# Writing > Personal Poetry >  My stuff.

## prendrelemick

I have a plan to stick all my poem stuff here, because it is scattered about the poem contest thread at the moment, and I am not organised enough to keep it anywhere else. This is vanity of course.

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## prendrelemick

A photo of saturn.

Cold, cold beauty,
Pristine and pure,
Ringed with glittering ice,
Haloed with borrowed light.
Perfect.

We see you now,
Framed and displayed,
laid bare to our fatuous stare,
But you remain aloof and lovely,
As only a cold beauty can.

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## prendrelemick

photo of a dead bird.

Jimmy and Ben. (skipping song)

Jimmy an' Ben sittin on a wire,
Say Jimmy to Ben,
We bin here for a' hour
It's time we was up,
An stretchin our wings,
flyin' aroun' an doin' bird t'ings.

Sez Ben. 
Its nice up here jus sittin an singin,
Watchin the world,
An essent-chally chillin,
But Jimmy he say
Up, up, an' away,
I'll race yer' roun' the dock of the bay.

And off they went to swoop and fly,
Till Ben hit a window,
(he thought it was sky.)

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## Jack of Hearts

Oups repeat!

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## prendrelemick

Goddit already jack!



I turn the soil with my Grandad's fork,
Fat handled, ash shafted,
Polished, stained, ingrained,
With the sweat from his hand.
I turn the soil He turned.

Potatoes lie deep 
Like old bones of warriors underground,
I dig them out with my Grandad's fork
I dig out my Grandad,
Memories and taties together.
I collect them up in a bucket,
And bring them inside

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## prendrelemick

The Sage is Occupied,
Over-run by philosophy,
Pouring in through breaches,
Sacking the citadel,
Piling the spoils in the market place,
There's gold in those heaps.

His wife happens by,
And gently Kisses the top of his ear,
Teaching without verbosity,
The worth of his philosophy

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## prendrelemick

Infinite Monkeys

Infinite monkeys,
Typing. 

Words come up, 
And down.
(Simian grammar is complex.)

Arranged for, 

Describing 
A 
Ripening 
Kumquat tree or fig.

A
N
D

Suddenly (after a thousand years or more,)
Tails prehensile,
Or thumbs opposable,
Rampaging and chattering over infinite keys,
Manufacture a sentence,
(Young Gibbons learn fast.) 

Not Shakespeare – yet,
Infinity has still a way still to run.
Gibbonish hands,
Hold up the words in triumph.
“Twas a dark and stormy night.”

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## prendrelemick

Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet...

Hey! that's Ms Muffet to you and not so much of the Little and whadya mean tuffet are you referring to my *** curds and whey with my lactose intolerance you're kidding right I aint scared of you and I aint scared of no spider!

Oh! it's quite big isn't it

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## AuntShecky

I've read all of 'em so far, and methinks you're on to something. Keep 'em comin'.

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## Lokasenna

Always a good idea to keep one's poetry in one place - and you've got some excellent stuff here. I was particularly taken with the 'Grandad' poem - very evocative, and some superb imagery being employed there.

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## prendrelemick

The Highwayman -sort of. 

The wind was a torrent of smogness among the neon signs
The moon was a ghostly galleon caught up in the power lines 
The road was a ribbon of tail-lights across the urban moor
And the stockbroker came driving
Driving, driving,
In his BMW driving, up to the motel door.

He'd a burberry scarf around his neck, and a rolex round his wrist
A coat of blackened silk he wore and he smelt of lavender mist
His Brogues were the softest leather and made to the best design
And he came with his teeth a-twinkle
His cufflinks all a-twinkle
His i-phone five, a-twinkle under the motel sign.

.........and I can't be bothered any more.

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## prendrelemick

It's
Risky
At my age,
To look in the mirror,
'Cos a stranger stares back.
Have the years been so unkind,
To leave my face so haggard and lined.

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## prendrelemick

The Lips of Mae


Lips
Lushly,
Plumped,
Puckerous,
Voluptuous,
Plumpalicious,
Voliplumptious,
Labialiciously,
Volulipness
Puckeriplump
Plumpavolupty,
Luxlylabialnes
Plumplylushe
lushalicious
Lippylabial
Lipolabia.
Bouche
Sofa.

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## prendrelemick

A Bonny Lass Wi' a Long Long Face. 

Aye, a bonnie lass wi a long long face who wore a braw red hat.
When I axed her for a Highland fling, she turned me down right flat,
Come away sez I we'll dance a reel, together you an' me,
Yer Mammy'll never need to know, yer Daddy's too drunk to see.

I will na' do what ye have asked, I canna dance wi' thee,
I wear mi' hat so bright an red so Rab'll notice me,
For he's the wan who has mi heart, 'an who I wait here for, 
So ax another, there's mony a lass 'll spin yer roun' the floor. 

Aye a bonnie lass in a braw red hat, but not the girl for me,
An' lang she'll wait for Rabbie Brown, for he's away to sea,
Aye, lang she'll wait for Rabbie Brown, for he's away to sea.

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## prendrelemick

> I've read all of 'em so far, and methinks you're on to something. Keep 'em comin'.





> Always a good idea to keep one's poetry in one place - and you've got some excellent stuff here. I was particularly taken with the 'Grandad' poem - very evocative, and some superb imagery being employed there.




Thankyou.

I keep wondering "What was I thinking when I wrote that ?"

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## prendrelemick

A King's Lament.


I liked my car park, it must be said,
But now I'm in a box instead,
A resting place that's quite absurd
For a Monarch like me - Richard the Third. 

It was quiet down there all tarmac'd over,
Gently lulled by Ford and Rover,
Till that accurse'd JCB
Dug me out of history.

They took me from my bed of loam,
And and plumbed my Royal chromosome,
And tested my carbon for its date,
And would not let me lie in state.

They built my face up from my bones,
They took my picture on their phones.
And shoved me 'neath an X-ray scanner,
It tickled a bit,- in a pleasant manner.

For several months I was sorely tested
Poked and probed, felt and molested.
Then for a week, I was all the rage,
In rightful place, on centre stage,

Now once more I'm on the shelf,
Till they re-bury my royal self,
Treatment that is so much ruder,
Than aught I got from Henry Tudor.

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## cacian

> I have a plan to stick all my poem stuff here, because it is scattered about the poem contest thread at the moment, and I am not organised enough to keep it anywhere else. This is vanity of course.


Great idea I will do the same I think.  :Smile:

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## cacian

> It's
> Risky
> At my age,
> To look in the mirror,
> 'Cos a stranger stares back.
> Have the years been so unkind,
> To leave my face so haggard and lined.


this is a clever little one. I enjoyed it  :Smile: 
i noticed you are into shape poetry . i too enjoy writing to give a shape. it feels palpable that way aesthetic is another one i like to think of when i compose poetry.

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## prendrelemick

He wakes up every morning and knows that something's wrong,
The knotted lump lodged in his chest, reminds him she is gone.
A knotted lump of grief and loss, that says he can't move on.
And time it goes so slowly, now that she is gone. 

He remembers leaping on that bed, and how her eyes had shone,
And laughter filled this yellowed room for they were young and strong,
And children came and snuggled close and time flew on and on.
But now it goes so slowly, now that she is gone. 

And forty years flew by so fast and then their song was sung, 
Dreams are all he's left of her, since her soul passed on. 
And death can't seem to find him, although he's waited long.
And time it goes so slowly, she's gone, she's gone, she's gone

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## prendrelemick

Thankyou cacian... It's worth doing, But I am finding the urge to tinker and change stuff almost overwhelming. Is a poem ever finished?

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## cacian

> Thankyou cacian... It's worth doing, But I am finding the urge to tinker and change stuff almost overwhelming. Is a poem ever finished?


well i change my poems every second so to speak. i do not think there is ever a finished poem. the more i revisit the more i am tempted to change.
it depends on the mood one is in.  :Smile:

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## hannah_arendt

> well i change my poems every second so to speak. i do not think there is ever a finished poem. the more i revisit the more i am tempted to change.
> it depends on the mood one is in.


It is always worth working on the text a little bit longer  :Smile:

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## Jack of Hearts

mick,

it's fantastic to see you posting these. This reader has always appreciated your output.






J

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## cacian

> It is always worth working on the text a little bit longer


Hi Hannah true however sometimes spontaneous is also worth it. it allows one to change their mind about what they have written which is not a bad thing and sometimes it works perfect. it depends on one's mood.

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## Hawkman

> Thankyou.
> 
> I keep wondering "What was I thinking when I wrote that ?"


Probably the same sort of thing that Seamus Heaney was thinking when he wrote "Digging"  :Biggrin: 

There are some real gems in here. I was particularly taken with _Photo of a Dead Bird_, your sense of humour shines in may of these offerings. 

I do wonder whether #19 wouldn't have been better in ballade format as they are rather long lines for couplets, especially as there is only one rhyme.

Personally, I find putting all the poems in a single thread makes them not only difficult to find but also difficult to comment on, especially when there are many posted in a short space of time. One has to keep switching back and forth between pages, which can be tedious. It's easy to miss when a new offering has been made as well. Still, it certainly avoids flooding the poetry forum  :Biggrin: 

Live and be well - H

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## prendrelemick

^You may be right, but I didn't expect anyone to comment anyway. i suppose I should print them off really - then they would be finally finished. 

As to number 19, I will look up what a ballade is. I was thinking of a Country and Western song when I did that one. ( O Rooooo-ooooby dont take yer love to town.)

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## prendrelemick

At Chaco


Itzil son of Coatl picks up a stone,
He weighs its possibilities in his hand,
Checks its flatness,
Judges its thickess
Checks its fitness
Decides which edge is the face,
Which is the bottom, 
Which is the top,
He gauges it against the space,
He checks its match with its neighbour,
He knapps off a back corner,
So it will lie flush and sweet,
He does all this in a second,
Then he lays it. 
It lies there still.

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## prendrelemick

There is a young lady from Brest,
(That's in France if you hadn't guessed,)
A popular girl,
with many a curl,
In her home town area she's blessed.

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## AuntShecky

There is much here to savor. As yours fooly once noted some months ago, "A King's Lament" is a winner in my book.

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## prendrelemick

Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number -
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you -
Ye are many – they are few. 

From “The Mask of Anarchy”. by Percy Bysshe Shelly.



The time was ripe back then,
When came that call to working men,
We could've done it then.

Now link by link, inch by inches,
Beguiled by cars and larder fridges,
In mortgaged homes that feel like riches,
Crowing over petty victories,
Chains are once again our due,
We give ourselves to their embrace.

In fact, we demand our chains,
And hand back our father's gains

And anarchy?
Anarchy's a fashion label,
Traded round the boardroom table,
Easy terms through optic cable,
Promoted by gone viral fables,
Fight the system! Buy the T shirt!
Stay in your bedroom, no one gets hurt.

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## prendrelemick

> There is much here to savor. As yours fooly once noted some months ago, "A King's Lament" is a winner in my book.


t
Thankyou Auntshecky. I've just found your thread. Those double dactyls are fantastic.

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## prendrelemick

Little Sis

Remember picking the wild bluebells,
Little sis?
Dancing in and out the woodland's dappled light, 
Skipping through the bright forest glades,
Hands blackened by gummy sap,
wading knee deep in pale blue.

Remember how their green stems turned to white, 
As we drew them from the mould,
How the bells shook a silent alarm,
When we tore them from their birth bulb,
Great armfulls we gathered,
Giddy with the excess of plenty,
Leaving careless trails of discarded plants.

"Some for Mum, some for Aunty Ivy,
"And for Grandma and for Fred", 
We piled up the heaps of our generosity,
Greenwhite stems already wilting,
Pale blue flowers darkening to purple in death.
Then we found a wood ant's nest,
Newly awakened in the spring sunshine,
And ran to find sticks to poke it with.

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## AuntShecky

> t
> Thankyou Auntshecky. I've just found your thread. Those double dactyls are fantastic.


Right back at cha. You know what would be great? If you tried writing and posting some double dactyls of your own. I think there's a link to the form right beneath yours fooly's attempts at them.

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## tailor STATELY

Good idea to put in one thread.

The only caveat is if you decide to publish and wish to edit/delete your content for some reason on litnet - I believe one can only do so for so long on this forum. For most I don't believe this is a concern. Being scattered amongst the various threads has its advantages sometimes (lol).

I decided to publish on the web on my own (free) website http://tailor-stately.110mb.com/ ,which unfortunately is down again - as is the case when my provider's servers go down http://110mb.grd.net.pl/server-monitor/ . It's as variable as the weather. I abide in Box 17 - which is why I sometimes rant about Box 17 _(odd that Box 17 has a Canadian flag)_. But, one gets what one pays for. I may go the pay way eventually so I have complete control. However, even with my free site I can save my index.htm file (the file I upload to my website) on my computers (always available and with backups) if I would wish to send my collection as html via email (for instance to my Mum in Alaska). 

I've also been researching ePublishing, so that if I do ever ePublish I can edit my website as to the content I desire to remain viewed to the public.

I enjoy your poetry and other contributions to the forums.

Ta ! _(short for tarradiddle)_,
tailor STATELY

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## prendrelemick

Auntshecky : I'm trying - so I know how good yours are. I have never seen them before, but I reckon they are (or could be) a very effective literary version of a political cartoon. 


tailor STATELY: All you need to do is copy and paste to the latest reply box, then you can tinker away to your heart's content.

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## Gilliatt Gurgle

Well done my friend. "A Kings Lament" still does it for me.

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## prendrelemick

Dante at the Worlds end.

I laid my head upon the mossy knoll,
For weary was I and far-travelled,
There soothed by murmurings of fountains close,
And lulled by breeze among it's trees,
In that forest glade, sleep profound I met.
How long in that parody of death I laid,
Non was there to tell, nor guess,
When sense of life returned ,cold marble pressed my cheek,
And silence surrounded me unnatural -
As though gone had Nature from the Earth.
Courage at last I found to ope my eyes,
And saw I lay upon a mighty thoroughfare,
Smooth paved with stones of hue contrasting,
Laid out in pattern geometrical.
Great edifices, smooth built, lined the street,
Though made of what material I could not say.
Nor stone, nor wood, nor iron, nor lead I saw,
The far horizon did my eye engage,
For beset with lighted casements square 
A massy golden orb was there displayed,
Sentience I knew therein resided,
And so to it addressed my question.
“What is this place and how came I here? “
The answer came to me not through the air,
But reverberated in my very whole .
“You have not moved, this is the place,
where once wearied long ago you slept,”
With wonder I pondered this strange tale,
Till urgent doubt assailed my thoughts..
Fearing answer, for ne'er so 'lone felt I, 
I asked again. "Where are all the people?"
“Gone” was the reply, “you are the last.”

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## Jack of Hearts

Put 'em all in a collection and call it _Shepherd's Pie_.





J

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## prendrelemick

Or Yorkshire Pudding.

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## tailor STATELY

Steak and Kidney pie... ummmmmmmmmmmmm!

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## prendrelemick

Ah-ha found another two, I'd forgotten about this one




What Good is a Pencil ?


So here we are up close in the bed,

_But!_ 

My captain lies fallen. Cold and dead,

_Embarrassing.!_

What good is a pencil without any lead?

_Pointless!._

“Its not you, it's me - hard day,” I said,

_Excuses!._

She - “Once more my signals you have misread,”

_Not again!_

“So gerroff I'm reading a good book instead,”

_50 Shades?_

She rolled and took with her all the bedspread

_Magnificent!_ 

I admired her rump like a fine Thoroughbred.

_Horsewhip?_

Ironic are the paths that relationships tread,

_Mazey._

For no sooner denied than lust raised its head,

_Too late?_

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## prendrelemick

Jacob and Esau.


The parting is a bad one,
There's no doubt about that,
And its shadow shall appear,
somewhere down the line,
Revisiting the generations,
The sons of their sons.

“Don't be like that,” said Jacob,
The trickster to his mark,
“It was written, what can I say?”
And he shrugged his Hebrew shrug,
And he smiled his winning smile,
And he offered his hand to Esau
And Esau knew they must part.

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## Jack of Hearts

'What good is a pencil without any lead?

_Pointless!._'

You can prendrelemick, but you can't take him anywhere.






J

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## prendrelemick

A Tragic Tale of Lies, Deceit and Death.

I'll tell you everything I can,
There's little to relate,
I first set eyes on Billy Brown,
Coming in the garden gate.

He had a tiger on a string,
And a monkey on his arm,
A parakeet was on his head, 
But he kept a sense of calm.

About his coat some field mice ran, 
Pursued by a tabby cat,
And from his waist coat pocket,
There peeped a fat brown rat.

Around each leg there coiled a snake,
One red, the other blue,
And in the air above his head, 
A flock of ravens flew.

He crossed the lawn to where I stood,
And raised his parrot hat,
In educated tones he asked,
If I had seen his gnat.

"I had him half a mo ago,
I swear I heard his buzz,
But now he's gone and wandered off, 
It's the kind of thing he does."

"He's in with a bad crowd you see,
Of mosquitos lowly bred,
He's out all hours sucking blood,
He thinks it gives street cred."

I'd seen a cloud of midges,
Dancing in the sun,
but that was half an hour ago, 
And certainly more than one.

There were greenfly on the peonies,
But their colour was all wrong,
So I couldn't tell Billy Brown, 
Where his gnat had gone. 

"If you see him send him home,"
Adding "Eric is his name,"
Then he whistled to the tiger,
And left the way he came.

When He'd gone I hung my head,
Filled with guilty shame,
For well I knew that in my hand,
Were Eric's squashed remains.

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## prendrelemick

Dreams of Trees

In the deepest part of the ancient wood,
Where beneath their twisted mossy boughs,
The trees hoard the darkness,
Never allowing a chink of it out into the light,
There, down in a deep valley,
Where no bird sings or squirrel stirs,
Where no green shoot has risen for a hundred years, 
There sleeps the oldest tree,
Its knarled trunk and knotted roots,
Twist and groan,
As it dreams of being a seagull again.

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## prendrelemick

> 'What good is a pencil without any lead?
> 
> _Pointless!._'
> 
> You can prendrelemick, but you can't take him anywhere.
> 
> 
> 
> 
> ...


I refer you to post #15

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## Jack of Hearts

You nutty semi-old shepherd. Keep 'em comin'. Also, RIP Eric the gnat. Such senseless killing. :'-(








J

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## tailor STATELY

Enjoyed "Dreams of Trees". We need more poems of trees imho.

Ta ! _(short for tarradiddle)_,
tailor STATELY

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## prendrelemick

canto 'o buried tales

When June comes in with mornings bright,
And beds are showered with early light,
Then dreams sit near the waking eye,
And flights of fancy take to sky.

Then faces known and faces lost,
People loved and people crossed,
Parade across our REMing state,
Through Worlds and places we create.

Roads we trod and those not taken,
Lovers we knew and those forsaken,
The child we held is ours once more,
Our mother is standing at the door

From shadows deep and dark and dire,
Raised up from our subconscious mire,
Our deepest fears find face and form,
In shadowy figures intent on harm.

But morning swallows twittering high,
Return the Self behind the eye,
Reality comes in cascading,
And dreams are just an echo fading.

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## YesNo

I liked "return the Self behind the eye".

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## prendrelemick

He was only a demon who tried to be good,
You might even say he was misunderstood.

At his trial he confessed to helping the damned,
Cooling the fires and holding their hand.

The devil summed up, assessing his crime
(The devil, like all of us, loves to make rhyme.)

"For behavior unbecoming of a demon in my view,
I've no choice but to throw the book at you."

You're banished from all of my infernal realm,
So hand back your spear and diabolical helm.

You won't be needing them where you're going, m' lad,
And you wont get them back till you learn to be bad."

Then he sipped some brimstone from a skull bone cup.
And nodded to the constable and said "Take him up."

The demon hung his head and shed a hot tear,
Behind him The Heavenly stairs did appear.

And on his way up he turns and he says,
"I'll miss the old place till the end of all days."

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## prendrelemick

Merde! !Sacre blue! Et mon dieu! 
Mon French je avez perdu, 
Mon mots du amour, 
S'est tres tres poor, 
So I'll stay in my local purlieu.

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## prendrelemick

Aye, the past and the future aint set, 
For the future aint happened yet, 
The past is all gone, 
And often told wrong, 
And some parts we remember to forget.

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## cacian

> Merde! !Sacre blue! Et mon dieu! 
> Mon French je avez perdu, 
> Mon mots du amour, 
> S'est tres tres poor, 
> So I'll stay in my local purlieu.


haha c'est superb
ne vous ennuyer pas trop
c'est lisible 
j'ai aimé
haha  :Biggrin:

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## prendrelemick

erm...





To be honest Cacian I can't always understand the words you use in your English stuff. :Wink5:

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## cacian

> erm...
> 
> 
> 
> 
> 
> To be honest Cacian I can't always understand the words you use in your English stuff.


LOL I understand.  :Smile: 
In your French poem I said that what you wrote was good and that I enjoyed it.
'J'ai aime' means I liked.
I wrote back in French because I was inspired by your French piece. I hope you did not think being mean sorry that was not the case.  :Smile:

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## AuntShecky

I like your limerick (the one in English, I mean.)
Not to nag, but are you going to take a stab at a couple of double dactyls? Coming from you, I bet that they'd be hysterical.

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## prendrelemick

> LOL I understand. 
> In your French poem I said that what you wrote was good and that I enjoyed it.
> 'J'ai aime' means I liked.
> I wrote back in French because I was inspired by your French piece. I hope you did not think being mean sorry that was not the case.


I don't think you have a mean bone in your body. Put your poem back up and I'll try to translate - was it about Madam Curie?





> I like your limerick (the one in English, I mean.)
> Not to nag, but are you going to take a stab at a couple of double dactyls? Coming from you, I bet that they'd be hysterical.


No pressure then!
I've had a go at a couple, but they are too political for here - about Syria and Obama and bombs. (also not up to standard). It is a form that seems to seduce me towards the dark-side.

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## prendrelemick

If Music is the Food


Madrigals sung in June, 
Are strawberries and cream,
Jazz is just a piece of cake,
And punk's a plate of beans,
Classical’s a slice of toast,
Vivaldi is the jam,
Rock and Roll's a hamburger,
And Country is roast lamb.
But love has its own melodies
Of passion and romances,
It feeds on touch and smiles and hope,
And surreptitious glances.

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## prendrelemick

Here is a double dactyl (I think!), I toned it down a bit for on here. I can't seem to wrest them from a political slant. I 

Bunglely Bomberly
Assad, sad day,
Death in Damascus 
Aint life a gas.

Sound biting Somberly, 
Obama et al,
Dearth in the UN,
We'll let this one pass.

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## Paulclem

I've just found this thread. Great stuff mate.

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## AuntShecky

I liked the pun in line two, but I think the stress is on the second syllable in the man's name--[a SAHD] rather than A-sahd, so it's not a dactyl (one stressed syllable followed by two unstressed.) "SOUND biting SOMberly" is a double dactyl, though.

Terrific effort. Keep 'em comin'.

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## prendrelemick

You are right, I have't got those DDs down yet. I'm finding writing stuff to a set form is NOT easy.

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## cacian

> You are right, I have't got those DDs down yet. I'm finding writing stuff to a set form is NOT easy.


hi prendrelemick. do you mean to set your 'own form' is not easy?

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## prendrelemick

No, I mean to a pre set rigid form. The difficulty is to make it flow naturally, while hitting all the rhythm rhyme and reason criteria.

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## Jack of Hearts

> Merde! !Sacre blue! Et mon dieu! 
> Mon French je avez perdu, 
> Mon mots du amour, 
> S'est tres tres poor, 
> So I'll stay in my local purlieu.



Ça me fait rire !! C'est plus amusant parce que c'est pas bien formé. Attention les articles possessifs au pluriel ! 







J

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## prendrelemick

Au pluriel ? What! is it raining?

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## prendrelemick

The Chase.


Diana with her beau in hand,
Driven by Silenus,
Driven down into the underpass,
Pursued by the hounds she bred,
Down to the gates of Hades.

The steel and Concrete,
Would not part for her,
But the impact of the crash raised her up,
And through Media's intercession,
She sits among the immortals.

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## prendrelemick

You may borrow my barrow
When I've consulted the tarot
And emptied it of carrot.

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## prendrelemick

> Here is a double dactyl (I think!), I toned it down a bit for on here. I can't seem to wrest them from a political slant. I 
> 
> Bunglely Bomberly
> Assad, sad day,
> Death in Damascus 
> Aint life a gas.
> 
> Sound biting Somberly, 
> Obama et al,
> ...


Second attempt - not right not funny not clever not happy. Deleted!

----------


## Gilliatt Gurgle

> You may borrow my barrow
> When I've consulted the tarot
> And emptied it of carrot.


You're on a roll!

(aside) Why he sits on a roll is another matter, but he is on one folks.

----------


## prendrelemick

^If it's good enough for Linda-

http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=...B145C1F8D3B4D3

----------


## cacian

> Au pluriel ? What! is it raining?


LOL it is not it's very sunny.  :Smile:

----------


## prendrelemick

(Photo of girl with a bike crossing a foot bridge)

The Enchanted Woman. 

Stop time now,
At this perfect moment,
As she stands above the frame,
Held in unspoiled blue,
Above the grim miasma 
Of the world beneath, 
Before she steps from her pedestal
Down into ordinariness, 
Before her shoulders stoop,
From the weight of the day,
And I let my held breath go.

The camera grants half the wish,
Her shadow will remain upon the bridge,
Held forever in enchantment,
Her body will cross over, back into life,
Dirty, grubby Life! with all its joys and sorrows.

----------


## prendrelemick

> You may borrow my barrow
> When I've consulted the tarot
> And emptied it of carrot.


Borrow it you may,
When I empty it of Flageolet,
And don't you go getting it wet.


I'll certainly lend it to you
When I've emptied it of mange-tout
And played upon my flute


I call this new poem-form "French Connection" or "Barrow Borrowing".

----------


## AuntShecky

#74 would be more compelling if you dropped the word "ordinariness" (awkward and too many syllables)from l. 8 and dumped the cliché "all its joys and sorrows" from the final line.
The title "Barrow Borrowing" is intriguing; don't know from "Flagelot" and "mange-tout" ("all you can eat"?)

----------


## prendrelemick

> #74 would be more compelling if you dropped the word "ordinariness" (awkward and too many syllables)from l. 8 and dumped the cliché "all its joys and sorrows" from the final line.
> The title "Barrow Borrowing" is intriguing; don't know from "Flagelot" and "mange-tout" ("all you can eat"?)


I admit the whole poem was sort o' abandoned when I couldn't get it to express all that I wanted it to. I stuck the cliche on the end as a lazy short-cut to get it back on message. I didn't want to end on "Dirty grubby li'e", because I wanted real li'e to be better than being held in enchantment _'or the woman._i' not 'or the spectator. But I quite like it, the words work by association I think. 

I see now the "ordinariness" was a mistake - round here we pronounce (and think) words as shortly as possible - ord'ri-ness about three syllables.

"Mange-tout" could be a bad parasitic skin condition in dogs.

I apologise or my 'aulty keyboard.

----------


## AuntShecky

Oh, please don't worry! You don't have to 'splain.

----------


## prendrelemick

I will have to work on this one a bit more.


A girl shaped space

Since you left,
You're not everywhere,
Not in the street, not on the stair,
Others cannot see,
The swing of your hips,
The shine of your hair, 
And walk straight past,
Your girl shaped space.
But I stop and stare, 
I catch your evanescence on the air, 
I see you not there, and there,
I see the space you've left,
Everywhere.

----------


## prendrelemick

Here's one that doesn't quite work. The form is wrong somehow i think. However, it says what I want it to

*Dawn Shields .
born. June 19th 1964 
found March 8th 1968*

Up in the Graveyard plying our trade,
We fence in all weathers till the fence it is made,
We swing our steel hammers banging in nails,
driving in posts and chainsawing rails,
We're rough and we're tough - or act like we are,
Laughing too loudly, our language is raw.

That's where I found little Dawn's grave ,
And remembered the child no one could save,
There by my feet she was laid in the ground,
No death was recorded, just when she was found,
I felt a cold shudder go up through my spine, 
I was transported back to when I was nine,
I remembered my dad seaching with others,
Remembered the tears on the face of her brothers,
Remembered her picture grainy and blurred,
The newspaper headlines shouting the word,
She was three, she was pretty, with blonde curly hair,
Her mum turned her back, she was no longer there,
A moment's distraction, so heavy the price,
She was in the canal under the ice,
Nothing to do but wait for the thaw,
She was found in the spring 10 yards from her door.

I told her sad story to some of the lads, 
It went very quiet - most of us were dads,
And looking at gravestones, rows upon rows,
We began to remember what every man knows, 
Each grave held a story that ended in death,
As our's would end too at our last mortal breath,
The rest of the day we worked quietly on,
Shouting and swearing suddenly seemed wrong.

----------


## dara.cv

There's not a title to this one. I feel there should be, it nearly moved me to tears. Beautiful collection, im enjoying reading


He wakes up every morning and knows that something's wrong,
The knotted lump lodged in his chest, reminds him she is gone.
A knotted lump of grief and loss, that says he can't move on.
And time it goes so slowly, now that she is gone.

He remembers leaping on that bed, and how her eyes had shone,
And laughter filled this yellowed room for they were young and strong,
And children came and snuggled close and time flew on and on.
But now it goes so slowly, now that she is gone.

And forty years flew by so fast and then their song was sung,
Dreams are all he's left of her, since her soul passed on.
And death can't seem to find him, although he's waited long.
And time it goes so slowly, she's gone, she's gone, she's gone

----------


## prendrelemick

Thankyou dara.cv.

It was going to be "Time" - it set out to be about time - but then strayed a bit.

----------


## Jack of Hearts

> I will have to work on this one a bit more.
> 
> 
> A girl shaped space
> 
> Since you left,
> You're not everywhere,
> Not in the street, not on the stair,
> Others cannot see,
> ...


It doesn't feel 'ready' yet but it could be magnificent.





J

----------


## prendrelemick

Steady on J. This poster knows another poster who would delete it! 

Meanwhile, more French barrow borrowing...

Push my barrow to your plot,
Don't run over a l'escargot,
Push it careful push it slow.

----------


## prendrelemick

From a picture of a canoe's prow on a glassy artic lake.

I chopped and changed this one so much the title no longer fits.



It's how it makes you feel.

Nosing out across the mirrored sky,
Impelled by muscle-will,
Steered by notions,
Ribbed paddle dipwaving,
Through reflected clouds,
Push-pulling against the waterweight,
Paddledips waking vortex swirls,
Diamond drops sparking from the edgecurve, 
Splashing back into the motherlode,
Thoughts like ripples rushing outwards,onwards,
Across the surface to future shores.

----------


## prendrelemick

The Real Reason Luke Skywalker Left The Swamp Planet Dagobah Before Completing His Jedi Training

Round the mountain she'll be coming when she comes. Master Luke.
I've told ya, Yoda, you're singing split infinitives again. 
Disappointing, Master Luke, is your rebuke.
Well, you're such a pain, you're driving me insane. 

Driving, she'll be , when she comes , six white horses.
Oh God!

----------


## prendrelemick

Anne and Will.


_Let nothing come between us._

The balding bard threw down his quill
His wife was chattering still.

_Let our true minds be wedded forever despite...
_
He shouted at his Anne “hush now! ... err... my treasure”
And kicked the dog, for good measure.

_Impediments I admit may come between us.
_
"No I haven't fed the bloody chickens yet!
It was never like this in London, ...err... my pet."

_Let not impediments come between true minds.
_
"Yes, it's about “that woman” if you must know,
No! We were just good friends ... err...my doe"

_Let me not admit.. de dum..de dum..di dum..di dum. 
_
"I told you! At a party, I was shmoozing for money,
I hardly know her...err...my honey."

_Let me not to marriage... something something... admit impediments. 
_
"She is not my whore for heavens sake!
You're being ridiculous...err... my cupcake."

_A marriage of two minds admits not impediments.
_
"OK OK, I'll say her breasts are dun,
And give her wirey hair if you like ... err... my hun."

_Let not to the marriage of true minds, impediments admit._

"And I'm sorry too,
Never forget, I'll always love you."

_Let me not to the marriage of true minds, admit impediments_

----------


## Gilliatt Gurgle

> Anne and Will.
> 
> ...


It's nice to see these come back around.
Brilliant!

----------


## AuntShecky

I love "Anne and Will," and especially love that the lady, neé Hathaway, gets top billing.

----------


## YesNo

I liked Anne and Will. The Jedi one's pretty good, too. To Yoda listening for too long insane drives one.

----------


## prendrelemick

Who I am?

Once I tangoed Debutantes across the ballroom floor,
My Argentinian silver mines opened every door,
Ten thousand pampas cattle kept me in high style,
The drive up to my country house I measured by the mile.

But I could not buy a pedigree, my money it was new,
And come the revolution I found my friends were few,
Easy come and quickly go when Fortune turns around,
And all a man is sure of is that last six feet of ground.

So when you see me as I am, remember what I've been,
Read the lines etched on my face by everything I've seen,
Heed the lesson written there - we all are Fortune's slave,
And don't forget no man's secure until he's in his grave. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------




Mmm don't like that 4th line, it doesn't progress
ought to be about thinking it would go on forever.

It seemed as though I'd live my life 'neath fortune's sunny smile.
I thought my destiny was bright 'neath fortune's sunny smile.
My destiny it seemed secure 'I bathed in Fortune's ffffffffsmile.
My destiny I thought secure 'neath Fortune's sunny smile.
I thought that it would never end, until my time of trial
........defile..........compile
I thought that it could never end such was fortunes guile

I thought that it could never end, until my time of trial

I lived in Fortune's smile.

----------


## prendrelemick

Who I am?

Once I tangoed Debutantes across the ballroom floor,
My Argentinian silver mines opened every door,
Ten thousand pampas cattle kept me in high style,
I never thought that it would end - such is Fortune's guile.

But I could not buy a pedigree, my money it was new,
And come the revolution I found my friends were few,
Easy come and quickly go when Fortune turns around,
And all a man is sure of is that last six feet of ground.

So when you see me as I am, remember what I've been,
Read the lines etched on my face by everything I've seen,
Heed the lesson written there - we all are Fortune's slave,
And don't forget no man's secure until he's in his grave.

Better I think.

----------


## YesNo

"Who am I?" is an enjoyable poem. What I like about rhyme and meter is that it presents a puzzle that gives one an excuse to keep improving the poem unless the whole think pops out perfect in the beginning. I think "guile" is better than "mile", but the last line is what I remember.

----------


## prendrelemick

I agree, getting a rhyme that doesn't sound too contrived and is within the rhythm is very satisfying. (It occasionally happens to me.)

That last line and the one before is nicked from(or inspired by) Herodotus' story of Croesus, of course.

----------


## AuntShecky

Are we supposed to guess "Who am I?" If so, all yours fooly can come up with is that former governor who went to South America to chase his sweetie after he had told everybody that he was hiking on the Appalachian Trail.

(Oh, I kid. I kid. I really enjoyed your poem.)

----------


## prendrelemick

Ahh. I just noticed the question mark before I read your post. I suppose I should go all deep and mystic and say look inwards for the answer. But really I changed the title from "who am I ?" to "Who I am" and forgot to remove the question mark. Shallow, so shallow!


The former Governor would get my vote!

----------


## prendrelemick

A write anything that comes into your head "poem", and never mind stuff like rhythm or rhyme.



Horse riding


Going down hill,
The sound of Polly's hooves 
always play the same tune;-
Di-dum di-dum di-dum di-dar
Some-day I'll-wish up-on a-star,
That,s from the Wizard of Oz,
the clippy cloppy bit,
Of Over the Rainbow,
Then I get to thinking about Dorothy
And Kansas, the Iron man.
The lion the witch - and wardrobes
At Ikea, with Mrs P,
Then sometimes her back foot slips on the stones
Kkerrach- dum- dum! 
Ahh that's from the Nut Cracker 
I think, and I think
I bet Tchaikovski was a horse rider,
And rode down hill over stones like these
Only Russian stones, at Nadezhda's estate.
Died of cholera,
Those Munchkins eh! 
Follatheyellabrickroad.
Or was it Umpalumpa?
When we trot its like the clock
from Dark Side of The Moon,
Tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock....
-No it was munchkins-
In my day
Everybody had Dark Side of The Moon,
With the prism and the rainbow, 
On the cover, in my day,
Records smelt shiney and plastic,
(Is nut cracker two words?)
You'd buy it, take it out and look at the pattern of the grooves,
Why? Before you got it home. Why? 
The pattern of the grooves-the patter of the hooves,
Both can carry tunes,
Ha! That's good, Polly's phonics!
I'll try and remember that!
And time passes and thoughts pass and miles pass, 
And before you know it,
There's the Emerald city.

----------


## prendrelemick

I think GG has played the tease,
You can't make poems from words like these-
“To lace us up, till, each, in maiden plumes.”
Cos the only things that rhymes is prunes! 
If only he'd change it to “maiden feathers.”
Then we could have "Heather's nethers”.
Or tethers with leathers
Or whatevers.

----------


## AuntShecky

I love the comic/satire/pun entry and am glad you reposted it, in case some LitNutter missed it. 

The one alluding to "The Wizard of Oz" is no slouch, either. Referring to previous existing works by other artists is a very Postmodernist practice. Richard Powers, a contemporary novelist whom I admire and maybe envy-he's younger!--uses the Frank Baum tale in one of his novels, "The Echo Maker" which I read in the early months of this waning year. I also read Margaret Atwood's brilliant assessment way back when her essay appeared in 2006.

Keep up the good work, P.

http://www.nybooks.com/articles/arch...the-heartland/

----------


## prendrelemick

^Thanks Aunty, I do like adding a nod to existing works (see below). Its like using a cheat on a computer game, you get a shortcut to another level.





```
Welsh Heritage 

60 AD.
Listen! When Caradog    celtic hero
Born of battle       the Eagle's bane
From the mainland        crossed the Menai
Pursued by Legions     closely pressed
The Ordivices     honour's mirror
Showed the hero     secret groves 
Swore friendship     fast binded
Beneath the oak    Hen Goaeden  
The mother tree.    of the people.    

Came the Romans     ravening through 
On the rampage     revenge hearted
Disdaining         druid rites and runes 
Splitting boughs       bole and branches
Boiling messes    with sacred fuel

For seven days     the Ravens watched
From Clogwyn Coch    on Craiglwyn's flank
Then descended       to desolation
There they gathered     the nine acorns  
A last gift given      by Hen Goaeden  
O'er the sky-way      wide they winged them    
Seeding them in     secret hallows                                 
A boon to the land   wherever they grew.


1300 AD
By Order of the king who everyone feared,
The Baumaris forest had to be cleared,
Young Dafydd-the-Axe was a woodcutter's son ,
He may not've liked it, but it had to be done.

For a Castle's no good with trees by its side,
There's too many places for foes to hide,
And a clear field of flight for arrows to fly,
Can't be achieved with a forest close by.

With a heart feeling heavy he entered the wood,
And by a great oak he mournfully stood,
This tree he knew well as his fore-fathers had ,
Under its branches he'd played as a lad.

Above in the sky the Ravens were wheeling,
And o'er Craiglwyn, thunder was pealing, 
He  took up his axe and got ready to swing,
But stopped and knelt down as storm clouds moved in.

A prayer and a curse welled up in his head,
The curse, that the king should be cut down instead,
That rulers hereafter would cherish the trees,
Prayed Dafydd-the-Axe down on his knees.

There was a flash and a crash as lightening struck down,
The old tree was rent from the root to the crown,
Young Dafydd lay still, 'till looking around,
He saw a small shoot breaking the ground..

He took it away to a place that he knew,
Where it was safe from the tree felling crew.
And there it grew cherished by Kings and by folk
And there ever after 'twas was called Dafydd's oak.

2013 AD
“As you pass,
Have a look through the arrow slit on your left.
The tree you see there was planted in 1838,
To commemorate the Coronation of Queen Victoria. 
It was grown from an acorn 
Taken from “Davy's Oak” a famous ancient tree,
That used to stand close by and was said to have dated back
To the time the Castle was built.  

Now, proceed along the passage through the door at the end, 
Then press number 8 on your Auto-Guide handset.”
```

Caradog = Caracticus 
Ordivices = Iron age tribe of Anglesey
Clogwyn Coch = Red Cliff 
Craiglwyn, = A Welsh Mountain

----------


## prendrelemick

Autumn in Yorkshire

Whoosh
What was that?
That was Autumn mi lad!
Mists and mellow friutfullness?
Tha can forget it!
We don't ha' non o' that up 'ere,
Fall? Them leaves don't fall,
They get blown into Lancashire,
I 'ope tha's got tha coyle in
And thi longjohns on,
It'll soon be September.

----------


## prendrelemick

Echo

Everything you shout, out out 
I will turn about, out out 
Reflections of the Earth, Earth Earth
A stutter in reverse verse verse.

----------


## AuntShecky

#101 --ooh, local dialect, Burns traveling south. #102 Echo, yep yep yep

----------


## prendrelemick

Venus and Mars. (A reworking of an old legend)

Venus gave Mars a look, 
That was so very flirty,
Her marriage vows she forsook,
And they got down and dirty.

Vulcan was her husband lame,
He trapped them in a net,
They couldn't hide their naked shame, 
And Mars began to fret.

"Alas, my love I am enchained,
Tight to your peerless breast,
My lusty panting is constrained,
My face it is compressed. 

This net has squeezed us in its clutch, 
And stilled our passion's throes,
But I would not mind half so much,
If I could scratch my nose.” 



I've a load more verses of a similar ilk, I shall gather them up and post sometime.

----------


## Gilliatt Gurgle

An instant classic and a winner to boot!

----------


## prendrelemick

Thanks GG.

Here's some more verses, they need a little work I'd say.

Venus and Mars. (A reworking of an old legend)

Venus gave Mars a look, 
That was so very flirty,
Her marriage vows she forsook,
And they got down and dirty.

Vulcan was her husband lame,
He trapped them in a net,
They couldn't hide their naked shame, 
And Mars began to fret.

"Alas, my love I am enchained,
Tight to your peerless breast,
My lusty panting is constrained,
My face it is compressed. 

This net has squeezed us in its clutch, 
And stilled our passion's throes,
But I would not mind half so much,
If I could scratch my nose.” 

You're crushing me Venus said,
Your elbow's on my hair,
My immortal leg is feeling dead,
And you're just lying there.

My passions are now sated
Your lust it lies at peace
Now sex seems over-rated
I seek another release.

Then Vulcan in his wrath, 
Called the Gods to see,
So they would point and laugh,
At her infidelity.

Ok, I may be lame
And some may say I'm thick 
I caught these two just the same 
With my cunning trick

The other gods came rushing,
To where the pair reposed,
Venus started blushing, 
Mars he felt exposed.

But Apollo said to Mercury
I wish that it was me,
In spite of Vulcan's fury,
In that sweet captivity.

----------


## AuntShecky

The Venus one is cute. It reminds me of Snodgrass.

----------


## prendrelemick

Life Insurance

My Wife has a gleam in her eyes,
She's planning a little suprise,
I'm worth more dead than alive,
And I'm sensing the man with the scythe.

Last night she was under the car,
With a torch and a little hacksaw,
And the spider I found in the friut,
Turned out a poisonous brute.

Should Mushrooms be that red?
Why is that snake in my bed?
I'm becoming a little concerned
My ashes may soon be en-urned.


Alas! Had she taken more care
And noticed that loose bit of stair
If only she'd known - such a pity,
The policy was dual im-dem-nity


A spare verse not used and not quite ready...

What are those wires doing in my bath,
Who left the rollerskate right in my path,
She's feeding me up on fats saturated
I think, she thinks I'm about to be lated

----------


## prendrelemick

> The Venus one is cute. It reminds me of Snodgrass.



And I was trying for Pope! :Wink5:

----------


## Jack of Hearts

Nothing so fine as a good ol'fashioned wife-killing. Technology today really spoils things like this; rather than savoring these precious moments, everyone is disengaged and posting on twooter.





J

----------


## prendrelemick

Life poetry


It was in that age 
that poetry came 
In search of me.

But I was watching my mother's hands,
Thumping out the rhythm of the dough,
Pushing back a loose strand of hair,
Leaving a streak of floured sable, 
The first touch of grey,
Recalling times yet to come.

And later.

But I was away gathering sheep,
Striding across the high moor,
In the company of skylarks,
Watching the sleek black dogs 
Lift and plunge like porpoises,
Through purple heather billows.

And again.

But I was holding my grand daughter,
And feeling the light of her existence
Suffuse each atom of myself and of every other thing,
With a warmth like a poem of spring,
Melting away an old man's rime,

So it never found me,
But did not need to look,
I was never lost,
Nor held by any book.

----------


## AuntShecky

A few minor quibbles on #111:
No period in titles.
Dump line #9. It's a dangling participle which doesn't really modify the mother's hands, as the previous phrases do.
Lose the comma between "dogs" and "lift." Commas separate, so you don't want to separate the noun "dogs" with the verb, "lift."
Lose both of the "Buts." Not necessary.

I like the pun (word play) with "rime" (hoar frost); the theme of the poem also implies the word "rhyme." 

Despite those little blips^, this one is excellent. Lovely, as a matter of fact. Illustrates my W.C. Williams mantra, "No ideas but in things."

Keep 'em comin'!

Auntie

----------


## Hawkman

Yes, there is a lot to like in this, pm. I'd have to agree with all of Auntie's comments, though I do have a couple more...

The opening line bugs me a bit. It doesn't really make sense in context. The singular Age is too broad a term with its contextual connotations of epoch and as the poem refers to several life stages, the use of 'that' is too specific. To fit with the rest of the poem, 

"These were the times
when poetry came
in search of me."

I'm also a little dubious about "Leaving a streak of floured sable," my first reaction to this was that sable is fur not hair and I wondered if she was wearing an expensive hat  :Wink:  The heraldic term, of course, means black but I do wonder if to conform with the heraldic usage by saying " "...flour on sable" might be better. Then there is "Recalling times to come", which is a bit contrived. This is an obvious place for a bit of word play - "heralding" would have been my choice.

My only other gripe is in your use of the definite article before 'sleek black dogs'. The dogs have not been mentioned before and there is no reason to be so specific. Whose dogs were they? If the were yours or the family's then my or our would be ok, but in the context of the verse the definite article is superfluous. I'd just cut it. 

However, the imagery is stunning in this piece; evocative and engaging. 

Live and be well - H

----------


## Gilliatt Gurgle

Mick,
It was this poem you offered on the "famous quoted line" poem challenge that caused me to throw in the towel for that round.
In addition, I found Neruda's line a difficult one to work in, perhaps the opening line was the best approach.

----------


## AuntShecky

Oh--and forgive me--I forgot to ask if you'd revise the phrase "the first touch of gray." A commercial for hair dye (for men) uses the same line. It's not new anymore, just banal.

I do like "sable" -- I didn't immediately think of the fur but the color. In any event, the connotation would be in line with the black doggies.

To repeat: Keep 'em comin'.

Auntie

----------


## qimissung

lol, on your last comment, Auntie. It's a lovely, lovely poem, Prendrelmick.

----------


## prendrelemick

This is great, really useful feedback and such kind comments too.

To be honest I was dubious about the whole of the Mother, bread, hair verse, it is unsatisfactory. The comments reflect this, but I don't think tinkering with it will help. To work properly it should be full of beautiful, figurative language and vibrant imagery, because the whole point is that the narrator was living Poetry without realizing it. It is too mundane. A complete redoing is probably in order, but it is difficult to abandon something you have invested time in.

I'm fairly happy with "The" dogs, because it helps with the idea that the reader has come upon a few fragments of a life, (where the dogs have been introduced earlier) .

You are both right about the Buts, I am far too fond of buts. If they go, that ditty at the end could go too, which would be a good thing .

----------


## qimissung

Yea, I'm not great with feedback which I know is a great sin here, but I know when something touches me and this one did. I understood that the narrator was, in the midst of his mundane life , living poetry. And that's all we really need to know.

----------


## prendrelemick

Right, losing some buts. I like the word "Heralding" - because it is nearer to anticipating - which is what I meant. "The touch of grey" will have to be changed (In England the product is called Just For Men,) I would like "A touch of frost", (echoing the rime) but that is a popular TV programme in this country. The first bit is some Neruda, But I don't need to use it verbatim now as the comp is over, "these were the times" isn't right because there are many other times when i became aware of a special moment. I'll keep the sable because that is the colour and it gives a hint of the luxurient. 

Life poetry


Poetry came In search of me,
But I was watching my mother's hands,
pounding out the rhythm of the dough,
Pushing back a loose strand of hair,
Leaving a streak of floured sable, 
Heralding the white of years to come.

And later.

I was away gathering sheep,
Striding across the high moor,
In the company of skylarks,
Watching the sleek black dogs 
Lift and plunge like porpoises,
Through purple heather billows.

And again.

I was holding my grand daughter,
And feeling the light of her existence
Suffuse each atom of myself and of every other thing,
With a warmth like a poem of spring,
Melting away an old man's rime,

It never found me,
And I did not need to look
For I was never lost,
Nor held by any book.





I think the problem with the first verse is entirely the word "Thumping". I like the idea of a mother's hands lovingly making bread and the "Rhythm"is the key to that verse ( As the second is about metre, the third about rhyme). What I need is a feeling of golden moment nostalga, not thumping! "Knocking" would be the correct technical term in bread making (Knocking back the dough) but although it is a pun, it isnt much better. I quite like "pounding" it's a bit less pugilistic and a pound weight was a standard loaf . It'll do for now.

I can see I'll have to lie, my Mum really did thump the bread with the knarled hands and thick arms of a hill farmer's wife, the whole table used to shake. Artistic licence needed.

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## AuntShecky

It's lovely indeed. I took another look at "Venus and Mars" --it's so funny! It's not easy to blend classical myth in contemporary idioms (a la the aforementioned Snodgrass), but you did it masterfully.

Yours fooly is rapidly becoming one of your ardent fans. Once more: keep 'em comin'!

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## Hawkman

That's a really good edit pm. Wonderful poem.

Live and be well - H

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## prendrelemick

Must've been in a Bob Dylan mood.

Young Tom

Young Tommy Cruise, 
He done good
Got a house on the beach
All glass and wood.

Young Tommy Criuse
Got a famous face
He's packin some heat
just in case.

He leans by the door,
Watchin the waves
Tommy don't care
That Jesus saves.

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## 108 fountains

Going back to “Life Poetry,” it really is a lovely poem, bringing together an entire life in a few short verses. 
I think either “thumping” or “pounding” works. They both give a sense of rhythm; “pounding” gives a stronger alliteration to the other “p’s” in the verse. 

I think the mother, flour, hair verse is really very beautiful. “leaving a streak of floured sable” is a perfect image for when the mother pushes back a loose strand of hair. One small suggestion for the last line of this verse – you might want to change the word “white” to “frost.” It conveys (to me) the idea of passing time and also ties in with the “rime” later on.

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## prendrelemick

Thanks 108 fountains. I've been thinking frost /white/ grey for weeks now, or removing that line altogether. "A touch of frost" would be ideal but unfortunately is the title of a popular TV serial over here. If I just changed it to from "white" to "frost" as it is, it could be construed that relations turned frosty between me and my mother later on - and I didn't want that. 

I really appreciate your feedback.

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## 108 fountains

Yeah, I figured you had thought of "frost" and decided against it for one reason or another. 
This is such a good poem that you want to have each word chosen perfectly to make it a really great poem.
Nether white, nor frost nor grey does the job, but there has to be that perfect one syllable word out there.
Possibly, you could go back and finish with the phrase "...yet to come" as in your original version. Then you would be able to use a two-syllable word and keep the rhythm.

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## prendrelemick

I've thought long and hard about the image and the inference I'm trying for. I think I've got too close to see clearly. My next step is to forget about it for a while, then see what I think when I come back to it.

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## AuntShecky

> Must've been in a Bob Dylan mood.
> 
> Young Tom
> 
> Young Tommy Cruise, 
> He done good
> Got a house on the beach
> All glass and wood.
> 
> ...


The only suggestion is to transpose the first and second verse. Doing this would be more chronologically accurate, plus will provide a clearer transition from "house on the beach" to "door.

What rhymes with "Mopothar?"

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## prendrelemick

's funny you should say so, because I wrote it in the order 1,3,2, but couldn't resist tinkering (slaps wrist.)

Nothing sounds from my maw that rhymes with that thar Mopothar

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## prendrelemick

Whose woods these are I think I know

After the fall,
Winter.
Silence sits like snow on branches,
We are bent down by its heaviness,
Our stares pointed as needles,
Hearts hard-set like amber resin,
Thoughts as harsh as pine bark,
As unrelenting as tree root, 
We wander back over frozen ground,
Past fallen boughs 
Down hopeless paths,
These are our woods,
We are lost .

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## Jerrybaldy

I think I need to catch up with you. I feel I have missed a lot of your stuff and that judging by the above it is very good. Tbd above is quite haunting aside from being a metaphor. Well done.

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## prendrelemick

Memories of a disgusting old man

In the school holidays
Harvesting veg
perched on my tractor. 
I looked over your hedge

You were sunbathing
for an all over tan
I was fifteen
And a harvestin' man.

So up on my tractor, 
By the field edge
I stared at your garden,
I looked over your hedge.


Third verse, not used....

Brazilians weren't thought of 
waxing was rare
The only thing current 
was natural hair


Hang on a minute...

I was fifteen
And a harvestin' man
You were sunbathing
for an all over tan

Brazilians weren't thought of 
waxing was rare
The only thing current 
was natural hair.

So up on my tractor
Harvesting veg
I glimpsed at your garden,
I looked over your hedge.

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## prendrelemick

Are you small
or are you far away
Its a matter of perspective
and my eyesight is defective.

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## AuntShecky

At the risk of sounding "mid-cult," I consider "Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening" one of the best American poems of the 20th century. My bitter half is really sick of my mentioning that fact. So you can bet I liked #129 ^ right away.

I like the sequence of prepositional phrases--"over," "past," "down." Prepositional phrases are natural anapests, which endow the lines with rhythm. Also, the semantic sense of physical movement.

The only change I'd make is remove the apostrophe from "it's" (abbrev. for "it is.") You want the possessive pronoun, "its," "its heaviness."


#131
Change the period to a comma, to set up the apposition:
"perched on my tractor*,*
I. . ."

The risque humor in this is subtle, witty, like that of Cole Porter: 



> "I like the East, West, North, and --
> The South of you."


#132
Cute one.
The quatrain resonates with yours fooly, myopic from early school days. I think I acquired the near-sightedness because I was a tall kid, and the teachers made me sit in back of the room. Also I always had my nose in a book. Supposed to be wearing glasses all the time, but I only use them for distance, or occasionally watching tv. But since I can see fine close up (unlike others in my age group), and since I'm usually looking at print, yours fooly is most often seen sans specs. 

Your stuff is original and specific, always a pleasure to read.

Your fan,
Auntie

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## prendrelemick

Thanks Aunty. I appreciate the trouble you take over your comments.

I can't believe I did the "it's" thing.

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## prendrelemick

A Limerick for two voices. ( Recently rediscovered)


Marry: There was a young dude from Mafaking
First Clown:_ Enough of your Lim-er-rick- ing_
Marry: Who told all the world he could sing
First Clown:_Hold! enough of that din_
Marry:But alas every note
First Clown:_I would not give a groat_
Marry: Was like a young stoat,
First Clown:_ For what hies from your throat,_
Marry: Being flung from a fell Berber's sling.
First Clown: _And the rest is silence. -Thank god._

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## prendrelemick

Feeding Sheep In The land of Three Sunrises

I keep a flock against the moor,
And in the spring from that high place,
I see the sun send first its shaft
From Flaight Hill top 'cross Crimsworth Dean, 
To brush with light High Copy Knoll.
Revealing there from out of grey
Intricacies of morning green. 

But I head down the shadowed track, 
Through Abel Wood past Green Hirst Clough,
Rewinding planets to predawn chill. 

At Winter Well the vally's mouth
Yawns Eastwardly and breathes in light
That steams the frost from frozen fields
And off the backs of waiting sheep.
A second rise.

When breakfast calls I climb back up,
The shadowed edge of Crimsworth Vale,
Towards the Dawn's decending light.
We'll meet somewhere along that path
Where woods are filled with yellow bright,
And earthy scents are full released, 
And though we've met but twice before,
Warmth will bless our greeting.
Here in the land of three sunrises.

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## Gilliatt Gurgle

> A Limerick for two voices. ( Recently rediscovered)
> 
> .......


Rediscoveries can be rewarding, glad you spotted that.




> Feeding Sheep In The land of Three Sunrises
> 
> ....
> 
> Then I head down
> The Shadowed track, 
> Through Abel Wood,
> Past Green Hirst clough,
> Backing up planets 
> ...


Wonderful

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## prendrelemick

Thanks GG. It isn't nearly finished. I'm trying to turn it into something more Frosty (Robert that is) I need some contemplations that can be drawn from the experience - apart from how getting up early makes you tired.

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## mal4mac

Nice poem, I love the idea, and most of the execution. 

But I had to think hard, and re-read it, before I had some understanding of that second verse. This may not be a problem, maybe you want me to work hard. I'm still not entirely sure I've got it - are you saying your walk down the hill forces the sun to set and planets to become visible again, and that the other planet (Earth) is returned to pre-dawn chill? 

I'm not sure about "rewinding". What about "recalling"? Also *maybe* make it a bit more explicit, something like:

Then I head down the shadowed track, 
Through Abel Wood past Green Hirst Clough,
Reversing the rising of the sun,
Recalling planets to predawn chill. 

(Note - line 3 needs a lot of work  :Smile: )

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## prendrelemick

Thank you mal4mac, any advice is gratefully received and much needed. 

Hmm, I suppose it should be "Rewinding* THE* planet to predawn chill" ie The Earth from my perspective. But I was so obsessed with hitting the rhythm in the early version, I couldn't afford the "THE". 

However I wasn't too bothered as it brought to mind Newtonian ideas of the Cosmos being like a finely balanced watch - if you rewind the Earth, the whole thing would have to wind back too. 



I've redone that third line about ten times. I reckon there isn't the need to be absolutely literal in poetry, so I prefer "send first its shaft" to, "send its first shaft" to make the Sun seem a conscious, decision making entity.

I didn't want you to have to work hard for understanding at all. This is why feedback is valuable. I know the topography, images and places so well, it is difficult to gauge how much I need to explain.

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## mal4mac

> Thank you mal4mac, any advice is gratefully received and much needed. 
> 
> Hmm, I suppose it should be "Rewinding* THE* planet to predawn chill" ie The Earth from my perspective. But I was so obsessed with hitting the rhythm in the early version, I couldn't afford the "THE". 
> 
> However I wasn't too bothered as it brought to mind Newtonian ideas of the Cosmos being like a watch - if you rewind the Earth, the whole thing would have to wind back too.


Now "rewind" makes sense to me! I had this image of venus/jupiter reappearing as it became dark again, but "rewind" didn't fit that, but it fits the Earth seeming to go back on its axis. Why not "Rewinding the Earth to predawn chill" - this keep the rythm (doesn't it?) and makes it clear which planet you're talking about




> I've redone that third line about ten times. I reckon there isn't the need to be absolutely literal in poetry, so I prefer "send first its shaft" to, "send its first shaft" to make the Sun seem a conscious, decision making entity.


Sorry I wasn't clear, I think the first verse is excellent. By "third line" I meant the third line I added to the second verse: "Reversing the rising of the sun." (Yuk!)

If you accept my latest suggestion, or use your "the planet", I don't think that line would be needed, leaving the second verse as:

Then I head down the shadowed track, 
Through Abel Wood past Green Hirst Clough,
Rewinding the Earth to predawn chill

Then again, you aren't really rewinding the whole earth/planet to predawn chill, just your part of it, so maybe you could do something like "Rewinding Prendrele to predawn chill", with Prendrele standing in for whatever you want to call the area you're walking through (using whatever scans well from hill name, to county name...)

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## prendrelemick

> Now "rewind" makes sense to me! I had this image of venus/jupiter reappearing as it became dark again, but "rewind" didn't fit that, but it fits the Earth seeming to go back on its axis. Why not "Rewinding the Earth to predawn chill" - this keep the rythm (doesn't it?) and makes it clear which planet you're talking about
> 
> 
> 
> Sorry I wasn't clear, I think the first verse is excellent. By "third line" I meant the third line I added to the second verse: "Reversing the rising of the sun." (Yuk!)
> 
> If you accept my latest suggestion, or use your "the planet", I don't think that line would be needed, leaving the second verse as:
> 
> Then I head down the shadowed track, 
> ...


The Earth fits well, but Planet is more epic and shows more human conceit, then there is World. Each choice has slightly different connotations, when I decide where I want to go with the thing I may know which to choose. Everone is the axis of their personal world.

Rewinding my World ? Not sure.

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## mal4mac

Epic conceit? What about "the Orb" or "spacetime" or "everything"? Anyway, good luck with it. It should be worth entering for a proper competition when you're finished.

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## prendrelemick

Feeding Sheep In The land of Three Sunrises

I keep a flock against the moor,
And in the spring on that high place,
I see the sun send first its shaft
From Flaight Hill top 'cross Crimsworth Dean, 
To brush with light High Copy Knoll.
Revealing there from out of grey
Colours washed in golden light, 
Creeping down its whinberry'd flank.


But I head down the shadowed track, 
Through Abel Wood past Green Hirst Clough,
Rewinding planets to predawn chill. 

At Winter Well the valley's mouth
Yawns Eastwardly and breathes in light
That steams the frost from frozen fields
And off the backs of waiting sheep.
A second rise.

When breakfast calls I climb back up,
The shadowed edge of Crimsworth Vale,
Towards the Dawn's decending light.
We'll meet somewhere along the path
And woods will fill with yellow bright,
And earthy scents will full release, 
And though we've met aready twice,
Warmth will bless our greeting.
Here in the land of three sunrises.

Had to bump this because the "EDIT" function had expired and it's not nearly finished.

----------


## prendrelemick

I saw my Dad on Friday
On Monday he was dead
I love my Dad very much
He lives now in my head.

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## MystyrMystyry

Ah, commiserations Mick. Lots of good memories though, eh?

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## prendrelemick

The passionate Lothario to his love.

Come live with me and be my love
Or better still my turtle dove,
Put your mother in a home
Turn your son outside to roam
Give your cats some euthanasia
Send your ****su back to Asia
Then to prove life's pleasures' true
I'll come and move in with you.

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## prendrelemick

just messing around 


Nobody heard him, the dead man,
Though Hamlet claimed he had.
"He told me many, many things,
And sounded like my Dad."

"He sounded like my Dad, he did
Oh list, oh list, oh list,
He told me many dreadful things
And sent me round the twist".

The porches of my ear are full,
And so 's the vestibule,
With tales of horrid murder,
Most unnatural and cruel.

Now we've all been shuffled off,
With poisoned knife and drink,
Though we kept it in the family,
What will the neighbours think.

The rest, they say is silence,
But no one told my Dad,
And still he stalks the battlements,
In his old armour clad."

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## NikolaiI

Yep, yep, better to live without armour but eyes open, generally. Intelligence can keep you safe; no need to fear.

<3

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## prendrelemick

The one.

Her hair, once velvet starred with shine
And heady with the scent of Jasmine,
Is silvered now through and through,
As if once more glimmered with moonlight.
And still to me, she's as beautiful,
As the night when first I felt her draw.
The moon and tide we were that night,
A planet's pull between us,
Our orbits shifting in the night
To paths written down when time was young.
And though the words we spoke I now forget,
I remember still and always will,
The Celestial Music playing,
And the harmonies we sang that night.

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## prendrelemick

What is Happiness Grandad?


What is happiness Grandad?
Asked the child.
As she lay by the fire,
On the rug,
With the cat,
Watching bright flames
Dance out of black coal.

I was half asleep,
And didn't answer,
But the cat purred on.

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## Lokasenna

A beautiful, evocative vignette - I liked this a lot.

Shouldn't it be 'lay' rather than 'laid', though?

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## prendrelemick

a slightly different version -


What is happiness Grandad ?
Asked the child.
As she lay by the fire
On the rug,
with the cat, 
Watching flames burst like laughter
Out of the hard black coal,
Feeling the warm glow beneath.

I was half asleep
and didn't answer,
But the cat purred on.

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## prendrelemick

:Smile: 
Whiskey and dancing is what I like the mostest,
I'm no longer young, but pretend I haven't noticed,
The debt to my body grows greater and greater,
And the price to be paid I'm going to pay later,
But for now I'll be living like the life of old Riley,
With a yey and a LOL and a big yellow smiley.

----------


## Jack of Hearts

> a slightly different version -
> 
> 
> What is happiness Grandad ?
> Asked the child.
> As she lay by the fire
> On the rug,
> with the cat, 
> Watching flames burst like laughter
> ...


Fine one, mick.

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## prendrelemick

Thanksgiving at the Mission

Gravy, 
Richly rendered from the turkey's back,
Steeped and steaming,
Enriched with giblets,
And fatty floating grease,
Gizzardly goodness,
Anointing mash and peas alike,
A blessing on the broccoli.
The tender flesh is pierced,
Sliced and gobbled.
He died for us,
And lest we forget,
Take this bread,
Bread for the sops.
Bread and gravy,
Communion for the homeless.

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## Gilliatt Gurgle

> Whiskey and dancing is what I like the mostest,
> I'm no longer young, but pretend I haven't noticed,
> The debt to my body grows greater and greater,
> And the price to be paid I'm going to pay later,
> But for now I'll be living like the life of old Riley,
> With a yey and a LOL and a big yellow smiley.


Ha!, how did this one get by me, gave me a chuckle.

----------


## prendrelemick

I think this one could do with some more verses.


Northern song.

There are strange songs sung,
And strange things done,
When the wolf howls at the moon.
Tales without reason,
In time and in season,
The hare dances with the loon.

In the midnight sun,
When the salmon run,
And the banks are lined with bear.
Then fox and crow,
Scavenge below,
And bigfoot leaves his lair.

These stories they are told,
By those who moil for gold,
Passed round from fellow to fellow.
For the swish of the pan,
Breeds songs in the man,
Who searches for the yellow.

----------


## prendrelemick

Happiness is...

A pig in a wallow,
A slug on a cabbage,
A duck in the rain,
A trip without baggage.

A hen with a worm
A horse at his hay
A field with a gate
Children at play.

A flower in a meadow
A cat with a purr
A leaf in the sun
A spoon with a stir

A book with a story
A poem when it rhymes
A play with a plot
A song of old times

A man with his slippers
A bright coin to spend,
A child with its mother
And a list with an end.

----------


## YesNo

Nice list of happiness. Perfect last line to any list.

----------


## prendrelemick

deleted

----------


## prendrelemick

Chemotherapy.

Hope comes drip-dropping from above,
Down through tubes and pumps.
It enters in at my opened arm,
And placed next to my heart.
A poisonous hope,
But I'll take it.

----------


## Pompey Bum

Oh dear. Welcome back, Prendrelmick. I'm a survivor, so if you'd ever like to talk, drop me a pm. Be strong, my friend. We've missed you.

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## Danik 2016

A warm welcome back, prendre! Wishing for the best!

----------


## cacian

Welcome back prendrelemick!! long time so seen wishing you all the best and hope you are keeping well sorry to hear what you are going or gone through.
Glad you are posting again. :Smile:

----------


## MANICHAEAN

Let me just add my best wishes at a difficult time. Welcome back on stage!!!

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## kiz_paws

> Chemotherapy.
> 
> Hope comes drip-dropping from above,
> Down through tubes and pumps.
> It enters in at my opened arm,
> And placed next to my heart.
> A poisonous hope,
> But I'll take it.


How well said.
I echo the sentiments of our fellow LitNetters, please do take care.

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## Jerrybaldy

I’m hoping it’s an imagining of chemo rather than reality. Best wishes to you either way. I’m
a fan of your writing.

----------


## Jack of Hearts

Our favorite shepherd is writing again?




J

----------


## prendrelemick

Sheep Shearing 2018

I balance the ewe with my knee,
And follow the old choreography,
A dance of physical poetry.
A little effort, the fleece falls free,
The boy catches another sheep for me.


But this year my strength has gone,
The rhythm is off,
The rhyme contrived,
Next year I'll teach him to clip,
Next year.

----------


## prendrelemick

.........

----------


## Danik 2016

The sheeps will notice the difference!

----------


## Danik 2016

And where is prendrelemick?

----------

