At the bus stop I meet many folk
One man told me  Donald Trump is great
Global warming is a myth–on -coke
Brexit is indeed a super -state

All that in five minutes at the stop
Why tell me,  a cynic at the core?
His open mouth let fly, it was a flop
I am not  convinced,  trapped in bus doors

Do I signal arguing ‘s my sport?
Does it give him joy to convert dames?
Does he think that Trump  needs my retorts
As  Wittgenstein plays  havoc with his  memes?

I like men  but not  their little minds
Let them smile and  wish will be defined

In the land that dreams dwell in
where love and hate and life begin;
where swiftly the deep rivers flow
from those lost lands of long ago.

You have left me, dearest one
Soon I too will be called on.
Nothing lasts but truth is real
Keep your heart and your ideals..

Earth to earth, we rest in clay
We must give all self away
Softly on this earth I  roam
Seeking for my love’s new  home

For until the very end
Love and kindnss may descend.
Even one glance of an eye
Can love convey when all’s awry.

Soft as wings of butterflies
Tears well up and wet my eyes.
My heart has melted into yours
All shall grow and die like flowers

Sisyphus’s task would never end
But mine’s not as large ,I see  that now
My god, it nearly drove me round the bend

Who would help me,lend me their right hands?
No, they criticise when they should bow
Sisyphus’s task would never end

In  some  families dwell fearsome “friends”
I  am a  verb. my meaning is no noun
Ah God, they nearly drove me round the bend

Why such hate,I do not understand?
We must not stab a person who is down
Though Sisyphus’s task would never end

In all our human hearts dwell  vicious trends
Sadder is it ,still, to be a clown
By God, they nearly drove me round the bend

Violence to  a traveller might astound
Retaliation, is the notion sound?
Sisyphus’s  task would never end
Did it  drive the  ancient  round the bend?

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/free-verse

Extract:

Since the early 20th century, the majority of published lyric poetry has been written in free verse. See the work of William Carlos Williams, T.S. Eliot, Ezra Pound, and H.D. Browse more free-verse poems.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/learn/glossary-terms/free-verse

The memory of Dunwich Heath
The birds so rare, the sea so near
The  broken marble  on the beach
The  inner fires, the burning Heath
The trees that hunch, the wind so East
The savaged,polished rocks now dear
The sacred life of languid heath

My future  fell   away like Dunwich Town
I stand  alone on cliffs above grey sea
Watching all  my hopes and wishes drown

Marble from the churches settles down
Fragments are washed up erratically
My future  fell   away like Dunwich Town

My foot, mistaken, stretches out again
Struck by fear, I pull it to safety
Watching all my  plans and wishes drown

Insecure,I struggle  with my gait
Is the pavement real, is tarmac sea?
My future  fell  away like Dunwich Town

Is there any name for  my new state?
Which phone or book has songs for  a night sea?
Who made me and brought  my wishes down?

To you the pavement’s solid and no sea
That is not how  pavements  seem to me
My future  fell   away like Dunwich Town
At the end of land, my ego drowned

To you who write my dreams ,I give my thanks
Please, not at my old school with wet pants
I do not want to get  a prize again
Nor wonder  how I differ from Big Ben

I do not wish to enter  maths exams
With questions on  straight lines that run like trams
Nor draw a graph of lost ellipse on ice
Nor study any science needing knives

I do not wish to sit on a hard chair
I’m 97  though I say my prayers
I’d rather dream of Langdale Pikes in snow
How to send a message? I don’t know

How befriend a writer  we can’t see
Or  more important,  who  will befriend me?

Anger,rage and fear camp in our minds
The thunderstorm means God has stubbed his toe
A misread prayer, a human  grace denied

Mother left the bacon with its rind
Father thinks the cat must learn to sew
Anger,rage and fear, in our small minds

The children bite the dog,is that unkind?
The old man passing thinks it must be so
A misplaced prayer, a human  grace defied

Many  choose strange  words  to torture  time
Paranoia’s useful,  as science shows
Anger,rage and fear, unpick our minds

I wonder if we’re less tense as we rhyme
Or must all difference lead to exchanged blows?
An unknown prayer, all  goodness  man derides

I see I  have a very refined nose
I’ll kill you if you say it’s just a pose
Anger,rage and fear burn up our minds
Say a prayer,  breathe out and then be kind

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

https://lareviewofbooks.org/entitled-opinions/rene-girard-fight-stop

Calling for you in the dreary night
Hearing phantom footsteps on the stairs.
Looking for your face, without a light

My  faint hope,to lose,eradicate,
Makes me search once more and everywhere
I’m calling for you in the ghastly night

Is there any name  for my dull state?
Worn out seeking  who is never here
Looking for your face, oh send  more  light

How can I complain about my fate
When   little children’s  souls by loss are bared?
I’m crying for you in this long, doomed night

My  massive nerves twist  like the carrot’s root
As men enjoy  their   blood sport, kill sweet hares
Haunted by  your face, I need no light

Bring new life, spring up, is  this life fair?
What’s to  come hangs on what’s been  made down here
Calling for you in the moonlit night
Looking for your face in its soft light

http://www.ikonet.com/en/visualdictionary/static/us/the_nervous_system

“The structure of the nervous system

The nervous system allows our bodies to perceive sensations, to think and to perform all of our movements, both voluntary and involuntary. It is composed of the brain, the spinal cord and the nerves. Anatomically speaking, the nervous system is comprised of the central nervous system (the brain and the spinal cord, which are the interpretation and command centers), and the peripheral nervous system, which is composed of the nerves (the transmission network).”

Human roots cause growth and  so cause change
Grow crooked as they slowly push through soil
Life does not come from what is pre-arranged

As across our underworld they range
Happy, undistracted , though they toil
Human roots cause growth and also change

Life must be creative , must be strange
As one body with another coils
Life does not come from what is pre-arranged

British, German, Europeans raged
Scrambled all God’s  Jews  to  mother soil
Their roots were cut by instruments like plagues

Exterminating people trapped and caged
Who  is mad enough  for Satan’s wiles?
Evolution wrecked in such ways strange

What is missing , why are we   damned fools?
War and  genocide destroyed our Jewels
Human roots cause growth ,eternal change
Evolution’s not to be arranged

I saw my  level path turn steep and dark
I saw a tunnel black without a  light
I hesitated wondering  how to stop
But seemed intent on  death,on sudden flight.

No human being held out their warm hand
They left me all  alone in anguished pain
Yet how should I in that state right decide
What was best for me, what made a claim?

The golden warmth  like clouds from rising sun
Wrapped me all around till we were one
There was no speech ,no person and no blame
No demand, no order, love remained.

Beyond despair I found this unknown care.
A sheet of tears ran down my poor face  bare.

of

Dear Sir,I   must report
That while I was asleeping
On your aeroplane today
My bra was stolen  off  of me
Tell me how it was done.
I had   three jumpers on top.
Thankful, my pants are  still here
Is this a brand new crime?
I know I am  quite obese
But is that a good excuse
For these criminal folk
The bra snatchers of Aer Clingus?
I am afraid to go home
My husband thinks I am a tart
He’ll want more  and more cream
It cost me £39.99 on Amazon Prime
Your enraged customer as was
Mrs  M.Muppet Ph,D [Oxen] .B.A  { Pigs] M.Sc [LSD/E ]  D.Phil [Temporary]

The bones, the shape, the structure all are one
On that  form , we hang our little words.
Destroy the shape  and all  my poem is gone

The structure gives us something to lean on
To aid  creation , to make meaning shared
The bones, the shape, the structure all are one

Inflexibility is death, not fun
We fly upon the breezes as do birds
Negate that fact  and all real life is gone

Vulnerable to pain and hunter’s gun
We must not  live as  if all change is barred
The life, the shape, the structure come to one

Here and there we  drop a hint or pun
Into the patient hand we  drop wild cards
Negate that deed  and all real life is gone

Whose the heart by metal  strips destroyed?
What will be the outcome  what the buoy?
The bones, the shape, the structure all are one
Destroy the shape  and all  my poem is gone

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/89288/why-write-in-form

EXTRACT:

In poetry, one of the best ways to practice technique is to write in traditional forms. But for many writers—and I’ve been guilty of this as well—this notion can elicit not just avoidance but also outright opposition. It’s easy enough to look at the current literary landscape and say there’s no point to practicing these old forms. Most journals don’t seem interested in publishing formal poetry, and though there are some fantastic poets working in form today, they are in the minority. Even when there is a resurgence of interest in form (such as New Formalism), it’s seen as an outlier, even reactionary.

Perhaps some of this opposition stems from a common misconception. Unlike other arts—and perhaps even other forms of writing—readers and writers alike often associate poetry with feeling, not technique. Part of this may stem from a misunderstanding of William Wordsworth’s famous definition of poetry, in which he begins, “Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings. …” His wording encourages a reading in which poetry simply occurs and does so uncontrollably. If this is the part of the quotation that sticks with you, it’s no surprise that you might associate poetry more with emotional intensity and less with the how of its conveyance. But in the second half of that quotation, Wordsworth tempers his original statement: “… it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.” Those unexpected and powerful feelings are actually being observed at a calming distance from that emotion.

I saw, while half asleep,  her face was gone
She faded, like the mist does at the dawn,
From the gallery of my most loved ones

Ungrounded by the loss, fearful, forlorn,
Skinless like a worm  picked off a lawn,
I saw, while half asleep,  her face was gone

Do not leave me, do not my love scorn
Lost and gone are my beloved ones
I  am human in both ghost and form

Heart constricted, lungs  pant out my pain
Haunted and bereft of human warmth
I saw, while half asleep,  her face was gone

I shall have no mother but that one
Now I have become a dried out corm
Lost and gone are  my beloved ones

Like a little leaf from its plant torn
Gnawed by slugs,  fragmented  till unborn
I saw, while half asleep, her face was gone
With the gallery of my lost, loved ones

The journey to the heart is   made for love.
And those who need to seek obey their call.
Though virtue and her graces smile above,
We see steep paths ahead;cliffs’  sudden fall.

With willingness to cross  fields deep in mud,
To struggle through the tangled thorny wood.
Our  inner eye  perceives the latent good;
Recalls old trees astonished into bud.

As flowers spring up  to tantalize our toes
Encouragement is with much joy received;
And as we smell the fragrance of the rose,
At last we know our souls were not deceived.

For Virgil,fortune favours steadfast feet.
The journey may be long,the end is sweet.