Tuesday 4th August 2015 8:42 am
Also by Colsibabes:Lowku Supper | therapy | The Lowku Arena | boxes | headshot | paperlust |
The Bus Trip
We are driving to Cascais on Sunday my wife wants to take
the bus she thinks we are too old to drive 300 miles.
On the bus you might risk sitting by someone who can`t afford
water or soap that is a low grade working person on his way to
use a spade and whatever to build a trench that keeps the water
away when it is raining
I`m a tonic water socialist and rea...
Tuesday 4th August 2015 7:15 am
Also by jan oskar hansen :a reflective moment | not a writing day | not a writing day | end of democracy | forgotten lives |
he eats an orange
ache of summer
the pitted reflection
of the kitchen window
parts like skin
along the edge
of his knife
Monday 3rd August 2015 10:46 pm
Home from home motorhome
Eric has cashed in his assets
greedy for tea rooms vistas
dawns and sunsets in shorts
(we're bloody good sports)
stick like glue in our pod on the move
in the groove
going north west south east
as we please it's like a disease!
no sooner a sneeze than we make the decision.
Home from home motorhome
motorway strip searche...
Monday 3rd August 2015 10:36 pm
Also by ray pool:CLIPPIE |
Should I knock
On the door
With my fist
Should I Rat
A tat tat
With my list
Should I pause
Do I want
I’m not sure
I should go now
I’m quite sure
Unclench my fist
And let this door
That will not
Monday 3rd August 2015 8:47 pm
Half the bruises
Monday 3rd August 2015 7:10 pm
Tags: short but sweet
Also by Stu Buck:pang | Arlo #1 + #2 |
I hear it, the silence
It's all around me
Waves of energy
They keep haunting me
Dragging my sorrows
They can't seem to leave me alone
The dust is flying
My eyes are crying
If only they knew
How badly I want it
If only they knew
I'd risk my life for it
Dear beloved, how are you today?
Very well, she said
While all she wanted to do was cry
Monday 3rd August 2015 2:53 pm
Also by The Dumb Genius:Ready to fight | I have found a place |
Coming apart like stitches
Memories break off
As you grow older
Dissolving into skeletons
Drained of fact.
Into stark instrumentals
The first girl you kissed
With Helen, the second.
Diminishing the 8 years
Working at Great Universal
Your first job
When then you wondered
If it would ever end.
Padlocked in broken gasps
All the way out
Monday 3rd August 2015 12:57 pm
(Fed up with the barrage of bad news, disruption and violence)
A grassy knoll,
a trout stream close
should I care to look,
carpet my feet,
new born lambs
squabble at the teat,
ewes stare blankly
and amble by
like fallen clouds
from the azure sky,
the gold of rape
dark green oak
ash in bloom
time for a soak,...
Monday 3rd August 2015 11:44 am
His fingers dance in darkness on her spine
Each movement seeking virgin skin to touch,
An architect of gentlest design
A rhythmic masterpiece, almost too much.
Strong hands caress the softness of her back
As chess-like tactics keep her senses high,
She melts like liquid gold, cannot keep track
If this is heaven then please let her die.
She feels the tingle from collar to hip
Monday 3rd August 2015 10:13 am
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Between the pastures runs the path
Its hedge rows reaching tall
And opens to the Mill house weir
Where babbling waters fall
The willow dips its weeping leaves
In to the silent pond
Whilst lovers sit content around
To pledge eternal bond
The meadow lies still in breathless air
As England passes summer
And life goes by without a care
As one day becomes anot...
Monday 3rd August 2015 8:52 am
Also by David Moore:Moon washed | Temper tongue | Slabs |
When I of solitude's measure drink
And of your precious person think,
I wish my lonely loving cup
Was with your own sweet self filled up.
But hearts' desires with passion sought
Are always better won than bought
So I consent to be content
With consolations I am sent.
I live this life with you in mind
And from your treasured image find
Sweet solace for an emp...
Monday 3rd August 2015 2:19 am
Not the TV host with a brazen giggle
Winding up the gormless on ‘Blind Date’
Or tugging tears on ‘Surprise Surprise’
Nor the glittering star, clutching champagne
In morose interviews after Bobby’s death
Her grief bubbling up
Pressing behind aching eyes
But the fragile, stick thin girl
Trembling on stage
Warmed only by a single
And cruel spotlight
Picking out every contour
Sunday 2nd August 2015 10:19 pm
Tags: Cilla Black.,David Subacchi.Welsh Poetry,Liverpool poetry
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I'm amused by a number of friends who delight in ridiculing Christianity. Certainly they question the veracity of other religions but ridicule is reserved for Christianilty.
And when I ask myself, “Why?” I reach the conclusion that it's because it's easy; it’s a cheap shot.
Christianity has its zealots, of course, and its wisdom is often questionable but it doesn’t indulge in the types...
Sunday 2nd August 2015 9:05 pm
Our Cilla (your Cilla) is dead!
For Gods sake what is
this world coming to?
A dead Cilla is no Cilla at all.
Jesus Christ Almighty. Amen.
words and foto Tommy Carroll
Sunday 2nd August 2015 8:40 pm
you green and pleasant land,
your beauty never ceases to instil
a calmness in my hands.
A sense of peace; contentment
within my wandering mind,
a fulfilling feast for longing eyes
that seem always looking behind.
The golden greens of your pastures
covering long and rolling hills,
the succulent scent of your flowers
tickling senses to smile at...
Sunday 2nd August 2015 7:04 pm
Engage in preamble,
And ramble a bit until you see fit to begin.
Draw deep, close your eyes to speak.
Begin with thin withered lines,
Telling tales of times when life was worth living.
Don’t shuffle into nostalgia.
Still, throw in that line that tells how you used to be a free spirt,
Not a bogged down middle aged git
Unfit to wield a mic and talk like this,
Sunday 2nd August 2015 7:02 pm
Also by dazzer:Late Meetings |
Elijah - the Lord of storms,
Dew, hail, rain and thunder,
Today rides a chariot.
The Prophet with an effort
Breathe the autumn.
The days are shorter
The nights are longer
Warm days linger.
Two hours Elijah has taken.
By August He was awaken.
Water becomes overgrown
In the lakes and local ponds.
Our Lord agrees and nods,
Summer has no more odds,
It can't argue with Gods
Sunday 2nd August 2015 5:52 pm
Also by Larisa Rzhepishevska:Elijah The Prophet |
I slipped out of
Digged in her heels
Ripped the heart out of my life
“Can you spare a cigarette please?”
I slipped onto this park bench
When Cameron rode into town
Guns a blazing
“I’m taking the poor down “
“Spare 50p for a can”
Spare a thought
For those ...
Born, growing, hoping
This is a fair world
Sunday 2nd August 2015 5:10 pm
Speaking of form and function. Helen, on here,
recently made a very respectable attempt at a
`modern` version of the Sestina.
It caused me to look at Ezra Pound`s version of
the form for comparison. (this is it below).
A sestina is basically six stanzas of six lines each
Sunday 2nd August 2015 2:46 pm
Upon the Winds of Change
Upon the winds of change our courses flew
And us across the heaving seas did send.
It mattered not what dreams each would pursue
For Fate decreed what we could not portend:
That once again our raging hearts should blend
In Youth’s enduring spirit which does flow
Between us still, steel bond of lustful f...
Sunday 2nd August 2015 1:20 pm
A plate of scattered crumbs is set
Beside my comfy chair,
And drowsily I quite forget
Just who I am and where;
For something here is not quite right,
I feel it in my bones,
Which oddly seem so very light
For reasons unbeknown.
I find it hard to concentrate
On tasks of high demand;
My brain would like to relocate
To airy fairy land.
And as the mist descends to blur
An ever-changing sce...
Sunday 2nd August 2015 9:34 am
Also by Jonathan Humble:Extreme Yorkshire Pastimes |
a magazine filled with glasnost bullets;
a body drawn in dots.
a truth cut deeper and harder
stillness painted in red and black.
placidity before pain
lucidity in the rain
washing away ten thousand drops of me
all bearing my name
none bearing my face.
Saturday 1st August 2015 5:26 pm
Tags: wash away noir dames black and red jack and queen
I've spent sometime
Whose goods should rhyme -
Whose plastic shots
Are sorted by
Well, now robots -
Before ‘twas folks:
(C) David Franks 2003; from -
Saturday 1st August 2015 3:58 pm
I still remember the meagre collection
- shirley bassey tihuana brass neil diamond's greatest hits -
and a couple of 45s
- one of which - tommy steele's confession - we never played -
but we would stack the rest
and dance until they dropped
- then dance some more
flared trousers swinging
- the green patterned pile carpet -
and my sisters osmond lp
later I asked my mother
what she did in the sixties
and where ...
Saturday 1st August 2015 1:30 am
I found out yesterday that all this time
I've wasted my focus on things I am not
For I am a poet however unorthodox and unsound
I am a poet, whether I want it or not
So yesterday I began to write
My words in short phrases and lines
I ignored punctuation and laughed at rhymes
I made a point to trust my mind
Now I know, bad poet or not,
A poet I am for better or...
Saturday 1st August 2015 12:01 am
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