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| Details | London Poem | |

Jimi Hendrix

Electric poems reverberated,
Within the walls of a London abode.
A psychedelic haze fueled the gift,
That a creative heart was bestowed.

Far from his broomstick days,
Passionate strums…electrified the room.
Emphasizing the pain from within,
Recalling the days he strummed the broom.

Acid rock...illuminated the winding path,
That led his creative heart to fly.
Good intentions laced by corrosive thoughts,
Inspired the work…from his daily supply.

Guided by his artistic soul,
The frets…fretted to that day.
Captured by a recording device,
Were the anthems…that we replay.

What began in London ended in London,
In the same lonely…workplace room.
He was here that day, then gone the next,
In the blink of an eye, he was gone too soon.

| Details | London Poem | |

Mum's Advice Ignored - "Don't Talk to Strangers!"

When I was young, an urban lass, and not gregarious,
I’d never dream of speaking to a stranger on a bus.

I’d sit, demure, my eyes downcast, and hope quite desperately
That none of those weird passengers would try accosting me.

But, now I’m “fair and forty” (ish!) I’m bolder, and what’s more,
I’ve lived so long in Somerset I’d clean forgot mum’s law …

Until I went to London town to see my student daughter;
She lectured me for doing what I really didn’t oughta!

“You shouldn’t, mum! It isn’t safe!” she cried, in some alarm.
“Some folk round here are really strange. you might have come to harm!”

I’m sorry I upset her, but  I carried on regardless.
I found most folks in London are quite friendly … even harmless.

Oh! I do love London Transport, and its camaraderie!
I had such fun, and lots of laughs and all completely free (!)

But now I’m home, I realise …
That weirdo, then,
Was me!!

Premium Member Poem | Details | London Poem | |


Let me take you to Venice
passing through the canals
all the alleys and valleys
saying cheers,drinking wine 
whilst we dine,full moon  
lanternes lightning sweet Venice,
its the place for romance
our place, shall we dance?
home sweet home ,we're in Venice............
Let me take you to Paris,
lovers home were we roam
and we go up so high nearly 
touching the sky in chic Paris,
There we go on Eiffel Greatest tower,
holding hand,disney land an adventure
for hours,shall we dance once again?
im your girl,you're my man!
home sweet home,we're in Grand Paris............
Let me take you to London doing good 
shopping spree,London eye,more to see 
visiting Royalty Handsome William and Harry,
thats the day ,You will ask me to marry......
Whilst we pass London's bridge by  the ferry
Home sweet home London home.......
Shall we Marry?...................................
Let me take you to Greece,
where all legends  and myths
shape to life once again,
whilst the Gods bow their head
shall we wed then we sleep in our bed,
making love through the night in soft breeze,
i'm your girl,You're my man!
Home sweet home,we're in Greece............
Let me take you to Malta melite!
Rich history, flowered carpets n all  streets,
Mdina  lovers' den, charming gem silent city,
brown eyed men with a tan,girls so pretty!
and the sun shines so bright,many stars 
through the night,my sweet homeland delight,
happy faces what a site!Malta beauty sweet dreams,
showing you what life means,where safety matter most,
where people are not ghosts,where love flows as it glows,
through our seas,scented breeze,treasure  treats
temples , harbours,good food,all to please...and they please.......
Its the place where you're home ,feel at ease
whilst we dance ,the best dance of classic  LOVE romance
home sweet home,we're in land of the knights,
we're in MALTA--MELITE--EUROPE'S  PEARL off all times...
Malta Melite my Heart Beat.........till it dies..................


Premium Member Poem | Details | London Poem | |


				Ring around the rosie,
				A pocket full of posie,
				Ashes, ashes
				They all fall down.


Petronilla, I be hight, after a saint, long dead;  
Pet, Mother clucks as Father growls, willful child,
for I fail to stifle questiuns at the wizened age              
of seven. Sooth, I miss Dorsetshire and London   
is verray vile. These wretched streets are full of sickness 
and corpses pile like fish on a dock, far from graves. 

My mind hosts the lost and shall e’er be graven
with their bynames, lite ghosts left behind, all dead.
These ears hold confessions wrung from the sickened,  
the curses of goodwives, the wails of stung children-
Ay, there be gruesome hymns sung by all Londoners,
strange lullabies, for e’en  newborns shall not age.

A twitching moon brings dreams o’ the sea, days aged
by tidepools as plovers ran from waves, so gravely. 
A hundred castles I built of sand, ech a London
tower; fey, too, were those woods filled with deadnettle
flowers.  Play and prattle, everich that be childisch
is done for rattles decayed in the fists of the sickly.

I was to be a man’r maid, but that household fell sick,
so we scrounge for crumbs ‘n ole curds, un-aged.
In sleep, Mother quakes as though taken to childbed,
while Father weeps of sons and sin, his thin face, grave,
It is a though the devil his-self reaps a bounty of dead
as pestilence creeps un’er the pocked doors of  London.
Ech flaxen brother saved from the muck of London,
tots all, bedridden, while I was unwemmed by sickness.
Aye, they were yet alive when we fled in the dead
o’ night;  six, four, three and one were their tender ages,
Wee mites passing, no kin to tuck ‘em into their graves,
hell stilled their ruckus, stole away ech marked child.

Comes, the massacre, comes, again, Childermas,
this plague is naught but the pied piper of London,
Mother and Father unbar the door, eyes like graves
as they forsake me, nay farewells said as minutes age.
See, though bled, I now wear rings o' red, I art sick,
rath, so rath, I shall join the pale line of the dead.

I shall bear no gravestone, certes, angels shall sicken,
as blessèd children fall all o’er black London,
forbeden to axe what ages the heart, leven it deadened...

* Certain words are (mis)spelled in middle English
**Please read my comments below

Middle English Translation

hight- called/named
Sooth- truly
Verray – true
Byname - nickname
Lite – Little
Ech – Each
Everich – every
Unwemmed –  undefiled 
Childbed- labour
Childermas- Dec 28th, a day to commerate the infants killed by King Herod
Certes - Certainly
Axe – ask
rath - soon

Premium Member Poem | Details | London Poem | |

The Olympic Games

How lucky I, to have the time
To watch Olympics all the day.
I have not written one small rhyme
For fear I’ll miss some of the play.

To watch Olympics all the day
Means I don’t get my housework done
For fear I’ll miss some of the play.
In London town its rain or sun.

I don’t get my housework done
My favorite has lost the race.
In London town its rain or sun.
There’s disappointment on his face.

My favorite has lost the race
I haven’t written one small rhyme.
There’s disappointment on his face.
How lucky I, to have the time.

Premium Member Poem | Details | London Poem | |


She called herself London
On that day 
She fell from the sky
Child of apple blossoms
Dancing wildly
Into your mind

The snake that hung from her neck
Bites your hand
Expels you from Eden
Tears into the cool flesh
Of your madness
Posing as reason

Kisses you like a sweet lover
As though she really cares
Lets you 
Taste the passionate orchard
In her body’s secret lair

Wrestles with all your demons
Nothing quite compares
To the pain 
The indecent pleasure
In the waters that you share

Her name was London
Call her London

She called herself London
On that night
She prayed to the moon
Apollo’s lyre
Played darkly
In a portent 
Of your own doom

The hell she hides 
In her soul
Toxic drug you’ll never escape
You crave the milk of her touch
Her strange and dangerous ways

Kisses you like a sweet lover
As though she really cares
Lets you 
Taste the passionate orchard
In her body’s secret lair

Wrestles with all your demons
Nothing quite compares
To the pain 
The indecent pleasure
In the waters that you share  

Her name was London
Call her London

My baby, London
Call her London
My moon-girl, London 
Call her London

I love her, London
Call her London
Forever, London 

I call her London……

Premium Member Poem | Details | London Poem | |

he is leaving home

                  In great respect of the band I grew up listening to
                       as sure as Mom passed down Saturday Chores 
                      for I had been chosen to scrub bathroom floors `

                    Yet a familiar sound would bring me to keep scrubbing
                       The red album, The blue album , The White album 
                        Then .. Abbey Road , always remembering the sad look on
                  Ringo's face ,  something hard to understand underneath~
                      I get it now, what you were saying all those years ago ,
                    the many sad lonely tears , secret tears , secret fears 
                    For Maxwell's Hammer was a real one . It wanted silence

                    Going back ..remembering when John Lennon died 
                      I was in Arkansas saddened with the world .
                      Then seeing his face saying " Drag isn't it " 
                      No .. this was not my hero in music and song .

                      he was a stand in hired William , he filled his shoes 
                      bringing diversity to create so much beautiful music from loss

                       One left standing , alone;; grief struck on back cover ~
                       The other identity hidden, tried to be part of ..coming together
                            his  world of secrets
                        He to suffers today , in fear , Faul~
                        Too many years gone by .let us tell the Truth. Let us be free
                         The very sad long and winding Road ~
                         Let us Bury our real Paul. 

                         No more " Mystery tour "
                             No more fear 
                                Let him be in peace ~

           Inspired by " The Last Testament of George Harrison , Is Paul Dead ? "


| Details | London Poem | |

Kingdom Lost

In summertime, the ivy climbs,
and hides the castle wall.
The king dreams of late,
that the sea is so great,
and yet - his boat is so small.
As swift as a fox and
dark as a raven on wing,
seven hundred soldiers march  
into the valley of the king.
Long overdue, a battle ensues
flanking the powers that be.
Children cry, and good men die, 
the monarch is now on his knee…
Soon the horsemen alone 
try to maintain the throne.
But the long way around
is the shortest way home.
The evening is filled
with chaos and smoke,
and the kingdom is 
stunned by it all…
Soon the sun will go down,
and in spite of his crown, 
the king will undoubtedly fall…
His rival’s strength
was mistaken,
by a king overtaken,
his life is now but a pawn.
His authority lifted,
the power has shifted –
an era of glory is gone…
Copyright © 2013

Premium Member Poem | Details | London Poem | |

The Castle

In the green countryside of Wales,
A castle sits, dark and decaying,
It holds many ghostly tales,
That the locals keep relaying.

Surrounded by majestic, rolling hillsides,
Covered by a gray, misty shroud,
And cliffs high above the blue sea tides,
Where voices still ring out loud.

What was once a beautiful garden,
Where all the children used to play,
Has been left to whither and harden,
Just as the castle was left to decay.

Long cobwebs hang like curtains of lace,
In windows that remain dark and cold,
Someone still walks the crumbling staircase,
Just as they did in the days of old.

They walk the towers and through the halls,
Making the dusty, wooden floors creak,
Their portraits still hang on the walls,
Where the voices of the dead still speak.

The empty rooms will never make a sound,
But, if you listen hard enough to their history,
Stories of romance and love still abound,
Along with secrets of murders and mystery.

Written by: Kelly Deschler - August 8th, 2013
Giorgio V's contest - "In The Faraway" - the theme is gothic

| Details | London Poem | |


London’s clock just struck three
A forewarning of events to follow
The gloomy afternoon, an old mans delight
The weather of no concern, working late into the night

The village was in a festive mood
Of good will towards all men
Mistletoe and family gatherings
A twinkle in the eyes of young lovers

As midnight approached, on this special night
There appeared a spirit of a thousand souls
He woke the old man, who shivered in fright
Who are you he demanded, feigning his bravery

I am the spirit of all that was, and all that will be
Was the cold reply
So dress yourself old man, for I am taking you
To where you have been and were you will be

I will show you how you loved
I will show you how ambition consumed your love
Now you sleep counting pennies not from heaven
This path shall render you a dried heartless corpse

Come with me and my chains
As I show you the destiny of the unloved
Where spirits toil in the bowels of the earth
Hells fires fill them with painful regrets

The want and ignorance of the poor
If your life has amounted to earthy possessions only
You shall wander the afterlife in wanting and suffering
As these wisdom's you ignored here on earth

The old man remembered the soft touch of a kiss
That fate stole his bliss
The spirit spun his words so wise
The old man came to understand

The spirit of a thousand years
Drifted away with the morning light
So the old man, wrote his final wishes
Of good will to all of mankind

Then in silence, rope in place
He pulled away his chair
All of life’s efforts seemed fruitless now
As he escaped his life’s despair

Notes: Dickens meets Poe