take me to your bedroom

set my soul on fire

remove my thong with your teeth

unwrap me like a gift

that sexy gleam in your eyes

says all I need to know

long enough we’ve been in lust

let’s pussyfoot no more

so kiss me now long and deep

let me be your temptress

I’ll lick your flesh into life

our desire will overflow

discover all my hotsp...

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She came to me out of the sky from the blue,                                                               

she is a high altitude cloud Cirrus maiden.                                                                       

She found me on the mountaintop,                                                                  

our worlds met as one!                                   ...

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Nippity-pippity, flippity-gibbity,

I couldn't care tuppence about serendipity!

Life is a craps game, a stage-play, a dance;

Life is a sap's game fate plans in advance!

Nippity-pippity, flippity-gibbity

I couldn't care tuppence about serendipity!

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Spare room stone floor cold

sweat shakes downfluid

she waits, breaking

sparring forceful monkwhispers

deep headholes gelled skull gapes

iris hush mercurian

let jesus in, between

give god the right, behind

wet leaf brain cruel mush

residue

frail days and furry nighthands

the hands of god in the silent sheets

she her lets the dove fly

soulgroome...

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(Time for a dirty one!)

I woke excited this morning.

You know, excited down there;

I’d dreamt of us being together,

Aroused by the scent of your hair.

We walked hand-in-hand so slowly

Soaked to the bone by the rain

Its rivulets streamed down your forehead

We laughed and were twenty again.

The street turned into a bedroom

So seamles...

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How do you write poetry?

I don't know, haven't got a Scooby Doo.

Although a teacher once told me the words you use

Should rhyme and stick together like glue.

But I haven't got the time or

The intonation to think like that.

My mates would think I'm a right ......Ball and Bat.

One lady suggested that we should work together

Using the Free Style Rhythm method...

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(NB: the dumbarse formatting doesn't show unless you click on it to read it)

beans

sausage

honesty

tomatoes

chocolate orange

eggs

bread

integrity

lentils, red and green

spuds

love

olive oil

pizza

mushy peas  

cous cous

happiness

jasmine rice

shampoo

faith

milk

carrot cake

veggie country pie

butter

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In a long ago time when the world was fine and the sun shone every day.

Where the grass grew green and the air blew clean there was always time to play.

Then falls from trees and fresh scraped knees where just one part of life.

As meal times passed we survived the fast untouched by any strife.

When football games were played in frames until dusk wrap it's cloak.

A stic...

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Trapped inside my brain

Ten thousand fledglings wait

Each sparkling with hope

Within this hopeless state.

In their unfettered world

They jostle to be free,

Yet one by one the flame is gone –

They shrink and die in me.

Oh! Womb of future past

Where birth pains sear,

Ambitions fear

And Creativity

Disappears,

In darkest night

...

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Rain drops drip

On dustpan lids

Drip drop, drip drop

Creating a rhythm

With every splash

Trickling down flower petals

On window pane

Moving smoothly

Following their own beat

Making people feel

Hear

And look at their beauty

Even if people moan

They cannot stop

The drip drop, drip drop

Raindrop beat

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Open file.

There has been a sighting, it is a high priority alert,

We have launched an immediate investigation into the incident,

He is on a dark edge, she has too much cuteness,

Refer them to the compatible relationship facilitator.

She does not click onto his love icon, she needs a reorientation course,

He wants to take her heart into stewardship, so that i...

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Poem For My Dad

In the deepest darkest recess of the mind

The saddest memory is there to find

There’s nothing more to say except I miss you Dad,

We had our time together, good and bad

And many differences, we had

After all, you were a man who got an apple and an orange for Christmas

And I was a lad who began the biggest record collection in th...

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I never really knew my mother’s father.

All I remember: tuft of nostril hair,

spied from sitting on his knee; and a hoard

of half-hidden threepenny pieces

slipped into a sandpit outside the lido.

In pictures he looks a kind, fair man.

Worked for his only firm from 16 to 61.

Received a wedding cruet set in 1922,

inscribed "from members and friends" at ...

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I Would not change a thing. And I'd give u my didgets if I thought it mattered, Laughing yeah. Hint hint let me know, THis one of my last!

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Where is that nursery window?
Cunliffe, Martha and Mary
threw Anne's writing-desk onto the lawn
after spitting in her workbag.

Is the table in the corner
the one that Anne tied her charges to
much to the chagrin of her employer?
Silence hovers in the room.

In the orchard and kitchen garden
I can sense the bones of moles and magpies
trapped and tortured by Master Cunlif...

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Poem 109 of 230:  WE GO TOGETHER 

(TUNE - IN THE KEY OF C MAJOR:

C2 E2 G2 E3 C2 E2 G2 E3
E2 G2 E2 E2 E3
C2 E2 G2 E3 C2 E2 G2 E3
E2 G2 E2 E2 E3
C2 E2 G2 E3 C2 E2 G2 E3
E2 G2 E2 E2 E3

G2 A2 B2 B2 A2 G2 A2 G2
B2 A2 G2 A2 G2
C2 A2 B2 B3 C2 A2 B2 B3
C2 A2 B2 B3 C2 A2 B2 B3
B2 A2 G2 A2 G2
B3 B2 A2 G2 A2 G3)

Does a mortar need a pestle?
    A curry a grind?
Does a monsieur need a ...

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Carnivorous

People in glass houses should not throw stones!

But I find myself thrown,

Thrown like lamb to lion

But that’s how it is,

That’s how it always is when

Suffering the purgatory of born lowest,

Lowest of low.

You start your day with all manners

Of optimism; keen, eager, ready to take

On the all - selfish gods bestow

As...

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This poem is not technically speaking my next poem.

However, it would have been-

if you had seen me writing my last poem,

you see my next poem will be the one I write after this one-

if you sort of know what I mean?

But it won't be my next poem when I'm actually composing it,

it will then be my current poem,

of course this poem would then become my last poem.

...

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This girl doesn't love me
anymore than I love myself.
I bet she can't even remember my name.
I'd be surprised if she was
even interested in learning it.
She just wants to spend the night
examining my foreskin,
or turning me in circles,
trying to find the seam
where God sewed me up.

Somewhere beyond this day,
there are lovers next to white beaches,
about to walk barefo...

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We won the war in 1944

Me and Jubb sang that coming back from school

then bought our rocks at The Bonbon shop:

Fruit Pastilles, Gobstoppers, Pineapple Chunks.

We never pinched from the Bonbon shop

because Mr Bonbon would let you off

if you didn’t have enough dough.

One morning we heard him say to a bloke

It makes you wonder who won the war

German...

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I am a fashion womble, ‘cause I like to find

clothes that the everyday folk leave behind

in charity shops. They’ve got quite a range

the vintage, the bargain, the oddball and strange:

Chenille turtlenecks that are falling to pieces,

stonewashed Wranglers with turn-ups and creases,

a Hellbunny dress that won’t fit round the middle,

a gabardine coat that smells s...

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I cut across the square

Toward warm light

Reflected in stone.

My perseverance through persistence

Draws a line to the vanishing point of purpose.

Light on the pavement

Each footfall Played teasingly

On the diffusion of light.

This I remember as a recalling

Years ago and with the rain clouding my mind.

Reinforcement, the image I made I su...

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'ThePoetry Spoke'

Great poetry and acoustic music night-

This Tuesday Night - 28th February - 8pm!

La Gondola

22a Liscard Crescent

Wallasey- The Wirral

CH44 1AE (a stones throw over the Mersey from Liverpool)

Check us out in the gig guide and view the photo- we're the venue/wine bar that has all the ivy going on lol.

Our Guest Poet

WOL poet and Wi...

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They think they know her as she bends over,

her cheek stroking the spruce of pine,

the tufts of her hair, static – dreams wafted in the near space

of suggestion.

They cross their legs and lean into each other –

eyes forward, slight with whispers, presumptions -

they know the program, and have bought the ticket;

they wrote the music, and metered the love.

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This Current Economic Climate

The unknown

The feared

The fear

Grows when allowed

Society

This society

Burrowing its venem

Deep

Deep, deep

Those that can’t pay don’t

And the bill becomes larger and larger

And their pockets become smaller and smaller

Then their houses get tinier

Then they lose them

And their sleeping blankets have no zip...

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Highgate Women’s Pond We are fair feather swimmers, lucked out on sunshine dipping down among the moorhens and the mandarin ducks. Remember the house we shared, the book we all read - from The Women’s Press - ‘Steaming Ahead’ - picture of an iron on the spine. It was called Three Ply Yarn, told the stories of women’s lives, how they combine, pull apart and coincide. Today our hair dri...

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Selflish self promotion but this is a not to missed event for fans of Bush and McCluskey so that when they have their rightful International fame you will be able to say: "I saw Bush and McCluskey before they were famous". Oh, and there will be great supporting poetry from Rose Drew, Pauline Kirk, John Gilham and Edd Caine.

All at the Lion and Lamb, 7pm, 4 High Petergate, York - and c...

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I must have passed this attic door

Framed in its mist of quietness

A thousand times,

I wonder what it was

That this time made me pause –

Accept the invitation –

And come in.

So far

This journey

Through nostalgia -country

Has been sweet,

Past the old rocking horse

(My first addiction)

The red tricycle

Upon which

Trailing

A pan...

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Hi everyone and welcome once again to my poetry blog.

 It's been a while since I last posted which I apologise for but it's been a crazy few months.

 I have a new one for you today which is written about a subject we can all sympathise with, the dreaded  writers block. Some say it's a myth some live by it and for others it just happens from time to time. I also apologise in advance to a...

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This was the last poem I would write before I got to New York, it had been a long tiring drive and my inspiration had gone so I concentrated on enjoying my tour, but nothing could have prepared me for what would happen there. I wrote a journal of the trip just in case inspiration would strike when I got home so far it hasn't.

22.04.11 - 81) Through the fog and the rain ...

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There's more to me

than what

they see.

Some see the

real me.

Some only

the facade.

Some think

I'm nice,

some think I'm odd.

Some think

I'm a dork.

My emotions

stuffed in a

bottle and

sealed with a cork.

There's more to me

than ...

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i had hoped

you’

      died

that the pins

i’

d

stuck

killed          you

the pins

don’t work

pink

black

       or

blue

you

still wander

larger

        than

life

spreading

callous

cruelty

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They dwell in strange rooms
the murky recesses of affordability
barely buildings, bedrooms with sinks
chair pushed up against the door
flakes of lives flung everywhere
A curtain, a quilt - who can really say?

A bare bulb hangs in an open window
no shade inside from day or night
Still lives go on; the rudimentary,
ramshackle, clutching at homeliness
the need for shelter unites us all
...

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Strip the streets of logic

it's that time of week again.

Put the short skirts on the women

get the team shirts on the men.

Get the barrels filled with beer

and put your gumshields in.

Pack the bars and tip the cars

the match will soon begin.

Raise the horns and burst the drums

that lay within our ears.

Unite us all with ludicrous folk

and rid us...

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The noise, the smell, the blood, the flies,

And in this reek I walked and woke,

To see where all compassion dies.

And in a pen, alone aloof,

A great old bull a mighty mound,

Who stood and watched and waited death,

But offered not a single sound.

This once proud heap, this thing of flesh,

...

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Thank you, Horace Walpole,

for SERENDIPITY:

‘the happy knack of making

unexpected and delightful discoveries by accident’

(Cassells, Hertfordshire, UK)

‘the faculty of making happy discoveries by accident’

(Oxford University Press, Oxford, UK)

Hmmm – ‘knack’ and  ‘faculty’ -

words of repetition

indicative of a predisposed nature

a pattern of behavio...

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I still dream of the Solent’s bottle green,

of gentle sea splashing against the weed clad legs of the dark jetty.

Comes then a steal of wind carrying a kiss of the sea wetting your cheek,

as raucous rusted

ferry chains ring out over the darkening estuary.

 Roosted high upon her boatyard perch

a gull watches quietly from beneath downy white wing

as night p...

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Carrara

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we all come together here

shairing the best and worst of our experiences

and i wonder in between the messages

i look left then look right ,

then proceed forward with my eyes closed

im not always in the wrong

but ,

but ,

the poetry of poets devours me

and saves every little bit of me i invested in

time and effort , lyrics of regret

i made myself look s...

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Dear all;

A new poem of mine about the Stephen Lawrence murder and also the Carol Anne Duffy poem on the same topic has been published here 

http://poetry-24.blogspot.com/2012/02/sunday-supplement.html

Why not let me know what you think

Cheers

Andy N 

Thanks to Cathy for her help with this one. 

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Giant brick-crunching machine chews building

rips hall

crushes stairs

folds up wall.

Bliss for a destructive man

busy and gleeful in his cabin

in his monster.

Sorrow and wonder

for a little boy

watching his school

vanish

before his wide eyes

his shocked and fascinated eyes.

Today his school has taught him a lesson.

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I'm having a bad day

You know what I mean

So, I'm gonna sit down, relax

And turn on my screen.

I'll talk to all my friends

Tell them about my day

They help when I'm down

And make my troubles fade away,

They're always there for me

Whenever I feel blue

Though we've never met before

I know their frienships true,

We haven't been friends long

But i...

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Snafus

by J. Otis Powell!

Something went wrong

The hourglass leaked sands

Of disasters re-mastered

Leaked cannons of obsolete protocol 

Into the vacuum air of regrets

Shifting truth drained

Into songs we wish we’d never heard

Of lost cheer 

Of our own undoing

We grieve what was dear

But must learn to let go

Time passes and we wonder

...

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Have they been wheeling and waiting for me, how long,

Over these bare February branches,

skeletons they will neither roost in

Nor pick at, wood-bones for which they have no use?

Waiting all the while the silver water slides as rustled silk

Right to left, under the old viaduct at Parton?

Driven by massive air

That I can only guess at, from Greenland, arctic, God...

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