and I am starting the next line
even though my mind is blank
walking into a bog or a meadow
trusting myself to find
the rest of the sentence
and the next one
and so I am never blocked
or always blocked,if you like
it seems odd but it works
like solving a problem unprepared
in a lecture room in front of
100 students, my reason being
it’s boring to reproduce
and to do it right the first time
what do you think?
The force that generates the waves
The foe who stimulates our rage.
The fierceness of the hurricane.
The flash floods and the lashing rains
These dangerous forces we each know,
Dwell within as passions flow.
Rage and hate and jealous minds,
Make tempests cruel and unkind.
Is there a brief moment of choice,
To stop us heeding instincts’ voice?
Are we helpless in red mist
As we clench our naked fist?
To kill our foes is tempting but
Do we need what they have brought?
Do we need to add their view
When we determine what to do?
Bite your lip and count to ten
Listen hard especially when
The stormy rage grips hard and tight
And tempts us into yet more fights
Since the first cities were made
Men have fought for land and trade.
Is it possible to live
With a life alternative?
With the eye of predator
Wily brain and weapons more,
Men can kill without much thought
And say their gods tell them they ought.
We need to build a channel clear
Through which can flow our rage and fear.
Let not the anger claim your arm
But seek instead for spirit’s balm.
MémoireIL’eau claire; comme le sel des larmes d’enfance, l’ébat des anges;—non…le courant d’or en marche, IIEh! l’humide carreau tend ses bouillons limpides! Plus pure qu’un louis, jaune et chaude paupière IIIMadame se tient trop debout dans la prairie leur livre de maroquin rouge! Hélas, Lui, comme IVRegret des bras épais et jeunes d’herbe pure! Qu’elle pleure à présent sous les remparts! l’haleine VJouet de cet œil d’eau morne, Je n’y puis prendre, Ah! la poudre des saules qu’une aile secoue! |
MemoryIClear water; like the salt of childhood tears, the play of angels;—no…the golden current on its way, IIAh! the wet surface extends its clear broth! Purer than a louis, a yellow and warm eyelid IIIMadame stands too straight in the field their book of red morocco! Alas, He, like IVLongings for the thick young arms of pure grass! Let her weep now under the ramparts! the breath VToy of this sad eye of water, I cannot pluck, Ah! dust of the willows shaken by a wing! |
“A poet makes himself a visionary through a long, boundless, and systematized disorganization of all the senses. All forms of love, of suffering, of madness; he searches himself, he exhausts within himself all poisons, and preserves their quintessences. Unspeakable torment, where he will need the greatest faith, a superhuman strength, where he becomes all men the great invalid, the great criminal, the great accursed–and the Supreme Scientist! For he attains the unknown! Because he has cultivated his soul, already rich, more than anyone! He attains the unknown, and if, demented, he finally loses the understanding of his visions, he will at least have seen them! So what if he is destroyed in his ecstatic flight through things unheard of, unnameable: other horrible workers will come; they will begin at the horizons where the first one has fallen!”
― Arthur Rimbaud
“In the morning I had a look so lost, a face so dead, that perhaps those whom I met did not see me.”
— Une Saison En Enfer
Rimbaud was a 19th century poetic prodigy whose tempestuous relationship with the poet Paul Verlaine inspired Verlaine to try and shoot him. Rimbaud wrote only in his youth — he stopped entirely when he was 21.
Some evenings, the sky turned pink
We were happy, lying in the grass
watching the sun set,
arms around each other.
Seemed like eternal life had come
Earlier than forecast
.
Those weathermen are too often wrong!
They need new training.
But, forever,
I’ll remember you ,sweetheart,
in that timeless moment
in between two raindrops,
in between two tears.
Bank your chin and upper lip  |
| you ain’t seen’t coffin yet |
| you can lead a hearse with the porter |
| you can ever go home and moan |
| you can say crap and strain my nerves |
| you can take the cat to the bank manager today |
| you can’t fit a square leg onto a round sole |
| you can’t make a welsh curse out of a cow’s rear |
| you can’t put the tooth back into the hole |
| you can’t shop him. you can only hope to maintain him. |
| you can’t swing a dead bat at NZ |
| you can’t take picnicers off a rare horse |
| you decomposed on my tart; where’s the art? |
We used to have Latin at Mass.
And later we learned it in class
Tantrum ergo
We must forego
As the Church built a new and bright past.
We used to sing, Credo in unum.
But some of us sang,Cried in your mum.
Our soles were all healed
Partitions were sealed.
And sometimes in nostalgia advertum
Mathematics is the science of patterns;
So is not for the idle or slatterns.
But now I love art,
The patterns of the heart.
No one conducts that with a baton.
Yet mathematics has got its attractions
I refer not to those vulgar fractions.
But several types of infinity,
Have their divinity.
Then we have perspective, and more, golden sections.
Add to that, we can say with great ease,
Circles and squares, nonchalant, tease.
Pi is a number
Transcendental with wonder.
As for e, then we’ll reach that by degrees.
Now logs have caused mental fits
Divorced brains and predeceased wits.
So I shan’t mention them today,
But let your minds play.
Algebra keeps some hearts frit
Deferential, I Eternity await Submit to your grace In my patient state. None but God can judge; None have his pure gaze. Write me not your wish. Tempt me not with praise. Timeless as the heavens Eternity is now Mindful of this lesson Grace will show me how
I loved a Ukrainian from France
As he had his own eloquence.
His eyes rolled all over
The white cliffs of Dover.
His legs did an elegant prance.
Now part of that cliff face fell off
St Margaret’s Bay had it quite rough.
So I took him to Devon
Where the cliffs are sheer heaven.
His hat makes him look like a toff.
We communicate non verbally,
As we gaze out across the teal sea.
He wiggles his ears
Till I am in tears.
I laugh and then, oh,dear,I wee.
Incontinence is a big trade,
As women’s parts often need aid.
And we pay VAT
Which enrages me.
From puberty to age we have paid.
| synonyms: | outlook, view, viewpoint, point of view, standpoint, position, stand,stance, angle, slant, attitude, frame of mind, frame of reference,approach, way of looking/thinking, vantage point, interpretation
“her perspective on everything had been changing”
|
http://www.poetrysoup.com/poems_poets/poems_by_poet_read.aspx?ID=30701
I have got some of my poems on this website if you prefer not to read my other posts.I don’t have everything there.
The bell rang on the ancient church at noon.
A sparrow flitted to the Tudor wall.
Was this the knell which brings us damned gloom?
Perhaps there is no meaning here at all.
I read my unknown thoughts projected out,
And in my rage, desire the walls to fall.
Like you, I am too often stuck in doubt.
Betrayed by old ideal and vanished wish.
So what is in confuses that without.
Oh,pain, oh ,mind, oh agony, oh flesh.
I shall not cling to life and wait for grace.
I am, myself, a fish in net of mesh.
Was this my destiny, my rightful place;
Alone besieged by sorrows on all sides?
I err for being sad is no disgrace.
So ,to my hopes, I’ll cling like drowning beast.
Until my invitation to the feast.
It’s so easy to give others advice
And even to become known as wise.
But harder to do,
So what might ensue
Is living a lifetime of lies.
Elation is good but has dangers
As it makes us too trusting of strangers.
It’s like a drug high,
Which says we can fly.
Best to keep to the mid-ranges.
Halation spoils photos sometimes.
And also, can I find all its rhymes?
The light is too bright
For the middle of the night.
But moreover, the clock always chimes
We had poetry with dinner and tea
Mostly recited by me.
Mother liked Blake
But by some mistake
I read porn writ for men while at sea,
Poppies red.and linseed blue
Shall decorate my dress.
Hold me in your arms tonight
While I my love confess.
Meadows filled with buttercups
Fill my inner eye.
I love the scent of minty leaves
When my mind is all awry.
I see the sun through closed eye lids
And rose scent’s in the air.
Wherever summer joy comes from….
We have had our share.
In many cases, we can tell that a piece of writing is a poem just by hearing it read out loud. This is especially easy if a poem rhymes. Of course, not all poems rhyme in quite the same way. In formal verse, there are many different arrangements of rhymes, or rhyme schemes, to choose from. One such rhyme scheme is terza rima.
aba, bcb, cdc, ded, efe,
Terza rima is a rhyme scheme that uses tercets (three-line stanzas) and a pattern of interlocking end rhymes(rhymes that occur at the ends of lines). This interlocking pattern is often describing using the following letters:aba bcb cdc ded . . . and so on. As you can see, each tercet contains a rhyme from the one that comes before it. To be more specific, the second rhyme in one tercet becomes the first and third rhymes in the next tercet. This pattern can go on as long as the author wants, traditionally ending with a couplet or a single line that rhymes with the second line of the second-to-last stanza (for example, ded ee or ded e).
To get a better understanding of how this unique rhyme scheme works, let’s look at an example from terza rima’s early history. The earliest appearance of terza rima was in Italian poet Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy in the fourteenth century. The following example is an excerpt from contemporary American poet Robert Pinsky’s translation of Dante’s Divine Comedy:
As I drew nearer to the end of all desire, (a)
I brought my longing’s ardor to a final height, (b)
Just as I ought. My vision, becoming pure, (a)
Entered more and more the beam of that high light (b)
That shines on its own truth. From then, my seeing (c)
Became too large for speech, which fails at a sight (b)
Beyond all boundaries, at memory’s undoing– (c)
As when the dreamer sees and after the dream (d)
The passion endures, imprinted on his being (c)
Though he can’t recall the rest. I am the same: (d)
Inside my heart, although my vision is almost (e)
Entirely faded, droplets of its sweetness come (d)
The way the sun dissolves the snow’s crust– (e)
The way, in the wind that stirred the light leaves, (f)
The oracle that the Sibyl wrote was lost. (e)
If you listen carefully, you’ll hear that few of the rhymes in this example seem a bit off, but the sounds of the words are still fairly similar. This is called slant rhyme. You may also have noticed that the example doesn’t end with a couplet or a single line. This is because this example is taken from the middle of a canto (or section) in a larger work.
I had a marmoreal man.
His first name was said to be John
He wrote. please do not text me,
I’ve had a vasectomy;
And I don’t know just what to put on.
What did he mean? I enquired.
Men are afraid of desire.
Was he short in his wardrobe,
In which case, use cardboard!
Be specific in what you require.
He went back to Durham last year.
I do think desertion’s unfair
They said he was dying
But they were all lying.
For I believe High Force is there.
I used to dream lots while awake.
But ,unusually, I never spoke
Till I called “immemorial”
In a tutorial.
I realised I needed a break.
I then met an old Cambridge don.
Dr Leavis in his person.
He was a great critic;
Perhaps too acidic.
Then a wind blew and Leavis was gone.
We were studying topology algebraic
It’s new, though it does sound archaic.
Then harmonic series,
Which led to some queries.
Like,what is Ptomelemaic?
Isn’t that a beautiful word?
My spelling verges on the absurd.
Still,patterns attract me;
Men might distract me,
From what acts have never occured.
.
My husband was walking back from the train station across a green.He couldn’t recall any more.He had got a hypo and fell unconscious onto a War Memorial.He broke his nose,cheekbone and other things.
I heard the doorbell ring.There was an ambulance in which a paramedic was screaming at him.She asked me if he had dementia as he failed to answer her queries about who was PM etc
It was obvious he had no idea why he was in an ambulance.Or why the 2 people were shouting at him.He was covered in blood and his eye looked as if it might fall out.Luckily his specs protected it.
I told them to shut up and explained quietly what had happened.He was as normal as anyone might be.
Why would a paramedic think shouting at someone old and semi-conscious was a good idea?
BTW I had told the doctor he was over-medicated and had fallen before but I was told his health was a secret I had no right to discuss.
War memorials are placed in our cities
To commemorate and also to pity.
A hypo took John
And his face hit the stone
Soon he was beyond being witty.
From time immemorial men
.Have fought wars over again
But why waste our greens
On memorials half seen?
If not now,then just tell us when.
| synonyms:
|
ancient, old, very old, age-old, antediluvian, timeless, dateless, archaic,long-standing, long-lived, time-worn, time-honoured; More |
antonyms:  |
recent |
