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ASF Poetry Thread

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They’re all jealous 2020.

They have nothing going for them except that stupid job. Creative people need to be crazy and a little lazy. Don’t waste your life working, become a comedian/finance commentator.

You can't be uglier than coshy (not sure about the spelling)! If that boring geek can make it, believe me you can.
 
Yep - similar tone huh.
Bobs 'Chronicles' are a great read - a similar feel in some places to his songs - just prose not poetry. Some good 'BOB' movies recently too - Masked and Anonymous is a hilarious (in a wierd kinda way) spoof of the US gone wrong. Heartily recommend it. Havn't seen Scorcese's effort yet.... soon
 
One for Mother Nature, my heroine , like Wordsworth. I wonder what Wordsworth would have had to say about global warming woops dont go there 2020! last time you went there you got a black eye lol. But even politics - and hopefully religion - are covered by a poetic licence on this thread (that's so isnt it Joe?? - unless of course its judged to be ramping Mother Nature lol.)

IF I WERE GOD

If I were the God of Light ..in the Christian twist of the word,
And some Bishops pretended I’d said that a gay man's excluded, or “Heaven’s deferred”,
I’d probably question their motives..and tell them their vision was blurred,
Or lacking in empathy, praps homophobic, and certainly downright absurd.
We’re no two the same .. so let’s tone down the blame..
(And judging ..and sledging ..and pastlife redredging)
And the heat and the hate incurred.

If I were the God of Love..as the Islamic followers say,
And men draped in BLACK!! said that wives should be stoned, if suspected of going astray,
And just on the word of some madman..and quoting My name all the way,
To kill her by pellets from rampaging zealots, - I’d probably lean towards “nay”.
- You’ll guess how I dress, from my rainbow caress
of my wife-world, my life-world, my not-without-strife world,
So lovingly sculptured from clay.

If I were the God of the Righteous, and I mean in the global sense
And somebody said that the answer was “might” , and that killing was not an offence,
Or a volunteer bomber could somehow find “Bliss”, from the moment of impact and hence-
I’d prob’ly say “Son, just give-it-a-miss, ..and don’t be so God-damned dense!.”
Salvation my boy is a well informed joy,
(Enlightened, less frightened, and ranting-much-quietened,)
where you argue – like gents - at the fence.

If I were the God of the Living, ..and somebody came up and said
That some quote from some Biblical text or Koran..predicted some horrible dread,
Abandoned by Keeper, some monster Grim Reaper who mega-throws worlds on their head ! -
I’m here just ignore it (cos I’ve never saw it), and don’t be so easily lead.
Predictions like that .. when the world was flat..
(Begotten, forgotten, from-some-old-dude’s-jottin’)
are inept (you can take it as read).

But…But…But (sigh)
But If I were the Mother of Nature, ..and my world was a breaking shell,
And someone was pouring black oil on my birds…and poisoning, slowly, the well,
And deserts were growing like wildfire.. and wildfires were burning like Hell,
I’d be just a tiddy- wee-bit concerned, …And I’d probably opt to sell !!
Or make a new pact to clean up my act,
(this dome, my home, where I love to roam)
and try to make patient well;
And stare down their eyes when they rabidly foam ,
while ringing some Heavenly bell.

Lol inevitably I hav to make a stack of "edits" - everything I do is "work in progress", and never quite the FINAL draft lol.
Like I sat beside a Portugese banker at a wedding once - for conversation I said " sorry I don't know much about Portugal - except that I believe that you dont kill the bull yes? He answered - "yes you're right, we never finish anything we start in Portugal lol."
 
Nice one 20!!　great wit and very relevent!...
Unlike this effort of mine - which i just found in 'my back pages' - Just realised I writ it when i was about 22 - and scared the Sh%! out of myself realising that was 17 years ago!!
Sorry if
its
abit
stilted like...
-------------------------
A Life Cycle / Perpetual Human Motion (EVB)
--------------------------------------------------
The moon - it comes
on nights so still
round as yolk of egg though pale
a smallish chunk of terra-firma
flung by earthly catastrophe

Or perhaps by chance, a seeding vessel
from galaxies far away
that sowed the seeds of life on earth
that man may have his day
. . . . again.

Could it be
that we
will do the same
when our time on earth runs dry
we'll pack our bags and head for space
- an interstellar caravanserai

We'll heave-to by a likely lump
and wait till dawn is nigh
then sow the seeds of life
again
as a new sun
illuminates
a new blue sky

And so ...
on and on we'll crawl
through a swirling sea of years
creating, then destroying,
life.
Then moving on...
we'll shed no tears.

But without death there is no life
without yin... no yang
We just move on
and round
and round
and the circle
remains
the same.

(ahhh . . . . men !)

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

Gotta go eat sushi!!!!! 明日ね！
 
Dukey said:
Sorry if its a bit stilted like...
-------------------------
A Life Cycle / Perpetual Human Motion (EVB)
--------------------------------------------------
The moon - it comes , on nights so still , round as yolk of egg though pale
Click to expand...
Man o man ! that is fantasstic !!
 
Dukey said:
The moon - it comes on nights so still, round as yolk of egg though pale
Click to expand...
Dukey, since you introduce the subject of astronomy ... here's a couple of poems , also of questionable quality. Lets just call this amateur hour lol.

Somewhere I wrote (when I committed my first 50 poems to print) that
" Fifty odd poems about this and that, Well certainly odder than most,
Nothing to really write home about, And certainly nothing to boast,
Tug at your heartstrings, or tug at your lead, But Most of em breezy and light,
And those that are heavy or hard to read , It’s because they were easy to write."

Continuing in this vein lol:-

Fifty odd poems when you add ‘em all up (+)
The product of what I think (x),
The critics divided twixt “maybe” and “nup” ( / )
Or whether they bloodywell stink,
Or whether you somehow could rescue the page
If you’d just take away the ink ( - )
Or the sum of decreasing mental age (- - -)
And increasing time to think. ( + + +)
- But in truth it’s a square on an empty stage ( ^2)
and a cubic TV on the blink ( ^3)

here are some that were PARTICULARLY easy to write lol.

PS If you say that "astronomer" and "Jeronimo" dont rhyme - well its a lot bludy closer than your poem lol.

FIND YOUR STAR AND GIVE IT NAME

Met an old astronomer , Sat me down and pointed skyward
"There's the clues Jeronimo" , ... Searched the darkness for more firewood.

Clue to life is search the night sky , Find your star and give it name
Search your soul and set your sights, and Let your star define your aim.

Next trick son is find the Pointers , Limits like celestial gates
Left and right like Pope's annointers, Goalposts like Magellan's Straights.

Last one boy is find your cross - its Crux to some and crutch to others -
Learn that you're your moral boss - and Go with truth and help your brothers,
( sisters, wives and even mothers)

And another (A comparison of Romance and Reality) :-
SCRAP METAL

Tell me your story small piece of scrap metal, jagged and rent from some hull,
Satelite glory? or broken old kettle? Something exciting or dull?
(have you) Seen the world from 10,000 miles high, or just from a kitchen stove?
did you Guess what a buzz it would be to fly? - or the pantry your furthest rove?

did aDrenoline thrill you, who knows maybe kill you? did you Whirl like a wide eyed dreamer?
did they "Tea-cosy frill" you, or praps "window sill" you, did you boil like a two-pot screamer?
did you Find romance in your time allotted? and travel mid languages foreign?
did your Master's dance with each space-beep spotted, - or your cosy just doubled as sporran?

Tell me your story , my new-found friend, just How have we spent our life?
Relishing height in each new bound, friend? or Just steering clear of strife?
Relishing moments of sunshine and warm, - and the LIGHTNING flash - Natures wild language?
or Relishing praps just the END of the storm? - or maybe - a corn relish sandwich?

Soared where the wedge tailed eagle goes? or Paced out some cage like a turkey?
well ME? I'm a bit of both I suppose (WHETHER REAL OR IMAGINED GETS MIRKY )
Moments of boredom or moments of bliss, Moments worth ten times gold,
In the end my friend it has come to this - Your story remains untold!

Epilogue (written by a Realist):-

You think it's romantic? It's a serious case!!! I have to be crisp and specific!!
There's Fe3 O4 all over the place (that's rust to you unscientific!)
It's OBVIOUSLY kettle you flaming great drip !! There's even a tealeaf this corner !!
And chances of satellite here !!! GET A GRIP!!, Strick your thumb back in , Lill Jack Horner!!

AND TRY TO BE MORE SCIENTIFICALLY PURE !! YOURE TECHNICALLY LACKING JACK HORNER!!
 
Back from sushi...man that was good. Aussie sushi train just don't cut it when you've got the real thing!!

Taa - '20' - glad you like it! - surprised - more like...
I'll show you my VOGON poetry if you show me yours!!!
 
20 - sounds like we're turned on by the same things!! damn scary that.
... 'boil like a two pot screamer' - gotta love it!!!

here goes - Vogon Alert.... :alien2: :ald:
--------------------
WARNING: If death occurs - discontinue use.
--------------------

Ode to a Twisted Heap of Scrap Metal (April 1994)
------------------------------------------------

Rest in peace
Oh great white Super Bug

Young Ferdinand Porsche
awaits you in the mystic
clouds of twighlights highway

May your oil remain clean and viscous
May they always use straight 40 wt.
as I did

I know you liked it that way

May your wheels run true
on the golden paved highways
of heavenly transportation

and may you never be parked out in the cold
emptiness of the void
but instead have your own place
in Nature-gods great garage

Fear not my car
for all will be well

be assured that although you were metal
and I am flesh
we transcend these limitations
I will hold you dear in my heart
till we meet again

I loved you
like no other car

Oh, and by the way St. Peter
She takes only silicone brake fluid
and rock and roll

Goodbye
 
M8 lol - that's hilarious ROFL.
But you're right it's scary -
Similarities - title , off the deep end romantically speaking lol (eat your heart out Byron, Robbie Burns etc lol)
Differences - almost everything else

Speaking of Robbie Burns - see if you can work out what the hell he's been drinking here lol:-
http://www.robertburns.org/works/147.shtml
PS - Im taking the p*** lol. I havent got a clue .

but I really like the old stalwart:-
http://www.robertburns.org/works/75.shtml

Hell I'm off - enough of this !! lol thanks btw

PS YOU CAN TAK' OUR LIVES - YOU CAN EVEN TAK' OUR LIBERTY - BUT YOU CANNA TAK' OUR HAGGIS!!
 
This is a great thread guys, here's another one from Batleby.com, seems a bit like prose but on point, the road less travelled isn't always that obvious:

"Wherever a man separates from the multitude, and goes his own way in this mood, there indeed is a fork in the road, though ordinary travelers may see only a gap in the paling. His solitary path across lots will turn out the higher way of the two."

ATTRIBUTION: Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862), U.S. philosopher, author, naturalist. “Life Without Principle” (1863), in The Writings of Henry David Thoreau, vol. 4, p. 466, Houghton Mifflin (1906). http://www.bartleby.com/66/56/59956.html
 


.....cancer and death visited our family again, this week.

Writing the eulogy for today's funeral has demanded
some introspection about our own mortality, that we
often try to delay in our own lives.

Here's a small part of a tribute to a special man and
his humour, courage, love and dignity, in the face of
impossible odds:


'Bye Joe.

"Bye Joe, take care" were my final words
And he shook my hand with firmest grip,
The measure of a man.

Our eyes met for one last time
And with words unspoken, we both knew,
That the time had almost come,
For Joe to meet the Father, Spirit and the Son.

In hospital, he sat upon the bed,
Not wishing to lay down.
The pain to his family obvious,
But never did he frown.

Instead, he showed us the courage
That we will all hope for, at that time,
When God says, "It's time to go."
Joe said, "Hold on mate, next round is mine."

Love, compassion and devotion
Are traits, that Joe gave us, all.
And in the face of death he showed,
How to overcome that final hurdle.

With inner strength and dignity,
Lots of courage and a smile for all,
He left the family numbed,
As he answered God's final call.

Farewell to a generous soul,
Who lived life, in the fullest measure,
Both in his work, but most especially,
In his leisure.

Many thanks, Joe.

=====
yogi
16.10.2006
=====
 
That is quite moving Yogi, you obviously have a talent there, but more to the point, I think you have helped make the passing a little bit easier to cope with, sounds like Joe was quite a man, my condolences to you and all the family.
 
I'll second those comments Rich : Thanks Yogi or sharing your touching eulogy. May we all have Joe's strength and dignity when the time comes...
Thanks Rich too for starting this interesting/thoughtful/amusing thread.

And - 2020 - Whatever Robert Burns was drinking (link above) - He'd obviously had a skin-full when he wrote that!! Guess he liked his haggis too. And thats about as much detail as i can glean without a year long study!! - though its more fun if you imagine a wild scottiish accent...
 
Thanks Yogi - you are still thinking of your friend this evening I am sure. This is the flip side of life isnt it. The serious and the sad stuff.

Here's a eulogy of sorts - to a miscarried child. As seen from the (imagined) perspective of a mother who has just lost her baby, and being visited by doctors nurses etc in hospital (as someone I know was).

IF EVER YOU'VE FELT SADNESS.

if speak you must then gently please, I'm feeling kinda low,
padre doctor nurse whoever, say your piece and go
if ever you've felt sadness, then maybe you will know
if ever you've felt pain of loss when Fortune was your foe -
remember then and recognise my plea.

just yesterday I beamed with joy and shared life with my own
your scraping ugly instruments have left me all alone
my soul is absent escort to a far and final home
where his spirit source of so much joy can roam -
if ever you've felt sadness, leave me be.

I guess in truth I'm miles away him cradled in my arms
we're walking through the valley like the shepherd in the psalms
we're walking past still waters and it's peaceful and it's calm
his spirit's with me yet with all his charm -
so excuse my lack of answer or alarm.

praps his tiny brief existence wasn't futile, all in vain,
though histories will come and go not mentioning his name
warm tears the only remnants of his sojourn that remain
and memories of inward smiles, now pain. -
praps God knows what he's doing - He'll explain.

and no doubt time and love will conquer sadness
tomorrow I will kindle warmth and cheer
but for the moment let me make my parting
with someone very small and very dear

and no doubt destiny will one day compensate
and one day I will hold his brother here
but if you've ever grieved then praps you'll bear with me
and leave me with his memory and this tear.
 
see if this style reminds you of anyone ..

http://www.middlemiss.org/lit/authors/gordonal/poetry/fromthewreck.html

From the Wreck by A L Gordon

Excepts:-
There was bridling with hurry, and saddling with haste,
Confusion and cursing for lack of a moon;
"Be quick with these buckles, we've no time to waste;"
"Mind the mare, she can use her hind legs to some tune."
"Make sure of the crossing-place; strike the old track,
They've fenced off the new one; look out for the holes
On the wombat hills." "Down with the slip rails; stand back."
"And ride, boys, the pair of you, ride for your souls."

In the low branches heavily laden with dew,
In the long grasses spoiling with deadwood that day,
Where the blackwood, the box, and the bastard oak grew,
Between the tall gum-trees we gallop'd away --
We crash'd through a brush fence, we splash'd through a swamp --
We steered for the north near "The Eaglehawk's Nest" --
We bore to the left, just beyond "The Red Camp",
And round the black tea-tree belt wheel'd to the west --

We cross'd a low range sickly scented with musk
From wattle-tree blossom -- we skirted a marsh --
Then the dawn faintly dappled with orange the dusk,
And peal'd overhead the jay's laughter note harsh,
And shot the first sunstreak behind us, and soon
The dim dewy uplands were dreamy with light;
And full on our left flash'd "The Reedy Lagoon",
And sharply "The Sugarloaf" rear'd on our right.
A smothered curse broke through the bushman's brown beard,
He turn'd in his saddle, his brick-colour'd cheek
Flush'd feebly with sundawn, said, "Just what I fear'd;
Last fortnight's late rainfall has flooded the creek."

Black Bolingbroke snorted, and stood on the brink
One instant, then deep in the dark sluggish swirl
Plunged headlong. I saw the horse suddenly sink,
Till round the man's armpits the waves seemed to curl.
We follow'd, -- one cold shock, and deeper we sank
Than they did, and twice tried the landing in vain;
The third struggle won it; straight up the steep bank
We stagger'd, then out on the skirts of the plain.

The stockrider, Alec, at starting had got
The lead, and had kept it throughout; 'twas his boast
That through thickest of scrub he could steer like a shot,
And the black horse was counted the best on the coast.
The mare had been awkward enough in the dark,
She was eager and headstrong, and barely half broke;
She had had me too close to a big stringy-bark,
And had made a near thing of a crooked sheoak.

But now on the open, lit up by the morn,
She flung the white foam-flakes from nostril to neck,
And chased him -- I hatless, with shirt sleeves all torn
(For he may ride ragged who rides from a wreck) --
And faster and faster across the wide heath
We rode till we raced. Then I gave her her head,
And she -- stretching out with the bit in her teeth --
She caught him, outpaced him, and passed him, and led.
etc etc

http://www.middlemiss.org/lit/authors/gordonal/selectedalg.html

"Gordon was the first Australian poet to be read by the ordinary man. His riding rhymes were an important factor in the creation of the Australian ballad by Paterson and others. Perhaps H.M. Green speaks for the reader when he writes, '... we read Gordon "not for the fine phrases, but for the directness of some cry, and above all for the breadth and effectiveness of any utterance ... taken as a whole". And we read him because even if we ourselves are not hunters, sportsmen, soldiers, adventurers, he uncovers some underlying stratum of such men in us, opening up to us the road of adventure and blowing over it the wind of romance.'

personally I really like his poems.
 
A couple of poems by AL Gordon ; (just to keep things next to relevant posts) - I've typed em so pls excuse the typos.

YE WEARY WAYFARER, Fytte VI
POTTER's CLAY [An Allegorucal Interlude]

Though the pitcher that goes to the sparkling rill
Too oft gets broken at last,
There are scores of others its place to fill
When its earth to the earth is cast;
Keep that pitcher at home, may it never roam,
but lie like a useless clod,
Yet sooner or later the hour will come
When its chips are thrown to the sod.

Is it wise, then, say, in the waning day,
When the vessel is crack'd and old,
To cherish the battered potters clay ,
As thoughit were virgin gold?
Take care of yourself, dull, boorish elf,
Though prudent and safe you seem,
Your pitcher will break on the musty shelf
And mine by the dazzling stream.

and another - you can feel the horse hard held approaching a jump -

from YE WEARY WAYFARER, Fytte VII
.........
Oh the vigour with which the air is rife !
The spirit of joyous motion;
The fever, the fullness of animal life,
Can be drained from no earthly potion!
The lungs with the living gas grow light,
and the limbs feel the strength of ten,
While the chest expands with its madd'ning might
GOD'S GLORIOUS OXYGEN.

Thus the measured stroke, on elastic sward,
Of the steed three parts extended,
Hard held, the breath of his nostrils broad,
With the golden ether blended;
Then the leap, the rise from the springing turf,
The rush through the buoyant air,
And the light shock landing - the veriest serf
Is an emperor then and there......
 
TITANIC (Wrong boat, wrong time, wrong attitude)

Its a Heaven-sent night to be out on deck, and we're hundreds of miles from shore,
No radar invented but what the heck, the Captain's been this way before,
The pride of his eye, the pride of the fleet, and the White Star line and all,
And there's only one pride that he's yet to meet, that's the one that preempts a fall.

Hey look Bergermeister that berg of ice, just out of the blue so romantic,
The Captain must know the stakes and the dice, or forgotten he's in mid Atlantic?
Cos the way that I see it, - the speed we are going, - that half hidden monster ahead,!!
There's just a wee chance , without to-ing and fro-ing of a....."CRUNCH!!" woops, and stopping dead.

It's a beautiful night, but I must go inside, this lean's the champagne I assume,
But Im also concerned at the rising tide in the starboard engine room,
That's funny?? That funnel just went up in smoke ! and now we're splitting in two!
Ah those deckchairs are crooked! and Im a neat bloke, it'll give me something to do.

And the strains of the hymn "Abide with me" I hear some heroes playing,
St Peter - tune in!! and confide with me, Mate where do I go for "weigh in"?
And a handful of lifeboats bobbing like cork, watch the stern disappear from view,
And unless you can walk the watery walk, Move on to a world of dark blue.

...................

There's right and there's wrong and there's "wronger" dude - Wrong boat, wrong time, wrong attitude,
Too little perhaps the longitude, and far too lax the latitude,
And too much ice with the whiskey dries, and too many people got wet
And far too cocky the hype and the cries that was sold as such a safe bet.

And too determined a win to record, for a maiden voyage and fastest,
And too many omens simply ignored, that rebounded and made it the lastest,
And "full speed ahead" despite the warning that icepacks were hunting in threes,
And far too long before daylight's dawning, and far too cold the seas.

And it just goes to show that we don't always know what's around the next bend (just as well)
Cos it's moist underfoot (neath the undertow) and it's not "all's well" neath the swell,
And three hours ago we were laughing flatchat, in a floating hotel unsinkable,
Now courage and curtains are where it's at, and its all so damned unthinkable.

..........................

"The Captain advises he'll have to abstain from the 10:00 pm party upstairs
Cos he's busy with mops where someone complained, and he's having to lead the prayers"
Twas one hell of a debrief in Heav'n to report, that night the Titanic sank
While the sinkable boats came home to port from the self same Newfoundland bank,

And 1500 found a new home, on the lonely Newfoundland Bank.
 
yogi-in-oz said:
.....cancer and death visited our family again, this week......a tribute to a special man and his humour, courage, love and dignity, in the face of impossible odds... thanks, folks !~!
Click to expand...
Yogi, Im going to risk it and throw in one more sad one - I hope someone responds with a light hearted poem .

This one's about my father who also died of cancer - way back. I was just a kid, youngest of 3. I barely remember him - but everything I DO remember is in superlatives. I've tried to put myself inside his head during the last few weeks that he faced (also with tremendous courage - just as your friend Joe). Noone - but noone - saw him cry, but I explore the possibility that there may have been a tear or two when he was alone, maybe on watching a sunrise, - just as there are often tears at any family farewell - any separation of whatever duration - and not knowing when or if we will meet again

FAREWELL, BUT MY LAST FAREWELL.

My children, we've travelled a few short miles -
Look there.. we can still see the start..
I know you won't understand what I say,
But this is where I must depart.

It's not that I choose to abandon,
Unload any load onto you.
Come , while there's time - feel the warmth of my breast,
You'll hear my heart breaking in two.

But my body is tired and cannot keep up,
And I have no choice but to rest,
And this side road is short to the top of this hill,
(Please courage - just one more test.)

And beyond that hill to a world unknown,
For there's nothing to say on the sign,
Who knows ?, perhaps there's a war over there,
But Im told there's a Father who's kind.

And never forget as you travel life's paths,
- As is the good fortune of men -
That Im travelling a road - somewhere, worlds apart -
And that maybe we'll meet again.

And my love will always be with you,
And my hopes for you fill the years,
And I sign this pact that I trace on these sheets,
With the salt of these pillowed tears.

As I say above, I hope someone responds with a light hearted poem . But its a free country and people can respond any which way they like, comedy , tragedy, etc - after all, poetry (like opera) isnt a "one trick pony".

PS Epilogue (from a note by an Aunt, - Perhaps young kids who have lost a parent might find some comfort in these words - I sure have ):-
"There will I know be moments of sadness and great loss ; but...
if you can put beside these -
all the good times you have had together -
I am sure -
that you will find -
that you have gained -
more...
than you can ever lose."
 
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