I once had a neighbor called Lumb
Who had double joints in his thumb.
They looked rather weird.
As did his beard.
Especially when filled with crumbs.
Lumb wrote lyrical poems
which left the young ladies all glowing.
He married a Rose
And as everyone knows
Her love is so deep it’s overflowing.
She has so many lovers as well
I am unsure whether I should tell.
I am not one for spying
On women who are lying
In the arms of the men they have felled
onnet
Not love nor money should we seek to steal;
Nor for self praise and esteem be in need
For these things cannot ever truly heal.
And onto a wrong path must often lead.
Not to vice nor virtue must our wills be tied;
Yet by some grace we gently may be led
Our will directs attention which denied
May let our pride control our thoughtless head.
Not good nor bad can track the vane of God
Far from our sightless eyes are his affairs.
Yet Faith and Hope can be a dowsing rod
With Love the force to trace the Spirit bare.
Oh,come down,Spirit,take me as your wife
Fill me with holy grace and with new lif
I wish I were an apple
and you were eating me
I’d like to make you happy
As you sat by this tree.
I wish I were a blackbird
So I could sing for you.
I’d like to make you cheerful
And stop you feeling blue.
I wish I were the sun
So I cold warm your frozen heart.
And then your heart would melt for me
And you would be less tart.
I wish I were the moon
so I could protect you all night long.
But being only me may I
Present you with this song?
I take pleasure seeing leaves turn red.
On trees from whose rich fruit we’re fed.
My apples dropped to mossy lawn,
My plums purpled from sun late born.
Stand still, then listen in the woods.
Hear the sounds of dreaming doves.
Shelter, quiet,by oak and elm,
And find your self in woodland’s realm.
Gaze at clouds through branches high.
See red leaves light up pale sky.
The sun is angled now so low,
The trees their longer shadows show.
In what,at first,seemed silence clear
The chirps of birds, who know no fear
Are gathered to our open ears.
I’d like to live as do wild flowers.
Though life may last but one hour.
An hour of complete submission to
The bliss of love and sun and you.
A moment can be a life time too.
In joy, our love of life’s renewed.
Time stretches out in sweet embrace,
For us who live in earth’s dear space.
Some days love speaks to me.
Some days I feel so free.
I love my craft.
Life is a patterned weave.
Love helps us when we grieve.
Love is a raft.
See how the sun comes back.
See how light fills the gaps..
Some days we laugh.
Weep now and I’ll weep with you.
I have known sorrow too.
Yet sorrow will pass.
Joy is not far away.
Joy will return one day….
L With life’s arts and crafts
Who has never felt grief
When a small gesture would have helped
but it has, unknowingly, been with held?
How many people have the imagination
to guess what’s in your mind,
And to embrace you rather than push you away?
No-one, No-one.No-one knows.
No-one knows these numbers.
No-one knows these names.
No-one knows how many feel diffident,
Nor how many feel shame.
Being alive is joyful!
Being alive is pain!
Being alive is all we have,
We’ll never be alive again.
I look into your eyes today
I sense your pain and woe.
I look into your eyes just now
And tell you that I know,
Being alive is lonely.
Being alive is good.
Being alive is pain indeed
For flesh is not like wood
You play on a clarinet;
I play on my old cello.
Your music is so poignant;
My music is mellow.
I can’t play from your music;
You cannot play from mine.
Our music must be transposed,
But will never sound the same.
I have longer fingers.
You have bigger hands.
You play some from memories
which I don’t understand.
I play from my own history,
You compose your own.
You have frightening feelings,
which I have never known.
Would you play my music?
Then it must be transposed;
but we can’t transpose our feelings,
Unless we are shown
how to draw out symbols
From the dark Unknown.
I love the music that you play
and I know you do love mine.
But can we play together
In some meaningful design?
Transposing keys and feelings
Is a difficult,dangerous task;
Much easier to play pretend
and never,never ask.
I cannot share your lifetime hurts
and you cannot share mine.
Is it easier to share happiness
and love of the Divine?
Oh,play your poignant music for me
with your meditativee art.
I shall listen with my ears
and listen with my heart.
And then I shall respond to you.
My instrument is here.
I am playing quite new music.
I feel you drawing near.
Suddenly we are moved to play
A completely new design.
I seem to feel your feelings
And I can hear that you feel mine.
Together we seem to make a work:
Torment and release.
This music is so tragic,
Yet its design has brought me peace.
Play on,play on,for now I know
I begin to understand,
without more words or gestures
except those from your curved ha
Lost in shadowed caves |
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©Excellent site
My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.
– Extract from Digging, by Seamus Heaney, from Death of a Naturalist (Faber and Faber, 1966)
The leaves on our damson trees are turning yellow; many have fallen already. White butterflies, like wind-blown petals trying to re-attach themselves to the desiccated whiteness of our…
View original post 1,376 more words
Did you ever have a lover
with long red hair?
For long red hair
I long to care.
Did you ever have a lover,
and then another lover?
For there’s added gain
if you feel no pain.
Did you ever have a lover
who loved your eyes
and never ever lied,
and let you cry?
Whatever was the trouble.
You’ll never have a lover.
if you have no time for others
for love needs care,
As well as hair!
Here and there are many lovely people
who live with their lives with scruples;
if you’re scruple free,
then let it be.
Oh, let it be is fine,
Except for the divine.
I want to be involved
For I can’t please all the folk,
Who touch me with their talk.
My heart has melted down…
and now I’ve grown a world
completely on my own.
Were you ever quite alone
Like a toad under a stone?
Did you ever hear a groan
as you wrote your own poem?
For you’ll never write a poem
that makes me laugh..
Because my feet are in the shower
but my body’s in the bath.
My head is on the shelf…
and I’ve lost all of my stealth…
Yet you will love me
Evermore.
Evermore and evermore
You’ll be standing on the shore;
Watching the horizon,
wondering how the world’s gone.
Oh, you’ll never be a poet,
Unless you make notes..
They take you to the limit…..
Love, whatever is it?
Evermore, evermore…
The words seem like a roar…
I love your heart’s deep core..
Let me write you more
And more,
And more.
Did you ever have a lover?
Sometimes I have found when talking to friends or neighbours some people feel life is predetermined.. not in a religious way;they feel nothing will change.That they run along a track and cannot turn off.
Major change can be hard…. so I am doing simple things like not always sitting in the same armchair.Changing my routines and if the weather is good I am going out and making the most of winter sunshine.
I take a camera and get some intriguing pics as I wander about.the seasons may return each year but they are never quite the same.This year we had snow.Now it’s autumn but we had a good summer…after a prolonged winter
I used to use the above site but never permitted ads….maybe that was my problem.
On 2nd September they emailed me to say I was in their top 6% of writers.
I wrote a new poem about finding one’s sacred vocation in life a couple of days later.
Then I got an email saying it was plagiarized.When I went on the site,I found shortly a message saying
I was now a banned user!I emailed the editors but they just said they would never reinstate me.
As it turns out,it was good because you can’t post anything there that is on your blog or anywhere at all on the net
Why should I allow them to use my writing to draw people onto their site?
However,if you keep your work unpublished there it makes a nice storage place
I like reading on a cylinder…she prefers a kindle.It takes all ports!
I like to do the worst things first.
He let a wish out for a saunter round his mind then he submitted to temptation
I’m as with it as as a diamond ringing
Are you fit enough to be hung out to dry and maligned?
Her wits have been tried and found haunting.
She fits me like a love.
He fits like a brand from heaven above.
Is he as flash as a cat with a golden fleece?
I have only flashed a pan… it was a humane error.
My belly is as flat as a rugby players knee.
I wish I were reciting a Xmas cracker.
She’s very sweet footed..always an asset in this day of rage Continue reading “Her wits have been tried and found haunting.”
You know you have to leave me,
Though you desire a longer stay
Let me hold you in my arms now
For just tonight and perhaps one day.
Then I’ll watch you travel on,sweet.
We take this last step all alone.
I’ll be here beside you watching.
I shall feel when you are gone.
May you accept, may you surrender.
I hope you reach the promised land.
Into this earth my tears will fall, love
When I feel your cold,cold hands
s
Not love nor money should we seek to steal;
Nor for self praise and value be in need
For these things can not ever truly heal.
And onto a wrong path must surely lead.
Not to vice nor virtue must our wills be tied;
Yet by God’s grace we gently may be led
Our will directs attention which denied
May let our pride control our fuming head.
Not good nor bad can track the vane of God
Far from our sightless eyes are his affairs.
Yet Faith and Hope can be a dowsing rod
With Love the force to trace the Spirit bare.
Oh,come down,Spirit take me as your wife
Fill me with grace and fill me with new life
|
Where’s the doctor?
He’s gone to court for sexual harrassment
Can’t he get that somewhere easier?
Don’t ask me,I’m asexual.
A sexual what?
No just asexual.
That’s bad sign in a man.
Well,I am 97 he said.
Fancy you mending a computer
.He said,I’m stealing it!
,
|
An altered version of the joke below
Nikhil Saluja quotes | added by: GreenMonk
Read this
If ‘likes’ are anything to go by my blogposts against legalising euthanasia are about the least popular ones I make. In the past two decades support for legalising euthanasia in Australia has climbed from about 65% to over 80% so I am definitely part of an increasingly unpopular minority, especially among colleagues on the progressive side of politics.
But I’ve never been in the business of winning popularity contests, so this is another post about why I think euthanasia should stay illegal.
I’ll start by spelling out some of the inconsistencies in my own position.
I categorically support the right to abortion on demand, even to late term. The distinction between a just-about-to-be-born foetus and a newborn baby is arbitrary but I am still against killing a newborn no matter how serious his/her birth defects may be. The reason is because the distinction between a newborn and a one day…
View original post 1,161 more words
There are many people who think poetry must rhyme.But in fact the most important thing is meter or musicality
I have found some of my early work is poor but it’s better now.But there is so much awful poetry on the net,I only wish people would read one or two articles about poetry or read
_”Poetry for Dummies” or similar works.
One person has paid £300 to have his book published and though the work is heartfelt it is inn need of much editing.
I know the amazed feeling you can get after writing a poem,but it’s a bit like falling in love.
Think of “A midsummer night’s dream” and ponder…. feelings are not the final guide in love or in creation.I am far from despising the work of the amateur.I am not very critical by nature but sometimes I cannot help being astounded by the dreadfulness
People using both Thee and You in the same poem
Using cliches
Using “poetic language” like ” where ere you go” ‘Twas on a monday morning.It’s out of date.
Poor meter.
Never having read much after Shelley/Wordworth/Keats
Never having read much at all except a newspaper…. a tabloid
Now,if you love to write but your work is not worth publishing. it’s still a really good pastime
and a learning experience.But ask someone wise to read it before you try to publish it.Or write a blog and ask for critiques
Most people like and need to have a group of friends.And now on the net we can make friends at a distance by sharing writing and thoughts..However this is not without its risks.I how know that a person who tells you all their problems very early in a relationship is not a good person to befriend.I believe it is better to get to know someone slowly
.A person who tells you about their trauma and trouble is looking for a helper,not a friend.And it is a kind of manipulation.On the internet such people can study your writing for weeks or months and then make a move.
People complain of loneliness when they have a partner and a family and friends.Why do you think you can help them?Are you really any better than their present friends?Are you flattered they tell you this?Beware.Inevitably you will reveal you are a mere human like all others….. and then they will take umbrage and bitterly complain about your lack of sensitivity.Or if you ask for courtesy they will be offended because all they write or say is of course perfect,iIf they hurt you,it is you that is too sensitive…nothing they do can have done could cause anyone pain. So take it slow especially on the net and with people from other cultures.They can drop you from a great height
Just a brief note before my whooping cough returns.Poetry can be just clever playing with words.. or not so clever!But true poetry stems from living and feeling.I shall hope to illustrate this with some examples.Feeling itself is not enough for poetry.The poet needs to transmute the feeling using her craft into something that contains and retains the feelings and passes the result on to readers.Being able to play with words is useful, but not sufficient.Maybe that has to be impregnated with feeling?
I must have had a wish to write.Because for many years ,I studied books on poetry and creative writing.I began to collect images and events which affected me in a notebook.Then one day I asked,When do I write?I had to start, unconfident as I was. Time was passing Here is the first poem I wrote.[January 2010]
CHRISTMAS SNOW:
Too old for cold,I stand, now ,against the hedge,
Watching the snowflakes in the glare of neon street lights.
Darkness has come early,and I think of country uplands and huddled sheep.
On Salisbury Plain,shepherds watched their flocks
Just as in Bethlehem two thousand years before,
And then ,exactly when?
“Between the wars”,it stopped. Now we know there is no “Between the wars”.
And who decided
To cull the sheep and shepherds and the space for kindness ?
Now that same Plain still exists,but banned
And closed to human-kind,
For bombs ,not wombs
Nor for birth of lamb ,nor gypsy child ,nor Saviour
Where would He go today?
_
,s
From the first poem, I can see my mind was wondering if there is any space in the world now safe enough for a creative happening.After I wrote this,I was unsure if I’d get any more inspiration but I did
Here is a slightly later poem
SUN PAINTING
Bright sun
Paints a shadow picture
On the white wall
Dried stems
Of Michaelmas daisies
A leaf caught in a cobweb sways
To and fro.
I gaze.
Silence.
I love the flowers that fall like rain
From the cherry trees ,in the wind again,
And pile at the side of a garden wall.
I love the blossom still on the trees
Full of buzzing honey bees
Like an angel’s glowing shawl.
I hate the fierce wind that blows it away,
Yet I know now nothing is here to stay,
and I love it, and cherish it all.
It reminds me of an East Anglian landscape
This garden’s flat planes of grass give the illusion
Of greater distance,the eye travels down them
To the trees rising at the end.
On this scene my mind superimposes
Other ideas of summer days in hot places
In flat fields stretching on either
Side down to the sea.
My eye enjoys the shape,the flatness
The form,a symbol for so many other gardens
And summer journeys on unknown lanes
Across new landscapes ,delighting in them,
In the space extending,and the trees
A gentle contradiction to the horizontal meadows.
In summer in recent years,what I remember
Is the sun across these long,flat shapes.
Looking at this small garden,I remember
So many things,my eye sees through
What is here,to far beyond
What has passed and what is to come
All afd contained here.
When I was at University I spent 6 years studying mathematics.But I always liked poetry and novels.My school thought I should study English Literature,but to me that was not a creative activity.The way we were taught was to criticize books,plays,poems by many famous writers [mostly men!]
I didn’t want to criticize only.I wanted to write but I never thought I could.I followed my career as a mathematician until my vision deteriorated.I could not read mathematical symbols anymore.Still it had earned me a living
I began going to an Art Class as I wanted to see as much as I could. in case my vision got worse,I was so very embarrassed because all the others were very good whereas I had no idea what all the terms meant [Even for pencil drawing ].I was afraid but I kept going and did learn to look at the world differently.At that time I .I had not got a computer.Later I could not get to the class but did more here at home
I bought my laptop and after some time I discovered digital art.I had no books about it so I just played.I found Microsoft Paint inviting and simple.Later I found Artweaver and Paint.net which I used to manipulate my photographs
I only took photos because by error I bought a phone with a camera on it.Next time I’ll tell you how I wrote my first poems
I like blue
Don’t keep petting me.I get too eggwhited
Why is rain wet?
And top of the bill was the Sinner,Em Blem.
Do you like creative fighting?
Do you hate your food?
What is the joint of the affair?
I love.Amen to that twit.
Join Twatter and swear an oath daily.Free for all.
Eat peas with the stork,please.
Why did the boy stand on the burning check?
I like a man in a mask.
What face shall I put on today?
I wonder who you are.
Don’t tell the truth about your tarts.
How many lovers are a bluff?
Do you like to eat crumbs in bed?Bird needed
I can use Word
Are limericks poems or not?
What kinds of mind think they’re rot?
I am unsure
whether they will endure.
Meantime what have I forgot?
I forgot to get up from my bed
I dreamed last night I was dead
But when I drank some tea
I needed to wee…
So I got up and tidied my head.
Are nightmares of use to the mind?
What makes our peace start to unwind?
If I feel insecure
Can I endure,
When my friends seem to become so unkind?
Unaccustomed as I am
To being the adjunct of a man,
I find it mostly beneficial
To give neat brandy to officials.
Unaccustomed is the game
Custom fittings fall like rain.
I dwell among the nuts and bolts
Look down here,you witless dolts!
I’m just a pair of kitchen pliers
Made for untwisting your wires.
Keep me in your bottom drawer
In case you need to see a lawyer.
This poem is a nonsense rhyme.
Please sign on the dotted line..
If you think my verse too short,
I shall make a wise retort.
I like Lewis Carroll best.
Do I pass the nonsense test?
Learn some number theory now.
And write it on your vessel’s prow.
Did you say your bedtime prayers.
Do you dress in woolly layers?
Will you dream of me tonight?
I’ll send you schemes in colours bright.
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I am very happy that you enjoyed it,Harry.Thank you.Katherine
Thanks so much,Carol.
Thank you.I’m glad you enjoyed reading it. Alll the best,Kathryn
Thank you,Keith.I was halfway through another poem when this arrived!All good wishes,Kate
Thank you very much,Richard
Thank you,Steven
You are welcome to read and comments some of mine poem. We have not a warm summer yet, it is raining and windy….cold…I live the west coast and we have not so good sommer – always windy.
Thanks,Anne Lise.I just joined this morning.hope you are enjoying midsummer up there in Norway Kate
Your comment is odd for a poet.. hope you are not feeling very down today,Kate
Do you want me to put more information into the poem ? Whether anyone is able to care about anything is a combination of mood and life experiences. Thank you for being my first commenter since I joined this morning