Now here's a poem I'd like to have written! It is tussling with a couple of others for position as my new favourite.
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Just read it. I've been aware of Armitage, but not his work til the past couple of weeks. I enjoyed this. Though I would like to see something more caustic in relation to Blair and Iraq. Perhaps I could commission John Cooper Clarke to do the honours.
Or maybe just this one!
Apologies to the offendable.
TWAT by John Cooper Clarke
Like a Night Club in the morning, you’re the bitter end.
Like a recently disinfected shit-house, you’re clean round the bend.
You give me the horrors
too bad to be true
All of my tomorrow’s
are lousy coz of you.
You put the Shat in Shatter
Put the Pain in Spain
Your germs are splattered about
Your face is just a stain
You’re certainly no raver, commonly known as a drag.
Do us all a favour, here... wear this polythene bag.
You’re like a dose of scabies,
I’ve got you under my skin.
You make life a fairy tale... Grimm!
People mention murder, the moment you arrive.
I’d consider killing you if I thought you were alive.
You’ve got this slippery quality,
it makes me think of phlegm,
and a dual personality
I hate both of them.
Your bad breath, vamps disease, destruction, and decay.
Please, please, please, please, take yourself away.
Like a death a birthday party,
you ruin all the fun.
Like a sucked and spat our smartie,
you’re no use to anyone.
Like the shadow of the guillotine
on a dead consumptive’s face.
Speaking as an outsider,
what do you think of the human race
You went to a progressive psychiatrist.
He recommended suicide...
before scratching your bad name off his list,
and pointing the way outside.
You hear laughter breaking through, it makes you want to fart.
You’re heading for a breakdown,
better pull yourself apart.
Your dirty name gets passed about when something goes amiss.
Your attitudes are platitudes,
just make me wanna piss.
What kind of creature bore you
Was is some kind of bat
They can’t find a good word for you,
but I can...
TWAT.
One of my very fave JCC poems. Beasley Street takes some beating mind :cool:
My laptop is having a major wobble, so if I don't get on again beforehand then have a great Christmas all and I'll catch up soon.
Thank you for all the
poems found, written, shared
It has been lovely
Harry
x
The Bard of Salford
caustic wit in drainpipe suit
not like dear Pablo
Here is an appropiate poem for all man-flu sufferers:
MAN FLU
Go hang yourself, you old M.D,!
You shall not sneer at me.
Pick up your hat and stethoscope,
Go wash your mouth with laundry soap;
I contemplate a joy exquisite
In not paying you for your visit.
I did not call you to be told
My malady is a common cold.
By pounding brow and swollen lip;
By fever's hot and scaly grip;
By those two red redundant eyes
That weep like woeful April skies;
By racking snuffle, snort, and sniff;
By handkerchief after handkerchief;
This cold you wave away as naught
Is the damnedest cold man ever caught!
Give ear, you scientific fossil!
Here is the genuine Cold Colossal;
The Cold of which researchers dream,
The Perfect Cold, the Cold Supreme.
This honoured system humbly holds
The Super-cold to end all colds;
The Cold Crusading for Democracy;
The Führer of the Streptococcracy.
Bacilli swarm within my portals
Such as were ne'er conceived by mortals,
But bred by scientists wise and hoary
In some Olympic laboratory;
Bacteria as large as mice,
With feet of fire and heads of ice
Who never interrupt for slumber
Their stamping elephantine rumba.
A common cold, gadzooks, forsooth!
Ah, yes. And Lincoln was jostled by Booth;
Don Juan was a budding gallant,
And Shakespeare's plays show signs of talent;
The Arctic winter is fairly coolish,
And your diagnosis is fairly foolish.
Oh what a derision history holds
For the man who belittled the Cold of Colds!
(Ogden Nash)
Spot on X-runner. I love this! Funnily enough i was chuckling at some other ogden Nash poems last night - for the 1st time in years.
here he manages to express what no lass could ever understand.... the full extent of our terrible suffering!
just found a gorgeous reading of one of pabulo neruda's poem....click on the link then scroll down to the neruda box...think it might be madonna reading it...! but don't let that prejudice you!
http://www.beautifulmadonna.com/download/audio.html
sigh.............................................. ..:)
text of above......
If you forget me
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
Pablo Neruda </B>
WOW! I like that, a lot... < sighs >
Together.
You caress my hand with a silken touch,
The pale moonlight catches your eyes sparkling like diamonds,
We pull close i feel the heat of your breath,
Your breasts rising with each sharp intake,
Then we kiss our bodies sweating tight against each other,
An explosion of ecstasy courses through us each hair stands on end,
We shiver and lay down upon the soft rose petals gathered round,
She surrounds me in her womanhood as we gently move,
Each gentle movement brings a sigh this is bliss,
Things are starting to get hot she wraps her thighs around me,
Screaming for me to go harder, faster, Oh it's happening,
A divine moment we are one the sweat pouring from us,
Oh that was beautiful she says i caress her lips with mine,
I love you i say and we spoon gently feeling our resting hearts,
Drifting off together dreaming of our love.
By Matt Harmston.
Summoned to wrap
I'd rather peruse poetry
but sometimes
LIFE
gets in the way!
:)
Whilst i remember as i have such an awful memory. I would like to wish everyone a merry christmas and happy new year. I may well write again tonight but i thought whilst i remembered i would pass on my yuletide sentiments. I think there will be a time starting about first week in january where i will have to knuckle down and get the poems into order and photos to go in the book to into the order i want so during that period my new work maybe thin on the ground but i will still drop in everyday. As i want to have the book ready for sale from my website http://www.thepoeticscribblingsofbip...y.blogspot.com . Oh freckle are we still going to talk to hes when she gets back about designing a vest for the F.P.S. as ron hill can cope with bespoke costs about 15 pound.
Right..i know what you are going to think when you read the next poem ..." There she goes again, a one trick pony, all romance etc etc"...well rest assured folks there will be plenty Plath/Sexton in January! and perhaps some of my own darker compositions as I suffer in all these fell races I am planning on doing!!!!.... but for now...a little Brian Patten....
Her Song
For no other reason than I love him wholly
I am here; for this one night at least
The world has shrunk to a boyish breast
On which my head, brilliant and exhausted, rests,
And can know of nothing more complete.
Let the dawn assemble all its guilts, its worries
And small doubts that, but for love, would infect
This perfect heart.
I am as far beyond doubt as the sun.
I am as far beyond doubt as is possible.
jose gonzalez
heartbeats
one night to be confused
one night to speed up truth
we had a promise made
four hands and then away
both under influence
we had devine scent
to know what to say
mind is a razorblade
to call for hands of above
to lean on
wouldn't be good enough
for me, no
one night of magic rush
the start a simple touch
one night to push and scream
and then relief
ten days of perfect tunes
the colours red and blue
we had a promise made
we were in love
to call for hands of above
to lean on
wouldn't be good enough
for me, no
to call for hands of above
to lean on
wouldn't be good enough
and you, you knew the hands of the devil
and you, kept us awake with wolf teeths
sharing different heartbeats
in one night
to call for hands of above
to lean on
wouldn't be good enough
for me, no
to call for hands of above
to lean on
wouldn't be good enough
for me, no
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xvS8TcBb7xg
Here is my morning post now...as tomorrow things will be hectic with a capital H!!!!
So , top of the morning to you...and wishing you all a peaceful christmas...
The confirmation
edwin muir
Yes, yours, my love, is the right human face,
I in my mind had waited for this long,
Seeing the false and searching for the true,
Then found you as a traveller finds a place
Of welcome suddenly amid the wrong
Valleys and rocks and twisting roads. But you,
What shall I call you? A fountain in a waste,
A well of water in a country dry,
Or anything that’s honest and good, an eye
That makes the whole world bright. Your open heart,
Simple with giving, gives the primal deed,
The first good world, the blossom, the blowing seed, T
he hearth, the steadfast land, the wandering sea.
Not beautiful or rare in every part.
But like yourself, as they were meant to be.
Re: Heartbeat. you know what - heard the song loads of times and hadn't paid heed to the lyrics. Interessting!
Morning (again!)...I still have lots to do so I will be quiet on here today in all likelihood....here's a xmas poem to get us in the mood, one that will be read out to the kids tonight I think.....Happy Christmas all!
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tinny reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
"Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donner and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.
His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!"
Clement Clarke Moore
T'was the night before Christmas........
The perfect poem for today - the children will love it!
First time I read this I was blown away. Hope it works for all of you too.
Seven Studies of my Mother by James Caruth
my mother looking away
to some place where a story finishes
and begins again.
The pale mist of her eyes,
like morning breaking
over water.
The faces come and go;
clouds move quickly across the sky
my mother and the cross
She nailed her future to him.
He was her cross to bear, shouldering
a deadweight up the narrow streets,
to a lashing of tongues.
Retraced her steps year after year,
seeking redemption in a weary heart.
A memory of love pinned to her
like a scallop shell.
my mother lying down
Idle hands do the devil's work.
So all her life she worked her fingers to threads
amongst the clack and clash of looms
where words were shapes woven on her lips
or a code of eyes.
Today she is sleeping.
Her breath is slow waves breaking,
she is dreaming of the sea,
of winds that taste of salt.
Of a healing of wounds.
my mother and God
talked from day to day.
She recounted her troubles
in a list that grew endless.
God knows what he told her.
And still, she reached into the silence
for answers, hearing His voice
rattling like a shuttle through her heart.
my mother at night
could not close her eyes
until she had counted
each one of us home,
until the fold was gated.
She'd lie there, a taut spring,
watching headlights cross
the bedroom wall, listening
to the wild dogs howling
on the wind off the Lough,
waiting for the slam of a car door,
the solace of a key in a lock.
My mother and me
sparked like flint.
Love knapped an edge to us
that would cut to the bone.
I'd whet it on my tongue,
pare soft muscle, sever
sinew and tendon
until she could bear no more.
Like the day she broke
and called me a bastard.
And I replied - it's you should know;
the deep wound opening.
my mother with flowers
She is a sea cliff,
flowers grow in the thin ledge
of her arms. Red Campion,
Sea Aster, Thrift.
An ocean crashes about her feet,
the sky snags in her hair.
On this sparse rock
We have built our nest.
The titles of these poems have been taken from a series of paintings and prints by the artsit Celia Paul.
Stevie i always adore your choices what a wonderful moving poem...thank you :-) and a merry christmas to you too DT and you other fell poets out there!...can I just say I have really enjoyed the past couple of months on this thread and conversing with you all...here is to a wonderful 2010 of continued creativity!
take care all
Mistletoe by Walter de la Mare
Sitting under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
One last candle burning low,
All the sleepy dancers gone,
Just one candle burning on,
Shadows lurking everywhere:
Some one came, and kissed me there.
Tired I was; my head would go
Nodding under the mistletoe
(Pale-green, fairy mistletoe),
No footsteps came, no voice, but only,
Just as I sat there, sleepy, lonely,
Stooped in the still and shadowy air
Lips unseen - and kissed me there.
Santa's nicked off
the presents all out
too much wine and cheese
makes a fell poet feel stout
never mind pretty soon
you'll get the miles in
which will help you forget
the magnitude of your sin
so it is that I leave
this forum
for one special day
and trust that all forumites
in my absence resist
any temptation
to get totally and utterly p***ed!
Of course I am jesting
as you may be aware
my passion for sneckliftering
is beyond compare!
So dear friends
it is with no further a do
I sincerely wish y-o-u
merry christmas
and a year full of NEW!
:):D:)
Hello everyone! Just wanted to wish you all a really happy Christmas and hope that your day is full of love, happiness and poetry! I just spent mine on the beach at Mamallapuram, Tamilnadu beachcombing, drawing cows amongst the boats and chatting to gypsies...happy days!
Thanks for all your lovely comments about my haiku and I have been reading a few posts. There has been some wonderful choices and some really creative new work. I'm going to read the last few weeks pr so properly when I am back and sufferning from jetlag.
a couple from the jungle:
forest canopy
a net for one hundred stars
caught among the leaves
as the moon rises
bird song gives way to insects
the night forest hums
like sparks from a fire
the afternoon sun sets light
to dragonfly wings
From chaotic Madurai:
polychrome temple
air hangs heavy with jasmine
and warm candle wax
and from Mamallapuram:
the half moon hangs low
among the boats the cows sleep
waves wash the beach clean
From a poet from Tamil Nadu:
Primal Cause
I cracked myself
The world emerged
I cracked the world
Became myself
vannanilavan
and for all you parents and poets....
An Equation
Between the lines of a poem
(a+b)2 = a2 + b2 + 2ab
scribbled in pencil by
my little daughter.
Poem versus equation-
her action set me thinking.
A few days later
in her homework
Swimming through
algebraic symbols-
a small, childish flower
karikalan
Happy Merry.
I adore this Hes...its beautiful!...the haiku are so evocative, really lovely...your xmas sounds fab!...we are having a lovely day here but think i need a good long run tomorrow after all this indulgence!...thanks for thefestive wishes boy wonder and hope all you fell poets are having a good one...
back to the high school musical dance mat..i am the champ after all !:)
One of my xmas presents...the forward book of poetry, a collection of the best poems of the year from the forward poetry prizes has this one...i think its rather good!
Lit Windows
Glyn Maxwell
When I go home again,
when I know so many homes, but I mean the home
with the longest vowel, when I wander the old realm,
I pass them on the lane,
boys turned to men,
so I turn back to a boy
to pass them saying nothing. For it's death
to be where one is not, where every breath
is a heaving of the oars
alone at sea.
I could grow white and old
and I will, I am well aware, grow white and old
looking through lit windows of the world
for people in their rooms;
for the blue, cold
light of a TV on
in an empty room . . . girl at a light so bright
she's silhouette . . . a man who hangs his coat
and stands quite still . . . a mother
agrees with someone
over cake . . . the frosted light
of suppertime, of bathtime, of sex.
I don't have what I have from reading books
but stopping by your homes
to see these sights
and wondering forever
who is someone else? Who on earth
are all these people to have known this with,
this world? Whole skies of stars
are a lesser wonder
fullythan all your lights at evening,
all your lives. When the lights go out I'm there,
moving on. When it's dark the stars are clear,
their immaterial eyes
believing, disbelieving.
snowy Christmas run
knee-deep drifts on Pennine Way
mince pies aided thaw