If 'music be the food of love,'
as the Avon Bard did write,
sing me a song of sixpence for my supper,
to see me through this star-crossed night.
And there'll be no need to drink to me
only with thine eyes,
as, for a happy hour or two,
a glass of euphoria I will pour for you.
A Green Fairy, guaranteed to relax inhibitions
and unwind the tired mind,
my fingers will do the walking
and talk to you in kind.
Rumoured to possess aphrodisiac qualities,
let's taste, not waste, nor this potent potion squander,
well you know, green means go and as true emerald is its hue,
Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder.
With apologies to William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)
Rumoured to conduce a mine shaft abandoned
Reserve behind rural residential too steep to traverse
Sacred scope gazes at Gold Coast Grand Canyon
Struggle's reward - rugged mountain slope reimburse
Pull surges me along across rubble, rollerskate
Pursuit is overcome as corpse, nestle needs in casket
Ravine ripples rise in ellipse repeat reciprocate
Feathery ferns fed by felled black stump escarpment
Each easy attempt equates to triumph
Cognitive storage organise strong carpentry
Problems tandem with answers turn up
Every earnest try results in Taj Mahal mastery
Sovereign track conquest, ocean span colossal
Steeple reaches quiet, my climbing mind inseminates
Forest folds me into sheltered shaft, stone fossil
Grey gum coliseum deposits amber sap permanence
Sixth of May
Sacred Place
They taught
and made claims they helped dyslexics
Mr Cavalry was one such
and Mr Depieu was rumoured to have taught in a French Colony
Time will discreetly raze their self sacrifice
Headteacher Tuffnell on BBC Panorama
Listen to the ear to gain insight
and to your Reproduction lessons
of eternal rabbits multiplying
Of November poppy's
representational gallantry,
and who loved the Stones over the Beatles
and of CSE's
your perfect social class strata
And Mr Tom Dodds your eternal
teddy boy arts teacher
Charlie Norton has expanded
Ever since his work was seen
And favourably commended
By an Equerry to the Queen
He’s added Panto Dames instruction
With an optional modular course
For white faced clown technique
And lead end Panto Horse
This coupled with existing stuff
Has pushed his venture to the fore
And Charlie’s mind is working
On this and so much more
He’s been invited to the Palace
Where he had a spot of lunch
With Charlie Windsor and Camilla
And others of the royal bunch
The Prince’s trust approves
Of Charlie and his scheme
And opened him an off shoot
In deepest trendy Cheam
And it is rumoured seriously
That the Queen’s old man
Wants to learn to tap dance
In pumps and Coat of Astrakhan
Life is so exciting at Charlie’s
School of Armoured Acting Parts
And Charlie is considered
To be a man of many arts
It says By Appointment
Over the front door
Can any theatre school
Realty want for more
But not resting on his laurels
Charlie has a further plan
In providing correct training for
Portrayal of The Invisible Man
The Charlie Norton School;
Of Modern Theatrical Art
Can give your career
A high powered start
I’ll never forget what’s her name;
That teacher who bored us to tears
Whose voice seemed to drone on and on
And lessons appeared to last years.
Her minuscule lacklustre eyes
Peered over a spectacled nose
No glimmer of passion in sight
No colourful facts to expose.
She reeled off the kings and the queens
The plight of Marie Antoinette,
Victorians, Tudors and wars
And all with a face firmly set.
I’ll never forget what’s her name
Oh how I was left uninspired.
It’s rumoured her smile first appeared
The day when at last she retired.
16.09.19
'I'll never forget what's her name contest' : sponsored by John Lawless
We’re here to remember you, Tony McDuff
Though most of us here knew you better as ‘Puff’
You’d take any challenge, no matter how rough
Alas your last struggle was simply too tough
That trusty old Harley you’d ride like the wind
Twas rumoured you’d nicked it from someone you skinned
A crime which upon you could never be pinned
Which upset the cops for you frequently sinned
But though you were rough and was frequently bad
And often described as a bit of a lad
All of us here will be equally sad
As you go to wreak havoc... in hell... with your dad
Two slugs removed by unscrupulous vets
They did what they could but they weren’t taking bets
But your lifetime of wounds without any regrets
Was finally lost to those damned cigarettes
For nobody knew as your voice became gruff
That it wasn’t the weed or the powdery stuff
See you real soon if we’re good-bad enough
So off you go Tony, off you go ‘Puff’
24 June 2019
For Funeral Service contest
Sponsored by Team Poetrysoup
No attempt at presumption... no prize required.
Our gracious Queen, Elizabeth Alexandra Mary
Came to the throne aged twenty-five, which proved quite scary.
In every walk of life she sets the pace.
When post arrives she's met by a familiar face.
Philip, of noble stock, her blunt but dashing prince,
Is apt to put his royal foot in it which makes her wince.
He fathered offspring Andrew, Edward, Charles and Anne.
It's rumoured that he's 'Lisbeth's greatest long-term fan!
12/01/19
'Clerihew Couples for Valentine's Day Poetry Contest'
Sponsor : Carolyn Devonshire
Footnote:
Royal etiquette demands that no-one must walk in front of the Queen
The Queen's profile is on British postage stamps
SHELLS STARTED IT
my brain is lackadaisical
it does not want to think
put words together
find a theme.
my eyes wander petulantly
about the room like a lost bird
looking for a place to lite
a nest of soft moss to dream.
let my dreams do the work
I choose the shells stacked in vases
my thoughts wash over them like the sea
they sing of poor drown sailors.
Dylon Thomas visits my thoughts
with Rosey Probert and the sea captain
blind, remembering her delights
naming those he left behind in Davy Jones
the shells carried me there
into his poem Under Milk Wood
but all I see is the sea and the captain
hauled up on shore like an old boat.
they sing in tinkling
sand scraping voices
the long dead shells shined
between fingers trying to grab
the feeling of the sea
with gull skimming waves
and foam rumoured to be unicorns
trying to return at last to the green land.
my thoughts are moon-calf now
totally drawn away from my mind
sailing free beyond me, leaping through
the foam and blue of sky or sea.
Roundabout, gradually but eventually
Round and round, up we count down we wish
Even flashback does not help
Ironically making matters worse
For the flashback of the flashback is regret
As the sun goes up once, in the man’s point of view
Never returning to the same spot
It is all circles, scientifically orbits
One tick is never like the previous,
One tick we have is an opportunity
Opportunity to live not to illusion
Right time…? Is there a wrong one? Not once making sense
Not now, never will, why rumoured
Just do it
Author Neo Masetlane
She danced upon my sleepy knife-edge
Rem sleep concealed; my hollow tin ledge
Was the naked girl who stole my show
Labanotation echoed her tarred shamed knees
Free falling from grace, cumulating fees
Have every my gutter pushed so low?
Integument tally, a dollar per pound
Rumoured lies within; no truth found
Flesh voucher paid in Bordeaux
So I flickered in though
Scar tissue hand did plough
My poured soda fountain flow
SECRET OF THE FOREST
The truth was concealed with many branches
Well cushioned with intertwining vines
In the dark forest at the foothills
It lay hidden since ancient times
After the demise of the reigning emperor
The enemies broke into the fort
Scouting every nook and corner
For the rumoured treasure of yore
Within the palace and outside
The quest continued far and wide
Empire combed for a fortnight
the elusive cache lay out of sight
Exhausted to their very bones
The soldiers gave up the fight
After looting and plundering
Melted into horizon,horses astride
Unknown to all the loyal guard
Sat still on it throughout
The retreating army trampled upon him
His blood spilled ruthlessly over the boughs
Centuries later, this very ground
Was visited by an excavation squad
Within weeks of digging around
The rarest truest gem was found!
NEW POEM Aug 8 2016
Name of contest
CAMOUFLAGE ME A POEM
Rhyming scheme
ABCB
DEDE
FFFF
EFGF
HIJI
KLLL
THE SECRET OF THE FOREST
The truth was concealed with many branches
Well cushioned with intertwining vines
In the dark forest at the foothills
It lay hidden since ancient times
After the demise of the reigning emperor
The enemies broke into the fort
Scouting every nook and corner
For the rumoured treasure of yore
Within the palace and outside
The quest continued far and wide
Empire combed for a fortnight
the elusive cache lay out of sight
Exhausted to their very bones
The soldiers gave up the fight
After looting and plundering
Melted into horizon,horses astride
Unknown to all the loyal guard
Sat still over it throughout
The retreating army trampled over him
His blood spilled ruthlessly over the boughs
Centuries later, this very ground
Was visited by an excavation squad
Within weeks of digging around
The rarest truest gem was found!
Resubmitting for Brian Strands any theme any form max 26 lines
Date Dec 26 2016
I have yet to see a copy of my book...
Schrodinger’s Book
It’s dull in this box, thought Schrodinger’s Cat
Waiting to not be, or be
I fancy a look
At a curious book
'Cos I'm well intellectual, me
I’m partial to verse, thought Schrodinger’s Cat
A nice bit o’ poetry
There’s this book that I’ve got
That is here, and is not
Just as Enoch was rumoured to be
It’s an odd sort of book, thought Schrodinger’s Cat
Made from a mythical tree
A strange kind of cup
From which wisdom to sup
For it is, and it isn’t, you see
Am I dead or alive, wondered Schrodinger’s Cat
What might come at the turn of the key
Will a curious look
In the door, or the book
Kill off a cat like me
Nothing to lose, thought Schrodinger’s Cat
As it opened the book at page three
How curious is that
Just a book, and a cat
Waiting to be, or not be
by Gail
The prime objective of school dinners
Must have been to make them taste as awful as possible
Too runny or to thick
Aesthetically disgusting
And the result was they make you gag and sick.
The screwed up faces in the dining hall
Said it all
But you were made to eat it by our ever watchful
Captures
And had no choice at all.
The mashed potatoes were like cement
And I'd never seen green carrots before
The sausages must have been made of sawdust
Picked up off the floor.
The gravy was always full of lumps
The tea cakes fill of flies
Every term they'd be a few less of us
And it was rumoured that they'd be poisoned and died.
Desert was no better
The trifle was like a bowl of sick
The cookies were so hard they'd break your teeth
And you had to chip away at them with a pick.
Tapioca pudding we called it frog spawn
Or jellied eyes
I once put some in a teachers brief case
And when he opened it he got a big surprise.
It was like some dark scene from the movie
Oliver But no one ever asked for more
They were to busy being sick
Behind the toilet door'
Still as the saying goes, ''School days are the best days of our lives''.
A BRIEF HISTORY WITH PLATO
At the beginning Plato reigned
in a way they never quite explained
or understood; the mutual attraction
obviated thoughts of sexual satisfaction.
For so long being together sharing time
was enough, and in retrospect sublime;
beyond that moment when Nature took the course
it did, bodily coincidence foretold divorce
from the friendship they had shared
lovingly, eschewing known conventions, they cared
for each other, defiant in the face of rumoured lust.
Lust once only in the mind now turned to the dust
of disappointment, racing to the point of satisfaction,
stuttering to the depths of disaffection
from the moment they confirmed Society’s fashion,
eternal friendship sacrificed on the altar of instant passion.
The lifelong friendship abandoned in momentous heat,
an experience of life they can never, ever again repeat.
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