Coming down to this lost pier
Under the bridge of no sighs
The bollards not used, no boats moor here
Back and forth on the river they ply
Carrying tourists, and locals as well
To destinations unknown
I do not envy them, though cannot tell
Which place to I do belong
This spatial disorientation
Is such an exhausting disorder
Dislodged, I offer frustration
For the ticket to cross your border
I hear the trains clanking buffers
Over the bridge they rush through
You say there’s no reason to suffer
I would love to agree with you.
Categories:
bollards, feelings, lost,
Form: Rhyme
You! Demon in the sack,
Put the bollards around the heart to tame the love of old.
Doing penance for thousands of years
In anticipation at the Château of Delight, …that it?
Well, simple necessities of life convey into the lore of romance,
And you atone for the sins, and you show the kindness,
And you do until you die, as he did in the sky.
A heap of stones drag me down to the bottom
Of this mystic river of thoughts, or a short puff of pleasure,
When I see my lass walking down the old road, for a good measure.
Nah, it’s not treasure, but a mignonette on an open palm
As a shiny ghost that refrains from talking into the ear of a hearer,
A messenger for ought I know, and I know not, until I hear her.
And then she coos, and then I coo, what to do, if I don’t woo?
My fervid desires, my lucky four-leaf clover, the smell
Of cinnamon on the lips of this dame, this lass,
I do not care for as long as I make her confess,
And I don’t want just to woo, but deviltry her moist with dew.
Categories:
bollards, sexy,
Form: Free verse
PARTENZA REPRESA
POETRY
-
THE BIRDS IN MY GARDEN
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The birds in my garden, seasons decide.
Seasons decide. Hardened species abide,
Species abide, like sparrows, all seasons.
All seasons why? My alarm, good reasons.
A Robbin, probably more, who can tell?
More, who can tell? Together could be hell!
Could be hell! Well they'll battle, unless mates,
Unless mates, probably death, it equates!
Robins, all year round, Goldfinches late Spring.
Goldfinches late Spring, a pair had a fling.
A pair had a fling, sad, got molested!
Got molested, found by cats, expected!
Blue and Great **** Winter, late Spring, Hedge Sparrow,
late Spring, Hedge Sparrow, long after the snow.
Long after the snow, a Jackdaw or two.
Jackdaw or two, hinterland corvids, nice view.
Blue and Great **** Winter, late Spring, Hedge Sparrow
Black Birds, nesting Collards in pine pollards.
Starlings at a bollards birdbath drinking.
Birdbath drinking, more birds this year singing
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Categories:
bollards, bird, spring, winter,
Form: I do not know?
When Jack was six he took up judo,
‘Cos he lived on an RAF base, NI,
Where only ballet and judo existed,
For kids with much energy to hand.
His mum sent him to ballet firstly,
Which he enjoyed but didn't love,
So as soon as he did the tangles,
He knew judo was his sport, shove.
Jack’s both blind and deaf, hereditary,
And competes in the category -100kg,
He is a Wolverhampton Uni student,
And his brother’s in TeamGB, his glee.
In 2015 Jack collected many medals,
In Seoul he won bronze at the Worlds,
At the Junior Worlds, Hungry, a gold,
And at the Euros a bronze, the boards.
At the World Cup, Hungary, a bronze,
Such that he was easily chosen for Rio:
“I never heard the [distracting] crowd.”
His coach and him sign to each other.
“I know I can't see anything. If I walk
into stuff, I just laugh it off [not irritated].
It's funny. I walk into lamps, slip over,
bollards.” Nobody knows he’s plated.
Categories:
bollards, sports, strength,
Form: Blank verse
On the subject of road works in the Market Place, Devizes, England
Stuff’s happening in the Market Place
To really make folk cuss
Why isn’t there a parking space
And where’s the chuffin’ bus?
The traffic lights are stuck on red
It shouldn’t be like this
Park down Station Road instead?
Here’s something you can kiss
The long drive in from Long Street
Is a journey one may rue
Traffic jam, and save the feet
Or walk, and dodge the poo?
There are barriers by the chip shop
And the road looks really odd
Where can the hungry driver stop
To score a battered cod?
And, catch a bus outside the Bear?
That’s seriously confusing
A pop up pick up bus stop, where?
Change is not amusing
Damn those blokes in hi vis coats
For getting in the way
Some fat cat who got our votes
Has dug up Market Day
Why can’t it happen overnight
Can someone wave a wand
And some strange flowing spell recite
Whilst mooning by the pond?
Disrupted traffic, vain appeals
Bring back Devizes station!
Angry faces mouth at wheels
Expressions of frustration
Call them ruddy roadworks
When the ruddy road ain’t working?
More bollards than a Corn Bin night
(less twerking)
by Gail
Categories:
bollards, angst, car, change, community,
Form: Rhyme
Sinbad and Columbus nautical
Miles from home
Their flotilla of frigates
Sea sailed flags, flown
Compulsorily becalmed
Roped to steadfast bollards
Wharf bound
Red, green marine, sea blue scene
Maritime, party time, home time
Shore leave, can't leave, must leave
When the ship horn sounds
Sirens and mermaids waiting
Can't stand too long on
Unwaving ground
Ask the pilot, for the plot
Cards for money lost the lot
Ladies with port light windows
Sailor's take comfort
What happens, stays on land
Red, green marine, sea blue scene
Maritime, party time, home time
Shore leave, can't leave, must leave
When the ship horn sounds
Sirens and mermaids waiting
Categories:
bollards, world,
Form: Verse
RADIO VOICES
Thirty-three and a half minutes listening to the static;
I'm one big ear! hoping to hear a message
from the other side...
Beethoven has an unfinished symphony he wants completed,
Arthur Conan Doyle complains fiction today is all detective work,
Joan of Arc loves Mel Brooks.
Thirty-four and a half minutes and my patience snaps;
I turn to RTE, the writer Derek Mahon
Is being discussed by a panel.
They've detected importance in his poem
'A Disused Shed in Co. Wexford'.
Mushrooms decaying in the dark,
Holy Joes adrift in a Godless cellar,
Sweethearts who've missed the boat,
Bollards moored in misery,
Death-pale and ghostly.
I would store this poem in a cool dark place
and only bring it out into the light of day
for a bookish friend, a literature hound;
it merits close inspection.
Categories:
bollards,
Form: Free verse
Waking up in swirls of gold,
Relax and let my dreams take hold.
Silk of crimson, skin of ice,
Something strange, but don’t look twice.
Many clocks give many times,
Random words give many rhymes,
Bed of chocolate, sea of cream,
But don’t jump if I hear a scream.
Rabbit leaps around a witch,
Little bird that seems to twitch,
Mix of feelings playing cards,
Fish tie ropes around bollards.
I see things amongst my dreams,
Groups of splodges fight in teams.
Desert penguins sipping juice,
Vicious wars that reach a truce
Flying high in clouds of pink,
Made of something sweet I think,
I’m as happy as a pup
As long as no one wakes me up.
Categories:
bollards, adventure, fantasy, happiness, imagination
Form: I do not know?