guitars. Head goes back, stretched on the rack, shouting the words, my anthems heard.
Archived comments for The Song
Andrea on 12-07-2013
The Song
'Miss Lilly's pink.'...just had to be ๐Ÿ™‚



Author's Reply:
Awsome and exactly what I was thinking, love it. thanks for that Andrea

Pronto on 12-07-2013
The Song
I love the brevity of this clipped style that says it all without verbiage (Unlike this comment!) ๐Ÿ˜‰

Author's Reply:

pommer on 12-07-2013
The Song
Great, brings back pleasant memories. pommer

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 13-07-2013
The Song
Enjoyed the short springly lines and jaunty feel to it.
Alison x

Author's Reply:


A place on the mantlepiece (posted on: 08-07-13)
Life's a bitch

The gap behind the clock once kept pool coupons that changed dreams into lottery tickets when Albert left his wife, sloped off with forty years of her life. They had a son John who bit his lip for far too long hated his mum for what he thought she'd done the reason dad was gone, he packed, never came back. And so her routine went by, tablets to ease and some times to cry, work shop, eat work, sleeps alone and cannot flirt a once meek wife lost in life, with rent to pay each week. Suitcase in the taxi, meter running upstairs for one last look at the sum of all nothings, left house keys on the table and all the cheap belongings, doesn't close the door. As the driver pulls away, the answer phone says its thing, then hello mum I heard your news, just thought I should ring. Message light flashes the welcome screen of a cash machine. Mini statement makes her fraught as her finger taps out, six noughts.
Archived comments for A place on the mantlepiece
stormwolf on 09-07-2013
A place on the mantlepiece
Hi Keith.
I wanted to comment on this before and have read it a few times. firstly, I think its very well written.
You paint the scene wonderfully well and I became very taken in by all the sadness and loneliness. it was in the small details that many miss that brought the whole thing to life for me. So many great lines I cannot point to one in particular.

This stanza struck a cord with me as I could identify with that place, sadly...
And so her routine went by,
tablets to ease and some times
to cry, work shop, eat work,
sleeps alone and cannot flirt
a once meek wife lost in life,
with rent to pay each week.

Amazing insight...

The only bit I did not get was the last two lines. I take it she won the lottery and that she was getting money out of the cash machine. I got it that she missed her son who had come out of the woodwork...what I was not sure about was the use of the word 'fraught' as though she was very worried. She may have been worried the money was not in that it was only a dream or mistake...or maybe the six naughts stand for no money?

you mentioned in another reply on the other poem that sometimes you assume the reader will understand as it's so clear in your head. I get like that too. Anyway, I really enjoyed this and feel that (IMHO)your poetry is going from strength to strength here too.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Alison thank you very much for such considered comments the stanza you have picked out I have a problem with as I don't like cannot flirt, but couldn't come up with a replacement, it is a little forced to pick up the rhyme from work so I've still got my thinking cap on for that one.

You are correct about the last two lines they need some work and fraut doesn't fit the image. I was trying to say she was shaking as she checked her winning bank balance, thanks for this I will work on the edit. Cheers Keith

stormwolf on 09-07-2013
A place on the mantlepiece
Hi again Keith,
For what it's worth, I like 'cannot flirt' as it says to me that she cannot engage in all the little things a woman likes to do. When you are broken hearted and let down by life, the last thing you want to do, is to be flirting and such-like as it all seems so trivial....meaningless.........so from that perspective (on this occaision) I think it's perfect!
I did think the last bit was what you were saying but not sure.
I have been in situations (sadly not winning the lottery)....but in other situations when my stomach was in total knots waiting for the slip to come out of the cash machine. So I can understand that this little piece of paper means the difference between escaping from her prison, to being back in the pit, only worse.
An excellent poem.

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 11-07-2013
A place on the mantlepiece
Hi Savvi. I was hooked on this piece by the first stanza which set the scene. What you describe is a situation which happens far too often. The sadness of a woman deserted by husband and son who finds liberation in a lottery win. The hypocrisy and greed of the son on hearing the news is well handled.
A good, strong poem.

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 11-07-2013
A place on the mantlepiece
Enjoyed this piece - reminded me of this for some reason...




Author's Reply:


No way to treat royalty (posted on: 08-07-13)
declining water ways and other things (some swearing)

It used to move sugar and cotton, hoofed tensioned tow ropes now decorate cast iron moorings, tarmac creeps black through its veins. A shopping trolley for the lock keeper, army ant perch strangled the canal, I know the colour of drowning water, mixed with a tear in my anglers hand. Nature's graveyard is quiet today, children amble ahead, splat bricks in silted beds, conversations dead free to be but no place or purpose. Majestic pike strikes the surface, his gills can't fill in stagnant pools, a broken bulldogs jaw trawls for food. I saw panic in its eyes and it saw me. The young matadors sense its pain trying to maim something so precious, so barely alive evolved to survive, little flags did it, no trumpet sounded. No celebration on council house streets, silver threads floated bloated another sport of kings they've missed precious little shits, it's no fucking way to live.
Archived comments for No way to treat royalty
Texasgreg on 08-07-2013
No way to treat royalty
I've also visited many places where the past haunts and future seems grim.
Then I get to go home and do it all over again.

Greg ๐Ÿ™‚

 photo Gunspincowboy.gif

Author's Reply:
Me too Greg, me too. Thanks for your comment. Best Keith

Bozzz on 08-07-2013
No way to treat royalty
Keith, you are an eloquent witness to another of man's failures - and goodness knows many more of Natures creations will perish at our blooded hands. Some enigmatic moments in your verses, but the message is clear - Bravo....David

Author's Reply:
Thanks David its horrible to see places once thriving in such a state of decay.

teifii on 09-07-2013
No way to treat royalty
So sad and eloquently described. I don't understand every reference but get the jist.

Author's Reply:
Thanks teifii, one of my failings is to write what is in my head and expect the reader to get it, it seldom happens and this is something I hope to improve so thanks for the feedback. Best S

stormwolf on 09-07-2013
No way to treat royalty
Hi Keith,
This is incredibly descriptive and poignant. The last line is so very 'right'.
Sometimes a properly included expletive totally nails it as in this case. The total frustration explodes in that line so really well done.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Alison for your feedback, I wasn't sure about using the strong words, I did take them out but it lost the anger I felt so the're back in, many thanks for your comments and confirming it works as I know it does put some people off. Best Keith

Mikeverdi on 09-07-2013
No way to treat royalty
very descriptive poetry, I love the line 'I know the colour of drowning water' I recognize your story only too well. The destruction of all we once held dear is all too familiar. Mike

Author's Reply:
Yes Mike all the oxygen gone, of course the colour is brown, I wish I didn't know that. Thanks S

Andrea on 09-07-2013
No way to treat royalty
Excellently done, Savvi. Sad and poignant.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Andrea. S

Pronto on 09-07-2013
No way to treat royalty
Sad indeed but well observed and executed Savvi. I've seen what scallop dredgers do to the sea environment too. Bloody terrifying!

Author's Reply:
All in the name of progress of course, on the plus side mother nature always find a way and I'm sure she'll be the death of us in the end. S (if thats a plus ๐Ÿ™‚


Life (posted on: 01-07-13)
Poetry Challenge - 30th June - a precious memory

The bubble burst too soon, from spittle-chased lips she slipped, blown into being on a blighted breeze, soul danced over summer gardens, weightless with early complications, cradled in a falling feathers sway, breathless to her mother's arm, she aged as an idea in my palm.
Archived comments for Life
karen123 on 02-07-2013
Life
A very beautiful poem - my favourite line being:
cradled in a falling feathers sway,

I know you said to pick something I did not like but the honest truth is there is nothing I would change about this. Everything is contained in those few lines.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Karen you picked out my favourite line too. Don't worry about the crit there will be more opportunities I'm sure. S

stormwolf on 03-07-2013
Life
Hi Keith,
Finally found you all the way down here ๐Ÿ˜‰
Not sure I understood it totally but it was wonderfully concise.
The only crit is the there should be an apostrophe in feather's...
Congrats on the nib
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison, only just seen these so sorry for lack of response. Best Keith

ValDohren on 03-07-2013
Life
Is this about birth Savvi ? I'm probably way off, but it struck me whilst reading. Lovely lines.

Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val no your not way off this is about birth and how sometimes they are just to tiny and fragile to make it. I tried to compare it to the life span of a bubble that never lasts very long. Cheers S

deadpoet on 04-07-2013
Life
I understood this as a birth and then a sad departure from life- I think you described it well and used some wonderful metaphors though it did make me sad.

Author's Reply:
You have the essence of this thank you for your kind words. S

Ionicus on 04-07-2013
Life
Brief and to the point. Very skilful, Savvi.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks for taking the time, much appreciated. S


B-road boxing (posted on: 28-06-13)
Edit 1

A wagtail bobbed into my ring, dancing on Mondeo's wing, winded by cheap body shots, featherweight on headlight hooks. Judges couldn't mark their cards, both parties went in really hard, weight advantage nearly broke the delicate body on the ropes. Pied fighter rolled and hit the floor, fledgling fans can't watch much more, one arm flaps, a cut loose sail, feathers fall, a thrown in tail. Before the count car body lurches, slams itself on tree lined hedges, spits out soil twists and bounces, bird limps away backward glances.
Archived comments for B-road boxing
Bozzz on 28-06-2013
B-road boxing
Not quite a happy ending, but the symbolism is stark. My duel with the surgeon that operated on me was to be grease guns at dawn. I knew that the sturdy one I used to lubricate my lawn mower would outgun his feeble medical syringe. I love wagtails and the poem is so good, but so painful.... beautifully written. Well done Keith...David

Author's Reply:
Many thanks David, I like the idea of duelling grease guns especially with a surgeon as we never have any power over them. Cheers keith


Sun-wise (posted on: 28-06-13)
Weekly Challenge - midsummer

Stone grinds out a diamond arc, trilithons frame the heel. Beasts of burden down from field, parade around the fire's wheel. Rural beacons blind the night, leapers launch above the flames, marking out the crops new height, all-fathers play their manly games. Sun passes power onto leaf, vervain, trefoil, rue and rose sleep to dream of loves new lease, the bard within reclaims belief.
Archived comments for Sun-wise

No comments archives found!
Counting Sheep (posted on: 24-06-13)
The Dizain

I asked if I could count the sheep, they like to scatter up the hill. I run quick step to take a peep and find a place to lie quite still, could see the flock beyond the mill. Spot the new born wagging tails, rutting games are played by males. Fox breaks cover the bleating starts I scramble fast on sod and shale, he nears the lambs but hears my bark.
Archived comments for Counting Sheep
Bozzz on 24-06-2013
Counting Sheep
Where sheep may safely graze. Sadly dogs can only count up to one - their meals - big and small. Keith, a lovely idea beautifully captured....David

Author's Reply:
Bozz thanks for finding me at the end of the list, I hadn't come across the Dizain before so I thought I'd give it a go, not sure the meter is as consistent as it should be, but then I never am. Cheers Keith

japanesewind on 25-06-2013
Counting Sheep
Love the "sod and shale", can just picture that last line.

loved it.....



reminded me for some reason of Mary Oliver' interaction with nature, where in "Wild Geese" she says she walked on all fours in the wood, for a period of time.



seeya.D

Author's Reply:
Thank you ๐Ÿ˜€ sorry late with reply mad busy. S I will look up Mary she sounds quite interesting.

ValDohren on 25-06-2013
Counting Sheep
Yet another poetic form I have never heard of before - very clever. You paint an enchanting bucolic scene, and an enjoyable read.

Val

Author's Reply:
Hi Val sorry for late response my time always seems to belong to someone else at the moment. Many thanks for your kind words and generous rating. Thi weeks new word bucolic ๐Ÿ™‚ S


Newton's cradle (posted on: 24-06-13)
Click Clack

I could see him coming bringing in the action, we were just hanging, that's what balls do. I didn't want to react but as he hit the queue, I couldn't stop myself and through the air I flew. He watched me coming bringing in the action, they were just hanging, that's what balls do. He didn't want to react but as I hit the queue, he couldn't stop himself and through the air he flew. I could see him coming...
Archived comments for Newton's cradle
e-griff on 24-06-2013
Newtons cradle
This was a cute idea, with a steady rhythm throughout mimicking the subject.

Two small tweaks would make it perfect for me.
First, for me there's an 'I' missing (couldn't stop myself) to maintain the continuity and use repetition to strengthen the rhythm.
Second, and I'm not sure how to fix this, 'react' confuses the rhythm in both places because to fit it should be said 'ree act' with the stress on ree. This is obviously not how it is pronounced, and reading aloud, I'd guess you'd recognise the difficulty. You need to find a two - syllable word with the natural stress on the first syllable. If I think of any, I'll pop back.

Best, John G


Author's Reply:
Thanks John this is helpful, I have added the I, but need to think about second point as it is also about every force has an equal and opposite etc but I do understand the comment. Best Keith

ValDohren on 24-06-2013
Newtons cradle
I'm a little bewildered about the word 'queue' - do you mean cue, as in billiards ? Or maybe I just don't get it!! As for 'react,' I don't think there is a problem - as I read the poem to myself, it seems okay without the stress on 're....' But I'm no expert, a bit thick really.
Val

Author's Reply:
Hi val
I did mean queue as in a Newtons cradle all the balls are in a line, I agree with react so it will be left, thanks S

ValDohren on 24-06-2013
Newtons cradle
Thanks for the clarification Savvi - did not realise this device was called a Newtons cradle, but have now Googled it, and see what you mean. Have learnt something new today ! Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val ๐Ÿ™‚

Pronto on 25-06-2013
Newtons cradle
Well I think it's just a load of balls! Tee hee readers (As they say in the Beano!) Great quirky read mate well done.

Author's Reply:
Sorry pronto for not being, a bit slow to reply these days, I think your right though it is just a load of balls...swinging ๐Ÿ™‚

Corin on 25-06-2013
Newtons cradle
Lovely idea Keith, how about extending it a little. Lots of room for fun here e.g.

Your poem appears to be based on one ball hits several balls so the two balls in action are the two end balls, what about the view of the middle ball in one ball hits three balls, or two balls hit three balls (the two end balls go into action) Etc Etc if you know the physics or have a Newtons cradle there are lots of possibilities:-)

David

Author's Reply:
Hi Corin, nice idea for the extended edit, I will pop my thinking cap on ๐Ÿ™‚ S


Between these walls (posted on: 17-06-13)
Strong language in places, growing up.

Nobody walks these streets, were hodded exchanges meet, an unsocial dumping ground, not much love left around. Concrete cages hold our fragile elite, an eye for an eye reaffirms the belief, restraining orders that get ignored, kick shit in ''cos I was bored'' Stain ringed mattress, bare wood floor Mums on her back, crying for more. Take a tune to silence their groans, inside the track is my place to roam. Stomach cramp calls and begs for food, cupboards run with cockroach and booze. Social hand-outs go socialising, Police patrols become patronising. So I steal a car and ram raid a shop, Sergeant said I would cop for the lot. Tried ringing home just to use up my call tattooed arm rips the phone off the wall Red Lion zombies fight when provoked, pool cue splinters on the head of some bloke So what the fuck are you looking at? Go on walk away and don't come back.
Archived comments for Between these walls
Mikeverdi on 18-06-2013
Between these walls
I enjoyed reading this, you conveyed the time and the place well. Needless to say I am pleased not to live there. It was tough to read but for me it worked on all levels. Mike

Author's Reply:
Mike thank you very much taking the time to post, your comments are greatly appreciated, and no not the best place to grow up ๐Ÿ™‚ still what doesn't kill you an all that.


The Emperor's pissed off (posted on: 17-06-13)
what happened next-fairy tale Poetry Challenge The Emperors new clothes meets Rumple Stillzskin

Fetch me the jokers who made me this suit, I'd like to show them the end of my boot. That little brat who saw through their ruse, give him a slap for being so rude. Ask my wife what the hell she's been drinking? letting me out with my dangly bits tinkling. Pimped my ride with the stereo pumping, on the high street like I was something. The cat walk clowns, bring them here? I want to make something perfectly clear. This fictitious material so finely made, is what they will wear, for the rest of their days. Here they are, Miss Quant and Gok Wan glad you could make it, hope you had fun crown jewels have shrunk, lost their sheen, disappeared in the cold, pass me my jeans. I see it all now, how you played your game, You know I love clothes and I'm terribly vain. To decide your future, this coin I will flip heads you get naked, tails you must strip. Now then kingy what's eating you? you always look fab in just your see through. We've got new material, just been flown in gold weave from Russia designed by Stilltzkin Of course you can have the suit by tomorrow, Just give old Rumple something to borrow. Only one made and never been worn, all he wants is to take your first born.
Archived comments for The Emperor's pissed off
franciman on 17-06-2013
The Emperors pissed off
This is so transparent, I see right through you!
A really clever concept mixing the real with the surreal. It doesn't scan as well as I would like, but then you can't have everything, and it does what it says on the tin. Well done you,
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jim I have tried to take the corners off with a quick edit. S

karen123 on 17-06-2013
The Emperors pissed off
I nearly chose to do this fairy tale!

I agree with franciman in that it is a little hard to find a rhythm when reading it through the first couple of times.
But I loved the mixing of the very old and made-up names with the new real names of today.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Karen I've done a quick hope its improved the flow, also posted audio. It looks like there hasn't been any clashes on the matching themes so that's good. S

amman on 18-06-2013
The Emperors pissed off
Hi Savvi
Works for me; very amusing. Cleverly mixes old with new and fairy tales. I don't really see a problem with the rhythm - it flows quite nicely. (Perhaps, 'tails you 'must' strip') Fits the criteria. Well done.
Cheers.


Author's Reply:
Many thanks amman for crit will edit thanks S

deadpoet on 18-06-2013
The Emperors pissed off
I think you did very well on this challenge- Such a good laugh you gave me. Flows great for me and you did well on the rhyme.

Author's Reply:
I'm late with this but many thanks, S

Mikeverdi on 18-06-2013
The Emperors pissed off
Loved it! gave me the laugh I needed. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks mike glad it made you laugh. S

ChairmanWow on 20-06-2013
The Emperors pissed off
Yes, it worked for me too. The updating and conjoining the two fairy stories was great.

Author's Reply:
Thanks CW sorry I'm late with my reply

e-griff on 20-06-2013
The Emperors pissed off
I agree it's rather tricky to read, but the concept is good and sustains it

I couldn't help wondering whether 'rouge' should be 'ruse', or maybe it's a play on those words.

Good fun.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the nit griff ruse it is ๐Ÿ™‚ S

Pronto on 25-06-2013
The Emperors pissed off
Hi Savvi I listened first then read it. Cleverly done my friend and, if not quite perfect, so what? The amusing tale was worthy of a bit of poetic licence! Gotta be a nine!

Author's Reply:
Aye pronto if I speak fast I can make the meter fit any line ๐Ÿ™‚


Meeting your catch (posted on: 14-06-13)
Sometimes you can get too close to the rock pool.

He untangled the orange line, and dangled a smashed whelk, the splash brought the bottom feeders. Patiently we watch the nibblers drag the lead tyre with tiny bites, delight to see the rockfish play. Then a claw as big as his hand, snaps the bait and the weight, disappears beneath the break. Eyes wide and terrified he stands, lands me a look I've seen before, walking backwards up the shore. I remembered then, Chief Brody's quote, ''we're gonna need a bigger boat''
Archived comments for Meeting your catch
amman on 14-06-2013
Meeting your catch
Clever depiction of the young lad's fright. Like it.

Author's Reply:

japanesewind on 15-06-2013
Meeting your catch
Really enjoyed this Savvi, the "chief Brody" quote is class.
loved that film for its characters.

One observation, first verse, if the whelk was "dangled"
then it is hard to imagine the "splash" in line 3

seeya....D

Author's Reply:


On the turning tide (posted on: 14-06-13)
nearly a divorce that weathered the storm.

The boatyard is full of crooks, counting the seconds between, lightning flash and thunder clap, take my hand the storm has passed. ragged beneath we missed the rocks that split belief and alter course. Roof top gulls announce us, all standing, ahead of the wind, we race towards our harbour. Facing the light of new days, we wipe away, our innocence, sea legs lost then found.
Archived comments for On the turning tide
deadpoet on 14-06-2013
On the turning tide
very good metaphoric poem. Boatyard's ???Boat yard's??? Boatyards perhaps?

Author's Reply:
Ah yes, thank you "the boatyard is" cheers sorry so late I didn't mean to be rude just missed these some how.

Weefatfella on 15-06-2013
On the turning tide
 photo fd68aa69-bd2a-4057-8056-d78ca32405b1_zps7a968777.jpg
Aye,we need to be tested,to reinforce and maintain
our confidence.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
We do indeed, sorry so late. ๐Ÿ™

Andrea on 15-06-2013
On the turning tide
Good pome. Agree with DP though. Is it one boatyard (boatyard's) or lots of boatyards? I think the latter meself ๐Ÿ™‚ Either way it's one word I think. Being picky, I know. I didenjoy it.

Author's Reply:

japanesewind on 15-06-2013
On the turning tide
Fine closing line Savvi, always the hardest I think.

Author's Reply:


Magnu Killing Ship (posted on: 10-06-13)
Just trying something different

Break loose the locks let them fill still we have time, Magnu warrior ship slips from ancient chains, the opening heard deep beneath the ocean crust trusting the oracles, the planets connect. ''Subjects, strangers, weep for your dead we travel to tread your shores once more''. The vortex is running, planet pathways sway on the brink of mobilisation, nations prepare minimum defences, as the first caged banshee senses her sisters presence and cry's. Dry dock chains slowly groan free vessel thunders into a spiral portal. Tsunami signalled earth's oceans were open, pensive I wait for the horrors unknown, home inside my beach front battlefield view, new monsters belch from the mantle shelf, the sibling siren strips me to my core, stunned by bleeding ears I lose control rolling to the floor in sonic seizure. The Magnu masters hold a different ear appearing huge amid the relentless destroyer. Yearning for each other the sisters wail, alien to the suffering their call creates, they have no choice, warning fuels the voice. Land to air, unaware no impact or slowing, knowing my vision fades as tear ducts bleed breeding grounds from feeding grounds they came, they came to find the sound, thousands boiled and battered the craft after the impact came the Whale song long lost to banshee born of other worlds and so they listened, then started to sing ringing out new, a different pitch, Magnu.
Archived comments for Magnu Killing Ship
deadpoet on 10-06-2013
Magnu Killing Ship
Quite a tale told here with a dramatic atmosphere. I liked the words you used but didn't understand it all (my fault). I think it could have won with some more rhythm but on the whole it is very good I think. Sciende Fiction is a difficult genre. DP

Author's Reply:
Its more likely to be my fault, this is quite a hard to write genre, well something that's half decent, only my first go so will try again soon. S


A Pocketful of Dragons (posted on: 10-06-13)
Bonfires and hand held firework battles of my youth.

Our fireside seat an old melting sofa, dragged back from the raising heat, spuds bake at the red embers edge, wood stocks fed from creosote fence, chasing smoke round fiery eyes, streaking lines down amber faces. Roman candles, ready for flight burst the night in hand held arcs, dark shadows circle the flames, spitting tracers that claim the backs of runners, coats flapping in the battle field air, blackened we fall to our molten lair.
Archived comments for A Pocketful of Dragons
deadpoet on 10-06-2013
A Pocketful of Dragons
Very atmospheric-I enjoyed it very much-I like your use of descriptives. DP

Author's Reply:
Many thanks DP much appreciated. S

japanesewind on 10-06-2013
A Pocketful of Dragons
loved this poem Savvi, use to love everything that went with the night.....SEEYA..D

here was my take that I have just dug out.

The whole gangs out
Scouring the neighbourhood
For anything that will burn

We ride things back
Aboard home-made go-karts
Stacking everything
Around a captured telegraph pole,
Like an Indian tee-pee

We would have made good apache's
Our gang

A guard is set
Against raiding parties
Before going home
For tea
And one by one
Everyone kisses
My rabbits foot
for good luck.





Author's Reply:
This is brill David, these are my memories, the telegraph pole / tree trunk was essential for the stability of future building, raiding parties made me laugh out load as I had forgotten the importance of such things, thanks for giving me back something I had lost. S

Nemo on 10-06-2013
A Pocketful of Dragons
Evocative stuff, Savvi. Reminds me of when kids from the North End of Birkenhead used to pelt the firemen with bricks when they came to put the fires out.

Author's Reply:
I cant believe that of Birkenhead kids, what with you all being so posh and all that. S ๐Ÿ˜‰

Weefatfella on 11-06-2013
A Pocketful of Dragons
 photo fd68aa69-bd2a-4057-8056-d78ca32405b1_zps7a968777.jpg
Aye fair takes me back tae Guy Fawkes.
We used to put wire into potato's before chucking them in the fire.
A wee secret my older brother told me of....put a nail in the tattie for quicker cooking time.
much enjoyed your nostalgic piece.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Ooh I can taste them now, wrapped in silver foil, rolling them out of the fire at 400 degrees they were so hot they could burn your teeth.S

Pronto on 12-06-2013
A Pocketful of Dragons
oh yes very evocotive Savvi, I used to bake spuds encased in clay in a small wood in Preston. We went home stinking of woodsmoke but fed and contented.
Excellent write mate well done.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Pronto, I could probably smell the woodsmoke from my place just down the M6, never seen the clay thing done, you must have been posh too. ๐Ÿ˜‰


Paranoia (posted on: 07-06-13)
A Conachlonn

Midnight moved to early hours, damp, amplifies the last drops of rain; straining to hear the tapping of followers feet, beaten by breath and blood filled veins, strange you find yourself feeding fear, nearly now the haven of a welcome door, your pace races, closer came the steps, lets you chance a fleeting glance, answer yourself with heavy legs, begging no backward glimpse, just sprint.
Archived comments for Paranoia
Weefatfella on 08-06-2013
Paranoia
 photo c8985de3-44fa-4972-8452-209c5b038bed_zps41f8f0a0.jpg
Aye, as Rabbie said,{ Whiles glow'ring round wi prudent cares,. Lest bogles catch him unawares:}
I think we've all been there.
When we get through the door we laugh at ourselves.
I think we should listen to our instincts.
After all.. as they say " Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean nobody is chasing you" Keep it coming Savvi.
Weefatfella

Author's Reply:
very true WFF we do always laugh even if nervously, thanks for your kind comments and your generosity. S

japanesewind on 08-06-2013
Paranoia
straining to hear the tapping of followers feet,
beaten by breath and blood filled viens,

loved this, bang on second line that needs dwelling on to savour...........David


Author's Reply:
Very much appreciated David especially coming from you. S

shadow on 08-06-2013
Paranoia
Catches the scary feel of walking home at night very well. Couple of typos -viens (L.4) & heavey (L.10)

Author's Reply:
Oops thank you very much for pointing these out, all put straight now. S

Nemo on 09-06-2013
Paranoia
i can hear/feel the heartbeats! Good One. Note followers' feet line 3. Nemo

Author's Reply:
Thanks Nemo this one has more mistakes than a thing mistaken for a mistake in the kingdom of mistakes. ๐Ÿ™‚ Thanks S

Mikeverdi on 10-06-2013
Paranoia
Great stuff...we have all heard the night talk... and feared the sound. Mike

Author's Reply:
We have indeed Mike but its important to have your wits about you even if all you can hear is your blood pumping. Thanks S


Self-Seeding (posted on: 07-06-13)
My one for the weekly challenge- Columbine

The witches drive could make you gasp, self-seeded Columbine, burst through cracks, rampant now, since mother passed. Alone she stares with radio two egg on toast and an infused brew. A little girl on holiday from school, collecting petals could seem cruel, stealing colour is against the rules. Her eyes widen as she sees the drive, a witches curse is worth the prize. Lost to the beauty of the intricate flowers, didn't hear the door, won't be missed for hours, now trapped inside the spinsters tower. What is it you want, what are you doing? oh look at my plants, they're all ruined. I'm sorry, I'm sorry don't give me a tail, I'm making some perfume, was her tale, a present for mum, she started to wail. Unravels a memory, takes her back, the spinsters frown begins to crack. Oh are you indeed, well let me see, she had bags and buckets full as could be, first step inside, then you'll go free. Pestle and mortar complete with spells, pass me some more let's see how it smells. Two hours it took to grind out the essence, from pungent petals a flirtatious fragrance, three small bottles ready as presents. One, the young girl gave to her mother, she kept one herself, which left, one other. She told her friends that the witch was white, together they knocked one summer's night, I've brought you a gift, if that's alright. Why of course it is, and what a delight, I didn't know young ladies could be so polite. The young ladies visits helped her grow old, always looked shocked by the stories they told, she watched them bloom, vibrant and bold. Now every year when the Columbine appear, she places a drop behind each ear.
Archived comments for Self-Seeding
Weefatfella on 08-06-2013
Self-Seeding
 photo c8985de3-44fa-4972-8452-209c5b038bed_zps41f8f0a0.jpg
Self seeding indeed Savvi.
We all judge too quickly. Lessons to be learned here.
The ending was a masterstroke, but I enjoyed the whole piece.
The old lady only noticing her own age when with the girls. The Girls only accepting a white witch......I loved this. Thank you Savvi.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks very much WFF glad you caught the detail. S

ValDohren on 08-06-2013
Self-Seeding
Oh how lovely Savvi, what an enchanting tale. Very well written and a delight to read.
Val

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Val, I do enjoy these challenges, they get the mind going. S

orangedream on 10-06-2013
Self-Seeding
Totally delightful, Savvi. Very much enjoyed.

Tina

Author's Reply:
Tina, Thanks very much for your kind words, greatly appreciated. S


Midnight Service (posted on: 24-05-13)
An old weekly challenge- Midnight

You can't go up there, you've not been confirmed. Why the hell not? I'll just take my turn. It's just not done, and your too drunk. Oh please shut up, let's go see the monk. He's the vicar, you don't know what to do. I'm going up, come on I'll follow you. Stop laughing, Its consecrated wine. You must be joking, I have to kneel in line. I'm sorry vicar, he thinks it's a game. Its Ok my child, God loves us all the same Its midnight on Christmas eve and you came in to pray. Don't get all excited pops, we only came to play. In all of his finery, he looked at me and winked, put the body of Christ on my tongue and gave me blood to drink. We stayed to sing the carols, the punk versions of course. The regulars looked unchristian and we had no remorse. I shuck the vicars hand, as we walked outside his palace. He leaned in and said, 'you arse' 'I spat in your challis'.
Archived comments for Midnight Service

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No smoke without fire (posted on: 24-05-13)
An Old weekly challenge- Inferno Sorry for lack of response will be away for a couple of weeks

Me infer? no never, I could not conclude that would be rude, form an opinion? you've been on the Gin again, based on an indication, taken as confirmation, without substantiation, are you mad? me infer? no never. Well, when I say never you know what I mean, from the wink of an eye, what can you glean? The nod of my head tells you its so, two of my fingers tells you to go, if I look puzzled you'll start to explain, hand behind ear and you'll say it again. So when I say never, never not me well I'm not quite sure, we'll just have to see. When the buildings ablaze and we're starting to choke would it be right to infer, I smell smoke?
Archived comments for No smoke without fire
Bozzz on 24-05-2013
No smoke without fire
It's called 'beating around the bush' - perhaps what the dance hall managers do when the place is full and it catches fire when all the emergency doors are locked. May I infer that it is amusing, clever, original and great fun, Keith? - er hum?

Author's Reply:

japanesewind on 24-05-2013
No smoke without fire
hehehe, made me laugh, especially.

"youโ€™ve been on the Gin again"

seeya.....D

Author's Reply:

cooky on 24-05-2013
No smoke without fire
well crafted and very witty. I like this

Author's Reply:


The War Cabinet (posted on: 20-05-13)
Poetry Workshop Challenge - do you have a poem that you are proud of and would like to share again? I do its this one (Language) You can also listen now

Alcho-pops where are you? that's it, come on, don't be shy, Now get over there in front of the lager. Everyone else, I said everyone else, listen. My Intel has confirmed a teenage party, so I dont want any mistakes. Alcho-pops your in first and you don't stand a chance, so make your peace with the Blue nun before you go. Lagers, two packs in the kitchen, the rest, in the fridge. Cherries take the night off. Cocktail sticks, erm, just straighten up. Vodka, label front, please try and last the night. Orange and Blackcurrant give yourself a wipe, it's been a while but if vodka goes you need to go with him, I need you in the mix. Babycham it could be a rough night my love but whatever happens try to reach the nose. Boxed wines, boxed wines over here now. Get in line and taps out. White, if red gets spilt, try to get on top, less carpet damage and we should be able to get you both out. Twelve year old Malt, you hold the rear, I won't waste my best men on this rabble. Bells you need to go first, followed by, all though it breaks my heart, Glen Fiddich. Lads if you both go, give em hell, so they won't come back for Malt Snowball, not a chance in hell but be ready just in case. Eggnog you have to be the dumbest drink I have, but you do look like custard so try to make em puke. Gin, what are you laughing at. "Nothing, sir". nnnnnothing sir, you shit, they call you Lilly, and you taste like fukin perfume. get out of my sight before I go blind. Sshh....sshh Everyone be quiet, here they come. Lagers look lively, fridge I said. Shit straight for the cabinet, Little bastard put me down, put me down, what did you call me. Fuckin JD its Mr Fuckin Daniels to you you, spot faced little shit. Come on then let's have it two shots, try me. I'll rip yer throat out ya bastard, I'll singe your spleen, come on then, lets see what yer made of, just, you, me and my friend Mr glass. Wait, what, what's that fuckin Coke, drink me like a man shittin bubbles, fuckin caramel and ice, in a tall glass, whhhyyy That's right swill me round showin off to your mates all watered down. To start a war with JD, be sure you can hold my dead, I'll bring the violent, you carry the sick.
Archived comments for The War Cabinet
franciman on 20-05-2013
The War Cabinet
Hi Savvi,
I remember this one. If ever a poem begged to be read out aloud it is this one.
This is hilarious and incredibly clever:

'White, if red gets spilt, try to get on top,
less carpet damage and
we should be able to get you both out. '

Did I say I enjoyed this? What a master of understatement.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much jim I think you were the only one to comment first time round so you get a double thank you ๐Ÿ™‚ and a smile. Keith

Shywolf on 21-05-2013
The War Cabinet
That's one party I wouldn't want to miss. The war conceit works like a charm within the context of your poem, and you handled it well throughout, to humorous effect, without any glaring inconsistencies. No small feat for a poem of that length. Well done.

Shywolf

Author's Reply:
Thank you for the considered comment Shywolf, its a bit long this one and that can put a lot of readers off but once I started it kind of found its own way. Thanks S

Bozzz on 21-05-2013
The War Cabinet
Keith, this is just brilliant. My wife is a flower-whisperer and, in a centrally heated house, her warm, moist carbon dioxide laden air has eco-value. But bottle-whispering (perhaps it should be bottle-shouting) is new to me. Bottles are like dogs, their vibratory nodes respond to different frequencies and sound levels. But aural response of contained liquids will vary according to density (alcohol content). You should publish a scientific paper on the research and results. I will be happy to peer review your work in return for free access to your drinks cupboard ...best wishes, David.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks David for your tempting offer I could use the pen name of JD ๐Ÿ˜‰ also thank you for the great rating much appreciated. Keith

karen123 on 21-05-2013
The War Cabinet
Even to someone who doesn't drink at all this made me laugh, very clever, loved it

Author's Reply:
Thank you Karen and congratulations on the overwhelming success of this workshop challenge. S

freya on 22-05-2013
The War Cabinet
This is priceless, Keith! Clever, clever extended metaphor, which had me LMAO as I listened to your reading. Your title is brilliant, too. I didn't know what alcho-pops were, but google enlightened.

Shame not to give this a thorough punctuation edit, m'dear. It's publishable, in my opinion - if it hasn't already been snapped up by some newspaper, pub or magazine. ๐Ÿ™‚ A delight! Shelagh

Author's Reply:


When I die feed me to the worms (posted on: 20-05-13)
A cross section of my funeral.

Had an artist captured it the sky would look false. Grey scale clouds crafted by abstract thermals. The olive afro canopy of a large nodding oak. The gurning bark of its leathery furrowed trunk. The bald liver spotted scalp of the village vicar. Eyebrow caterpillars twitching as he says my name. Nostril hair bends holding trapped dry mucus. Moving lips stick thin lines of spit onto brown teeth. Starch collar too tight for the grubby index finger. Ink and paper mantra add a time frame to his script. Shirt buttons arc under tension over a pot belly. Stained nylon trousers with iron burns on the pocket. Ankle socks dark with sweat pushed into black slip-ons. Fine green blades v-shaped folds under rubber soles. White network of writhing roots thinning into soil. Deeper clumps of clay ready for throwing into pots. Shingle, scree once deposited by a meandering river. Mahogany polished to a red mirrored veneer. Silk quilted cushions with chesterfield buttons. Flaccid skin on bone and cartilage, foundation and blusher. Three inches of foam, padding out half an inch of pine. Worms slither through excreted tunnels beneath the softer wood Pulsing, Circling, sensing their prey as the first shovel-full lands
Archived comments for When I die feed me to the worms
Weefatfella on 20-05-2013
When I die feed me to the worms
 photo c8985de3-44fa-4972-8452-209c5b038bed_zps41f8f0a0.jpg
Aye very graphic Savvi. I could almost smell the carbolic soap on the old reverend. Loved this>>The bald liver spotted scalp of the village vicar.
Eyebrow caterpillars twitching as he says my name.
Nostril hair bends holding trapped dry mucus.
Moving lips stick thin lines of spit onto brown teeth.<< Minteed! Enjoyed.
thanks for sharing.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your time and comment WFF much appreciated. S

Nemo on 21-05-2013
When I die feed me to the worms
Closely observed and brilliantly conveyed details. Interesting format, end-stopped phrases, till the last two lines. I enjoyed the humour in the grimness. This deserves many visits. G

Author's Reply:
Thanks nemo I hate lists but this turned out to be one, I was trying to describe a cross sectional view at my funeral so a list it is ๐Ÿ™‚ cheers S.

ifyouplease on 21-05-2013
When I die feed me to the worms
very clever very good.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for the kind words and generous rating. S

stormwolf on 21-05-2013
When I die feed me to the worms
Hi Savvi
I thought the first stanza was genius...the second one was revoltingly descriptive...carried on in depressingly brilliant observations of all that is weird about funerals. If I were you I would settle for cremation. ๐Ÿ˜‰
I do sometimes think with morbid fascination of what lies beneath...but it's only a discarded suit of clothes when you think about it.
Horribly good.

Alison x



Author's Reply:
Yes a discarded suit and some make up. Thank you for comments, I think I have convinced myself to let the docs take what I've not wrecked or burnt out and then torch the rest. Thanks, Keith

ValDohren on 21-05-2013
When I die feed me to the worms
I would definitely go for cremation Savvi, much more tasteful methinks !!
I have a worm phobia (very Freudian!!), the very idea makes me shudder. Certainly a very descriptive, though somewhat morbid write. A great read though, with an injection of humour. Enjoyed.
Val

Author's Reply:
Cremation it is Val I think you've put me off them too. Thank you for the kind comments S

Slovitt on 22-05-2013
When I die feed me to the worms
savvi: not a lot of pretty details, but then maybe that's the subject matter. espec. the portrait of the village vicar beginning in stanza 2. well observed all the way through, only thinking something else might have more pop in your last line than "sensing their prey", prey being typically alive. anyway, an engaging poem. swep

Author's Reply:
Thanks Swep its a good point you make and I wil make some changes. S

Bozzz on 22-05-2013
When I die feed me to the worms
I hate and fear water, but I prefer a sea burial for my post creation ashes. At least my ancestors might benefit from my genetic traits - pure vanity, but a Darwinian fresh start for mankind as it were. Your prosetry magnificently grubby.... Enjoyed ...David

Author's Reply:
All these fobias, trust me, you wont care, fresh start sounds good to me. Thanks David

Mikeverdi on 10-06-2013
When I die feed me to the worms
Agree with the rest,a brilliant obsevational write. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Mike. S


On A Promise (posted on: 17-05-13)
Just trying different forms this one is a ballade- title says the rest.

My girlfriend said her parents have gone out I checked my breath and drove off in a flash But on my way I started to have doubts See in my wallet there was only cash I 'd used up all the rubbers from my stash So on my way I called in to the store But could only ask of creams to cure a rash I got her text she wanted something more She wrote that she was naked wearing nowt I started to the counter in a dash Sent pictures of her lips a full red pout No longer did I care I asked abash Chemist could you help me please encash Some durex maybe three hopefully four Sped away knocking over cans of trash Ran up her path stood banging on the door I called her name but no one was about I knock so hard the glass went with a smash Once inside the stairs my tiptoed route Slipped off my coat and shirt rather brash Excited now my heart began to thrash The beast inside broke loose began to roar I had to find her soft sweet smelling cache ''Come out come out to play my little whore'' Now the moral is I should have sent a scout Because in I burst my body to the fore I'd stripped so quick my prowess out to flout Met family friends with mouths upon the floor
Archived comments for On A Promise
ValDohren on 17-05-2013
On A Promise
Ha ha, love it !! Hope you managed to hide your embarrassment. Very amusing.

Val

Author's Reply:
fortunately it as easily concealed ๐Ÿ™‚

Weefatfella on 18-05-2013
On A Promise
 photo c8985de3-44fa-4972-8452-209c5b038bed_zps41f8f0a0.jpg
Aw Naw! Nightmare!
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 18-05-2013
On A Promise
Hahaha, very funny ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 19-05-2013
On A Promise
haha good one!

Alison x

Author's Reply:


I hated drama, until (posted on: 13-05-13)
A primary school drama class, a record player, Holst Planets Suite and a young boy. It probably helps the read if you know the music.

A small boy in black shorts and plimsolls, shoots roots through a dusty herring bone floor, and his tree begins to grow, seeking out the sun. Peaceful Venus plays a light breeze to ruffle his leaves as he grows again, a glorious oak swaying in the wind, torso twisting with age. His breast pushes out and hands flap, fingers flutter, tiny wings hop from branch to branch inside the large old oak, the bird reaches the top and through pursed lips, it chatters its message to Mercury, and the forest below. The needle lands on Mars, two halves of an eggshell split, the creature emerges, slowly the dinosaur grows, its head thrashes and jaws gnash, it prowls, over lush green fields and waterholes, he feels the tremors in the ground. The old man is bent double, shaking, his walking stick taps, taking slow steps, out of breathe he crumples like a dying petal, and follows the light of his passing caressed by the rings of Saturn. The sorcerer's apprentice commands his wand and the elements dance, spinning and weaving, large looping circles, trailing comets across Uranus, washing the night sky with colour, each stroke grander than the one before. Speakers crackle as the diamond returns to its post, his breathless journey across the planets complete. For the first time his mind is alive, conscious of its own creativity, and the wonders of imagination, for the first time he sees inside the music.
Archived comments for I hated drama, until
Nemo on 14-05-2013
I hated drama, until
Is this really what you imagined all those years ago? I like attempts to capture the images and thoughts evoked by music, something I've attempted myself. Slight concern or fussiness on my part: Mars should come first. Admittedly it would require a lot of work to include all seven planets, but how could you leave out the nation's favourite, Jupiter? The Sorcerer's Apprentice - the young boy importing from Dukas? Couple of typos: halves, emerges, sees. Regards, Nemo.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Nemo for taking the time to comment. This is a completely true ish recollection of how the drama class went, and I agree about Jupiter but she didn't play it. ๐Ÿ™ thanks for the crit will tidy. S


Never tell us what to do (Song) (posted on: 13-05-13)
A song about love and life with attitude brought about by the 80's

We met in art at our old high school, I made you laugh you said I was a fool. I walked you home and held on to your hand, I flew so high I new I could not land. No one told us what we should do, we took our time just me and you. Standing tall and standing together we face it all with a cry of never. We got a flat and I bought a cheap ring, I had no money wouldn't change a single thing. We lived in bed with tea and takeaways, I worked all night and dreamed on through the days. No one told us what we should do, we took our time just me and you. Standing tall and standing together we face it all with a cry of never. You got a job teaching kids in school , we bought a car and I broke some stupid rules. You dressed in white with me in blue, I took your hand and I said I really do. (Bridge) Your belly swelled with the first of two, filmed the births they looks like you I fed them smiles and made them laugh, no we never needed any cash, always grins in our photographs, time goes by when your not looking back Now there grown but wont stay away, got some time and still plenty left to say. We go for walks and I hold on to your hand, I fly so high I know I cannot land. No one told us what we should do, we took our time just me and you. Standing tall and standing together we face it all with a cry of never. we've still got time and I've still got you. Weve had some fun with the best to come, never tell us when to run, never ask us for a clue, never tell us what to do. No one told us what we should do, we took our time just me and you. Standing tall and standing together we face it all with a cry of never.
Archived comments for Never tell us what to do (Song)
Andrea on 13-05-2013
Never tell us what to do
Nice one, Savvi. Shame we can't hear it. If you can sing you could put it on UKAudio ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea If I could finnish the music I would try but still working on an accoustic melody got most of it but really slow going. S

just to say ive posted the audio

ruadh on 13-05-2013
Never tell us what to do
If only they all turned out like this. I too would like to hear it.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for taking the time to read and comment ruadh very much appreciated, still working on a vocal...it will be bad.


Posted audio

Pronto on 15-05-2013
Never tell us what to do
Lovely as a stand alone work but I agree it would be great to hear it.
Nice one Savvi ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thank you Pronto for the kind words, will try to get this one finished this weekend, I was hoping for some crit on the lyric as it still feels a bit bumpy to me but I guess if you dont know the tune crit would be difficult, I will probably re-post when conplete. Cheers S

just to say have posted the audio for what its worth : )

Hekkus on 16-05-2013
Never tell us what to do
I echo what the other reviewers said. An uplifting and upbeat piece; I too would like to hear it as a song as well as a poem.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Hekkus

posted audio now Cheers S


Red or Blue (posted on: 10-05-13)
My effort for the weekly challenge- The Voice

Red or Blue You ignored me when I asked, about the progressive cracks, told me, I could go back down, scratching coins from the filth around. I felt the tremor, sensed the risk, as concrete splits and metal twists, through garment rolls and splintered doors, my body smashed neath several floors. As I lay broke I heard her voice, she asked her friend about a choice, what looks best the red or blue? I closed my eyes and broke on through. Sarah had always been the sensitive type; she seemed to pick up signals that most people missed. It was her 17th birthday and she was in Primark with Rebecca, trying to find a cheap dress ready for a night of binge drinking that had now become a rite of passage for her and her friends. Laughing she held up the red and blue dresses and asked Rebecca which one she preferred. The motion caused her head to spin and she began to feel faint, she tried to steady herself by focusing on the material in her hands. In this dizzy state her mind began to play tricks, there seemed to be images projected within the fabric. She saw buildings crumbling, faces, women and children bloodied as the concrete and steel folded in like a house of cards. The images were only fleeting but they unnerved her. ''Are you ok?'' asked Rebecca, ''Yes I just need some air'', she said, making her way to the door. That was the first time she heard it, very soft at first like someone talking in an upstairs room, she couldn't make out what was said and asked her friend if she had heard it, of course she hadn't. Three days the voice stayed with Sarah, becoming clearer each day, she could sense the pain and suffering, night times always seemed to be the worst, partial dreams that left her with a deep feeling of despair always the same words over and over, help me, please help me!, the voice sobbed. On the third day it stopped and Sarah wept.
Archived comments for Red or Blue
Ionicus on 11-05-2013
Red or Blue
A very poignant prosaic poetry, Keith, relating the Bangladesh garment factory disaster justaxposed with a voice uttered in a dress shop which is telepathically heard by a victim buried beneath the rubble. An unusual approach.

Author's Reply:


The desk at war (posted on: 10-05-13)
We must never be without our staple guns

Soldiers inside the staple gun, deployed by unseen hands, always one more, ready to go. In-line strapped to the rail, fold their arms as they leave the plane, dropping through white clouds. Uniformed beach landings, guns held high, knives at their side, plunging into breaking seas. Onward they march, relentless, integral to the war machine, and the beat of its linear heart.
Archived comments for The desk at war
Bozzz on 11-05-2013
The desk at war
Sounds like the secretary's war cry. For 'white clouds' should I read nuclear bomb? A very clever piece Keith - much enjoyed....David

Author's Reply:
Thank you David very much appreciate your comments. S

ValDohren on 11-05-2013
The desk at war
Yes, agree with David, very clever and greatly inspired - very novel too.

Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val much appreciated, this came about from getting one of the little soldiers stuck in my finger. S

stormwolf on 11-05-2013
The desk at war
Bravo! Bra-frigging-go!
I liken this to the boldest painting for many times paint is art in paint..
And poetry is paint in words.
I saw this as a Dali-infused statement that will stay with me.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Alison for the kind words and considered reply, I enjoyed writing this one. S


Valhalla's waiting room (posted on: 03-05-13)
The end of the innocence.

Our story should not be crushed, one to be told, booming in great halls with dripping goblets and roaring fires, boar's legs, pig's heads and laughter. Not lost to papers, shuffled on table tops picked at by who, has what, and not. Our village smashed, hammer and axe, babies wrapped and crying passed, my chest slashed with rugged blade, anger stayed but at what cost? I bathe with floating candles, pennies swapped for pound coins on eyes that wont open; without you.
Archived comments for Valhalla's waiting room
stormwolf on 04-05-2013
Valhallas waiting room
Hi Savvi

I am sure I am not doing this poem justice as I don't really understand it. it's the easy option to wait until reading someone who does.... but not authentic.

Notwhithstanding that, there is a 'feeling' in the poem that comes over strongly and sometimes that can speak more than direct understanding. I loved and tuned in to the first stanza so well. I could see it all including the Deerhounds not mentioned ๐Ÿ˜‰





The 'our story' could by my interpretation refer to many things and I do think this poem is an example, that just because the writer knows what they are thinking, feeling and writing about so passionately........they assume the reader will as well.

All I know is that I have a sense of the greatness, the exubarance, raw power suggested and it's stirring stuff.



The second stanza carries on with the Viking-like granduer and brutal imagery...

then half way through the energy totally changes...and it mentions bathing with floating candles as though trying to find comfort..the pennies on eyes speaks of the River Styx to me and the last line of great loss and longing. So to my mind, somebody has died, presumably a partner, loved one...but still missing pieces in it for me.



I wish I did have the missing piece of true understanding for I sense that this poem has great feeling, passion and power in it that I am just missing and no more and so for that I have to give it an 8 but I do feel that once I crack it, I will feel it's well desrving of more.



Alison x

Author's Reply:
Hi Alison sorry for the late reply, have been away, thank you for taking the time and such a considered reply, I had stripped out some of the tell from this one, maybe I went too far. This one is about divorce, the first stanza is a man who doesnโ€™t want the divorce and is disgusted that his life has come down to shuffling papers and feels is was so much more than that. The second is the bitterness that inevitably comes with separation life torn apart and children caught in the middle. The pound coins on eyes are symbolic of a broken warrior who lost it all and canโ€™t move on as he still loves his ex wife. Hope this makes some sense.

Andrea on 04-05-2013
Valhallas waiting room
I got the same Viking/Styx thing as Alison, so hopefully we're doing something right! I really like the passion of it, too.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Andrea hopefully I have explained things a little better above. S

stormwolf on 07-05-2013
Valhallas waiting room
Hi again Savvi
Thanks so much for taking the time to explain. So often we are so fired up we think others can tune in to the feeling but sometimes they get the feeling but lose a bit on the understanding. I think this is such a poem. It's a fine piece of work *thumbs up*
Some say we should never explain our poems but we can hint in the title but I think this title is great so maybe a little hint attached to the title? or in the description of the poem.

Valhalla's waiting room ( post mortem on marriage break-down)
When I am suggesting this I am a bit fearful that some may pounce on what I have suggested but its only that...a suggestion more to give you a hint of what I am trying to put over, rather than how I think it should be written) Just need to clarify that, for when I comment on poems it's done on the hoof, so to speak lol

Alison x

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 07-05-2013
Valhallas waiting room
In fact, on reading again, after what you disclosed, I think it's a wonderful poem.
I can SO relate, although not to the last line as we all have our 'stories' but I feel this one has not received the recognition it deserves and I can only think it's due to people not understanding it.
Into Favs for me!!!

I have re-rated it and had it been that tiny bit easier to understand it would have been a 10! ๐Ÿ˜‰

Author's Reply:


Pitch Invasion (posted on: 03-05-13)
My offering for the Poetry challenge-Smell

The herd had reached the playing field, footballers agreed they'd have to yield, seven cowpats left in the heat, a crust concealed the plop beneath. Three boys stood staring at shite, ''See them horse fly's, that's them that bite'' sneaky trouble lifts one boy up, drops him flat in the middle o'th muck. During story another ring appears, moving away from the child in tears, the teacher asks "who made that smell" genuine concern, they could be ill. Saves the boy from his desert island disc, rubber gloves, to minimise risk. This may sound silly and rather trite, but Dave's been called Pat nearly all his life.
Archived comments for Pitch Invasion

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Craft Apprentice (posted on: 29-04-13)
My effort on an old weekly challenge-inside the box

Wrights of Lymm it says on the tin, steady hand brushes with fine sable tips, gold-leaf dipped. A story begins, aromas within, a Bakelite board with copper tracks, takes my mind back. Apprenticeship days, solder smoke haze, calibration trained engineers games, close the lid fast, Hope the smell lasts.
Archived comments for Craft Apprentice
Nomenklatura on 29-04-2013
Craft Apprentice
Another poem today with the reek of Nostalgia. It has only meant a wistful yearning for the past since the 1920's, previously it meant extreme homesickness. It's quite apt since I for one am living in the past more than Jethro Tull, nowadays.
Anyway, evocative, wistful writing. I think the smell lasted, myself.
Regards
Ewan

Author's Reply:
Just checked, the smell is still there ๐Ÿ™‚ The past can be very evocative and a place to linger but not a place to stay, I love Tull. Thanks for your comment.S


Will Patrons Kindly Refrain From (posted on: 29-04-13)
My effort for an old weekly challenge- Pet

Running Slippy tiles ain't no fun, when wet feet decide to run. Bambi legs split and spread, try to help but laugh instead. Bombing Largest lad plays the fool, tries to empty half the pool. Trunks forced up his crack, give that arse a great big smack. Ducking Hard case thinks its ace, to submerge another's face. Flay your arms and thrash around, kick his nuts and watch him drown. Pushing Unwanted hands tip you in, shows the world that you can't swim. Doggy paddle to the side, walk away and keep your pride. Petting Bobbing couples sucking face, whistle blows and your disgraced. Wear some goggles hold your breath, stay below and do your best.
Archived comments for Will Patrons Kindly Refrain From
Andrea on 30-04-2013
Will Patrons Kindly Refrain From
Made me smile - especially the last one ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Andrea for taking the time. S


Surrealism (posted on: 26-04-13)
To really "write from the heart" (or the unconscious), try automatic writing or "trance writing" is done quickly and without judgment, writing whatever comes to mind with no editing This is my attempt without edit so don't go all picky on me just have a go and post your try as a comment.

Point blank pistol bullet up your nose folded dog ear flicked by flea twisted knee scrawney sinew red lip chap stick slapstick piano ice cream tray red velvet curtain will the song play chitty chitty bang bang over the cliff snorkeling miss the fish parallax waterski hits tyre headlands look the same borderlands the game zombie moment insane minni chedders wear red sweaters in the month of may calender notes dont play happy tunes random selection breaths cold into my room conversations left on window condensation cavemen shadows dance lost in trance rainbow hand drawn thousand times thumbs too hard to paint
Archived comments for Surrealism
deadpoet on 26-04-2013
Surrealism
Tomorrow the ink stains
will disappear
to make way for
the annual donkey race
leave your bad mood in the cupboard
and take a hike to watercress sandwich
an island in a soup can

not so good but fun to try

thanks for the inspiration.
dpxx

Author's Reply:
Ha very good I like the idea of an island in a soup can. You could take that into a poem. S

Nomenklatura on 26-04-2013
Surrealism
Take the nib for a walk
across the paper
through your mind
see where it takes you
by surprise
it's me
but who were you expecting.

Ha! I enjoyed that, but not as much as yours

Ewan

Author's Reply:
Well done Ewan very good, I like the open question as it implies that maybe someone else is in there with you. S

Andrea on 26-04-2013
Surrealism
Haha, I thought it was rather good! Wouldn't dare meself though. gawd knows what'd emerge ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
I'm sure it would be grand, you should do it just so you know. S

amman on 27-04-2013
Surrealism
Had a random thought
wonder where it's gone
hidden in the syntax
of a random poem
byways and highways
all roads lead to Rome
gladiators, hit-men
catch me if you can
I'm trying not to rhyme this
but I'm a simple man.

Harder than you might think.
Really enjoyed yours.
Cheers.


Author's Reply:
It is harder than you think, I think yours is great, the start is always the hardest I chose a letter before I start and then go. Cheers S

Bozzz on 28-04-2013
Surrealism
Great fun Keith, but it breaks my heart that you, an intelligent bloke, decided to call it poetry - a slip of the cursor perhaps?....Bozzz

Author's Reply:
David you are correct of course, just didn't know which box to tick, however this is part of a process that can lead to a poem and if you have no idea how to start then it's a fun way to get the juices flowing and its ideas from your heart so you know how it can be expanded into poetry. S


Apple and Bermuda shorts (posted on: 26-04-13)
A recent holiday for my 50th

We sail goodbye to the green bronze of Liberty, she torches the view, lighting fires over glass icons, a page from the architects brochure. Hair and skirt dance gypsy in the breeze. If I were tall I could touch the Brooklyn Bridge, stroke hidden details, those travellers miss when driving upside down on designs crafted in the minds of giants. The wake foams and broils behind us, our moment's marker to say "we were here" I'm standing top deck running track, ready, steady, breathless Americans push oxygen cylinders. Racing the hares to breakfast, blood level enrichment with syrup. I fill myself by looking at their left over's, balanced on an African waiters head. I see Bermudas pastels, colonial built, basking Chameleons, blending British. And wondered if he had learned to carry water like that as a boy.
Archived comments for Apple and Bermuda shorts
japanesewind on 26-04-2013
Apple and Bermuda shorts
Enjoyed this Savvi, especially "If I were tall I could touch the Brooklyn Bridge,
stroke hidden details, those travellers
miss when driving upside down on"

like I was looking up myself........D

Author's Reply:
Thanks D it really was that close, the engineering is a piece of art. S

Andrea on 26-04-2013
Apple and Bermuda shorts
Nice one, Savvi - love the title!

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea. S

Bozzz on 26-04-2013
Apple and Bermuda shorts
An excellent poem, Keith. For me the 'glass idols' say elegantly where you were - the symbols of capitalism are now higher than religious buildings - nearer to god ?? - just as in the new pecking order, cleanliness is next to godliness is next to wealth. Hope the holiday went well ...David

Author's Reply:
Its a good point you make, I have dropped NY a bit to much tell, I enjoyed the holiday very much thank you. S


Pan Head (posted on: 22-04-13)
My post for the Prose challenge 22nd April now edited based on feedback below Thanks

With all his weight he rammed down the kick start of the Norton Commander. The bike spluttered but didn't catch. Under his breath he cursed the bitch and threatened to swap her for a Jap bike with an electric start. ''Now just fucking start'', he shouted as he bounced once more. The bitch complied slowly at first until the choke did its job. ''Hey Pan Head, where you off to?'', asked one of the chapter's younger members. ''Got to sort out some trouble with one of our own'', he replied, then rode away from the ramshackle sheds that the Forest of Dean Hells' Angels called their home. He never glanced back. He had always been called Pan Head and most of his people assumed that was due to a love of Harleys; those that had been around in the early days knew that the name was due to the way he cut his own hair, styled with a sauce pan for a nice straight line. He had joined the chapter at sixteen, a runaway on a BSA Bantam. Even at this tender age they soon learned not to mess with Pan Head. If there was ever any trouble he would be the first in and always the last to leave. The road and years had not been kind to this now old greaser. Long rides would cripple him for days and sometimes the pain in his knuckles would get so bad he would drink himself into a stupor. He rarely spoke and the members of his chapter had stopped trying to converse many years ago, only the new members asked him questions and only occasionally did they get an answer and that was usually, ''Fuck off''. The Norton's parallel twin thumped its way out of Gloucester through heavy rain and up onto the spinal trail of the M6. He rode like a zombie into an apocalypse stopping only to feed the bike. He tucked in tight to the tank, hardening against the cold and the foreboding giants that stalked the road as he entered the Jaws of Cumbria. He started to lose the light around Lockerbie but roared on towards East Kilbride and took the ring road round Glasgow heading for Stirling. The bike had been thrashed for nearly six hours straight, through the worst weather God could throw at any of his fallen angels. Pan Head was pretty pissed off as he passed into the Kingdom of Fife and Perthshire. As he entered Bridge of Gaur he was ready to kill anything or anyone that even tried to get in his way. The sleepy hamlet was getting ready to go to bed, the rain had stopped and the street lights reflected orange on the rain-soaked road. The Norton was now moving slowly, searching out its prey. Finally it stopped, slumped to one side like a horse on its last legs as the rider climbed off. Inside Rannoch church the congregation had just started evening prayers; two small children at the back were giggling and snatching prayer books out of each other's hands. Pan Head slammed open the doors at the back of the Church and stepped inside, the steel segs in his boots clicked on the cold tiled floor and pools of rain collected at his feet. The whole back row of the pews were now wishing they had sat at the front as they turned to see the Hells' Angel that had descended onto their sleepy hollow. ''What the fuck are you looking at?'' he spat. ''Where is she?'' he hollered above the faltering pipe organ. The vicar tucked up his robes and trotted towards the crude stranger that had broken his routine. As he passed the front row Alan Edgar, a man well respected for his generosity about Gaur, spoke his mind. "That's right vicar, send the uncouth lout packing''. This prompted others to join in with ayes of agreement. The Vicars' stride broke, he turned to face his congregation. "I can't believe what I'm hearing, is this the way we welcome strangers? tell me, what do you make of this man who visits our church?" he asked. ''It needs a bath. Coming in church dressed like that, it's not right". "Aye who does he think he is?''. ''Someone that's not welcome, I would say'', voiced Alan Edgar, getting braver with the support of his townsfolk. ''Why Vicar?. What do you see?'' ''Alan Edgar! I'll tell you what I see, I see a man that has travelled a great distance to be beside his mother when she needs him most. Come in Michael, you must be frozen, let's go through to the back. I'll make you some tea. Mums' in bed; she's very weak but at least she's home''. With his arm around his son the Vicar turned to look at his flock. '' I think you've held your own sermon tonight; see yourselves out''.
Archived comments for Pan Head
sirat on 22-04-2013
Pan Head
A Prodigal Son parable. I was carried along (and I might add, taken in) by this one right up to the end. I thought Pan Head was a nasty bit of work, and likely to cause serious trouble at the church. I don't know if it was your intention, but my theory was that he had come to disrupt a wedding ceremony, and tell them that the bride was 'his girl' and the groom had better leave (he might even use a stronger phrase).

I have to be honest and say that as a pedantic old English teacher the lack of proof reading was a distraction. The 'Challenge' pieces are of course written to a deadline and not intended for presentation to editors or folks outside the UKAuthors family, but if you were going to submit this anywhere else there would be a lot of things to tidy up. Without going on about it here are a few examples:

of the chapters younger members โ€“ 'chapters should be possessive, 'chapter's'

ramshackle sheds that the Forrest of Dean, Hells Angels called their home โ€“ comma is not needed. There is no natural pause here

that was due to a love of Harleyโ€™s โ€“ 'Harleys' is plural, not possessive. No apostrophe needed

He had join the chapter at sixteen โ€“ should be 'joined'

on the rain soaked road โ€“ 'rain-soaked' is a composite word, needs a hyphen

...and so on. Use of commas is a major issue. You need to 'hear' the text being read out and put a comma where there is a natural pause, and not where there isn't. Another problem is layout โ€“ taking a new line for a new speaker, skipping lines (or not) consistently between paragraphs, capital letters for new sentences โ€“ all the usual things. Just minor technical issues but they spoil otherwise very good work.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comments Sirat I will have a go at a tidy up, my grade 3 CSE English very often lets me down but the attraction of this site it to keep improving so your pointers are greatly recieved. S

bluepootle on 22-04-2013
Pan Head
I like this line - "The Norton's parallel twin thumped its way out of Gloucester through heavy rain and up onto the spinal trail of the M6" - I can feel the motorbike, the weather, the path. Very evocative. I like the story too. I love the description of the small children giggling in the church. You have a knack for choosing a small descriptive element that paints a picture.

As David says, it needs a tidy up, but there's a lot that's very enjoyable about it.

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much for your considered comments, I have read this through several times and just don't see the mistakes and that's annoying as it detracts from the story as others have said. Anyway I can take heart from what you say so thanks again. Keith

Rupe on 22-04-2013
Pan Head
An entertaining read with a twist in the tail and an underlying message (about rushing to judgement). As the other critters have pointed out, you have a great turn of phrase and command of telling detail - I particularly liked 'spinal trail of the M6'.

As the others have also pointed out, the piece needs a lot of tidying up. There are some grammar issues, as Sirat has pointed out, but a number of errors look like simple mistyping: 'fallen angles' should be 'fallen angels'; 'Lockerby' should be 'Lockerbie' etc.

Rupe

Author's Reply:
Thank you for the kind comments Rupe and for pointing out some more mistakes, I have tried to have a quick tidy up with an edit. Thanks, Keith.

SirClip on 22-04-2013
Pan Head
Loved it. I get a real feel for the man. I can see him powering North, hunched over his bike in the rain.

I just got a little confused with the dialogue. 'Tell me what you see....' but I guess that is just a case of an edit.

A great read.

Author's Reply:
Thanks SirClip I can see how you would be confused I jumped straight in and lost the flow of the speech hopefully it reads a little smoother now, thanks S

Weefatfella on 22-04-2013
Pan Head
 photo 6e64c949-25e7-4412-a2c5-8b9996ad7cba_zps5037a281.jpg
Great story I loved it.
The children in the church were, as bluepootle said, a really good image and brought the place to life in the readers eye.
The parallel twin, I take to mean the exhaust pipes.
I love the phrase Thumped its way out of Gloucester. It's pure motorbike,and a brilliant choice of phrase.
The denouement to me, was hidden all the way.
I really enjoyed this piece.
Thank you Savvi for an excellently entertaining tale.
Weefatfella.

(Please Excuse the image. I had to Google for thumped to Gloucester.) photo ce7d0d4f-18fa-48e7-91f8-0733c524bb19_zps4793b96b.jpg


Author's Reply:
Thanks WFF love the picture, just what I had in mind. S

PS the parallel twin is the type of engine, two pistons working in parallel. Cheers

japanesewind on 22-04-2013
Pan Head
Some fine detail Savvi, loved the "segs" in his boots,
and the church entry was bang on...D

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your kind comments D I wasn't sure segs was a widely used term. S

e-griff on 23-04-2013
Pan Head
Nothing much to add. Slightly stereotypical, a little bit obvious rather than subtle, but I'm guessing that's the intention. J mi

Surely your wp detects misspelling of words like 'forrest'

I'm afraid the comments on punctuation etc, (esp the commas) are bang on. You do need to find a way round it somehow. It's even more of a pity because as mentioned you have some good turns of phrase, but the whole thing is pretty well brought down by the presentation.

JohnG

Author's Reply:
O'crickey back down to earth with a bump, actually when you capitalise Forrest it doesn't pick it up so thanks for pointing it out, I will add it the the ever growing list of nits. S

TheBigBadG on 23-04-2013
Pan Head
I'm a bit late in here so it looks like it's all been said already. Just to be a contrary git for one moment though, personally I prefer 'the foreboding giants that stalked the road as he entered the Jaws of Cumbria' to the spinal M6 - but both are good images.

With the tidying up of grammar, Sirat's point about reading it out loud would be a good place to start. Perhaps do a similar thing with passages of one of your favourite books but really exaggerate the enunciation of any punctuation. When it's right you'll find there's a natural rhythm to speech and descriptions. That might be easier to learn than dry rules to start?

Author's Reply:
Thank for your considered comments BBG all advice is greatly appreciated, the grammar comment is a recurring thread that seems to spoil the read for most people that comment, so I think it could be time to stop posting and use my spare time to get a better understanding of grammar how to use it to the best effect before I add more work that doesn't make the grade. Thanks again S


The Minds Eye (posted on: 22-04-13)
Hello wall

I should have been a false eye lash, flashing heat onto passers bye, lush with thick mascara, balanced on top of high heels and a short skirt, I would stroll into dim lit night clubs. Wink involuntary at the nose covered in powder, my glue would hold me together, keep me cool and sharp, waiting for a strangers eye so I can look my best. Find love in any form I choose. But instead I lie curled in front of the mirror, unglued and comical a table top eye that never opens I suppose I could balanced on top of slippers and a dressing gown. Flutter at the dustbin man or pretend to be a moustache and twitch at the post lady.
Archived comments for The Minds Eye
japanesewind on 22-04-2013
The Minds Eye
surreal but with clarity, hahaha, enjoyed thinking of it as
a "tash"......D

Author's Reply:
Thanks D had some fun with this one, glad you liked the tash. S

cooky on 23-04-2013
The Minds Eye
Very unusual. I like this

Author's Reply:
Thanks cooky I was trying to put over the idea of a women who never goes out dreaming of another life that could have been. Cheers S

Pronto on 24-04-2013
The Minds Eye
Great imagination here this is such a witty write.
Love it.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks pronto your comments are very much appreciated. S

teifii on 27-04-2013
The Minds Eye
Made me laugh at the picture it conjured up.

Author's Reply:


Bedtime books (posted on: 19-04-13)
Pays homage to all the fine writers that gave me those few moments when my children actually wanted to hear what I had to say.

If Bethy wants a blue Ice cream, tinted specs will fill the dream. If lighthouse keepers want their lunch then mustard stops the Seagulls munch. You see monsters under beds, but look again it's you instead. Witches squeezed on crowded brooms wave their wands to make some room. When owl babies miss their mum, don't worry you know she'll come. Sad little beaver hears his echo, crosses the lake to find his echo. If you ask Mable to lay the table, then you get Jim to pass the jam. Six dinner Sid was sussed by the doc, so he tried again round the block. Smart aunty Etta wore a sweater, auntie Tracey wore something lacy. When greedy Peter tries to flee he only gets camomile tea. So many children in so many places, have listened to us with mesmerised faces, all I can say is thanks for the time, when sleepy heads, could dream in rhyme.
Archived comments for Bedtime books
cooky on 19-04-2013
Bedtime books
I like the creative images in this poem. nice poem

Author's Reply:
Thanks Cooky much appreciated. S

teifii on 19-04-2013
Bedtime books
I'm sure children still love rhyme.

Author's Reply:
I'm sure they do, can't wait for Grandchildren to come along ๐Ÿ™‚ just so I can read all these again. S

Ionicus on 20-04-2013
Bedtime books
"If Betty wants a blue Ice cream,
tinted specs will fill the dream."
A nice beginning to a whimsical poem reminiscing on the time when children hung on every word of the narrator.
An imaginative composition.

Author's Reply:
I love reading stories to an appreciative audience and children are great listeners, thanks for your kind comments. S

ValDohren on 21-04-2013
Bedtime books
Lovely poem to read to children - magical, enchanting and nicely composed.

Val

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind comment Val, I love all these books I never though about the poem being for children but you are right it does work I wonder how many different books they would spot. Many thanks, Keith.


The day you caught the train (posted on: 19-04-13)
she's leaving

The net curtain floats unseen, lace patterns projected on magnolia, sunlight blinds our bed covers, white cotton wrapped as loin cloth, tight against smooth skin. The mornings bore floods busy below, scaling walls to chatter at our window. Your shape slides beneath my hand, palms push on glistening dew, warmth sighs as we dip deeper. Mind's camera saves a stolen frame, a petal pressed between memories. The bartender wants my glass, no final drop to sip from your eyes, my tongue has tripped, hands slipped. This day you will leave, and me; packing for the journey you will take. A shiver drops a tear's cold trace, lovers embrace belies who will wake, something we lost in another place.
Archived comments for The day you caught the train
Rupe on 19-04-2013
The day you caught the train
I like the idea, the set-up, the emotional frame of reference behind the piece, but find some of the images a little abstract, or difficult to grasp at any rate. This is particularly the case in the first couple of stanzas. The line 'the bartender wants my glass' gives the reader something to hang onto, but I had difficulty connecting it with the rest of the poem.

It might be just me being thick, however & it's intriguing as it stands.

Rupe

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your considered comments, I very often get this kind of reply as I make the mistake of assuming the reader understands parts that are in my head. This is about a couple waking up in the morning they are splitting up and she has decided to leave today he doesn't want her to leave and is savouring the lazy morning and wants to remember these moments. Many thanks S


Make love not war (posted on: 15-04-13)
.

One piece leather zipped to the naval frigate split open seamen disabled the booby traps blown upon the table legs round necks willing but unable
Archived comments for Make love not war
Weefatfella on 15-04-2013
Make love not war
 photo UKABueeyedhush.gif
Oh My! Double Entendre at its best. Thank you for sharing.
Weefatfella

Author's Reply:
Thanks WFF you are too kind, much appreciated S

Pronto on 15-04-2013
Make love not war
A witty write I just wish there was more of it!

Author's Reply:
Thanjks Pronto I'm not sure I have anymore I just wanted to post something after my hols. Cheers S

stormwolf on 16-04-2013
Make love not war
Hi Savvi
I am not sure I totally understood it if I am honest but the gist of it seemed nice and naughty ๐Ÿ˜‰
Alison x

Author's Reply:
I'm not sure I understand it either, just a bit of something really. Cheers S

ValDohren on 16-04-2013
Make love not war
Yes, it definitely seemed naughty, bit like a cream cake !

Val

Author's Reply:
Yes one bite and its gone:) thanks for your comment. S

Nomenklatura on 18-04-2013
Make love not war
Hmm... cryptic, baffling. Liked the navel/naval pun.

I know you're striving for brevity but I would write

'the booby traps
blown upon the table'. As it read better, to me.

Interesting, definitely.
Ewan

Author's Reply:
Hmm I see were you are, I could do that, thanks Ewan

Bozzz on 18-04-2013
Make love not war
Keith I also find the oblique angle too sharp for complete understanding, but then I am among the real thickos of this world. Naughty? hardly. If I had got the complete message I suspect I would say it is polemical as well....David

Author's Reply:
Hi David
I wanted to stab at the atrocities of war without out being too obvious, so played around with sex and war and reading back both get lost possible due to brevity...thanks keith


Mad dogs and monsters (posted on: 01-04-13)
Poetry w/s Challenge 1st April who's the fool now

At number eight lived a West Highland White, a scruffy little dog that liked to bite, bicycle clips, off Mr Phipps from number six. At number nine a huge Maine Coon, feline monster that liked to snooze, at the gate, on top of the Westy from number eight. At number twenty a mad Alsatian, a vicious creature that out of frustration, escaped his cage, chasing the Westy, gnashing with rage. The Westy took off and hid under a Jag, that the Alsatian rutted like a young stag, feline monster joined in the fray, Alsatian chose to change his prey. It cornered the cat inside our garage, claw and nose met in marriage, yelping away it ran up the street, to number twenty it howled its retreat. Westy strolled up and sniffed the cats bum, then stretched out together in the last of the sun.
Archived comments for Mad dogs and monsters
ValDohren on 03-04-2013
Mad dogs and monsters
Raining cats and dogs !! Unusual and amusing write. Very good Savvi.
Val

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your kind words Val sorry late with reply. S

Mikeverdi on 03-04-2013
Mad dogs and monsters
As the owner of three dogs (one a westy) in a house surrounded by cats...this all sounded perfectly normal to me ๐Ÿ™‚ Great read ! Mike

Author's Reply:
Perfectly normal to me aswell and it all did actually happen. S


Management Control (posted on: 01-04-13)
Prose challenge 1st April-unreliable

"Well I have finally made it, I'm presenting my ideas to the Globalcom directors, look I have a gold, name badge implant, I'm told that they save these for special visitors, yes it's true, can you read it, James Garner Management Control. Most people would describe me as a, ruthless but good looking bastard and I'm ok with that since I'm the one presenting to the board and I am fucking gorgeous. Ah here's the conveyor capsule, after you. What floor,'' ''-126,'' ''funny that's where I've been asked to wait too, you could wait with me if you like, what did you say your name was?, ''I didn't; Mary Starch head of Globalcom HR, I believe we will be meeting shortly,'' "right, nice to meet you", awkward. "Look I'm sorry, I talk too much when I'm nervous erm not that I am nervous, more excited, yes excited" damn what a prick shut up, she hates you, ''I'll wait here see you later, bye;'' She so wants to jump my bones, oh yea, Globalcom here I come get ready for JG. ''Good afternoon my name is James Gardener,'' amateur, that's not what it says on your name badge, "and I'm representing Management control. I have worked in the control market now for over ten years and I have spent the past five years developing a strategy to maximise employee output and that's what I would like to share with you today. So If there are no questions I will begin my presentation, sorry, who have I worked with?" There's always one arse that can't resist a question, ''My client base is confidential and I'm sure you would expect the same'' ''My concept is simple; you can't trust your employees, so stop trying. They lie, they will cheat you, and they have no loyalty to your company, just a drain on your resources not to mention a huge annual cost. Cost, don't get me started, sick pay, pensions, productivity bonus, incentives, pay related performance, take, take, take, that's all they do. Let me help you, let Management Control; control.'' Ok don't get too cocky looks like they are buying. ''We have a standard body modification package that you can apply to new and current employees and some clear guidelines on how they will be used. I know you are already thinking what is all this going to cost, well its simple. The employee pays for their own equipment and its maintenance by taking a reduction in the company's pension contributions so they don't see the cost hit their pockets.'' Nodding they are fucking nodding, keep going your bullshitting bastard. ''What modifications? I hear you ask. First up an arm implant, this checks for body movement and tracks where, when and how long they've been there, if they take a dump and read the paper you will know and mores the point they will know you know. It's not finished there it can also detect, body temperature, blood pressure, heart rate, blood toxins, alcohol and most common barbiturates. If their high or ready to die, you will know and they will know you know, did I already say that? Sorry.'' high or ready to die, please shoot me now. If the untrustworthy individuals do for some reason actually get sick and do have to see a doctor, then as part of their contract they must sign a waiver to the doctor, patient confidentiality agreement, we can then fit our Doccam this tiny device clamps like a stud through the left or right earlobe. All conversations can then be recorded for use in any and all subsequent disciplinary hearings; any two incidents in one year will automatically result in dismissal.'' You got to love the Doccam. ''Next on the menu, work place accidents, they cost you a fortune each year due to greedy money grabbing employees, some will, lose fingers, break bones and even go blind to get at your shareholders profits but we have a solution. You carry out work place risk assessments to target the people who work in high risk areas. Then we fit our neural interceptor to the nape of the neck, a simple procedure and in the event of an accident we simply erase a day from their memory this can also be deployed to anyone who witnessed the accident. To complete the process we can offer a bolt on package that suggests, they did it at home this has a 90% success rate.'' More like 20% ''Of course there are more subtle techniques you can adopt. For example, making them feel uncomfortable when they call in sick or have a personal problem to deal with. This approach must be countered with a ''working as one team'' conversation when you need them to work late or do extra shifts." "So that just about concludes my presentation any questions; no, ok well I can tell you need to take some time to discuss my proposals, you have my contact numbers so if you feel we can do business or have any question please don't hesitate to contact me, thanks for your time." putty in my hands. ''Taxi! Hi Kings Cross please, I don't want to talk to you, thanks.'' Damn that was a quick decision, where's my bloody phone?'' Hello Management Control, Mary, good to hear from you, how did I do? They did? That's great perhaps we could have dinner tonight to discuss the details I'll organise something and get back to you, ok bye.'' I can tell by her voice she wants me. Driver there's been a change of plan, take me to the Hilton.'' ''I thought you didn't want to talk,'' ''yes well I do now,'' smartarse. ''Hello Mr Globaltech James Gardinier,'' or whatever my fucking name is this week, ''our deal is progressing nicely; yes I'm having dinner with her tonight, she has the boards backing, oh yes, I think you will have your pick of Globalcom employees very soon, very soon indeed.''
Archived comments for Management Control
sirat on 01-04-2013
Management Control
The format of this one is, to say the least, unusual. It's a monologue interrupted at times by a presentation of the speaker's thoughts in a kind of Shakespearean 'aside to the audience'. There's no atempt to separate the two by punctuation, although it's reasonably clear from context which is which. I'll come back to the punctuation.

The actual story, at least for me, took a bit of unpacking. In fact I got very much the wrong end of the stick on first reading and had to come back to edit these comments after a second reading. I missed the very critical point that two different companies are involved, Globalcom and Globaltech. Once I had made that leap I could see that his motivation in scaring the employees(?) of Globalcom was to give Globaltech its 'pick of them'. His address was to the Globalcom directors, but presumably they were going to put his recommendartions into practice and hence decimate the ranks of their staff. He evidently obtained the outcome he wanted by being an unreliable narrator, essentially a con man. He seems to have been justified in his belief that Mary wanted to 'jump on his bones', but despite reading it twice I wasn't clear on her significance to the plot or why she seemed not to know him at the beginning but to be romantically involved with him (?) later on. It took me a bit of time get the main story clear. I hope I have now.

Regarding the punctuation, I don't think the 'stream of talk and consciousness' technique improves the piece. For me, clearly separating what was thought and what was said would have made it easier to read, and to follow what was going on. Your use of commas where there was no pause (e.g. 'people would describe me as a, ruthless but good looking bastard) I found particularly uncomfortable to read.

I'm sorry if it seems I have little positive to say, I haven't really got past summarising the plot, but whatever the reason this one just didn't seem to do very much for me. The futuristic implant stuff is perhaps the most memorable thread in the story, but I don't think there is any radically new idea there. Maybe it's just too early in the morning and I'm not firing on all cylinders yet.

Author's Reply:
Damn and blast, posted a pre-edit version not checking the final draft, sorry you had to wade through this. hopefully the edit is a bit clearer. I also had is thoughts in Italics but they don't come across from word. All said many of your comments are still valid, but hopefully some are worked out. Post updated.

Clearly this wont improve the content, so thanks for the feedback.

Texasgreg on 01-04-2013
Management Control
Well just sign me up fer one of them thar implants...thinkin' fer myself just gets too complicated, lol.

Greg ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Greg, I'll get James to give you a call. S

bluepootle on 01-04-2013
Management Control
Wow, it's a stream-of-consciousness rush that defies formal structure, and I like it for that. I felt it gave us a very strong sense of characterisation, particularly the personal element of his liking of Mary, with all the formal, informal and personal thoughts mixed up together.

I'm not sure I followed much of it. I get the general idea of the technology but the name of the guy (Garner? Gardiner?) changed every time and the company's identity wasn't clear. If that's deliberate then it makes it doubly weird and loads of fun, but too confusing. So it either needs a good check through to get all the names right or there's something else going on here that I didn't follow. Loads of fun, though.

Author's Reply:
Hopefully it's improved on clarity, now the edit is up, sorry. S

Rupe on 01-04-2013
Management Control
Yes, got it, although it required careful reading... I think I'd jump ship too if faced by the range of sanctions proposed by James Gardener (if that's the right one). I enjoyed the robust self-aggrandising cynicism of the first two characters' utterances & the way you've got the punchline in the very last line.

Rupe

Author's Reply:

TheBigBadG on 02-04-2013
Management Control
There's a lot of potential in the form here, especially given he's a spiv spinning his next con, so I'm all for keeping the stream of consciousness in principle. I don't have a problem with the mixing up of thoughts and speech in the flow because I picture him as a complete motormouth, and if he can't separate the two, well why should we?

The real issue is that the changing spelling of names and other things add extra unreliability on top of the intent (as I understand it), which is a shame because if you can tighten it up then it would be a fast-paced little satire. The Globalcom/tech thing passed me by until the end for instance, which appeals to a cynical bit of me. They're looking at their employees as anonymous units, but then they're just as anonymous themselves.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for kind words, the name change was deliberate as he is a crap con man that cant even be consisten with his name, seems to have got lost but I had posted the wrong bloody version, very sorry for wasting everyones time. S

SirClip on 02-04-2013
Management Control
I read half of this before I got the hang of what is going on. Then I started at the top again and really enjoyed it. Unusual yes, but entertaining too.

Author's Reply:
Thank you SirClip, edit up to spare my blushes. S


In Training (posted on: 29-03-13)
The circle completes

I can see now, I know what's happening. Always fed on time, soft foods, patronising smiles, I can't speak, no teeth, my face distorts, I'm shrinking, growing small, bed time is seven, sleepy or not, foetal position, bed wetting, underwear swapped for nappies, my clothes won't fit anymore, pushed round in a chair, strapped in spoon fed, chin wiped with a bib milk cups have lids and easy grips lowered into shallow tepid baths soap gets in my eyes, I cry put me in a rocker, stick on a dvd, I have no possessions, or money, lack of movement, gives me wind, Zimmer frame my walker, I sleep most of the day, someone reads me a story, my memory has almost gone, I guess I'm just about ready. To be reborn
Archived comments for In Training
Fox-Cragg on 29-03-2013
In Training
Clever, like it.
Thanks Paul

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Paul the older we become the more baby like we become. Thanks Keith

Nemo on 29-03-2013
In Training
You got inside the head there - very true - it was like that for me before I was reborn.

Author's Reply:
Ah it would be wonderful and have purpose, if only it were true ๐Ÿ™‚


Loves forgotten fight (posted on: 29-03-13)
The fun is making up after a fight

So why now, does her face cold crack, split lipped her frown, as a thunder brews, fingers drawn, stretched tight to scratch, my mouth opens, with words I can't use, apologies writhed on spat-backed tongue, ceramic sand cloud, cuts deep into flesh, press tight to her anger, flaying held strong, with struggles fading, her ambitions to test, fine muscle relaxes, guilt loosens my grip, my eyes give chase to our hiding place, light softens her tones, embraced lips bit, probing mouths race the passion we taste, how frantic now our coupling calls flight, low down we caress loves forgotten fight.
Archived comments for Loves forgotten fight
Nomenklatura on 29-03-2013
Loves forgotten fight
I'd love to hear a reading of this one.

Author's Reply:
I keep making mistakes but I will crack it and post it, still needs work as I want it to be my one and only Sonnet but the meter is so far off I keep giving up. Thanks S

Bozzz on 29-03-2013
Loves forgotten fight
Taut and fraught. I loved it. Takes me back to the days when spats were designed for love making. Excellent one Keith....Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Thanks Bozzz glad at least one of us remembers, cheers Keith

pommer on 03-04-2013
Loves forgotten fight
Well written,brings back some memories from long ago.Excellent. Pommer

Author's Reply:


They call me Mellow (posted on: 25-03-13)
My effort for the weekly challenge-The importance of being yellow

A submersible trip in pudlian dreams, inspired the notes of a million screams. Crystal coal, conditions cramped, over their heads swung like a lamp. Primary art mixed for small hands, brushes twirl round, there I stand. Squidgy shooter, a play time gun, laid down for clowns, slippery fun. Jaundice skin, the baby's first fight, all she needed was a little light. Shrovetide tosses a welcome gift, ready for sugar and a squirt of Jiff. When ex-cons are worried returning from Jail, Oak tree a ribbon and homeward they'll sail. The importance of being a colour like me? Why should I say? You see what you see.
Archived comments for They call me Mellow
Fox-Cragg on 25-03-2013
They call me Mellow
Like it, Like it. Once I suss the colour out we're laughing.
Nice read and flows. A bit of a hippy there ??
Thanks for sharing. Paul

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 26-03-2013
They call me Mellow
Good for you for doing the weekly challenge. I have never had the courage.
This is very creative and original.

Alison x

Author's Reply:

geordietaf on 26-03-2013
They call me Mellow
A nice little puzzle poem. I'll never think of yellow weather warnings the same way again.

Author's Reply:


Some Mothers do have em (posted on: 25-03-13)
My effort for the Weekly Challenge-Baby

Sore folds, dusted talc mouth bubbles, gurgled out chubby legs, dimpled knees farm cheeks, need to squeeze Bald patch, cradle cap little mitts, hands clap changing mat, wrestling ring tear stained, teething ring Full nappy, wobble weight bath time, in a state milk bottle, Sterilise naked pee, past your eyes Jim jams, romper suit snuggle sniff, tiny boots all clean, kissing heads six o'clock, into beds Big eyes, mobile spins sucking cuffs, chime begins wide awake, crying game arm in ribs, me again Bed head, cow lick one am, covered in sick magic moments, skin on skin contact found, gummy grin High chair, food mush up the nose, pea push bib stains, washers on cried all day, patience gone Dads home, here's your son
Archived comments for Some Mothers do have em
Pronto on 25-03-2013
Some Mothers do have em
Lovely flow to this witty write Savvi I liked it a lot.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Pronto it all seem a bit of a blur now. cheers S

Nomenklatura on 26-03-2013
Some Mothers do have em
Yep, jaunty, jagged poem that conveys the sense of the plate-spinning that motherhood is.

You have a typo: suite is pronounced 'sweet' and is several classical pieces (as in The Nutcracker Suite) or furniture as in 3-piece suite. You need suit for the rhyme.
Good poem.
Regards

Ewan

Author's Reply:
Ooops Many thanks for your comments and for pointing that out I will get it changed now. Keith

stormwolf on 26-03-2013
Some Mothers do have em
Lovely. You captured all the ins and outs of babyhood. I love being a grandmother as I get all the joys with none of the resposibility.
Well done Savvi

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you Alison, much appreciated, handing them back is definatley part of the joy. cheers Keith

Kat on 27-03-2013
Some Mothers do have em
This is wonderful. You've captured so many tiny details which say so much and give the reader some great images. Particularly related to

'changing mat, wrestling ring'

I never knew babies could be so strong... haha.

Kat x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Kat, another great display of strength is the bolt straight pushchair your not strapping me in manoeuvre, damn them kids are strong. Cheers Keith

Ionicus on 27-03-2013
Some Mothers do have em
I can empathise with this, Keith, having lived through this experience twice. You have been spot on in your description of the various routines.

Author's Reply:
Me two ๐Ÿ™‚ and I could still do those routines in my sleep as I very often did, 18 years ago. Arrg

freya on 29-03-2013
Some Mothers do have em
Ha Ha Ha A laugh out loud witty ditty, daddy Keith!

especially loved

naked pee, past your eyes
and
wide awake, crying game
arm in ribs, me again

Wonderful pithy last line. Shelagh ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Hi Shelagh, Not sure anyone would pick up the Sterilise / pasteurise line but thanks for giving it a shout. Keith


Down the side of the Sofa (posted on: 22-03-13)
Ever put your hand down the side of an old couch, settee, sofa ?

You know that gap down the side of the sofa, the one that nobody cleans, well I got the Hoover and tried a manoeuvre, such a sight had never been seen. As I got too close to the cyclone host, in a breath I was gulped away, too big for the tube and all out of lube, trapped in the gap I stayed, I reached around and an old lamp I found, Just needed a rub of the hand, appeared this bloke, room full of smoke, asked what would be my command? My good sir, don't stand and stare, you can see the scale of my plight, I just don't fit in this sofa's slit, I demand you see me alright. He kissed his ring then a strange thing, started to change the game, I dropped in the gap the size of a gnat, to a world that couldn't be named. A world I said so you're not mislead, I'll explain what I meant by this, I met a dust mite who in the half light, offered me crumbs and crisps. She held chocolate chips and lollipop sticks, receipts and giant toe nails, from matted hair she'd crafted a stair, that led to a rusty steel rail. We both climbed up but my foot got stuck, in some cheese strung out as a web, lurking behind her a four foot spider, you could hear me shout as I said. My good sir, have you seen her? stepping out of my best running shoe, the creature was near and I started to fear, It was more than shoe I would lose. My request once said was taken as read, the man knew what was required, with a finger click he reversed the trick, then off to the lamp he retired. With a spring on my head and cushions for legs, I squeezed through the couch on return, no sign of the man or a three wish plan, I reflected on what I had learned. Never again will I use unrestrained, a vacuum that's out of control, nor will I dream of the gap no one cleans, now I know what lives down that hole.
Archived comments for Down the side of the Sofa
OldPeculier on 22-03-2013
Down the side of the Sofa
Love it. My kind of poetry. Thanks.

I work with rented accommodation and the first thing I do when a tenant leaves is check the sofa for small change. I usually regret it.

Author's Reply:
I bet you do I would want triple ply gloves, very late with this sorry

Andrea on 22-03-2013
Down the side of the Sofa
Funny stuff, Savvi. I don't dare look down the side of mine - probably find a dead, dessicated mouse or summat.

Author's Reply:

Bozzz on 23-03-2013
Down the side of the Sofa
Much enjoyed this one Savvi - even had to go and wash my hands after reading it ! Actually your title for the poem would make a good competition subject....David

Author's Reply:


Play Hard - Die Young (posted on: 22-03-13)
Langauge Timothy

2043 Health service refuses to treat computer users Fucked off with Facebook Tweeted till I Twittered Bunged up by Blogs Bitten by bytes Its two in the morning why am I reading this shit Groaning at Google Yelling at Youtube Screaming at Skype Wasted by wifi Put on six pounds this week need more excersize Meaningless MMORG Addiction of the masses Myspace-my arse My choice Cant really afford WOW but they need me Magnetise the memory Hacksaw the hard drive Eat the apple Get out of that chair Doc says computers are the new cigarettes
Archived comments for Play Hard - Die Young
Fox-Cragg on 22-03-2013
Play Hard - Die Young
Yep, many going down that route, love it.
My space - my arse , brilliant.
Paul

Author's Reply:
Thanks Paul, it could be an issue for the future but doubt it will effect me ๐Ÿ™‚ S

Rupe on 22-03-2013
Play Hard - Die Young
Yes, there have never been so many ways to waste time utterly pointlessly, online, than today - and I suppose it's only going to get bigger and bigger. This isn't a subtle piece but you ram the point home amusingly.

Rupe

Author's Reply:
bigger and bigger ... too true. I struggle with subtle. cheers S

Andrea on 22-03-2013
Play Hard - Die Young
Ah yes, not far off are the days of stumps instead of legs and massive arms ๐Ÿ™‚

Hate FB and Twatter meself...

Author's Reply:
me too I have several of these social network thingies but seldom us them. S

Ionicus on 23-03-2013
Play Hard - Die Young
Timothy's mother would have had a fit, Savvi.
I can see how all these social sites can drive one up the wall.
Cheers.

Author's Reply:
Indeed she would, but I do get frustrated ๐Ÿ˜‰

japanesewind on 23-03-2013
Play Hard - Die Young
Good this Savvi, taps into a subject that was being discussed by us a few days ago. the utter banality of which you capture well.....D

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comment, I fear this topic will start to be debated more and more as the habits of a world are changing.

Griffonner on 23-03-2013
Play Hard - Die Young
Ah! So that's why I've put on weight, and get that taste of the keyboard in the back of my mouth? God, this explains everything: why I'm hoarse in throat, chest tight, blood pressure up. Of course!

But there's obviously hope for me 'cos I don't 'social media' ๐Ÿ˜‰

Frightening, isn't it... the potential your words describe?

Griffonner

Author's Reply:
You have to go there to come back as they say ๐Ÿ˜‰ there is hope for us all I suspect but the doom merchants would never allow any generation to believe what they are doing is ok. Thank you for your comments. S


I can't imagine why (posted on: 18-03-13)
.

I wanted to be a spider, so I grew extra legs and made myself a web. You said flies wouldn't stick to grandma's wool; I came down from my corner. I wanted to be a ferocious lion, so I ruffled up my fur and prowled for my prey. You said the front room rug was sheepskin; I sheared myself. I wanted to be a racing driver, so I built a car and stopped for petrol. You said you needed the box and water would ruin it; I towed it away. I planned a dangerous expedition, pitched my tent on a snowy mountain side. You said if I got the sheet dirty you would smack me; I left camp, crying. She wanted to be a ballerina in our best net curtains and a headband I hummed the Nutcracker. We danced with the Bolshoi. She slept, in a net tutu with pink socks for slippers.
Archived comments for I can't imagine why
deadpoet on 18-03-2013
I cant imagine why
Enjoyed this very much.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comment, glad you enjoyed it, cheers Savvi

Rupe on 19-03-2013
I cant imagine why
I thought this was great. Enjoyable to read, deceptively simple & very well-constructed.

Rupe

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Rupe very happy you enjoyed it, thanks for saying deceptively as I spent a long time trying to simplify the voice to be childlike without losing the content. Savvi

Savvi on 20-03-2013
I cant imagine why
Wow only just spotted the Nom many thanks indeed not sure who to thank but thank you very much. Savvi

Thank you Alison very much appreciated. Keith

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 26-03-2013
I cant imagine why
Absolutely lovely Savvi. I am so glad I dd not miss this one. I wish more people would recite as it totally came alive for me.

I was very moved and the last stanza made me cry



Alison x

(into favs)

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Alison, this one is special to me and I agree with your comments, I like to read first then listen and its mostly yours as very few members add audio, your voice brings out the emotion in your poetry that I sometimes dont catch on reading, Hope more start posting audio as it is so easy. Savvi

freya on 27-03-2013
I cant imagine why







Savvi, liked this so much and loved hearing your reading which, as others say, really brought the piece alive. It would be my instinct to vary the punctuation in the last stanza to emphasize the switch from past to present, from self to other. See suggested edit:



(...) suggested addition

[...] suggested cut



She wanted to be a ballerina

(in my) best net curtains and a headband.

I hummed the Nutcracker(.) [and w] We danced with the Bolshoi[;] (.)

She slept(,) in a net tutu with pink socks for slippers.



Though, contrarily, I'd move 'in my' to the next line to remain consistent with the pattern of your other verses!



Other than the typo 'pray', did you mean our best net curtains (meaning mum and dads) ?



This struck me as a powerful take on how parents often squelch the innocent creativity and playfulness of their children; the development of their crucial inner selves. Well done! Shelagh

Author's Reply:
Hi Shelagh
Many thanks for your kind comments and sorting this out I think all your suggestions have merit and will be adopted in an edit. Keith, oh and picking up the mistake.


Flightless (posted on: 18-03-13)
.

The exhaust note drones, smooth without turbulence, breathing is heavy, condensing on leather, echoes to ears, silent blue expands, shrinking the simplicity of my craft. Underneath tapping in the slip stream, trapped on the red button, mission incomplete, retreat, I hold the horizon dear, fear friction. A paper theatre stages the home coming hero, figures move each embrace, father cups child's face, hands shake, betray my steel, quickens my beat. Pockets of air slap hard to move and sink my pit, the players stop to look, nemesis unhooked, tapping turns tranquil away my burden drops. Farm yard kitchen, tea towel over sink, bacon sizzling, tiny shoes have just brought in fresh eggs, she smiles at the whistling, looks up at the morning, moments before the bomb slams through the roof.
Archived comments for Flightless
Bozzz on 18-03-2013
Flightless
OMG. Terrifying. This is a scary scenario that can fit too many areas of the world at moment. Well portrayed - hits hard - as indeed intended - a very good poem Savvi. I have read it several times and each time it penetrates deeper and hurts more ! ...David

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your considered comments David much appreciated one of the many terrifying realities of war, thanks Keith

deadpoet on 18-03-2013
Flightless
This poem got to me-I'd say the last line tied it all up so terrifyingly. I knew there was more between the lines and I wish it weren't so. Thanks for a great read. DP

Author's Reply:
Thanks DP I thought the last line could have been over cooked but seems not so cheers for your comments much appreciated. Savvi

Ionicus on 19-03-2013
Flightless
A vivid description of the effect of bombardment by proxy. Very powerful in its message. If I were to find a flaw I would query the use of 'bacon sizzling' in the last stanza, knowing
the particular areas where drones are employed. Just a thought.
Regards, Luigi.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Luigi I hadn't seen the link to drones but its a good point you make, hope to clear things up in the edit. cheers S

japanesewind on 19-03-2013
Flightless
Savvi, enjoyed the detail here and the sting in the tail.
Ironic, does it for me..D

Author's Reply:
Aye and me too, thanks for the comment

Griffonner on 19-03-2013
Flightless
I hadn't seen the connection with drones. (Thank you, Luigi.)
I was visualising one of a thousand other applications of needless destruction. It is certainly an emotive piece, Savvi.

Ye Gods, will we ever learn. ๐Ÿ™



Author's Reply:
I dont think we will ever learn in my life time but I remain hopefull, thanks for your comments. S

japanesewind on 19-03-2013
Flightless
Hi Savvi, if this is depicting a "drone" attack then i must admit it totally bypassed me, I was thinking "world war 2".

David

Author's Reply:
WW2 was my aim, but this clearly needs some work so back to the drawing board, I actually think the last stanza just might do it alone with a little work on were tha bomb came from. I'll see, thanks David, less is more sometimes as you well know ๐Ÿ™‚

Savvi on 19-03-2013
Flightless
To all comments thank you for taking the time, I clearly need to do some work, and that I will do, however by way of offering some clarity before I work on the edit.

S1 he is flying sat in an old plane WW2
S2 a bomb got caught on a mission it is still half in place he is on his way back (so over fields and farms) if he hits turbulence it could go off. He is stuffed really as he canโ€™t land.
S3 his thoughts drift on the clouds, back to seeing his family and child he is terrified of dying and losing it a little.

S4 he hits a bad patch of turbulence, his thoughts return to his family as he thinks he's about to die, he doesn't the bomb breaks loose and in S5 it lands by accident on a farm house.

Edit time I think cheers Keith

Author's Reply:

orangedream on 19-03-2013
Flightless
Thanks for explaining, Savvi...a great poem, nonetheless, and more than chilling.

Tina

Author's Reply:


Dance away (posted on: 15-03-13)
They were all sure

His genitals tucked out of view Slowly his hand reached his hip They were all sure that they knew Leaning drunk he puckered his lips Slowly his hand reached his hip They were all sure that they knew Leaning drunk he puckered his lips The boys formed an orderly queue They were all sure that they knew Leaning drunk he puckered his lips The boys formed an orderly queue He spun not seeing the sticks Leaning drunk he puckered his lips The boys formed an orderly queue He spun not seeing the sticks Took turns to break him in two The boys formed an orderly queue He spun not seeing the sticks Took turns to break him in two His inner age snapped at six
Archived comments for Dance away
OldPeculier on 15-03-2013
Dance away
I like the way the lines repeat without it getting boring.

I really enjoyed this even though I don't usually read poetry.

Author's Reply:

Nemo on 17-03-2013
Dance away
There is a point using rhyme in this and it complements the hypnotic effect you want to create. Just a feeling that the last line is contrived to get the rhyme with sticks - don't know what you mean by 'his inner age.' Is he six years old, and his self-confidence has been destroyed? Struggling, being less clever.

Author's Reply:
You are spot on, I really struggled with the last line, this is actually based on true events in a changing room at school when a child with special needs was messing around trying to be funny after a shower, obviously there were no real sticks but he didn't come back thanks to a few hero's who claimed they thought he was gay ! as if that makes it alright?. So, I was trying to say his mental age was limited and he never quite recovered. I agree the last line is contrived and it needs to improve. Thanks for taking the time and your considered reply. S


Norma (posted on: 15-03-13)
An iconic image or something much more that got lost along the way ?

The carpet kissed her shoes and lips, should have known, that as she slipped into the light, cameras would caress beneath, her now transparent dress. a nation shared the sensation. Pubescent face pressed to the screen, whispered words he'd only dreamed. She flicked her hair then tripped along, Champagne waves broke on her tongue, laughter's plight, held it's self at night. As we peered through the hour-glass she took her last, the pain half mast, Grotesque, undressed, outstretched, bulbs still flashed.
Archived comments for Norma
Griffonner on 15-03-2013
Norma
More than got lost, I'd say she was abused along the way. But you hint at that anyway. I would have liked it more if (and I realise that it doesn't have to) it had pleased me more from the scan point of view.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for commenting Griffonner I'm not sure what the scan means but I would always like to improve and advice is always greatfully recieved. thanks Savvi

Nemo on 17-03-2013
Norma
Touching little tribute, neatly done. From a generally accepted viewpoint, a poem doesn't need to rhyme. Couple of typos to fix: shoes, known.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the advice and comments. I will sort out the typos. Thanks for reading.


Just Another Suicide (posted on: 11-03-13)
Well I did try

Position my brain under the wheel of a train. Lay on my back, bloody thing changed tracks. Put my neck in a rope tied to the old oak. Tight round my throat, the damn branch broke. Drink myself ill then swallow some pills. Fell asleep in a state woke up feeling great. Try not to laugh and make toast in the bath. I'm not a toast maker, it just tripped the breaker. Stretch my mouth bigger then pull the trigger. A Shotguns breech is too long to reach. Feeling like I ought a drown in salt water. Dipped a toe in the sea, too cold for me. Stare up at the sky before trying to fly. Dived off the edge, broke my nose on a ledge. Just found out that, the doctors a prat. I'm not going to die, so I better not try.
Archived comments for Just Another Suicide
Weefatfella on 12-03-2013
Just Another Suicide
Weefat sh. photo f444513d-ee51-4e3a-901d-53b87f952c49_zps521058b0.jpg

Looked at it son, thought it was fun.
bit near the knuckle still had a chuckle.
Thanks for that.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Thanks weefatfella your son fun knuckle chuckle is much appreciated ๐Ÿ™‚ S

Nemo on 12-03-2013
Just Another Suicide
Refreshingly light-hearted - grim subject made funny. Great.

Author's Reply:
Tis grim and all to common, suicide that is not doctors getting it wrong, although they do sometimes. Many thanks for taking the time Nemo, cheers S

chardonnay on 12-03-2013
Just Another Suicide
Note to self ... write about what you know............? hope not xxx

Author's Reply:
Hi chardonnay thankfully and as you can tell I don't know much about.this topic hence the light hearted approach. S

Pronto on 12-03-2013
Just Another Suicide

Great laugh mate what a witty write. I had a friend who went through a suicidal phase and when I couln't contact him one day I left this poem on his answer machine:

Your suicide bids I deplore
So I' rung you tis what friends are for
Are you swinging in style
From your uppermost tile?
Or lying stone dead on the floor?

He rang me back a few minutes later calling me an evil bastard! (Quite true) and we ended up laughing. Could have gone the other way though! ๐Ÿ˜‰

Author's Reply:
I agree, one evil bastard ๐Ÿ˜‰ good job it went the right way, cheers for comments. S

jay12 on 14-03-2013
Just Another Suicide
Suicide is no laughing matter, but this made me smile! Nice poem.

Author's Reply:
Glad you smiled, I agree this was not ment to deal with the issues around suicide just a giggle really. S


Rock Stars (posted on: 11-03-13)
helping my son set up at one of their gigs.

Standing on stage in skin tight jeans, black leather belt and rips in the knees. Last year's hair cut swept over his face, tunes the top string of an Ibanez bass. Shadow bound dad sets up the sound, feels slightly awkward hanging around. Pint in one hand camera in the other, late last night making CD covers. Band laugh and joke with nervous smiles, new work is ready and this is the trial. Beer and shouts half fill the room, snare drum taps, let's hope they're in tune. Latest songs, thrashed out on settees, played to perfection with casual ease. With every cheer their confidence grows, already rock stars that nobody knows.
Archived comments for Rock Stars
stormwolf on 11-03-2013
Rock Stars
Lovely! Brings me back memories of when I was the roadie on two separate occaisions for two different sons, both drummers. I had to transport them here and there in my car with all their gear and hang about like a spare inbetween ;-(
Then, when staying in the country, my barn was taken over for band practice but at least the only neighbours were cows.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
I have managed to keep the practices at arms length but cant escape the roadie duties, I dont mind really I wish I had half the talent he has. ๐Ÿ™‚ the barn sounds perfect for such activities. Keith

Rupe on 11-03-2013
Rock Stars
I liked it - you conjure up the scene well, with some nice telling detail ('pint in one hand camera in the other' for instance).

Nicely bittersweet last line too.

Rupe

Author's Reply:
many thanks Rupe, yes quite the balancing act but some of the places they play.... you wouldnt want to put either of them down. Thanks for you comments much appreciated. S

Ionicus on 11-03-2013
Rock Stars
Nice, descriptive poem Savvi. No doubt the pint in one hand enhanced the good feeling factor.

Author's Reply:
Oh yes the pint is the only Roadie bonus I keep asking them to play pubs that sell trad ale but its a bit hit and miss, well more miss actually, he says when they are famous he will buy me a micro brewery ๐Ÿ™‚

Mikeverdi on 11-03-2013
Rock Stars
Brought back memories. 1961 my father in an old van loaded with Amp's and drums; we were the next big thing....not. He thought we were great though bless him. Nice writing mate.

Author's Reply:
Happy days, its the taking part that counts, things havent changed that much really its only rock and roll...and I like it !!

japanesewind on 11-03-2013
Rock Stars
"late last night making CD covers"

This hit the spot and gelled the rest tightly...D

Author's Reply:
Thanks D, its the only part of the creative process he allows me to dabble in, oh except the sound of course since they no nothing of what is required, thanks K

Nomenklatura on 11-03-2013
Rock Stars
Yep, very good.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment much appreciated. S

barenib on 12-03-2013
Rock Stars
Brings back happy memories of my brief dalliance with 'being a rock star that nobody knows'. Well rendered - John.

Author's Reply:
Based on what I've seen I bet your lyrics were good, yes I could have been a legend in my own lunch time too ๐Ÿ™‚ Keith

Andrea on 12-03-2013
Rock Stars
Great stuff, Savvi!

Author's Reply:
thanks very much Andrea S

Romany on 12-03-2013
Rock Stars
Oh, what a great dad! They could become famous yet you know - they all had to start somewhere...

Author's Reply:
Ha, Thanks Romany, I usually try and taint the great dad bit by complaining all the time and telling them what they don't want to hear...tough love. I would be the first to buy...sorry download their MP3 if they ever get to record the songs. S

Pronto on 12-03-2013
Rock Stars
I'm sure that's how the Beatles started too. Well done dedicated dad! Nice ink mate.

Author's Reply:
Not sure there will ever be another like them, but here's hoping. thanks for comments.S

jay12 on 14-03-2013
Rock Stars
Everyone has to start somewhere. Nice poem! Good luck to the band too.

Author's Reply:
Thanks I think they will need it, but you are correct from small acorns and all that. Thanks S

Kat on 17-03-2013
Rock Stars
Loved this... and how wonderful to have a dad like you, firm but fair (it would seem). I try to be too. My nickname is moanin' Mama. Behind my grimace is a very loving heart... :^)

Kat x

Author's Reply:
Ha, not sure I would ever get such recognition but thanks. It's a parents right to moan infact I think it's in the job descripion ๐Ÿ™‚ a grimace is only a way of showing you care, it's the one who show nothing you have to watch out for. Thanks S


Panoramic Decorations (posted on: 08-03-13)
One I wrote this christmas past, improved by a Wolf in the storm

The spinning orb reflects a relaxation room, Dad's in his favourite chair, sleep will come soon. Mum's in the kitchen, carcass and clutter, festive table cloth, wine gravy butter. Crackers pulled and bellies popped, Karaoke crooner finally stopped. Dining room chairs needed to lounge, over-tired fairies turn tears into frowns. Peanut nibble bowls, empty after-eights, teenagers ready to go, pub with their mates. Grandad's asleep still wearing his hat, the one from his cracker, not the flat cap. Presents in piles with paper just thrown, dog streched out full, starting to moan. Accordion accompaniment, everyone sings, these are a few of my favourite things.
Archived comments for Panoramic Decorations
franciman on 08-03-2013
Panoramic Decorations
Savvi,
this very simply made me smile. Poetry works best for me when it takes me to a place or a feeling. This does what it says on that particular tin.
Great work; and if I missed it before then it serves me right!
Lovely work,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jim, this one gives me a warm feeling as most of these people are gone so this snapshot makes me remember. Not posted it before. Cheers Keith

cooky on 08-03-2013
Panoramic Decorations
strange time to release, but it is very good poetry.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks for the kind words cooky, it is a strange time to release but I have now posted every poem I have written so this was left lying around since christmas, so I filled my allocated slot, so to speak. I guess I will have to start writting more often. Keith

Mikeverdi on 09-03-2013
Panoramic Decorations
Seasonal greetings to you! I agree with the others its great writing. I recognise the setting...it's me on the sofa asleep after too much turkey and trimmings! Mike

Author's Reply:
Me too, thanks Mike. S

stormwolf on 09-03-2013
Panoramic Decorations
Wonderfully heart-warming Keith. One of your best like a rich tapestry or a piece of Christmas cake ๐Ÿ˜‰
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Many thaks for your kind words and your help ๐Ÿ™‚

Andrea on 09-03-2013
Panoramic Decorations
Just like the Royle family ๐Ÿ™‚ Made me smile.

Author's Reply:
Put kettle on our Anthony, how right you are ๐Ÿ™‚

Bozzz on 10-03-2013
Panoramic Decorations
Savvi, here is a wonderful collation of our past experience and what clever choice of words and rhyme. Pictures galore bring moments of awe - Just brilliant is all I can say....David


Author's Reply:
Wow Bozzz, many thanks for rating and nom very, very much appreciated, there's a fer bit of me in this one. Keith


The Green Jackets (posted on: 08-03-13)
Well Schooled this is my post for the Prose Challenge--Generation Landslide

The Green Jackets I'm not sure how I started it; there may have been a conversation or just a simple observation, none the less the playground rumour spread. When we leave at four the Green Jackets will be waiting by the bridge before the park, its winter, it will be dark. The playground whipped into frenzy, children spun like sycamore seeds, their coats twirling held only by the hoods as they spun, a druids chant began. The Green Jackets are coming, the Green Jackets are coming, the Green Jackets are coming. Through every class room at every age, the story spread uncontained. What will they do if they catch us?, a wild girl screamed, her eyes fixed with panic . I had heard a whisper once that I should not repeat, but if you promise,'' I promise, I promise''. ''Well, there was this girl walking home on her own when four Green Jackets jumped her''. ''What did they do, what did they do?'' ''If I tell you, you can't tell anyone I told you or they will get me''.'' I won't, promise I won't''. ''They stripped her and carved Green Jackets on her back with a razor blade, now she's one of them''. The tears beat the snot bubble to her lips as she ran away screaming, I was laughing. So, I thought, this is how to manipulate, find someone vulnerable, single out a fear or desire and press the button and bingo out pops a result. By four pm we had a police guard at the school gate and all parents had been asked to collect their children early. The day was a triumph and my first real lesson. H G Welles once broadcasted live from New York in the form of a news bulletin that informed his listeners of a Mars invasion. In the days following the program, there was widespread outrage and panic by certain listeners, who had believed the events described were real. This only confirmed my belief. The weak, the needy and the vulnerable have multiplied, the world has grown sick with fear and doubt, shoot first or be shot, hide in your home, no longer your castle now your prison. Rich are the pickings for someone as well schooled as me. With access to the internet I can press a million buttons, spike a tap into a hundred fears, uncensored, unchecked and uncontained. Down these wires I can extort, exploit, expose and explode any gullible fool who believes, that the Green Jackets are on their way.
Archived comments for The Green Jackets
bluepootle on 08-03-2013
The Green Jackets
I like this. I like what's not being said - what are the Green Jackets? Do they even exist? The feeling of the narrator realising his/her power is very well done.

I think it needs a good clean-up. Just a few things I saw - it wasn't HG Wells broadcasting but Orson Welles. And you've used the word 'venerable' but I wondered if you meant 'vulnerable'. I wasn't sure.

Love the children being spun like sycamore seeds.

Author's Reply:

TheBigBadG on 08-03-2013
The Green Jackets
Blue's picked up on the big details that need fixing - to be an utter pedant (it's a living) it was Orson Welles reading H.G. Wells so strictly speaking they were both broadcast. I quibble though.

Unpleasant narrators like this are always striking. The danger is spelling everything out in the attempt to make the extent of their nastiness clear and you definitely avoid that here. The theme is 'Let the masses do all the work for you', after all. I really like the playground songs and repetition myself, things like ' "I had heard a whisper once that I should not repeat, but if you promise", โ€I promise, I promiseโ€ ' have a great rhythm to them that pull you along with the hysteria. And of course, it doesn't matter who or what the Green Jackets are, once people believe in them they'll do all the work for you. A bit like writing really...

George

Author's Reply:

japanesewind on 08-03-2013
The Green Jackets
Enjoyed this Savvi, loved the twirling children,
brought "God" to mind as a substitute for the "green jackets".

regards...D

Author's Reply:
Oh yes, I see what you did there, clever, yes it could be. S

sirat on 09-03-2013
The Green Jackets
The Green Jackets (or Royal Green Jackets) were well known in Northern Ireland during the height of the Troubles in the early1980s. It was one of the regiments sent in to keep civil order and round-up looters and paramilitaries, much-hated by both sides as far as I remember. The only ones more hated were the 'Paras' (Paratroop Regiment) who gunned-down the 13 unarmed civilians on 'Bloody Sunday' in Derry in 1972. You might remember seven of the Green Jackets being killed by an IRA bomb in Regents Park in 1982. I thought it was these 'Green Jackets' that you were talking about, which took me right inside the story! I could imagine rumours like you suggest getting passed around in the playgrounds of Northern Ireland schools back then. The police guard at the gate also fitted in well (for 'police' read 'IRA'.)

I wasn't completely clear on how this insight about the power of rumour and human insecurity was going to be translated into various forms of extortion and exploitation by the narrator. Rather than have him refer to this in such a general way, it might have been better to show him actually using the situation to his own advantage, then realising that what he had done could be applied in the wider world. Apart from that though, a good involving yarn.



Author's Reply:
Thanks Sirat I like your suggestions, time is always my enemy at the moment so it will be good to go back to this when I have more of it and do what you suggest. Many thanks S


Why doesn't he move? (posted on: 04-03-13)
Some players refrain from earning their money

Tell me why do you stand so still on the pitch, Missing the ball and the ball? The wages they pay make you filthy rich, Tell me why do you stand so still on the pitch, When there's tackles to win and balls to be kicked And players that will answer your call? Tell me why do you stand so still on the pitch, Missing the ball and the ball?
Archived comments for Why doesn't he move?
stormwolf on 04-03-2013
Why doesnโ€™t he move?
Super! I can feel the irritation from here!

Alison x

(I think the amounts they are paid are ludicrous and make the players into oafs anyway ๐Ÿ˜‰ )

Author's Reply:
I agree totally, this is something I usually scream at the TV so I thought I would use it in a Triolet. S

whatacutebum on 04-03-2013
Why doesnโ€™t he move?
A feeling shared by many. Great poem ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks WACB I believe it probably is

Bozzz on 05-03-2013
Why doesnโ€™t he move?
Well Savvi, my friend - as ex-amateur I can give one answer, "If I move I might spoil somebody's photgraph of me or I could get hurt and I am far too valuable to risk that - besides, I am stopping my marker from doing anything useful - see, I am intelligent too !". Clever writing Savvi - good stuff. David

Author's Reply:
Ha Ha good answer Bozzz I will think of this next time I'm shouting at the tele. Thanks for comments. S

ValDohren on 05-03-2013
Why doesnโ€™t he move?
It's obscene that footballers are paid so much, they are not worth it, whether they move or not !!!!!! Good one Savvi.

Val ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Hi Val
I totally agree, I think what the Germans have done to cap wages is the way forward we could even have british player again. Thanks S


The Vernal (posted on: 04-03-13)
Late but for the poetry challenge-Spring

The ice witch drips, moisture to ground. Mother rolls round, tips her hat to the sun, whispers warmth to field and forest, gentle the gestures, change has begun. Ditch and hedgerow bursting maternal, gather their shelters from leaf and moss, darling buds call time on all listeners, the bridge between seasons is ready to cross. A whiskered twitch, sniffs out from burrow, blankets of leaves are folded away, high flying birds sense their calling, gaggle and chatter, will fly today. Bright yellow fanfares bunch and bustle, orchestral flora tune up to play, earth conducts each buzz and whistle, batons of sunlight held by the day. Natural blood begins to rush, frisky feet follow courtships dance , hungry mouths find teats to push, Spring's in our step, life has its chance.
Archived comments for The Vernal
deadpoet on 05-03-2013
The Vernal
very lovely. Marvels of Spring and Mother Nature.

Author's Reply:
Very happy you enjoyed it many thanks for your comments. S

MerleNoir on 05-03-2013
The Vernal
Beautiful and delicate ....bursting maternal (lovely)...spring is indeed here. I like poetry that rhymes ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
I enjoy rhymes too thanks for your kind words, I have just noticed have used bursting twice in the same stanza so wll need to sort that out. Funny what you miss. S

Nemo on 06-03-2013
The Vernal
Superb little images here, particularly the sustained musical imagery in the 4th stanza. 'Blankets of leaves are folded away' ....wonderful! Last line - should it be 'Spring's in our step' or 'springs (lower case s) in our step'?

Author's Reply:
I'll go with Spring's thanks for the help and kind wordsmuch appreciated. S


No show (posted on: 25-02-13)
sometimes its hard to move on.

1st edit Clapping dust in streams of sunlight, tread barefoot on creaking beams, following the trail to places I'm sure of, embarrassed by some friends I've seen. Trembling lips gulp down courage, wash away nerves to fermented graves, peer over rims to catch your arrival, mouthing words, rehearse ways to behave. Crumbling thoughts into piles on a side plate, scraping a chair at our table for doubt, subtle the shame of the waiters basket, sorry smiles as I make my way out. Wardrobe contents are all worn, my numbers typed but failed to press, your loss and fears wiped into tears, couldn't settle for second best. Original Clapping dust in streams of sunlight, I tread barefoot on creaking planks, follow the trail to places I'm sure of, shaded by the dim lit lamps. Trembling oceans crash waves of courage, wash away nerves to fermented graves, peer over rims to catch your arrival, mouthing words, rehearse ways to behave. Crumbling thoughts into piles on a side plate, setting a place at our table for doubt, subtle the shame of the waiters basket, last supper spent, I make my way out. Your wardrobe contents are all worn, my numbers typed but failed to press, makeup smeared, run with tears, you couldn't settle for second best.
Archived comments for No show
ValDohren on 25-02-2013
No show
Nice write Savvi - verse 2 last line, should it read 'rehearse' rather than 'rehears' ? Anyway, enjoyed reading.

Val ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks for comment and crit fixed now, cheers S

cooky on 25-02-2013
No show
Love the last verse. I like this sad poem.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Cooky glad you liked it,thanks S

Texasgreg on 27-02-2013
No show
Oh! And so hard to move on knowing that second best is your only option...

Wonderful!

Greg ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Too true, I have done quite ahard edit on this so will put it up. Thanks S


A New Motorway (posted on: 22-02-13)


Edge of a boot, flips flat garden rock, look down on motorway construction, JCB woodlice ripple catapillar tracks, earth worms, cut new roads oily black beetles, tipping tarmac ants, digging drains, four, just looking at a hole wearing, egg white hi vis vests.
Archived comments for A New Motorway
japanesewind on 22-02-2013
A New Motorway
Savvi, very good this, fine thinking, love the bit of the "four" "looking" at a hole, i assume they were work shy in the way that as crept into our thinking like the "motorway cones" being there but no workers. made me smile...cheers..David


Author's Reply:


Bell's Palsy (posted on: 22-02-13)
A poem I did for the weekly Challenge- Bell's

Drooling mouths can't be wrong, cold sore virus, didn't take long, dry eyes, fail to blink, who cares what science thinks. Pressure builds inside bone tubes, blocking signals for bits to move, unseen hooks pull trout face down, no control over smile or frown. Facial distortion by paralysed nerves, double the trouble is very scarce, face to brain, come in please, eye to duct, no tear to squeeze. Do you think Sir Charles is right? no cream or pill to fix my plight, as quickly as it came it's gone, aren't I the lucky one.
Archived comments for Bell's Palsy

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Family photograph (posted on: 18-02-13)
For the Prose Challenge- Photography-

Big mark said it was ok to go round; he doesn't normally let me in as he once caught me stealing food from his cupboards. He frightens me, a scouse, six foot, sixteen stone biker. I saw him fight once, he didn't start it, but he just got crazy and nearly killed the poor unfortunate, I would not want to be on the receiving end of that. I climbed the iron staircase to the rear of his flat, the yard below contained motor cycle parts and every other piece of shit he couldn't be bothered to throw away. The morning's rain had pooled on the top step and it quickly found its way to my sock. The door was as solid as a cell with a rizzler stuck to it. This usually meant someone had already called but hadn't got an answer, I was now hoping for the same response but the gnawing in my stomach needed the edge taking away or I would be climbing walls instead of steps by three o'clock. ''Who's that? er it's me Izzey'' The Jail house unlocked with a series of clunks and clicks, ''well get in dickhead, Christ you look like shit''. I didn't need the confirmation; I had my own thoughts on the subject. I had lost a lot of weight recently and struggled to keep any food inside me. On the plus side it did help me to get in and out of windows pretty quickly and I had managed, not to get nicked for well over a month. I followed Mark into the front room and nervously sat down, he had a large bay window that overlooked the run down shops below, Pound Land and Cash Converters had long since replaced Woolies and WH Smith saying as much about the town, as the people that shop there. The front room smelled of chip fat and stale Pizza, the carpet was thread bare and the settee full of cigarette burns. The fire place was thick with dust and had chromed engine parts as ornaments. ''Well then what will it be?'' ''Just an eighth, I've only got a tenner ''''I've got some Lebanese Black for twelve fifty? '' I checked my pockets for the extra but only found another pound. ''Go on then, give us the eleven, you skin up I'll make us a brew''. It is customary once you have bought your gear to stay and smoke at least one joint; this is non-negotiable so I set about my three rizzla task using Deep Purples, Fireball as a work bench. Since I would get the first drag on the little beauty, I made sure I had loaded the end. I lit up and Jesus it was good gear it caught the back of my throat and I started to cough, I couldn't stop. I was coughing lumps of flesh and dark red blood, my hands were shaking as I smeared the spittle across my lips and cheek. I had fallen to the floor and was now on my hands and knees in front of the fire, I had a strange sensation of being an observer to myself; I had focused on a small photograph that sat beside the fireplace, it was Mark laughing whilst sitting on his dads shoulders. It made me remember my own parents and strangely a day we spent on the beach at Barmouth. The surf was up and the sun warmed my face, the pain in my chest had all but gone and I was holding my parents hands, I felt renewed as we walked together into the sun.
Archived comments for Family photograph
bluepootle on 18-02-2013
Family photograph
Some good description in this, the details of the flat, climbing the stairs etc. I think it could be the beginning of something interesting but right now it's not really going anywhere. Maybe it needs a good readthrough and a polish for grammar/punctuation and then you might get an idea as to how to extend it into something really strong.

Author's Reply:

TheBigBadG on 18-02-2013
Family photograph
Some nice touches in the imagery in this, the progression from water to fire for instance. It does need a proofing, as Blue says, but the much more important question is what happens next?! Sounds like your narrator is pretty ill after all. I know it's flash and I shouldn't expect too much but I feel like I have a lot of important questions that need answering. Perhaps either extend it and tell us more of the details, or pin it to a particular detail, maybe something about Izzey and Mark's relationship?

Author's Reply:


Pub Crawl (posted on: 18-02-13)
Pub Crawl

I've roared at the Red Lion, puked in the Potter's Wheel, cadged fags in the Duck and Firkin, smoked dimps from the Slippery Eel. I've slumped in the Merry Sloop, slipped in the Pied Bulls bogs, lost a fiver on the Golden Fleece, drunk dregs from others pots. Fell down steps to the Tumbling Deice, got thrown out of the Slaughtered Lamb, cut my head in the Splintered Barrel, and was beaten by the Green Man. I coughed blood in the Poacher's Pocket, started shaking in the Queens Arms, stripped naked up the Cock and Sparrow, waltzed away in the List and Brahms. Slept rough in the Railway Tavern, found cirrhosis in the Quill and Quiver, smelled like shit in the Pig and Truffle, lost it all in the Stand and Deliver. My name is; and I've been sober for 63 days and 11 hours.
Archived comments for Pub Crawl
ValDohren on 18-02-2013
Pub Crawl
Sounds as if this guy should be dead rather than sober! Good one Savvi, amusing read but with a very sobering message.

Val

Author's Reply:
he probably should be !!!, thanks for your comment S

japanesewind on 18-02-2013
Pub Crawl
"SMOKED DIMPS" loved that image...D

Author's Reply:
Could be just a northern saying, thanks for reading. S

Nomenklatura on 19-02-2013
Pub Crawl
Jolly jaunty rhythm, makes the content and twist all the more satisfying.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the Kind comments, much appreciated. S

Kat on 19-02-2013
Pub Crawl
Another very good write - loved it.

Kat

Author's Reply:
Thanks for taking the time to read. Much appreciated S

discopants on 19-02-2013
Pub Crawl
I hope that pub crawl didn't all take place in one night. Nicely done...

Author's Reply:
In one night, every night ๐Ÿ˜‰ thanks for reading S

Ionicus on 19-02-2013
Pub Crawl
And here is one of my own with the same name, Savvy:
https://ukauthors.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=4562 (dated 30/1/2004)
I hope you enjoy it as I have yours.
Cheers, hic..


Author's Reply:
Very clever, I prefer yours ๐Ÿ™‚

stormwolf on 20-02-2013
Pub Crawl
Ha! a sobering tale alright ๐Ÿ˜‰

Couple of bits needing capitals
slipped in the pied bulls bogs, (Pied Bull's)

found cirrhosis in the quill and quiver, (Quill and Quiver)

An original poem that highlights the dangers and the degradation of the demon drink.
The last stanza is very clever.

well done ๐Ÿ™‚

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison for your comments, have done the edit, cheers S


The island of the lost and found (posted on: 15-02-13)
.

Proud to play in concrete and glass, trapped by turmoil and toil, blink to catch myself, warning sign calls, lost, my mind breaks, applied. Time with comets tail, some say wasted hours, mused of Plato and Jackie Collins, thoughts too easily read, plan a point on the horizon. Pick up health and no signal, walk barefoot on spinal knots, dribble dried rivers by pools clocks, forgot, found coffee, pastry and myself.
Archived comments for The island of the lost and found
japanesewind on 15-02-2013
The island of the lost and found
"barefoot on spinal knots" conjures up such thought......D

Author's Reply:
Yes, Good for relieving stress I believe. S
thanks for your comment

orangedream on 16-02-2013
The island of the lost and found
Wonderful choice of vocabulary, Savvi. Very much enjoyed.

Tina

Author's Reply:
Hi Tina Thank you for your comment and taking the time. S


Coin Exchange (posted on: 15-02-13)
My one for last weeks challenge-Crown

Come over here Sir, let me take your hat there, come and relax in my chair. I'll shine your shoes, you can't lose, read all about them in the evening news. Just half a Crown, and don't you frown, or that big bloke will knock you down. Don't you run, he's got a gun, only joking where's your sense of fun? Let's have your purse, please don't curse, If you struggle it'll make it worse. Have your hat there, get out of my chair, time you were on your way, Sir. Someone please, stop these thieves, better check their pockets, and look up their sleeves. What's going on? Don't' try and run, you'll be in prison before the day is done. Officer, we wouldn't dare, this gent here tried to pinch my chair, put us down and here's a crown here's another not to get sent down. Be on your way and mind you stay away from me or I'll have my day. This isn't funny, they stole my money, you're a disgrace, bribes to you seem common place. Now listen Sir, life isn't fair, when you try to steal a chair, but don't you frown, here's a Crown, now be on your way or I'll take you down.
Archived comments for Coin Exchange
franciman on 15-02-2013
Coin Exchange
Hi Savvi,
I love the street atmospherics of this. Poetry as drama which reminded me vividly of Eminem. Would have been my winner.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Jim for your kind comments, its interesting to me that you link it with rap, I may even try to work out how to post the audio. Cheers S

Mikeverdi on 15-02-2013
Coin Exchange
Excellent!! it's a rap, just by another name. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike another rap, I can see it know. S

Ionicus on 16-02-2013
Coin Exchange
A good ripping yarn.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks for taking the time to read it, much appreciated. S

CVaughan on 16-02-2013
Coin Exchange
Natural conversational exchange throughout, an engaging tale. (Frank)

Author's Reply:
Thanks Frank, I have been playing around with different styles and although this is very basic I do quite enjoy the simplicity. Thank you for your comments. S

Weefatfella on 17-02-2013
Coin Exchange
 photo 615f3747-f93a-4017-925a-493d3a9cd963_zps9cdcaec0.jpg
Aye well done Savvi.
I could hear the beat throughout.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Was that a rap beat by any chance ๐Ÿ™‚ thanks for reading S

stormwolf on 14-03-2013
Coin Exchange
Hi Savvy
I thoroughly enjoyed this! What a difference to hear it recited. If I was reading it I would have got all pernickity about rhythm but spoken / sung it came alive and was like a mini opera. Bravo!

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison, alot of the comments were about rap so it inspired my to put the record straight since I had it in my head as a mini opera. I really enjoy your audio's as for me they add another dimension to your work and although I read your pieces out load, you do it much better. Cheers Keith


Tea and Biscuits (posted on: 11-02-13)
After a hard day in the garden.

The scent of cut grass drifts on the last of the evening's heat, house bricks radiate warmth from a day's baking, the fanfare of playful din has gone from street, bumbling Lancaster's are on their last mission , midges take flight tracing unseen lissajous figures. The garden, at its best carries colour, vibrant and balanced, sunk on our kissing chair, noses burnt from the days offering, tea cups stand proud above a plate of biscuits, ripe for the dunking, tired bodies capture rested moments quiet and calm, the sun's angle allows eye's to stretch into cooling shade. Stella makes us laugh, snapping at a hover fly, too hot to move from her cool spot under the Maple, her panting adds urgency to a parched mouth, best china clinks, little fingers rise to the occasion, the dryness of the day runs golden amber. Contentment closes our eyes and slides us back in our seats, we bathe in brief sunlight that falls beneath the trees, sleep finds my lolling head and thoughts nod unfinished, landing tiptoed birds listen for their supper with cocked heads, a token bark breaks our trance, just in time, for another biscuit.
Archived comments for Tea and Biscuits
Weefatfella on 11-02-2013
Tea and Biscuits
 photo 615f3747-f93a-4017-925a-493d3a9cd963_zps9cdcaec0.jpg
A lazy summers day well portrayed.
I'm sure I heard a bee.
Thanks for sharing this at this cold time of year ,It warmed me.
Weefatfella

Author's Reply:
I hate the cold, and although snow is still fun, I want some sun.

karen123 on 11-02-2013
Tea and Biscuits
I cannot wait for the summer to be and to be out in my garden (which at the moment resembles a swamp)
A beautiful poem echoing my favorite way to end the day

Author's Reply:
yes I agree roll on summer, thanks for your comment, much appreciated. S

ValDohren on 13-02-2013
Tea and Biscuits
Forgotten what summer's like here in GB - lets hope this year will be one like that portrayed in your very descriptive and atmospheric poem.

Val ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val, fingers crossed. S

Andrea on 14-02-2013
Tea and Biscuits
Ooooh, lovely - I felt the sun! It's still snowing here!

Author's Reply:
I've had enough of snow ๐Ÿ™ thanks for your comment S


Four hour warning (posted on: 11-02-13)
an edit on an earlier poetry challenge.

I could have run with the others, a deserter ahead of the holocaust, but what would I gain.? Instead, I sit relaxed, accept what will be; make the most of these hourglass fragments, at home with good friends and family. We drink wine and dine on a light lunch with laughter, contemplate the complicated nature of politics and war, take time to linger, trying to understand our goodbyes. I study her face in ways I once lost with youth, kissing her lips with apologies of moments missed, a cauldron of life's passion, still boiling in her green eyes. My voice chokes as I read out fugitive pieces, poetry collections of memories and special places, I wanted my tracks to be seen, set in the concrete of existence. The words were hard to find, lost to crumpled paper and interruption, hidden from my pen, they still elude me now, but these people know me, even now they massage my frailties. I stand, a fiction of my own words, no need for veils anymore, I could never create the colours that allow words to live, a world beyond my capture but not beyond regret. The sirens have stopped; I reach for familiar hands, foreheads touch, lips trace a brushed kiss before we hug; I face the window to watch our departure, my soul faces the door to imagine our next journey.
Archived comments for Four hour warning
stormwolf on 11-02-2013
Four hour warning
Fab, Savvi.
A very intense piece and one I have personally thought of many times. What would we do if / when we know it's the end.
All the little things and the desire to savour the moment among those we love.
I wish it was not even a potential but the way things are going, who knows?

On the crit side I feel you could have worked on the layout. Shorter lines can add emphases in all the right places...

see below

The words were hard to find,
lost to crumpled paper and interruption,
hidden from my pen,
they still elude me now,
but these people know me,
even now
they massage my frailties.

(just one way and only a suggestion of course)

but a very meaningful piece, well rounded off by the potency of the last stanza. *thumbs up*

Alison x


Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison much appreciated comments I like how the layout looks in your example and it also helps with the flow thanks. S

cooky on 11-02-2013
Four hour warning
I like this it portrays the feelings of a refugee and the uncertain future. Excellent write

Author's Reply:
Thanks cooky, glad you caught these feelings. S

Mikeverdi on 11-02-2013
Four hour warning
Stunning, I loved the way the poem deals with feelings that we would all face. In a way those of us facing the possibility of an early demise due to illness face a similar decision. Mike

Author's Reply:
Yes, not sure how I would react to a nuclear warning, probably more like Pickey from Dads Army. Thanks for your comments S

butters on 11-02-2013
Four hour warning
interesting development, Savvi - I loved the original, scary as it was; this rewrite allows more room for contemplative language and doesn't, for me, hold the same urgency or immediacy I felt before.

the first held more impact for me, but this gentler write takes me more places.

Author's Reply:
I agree have just come back to it and it feels a bit wordy now, will try to find balance as wanted to introduce, she, beforethe last stanza. Thanks S

Pronto on 12-02-2013
Four hour warning
I didn't see the original but this is exceptional work Savvi I think we all have had these thoughts at one time but I for one have never seen them more eloquently put.
great write poet thanks for sharing.

Author's Reply:
Pronto, many thanks for your kind words, I think we all have thought what we would do. Cheers S


The Sound of Infidelity (posted on: 08-02-13)
Find a glass and listen through the wall

Animal magnets, desperate wives, desperate husbands, separate lives. Grapple and grope, behind hidden walls, bum shuffle up stairs, wheelbarrow in the hall. Trembling knees, squeak table legs, hairpiece falls off as rhythm shakes heads. The horn of plenty, blows all too soon, cold light and clarity, brings weight to your room.
Archived comments for The Sound of Infidelity
Bozzz on 09-02-2013
The Sound of Infidelity
There was a big ad on the wall above the shop in the Edgware Rod . "Our beds are guaranteed for 1000 bonks". Well that's at least a year unless you are in the trade....Bozzz

Author's Reply:
A year my god I have some catching up to do. ๐Ÿ™‚ S

Andrea on 10-02-2013
The Sound of Infidelity
Ah yes, indeed - was it worth it, eh?

Author's Reply:
I shoudn't imagine it is, not something I would do. S

Weefatfella on 10-02-2013
The Sound of Infidelity
 photo UKABueeyedhush.gif



Ooooh Mmmmyyyy.



May I, if you please, add a line to your verse?

( cold light and clarity,brings weight to your room.



Go without knickers for a sure grip on your broom.)

The wheelbarrow's position is good but I prefer the galvanised bucket over the head and hold onto the handle.

Really enjoyed this savvi.



Thank you for sharing.



Weefatfella

Author's Reply:
Feel free, I like the line but must the bucket be galvanised ?


A Simple Lie (posted on: 08-02-13)
.

I was 17, why tell the lie? so I'd shame you and blame you? my first, the gym teacher why did you lie? to fuel my angry mob? so I'd poor petrol on the school? melting my dreams fusing nylon to my skin. later when I asked him, if he could ever? with me like this, he lied again.
Archived comments for A Simple Lie
stormwolf on 10-02-2013
A Simple Lie
Hi Savvi
I think it's well known that I do not particularly enjoy poetry that does not have capitals or punctuation. Just one of my foibles ๐Ÿ˜‰
I feel this poem does not make clear exactly what it's all about and with a tiny bit of tweaking could be very powerful.
Try to read it as though you are the reader ๐Ÿ˜‰
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison,I will have a look. S


Comments? (posted on: 04-02-13)
Comments?

I've posted a thread, wonder what was said, Comments? Poem was for me, don't care what they see, Comments? It's dropped of the list, it's gonna get missed, Comments? I've only got this one thread, that 64 fuckers have read, Comments? Ok it's officially shite man, not even starwars, write you can, Comments? I would just like to say, I've only checked 98 times today, Comments? Shrink says let it go, but what the fuck would he know, Comments 1 Hooray, Dave from Newcastle thinks its top shelf, It's a pity I'm Dave and I wrote to myself.
Archived comments for Comments?
Nomenklatura on 04-02-2013
Comments?
No comment....
๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Sometimes the best comment is no comment at all ๐Ÿ™‚

stormwolf on 04-02-2013
Comments?
I think we have all been there ๐Ÿ˜‰
Made me smile.
On the crit side....needs attention to detail as a few mistakes ;-(

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Tahnks Alison much appreciated ๐Ÿ™‚ S

bo_duke99 on 04-02-2013
Comments?
that nasty ?

Author's Reply:
Well it would be but clearly it doesn't apply to this site ๐Ÿ™‚

Ionicus on 04-02-2013
Comments?
If it's comments that you want, here are two:
1) 'Shrink say's' should be 'Shrink says'
2) On the penultimate line, 'thinks its top shelf,' should be 'thinks it's top shelf,.
There are also a few stray commas.

Author's Reply:
I guess I asked for that ๐Ÿ™‚

ValDohren on 04-02-2013
Comments?
Great Savvi, and I know just what you mean !!

Val ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val, I know this very well but not at UKA S

KristerJones on 04-02-2013
Comments?
Been there and done that! I liked the way the language got angrier as the piece progressed. I'm a big fan of anger in comedy ๐Ÿ™‚

Kris

Author's Reply:

Andrea on 04-02-2013
Comments?
So here's another one ๐Ÿ™‚

Made me laugh. Comments come and go, much like lovers ๐Ÿ™‚ Persevere, I say!

Author's Reply:
Persy vearance are my middle names. ๐Ÿ™‚ Happy you laughed S

discopants on 05-02-2013
Comments?
Plenty of comments this time- loved the last couplet- made me chuckle.

Author's Reply:
Thanks discopants and thats a fine name, I like it so much I'm going to say it again Discopants

Bozzz on 05-02-2013
Comments?
Try writing your own. You get the thrill of a new message, but also the sadness when you realise it is your shadow talking. Go to my second posting today for the next step !...Bozzz

Author's Reply:
I have tried writing my own, but I'm dull and boring, infact I'm Dave from Newcastle, your comment was top shelf.

Miel on 06-02-2013
Comments?
I guess we've all been through this phase, only you voice it so well!

Author's Reply:
Yes and we will again, the law of the jungle dictates you have to give to recieve and as a slave to the reader I'm just fine with that. Thanks for your kind comment S


Trick (posted on: 04-02-13)
Something written for Halloween

White sheets, raining sweets, finger-holes for eyes, little steps, out with pets, door knocked surprise. Rain mac's, candle wax, fright night parade, Goblin hobb, graves to rob, costumes ready-made. Light dims, sharp-teeth grins, pumpkin shadow stare, darkness falls, doorbell calls, press me if you dare. Open door, six or more, hands outstretched for treats, behind my back, in a sack, a home-made head and sweets.
Archived comments for Trick
bo_duke99 on 04-02-2013
Trick
kept picking up pace into a frenzy, smart

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment I read it like that too. S

Mikeverdi on 04-02-2013
Trick
Great rhyme, I loved it. Mike

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Mike, much appreciated. S

Andrea on 04-02-2013
Trick
Ooooh, lovely! *shivers*

Author's Reply:
Ha glad you shivered, cheers. S

Bozzz on 05-02-2013
Trick
Delightful Savvi - much to savour, well done. ...Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Much appreciated Bozzz, thanks for the kind words. S

Kazzmoss on 06-02-2013
Trick
Conjured up Halloween brilliantly with its short snappy words. One query, a home made head? Was she entering into the spirit of things to scare them as they had the sweets, was I reading that correctly. Loved it though! Haha, spirit of things - untended pun!

Author's Reply:
Sorry late with reply, yes the head was used to scatter them like bowling balls, works every year ๐Ÿ˜‰ Savvi

Kazzmoss on 06-02-2013
Trick
Conjured up Halloween brilliantly with its short snappy words. One query, a home made head? Was she entering into the spirit of things to scare them as they had the sweets, was I reading that correctly. Loved it though! Haha, spirit of things - untended pun!

Author's Reply:
Yes a head, If I hold it by the hair and shake it the blood red rubber worms hanging from its neck wiggle, always good for a high pitched scream, funny I always have sweets left over. ๐Ÿ™‚ Thanks for your comment

Ionicus on 06-02-2013
Trick
Good snappy rhymes, Savvy. The poem conveys perfectly the Halloween atmosphere.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind words Ionicus, much appreciated.

Pronto on 07-02-2013
Trick
Excellent poem mate it arose to the the spirit of the occasion! ๐Ÿ˜‰

Author's Reply:
Thanks pronto much appreciated. S


33 rpm (posted on: 01-02-13)
Senryu

lake, shining flat disc lightning stylus touches record fish smell the ozone
Archived comments for 33 rpm
japanesewind on 01-02-2013
33 rpm
Savvi really good thinking this, fab imagery, what a sight to see for real!!....

quick thought "fish" would scan better and is plural in this case I think.

I wondered if the strike killed them at first but assume they are still alive "because they can "smell" so they must have been forced to the surface.

Once again, well done..........David

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your help and comment david have changed to Fish, actually hundreds were stunned and floated to the surface, The smell of ozone was very real and an image I will never forget, I had just come in off the lake. S

japanesewind on 01-02-2013
33 rpm
Boy oh boy, what a thing to witness, you portrayed it brilliantly...D

Author's Reply:
Yes it was, made me feel very small. Thanks S

butters on 01-02-2013
33 rpm
great how you get us to see this and the originality behind it.



could it be cut further, d'ya think? for example, 'shining' seems obsolete - this is water, water tends to shine/glisten/gleam and other linked watery words. by sharpening the moment the immediacy of the strike hits harder, imo. so, perhaps something like:

on lake's flat disc
lightning's stylus
fish gasp ozone

maybe 'sleek' instead of flat . . . just thoughts, feel free to ignore them ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the pointers I will have a think before the edit. S


Man Made Monster (posted on: 01-02-13)
Vulnerable people can easily be changed into something unrecognisable when placed in the wrong care.

Beaten down to filthy floor, Cockroaches know my game, flickering elevator to hell, whispers that we're all insane. Manic strokes on calloused legs, buckled tight my mind takes leave, concrete walls that watch me sleep, struggle till cramped limbs concede. Through teeth bled by guarded hands, inflicted pain with sticks concealed, spittle runs to blood tiled floors, the monsters makers are revealed. Piss myself to gain your stage, wild eyes have brought their fight, the arms I bite bare my name, Moths have stained my naked light.
Archived comments for Man Made Monster
stormwolf on 01-02-2013
Man Made Monster
Hi Savvi ๐Ÿ™‚
Very stark imagery portraying a nightmare scenario. The rhythm needs a bit of work to make it tip-top.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks I will have a look at the meter I always have to go back.

Miel on 01-02-2013
Man Made Monster
A dark and haunting write

Author's Reply:
Thanks Miel, trying to make a point S

Bozzz on 02-02-2013
Man Made Monster
I feel there is deep sympathy behind the lines, as well as the obvious anger. Tempted to feel that some imagery is OTT, but you may well be correct. Agree with Alison, some lines need polishing to improve beat and flow.
Good agressive poem, worthy of focused improvement Miel.... Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Thanks Bozzz I agree with your comments espacially OTT, I will try to fix the meter and round off some edges Savvi

Weefatfella on 03-02-2013
Man Made Monster
Photobucket
When people are put in this position they can only fight with the weapons they have. (I witnessed nursing home carers patronising an old friend of mine with baby-talk.
They didn't know he was an ex SAS instructor with many years experience. I let them know, they soon stopped it.)
Thank you for sharing this frightening but all too true piece. Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Ha good for you, yes I have seen this in various disguises one common theme bullies.

cooky on 03-02-2013
Man Made Monster
A dark truth which I fear still exists in many institutions. A write which gives us a reality check. Excellent

Author's Reply:
True and many outher aspects of life. S

ValDohren on 03-02-2013
Man Made Monster
It's hard to believe that such things go on in the 21st century, but they do, and will continue until the powers that be take sufficient interest and put a stop to it once and for all. Very good read - 3rd v line 4 - monsters makers, I wonder should this read monster makers, or monster's makers.

Val ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Two good points you make the later one I can fix in the edit,if only the first one was as simple. S


A miracle on ward 7 (posted on: 28-01-13)
Prose Workshop challenge 'Observations from a hospital bed'

''Hello, can you tell me your name? Don't go to sleep, look at me, do we know his name?'' The paramedics voice sounded busy as it faded away letting her hands take over, moving all the time, securing straps and braces, injecting liquids. In a muffled voice, she asked me the same questions repeatedly until I passed out. I had always wanted to travel in a speeding ambulance, lights and sirens parting the red sea of cars but not with a face that had been smashed like a pumpkin. The surgeon worked all night rebuilding what was left of my nose, eye socket and jaw. He seemed quite proud of the achievements, for days after he brought all sort of strange individuals to my bed, nodding sagely at the backlit x-ray, strutting like pigeons during courtship, I often wished I had a gun. Sometimes one of the lower life forms would stoop to ask me an open question; I took great delight in showing them two fingers. As the healing process started my wife's daily visits to the ward became more and more irritating. My brain had lost control of my re-wired mouth so we had very little to say to each other and to be honest, you can only listen to what she bought from Tesco's so many times before your you start looking for sharp objects. None the less I tried to communicate, starting simply ''Mie nmss Powl , very good, my names Paul ''she repeated, repeated every bleeding time I said it, I wouldn't mind but her name's Carol. Needless to say, our relationship suffered, as did she, with two bus rides each day just to listen to a grumpy git moaning all the time. One bright busy morning, four nurses, two doctors and a cleaner descended on my room, Oh, I now had my own room due to ''antisocial behaviour'', and apparently you can't urinate on other patients when they moan all night, blatantly begging for drugs. Sorry where was I, Oh yes. They were all in my room and they had just brought in Richard, a young man in his thirties, he raised his hand and nodded a greeting as they wheeled him past the end of my bed. The cleaner told me later he was partially paralysed and had been brought in for some radical new procedure that was quite risky but worth it, a fifty percent chance of success, I told her to get some work done. She thanked me for the complement and said my speech was improving, Cow. Richard was a simple soul who read magazines and made woollen Penguins to sell for charity, I know; how sad is that? We were a right pair, I couldn't talk, he couldn't walk. Ward 7 was our prison and most of the time he didn't talk while I walked him around in a wheel chair. On the odd occasion he did open up, he mentioned a group he had studied with. The group leader was a lay preacher called Joel, whom he believed, had the God given power of faith healing. The group were seven strong and totally devoted to Joel's teachings. The last group meeting had been held in honour of Richard for his bravery in opting to undergo the surgery and they had promised to hold a healing session when he came out of the operation. Grey skies and dark moods had depressed our small corner of the hospital; Richard spoke only to humour my feeble attempts at speech and he'd even stopped trying to hobble around on crutches. He had been out of surgery now for nearly three weeks, without so much as a twinge in his legs or a come by yah from his so called friendship group. My speech wasn't improving and I still had two operations planned to try and create some movement in my lower jaw, I wasn't hopeful. Our mood was lifted slightly as the cleaner blustered in announcing that Richard had some visitors. She then spent the next ten minutes clucking round like a mad mother hen with OCD before agreeing, with herself, that the room was presentable and disappearing through the door. We heard the visitors before we saw them ''Oh happy day, Oh happy day'', I started to look for sharp objects again as Richard started to clap in time with the singing, his mood instantly lifted. The first one in through the door, I took to be Joel as he slid in arms open wide ''Richie, Richie, Richie, give me some love'' as they hugged I glanced at the sick bag on my bedside table. The door opened again as the other five pilled in, still singing and closely followed by the cleaner who I'm sure had put on some makeup and fixed her hair? either way she was beaming. The singing petered out and Joel spoke ''Richard do you remember our promise'', Richard nodded with a half smile as he squeezed Joel's hand, Joel didn't let go ''do you feel the power'' he shouted ''do you feeeel the power ''he shrieked again, all five voices and Richie answered together ''we feel the power, I can't hear you, we feeeel the power'' at this point the room had reached fever pitch and the cleaner burst into action. She moved like a well trained magician's assistant, passing Richard his crutches she pulled him upright then ushered me onto the bed next to him. Joel spoke again this time to me, ''tell me friend how can we heal you'' I was reaching for my two fingered salute when Richard spoke ''this is Paul and he has difficulty with his speech'' on cue the curtain was drawn around us and the chanting began, it created a rhythmic back beat that the faith healer used to move his words. ''Children of Jesus, we are here today, in your service, feel the power of god racing through your hearts healing the sick, curing the lame, the lord hears your names. Dear lord hear us, Richard needs to walk, dear lord hear us, Paul need his speech back, dear lord hear us, heal your children, heal your children, heal your children, heal your children'' the chant built into a crescendo and Joel boomed over the top of it. ''Richard, throw away your crutches'', Richard let them fall to the floor, ''Paul speak to us''. ''Witchrds fawon owerr'' , he had clattered to the floor and I couldn't stop laughing, big belly laughs that hurt my sides, the curtain swished open and the cleaner helped Richard to the bed, he looked upset and I was still laughing, the congregation hurried away in single file each glancing back before passing through the door, the room fell silent except for my laughter. I looked at Richard and we both burst out laughing, with deep breaths we managed to slow the laughter down, ''Waat a woad of bowocks'' I said putting my hand on his shoulder. The cleaner was the last to leave, her glance back was more deliberate than the others, through laughing eyes I noticed her face, she seemed completely at ease as she glided through the doorway, the faintest of smiles broke on her lips as she bowed her head and closed her eyes. My stomach turned, laughter died in my chest, everyone had gone. Richard was still laughing and rubbing at the pain in his knees. I looked at Richard and started again, we laughed until our jaws ached.
Archived comments for A miracle on ward 7
bluepootle on 28-01-2013
A miracle on ward 7
I love the moment when Richard falls over, and the use of mangled language from the narrator - really well done. Nice ending too, although maybe I wouldn't have it spoken aloud (that he can feel his legs and the jaw is better). I think showing and not telling, and them looking at each other, amazed, then laughing some more, might make it really strong.

I like the curmudgeonly attitude of the narrator too. Lots of fun.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comments I will have a go in the edit. Many thanks, all makes sense. S

TheBigBadG on 28-01-2013
A miracle on ward 7
There are a few typos in here (compliment for example) but the one that I'd change as a priority is the question mark on 'Penguins to sell for charity?' because it changes the tone and sense.

That said, the narrator is really good, very genuine, human and very likeable under all the misanthropy. I did chuckle when he says, โ€œWitchrds fawon owerrโ€. It cuts through the over-sincerity of the God-squad at just the right time. I'd take Blue's suggestion about leaving their miraculous recovery unspoken as well, it's clear enough and I prefer the idea that they're too busy laughing to notice.

In fact, I'd also lose the line where he's nice about his wife entirely. Just whip out 'I love her to bits and couldnโ€™t cope without her, so Iโ€™ll stop grumbling on'. He's charming because he's such a misanthrope; this is the man who gives the 'lower life forms' the finger after all. I love the idea that she treks in every day to tell him nothing whilst he says the same thing to her over and over again, it's a bit like The Twits. I don't want him to be nice...

Author's Reply:
All good advice, thank you for your considered comment I will use it in the edit. S

butters on 28-01-2013
A miracle on ward 7
โ€œWitchrds fawon owerrโ€

*wipes tears of laughter from eyes*

that was priceless!

ok, ahem ... *chuckles some more*

maybe you need to show how Witchrds feeling's returned, maybe have him slapping his leg and saying 'ouch' to which mr grumpy opens his mouth wide in surprise? summat along those lines. loved the whole idea and characterisation you have going on here, but please howabout some spaces inbetween your paragraphs? it hurt my eyes :O

โ€œWitchrds fawon owerrโ€

hahaahahahahahaa

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comments, they are really appreciated. I hadn't noticed the lack of spacing it is all a bit busy, I've never written anything this long before. Cheers. Savvi

Mikeverdi on 31-01-2013
A miracle on ward 7
I note from your reply to butters that you say you haven\'t written anything this long before, well you have now! Take butters advice and space it; It will read so much better. I made the same mistake and had the same advice... It worked. It\'s a great and VERY funny story; more of the same please! Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike for the kind comments, I will keep trying. I have spaced it know and changed the ending as per others suggestions so it looks and feels a bit better, I hope. S

expat on 02-02-2013
A miracle on ward 7
An entertaining piece with a genuinely funny ending. Your 'voice' wavered a little but Paul's personality shone through.
As others have mentioned, the formatting needs some attention: double spacing between lines and dedicated speech sentences would make this a lot easier to read.

Keep it up!
Steve ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Steve I find these pieces quite a challenge so your comments help a great deal. S

Andrea on 02-02-2013
A miracle on ward 7
Great stuff, Savvi - thoroughly enjoyed!

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea, I have enjoyed writing this one but takes me a long time. S

e-griff on 10-02-2013
A miracle on ward 7
Very good story, kept my attention. Only let down was the erratic (and sometimes absent) punctuation, which you need to improve. This would of course then help the pacing of the story.

Author's Reply:
Ah if only it were that simple, but thanks for the advice. S


If old raincoats could talk (posted on: 28-01-13)
If old raincoats could talk

Once, drunk and out dancing I slid off a bar stool he didn't even notice, I was carried home and left to dry out; on a chair. We used to stride on Lakeland fells wind lashed lake side paths, keeping close we kept each other warm, I held mint cake he had the guide map. Now if we go walking it's late at night, he's ashamed to be seen with me and feels the cold rain passing through thin skin, I hold dog biscuits and scented bags. A cig in the garden if I'm lucky we never really go out any more, when we do it always seems to rain, anyway that mirror in the hall makes me look tired. Ohhh but one more chance to feel sun softening my shoulders, thrown down in long grass, picnic blanket pillow talk, too hot to walk, dusty tracks arms wrapped round his neck, piggyback.
Archived comments for If old raincoats could talk
bo_duke99 on 28-01-2013
Grey Regatta
'passing through thin skin' - that's what this did to me, super

Author's Reply:
Glad you like it, I enjoy writting for the challenges, Cheers S

japanesewind on 28-01-2013
Grey Regatta
Thanks for this Savvi, gave me a good smile..D

Author's Reply:
A good smile is good enough for me. Thanks S

butters on 28-01-2013
Grey Regatta
the end creates a perfect contrast with the very british beginning - has it all come to this? dog biscuits and scented bags?



slid off, not of



i feel the punctuation choices could use some looking at, Savvi - they come across as a bit sporadic in places, seasoned a bit heavily elsewhere.



yearning for things gone is such a human trait - don't let it get in the way of what the future could be, given the right direction ๐Ÿ™‚



why regatta? the serried ranks of clouds sailing the sky?



that final image, though, is what stays with me - it's such a happy one.

Author's Reply:
For an old Regatta (Brand Name sorry no poetic link) raincoat three generations down the pecking order, dog biscuits and scented bags is all it\'s fit for, Lol a bit like me.

Thanks for spotting spelt wrongs, and I agree the punctuation needs a good trim, not sure what I was thinking. Savvi

franciman on 29-01-2013
Grey Regatta
I am left feeling responsible for a ladies regrets.
Maybe I am wrong but that is what this says to me.
Well written but I cannot in all honesty feel your pain. Sorry!
cheers,
Jim


Author's Reply:
Thanks Jim, I dont really have any pain in this, its the Old thrid generation raincoat that feels the pain, still loves me and longs for the days we once shared... er in its role as a raincoat....god who writes this crap. ๐Ÿ™‚ Savvi

Oh and I tried to link it to growing old and a sense of times lost.

Thanks for your feedback

Mikeverdi on 29-01-2013
Grey Regatta
Not going to crit. this, just going to say I liked it a lot. Mike

Author's Reply:
Mike I am very happy to recieve crit and I nearly always make changes based on it, thanks for your comment. S

Andrea on 29-01-2013
Grey Regatta
Liked it a lot too, Savvi ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea much appreciated. S

Slovitt on 29-01-2013
Grey Regatta
savvi: lot of emotion, and need. last line first stanza reads awkardly, perhaps, last 2 lines of the stanza

......
......
when we do it seems to rain.
the hall mirror makes me look tired.

the above the idea and not necessarily a final phraseology, a finger pointing to the moon, not the moon itself.

perhaps cut "even" 3rd line 2nd stanza.

3rd line, 3rd stanza perhaps, "keeping close to keep each other warm."

not sure how much of your last stanza, the emotion, you want to go on with i.e. 2 or 3, or even 4, well chosen lines might be more effective.

all in all, despite the suggestions, your piece communicates what you came to paper to say. good job wrestling it into lines. swep

Author's Reply:
swep Thanks for your feedback and crit I will use it in the edit, Many thanks for your comments also S

butters on 29-01-2013
Grey Regatta
blimey, Savvi - i entirely missed that this was the voice of the raincoat ๐Ÿ˜ฎ i honestly thought it a feminine voice, but as soon as i read your reply it all jumped into sharp-focus. please acept my apologies for dense-headedness ๐Ÿ˜€

Author's Reply:
I do this alot its not you, I try not to be too obvious and the origin of the voice gets lost, anyway its good that understand so it can be considered in the edit. Cheers S

Slovitt on 29-01-2013
Grey Regatta
savvi: reading jan's remarks, i too missed the speaker was the raincoat. reads much differently, clears up a few things.
swep

Author's Reply:
Again this is good feedback thanks, this is why I enjoy the workshop challenge so much, especially the workshop bit. S

CVaughan on 29-01-2013
Grey Regatta
I really wondered where people would take this subject, trying to find them all. The coat's pov idea is neat and developed in this, appreciated greatly. Not a crit as such - don't have any, well handled by you with more care than the poem's raincoat. (FranK)

Author's Reply:
There are some great poems on this topic and its great to see how they spin away from the same theme, love it, Thanks for your comment. S

franciman on 30-01-2013
Grey Regatta
Savvi, when it clicks into place it finds me a different person.
I now feel dense, and positively heel-like in my earlier churlish response.
This is very clever. Wonderful modern allegory. Like it very much.
cheers,
Jim (a faded cagoule)

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jim, as said previously I very often put stuff down that readers miss due to lack of clarity on my part, this ones a classic for that, still, glad you like it. S

butters on 30-01-2013
Grey Regatta
perhaps Grey Regatta: from a raincoat, darkly...

? ๐Ÿ˜€ might give us who didn't see the pov a pointer

Author's Reply:
The original title was, If raincoats could talk, that would have done the trick, actually being obvious in the title is a good idea and one I shall adopt on future ventures ๐Ÿ™‚ PS it took me ages to work out what POV was, there's no hope for me. S

stormwolf on 31-01-2013
Grey Regatta
Hi Savvy

As a late-comer to this poem all the work has been done for me ๐Ÿ˜‰
I have to say that when I read it I also thought it was a woman's voice ;-(
When I see it was the raincoat talking it becomes a really, really good poem which I feel needs changing in some way or everyone who ever reads it will miss the pouint. I mean, what's the point in having a good poem when the real meaning is too easily mis-read?
Maybe a change in the title? I don't know but to me at least, this misunderstanding really goes against how good the poem really is. I am giving it an8 but it would have been a nine if it had been clearer.

It can be hard to remember that just because we (the writer) understands the poem, we cannot take it as given that the reader does as well.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
I agree Alison, and this happens quite alot to me, I will try and sort it out , thanks for your comments. S

Savvi on 31-01-2013
If old raincoats could talk
Thank you to every one for the help and pointers I've had a re jig to improve the opening and to try and set up the last Stanza a bit better, and added the obvious title. Hope it works. S

Author's Reply:

teifii on 04-02-2013
If old raincoats could talk
I too did not rea;ise it was the raincoat's voice. Much better once I knew that. Maybe could do with a little tidying but basically very good poem, especially last verse.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comment teifii, hopefully its a bit neater now

stormwolf on 04-02-2013
If old raincoats could talk
Much better with different title *thumbs up*


Author's Reply:
Thanks Stormwolf I very much appreciate your words. S

purplespirit on 10-02-2013
If old raincoats could talk
A "talking" raincoat, the whole poem is a great and amazing idea and makes such an enjoyable read. Thanks for sharing this delightful little story. Purple

Author's Reply:
Sorry I missed this comment, I know it ages ago but I dont like lose ends, thanks you for you time. S

e-griff on 10-02-2013
If old raincoats could talk
Others have given views on how this might be improved, so I won't repeat them.



Despite the title, I didn't immediately recognise that the speaker was a raincoat. Nevertheless, it stood on its own as a picture of a woman grown tired of, which only heightened my admiration when I did realise. I can't immediately see how a clue could be given in the body of the poem, but it would be remarkably effective if it WAS kept quiet until the end and not given away in the title (for some). The kind of trick that makes someone reread with fresh,appreciative eyes-which can only be good.

Author's Reply:
Good advice, I didnt want to make it obvious at any point so I compromised with the title change, but I can see what you mean if the reveal only comes at the end, then I look clever and poeple will read again, but it would have to be dead obvious, I can do dead obvious, I will have a play thanks S


Walkers Kiss (posted on: 25-01-13)
I know it shouldn't have a title, rules are there to be broken ๐Ÿ™‚

No top to a spire trees sprinkle golden slippers moist warm mouth cold nose
Archived comments for Walkers Kiss
japanesewind on 25-01-2013
Walkers Kiss
Intriguing second line, enjoy thinking on this...D

Author's Reply:

jay12 on 25-03-2013
Walkers Kiss
I don't usually comment on Haikus as the comment is often longer than the written piece itself. But nice Haiku!

Jay. ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:


When Monsters Meet (posted on: 25-01-13)
Evil together

She's a; fret slidin, harley ridin, teeth grindin, tattoo hidin, boot kickin, cheek likin. Sunday school teacher He's a; throat chokin, fire stokin, cig smokin, loan brokin, head buttin, knife guttin. Corporate finance advisor Together they will do, whatever; the Devil says they can.
Archived comments for When Monsters Meet
Bozzz on 26-01-2013
When Monsters Meet
Delightful, skill and wit in all that's writ. mind-boggling ending, but sadly even what the Devil will do is now "ethically illegal" - whatever that term may mean.... Loved it...Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Unethical and illegal are this pairs middle names ๐Ÿ™‚ Thanks for the kind words Bozzz. S

ChairmanWow on 26-01-2013
When Monsters Meet
Half expected hitler meeting Stalin in Hell but this was a lot better. Enjoyed a lot.

Ralph

Author's Reply:
Thanks Ralph, much appreciated. S

Texasgreg on 28-01-2013
When Monsters Meet
Hehe, reminds me of my sister...

Someone in particular?

Greg ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Oh, I know many poeple that would fit the bill, I have led a very unsheltered life. S


Everything and the kitchen sink (posted on: 21-01-13)
Two weeks after finding out I had no job and a new loan on the house and a baby on the way, I hit the crumple zone. Thankfully nothing in life is ever a bad as it seems. I was doing the dishes at the time.

Hope has hit hot water, grease-paints my mask, stopped and stumbled from the rail, firm foot has tripped at last. Clock slows extended hours, wall ticks as pipe expands, circumstance weighs heavy, when in the hangman's hand. Tension twists and shudders lungs, eyes squeeze out my fears, strange man shouts, the bridge is out, still the danger wasn't clear. Whispers wait for me to wake, come down from that ledge, deafened by the drowning din, step closer to the edge. Shaken from my crumple zone, gaining claim on air, worries wiped, body straight, child steps on the stair. Are you ok daddy? spun the doctor with his cure, with cupped hands around warm cheeks, I lied, when I said; sure.
Archived comments for Everything and the kitchen sink
cooky on 21-01-2013
Everything and the kitchen sink
I like this. The panic is veiled, but its there.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comment, much appreciated. S

butters on 21-01-2013
Everything and the kitchen sink
the stuff we have to face in life... mostly, we survive.

strong, emotionally-charged write, savvi. i think your stuff sometimes makes me really uncomfortable - so it definitely engages and has impact.

Author's Reply:
Not too uncomfortable I hope, happy it works though, thanks for your considered comment. S

bo_duke99 on 22-01-2013
Everything and the kitchen sink
no lie, but you didn't know it yet

Author's Reply:
Very true nature finds a way, thank you for your comment S

Mikeverdi on 22-01-2013
Everything and the kitchen sink
This is jumping in at the deep end for the reader, I was in there with you. I know the 'crumple zone'. Well written. Mike

Author's Reply:
Very glad you had a connection, many thanks for your comments they are a bit scary those crumple zones I wouldn't want to find them too often ๐Ÿ™‚

orangedream on 22-01-2013
Everything and the kitchen sink
Strong stuff, Savvi. I can identify with it, as most can.

Tina

Author's Reply:
Thanks Tina, I think your right most people have at some point been overwhelmed but the situation or circumstance they find themselves in. Thanks for your comment. S

stormwolf on 23-01-2013
Everything and the kitchen sink
aww the last couple of lines were very poignant. God, I know the crimple zone very well. Hope things are better now.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks, its not a pretty place, the child on the stair is now 21 so only a memory. ๐Ÿ™‚ thank you for your comment. S

Andrea on 23-01-2013
Everything and the kitchen sink
Love it - stiff upper lip and all that!

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comment Andrea, yeh, what doesn't kill you an all that. ๐Ÿ™‚ S


Haiku (posted on: 21-01-13)
Haiku

Tectonic plate shifts huge ocean displacement friend's summer beach party
Archived comments for Haiku
butters on 21-01-2013
Haiku
scary

Author's Reply:
๐Ÿ™‚ thanks S

japanesewind on 21-01-2013
Haiku
multiple interpretation does the job for me, I think it was Basho who said, "revealing 80 percent is good, but revealing 60 percent is better" (something like that).



I like to think of it as meeting your first love.



seeya...D

Author's Reply:
Could be I like the twist, hadn't seen that. Thanks S

bo_duke99 on 22-01-2013
Haiku
good

Author's Reply:
Cheers bo_duke99. S

Andrea on 22-01-2013
Haiku
Tsunami sprang to mind! Correct syllables too AND a season - hard to do.

Author's Reply:
Tsunami it is, looks like I got it wrong ๐Ÿ™ S

e-griff on 22-01-2013
Haiku
With regard to syllables, this is 5-6-6 rather than the trad 5-7-5. It's also more subtle to use a 'season word' ie indication (snow is often overused) also, there is no definitive cutting.

But haiku is now applied to almost anything (see discussion thread) so you are not alone ๐Ÿ™‚ anyway, judging it as a short poem, it is an effective moment, even if not aclassic haiku.

Author's Reply:
Now listen sunshine I used all the correct syllables, but not necessarly in the right order.

Lol thanks for the feedback I was sure I counted them, will have to take my socks off next time. ๐Ÿ™‚ S

Texasgreg on 23-01-2013
Haiku
Well, at least they're appropriately dressed for the swim. ๐Ÿ˜‰
Tsunami came to mind for me as wellโ€ฆ


Greg ๐Ÿ™‚

Photobucket.

Author's Reply:
Tsuanmi it was, thanks for comment ๐Ÿ™‚

stormwolf on 23-01-2013
Haiku
I don't really understand Haikus but I got this one. I am sure they are very difficult to do.

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Glad you got it, I think the sillybubs are supposed to follow 5-7-5 but it changes each time I count.:) hey ho. Savvi

e-griff on 23-01-2013
Haiku
Given a discussion elesewhere (on Bozz's sonnet) it is interesting to note that the haiku is defined by syllabic count, which is not strictly applicable to most english verse (with rhythm), which accentual-syllabic and depends on stresses. Haiku, if you notice, has no stresses, it is 'flat' blank verse, presumably following the Japanese language style. Latin and greek and modern spanish are likewise 'flat' and poetry in those languages is syllabic, but in anglo saxon we have syllables that can be long, short, stressed ot unstressad and that's what makes rhythmic poetry difficult technically. Also, some syllables change stress and even length, depending on context.

ah me ...

I'm posting a classical (hopefully) haiku in the poetry challenge next week, so you can have a go back at me ...

JohnG

Author's Reply:
I didn't see your comments as anything but constructive, but I will have a go back at you ๐Ÿ™‚ it just sounds like fun, whatch out for them Sillybubs they hide behind words waiting to multiply.


Fine Art (posted on: 18-01-13)
For those who collect pieces of fine art hung on fridges and kitchen cupboards.

Wax me a rainbow paint it black scratch out a firework name on the back. fridge face sunshine office wall flowers colour me a garden kept quiet for hours. When felt tips have dried and chalks turned to dust inks stained your pocket in Crayons we trust.
Archived comments for Fine Art
Weefatfella on 18-01-2013
Fine Art
 photo UKABueeyedhush.gif

That's the best thing about Grand kids, Handing them back. Enjoyed.
Thanks for sharing.
Weefatfella

Author's Reply:
I dont have any yet but I'm sure I will hand them back. ๐Ÿ™‚

Kat on 18-01-2013
Fine Art
Enjoyed this very much.

Kat

Author's Reply:
Thanks Kat Much appreciated S.

karen123 on 18-01-2013
Fine Art
I loved this - my daughter has always been a drawer - and my kitchen is always covered in bit of her artwork - she is nearly 15 now and incredibly good
karen

Author's Reply:
We still have folders full, 17 and 20 years old Now, can seem to throw them out:)S.Thanks for your comment.

butters on 18-01-2013
Fine Art
what's not to love? you engaged me immediately by tapping into my own memories of not only collecting but creating those layered/scratched out pictures!

gotta love us some crayons *nods*

kind, funny, and warm

Author's Reply:
Ah someone who understands, such a strong memory for me, watching the colours come to life out of the darkness. Thanks for your comments S

Andrea on 18-01-2013
Fine Art
Nice one Savvi - if you frame them, they actually look quite posh. Damien Hirst eat yer heart out ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
I think weve got some like that aswell, they do look posher your spot on. Thanks for reading and commenting. S

franciman on 19-01-2013
Fine Art
You took me back to a time before I had to put a padlock on the fridge. A gladsome, happy message. Really enjoyed.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jim, yes as they grow they stop drawing and start eating and eating and eating a lock sounds a good idea. S

Ionicus on 19-01-2013
Fine Art
Nicely done. Happy memories.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Ionicus, much appreciated. S

cooky on 19-01-2013
Fine Art
I like this. Captures the memories of kids.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comment and taking the time to read. S

Romany on 19-01-2013
Fine Art
I loved the 'name on the back' line. That's a phrase I use almost every week day, so I really identified with this! Enjoyed.

Author's Reply:
Glad you connected with it using that phrase every week day means you have a tough Job and a fun job ๐Ÿ™‚ S Thanks for commenting.

bo_duke99 on 22-01-2013
Fine Art
ha, great!

Author's Reply:
Thanks bo. S


Selfish moments (posted on: 14-01-13)
***************************

Selfish moments, just before sleep iterations, ideas my head wants to keep, leg-sheets platted, covers thrown off, pillow turned over for cooler cloth. Lost to indulgence, questions I craft play out fantasy, time travel to the past, places and people, reversing regret spin back the clock, placing that bet. Change things around until I'm lost in a place, explore every detail, every possible case, quick to conclusion, sleep comes at last, my mind finds the answers to the questions it asked.
Archived comments for Selfish moments
Texasgreg on 14-01-2013
Selfish moments
Aye, then you awake to discover that you forgot the answer. Cycle continues, Lol.

Good write!

Greg ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Too true ๐Ÿ˜‰ Thanks Greg


The Old Man (posted on: 14-01-13)
A friends 50th in Conistan

Drunk as skunks on bluebird bitter, fifty years gone in a flicker, english breakfast clears the heads, cleaners poised to make the beds. The old man, calls down our names, start the ascent in Coniston rain, out of breath we pause to glance, lakeland colours, a fine romance. Make the summit bold and breathless, take a bite from left over breakfast, snow drops in to freeze my knees, squat down behind the kernels lea. Swollen tarns that ebb and flow, crossing when the gushing slows, calm behind the mountains might, sorry sun brings welcome light. Down we plod on farm and field, chit and chat keep spirits healed, back for baths and evening naps, tales of walks and friendly laughs. Last night so what can you do? village bound with the rest of the crew, bellies full and fighting fitter, drunk as skunks on bluebird bitter.
Archived comments for The Old Man
Weefatfella on 14-01-2013
The Old Man
Photobucket

Aye, sounds good tae me. I love the lake district. my favourite beer is Hartleys XB. I enjoyed the breathless hike.
Thank you for sharing.
Weefatfella.

Author's Reply:
Mine too, Hartleys XB gets me drunk too quick ๐Ÿ™‚ S Thanks

Ionicus on 14-01-2013
The Old Man
Good poem. I particularly like the first two lines.
the following:
"we start the ascent in Coniston rain,
out of breath we pause to glance,
lakeland colours, a fine romance."
reminded me of a similar excursion, many years ago while attending a seminar in Bowness. When we reached the summit I wasn't any fitter, simply breathless.
Well done.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comments, walks like this leave me Knackered:) S

cooky on 14-01-2013
The Old Man
loved the rythm of this . Excellent write

Author's Reply:
Many thanks for your comment. S

butters on 14-01-2013
The Old Man
enjoyed reading this, savvi ๐Ÿ˜€

old man - is that the name of a hill/mountainous outcrop?

this one made me smile with its simplicity and engaging tone.

Author's Reply:
The Old Man is the Mountain behind the village of Coniston. S Many thanks

karen123 on 14-01-2013
The Old Man
I have been to Conistan 3 or 4 times now - it was cold and wet on each visit - but beautiful. Your poem reminded me of walking miles then coming back for hot chocolate (as I don't drink)
Thanks for bringing back these memories - it was a lovely poem

karen

Author's Reply:
Always wet, I prefer Hot chocolate only drink bitter due to peer pressure ๐Ÿ˜‰ thank you for your comment S

Bozzz on 15-01-2013
The Old Man
Butters is right, the key to this one is the simplicity together with well chosen words in a breathless journey. Felt I would not have been able to keep up the pace - in fact I rather enjoyed not being with you! Very good poem....Bozzz

Author's Reply:
I am a simple soul, you would have enjoyed it. Thanks for your time S

Mikeverdi on 16-01-2013
The Old Man
Love the flow of this one, I too have visited in both rain and shine. 'drunk as skunks on bluebird bitter, fifty years gone in a flicker' this resonated with me ๐Ÿ™‚ Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike Drunk as skunks is pretty cliche but it felt right, rain or shine you gotta love the lakes Oh and the bitter ๐Ÿ™‚ S

Texasgreg on 18-01-2013
The Old Man
Aye! Will grab a few tall ones and travel there in my mind as you have taken me there.

Good job!

Greg ๐Ÿ™‚

Photobucket.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Texas Greg, much appreciated, have one for me ๐Ÿ™‚

GESimons on 28-01-2013
The Old Man
This is a lovely recount of a social affair.

Could easily be adapted into a snappy short story for me this one.

Author's Reply:
very true, and one I would enjoy writting, thanks for the idea. S


No Fire Flies here (posted on: 11-01-13)
No Fire Flies here

Don't look to me for dance and dazzle, to be part of your wistful, romance and bejazzle Understand this, as we sparkle trace sky's we hear you sigh, as our life slips by So don't book, me, for your sticky summer kiss, shinning bright, brings an end to all this. Born without a light you see, next year I'll be 53, So go on, move along, there's nothing to see.
Archived comments for No Fire Flies here
orangedream on 11-01-2013
No Fire Flies here
I like this one, Savvi. It made me smile;-)

Tina

Author's Reply:
Thanks Tina
Glad you liked it, thanks for your comment. S

Texasgreg on 12-01-2013
No Fire Flies here
Don't get the "next year" part, but lovely visuals for me in this 'un.

Greg ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Hi greg was just a quip aimed at FF short life span, will probably go in the edit. Thanks S


These Boots (posted on: 11-01-13)
Meet Dr Martin

Bring me a brain, pour me some ox blood, these boots need a shine tonight. Find me a motor, make sure it's nicked, these boots leave no prints tonight. Fetch me a street plan, tell them where to meet, these boots need to think tonight. Look me in the eye, say that again, these boots need to stamp tonight. Shout my battle cry, chase the angry mob, these boots need to kick tonight. Bang on the cell door, rage through the bars, these boots have no laces tonight.
Archived comments for These Boots
CVaughan on 11-01-2013
These Boots

Liking the thread or lace of the boots theme and the persistance of the rhythm savvi. There's one problem typo or something L2 of your third stanza ("tell them were to meet") is it where or possibly we're? Good stuff about bovver boys. Oh the cults of yesteryear, don't we miss'em? Not.

Author's Reply:
"Where" it is, thanks for pointing that out, and thanks for your comment, I think they are stll around just not as obvious these days. S

japanesewind on 12-01-2013
These Boots
A fine end for our narrator I think, I remember my first pair. A fashion "icon" now I suppose.

good un......D

Author's Reply:
I couldn't afford Doc Martins had to do with Major Domos ox blood red, loved em though. yes a fine end but he got out the next day. S

Texasgreg on 12-01-2013
These Boots


Aye! Made fer walkin'...

Greg ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Damn I'll be sing this all day know, thanks Greg S

Bozzz on 12-01-2013
These Boots
Taking Greg's comment, what are legs made for ?
I love the theme and you did it proud... Good stuff!...Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Thanks Bozzz, for comment and rating, and your time. S

stormwolf on 13-01-2013
These Boots
I don't know if it was meant to be funny but the last line made me laugh. It could be read either way and if it was not meant to be funny it does not detract from the cleverness of the poem.

I 'saw' him in my mind's eye looking for a bit of bovver and he found it! ๐Ÿ˜‰
Alison x

Author's Reply:
If it made you laugh, I was trying to be funny if it didn't then I wasn't. A bit of Bovver indeed. Thanks for your comments. S

butters on 13-01-2013
These Boots
oxblood doc martins? i think many had a crush on those. ๐Ÿ˜€

i'd have to query 'leave no print' . . . surely they would, unless it's meant as to ride in the car rather than walking, which i'm assuming it is.

this speaks to me of skin-head days, beaches, footie crowds and more

Author's Reply:
Leave no prints, I was trying to say, nothing left behind that traceable, but reading in light of your comment it does sound a bit weak, I'll have a look thanks. Also thanks for the comments, Much appreciated. S

Andrea on 13-01-2013
These Boots
Good stuff - and Greg beat me to it, with the vid!

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea, damn thing is stuck in my head, been singing it for two days now. S

Mikeverdi on 16-01-2013
These Boots
Agree with the others, a terrific write. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike much appreciated S


In the blink of an eye. (posted on: 07-01-13)
It goes so fast

Mum: hear me cry.          watch me smile.          here's my first step.          hold my hand. Mum: dad won't let me win.          where do the stars go in the day.          will you tell dad.          why is the sea salty. Mum: are we there yet.          I'm bored.          can we go now.          shut up. Mum: what's for tea.          is my shirt ironed.          can I have a lift.          can I have some money. Mum: let me carry your bags.          do you want a cup of tea.          how's your day been.          I love you.
Archived comments for In the blink of an eye.
Bozzz on 08-01-2013
In the blink of an eye.
Hi Savvi, I love this, clever and redolent. In all honesty I would leave out all the Mums except the first one. It would flow better and remove what for me becomes an irritant as the reader progresses. Just my preference....Bozzz

Author's Reply:
I see it thanks Bozzz will have a look. S Thanks for commenting.

franciman on 09-01-2013
In the blink of an eye.
Keith this is pure, dead brilliant.



There is a regret in the voice, a sense of frustration too. I also love the closure to this.



Until the reader discovers that each line is addressed individually to Mum, then I can see where Bozz is coming from. Maybe having Mum offset to the left in each stanza thus Mum:,and each line standing in an offset margin i.e.


Mum: will you tell dad?

: why does the sea taste salty?



just a suggestion



cheers,



Jim

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Jim I think it works now. Thanks for taking time to crit and comment. S

Texasgreg on 10-01-2013
In the blink of an eye.
Aye! Too fast, IMO. By the time ya got parenting figured out, they're grown.

Greg ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
way to fast, not sure I will ever figure out parenting ๐Ÿ™‚

karen123 on 10-01-2013
In the blink of an eye.
my kids are at the

what's for tea
is my shirt ironed

stage - I really miss the first two and can't wait for the last one!.

It is a lovely poem

karen

Author's Reply:
Ha dont get too excited the last one only comes in short bursts ๐Ÿ™‚ S Thanks for kind words

Andrea on 10-01-2013
In the blink of an eye.
Much enjoyed, Savvi - agree with Jim.

Also, typo. second verse second line should be 'where' ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Oops I seem making quite a few mistakes tese days, actually I've probably always made them but I've never wrote anything for other people to read before. ๐Ÿ™‚ its good to keep learning. Thanks Andrea, in the edit now. S

deed on 10-01-2013
In the blink of an eye.
Hello Savvi,

The poem would read well without 'mum.' But this would miss out one of the main ideas in the poem i.e. the constant call, "mum." So it should stay there. A good description of how it is.

Author's Reply:
I agree, the mum : bit was more a recognition of how it really has been, Dad: would have been very different, now theres an idea. ๐Ÿ™‚ Thanks deed S


August Rain (posted on: 07-01-13)
Too much pain to sleep, longing to hear cooling rain tapping on a window.

Begging for sleep, his eyes roll again, pain keeps them from slumber. She washes cups in the kitchen what else can she do? He did ask for something, when his voice could be heard, a prayer for August rain. Heat brings a bad day for suffering but she recalls the whispered request and meets me on the lawn. Me, a simple hosepipe, my snake belly, needing to be filled so water can become my tongue. holding my head in her hand, she looks to his bedroom and turns the tap. My inside fills to burst, and answer his prayer, pounding on windows belting down gutters rhythm of first drops rain dance on roof tops. I carry the drums of droplets, his tranquillity comes tapping on tiles, coolness calms his condition smiling at the August rain. Finally sleep floats him away; We hang our heads in the garden, clothes and hair soaked, she lets me fall to the grass, I feel empty, spent, I can only watch, as the rain maker mixes tears in the mud
Archived comments for August Rain
Texasgreg on 08-01-2013
Vipers Kiss
Aye! Good changes to clear things up. That was a humane and imaginative piece showing lots of care, IMO.

Greg ๐Ÿ™‚


Author's Reply:
Greg I hade to change it around a bit so it makes your comments seem out of place, thanks for taking the time. S

Caliban on 08-01-2013
August Rain
Well made and very moving. I tend to prefer traditional rhyming poetry. So much blank verse seems to me, self indulgent and poorly constructed. But. . .this works for me at a visceral level, which is what poetry is about IMHO.

Author's Reply:
Glad you liked it and thank you for taking the time to read and comment, and the generous ratng. S

stormwolf on 08-01-2013
August Rain
Extremely original and very moving.
Not sentimental that can be the fall of some poems describing situations like this. I don't think I ever heard a hose speak before. ๐Ÿ˜‰ Punctuation missing in places or I would have given it a 10

Alison x

Author's Reply:
Them damn missing puctions, one day I'll find them and keep them in a bag, a special bag with poems written on the side, until that day I'll try to find them in this poem. Thanks

Hoses, speak ? it must be that Mothball and mushroom pie ๐Ÿ™‚ Thanks for comment and generous rateing. S

orangedream on 08-01-2013
August Rain
Emotive and moving. Much enjoyed.

Tina

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the kind comments Tina. S

Mikeverdi on 09-01-2013
August Rain
Simply beautiful, I found the whole poem enthralling; so well thought out. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Mike, for the comments and your generous rating, its took me some time to get this to work. S


Golden pockets (posted on: 04-01-13)
Prose workshop challenge (lost in the forest) 1st edit based on comment and George's mentoring.

"Standing alone in my old house, residents carried away by cancer, yet still their presence remains in each coat of paint and flowerbed, all now partly concealed by my much needed indifference. The home is bare, stripped back to its shell, except for the ghosts of old furniture that appear, just for a second, as I enter each room. I'm supposed to feel sad, it's just me and my brother now. We'll split the money and never speak again but that doesn't bring sadness. I stare out over aged gardens and contemplate my loss. Many times I have wept at the feet of my own forced memories, the self-torture that brings tears for company, but that is not why I want to shout. Losing family is painful, but a severed link to childhood is barren by comparison and I fear one will compound the other; such a loss makes me tremble inside. I move on, a giant looking into shrunken bedrooms and gloomy hallways; too many tiny details fill my eyes, viewed like shards of glass from a broken vase, which I'm trying to reassemble. Each piece is an image: places I once played games, a soundbite from a past conversation, the odours of wet dog and washing days or doors opened and slammed shut. The glass cuts at my chest making it hard to breathe. I place my hand on the wall to check for a heartbeat. Can it be that traces of lost childhood are captured in the fabric of a room, dwell in wooden handles of old tools or crayon scribblings trapped behind wallpaper? Can it be that if we close our eyes and breathe in the essence of childhood haunts then chemistry alone can unlock memories once keyless and forgotten? And in doing so can you retrieve something so precious it can twist your body, crumple your face and turn sobs into shouts. I'm shouting now as I slide down the wall; I felt its beat before pulling away. Such places can be found in most of our footsteps and if you know how to look they can almost be touched. But my other places do not compare to this home, I could linger here for an eternity, drifting as a child, growing on thought and melancholy, surviving on smiles and laughter unlocked from memories. I cannot linger, the house is sold to the highest bidder. I have offered up my most prized possession, my touch-stone, my portal, for a pocket full of gold. Now when I need to look, how can I return to these places that hold me in their essence, that tell my story? Who now will listen to the beating fabric of my old home?"
Archived comments for Golden pockets
sirat on 04-01-2013
Golden pockets
This seems to be more a description than a story, aimed at conveying a sense of loss, the trauma of leaving the past behind. It feels like a metaphor for growing up.

I found it strong on atmosphere, but sometimes a bit obscure on literal meaning. I was puzzled at first by: 'I move on to complete my final lap, I wave and the crowd waves back', it sounded like a memory of taking part in a race at an athletics meeting, but I presume the 'crowd' is a reference to the people who filled the writer's childhood and the 'last lap' is the last look at the old house. A lot of the language, if I am to be honest, merely confuses me. What should i understand, for example, by: 'wooden handles of bastard files'?

This may be an entirely personal thing, but I'm not keen on this kind of inflated language in prose passages. For me it tends to get in the way of the emotions that are being expressed. I favour quite stark, direct language. I suppose I lack a poetic soul.

Technically, I just noticed one instance where you slip from the present tense into the past: 'I felt its beat before pulling away'.

Overall, a bit poetic for a plain man like me, but certainly rich in atmosphere, which I think was your intent.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the detailed feedback sounds like I'm on track with lots of work to do. Having now seen examples of others I know what is expected, delivery is a different thing all together.

bluepootle on 04-01-2013
Golden pockets
This is very atmospheric and there's some lovely writing in places. I like this vignette of leaving a long-time home, just a moment in a life.

There are a few misspelled words here and there that a spellcheck wouldn't pick up, like 'striped back to its shell' and 'away at my lose thread'.

I think it could help if you lose some of the more complicated metaphors to bring some order to it and focus it for the reader. For instance, his gaze being held in a lead-lock brings violence to mind in a piece that really doesn't need violent suggestion. Choosing and ordering the metaphors to suit the careful, delicate picture of memories would give this piece a real punch, I think.

Hope that helps!

Author's Reply:
My CSE english is showing through again, miss pelled has a great deal to aswer for ๐Ÿ™‚ I agree about the metaphors need slimming out and thanks for your advice, much appreciated. S

TheBigBadG on 04-01-2013
Golden pockets
There are some really nice lines and images in this. The touch stone and portal, the giant too big to process all the details, the checking for the heartbeat. It's a genuine, and sad piece which comes through well so I think it would be worth giving it a bit more time and another go.

The advantage of a short vignette like this is that you're focused purely on evoking thought and feeling, so you avoid some of the issues highlighted in my piece for instance. That said, you need to keep a tight reign on phrasing and metaphors at the same time. The typos aside I would personally shorten a few of the sentences down, the first sentence of the third para for instance.

There are a couple of confused metaphors (the tapping at the loose thread is the one that stands out for me) but they're easily fixed. As Blue says take a step back and think about the tone you want to create. In fact, leave it alone for a little while, think about the tone, then come back and read it again and see what stands out for you. That works a treat for me usually.

George

Author's Reply:
All good advice, I will follow. Thanks for taking the time to review and feedback. S

franciman on 04-01-2013
Golden pockets
Welcome to the shop.

Most of the critique is already done and I would agree with it. Certainly the complexity of some of the metaphors. The length of sentences would also be my prime criticism as it tends to turn potentially elegant writing to inelegant prose. We all write with an assumption of the knowledge and acumen of our readers. I know what a bastard file is, David patently doesn't and it makes your phrase difficult to understand. The wooden handle is recognisable, need it be on a bastard file?

This was a great read. It was cerebral and thought provoking. It captured the child-like workings of the adult imagination, something we never lose. Being factual there was a lot of you invested in the piece, to its advantage. Another piece that will affect me long after reading. A great first entry.

cheers,

Jim



Author's Reply:
Thanks for the advice and kind words Jim much appreciated.

Texasgreg on 05-01-2013
Golden pockets
Iโ€™m supposed to feel sad, just me and my brother now, weโ€™ll split the money and never speak again but that doesnโ€™t bring sadness.

Your technical skills will improve with each attempt and I encourage you to keep on. Such a heartfelt write. I've seen the above scenario so many times...
What is it about "things" that divides those who are supposed to have that invisible bond that cannot be broken?

Greg ๐Ÿ™‚

Photobucket.

Author's Reply:
I guess invisable bonds are never really broken ๐Ÿ™‚ technically I have some way to go but I thank you for the encouragment, it helps. S

e-griff on 08-01-2013
Golden pockets
Welcome. Far from being a novice. Notwith standing the other valuable comments, I found the writing overall in your piece both clear, orderly and effective.



PS This IS frank crit - I've not softened for you! :-). It may be that you will find other styles more challenging, but if so, there are people here who will help and encourage you.



Best, JohnG

Author's Reply:
Thanks JohnG I will keep at this as the comments are valuable to me, had some help with the edit so all's good I've started the next one and trying to tell a story this time so my style is all over the place but thats the good thing about workshops, always something to learn. S


The rape of intelligence (posted on: 04-01-13)
The rape of intelligence

There was a young boy called John, who vandalised cars for fun, he would scratch them with keys, kick in panels to please, and that's how his story begun. There was a sad dad called Dave, who thought he could tell John, behave, but each night at one, he lost sight of his son, blinded by drink in a rage. There was a good neighbour called George, who was changing the clutch on his Ford, now John was there, and beginning to care, he asked questions and never got bored. There was a mad mum called Marg who belts John and takes it too far leave this man alone and get yourself home you're too stupid to work on a car.
Archived comments for The rape of intelligence
deed on 04-01-2013
The rape of intelligence
Some young people live their lives in very brutal circumstances. It is difficult to change this as the poem suggests when the mother discourages George's attempt.
In reading this I can feel the frustration. I like the 'There was a...', limerick style at the start of each verse. For me it gives a sense of how this very important issue - is made unimportant. The boy's chance of redemption is fleeting and lost in an instant.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks deed for your comments and generous rating, a very important issue, too often witnessed for me.

Andrea on 04-01-2013
The rape of intelligence
Good, topical, sad poem.

(slight typo - storey should be story)

Author's Reply:
Thanks Andrea, mistake fixed I always seem to make at least one, must try harder. S

roger303 on 04-01-2013
The rape of intelligence
Yes - if some of our disadvantaged youngsters were stimulated as babies, encouraged and mentored properly then untapped skills would abound. Some would achieve greatness.
A good piece.

Author's Reply:
I agree and there are so many organisations who work with youngsters, all unsung. Shame about the parents. S

Texasgreg on 05-01-2013
The rape of intelligence
Aye! The raping of a mind...very good subject and thoughtfully written.

Good job!

Greg ๐Ÿ™‚

Photobucket.

Author's Reply:
Many thanks for your comments Greg, this subject is a heavy one for me and has many different guises. S

stormwolf on 06-01-2013
The rape of intelligence
Bloody brilliant!

Made me almost cry with the truth and the sadness. You have written a real 'corker' here Savvi. I am happy to nominate it and congratulate you for the insight too *thumbs up*



Alison x

PS change 'storey ' asap ๐Ÿ˜‰

Author's Reply:
Wow, you are too kind Alison, many thanks for your comments and the nomination, this was a true life event for me and social decline is something I feel the need to worry about. S

butters on 06-01-2013
The rape of intelligence
i appreciate the thoughts behind this, the images it creates, the completeness it holds

use of the limerick format was a good idea, as deep subjects are often helped by a memorable/unusual format. what i would suggest is that if you're going to use the limerick layout, then this needs one or two tweaks (as i read it in my accent, anyway) to bring it fully into line so as to allow the format to disappear and for your message to be all the reader sees. it's important enough a message for that to be worthwhile, imo.

Author's Reply:
I agree, some of the rhymes are a bit clunky, I have messed around with this a few times to try and improve the flow, If you have the time I would be grateful if you could be specific, your feedback is very much appreciated and I will use it to edit. S

ifyouplease on 06-01-2013
The rape of intelligence
i agree with deed.

Author's Reply:
Indeed, so do I ๐Ÿ™‚ S

thehaven on 06-01-2013
The rape of intelligence
Excellent deserves the nomination

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your kind words S


Lunch date (posted on: 31-12-12)
A curious snippet, nonsense poem

A curious snippet had lunch with a cricket, they eat moth ball and mushroom pie, mr snail the waiter, came two hours later, with a drink that could close one eye. Now these snippets are prone, if they are left alone, to finding small pieces of cheese, when the cricket partook and his other eye shut, snippet lap danced a re-verse strip tease. But the problem you see and I say this with glee, is that cricket, finally came round and there in his lap, the snippet was sat, by seven jumpers, four bra's she was bound. Cricket jumped up and his fist he shook, at the clothes ball, that lay on the floor, over garments all gone, screamed, what have you done, his mistake was in closing the door. With madness afoot, miss snippet jumped up and swigged on her eye closing brew, they set off in a dance, called lost underpants and from that moment on, they just knew. Blue bells chimed, just in time as the cockroach arrived at the gate, with snail as the vicar, it could have gone quicker, they swapped rings at a quarter to eight. The weather was mild and she heavy with child felt the urge, to call for the cricket, he brought hot water, she gave him a daughter, a mischievous, bouncing young snicket.
Archived comments for Lunch date
Texasgreg on 31-12-2012
Lunch date
Aye! just what kind of mushrooms were those? LOL-cute, witty, imaginative...

Greg ๐Ÿ™‚


Photobucket.

Author's Reply:
Ah now that would be telling.....:D thank you for your comment

stormwolf on 31-12-2012
Lunch date
Delightful!

Some minor punctuation laspes.
Typo and from that moment on, they just new (knew)

I could see it illustrated in a book. Children would love it (as would adults) ๐Ÿ˜‰
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the crit and comment, I've added the K, had fun writting this one, childrens book and Lap dance may need a re-work before they fit together, but its not impossible ๐Ÿ™‚ S

stormwolf on 02-01-2013
Lunch date
haha The way things are sliding I am sure it won't be long! ๐Ÿ˜‰

Author's Reply:
Ha too true.


Chalk Dust (posted on: 31-12-12)
School days

Bum fluff shaved, spots freshly squeezed, pull on my shirt, dirt round the sleeves. Polishing shoes on the back door mat, great, my hands covered in cherry blossom black. Morning assembly, senses off track, grin at the fainting kid, his colour coming back. Even though I listened, I'm not sure what was said, I'm avoiding the hard knocks, who tell me I'm dead. Tuck shop sugar rush, Dr Death's chews, for god sake leave him alone and give him back his shoes. Slip into slumber, hand print on my cheek, board duster alarm clock, propels me from sleep. Lunch time arrives with the Ice cream van, don't have much money, I scav what I can. Concrete buildings, dark grey in the rain, corridors yawning, young minds to drain. Letter to parents, kept in for a month, been drinking boy? well sir, I had a glass with lunch. The boy doesn't listen, a distraction to the class; he cannot keep playing the fool, if exams he is to pass. Nearly an adult now, so careers advice I got, something beyond expectation please, sorry we think not. Last bell brings a welcome ring, no teachers now to nag left with a sense of achievement, new art work on my bag
Archived comments for Chalk Dust
Texasgreg on 31-12-2012
Chalk Dust
left with a sense of achievement, new art work on my bag

Aye! Believe that 'un is universal, lol.

Good 'un!

Greg ๐Ÿ™‚

Photobucket.







Author's Reply:
Indeed it is, its a very important part of teenage life... Lol Thanks for taking the time.

japanesewind on 31-12-2012
Chalk Dust
"my hands covered in cherry blossom black"

loved it.....D

Author's Reply:
And you can't get it off, thanks for your comment. S

Slovitt on 31-12-2012
Chalk Dust
savvi: you do create sleeves dense with images and always the melody that can be heard in some of your other poems. good piece. swep

Author's Reply:
Hi swep thank you for your kind comments. S

stormwolf on 02-01-2013
Chalk Dust
Loved it. To be perfect need some attention to rhythm here and there...
but came over with the "cheeky boy" feel to it. BTW did you really shave your bum fluff?

Just asking? ๐Ÿ˜‰
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison, I'll have a look at the meter, it does need work. Lol bum fluff is teenage stubble that grows pre shaving, somehow I think you knew that ๐Ÿ˜‰ S


My Request (posted on: 28-12-12)
My Request

I asked you to stop breathing cease the bellows rhythm, end these morphine moments. Body now trespassed beyond retreat, basic in function, rise and fall, rise and fall. You waited till I slept, I missed your reply.
Archived comments for My Request
japanesewind on 28-12-2012
My Request
loved it...( was it morphine?) got a strong picture of slipping into sleep in a chair at the side of the bed and awakening when blessed death had come.....D

Author's Reply:
thank you for your comment, Morphene is a spelling mistake, thanks, I will correct, should be morphine a very strong pain killer, your image is my image ๐Ÿ™‚ S

japanesewind on 28-12-2012
My Request
Forgot to say thedistress felt by the narrator comes through well....D

Author's Reply:
Thank you japaneswind

Slovitt on 28-12-2012
My Request
Savvi: this is a good one, succinctly realized. went through a similar situation with my mother in 2009. "you waited 'til i slept, i missed your reply." just right. swep

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comment, these times are never easy. S

Slovitt on 28-12-2012
My Request
Savvi: this is a good one, succinctly realized. went through a similar situation with my mother in 2009. "you waited 'til i slept, i missed your reply." just right. swep

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 28-12-2012
My Request
Made me remember my dad...and brought a tear too.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thank you for taking the time, this was about my dad, and not so easy to write, hard to find the words when they seem more important. S

butters on 28-12-2012
My Request
beautiful

deft touch with the wording capturing just the right quality of wishing things to end and the recognition of its realisation.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your kind words and generous rating. S

franciman on 28-12-2012
My Request
Hi Savvi,
I was a Critical Care Nurse. This was such a common scene, but I could not have written it so beautifully. The reply to your request was made as an act of will, both considered and considerate. you should feel privileged by the act, just as I do to have read your verse.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Hi Jim
Many thanks for such kind words, these are quite cold memories and your comments add a little warmth. ๐Ÿ™‚

Mikeverdi on 29-12-2012
My Request
Simply beautiful, it was painful to read, as like others have said it brought memories back. I loved it. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike for the comment and generous rateing S

stormwolf on 29-12-2012
My Request
Reading again Savvi

I feel that if you took the last bit onto a separate line at least, it would totally highlight the crux of the poem.
As it stands, it just sort of 'drifts' in with the rest.
Just a suggestion... ๐Ÿ˜‰


You waited till I slept,

I missed your reply.



Author's Reply:
Thanks for the suggestion ๐Ÿ™‚ it works for me, I will do a quick edit S


Youth Club Disco (posted on: 28-12-12)
What can I say its a disco in a youth club ๐Ÿ™‚

Dunlop green flash whitened for the night, just bleached jeans and I know they're too tight. Down the backs drinking cans of special brew, I still retch at the thought of necking Clandew. We get served because my mate has a beard and we're only 14 so that's a bit weird. Slapping footsteps in a drunken run, alcohol consumed, the night has begun. Ticket in pocket, met friends on the way, album under arm with a great track to play. Queued on the door but quickly inside, the smell of stale halls where youth clubs reside. Can't move for kids 14 and above, all feeling great and looking for love. Been up to the decks so my song will get played, 'Highway to Hell' and we're on centre stage. The drink kicks in and my face has gone numb, Lizzy are on inhibitions have gone. Bounce through the night head banging for fun, can't get up to the Jam and the Pistols are on. Avoid the psychotics whose main aim is to scrap, stick with my mates and sit at the back. The smoochin starts and lights blind our eyes, it's time to leave and we're quickly outside. Walking home and my mouth is dry, shouting a song at the clear night sky. The chip shop pilgrimage has begun, as the lemming like hoards move as one. Onto the high Street to watch the Silver stream fight, police turn up so that's it for the night. Try to be quite because I'm too young to drink but I always get caught because I'm too young to think. Stupid grins and gravy stained shirt, I tiptoed past parents on full alert. Finally in bed as the room slowly spins, Friday night vomit as the weekend begins.
Archived comments for Youth Club Disco
butters on 28-12-2012
Youth Club Disco
little typos:

wretch = retch

were (were youth clubs reside) = where

so that it = that's

apart from those, lots to be enjoyed reading through this - those long-ago days of youth, ha! pretty sure most of us can nod in recognition of at least one or two room-spinning moments from our teen years, and I'd lay odds most of us knew one lad who could grow face fur before anyone else - he'd be the one going into the shops buying the cigarettes for all those who still looked their ages ๐Ÿ˜€



Author's Reply:
Many thanks for your time and comments and finding my mistakes (blush) I'll fix them, yes beards seemed to open doors back then. I don't think things have changed that much, teenagers still drink, although heavey metal, punk and mod seem to be very different today. cheers S

Texasgreg on 30-12-2012
Youth Club Disco
Lol, I do recall the first time I came home drunk and mom met me at the door. Thought I was "in for it". I rushed pass her and ran up stairs to puke as she was asking where I had been. To my relief and chagrin, she laughed at me as I quietly went to bed and watched the walls spin.

Superduper!

Greg ๐Ÿ™‚

Photobucket.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Greg, mum was ok but had to watch out for dad ! S

cooky on 01-01-2013
Youth Club Disco
Enjoyed this one. Reminded me of my youth.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Cooky had fun writting this one. ๐Ÿ™‚ S


The War Cabinet (posted on: 24-12-12)
A teenage party, let the battle commence (language) Poetry challenge- to post one of your old ones you really liked.

Alcho-pops where are you, that's it, come on don't be shy, Now get over there in front of the lager. Everyone else, I said everyone else, listen. My Intel has confirmed a teenage party, so I dont want any mistakes. Alcho-pops your in first and you don't stand a chance, so make your peace with the Blue nun before you go. Lagers, two packs in the kitchen, the rest, in the fridge. Cherries take the night off. Cocktail sticks, erm, just straighten up. Vodka, label front, please try and last the night. Orange and Blackcurrant give yourself a wipe, it's been a while but if vodka goes you need to go with him, I need you in the mix. Babycham it could be a rough night my love but whatever happens try to reach the nose. Boxed wines, boxed wines over here now. Get in line and taps out. White, if red gets spilt, try to get on top, less carpet damage and we should be able to get you both out. Twelve year old Malt, you hold the rear, I won't waste my best men on this rabble. Bells you need to go first, followed by, all though it breaks my heart, Glen Fiddich. Lads if you both go, give em hell, so they won't come back for Malt Snowball, not a chance in hell but be ready just in case. Eggnog you have to be the dumbest drink I have, but you do look like custard so try to make em puke. Gin, what are you laughing at. "Nothing, sir". nnnnnothing sir, you shit, they call you Lilly, and you taste like fukin perfume. get out of my sight before I go blind. Sshh....sshh Everyone be quiet, here they come. Lagers look lively, fridge I said. Shit straight for the cabinet, Little bastard put me down, put me down, what did you call me. Fuckin JD its Mr Fuckin Daniels to you you, spot faced little shit. Come on then let's have it two shots, try me. I'll rip yer throat out ya bastard, I'll singe your spleen, come on then, lets see what yer made of, just, you, me and my friend Mr glass. Wait, what, what's that fuckin Coke, drink me like a man shittin bubbles, fuckin caramel and ice, in a tall glass, whhhyyy That's right swill me round showin off to your mates all watered down. To start a war with JD, be sure you can hold my dead, I'll bring the violent, you carry the sick.
Archived comments for The War Cabinet
Savvi on 02-01-2013
The War Cabinet
Thanks for the Nib who ever it was ??? S

Author's Reply:

franciman on 03-01-2013
The War Cabinet
Hi JD,
Don't know how I missed this first time round. Really clever on a number of levels.
What more can I say? except I wish I had written this.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jim,
didn't get much feedback on this so wasn't sure it worked, your comments restored my faith, so very much appreciated.
Keith


Take me dancing (posted on: 24-12-12)
A trickle of juice sets the mind loose

A trickle of juice sets the mind loose Volume switch, room enriched Hydro-jet, towel pet Mirror stare, body bare Foam cake, blade scrape Muscle flex, face stretch Trickles of juices set the mind looses Perfumes applied, heavy side Mirror glare, oh yeh Track change, go insane Hairbrush-hand, mic stand Disco dance, pants prance Truckles of sluice sets the blind Mousse Doorbell, bloody hell Outside, into ride Face cut, tissue stuck Shirt on, button gone Arrive club, pavement stood Wing-Mirror Pout, ladies look out
Archived comments for Take me dancing
Slovitt on 24-12-2012
Take me dancing
Savvi: a lot of verbal energy and a specific walk down the page culminating in "ladies watch out." a good read. swep

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comment and taking the time. S

japanesewind on 24-12-2012
Take me dancing
good fun that..... tissued face. I hate having to do that.
Good capture.....D

Author's Reply:
Me too, have switched to electric, thanks for reading and your comment. S

Nomenklatura on 25-12-2012
Take me dancing
Yes, energetic as some one said. Some people say that capitals are old hat at the start of lines, I wouldn't go that far but sometimes normal capital use helps with the flow of a poem like this.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comment, yes, I chose the capitals to keep eachline punchy, I think it works OK, thanks for the confirmation much appreciated. S


The Watcher (posted on: 21-12-12)
A snapshot of three generations, crit welcomed

There's a budgie hanging from the old man's ear, pecking at a skin tag pendulum beneath his eye. The ladies brittle frame is wired with stronger steel, her darned stocking legs protrude, from the Giant's thread worn chair. The house is old, cold, cacti fight for survival in pools of condensation. Four bars hiss as gas is consumed; only serving to melt the soles of upturned slippers. In close proximity camphorated oil warms to its nightly application. The watcher loves the watched, he understand that affection is currency, spent on echoes of children gone before. Regardless he squeezes hard against steel and rests his head on a cardigan perch. Two plumes of smoke, stream and splutter, one cigarette, the other solder. The man peers over taped rimmed glasses, through an eye piece, into the circuit of an unwanted radio. Items lie in waiting, petrol tank and urn, both requiring gold leaf and a steady hand. Separated by smoke and tales of asthmatic repercussions, the lady sits in the adjoining room. Reading light poised over the latest library card choice, she smiles and redirects a tear with the touch of a finger as the author's words invoke raw emotion. The watcher loves the watched; he understands needing to be apart, together, the pleasure of repair and the presence of ink and paper. Affection unneeded, faces long studied and hands held. Scribbled carbon lines, crumpled petals scattered on bed linen. The man is hunched over gentle strings and headstocks, with a pencil behind his ear. Separate by time and a devil driving delivery, his wife traces lines for number games and things tactile. The man's youth is framed by the door; he glances in rooms discussed before, a light smile slides into place as he lingers. The watched loves the watcher; he understands the fleeting image he has surveyed, the detail that today is shelved for tomorrow's recollection. Affection is given and taken, full and unrestricted with a little left in store to banish echoes, when required.
Archived comments for The Watcher
Mikeverdi on 21-12-2012
The Watcher
I will leave it to others to critique, I only wish to say how much I enjoyed reading this, for me it was brilliant. So many great lines \'he understands affection is currency 'I expect others will have more to say on style and form ect.. but I loved all of it! Thanks. Mike

Author's Reply:
Many thanks for commenting Mike, I know this needs some work but not sure were to start, I guess its one of those I will keep comming back to as very dear to me. Cheers S

Buschell on 09-02-2014
The Watcher
Really good. Who's watching? Wonderful imagery and word play, can tell this means a lot to you...Dazza.

Author's Reply:


Lost Socks (posted on: 21-12-12)
Has anyone seen my socks ?

Curled up tight, dried out of sight. Spun too thin, slipped round the rim. These are the socks for you to find, these are the socks it leaves behind, wash basket monster, none can see the lost socks are coming they're after me. A material mass, a lonely life form some live in tatters some live in torn. They hide in draws, pretend to be found then turn into gloves when word gets around some do your ankles, some do your knee some do the dusting, some come as three so when you chose, to screw socks in a ball and throw them in baskets, bounced of the wall, a material monster with toe holes for eyes, is waiting for one, to say his goodbye's.
Archived comments for Lost Socks
stormwolf on 22-12-2012
Lost Socks
Brilliant! Loved it.
My ex husband used to say that our house could win the Guiness book of records for odd socks.

I very seldom find myself wearing a matching pair uinder my trousers.

Alison x

Author's Reply:

Ionicus on 22-12-2012
Lost Socks
We are all victims of this phenomen, Savvi. Perhaps my advice might help - see
href=โ€œhttps://www.ukauthors.com/modules.php?name=News&file=article&sid=27903
โ€>The Case Of The Disappearing Sock



Cheers.

Luigi

Author's Reply:


Our time (posted on: 17-12-12)
Anyone remember the 1970's

Garage roofs, were made for jumps, Mr Kenevil did his own stunts. Old shed doors were skateboard ramps. games were played under lamps. Garden fences were made to hop, Chinn and Chapman were kings of pop. Chippers, Choppers, Tomahawks and Racers, all ridden by kids with Mickey Mouse braces. Stories of ghosts and shadows mistook, terrified in tents, dark nights down the brook. Den's dug out, covered with a car bonnet, shot at by an idiot with a two, two bullet. Corner shops, sold huge elastic bands, that soon became weapons in the wrong hands. Trees stripped of berries and nest stripped of eggs, missiles thrown, conkering, watch out, mind your heads. White lines on grass, three pots and in, play in the nets before the match begins. Wet leather football, your skull it could crush, seaside specials, popped on a rose bush. When air riffles did the job of a cat, night walks with torches, thud, a dead rat. Time trials, on our own assault courses, jump obstacles as if we were horses. Jewelweed pops open with the lightest of touch, walk along pipes, jeans covered in slutch. Abseil from windows, ropes tied to beds, one word to parents and you are dead. Saturday wrestling in homemade ring, fingers bent back in a special move thing. Two fingers poised to capture the Monster Mash, stop before the talking bit or grave yard bash. Sunday night the one hot bath of the week, wrapped up tight in a flannelette sheet. Summers lazed on, ever so slow, and we did our best to try not to grow. Exploring the day, never seeming to tire, running through fields then setting them on fire. When time, was our time.
Archived comments for Our time
bo_duke99 on 17-12-2012
Our time
maintained to the end, and love:
"fingers bent back in a special move thing."

Author's Reply:
Thanks for you comment, Mick McManus me thinks.

japanesewind on 18-12-2012
Our time
Remember "three star jumpers".hahahaha...D

Author's Reply:
Lol you have a good memory, mine was V neck, green with white stars, loved that jumper ๐Ÿ˜€

Mikeverdi on 18-12-2012
Our time
Some brilliant lines in this one, I loved it. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike much appreciated.

Slovitt on 18-12-2012
Our time
Savvi: yes, "when time was our time". strong last line for a tour down memory lane. swep

Author's Reply:
Thank you, I do enjoy looking back the images seem clearer somehow. S

japanesewind on 18-12-2012
Our time
I have a feeling you probably wore platforms.hahaha..D

Author's Reply:
And what, may I ask is wrong with that ๐Ÿ˜€

japanesewind on 19-12-2012
Our time
hahaha mad eh? BOWIE fan were ya?...D

Author's Reply:
More like Sweet and Slade ๐Ÿ™‚


Bath by candle light (posted on: 17-12-12)
Anyone remember the 1980's

The lights have gone, the house is out, the power heard the miners shout, Police shields and barricades, black lungs, spit early graves. Maggi cries, close them down, there's nothing left, in this town, gritted teeth, jab scab hate, wrists chained to pitless gates. Wiper blades smearing eggs, police hats, Yorkshire heads, jaded faces turn in shame, dark dust eyes cry the same. Plastic buckets, coins and coughs, hard men and mines, simply lost, dole queue days, depressions creep, veins are rich but coal is cheap.
Archived comments for Bath by candle light
cooky on 17-12-2012
Bath by candle light
I like this. I was at Orgreave

Author's Reply:
The battle of Orgreave, most of my school pals worked at Parkside so this was a difficult time in my community, I was working at a power station and we came out in support, but not for long, too little, too late. Thanks for your comment

royrodel on 17-12-2012
Bath by candle light
brilliant, a great read

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your comment and the generous rating. S

ValDohren on 17-12-2012
Bath by candle light
Excellent write - well expressed.

Val

Author's Reply:
Thank you Val. S

franciman on 18-12-2012
Bath by candle light
Hi There,
I'm from a Scottish mining family. I remain convinced it was the strike that killed my Dad. The country hasn't recovered either.
This is painful to read. Therapeutic in the telling though, and wonderfully well written.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Hi Jim Thank you for commenting, this was a difficult time for many and it very often affected whole families sometimes 3 generations, sad, as it also signalled the decline of many other industries that has left us as a warehouse for Europe. S

Mikeverdi on 18-12-2012
Bath by candle light
I had a different time during this period, but I do remember the news and the pain on the faces. You have captured it well. Mike

Author's Reply:
Mike sorry only just catching up many thanks for your comments S.

butters on 19-12-2012
Bath by candle light
dark days, troubled times

you've brought the reader into this by inviting them to compare/share their own memories, and kept me, for one, engaged with striking imagery sparsely written such as:

Wiper blades, smearing eggs,
police hats, Yorkshire heads.

dark dust eyes, cry the same.

Plastic buckets, coins and coughs

and your final lines really hits home about the effect on whole communities:

depressions creep,
veins are rich but coal is cheap.


Author's Reply:
Thank you, butters, truly dark days


Sand between my toes (posted on: 14-12-12)
Ohhh I wish I was there

Windbreak weathered by salt and sun, secured by a pounding rock. Sand shaped by shell and tide, re-worked by a tiny foot. Creatures caught by line and net, carried in a sloshing bucket. Bodies boarded by wetsuit and wave, frozen by a juddering jaw. Seagulls shunned by flip and flop, crazed by a falling crust. Dizzy from dinghy inflation. Burnt from bare excavation. Trekked from sand to castle. Tumbled from surf to towel. Raced from rock to pool. Sunset supported by fish and chips, greasy fingers and salty lips. Empty beach with snuggly fleece, children yawn, storied to sleep. Mum and dad take some time, watch the waves with bottle of wine. Cooling sand shows remnants of fun, windbreak flaps at the last of the sun.
Archived comments for Sand between my toes
Nomenklatura on 14-12-2012
Sand between my toes
Nostalgic, jolly and wistful at the same time.

You have a typo at line 11, you need 'dinghy' vice 'dingy' unless there was something murkily dark about your inflation. ๐Ÿ™‚

Your poem put a smile on my face this morning, thank you.

Author's Reply:
The dinghy has been repaired, thanks for the crit and your comment ๐Ÿ™‚

Mikeverdi on 14-12-2012
Sand between my toes
Love this one! Days spent in Cornwall, Watergate Bay?

Author's Reply:
Lovely place, thanks for your comment

Andrea on 14-12-2012
Sand between my toes
Afternoons in St Ives...

Author's Reply:
Already booked, I can taste the cream teas now ๐Ÿ™‚

franciman on 14-12-2012
Sand between my toes
You took me to a place, and now I feel crystals of sand between my toes. You have a gift for scenery painting.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your kind words and taking the time to read my poem.

amman on 15-12-2012
Sand between my toes
Oh, I do wish to be beside the seaside. You do, indeed, paint a vivid picture and the lightness of your tone imparts a certain jollity. Takes me right back to Swansea Bay. Thank you for for sharing this cheerful, nostalgic poem. Welcome to UKA.
Regards.

Author's Reply:
Glad you enjoyed it thank you for the kind comments

ChairmanWow on 15-12-2012
Sand between my toes
Evocative verse, especially for those of us landlocked in the Arizona desert...

Ralph

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your comment I only get to the ocean once a year so I understand landlocked

Bozzz on 16-12-2012
Sand between my toes
For me it was Crantock Bay next to Newquay - surfing - where the dunes harboured smugglers and courting couples. Crabs from the rock pools for supper. Thanks for the trip Savvi.....Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Thanks Bozz, sounds like you have the start of a poem ๐Ÿ™‚

roger303 on 16-12-2012
Sand between my toes
Lovely stuff Savvi.
Could you go to Wales though please? It's really nice there and too many Grockles (visitors) ruin our peace down here in Cornwall ๐Ÿ˜‰


Author's Reply:

barenib on 16-12-2012
Sand between my toes
A well painted picture that transports the reader to their own memories - John.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for taking time and your kind comments S

butters on 16-12-2012
Sand between my toes
not everyone shares the same memories, but this can still engage most readers with that essence of a day at british beach till it becomes almost a shared memory ๐Ÿ™‚

some really nice phrases that avoid the clichรฉ with a refreshing turn of word.

Author's Reply:
Thanks butters I must say it was quite hard to avoid the cliche's, many thanks for your kind comments S


The day the birds died (posted on: 14-12-12)
----------------------------------------

Of cracked walls, I am born scratching, biting and beaten. Moved my position to keep warm, hunger rides my frame. Blind sibling fights for survival losing grip I do the same. No cover comfort here, no swelling in my stomach. Should my ground be guarded, before tumble turns to hurt. Stretch my neck to be noticed against yellow gnashing jaws. The calm of night, no flight we lay translucent in decay.
Archived comments for The day the birds died
Andrea on 14-12-2012
The day the birds died
It's a tough like, alright, being a bird ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
It is indeed, thank you for your comment and rating S

ValDohren on 14-12-2012
The day the birds died
How sad, the survival of the fittest. Same with humans I guess. Very good write, moving and poignant.

Val x

Author's Reply:
I have an alternate ending that closes with (the calm of night, flight) thanks for your comment.

Bozzz on 16-12-2012
The day the birds died
Savvi, I rate this very high - felt next to you in the nest, such as it was.....Bozzz

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comment Bozzz, much appreciated. S

amman on 20-12-2012
The day the birds died
This is very clever writing. You convey that hopelessness so succinctly. Good stuff.
Cheers

Author's Reply:
Amman many thanks for your comments and generous rating


My Life (posted on: 10-12-12)
Trying to capture the rise and fall of short life spans

I was born a bubble from spittle-chased lips I slipped blown into being on a raspberry breeze I rose over summer gardens, weightless on giggles my skin glistened with running colours welcomed by my mother's arms I aged on her palm

Archived comments for My Life
Andrea on 10-12-2012
Im 4eva blowing
The thought of a 'meniscus glistening' made me giggle ๐Ÿ™‚

Welcome to UKA!

Author's Reply:
Thank you for the welcome Andrea, glad you giggled

roger303 on 10-12-2012
Im 4eva blowing
Blown into being on a raspberry breeze .... love it.
Very clever.
Regards
Roger

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your kind comments, you've picked my favorite line ๐Ÿ™‚

CVaughan on 10-12-2012
Im 4eva blowing

Ooh I like the style. Very clever I think imho. Oh and an enjoyable vignette. (Frank)

Author's Reply:
Thanks for commenting on my poem and the shout out for the vignette (the second new word I've learned today)

japanesewind on 10-12-2012
Im 4eva blowing
I love the idea behind this, caN imagine it "sat on that palm"....D

Author's Reply:
Thank you for taking the time to comment, I appreciate your words.

butters on 11-12-2012
Im 4eva blowing
without your intro, I would read this as a most light-hearted piece, one that has me smiling...



coupled with that intro, however, this leaves me reading into it a depth of loss, yet one that still captures the simple innocence and joy a short-life may hold. the effect of its loss on a parent is held (quite beautifully, imo) with your last line. at least, this is what I read into the write.

have to say, also, how clever the meniscus reference is as it perfectly captures the half-moon shape a bubble makes as it sits on a flat surface and also is a gateway word to the flesh/tearing/damage.



a different title which points us in that direction would allow you to lose the description, but finding the right one might be tricky if you're not to spoil the duality of this write.





Author's Reply:
You truly capture my intention, I nearly didn't put a description, I want the poem to be fun and light, however if someone catches the echo of something else then it is there to be seen. thank you for your accurate comments.

Slovitt on 12-12-2012
Im 4eva blowing
savvi: effective short poem with an inspired last line "I aged on her palm". good poem. swep

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comment much appreciated

Mikeverdi on 13-12-2012
Im 4eva blowing
Such a good write from you. After reading the other comments the dual nature of the poem is a deft touch. Mike

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mike your comments are appreciated


Maple at its best (posted on: 10-12-12)
An observation of an image

Heavy boots creak weathered wood, field and porch helpless to heat, resigned fan slowly shakes its head. Toiled trousers flop onto faded curtains fashioned as a throw on old wicker. The sympathetic chair nods twice before swollen foot stays its rhythm. Fingers crook brown bottle neck, mongrel pants in welcome shade. Chilled sips close appreciative eyes as crowded corn field hums an insect beat. Hard hand wraps frets on worn maple, foot chock releases the rocker's rhythm and the Bluesman takes his cue.
Archived comments for Maple at its best
Andrea on 10-12-2012
Maple at its best
Brilliant! Love it. Could just see him strumming on his porch in Alabama. Some lovely alliteration, too.

Here's a song for you from another bluesman...and since it's Monday...





Author's Reply:
Love It, cheered me up nicely. ๐Ÿ™‚ and thanks for your comment.

roger303 on 10-12-2012
Maple at its best
Excellent.

Author's Reply:
Thank you Roger303

CVaughan on 10-12-2012
Maple at its best

Lovin' the blues and this smart depiction and acute brevity of description. Could say savvy one if I were one for a tortuous pun Savvi. A worthy ten imho. (Frank).

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your kind words, any and all puns and crits are very welcome

japanesewind on 10-12-2012
Maple at its best
I like the thought of that foot holding then releasing that rocker, well put..D

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your comment I have also enjoyed your poems and will leave my comments when I get the hang of this and how it all works, much appreciated.

butters on 10-12-2012
Maple at its best
so much to like in this. was it inspired by a picture or a real-life imprint? the heat, sounds, movement ... all add up to make this understated write work for me. especially like the 'nod' of the chair.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for your kind comments, this image is just one in my head, probably a little stereotypical but I would love to sit on this porch and listen. Thanks SS

Ionicus on 11-12-2012
Maple at its best
A good descriptive and visual poem. Liked it.

Author's Reply:
Thank you for you kind word, much appreciated

Texasgreg on 12-12-2012
Maple at its best
Reminds me of concerts played at our county fair in Iowa.

Thanks!

Greg ๐Ÿ™‚

Author's Reply:
Sounds like a concert I would have enjoyed.

cooky on 12-12-2012
Maple at its best
The cultue of the blues is captured within your words I like this

Author's Reply:
Thanks for taking the time cooky, I apprciate your comments

Mikeverdi on 12-12-2012
Maple at its best
Stereotype or not it covers the blues like a warm breeze, I could here a guitar playing bottle neck in the background. superb writing. Mike

Author's Reply:
Nice comments Mikeverdi, me too ๐Ÿ™‚ thanks for your time.

Nomenklatura on 13-12-2012
Maple at its best
Yep, very fine. "Toiled trousers" was a little forced for me, but otherwise really fine writing.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the feedback I'll have a look. S

royrodel on 14-12-2012
Maple at its best
HA ! King wanted 120 quid from me to watch his mistakes
all the bluesmen are dead

Author's Reply:
Not on my porch

franciman on 14-12-2012
Maple at its best
Hi Savvi and welcome to the feast!
Not sure how I missed this on my first few passes. A poem you need to take your time with, but once it's in your head the imagery breathes life and sound and colour. Now a favourite and a nomination for the anthology.
cheers,
Jim

Author's Reply:
Many thanks Jim, you are too kind, I dont feel quite ready to join the feast, there are some very solid poem on display, but I am enjoying the nibble. S