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Mudcat Poetry Corner

Andy7 07 Jun 19 - 05:21 PM
SamStone 07 Jun 19 - 11:32 AM
Georgiansilver 06 Jun 19 - 01:55 PM
SamStone 05 Jun 19 - 02:48 PM
SamStone 05 Jun 19 - 02:45 PM
beardedbruce 05 Jun 19 - 12:31 PM
SamStone 03 Jun 19 - 09:12 PM
beardedbruce 03 Jun 19 - 07:49 PM
beardedbruce 03 Jun 19 - 03:01 PM
SamStone 02 Jun 19 - 07:34 PM
SamStone 02 Jun 19 - 05:52 PM
Neil D 01 Jun 19 - 04:24 PM
beardedbruce 30 May 19 - 11:28 AM
Georgiansilver 30 May 19 - 09:17 AM
Georgiansilver 23 Dec 17 - 04:56 AM
Amergin 06 Nov 17 - 06:20 PM
Georgiansilver 30 Sep 16 - 05:21 AM
Amos 22 Jun 16 - 01:58 PM
kendall 18 Jun 16 - 09:07 PM
MGM·Lion 18 Jun 16 - 02:27 AM
MGM·Lion 31 May 16 - 11:10 PM
MGM·Lion 31 May 16 - 10:48 PM
Donuel 11 May 16 - 06:03 PM
Donuel 06 May 16 - 11:44 PM
Donuel 06 May 16 - 11:21 PM
MGM·Lion 06 May 16 - 03:41 AM
MGM·Lion 06 May 16 - 03:39 AM
Amergin 28 Apr 16 - 08:34 AM
MGM·Lion 24 Apr 16 - 07:28 AM
MGM·Lion 24 Apr 16 - 07:23 AM
MGM·Lion 24 Apr 16 - 07:20 AM
The Sandman 16 Mar 16 - 06:02 PM
Amergin 16 Mar 16 - 05:33 PM
Joe_F 09 Jan 16 - 08:45 PM
CapriUni 09 Jan 16 - 05:21 PM
Amergin 09 Jan 16 - 01:56 PM
Amergin 21 Jul 15 - 03:47 PM
Galloping Gwdihw 20 Jun 15 - 05:29 AM
Amergin 19 Jun 15 - 11:49 PM
CapriUni 27 May 15 - 07:54 PM
Amergin 27 May 15 - 04:39 PM
Airymouse 27 May 15 - 04:25 PM
Amos 27 May 15 - 12:37 PM
Joe_F 26 May 15 - 03:01 PM
CapriUni 26 May 15 - 09:28 AM
gnu 06 Dec 14 - 12:00 PM
Bert 04 Dec 14 - 05:21 PM
GUEST 04 Dec 14 - 01:08 PM
Amergin 25 Nov 14 - 04:52 PM
GUEST 11 Nov 14 - 02:39 PM
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Andy7
Date: 07 Jun 19 - 05:21 PM

As the fisher folk
Carried their catch
Across the beach,

A few of the fish,
Clinging hopelessly
To precious life,

Leaped from the nets,
And fell onto the sand.

And there,
In burning sun,
And dry, unfriendly air,
They died,

And lay forgotten;

Until the sea rose,
And, with gentle waves,
Caressed them.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: SamStone
Date: 07 Jun 19 - 11:32 AM

i am wearing the skin
of my seventy fifth year
one day slips into the next
without fanfare or fuss
no bells or whistles
who will be left to tell my story
who will shout my last hurrah
my days are wearing thin like threads
of my best old shirt
faded and bare
never too old to discard
and still good enough to wear


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 06 Jun 19 - 01:55 PM

The Chain

Beaten by the powerful rays of sunshine on my eyes,
I knelt to pick some flowers, and lying there, oh what surprise.
A chain of gold, enamelled bright in rainbow colours fine,
The thought, to keep it, but I knew that it could not be mine.

My quest now, to find the owner, of such delicate a piece,
Perhaps somebodys’ mother, sister, cousin, auntie, niece.
I spread the news by internet, an easy thing to do,
I expected a response, maybe a greedy crank or two.

But no-one recognised the chain from pictures I had shown,
In spite of advertising in most places I had known.
I started looking closely at this chain that I had found,
And realised the workmanship, would many folk confound.

I felt it had some age in fact great age as it turned out,
What the museum told me, would fairly make me pout.
A queens chain, from the medieval times they said,
Which could have been converted to a tiara for her head.

Treasure Trove is what I had, they told me on that day,
We’ll have to take it from you and it must be sent away.
I waited weeks to hear the news and one day yes it came,
In a decorated envelope, in italics there my name.

I really was exited as I thought ‘my fortune’s here’,
But when I fully opened it, the content was quite clear.
It had belonged to Royalty, so I didn’t have a claim,
But the museum to show it, would mention me by name.

I had become a donor though ’twas not a choice of mine,
But when I thought much deeper, I just knew that this was fine.
We share the world we live in, with great people and with things,
I now respected this Royal chain which joy to many brings.

I’m pleased that I am not a man, who is consumed by greed,
I’m just content to live this life, with joys on which to feed.
To be wealthy, is a thing to which, I really don’t reach out,
I’d prefer a museum visit, to see what life’s about.

Michael J Hill © 2019.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: SamStone
Date: 05 Jun 19 - 02:48 PM

snow men
prayer for homeless veterans

I wonder
where they live
these men of darkness
with nothing to give
save a smile
and a wave
flying their rags
like ceremonial flags
where do they go
when the snows fly thin
rolling and blowing
with the harshness
of a bitter winter wind.
I wonder if they die
and are replaced
by other men
when spring rushes in...

or do they simply bend
and fold themselves
into the night
and wait in stony silence
for the coming light...


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: SamStone
Date: 05 Jun 19 - 02:45 PM

my old cat sits at my feet
thinks its time to eat
by the tilt of her head.
she'll wander off to bed
after a few bites
leaving me to think about what might
have been.
tonight i will bury my friend again
and again
each time i dream.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: beardedbruce
Date: 05 Jun 19 - 12:31 PM

Sonnet Redouble to my Reluctant Muse


Arms ache with longing to my muse enfold,
But Heaven remains beyond reach of heart:
How can I to reluctant muse impart
All that she gives? Words alone do not tell
What in her eyes and smile become the spell
To fill my mind with verse. She brings a light
To shadowed dream, to make my work seem right,
That I might hope I have my passions told.
How will I repay muse who is the source
Of vision, and of dream? I cannot give,
In all my verses, words enough to show
How much she means to me: Heart holds to course
At her guidance. I must let longings live,
For all I know she does not wish it so.

For all I know she does not wish it so,
I will acknowledge debt I owe my muse.
Without her light as guide, dream would refuse
To show me what to write, and how to share
Thought of my heart’s desire: That I might care
As much as muse allows. She holds the key
To inspiration in her smile to me:
How can I keep from letting longings grow?
She gives me reason to heart’s feelings write,
In dream of her warm eyes, and sight of smile
So sweet, to encourage my passions’ flow.
I long to hold muse always in my sight,
But know to not unasked of hopes make trial:
How can I let her my heart’s desires know?

How can I let her my heart’s desires know
When I cannot my muse’s dream recall?
Should she inform my heart, that would be all
I need: I would then try to dream fulfil,
If I might, and have cause to think she will
Accept my offering of heart’s caring.
Not knowing dream, I’ll but send words bearing
My hope to see more of her eyes’ bright glow.
If I might future find in dreams inspired
By thought of muse, would I then know the way
For verse to take to win to goal, or lose
All that I seek offending muse? So mired
In questions, I dare not heart’s desires say
Without giving cause that she would refuse.

Without giving cause that she would refuse
I try to tell muse how I value smile,
But do not know the words I may write: While
I dare not say too much, it would be sin
To say too little. In sight I begin
To find my inspiration. Can I send
Enough to tell, but not sweet muse offend?
Would I win attention if words amuse?
I long to find perfect word, to describe
The curve of muse’s lips, that smiles create.
Yet, I am satisfied to recall views
And dream I might of heaven’s kiss imbibe.
Should I my own heart’s desire now relate,
To share her smile, or let dream of her choose?

To share her smile, or let dream of her choose
The future path of all endeavors seems
To be all I might dare: I have no schemes
That will win more than asked. Must I recall
Unfounded dream, when I know dream is all
That I might hold at night? Should I dream let
Control imagination, sleep upset,
And from verse hide all of my muse’s views?
In muse I seek to focus of art find,
That I might hold to a fixed path that ties
Dreams and desires into verse that defines
My soul. Apart from muse, I remain blind:
Without her smile, and the light from her eyes,
What can inspire all of my future lines?

What can inspire all of my future lines
When I so rarely at my muse may look,
To see her eyes and smile? Yet, in what book
Have I found promise that my dreams will be?
I’ve only faith and hope muse might agree
To guide my words, and lend heart’s passions voice.
I dare not falter: I have only choice
To pray muse gives power that verse refines.
In muse I find reason to care: The gem
Of bright eyes that let light into my soul.
Yet, should I look in my dreams for the signs
Of hope? Does not seeing my muse condemn
Heart to darkness, and verse from reaching goal?
Must I abandon hope that her light shines?

Must I abandon hope that her light shines
Upon the dreams that give me verse? I fear
The darkness absence brings: How might I steer
A path to muse’s presence? Dare I ask
To spend time with my muse, or is that task
I cannot on her place? Must heart defend
The need for conversation? I intend
Only to learn what hopes now muse defines.
Without some dream of muse, heart is as blind,
Not seeing soul, and falling to despair.
Should I have concern caring is too bold,
That I must longings keep only in mind?
Might I ask for my muse to sweet smile share,
To give reason to any verses mold?

To give reason to any verses mold
Requires a muse. To form more than just dream,
There must be light from higher realm, a beam
To fill the mind. So few provide the spark
That fires the soul and lifts heart from the dark:
Might I hold to this one, now found, to keep
The inspiration? Would she have me weep,
That passion’s heat condemns heart to be cold?
I wait, hoping to spend a future hour
With one who causes verse. I must head bow
In silent prayer that heart might fears retire.
Can I hope that muse will let my dreams flower
To vision of her smile, or tell me how
Am I to hold as hidden heart’s desire?

Am I to hold as hidden heart’s desire
To muse repay for gift? Can I not thank
The one who fills my verse? Mind would be blank
Without sight of her eyes: Her smiles restore
Heart’s dream to life. Should I not beg, implore,
And plead, for all that muse might share? I prize
Seeing my muse: Perhaps it is not wise,
But I care for one who holds heart entire.
Yet, should I write of longings, when I know
I do not hold my muse’s heart? I try
To dream of only smile, but heart might sin
When muse is beautiful. When verses flow,
I can but hope I might on words rely,
That I might offer cause for smile, or grin.

That I might offer cause for smile, or grin,
To give me muse’s grace, would be my wish.
I must hope I can with verse accomplish
Intent: To dream of muse hold on the page,
And keep a part of muse as mine. My stage
Is fourteen lines, and muse provides the wing
To lift words from paper, letting verse sing.
I fear I must all of hopes on muse pin.
How can I know what words muse will allow,
Until words I share? Can I hold dream, while
Reaching to muse? Dare I let desires toy
With what muse provides me? Do I break vow
To not of muse ask? Only with her smile
Can I know what to write, to lines employ.

Can I know what to write, to lines employ
In reaching muse? Dare I reveal that part
Of soul is bound? Desires may my dreams start,
But it is smile that offers verses life.
How am I to find peace, out of this strife,
Without my muse’s blessing? Will she share
The light of eyes, bringing glow to her hair?
Can I see heaven and not lust destroy?
It seems muse has from heaven brought a charm
And beauty to guide mortal fools who’ve earned
The pleasure of her smile. Might she inspire
Enough to make verse worthy? Does hope harm
The chance of smile? Can heart remain unburned
In seeking to in muse’s eyes see fire?

In seeking to in muse’s eyes see fire,
To light dreams and warm heart, I find I fall
Into my own desires: I dare not call
My longings more than hope. She has made clear
I should not think that I might hold her near.
Yet, can I less than care? She is the one
I will call muse: Would I gratitude shun,
To not give thanks she does not of verse tire?
In muse I see one who shares Heaven’s light
And I will pray, to have the chance to get
Such sacred blessings: I would my hopes spin
This verse to fabric of a worth, that might
Repay my muse for her gift, in soul set
To forge in mind words that might her smile win.

To forge in mind words that might her smile win
Requires true passion’s flame, and words refined
By higher power. The dreams one has in mind
Are but the ore: One must from them burn dross
That holds the soul to earth. From dream I’ll toss
All parts that are not holy, that I might
Hold to the prayer that muse will keep hopes bright.
The line between longing and lust is thin.
All I can do is try my best, to hold
To muse’s gift: She gives with smile the source
For Poetry. I hope not to annoy,
But I wish I might know if muse might fold
Her wings, and listen to my verse: Of course
I long to know how to bring my muse joy.

I long to know how to bring my muse joy
That I might see her smile, and take delight
In showing that the words I choose are right.
I hope to give her pleasure that I find
Such inspiration, yet must be resigned
To holding only in my dreams. Muse is grail,
To give verse desired power: I must veil
Any dream that would muse’s gift destroy.
I value muse for all she is, the cause
Of verse. For lines to vex I would regret:
My muse’s smile is worth far more than gold.
I do not know how to my desires pause,
With such a maid. She is an angel, yet
Arms ache with longing to my muse enfold.


Arms ache with longing to my muse enfold,
For all I know she does not wish it so.
How can I let her my heart’s desires know,
Without giving cause that she would refuse
To share her smile, or let dream of her choose
What can inspire all of my future lines?
Must I abandon hope that her light shines
To give reason to any verses mold?
Am I to hold as hidden heart’s desire
That I might offer cause for smile, or grin?
Can I know what to write, to lines employ
In seeking to in muse’s eyes see fire
To forge in mind words that might her smile win?
I long to know how to bring my muse joy.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: SamStone
Date: 03 Jun 19 - 09:12 PM

the elemental winds of change are blowing the seasons around
knocking them into trees
and slamming them into the ground
we watch all this from our kitchen window
as the sun is shadowing at times long and billowing and other times underfoot
leaves dancing through the windrows of hedges
storm surges whirling the dust and sand
piling up among the bushes and trees
altering the scape of the land
and we mortals living both in bondage and free


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: beardedbruce
Date: 03 Jun 19 - 07:49 PM

(Thank you, VerseElf)





Sonnet 29/11/18    On Love                MCLXLVI

If one wants to be loved, love others: Give
What you want to be given. To refrain
From caring: How can one caring obtain?
There is a balance. Seek, and one may find,
But offer and be offered. Love is blind,
Yet knows its’ own. One can but dreams pursue,
To find heart’s desire: One must hopes renew
To have the chance to let love in heart live.
Love given is increased: The more one shares,
The greater one may give. True love is not
A zero-sum endeavor: All sides gain.
In others one finds reason that one cares,
But all have value to one’s dreams. The spot
Each person finds in heart is held within.



I know, weak rhyme at the end. No longer in that mood, to rewrite it now. Perhaps at some future time.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: beardedbruce
Date: 03 Jun 19 - 03:01 PM

Still raw, but I may polish it more over the next few weeks.



Sonnet 2/6/2019 On the Dentzel Carousel, Glen Echo MCCLXVII

I go around, and return to the start,
But feel great calmness on this carousel.
Soul finds ease in the memories, to tell
My dreams I cannot give past muse my heart.
It's not just that she will not value art,
But that she thinks thought of her casts no spell
To give true verse: For that, heart bids farewell.
That is the reason I must from hopes part.
I cannot alter words, nor change her mind
To restore what has shattered: Should I send
My dreams to Lethe, or now try to find
Some kinder muse? Is there a balm, to mend
The wound this angel sent my heart, or bind
A soul broken from inspiration's end?


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: SamStone
Date: 02 Jun 19 - 07:34 PM

he crested the top of the clouds
turned and waved slighted
and slid behind the embankment
we knew the instant that his spirit had left his body
and watched him ascend rapidly
into the heavens
there was no expression as he rose
but when he turned
he inclined his head slightly toward me
and nodded slightly
we never again looked back at his remains
still strapped in that huey


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: SamStone
Date: 02 Jun 19 - 05:52 PM

we should have made amends
to our families and friends
but that day has past
never to come again
and the old man up the street
we should have seen
that he was well and
had enough to eat
but that time was then
never to come again
and my Dad
was distraught
angry and sad
my frail words
couldn’t last
now his life has past
never to be again


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Neil D
Date: 01 Jun 19 - 04:24 PM

Here's one I wrote while sitting out at the open mic my town holds every Saturday in nice weather. Nearly every line refers to someone who was there at the time, including my dogs, so you won't recognize them.

I saw Joseph talking to Jesus
Down on Market Street last night
DJ was there a-running things
While Saint Stephen lit his pipe
Mike was miking at the mic
Making sound that sounds quite right
Heartbeats drumming at the sight
Of beauty walking like the night
Stetson hats are shading faces
In the amber glow of the old street light

The cowboy on his laurels resting
After yodel-odel-odeling
With Iron waiting in the wing
With maybe one more song to sing
Girly Girl was looking on
With Bitty-bye protectoring
Twilit skies in a hundred eyes
Sparking and reflectoring
Ears say thanks for gifts you bring
While minds go transcendentalling


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: beardedbruce
Date: 30 May 19 - 11:28 AM

165th sonnet to my Reluctant Muse



Sonnet 21/5/2019                         MCCLVI


I write now for an audience of none:
This muse does not my verses read, nor think
What she inspires has worth. My hopes now sink
Away from light, and soul turns to despair.
Yet, heart is not so willing to not care:
I still pray dreams of her will sonnets give,
And someday muse’s smile might let hope live.
Must heart admit she has ending begun?
It is not absence from muse that I fear,
But that lines unread cannot her smiles earn.
How shall I feelings tell, when she’ll ignore
All that I write? How can I make it clear
How much heart hurts, to know I’ll never learn
Her dreams that could future verses ensure?


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 30 May 19 - 09:17 AM

Found this old thread and thought I might revive it to see if we still have any poets amongst us. Here's one I wrote a while back.

Her Type for 25 Years
How would she have managed without me,
For all of our twenty five years.
A quarter of one whole century,
That we’d part I just never had fears.

On each other we were so dependant,
I was such a provider you see.
I could do nothing without her,
And she nothing too without me.

She loved my words, every letter,
That I uttered for her when I did.
I was devoted to her
always doing as my lady bid.

In a Stationers shop she first saw me,
I could see she was really impressed.
She gave me some fanciful glances,
Until her eyes came to rest.

I could tell how much she wanted me,
As we left that Stationers shop.
She held me close on the local bus,
Until we reached her home stop.

As we entered the house that evening,
I felt so needed and loved.
She said ‘’You are Gods’ greatest gift to me’’
Like I’d come from Heaven above.

We’ve been through so much together,
In the last twenty five lovely years.
I’ve seen her joy and the laughter,
And witnessed the sadness and tears.

She wanted to be a great writer,
To produce a respected ‘Best Seller’.
I didn’t quite think she would make it,
But couldn’t possibly tell her.

She still battles on with her writings,
She has the true grit of a fighter.
She, well known for eloquence,
And me…. as her old typewriter.

                                                Michael J Hill © 2016


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 23 Dec 17 - 04:56 AM

Happy Birthday to Jesus.

Will you say ‘’Happy Birthday’’ to Jesus,
On Christmas Day this year?
Or will you just drink yourself silly,
on vodka, whisky, or beer?
When you open your presents, at Christmas,
Will you think to yourself, this is fun?
Or will you remember the gifts that were given,
To the child who was Gods only son.?
Will you go to a Church in the morning,
To worship the Jesus who died?
Or will you sit laughing and joking,
As peace, joy and love all abide?
Will you think of the man who died for you,
As you sit with your family and friends?
When you don’t pray or read your Bible,
Will your means justify your ends?
I’ll pray and I’ll read my Bible,
No matter what anyone thinks.
I’ll probably eat, a lot of good food,
And may have a couple of drinks.
Whatever may happen this Christmas,
Fantastic or just ‘very nice’.
I won’t forget why we celebrate,
The birth of our Lord Jesus Christ.


Mike Hill. Nov 2016. (C)


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amergin
Date: 06 Nov 17 - 06:20 PM

The Drive

Grampa tells me as we drive
       the snow brushed back roads
       of North Idaho, how he took my mother

on a drive along the same unpainted asphalt paths,
       the night before she married her first husband,
       so he could explain to her it wasn?t too late to back out,

that it would be ok, and even preferable for her to call it off,
       better to give the marriage an abortion, than to shove paper vows
       in a shredder, to erase her name from the pledge. She felt

she owed it to the mystery man, the man I have only met once
       on a visitation in Portland, when I was six...so she spoke
       the words before the Bishop, slashed her name, placed her future

on the contract line. If she hadn?t, he would never have donated
       his sperm, his genes. I would never have been thrust,
       screaming into this world, in that hospital by the Kootenai River.

Sometimes, I think that would have been ok.


Nathan Tompkins

? June, 2016-Dirty Chai


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 30 Sep 16 - 05:21 AM

THE POWER OF PRAYER.
Mrs Brown had a wayward parrot, A pretty you thing called Flo.
Who was always swearing and talking, with sexual innuendo.
Mrs Brown went to tea with the Pastor, one Sunday evening last year.
Where she saw his old parrot praying, and it gave her a clever idea.
She asked the Pastor at teatime,''Can I borrow your old parrot, Rex'.
To try to influence my parrot Flo, who talks of nothing but sex!''
She took Rex home the same evening, he prayed all the way in the car.
She was so impressed with the old bird, whose manners outshone Flos' by far.
But when she put him in Flos' cage, she realised get greatest fears.
Flo said ''Do you want some Rex'' Rex replied ''I've been praying for this for years!!''


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 22 Jun 16 - 01:58 PM

That's a sign of the very best sort of poem, Skipper! :D


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: kendall
Date: 18 Jun 16 - 09:07 PM

I tried to add a poem but it disappeared before I was finished.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: MGM·Lion
Date: 18 Jun 16 - 02:27 AM

A limerick inspired by Child ballads #1-4 {Riddles Wisely Expounded &c}, #46 {Captain Wedderburn's Courtship} &c &c

It's part of an ancient tradition
That persons of noble condition
Must faddle and fiddle
To answer a riddle
If they wish to indulge in coition

≈Michael≈


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: MGM·Lion
Date: 31 May 16 - 11:10 PM

Footnote in case anyone interested:-

The Fellows Building, Second Court, Christ's College Cambridge


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: MGM·Lion
Date: 31 May 16 - 10:48 PM

THE GHOST

I know a place
Where an 18th Century
Murderer
Walks down a staircase
Into the open air
Passes through a locked gate and then

Vanishes

I don't believe in ghosts!

But when not long ago
Someone who ought to know
Told me that the story
Was of no antiquity
But the result of a hoax
In the early 20th Century

I felt oddly

Disappointed!

      Michael Grosvenor Myer


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Donuel
Date: 11 May 16 - 06:03 PM

cake walk waffle waddle frozen ice cream lox
Donut dance, crappy snacks, chocolate bacon pants
Many of the treats you eat have more to do with paint
Salty sweet sour heat sold as great just aint.

beef bark shark heart, deep fried nipple chips
Everything cooked in mystery fat always goes to hips
You don't need a Vegan Czar, you can use your head
They used to eat Peacock breAst and rape seed sour bread

The next time you crunch a snack think of a carrot slice
or 15 hundred years of Indian food made with power spice.
If your snack was made with palm oil you killed a habitat
We all know you don't need that much grease, fat is fat is fat


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Donuel
Date: 06 May 16 - 11:44 PM

oops:

Old Franz heard ufo signals
He heard them on his radio
The one that he had invented
People thought he flipped his wignal


The I that can't see itself thinks
wordless thoughts that flow in the wind
Waves murmur melodies of "we"
Sometimes it shares secrets with me.

The blind may hear more than most souls.
The wordless see more than you're told
Like a blurred smear of future past
Some see through time that ever lasts.

We have abilities unknown
To transmit though space you can't see
So stop making fun of Tesla
Everything you use he conceived.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Donuel
Date: 06 May 16 - 11:21 PM

The I that can't see itself thinks
wordless thoughts that flow in the wind
Waves murmur melodies of "we"
Sometimes it shares secrets with me.

The blind may hear more than most souls.
The wordless see more than you're told
Like a blurred smear of future past
Some see through time that ever lasts.

We have abilities unknown
To transmit though space you can't see
So stop making fun of Tesla
Everything you use he conceived.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: MGM·Lion
Date: 06 May 16 - 03:41 AM

Sur, sodit!


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: MGM·Lion
Date: 06 May 16 - 03:39 AM

Vive la France

Y'a des gridlocks
Terrifique
Sue la Pé
riférique


Michael


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amergin
Date: 28 Apr 16 - 08:34 AM

Two of my more recent published pieces, both in the April issue of Menacing Hedge. There are also links where you can hear me read them.

Nathan Tompkins


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: MGM·Lion
Date: 24 Apr 16 - 07:28 AM

written on my first wife's suicide Aug 2007

POST-PARKINSONIAN

Trying to keep going

In the teeth
Of the lethal
Mix of grief
And relief

Michael Grosvenor Myer


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: MGM·Lion
Date: 24 Apr 16 - 07:23 AM

Lines at fourscore'n'three

When am I
Going to die?
Who can know
When I'll go?

Michael Grosvenor Myer
    8 October 2015


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: MGM·Lion
Date: 24 Apr 16 - 07:20 AM

am here 2 tell u
that those who assure u
that things get better as time passes
r up own arses

≈MGM≈

mar 08


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: The Sandman
Date: 16 Mar 16 - 06:02 PM

where is St Patrick in Irelands hour of need
to banish all the snakes who choose the path of greed


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amergin
Date: 16 Mar 16 - 05:33 PM

Since it's St. Patrick's Day tomorrow...I have here an ekphrastic poem that was published by Yellow Chair Review in October. It is called The Dying Cu Chullainn


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Joe_F
Date: 09 Jan 16 - 08:45 PM

No apologies to B. Brecht:

Oh, moon of Massachusetts,
Why can't we say goodbye?
This life's no bloody use, it's
Just going thru motions, oh, you know why.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: CapriUni
Date: 09 Jan 16 - 05:21 PM

Congratulations, Amergin!


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amergin
Date: 09 Jan 16 - 01:56 PM

One of my poems was just published the other day.

http://crabfatmagazine.com/2016/01/remember/


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amergin
Date: 21 Jul 15 - 03:47 PM

The Tin Man

The Tin Man walks down 6th Avenue,
ipod stuck in his ears disguises
the jangled sound of jagged metal,
stripped toothed gears, half melted belts,
over stretched springs,

all in a plastic Fred Meyer grocery bag
stuffed in the depths of his black backpack.

Its been broken too many times, oiled tears
drain down rain gutter cheeks, remembers
the blue eyed munchkin maiden.

The cool damp salt air drifts from Puget Sound
paints rust tattoos on his silver skin,
as he stands in the shadow of the Wizard's
Space Needle castle, the throne room
in a constant rotation against the blue sky.

He came to see if his heart was under warranty,
to see if he could trade the Wizard for a new one….
this one is too fucked up to repair.

Nathan Tompkins

© 2014 NonBinary Review


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Galloping Gwdihw
Date: 20 Jun 15 - 05:29 AM

Personality
My sideboard has plenty of
What it lacks is brains.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amergin
Date: 19 Jun 15 - 11:49 PM

The Supermoon

The moon danced the summer reel
with Perseus beneath the ballroom
starlights, as his meteorite shoes
sparked across the night sky floor.

Her full white face, crater lips smiled,
sang to the tune of the August pipers,
as they fingered tree limb chanters,
squeezed green leaf bellows.

Together they swung close to the earth,
as she whispered her heart to his ears,
felt his lips with hers, I knew she found another,

together they would sleep with the sunrise,
together they would wake with the sunset…

Nathan Tompkins

© October, 2014 published in North West Words


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: CapriUni
Date: 27 May 15 - 07:54 PM

Amos -- That's a big part of why I've chosen to go the route of self-publishing / Print-on-Demand.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amergin
Date: 27 May 15 - 04:39 PM

Published in Calliope, © February, 2015

Deletion

We sat across from each other,
as we drank our Irish whiskey,
handed the glass back and forth,
while we talked in the dim light
of the overflowed pub,

you stretched your arm
across the wooden table
as I sipped from the glass,
my pint of India pale,
I grasped your fingers,
lifted your hand, felt static shock

when my mouth tattooed
a lip shaped beer stain
on the back of your skin....

or we snapped photographs,
of sunflower gardens,
as we laughed together,
and I loved….

I want to delete you
from my computer,
but like some self-flagellating
emotional masochist…

I can't.

Nathan Tompkins


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Airymouse
Date: 27 May 15 - 04:25 PM

PARTING SHOT
Small ball of murmured purring fur
With faith to move mountains
Faith misplaced
For I, Pagliaccio, clown
Have come, not to the rescue,
But to put you down.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amos
Date: 27 May 15 - 12:37 PM

Bravo, bravo, bravo.

Joe, that terse piece is as sharp as a new nail.

Capri Uni, your treatment of the voices of Grimm's tales is fascinating and beautifully done!

Bert, I love "Spiffeye"!

If you scroll back you will find most of my original poems have been taken down. This is in order to be able to submit them "unpublished"; I hope no mystery ensued.

A


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Joe_F
Date: 26 May 15 - 03:01 PM

RELIEFS

Turn off fan. Noise stops.
Turn off lamp. Glare stops.
No switch turns off shame.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: CapriUni
Date: 26 May 15 - 09:28 AM

These two are really a pair. And as a preface, here are links to my source tales: Tom Thumb and Hans my Hedgehog

TOM THUMB

The people tell me I'm a lucky one,
'Cause even though I am a wish-born child
(Those never come out normal, like you want),
At least I'm human-shaped from head to heel.
Not like that monster, Hans, the next town, over,
Who's just a prickly hedgehog, snout to waist,
So he must spend his life behind the stove,
On a moldy bed of straw, with bugs to eat.
A burden to his father – such a shame!
And then, they start to argue: When's the last
That anyone had caught a glimpse of him?
Some hope he's finally dead, and so at peace.
The people tell me I'm a lucky one,
'Cause even though I'll never grow a whit,
At least I'm handsome, and I'm clever, too.
And I can help to drive my father's cart,
Whispering commands in Dobbin's ear.
They say I'm blessed. I grit my teeth and nod,
Not like that poor boy Hans, the next town over.
My parents love me like a wish come true,
And listen to me when I have ideas.
My father built a bed that's just for me.
My mother stitched a coat that's just my size.
My supper dish may be an acorn cap,
But I have had my fill of bread and cheese.
They tell me to be glad I'm not like Hans.
And I am glad. I wish they'd notice why.

KING HANS THE QUILLBACK

I've heard the rumors-- how my story's told.
First things first: it did not end that way
(My skin all milky white, and hair all gold,
My father proud until his dying day).
And second, tell me, how would I have known
All of the things I'd need to "Break the Spell,"
When I'd been left to die in straw on stone?
As if I'd even want to. Go to hell!
That's just the yarn they spin to quell their fears,
And I've remained a monster sixty years.

I ran away from home, that much is true.
But never with a gift from "dear old Dad."
I stole those bagpipes, and the black hen, too--
The only friend I ever really had.
It's true the king was lost, and heard me play,
Though, like I said, I never had a plan.
But when he told me he would gladly pay,
And pulled one of those rings from off his hand --
He asked me if I'd like his pretty hat.
(Can you imagine -- velvet on my head?)
And really, what would I have done with that?
But he was loved! 'Twas what I wished, instead.
So yes, I said: "Give me a living thing--
The first to come and greet you at the door."
I never thought: "The Daughter of the King"
Might be his dog, for I'd seen that, before.
And after that, I let myself forget--
Until the day my dear old chicken died.
That was the first I ever felt regret,
Though not the first time I had ever cried.
I really didn't think 'twould do much good,
To try and claim a worn-out I.O.U.,
But there was nothing for me, in that wood,
And there was nothing left for me to do.
They kept their promise-- that's the magic thing,
When they could have lied, or had me killed.
I married her. And now I am the king,
Though I still have my snout, and all my quills.
For we can't shed our pain, like some old shirt,
To throw onto the coals, until its gone.
I'm less than half a man, without my hurt
Yet, truly, I was changed, that coming dawn.
'Twas neither flames nor salves that transformed me,
But She – who saw my full humanity.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: gnu
Date: 06 Dec 14 - 12:00 PM

Got this from Trinity Today and the "article" contained no title or source for this...

I was shocked , confused, bewildered
as I entered Heaven's door,
not by the beauty of it all,…
nor the lights or its decor.
But it was the folks in Heaven
who made me sputter and gasp–
the thieves, the liars, the sinners,
the alcoholics and the trash.

There stood the kid from seventh grade
who swiped my lunch money twice.
Next to him was my old neighbor
who never said anything nice.

Bob, who I always thought
was rotting away in hell,
was sitting pretty on cloud nine,
looking incredibly well.

I nudged Jesus, 'What's the deal?
I would love to hear Your take.
How'd all these sinners get up here?
God must've made a mistake!.'

'And why is everyone so quiet,
so somber – give me a clue.'
'Hush, child,' He said,
'they're all in shock.
No one thought they'd be seeing you.'


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Bert
Date: 04 Dec 14 - 05:21 PM

The Spitfire

We couldn't say it properly when we saw them in the sky.
Us kids would run and point and shout
Spiffeye, spiffeye, spiffeye.

We hid under our desks in school each time there was a raid
we would laugh and play the fool too young to be afraid
when the raid was over we'd look up in the sky
to spot the guys who'd saved us
the Spiffeye, spiffeye, spiffeye.

Now I'm living near the flight path of Pete Field and Shriever bases
I don't know the names of these modern planes
with their modern pilot aces
But to honor every one of them as I watch them flying by
you'll hear me quitely whispering
Spiffeye, spiffeye, spiffeye.


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST
Date: 04 Dec 14 - 01:08 PM

I was thinking of you
and birthdays long ago
When we were young
and did not know
the wind's caress
of icy snow
We thought the world
a kinder place
and humankind
a kinder race
'cause we were young
and did not know

JC


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: Amergin
Date: 25 Nov 14 - 04:52 PM

M.B.

6 gunshot drumbeat strokes roll his eyes closed.
6 grief dyed lullabies sing him to sleep.
6 brass knuckled tongues chant his spirit home.
but one killer with a badge, walked free.

nt


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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner
From: GUEST
Date: 11 Nov 14 - 02:39 PM

'On yonder hill there stands a coo-
If it's no' there, it's awa' the noo.. '

William McGonagall, poet and tragedian


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