Today's poet

a "hot" poem by the most gorgeous poet of them all (bar one;))

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2YjyakdsVs

Nothing

Something is but nothing
Something it is not
Nil plus nil is nothing
Nothing's what I got
Nothing on the tele
Nothing going on
Nothing to get worked up about
Nothing by the ton
Nothing times a million
Nothing minus ten
Don't say nothing to no one
It's nothing to do with them
Come all the way from nowhere
And now I'm nowhere else
Where nothing is out of place
No one lives
And nothing smells
Talking to no one
It's like talking to the wall
I give you what I get
I give you bugger all

John Cooper Clarke

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Derby Tup

Nothing

Something is but nothing
Something it is not
Nil plus nil is nothing
Nothing's what I got
Nothing on the tele
Nothing going on
Nothing to get worked up about
Nothing by the ton
Nothing times a million
Nothing minus ten
Don't say nothing to no one
It's nothing to do with them
Come all the way from nowhere
And now I'm nowhere else
Where nothing is out of place
No one lives
And nothing smells
Talking to no one
It's like talking to the wall
I give you what I get
I give you bugger all

John Cooper Clarke

---

This is good, apologies to all for monopolising this thread tonight...just been at a bit of a lose end!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Mossdog

"A knocking shop" :eek::eek: Define your term young whippet me lad!!!

Otherwise, smashing verse - really made me smile:):)

---

Crikey! none of the dictionary definitions are going to get me out of this one!


Some merely browsing
At the poetry mall of desire
While others splash the cash



I think maybe I should be 'sin binned'! I'll get me coat!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Derby Tup

Nothing

Something is but nothing
Something it is not
Nil plus nil is nothing
Nothing's what I got
Nothing on the tele
Nothing going on
Nothing to get worked up about
Nothing by the ton
Nothing times a million
Nothing minus ten
Don't say nothing to no one
It's nothing to do with them
Come all the way from nowhere
And now I'm nowhere else
Where nothing is out of place
No one lives
And nothing smells
Talking to no one
It's like talking to the wall
I give you what I get
I give you bugger all

John Cooper Clarke

---

I think you know I'm a sucker for JCC - Nice one. To the uninitiated, this should be read at break-neck speed in a Salford accent.

Monster.

Listen closely do you hear,
Hephaestus hammering out your fear,
Creeping up on you guilty lies,
Whispering disgusting words to your surprise,
For what you've done you should be put away,
Throw away the keys never see the day,
Burying deep in the ground the helpless child,
I hope you die inside whilst being defiled.

By Herakles.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Herakles

Monster.

Listen closely do you hear,
Hephaestus hammering out your fear,
Creeping up on you guilty lies,
Whispering disgusting words to your surprise,
For what you've done you should be put away,
Throw away the keys never see the day,
Burying deep in the ground the helpless child,
I hope you die inside whilst being defiled.

By Herakles.

---

Herakles - via your poetry and with the assistance of google I am being educated in the Greek classics. Hephaestus, deformed blacksmith to the gods.
Thanks for this.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by N-dubya

Towards the End

She was like a dodgem car stuttering, low
on sparks, all stops and starts a walk of a
hundred yards or slightly less could test
her heart and all its gubbins. Smoking started

at the age of nine, she never
stopped or tried to quit ever. Even
when early on in her career, her dad,
my great grandad locked her in the cellar
or bogey hole, with a pack of fags and a
box of matches. Everyone was lit and
smoked in turn, till she was ill. After eightyone

years a full patina of nicotine
on the index and middle finger is no more
than a give away of a dirty habit. The real
trouble was the rattling in her shoes.
The body decaying; her very toes
had blackened and shook loose, like
those of a mishapped mountaineer.

Death itself is instantaneous, dying
can take, minutes or years. It took
six months of refusing food, developing
bedsores and fits whilst possessed
under the spell of morphine. The end
was not sudden, unexpected or unseen
and however much grief you bare it
does not compare to the relief.

---

I feel priveliged when I read something as personal as this. Thanks for inviting us in, and expressing your experience so (dare I say) poetically.

Lover's Gifts IV: She Is Near to My Heart

She is near to my heart as the meadow-flower to the earth;
she is sweet to me as sleep is to tired limbs.
My love for her is my life
flowing in its fullness,
like a river in autumn flood,
running with serene abandonment.
My songs are one with my love,
like the murmur of a stream,
that sings with all its waves and current.

Rabindranath Tagore

It’s the penultimate headtorch run of the year,
The usual format: dash up a hill, then drink beer,
We all start off in scenic Appletreewick,
The usual faces: Grifter, Millipede, Brett and Stick

Along the flowing Wharfe we all trot,
Then up to Simon’s Seat, that’s our spot,
Me and Millipede plod along at the back,
Enjoying post Hobble gossip, savouring the craic

To let everyone through, I open a gate,
And up in the trees there’s an owl calling its mate,
The fields are full of lambs and ewes,
As my mind turns to post-run booze

Ace descender Ted leads the pack home,
This is his country; the Dale’s where he roams,
While seeing him rapidly flying past,
It dawns quickly on us that we’ll be the last

After the run, it’s into the Craven to quench our thirst,
Where to start? Bronte Bitter for me first,
The Hetton Pale Ale is really great,
And Moorhouse’s of Burnley is supped by the crate

When we’ve finally finished our ale,
It’s time to wander home, back down the Dale,
With thoughts of summer evenings and our next run,
Being out in the dark is great but it’s hard to beat the sun!