poetry corner...

[doppellanger]

Snot bad at all. The parenthesis image is very, very good.

Thanks. :blushing geek:

I followed the Heaney colour by numbers poetry scheme:

childhood memory check
boggiest placename you can think of check
Greek/German/Old English/Aramaic word to show erudition check
language about language/pun/wordplay check
slanted rhyme check

Mix in a mouldy creel full of potatoes/nettles/buttermilk and leave to dry in the sun like turf.

Whatever the fuck a creel is...

 

[doppellanger]

Sweeney in Berlin
Sweeney lauft plötzlich rein.
Es regnet im Gässchen.
Er bestellt einen Wein.
Überlaufende Taschen
Sind fett und voll mit Geld.
Er nimmt einen Schluck.
Whiskey am Brett scheint gold.
Er hat niemals genug.

Sweeney fährt mit dem Rad
In der falschen Richtung
Die Einbahnstraße entlang,
Will über ein Taubchen
Fahren, (natürlich nicht
Im ernst), aber es springt,
Es springt und fliegt hoch, hoch
Wo keine Räder sind.

Ok, it translates as follows

Sweeney in Berlin

Sweeney walks in suddenly.
It's raining in the alley.
He orders a wine,
Pockets overflowing,
Full and fat with money.
He takes a swig.
Whiskey on the shelf shines gold.
He never has enough.

Sweeney is cycling
The wrong way
Down a one-way street,
He wants to drive over
A pigeon (naturally not
Seriously), but it jumps,
Jumps and flies high, high
Where there are no wheels.

Of course, pigeons don't really jump, they sort of hop along and there are wheels up in the sky on aeroplanes, helicopters etc. - all this is poetic licence, along with any spelling or grammatical errors.

The first verse sort of rhymes, the second sort of doesn't.

 

[Lah.Lah]

Lah.Lah:!:

 

[doppellanger]

These Needles Have Pierced Our Own Lives, Too

You hem for me a sleeve
When a sudden drop of red
Taints the inside of the seam
Where no-one will see the thread.

 

[Chara021]

You speak your truth, you hold it close, not man nor beast could part
you from your roots, your joy and hope , where life for you did start.

Like me your blood runs true and pure, an endless flow of knowing
of who you are, whose steps you trace, whose embers are still flowing.

 

[Great-Bit-O-Stuff]

You speak your truth, you hold it close, not man nor beast could part
you from your roots, your joy and hope , where life for you did start.

Like me your blood runs true and pure, an endless flow of knowing
of who you are, whose steps you trace, whose embers are still flowing.

Did you create this? It's good

 

[Chara021]

Ya it's an excerpt of something I wrote years ago. Thanks for saying it's good ?. Poetry is such a personal thing sometimes not everyone gets it. Or likes it.

 

[Great-Bit-O-Stuff]

Ya it's an excerpt of something I wrote years ago. Thanks for saying it's good ?. Poetry is such a personal thing sometimes not everyone gets it. Or likes it.

Sure I'm always posting poetry and you were one of the few people to respond to one of my earlier ones.
I like that this forum has people expressing themselves too. I feel it is important

 

[Chara021]

This one I wrote in 2012 is about online interaction. So its kinda apt for this site. It's about someone ( not me) that exposed his version of real life stuff into an anonymous forum. It wasn't pretty. So its about people on the internet discussing / arguing/ saying stuff about someone they don't know in real life. How easy it is to spout off at strangers whilst sitting behind a screen. This is actually a true occurrence online ( not on this site though) ?


Hush now
this dismal tale where vengence perches, scalded and burned
and sleeps with wings in darkness furled.
Now wrapped beyond a murky hue
and where the lurid waters drone.
And I say hush now..............
Where the helpless are cloaked
amongst the wolves and the bloodhounds
who trace and trail in the quagmire of their own stagnant blood.
I whisper hush..............
Hush for the fractured life you know nothing of..........
Nor open the door to the blackened heart
where the gates of his garden lie
trampled and torn
and the bloom of his tendings there dulled.
Blazoned iniquities, borne and rendered
carried and suffered, doled by
the cruel swords of life.
Step not where embittered words become
the guillotine of empathy, and
humanity has slumbered for a time.
Here hangs the blinding humid wreath of grey despair.
And I shall shield myself with knowing the deeper flow of truth, and the kindly dawn of a blue azure.
And there it will stay.................yet encircled by the gnarling peal of glee
and the din of strangers without marrow In their hearts.
So hush...........and softly goes..........