Very good, Tony. A little more edge and you could be the new Bukowski.
Recently, for reasons that are completely beyond me, I've started writing the occasional poem to go with Instagram posts. It's not something that I've done before and I''m sticking my neck out a bit by posting it here. However, I'd love it if anyone else who's tried/is trying to do something similar could add to the thread and perhaps we can all give each other a bit of encouragement.
I know this isn't for everyone and while I'm the only contributor I'll no doubt feel a bit silly. I'll add whatever else I post on IG, though, and will keep an eye out for anything else that gets posted here.
Help please!!!
Very good, Tony. A little more edge and you could be the new Bukowski.
Very nice!
I borrowed your layout style.
I wrote this when having to travel across town at the same time as all the commuters. I think I finished it somewhere between Waterloo and Green Park. Apologies for the almost perversely screwed-up grammar, but it seemed appropriate at the time (I'm also sorry that the TZ UK app insists on putting a blank line between every single line, but at least that's not my fault)
The pillow crowned
With softly dreams;
Mirage thoughts,
Wispy themes,
And willow sounds
Of sunny cream;
Quick retorts,
Flashing gleam.
The roads now crowd
At unthought pace;
Why retract
An unwon race?
Held aloud,
A routine grace.
Stolid, packed
Pyramid base.
With hidden aches,
Hearts reply
The day breaks,
And so do I.
PS superior effort available here
Last edited by Der Amf; 11th February 2018 at 20:35.
A pup and her toy
Sleep silently together
My heart leaps afresh
Sent from my [device_name] using TZ-UK mobile app
Last edited by JonRA; 12th February 2018 at 17:48.
When I was at Junior School I wrote a Poem (the subject was Peace)
It was just a list of things I found peaceful (or thought people would), but amazingly a number of the other kids' parents asked for a copy of it and my Mum was called in by my teacher when she came to pick me up and told it was remarkably good for my age.
Even at the time I thought it was just a load of waffle and probably would even more today, but I don't have a copy - I wonder if my Mum does?
That was the end of my budding career as a Poet, and I didn't even know it!
M
The Window
Your Dress
Greenwich
Really good stuff.
Eye wetting.
I’ve been there.... god, I’ve been there.
Somewhere, lodged in the pages of a book, I have some poems that I wrote when I was 15. I have absolutely no intention of publishing them here!
In the Sotadic Zone, apparently.
I love the way we met
I hate that we ever met
I love to be with you
I hate that you can't stand to be near me
I love the memories we share
I hate...You.
Please post back my Rattus Norvegicus CD.
I would rename ‘The window’ to ‘Our window’ lol.
Cheers..
Jase
Time to raise the bar
Dog turds on the pavement
What's a man to do?
A vigilante has been sent
It's Soundood time for you.
Anon.
The Failed Seduction Of Ricoh Aficio
The moment I saw you I knew I needed you.
You blinked at me seductively, drawing me closer.
I ventured to reach out and touch you, gently.
You immediately began to purr, as if my touch had brought you back to life.
My hands vibrated gently as they sought to press the right buttons, emboldened by your initial response.
But wait, what was that? Did I detect a flash of red? A warning perhaps to slow down?
And then the realisation hit me. there would be no happy ending for us.
You had led me on and then cruelly let me down.
But even as that truth burned my cheeks, You beckoned me further in
As much as I understood, I could not resist
My hands reached inside the covers, and the final humiliation was mine
THERE WAS NO PAPER JAM IN TRAY 3!
Well done, Tony, for starting this thread. I really like your introspective style, particularly in "The girl at the station" and "The Window". Is the love in "A chink of light" intended to be unrequited or not?
I was particularly pleased to discover your thread just after I posted the following in the "most memorable concert" thread:
George Lewis at the Colston Hall, 1959
Standing in the English drizzle waiting for the queue to start
To move and wondering why I’m there at all,
To watch six elderly musicians come to demonstrate their art
Far from home in Bristol’s august Colston Hall.
Not New Orleans’ streets or bars where it’s said they learned their trade
Between working on the docks or in the houses of the girls,
But in a city where the fortunes of the merchants once was made
From the trade of slaves, an irony unfurls.
Six diminutive black men, one or two the worse for wear,
Take the stage, without announcement start to play
And weave a web of magic, harsh and gentle on the ear
Telling of another place, another day.
The cornet’s brittle sound, cold, gold and fragile on the air
Intertwined by clarinet craft, all self taught:
Lemon high exhilaration, purple low notes of despair,
The trombone‘s brown lugubrious retort.
The audience responds with vociferous applause
And a sound that makes the vaulted ceiling ring
As the band declares in music, faith unshakable because
One day they will be Walking with the King.
The audience files out into the cold West Country rain,
Their beards and duffle coats proclaim their liberal belief,
In the hotel bar each player fills his whisky glass again
Thinking of the homeward journey with relief.
DSM. May 2010
If you have no objection I would like to add two or three more.
David
A little cynical - or perhaps not?
The Charity Administrator
He rises early as the day begins,
Salutes his God, acknowledges his sins
And sets about his allocated task
With purpose, that should any person ask:
He’s done his bit, identifying needs
For others to fulfil by worthy deeds.
A shipment here, an aid assistant there,
Administration carried out with care.
All this remotely: pieces in a game
Of chess or draughts, no person has a name.
No contact save with lifeless paper
No time to savour life’s rich flavour.
He will continue to display compassion
So long as worthy causes are in fashion.
DSM 2017
David
ATTRACTION
The limpid look that leaves the words unspoken,
The lingering touch that speaks of things unsaid,
The secrets shared, their confidence a token
Of messages acknowledged but unread;
The full-of-meaning phrase unheard by others,
The secret joke that only we may share,
All these the machinations used by lovers
Exchanging silent signals that they care.
‘though now the auguries conspire against us
Unsuitable are both the time and place.
The flotsam of our present lives prevents us
Exploring vistas promised in your face,
But this I know: we’ll love again,
Some other where, some other when.
DSM 2017
A moment of whimsy:
Quantum mechanics for a childhood sweetheart
When we met again – thirty years after we failed to get it together -
You remarked that it was (in your words) a regret that we had failed to get it together
And each knew our present situations were too precious to disturb.
But according to the many worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics
There are hundreds, thousands or hundreds of thousands of worlds
In which we get it together every day - and (in my words) that's a consolation.
DSM 2017
Is this a bit too intense?
Eheu Fugaces*
In the dark reaches of reluctant dawn,
half-waked by pain and dreams of what has been,
I stretch my hand and touch your sleeping form
to banish those sad spectres I have seen.
The verdant leaf-fall of each summer tree
drops, dry and brown, to make the weft and weave
of autumn’s carpet, each unique as we,
fallen unnamed, unnumbered, none to leave
a trace; and so it is with us, I fear.
Arrogant unbelief belongs to day,
but darkest night demands we persevere
to seek a faith, to try to find a way
to cheat oblivion: your love for me
is faith for my brief immortality.
*Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume, labuntur anni – Alas, Postumus, the fleeting years glide by ….. (Horace)
That's all for now folks, thanks again, Tony. I admire your ability to give free verse form without formality.
David
Last edited by davidsm; 19th February 2018 at 14:31.
Just to prove I don't take it all too seriously:
Poetry
Poetry is easy; it always works out fine:
You just choose words that sound the same at the end of every line
And if the meaning’s nonsense you really must not care,
There’s always someone who will find a deeper meaning there.
Now if you’re feeling clever, or maybe just perverse
Don’t bother with a rhyme at all and say that it’s blank verse.
Or if free verse is your forté don’t give them metered lines to say.
Then very soon, before you know it, people will say that you’re a poet.
DSM May 2017
Anyone watching "Troy"?
TAVERN SONG OF THE SPARTAN HOPLITES
Earth from earth to earth returning
From its sojourn in the light!
Fire and air of life now spurning,
Framed on either side by night,
Watered by the tears of sorrow,
Nourished by the tastes of joy,
Fleeting is man’s short tomorrow,
Brief the years he may deploy.
Quick the tenure of his spirit,
Fate decides his role by chance,
Unconcerned with rank or merit
When she calls him to the dance.
Each man has to take the ferry
When th’appointed hour arrives
So drink, eat, love and be merry,
Raise your tankards, live your lives!
DSM February2017
and a sonnet:
COMMITMENT
Think well of us in times of joy or sorrow
And of our lives and of our love be proud.
We’ll live as though there will be no tomorrow,
That when the final words are said, unbowed,
We’ll know we lived our lives without retreat,
Each showing each patient consideration
Without restraint, requiring no deceit,
But giving only loving dedication.
For there is one true thing that I have learned:
That ardent vows and proudly flaunted charm
Are not the ways by which a love is earned
(Although such gracious tributes do no harm).
If you should ask me how this truth I know,
It is that your example taught me so.
DSM February 2017
from the archive:
BREATH
It always used to thrill me when I heard my mother say
That something so delighted her it took her breath away.
She used the saying rarely and so everybody knew
That if she said it, then the thing had moved her being through.
I never used the phrase myself from fear that the effect
Seemed gauche; a young man cares what image to project.
For how you are perceived is all to one who’s only plan
Is to live a misspent youth for however long one can.
But I saw you sitting there, pensive amidst the noise
And chatter of the dance hall. Enraptured by your poise,
I gazed at you to catch your eye, then smiled to see what may
Ensue. You smiled, returned my gaze – and took my breath away.
DSM. April 2003, revised November 2011
*postpones breakfast*
*taps on phone*
-------------
Lying deep in the earth now encrusted with snow
The greenery loiters, just longing to grow.
When the cold wind has faded, the lengthening days
Will coax the life out in uncountable ways.
Then, spread through the garden, nature's set free,
Buds on the bushes, leaves on the tree.
Amid scuttling bugs, and birds feeding their young,
The thickening bark proclaims, spring has now sprung.
Amongst all these blessings, the best are these three:
The rose, and its scent, and the buzz of the bee.
------------
Right, I'm hungry now.
Last edited by Der Amf; 18th March 2018 at 20:32. Reason: couple of word changes
THE WATCHMAKER
Hour upon hour he labours, hunched before his bench,
To transform the humble ébauche into a calibre worthy of his name,
Adjusting and regulating with each added complication
To set his piece ticking towards perfection
With all the inevitability of a fugue by Bach
And with some of its beauty too.
DSM March 2018