The Poets Thread...

CLAIR de LUNE


There she goes,
following me again...

Across the cropped corn
and over the high trees.

My harvest queen,
her footsteps make no din.

At the turn of the year
with the sheaves gathered in...


Jarvo 2018

- - - - - - -

THE DAWN CHORUS


Such a fuss,
coming home from the cotton town,
and the birds singing a hymn
as ancient as
Isambard Kingdom Brunel.

As I listen,
I can just make out
the words of Jerusalem.

Strange,
how alcohol can play tricks
on this solstice night;

as the birds bring in the dawn,
and it's
getting light...


Jarvo 2018


- - - - - - -


THE BRIDGE OVER THE RIVER ASH


We'll go by the Circle line
Incognito at the afternoon's close.
I'll take with me the Evening Standard
And buy you a pink rose.

It'll be fun again
Me and you out on the lash.
And we'll sing again our drinking songs
On the bridge over the river Ash.


Jarvo 2018


- - - - - - -


TO THE LEFT OF THE MOON


Yes,
to the left,
but be there on the stroke of
midnight.

And so we met,
for the first time,
on the east side of the silvery
moon.

I'd read about you,
since childhood:
the frozen queen dressed in
turquosise.

And now,
there you were,
quiet, unassuming,
making no fuss...

Finally,
from the icy hinterlands,
the mysterious and beautiful,
Uranus...


Jarvo 2018


(Visible tonight and all next week, to the left of the moon.)

I meant to look for uranus. I will tonight if it's clear!

Another smasher, jarvo 👍

What an outstanding piece of prose.

Now Bill, play nice.

I was just about to say, let's hope nobody spoils it and up pops boredy, just give it a rest and stop spoiling threads.

What have I said wrong? Are you saying it isn’t outstanding?

I'm saying it's more needless baiting.

I, for one can see nothing wrong with Bills post.

There's no accounting for taste is there?

Totally agree kath 👍

Kath, if you want to look at baiting check out Walshy’s replies to your posts on another thread. He won’t have read it but says “ completely agree Kath” This is borne out by the fact that a day later he made exactly the same comment on the same post. In his haste to bait he had obviously forgotten he had glanced and commented. His answers are almost always baiting. He has been thrown off here at least four times previously for poor behaviour. Now I have tried to answer you courteously but will not enter into discussions again unless of course you single someone else out for the same comments. Enjoy the game.

Totally agree, Broady.

Nobody baits as much as Walshy, in fact he's a master at it.

Funny thing about all this is that it's always the same people who bite, time and time again.

You would think they would learn something and ignore him

Seems they can't

Oh what larks, (as someone once said)

I went to a funeral 18 months ago & Broady came all the way from Canada to attend.Some men from Abram we got chatting to who used to post & now don't,commented that the reason they don't is the main one who spoils threads is Walshy & his sidekick Stardelta,I've not mentioned this until now.Do you remember this Bill? His brother was Caltermark who died !Now you may understand how bad he gets.

I hate to admit it but the “ redundant pot hole filler” has a valid point. I shall put him on ignore. Thank you Sledge. In two hours I will put you there also but in fairness will give you time to respond. Merry Christmas.

I think there are many people in this forum who spoil threads and seek to be aggressive and offensive and it doesn't take much to spot them. I don't let them bother me. Some I choose to ignore and some I choose to play at their own game.

In truth I think a lot of people share my approach

C'est le vie

You know it makes sense Boardy.

And put Walshy and Jarvo on too

Should improve your quality of life no end old son

A useless piece of information for Jarvo

Uranus gets it't blue colour from Methane FACT

Redundant lot hole filler?

What was I just saying about people wanting to be aggressive and offensive?



You won't put me or Baz or Jarvo on ignore, and we both know it

The moral highground is over there Boardy, it seems you need some help in finding it

Look at the state of Jarvos smashing thread.

Yes. Gone down faster than his football team.

Totally agree sd👍

Same folk ruining threads and attacking posters

It's cheesing me off.

and me.

and me.

Has anyone else noticed that from 29th September until Walshy announced he was back & not to panic (not much response to that)that not one thread was ruined,think about it,it's not rocket science!

Has anyone else noticed that the same people always start complaining when Baz shows his face?

This isn’t rocket science either

Has anyone else noticed that when certain people are not posting the "nasty uns" hardly post, they've not been on so much lately, then, all of a sudden they appear, following each other, around like sheep, attacking people and ruining threads

More, jarvo, don't let the "nasty uns" stop you from posting.

THE NIGHT THEY INVADED CZECHOSLOVAKIA


We watched,
as the tanks rolled in.
A black and white TV set
in the surroundings
of school.

It was the day after I saw you
at the Ambulance station.

And as the Reds moved in,
you stood under our lamp post
on that hot August night.

I remember these things:
dates, and summers that lasted
till the leaves were falling.

But that was the last night we spoke
as teenagers in the street;
I never did meet anyone as good as you.

It was as if something had invaded our lives:
separation,
liminality,
the rites of passage
to another world-
that was never to our liking...


Jarvo

For P.S.

THE LIGHT AT THE TOP OF THE STAIR


The light at the top of the stair
shone dim the night the world stood there,
to see the blood flow down his face
in such a way to scar or scare,

a cause so great to die and waste
our dream our hopes in such cruel haste.
And let us learn as time may tell
a card as high as any sole ace,

may draw the game to close or dwell
and leave the devil to wait in hell,
for those that lose the will to fight,
to die or stand or shout 'Oh well...'

Let them shout then and touch the light,
and drive the evil to flee in flight;
and end the dark and face the night
with faith to change the wrong to right.


Jarvo 2018

For J.F.K.



Written in Iambic tetrameter.

Nice to see the gang as not put you off posting your poems, jarvo

A little poem by me.

You could, and you should,
If you did, did you 'dould '
Is this sentence confusing your brain ?
If it's not then it's clear
That you're like Edward Lear,
Either that or you're going insane.

Jacks

MORNING SONG/HINTERLAND


Morning,
and you are leaving
on the midday flight.

I am walking on autumn leaves,
and going by
the babbling brook.

I look up at the December blue sky,
and wonder why
you must be going.

A pheasant cackles in the bush...
Hush!
there are other birds singing
their morning songs;

other lovers saying
their last goodbyes;

and other journeys
to be made.

How sweet,
the sound that the birds make,
but to heaven I am no nearer.

I am deaf
and helpless
on a carpet of leaves,

watching you go
southwards, over the sea
to Madeira...

- - - - -

Just behind the Cathedral,
there is a place where we used to meet:

it is the hinterland,
where the sea ends

and the land
stretches to the hills.

If I climb to the top,
I may catch a last look,

as the sun dips
and it reflects your face at the window.

After that,
let it rain...

let the wind blow hard,
as the night takes you safely home...


Jarvo 2018

For S.

GONE


Whatever I won
is now lost.
And if she appeared,
one cold December night,
I would be struck dumb.

It will not happen-
and so my words will be heard.
I will talk about her
until the young trees
reach the window where the sun came in.

And what then?
I see only shadows
filling this familiar room.
Then,
I will lock the old door
for the last time-

it will be the end of the beginning:
the sun will be filtered
by memory and loss.
And only then,
will I say she has
gone...


Jarvo 2018

24th DECEMBER 1968


Sleep not tonight as the cold moon appears,
bright, high above the star of Bethlehem.
We dream of peace on Earth as the night nears
the midnight hour. Further than ever and then

into the dark side they go, through space and
time. We pray, as they pray, an old message
spoken in hope of a better world; to land
soon on lunar sand by safer passage.

But first, the art of flight through space at speed,
and to map the mountains below the void.
This greater goal above all want and need,
for the hope of mankind whose hate destroyed;

the green lands of this blue planet that turns
between moon and sun and the deeper black.
Our greater will to spread His book and learn,
mankind's precious gift landing safely back...


Jarvo 2018


Commemorating the Apollo 8 Moon Mission, December, 1968.


Thank you for reading and best wishes for the season.

Nice one Jarvo

HARDY'S SONG


Lifeless, this winter comes on now, hard and
keen, to fingers that are numb raw with cold.
I am empty to wander this woodland;
the years having passed and now feeling old,

with the past stretched out before these tired eyes.
I imagine Hardy, deep in the wood:
the song of the thrush a welcome surprise
to everything that he misunderstood-

of love lost and the cost of loneliness.
But new hope comes now so unexpected:
with new life, the abundance of lightness
in this darkest hour with old love now dead.

A simple song, at this the old year's end:
so sweet with hope and pulling of the heart,
a tune as ancient as the moon, transcends
all reasoning and all doubt to depart.

The young man is born again from the old:
his fulfillment for new love to behold.



Jarvo 2018

For Thomas Hardy...on hearing again the Darkling Thrush.

CAFE TALK


You kiss me twice as I stand to greet you.
Outside, the afternoon is darkening.
We order coffee, as we talk anew:
of family and lovers past, tempting

fate to play its inevitable hand.
I notice your necklace and catch your scent;
no sunflowers, but the perfume that fanned
the flames of our love. You said it was meant

to be; and we talk on, as the clock ticks
the grey afternoon to its conclusion.
You drink your espresso; I drink my mix
of strawberry cream in expectation.

On leaving, we embrace, oblivious to all.
Our words a secret as sure as nightfall.


Jarvo 2018

WINTER IN MONTREAL


My abiding memory of that winter,

was,

going to Leonard Cohen's house.

We huddled together as the blizzard set in.

He greeted us, let us in,

and offered us olives on a black plate.

I can't remember his words, because the years

have passed.

Or whether he liked my poems,

I never asked...



Jarvo 2018

THE MOON IS DOWN


The moon is down
and the night is holding court.
All along the coast
the ships are coming home to port.

The midnight hour is at hand
and still the ties cut blood.
Nothing is certain as the day ends.
Nothing is understood.


Jarvo 2019

LAZARUS AND HIS WOMAN


After four days in the dark,
living by candlelight and sleeping
in cardboard boxes,
they stopped searching for us.
We slept soundly that night,
and waking anew,
began our life together.

Four days dead did the trick.
Now,
without money,
and with the chains broken,
we could go anywhere:

to that sunny little island
in the blue Atlantic on our last dime...
Eating that deep dark walnut cake,
having a good
time...



Jarvo 2019

A STAR IS BORN


It happened sometime during Friday night.
Mars gave birth to a baby girl; red hair
of course, with eyes to match the cosmic light.
Hard to see in the early hours, but there,

rising at fifty degrees to the moon.
It went unheralded by the others:
Venus was vague; and it was a bit soon
she thought, and such a fuss for new mothers

that kept things to themselves like Mars would do.
Saturn frowned, thinking war would surely come;
and Jupiter watching, said: don't argue,
keep the peace, and give praise to the red Sun.

The Sun, of course, bellowed his anger to all,
dictating his law on what may ensue:
Earth would stay neutral: but the rest may fall.
And so Mars made a pact, and then withdrew:

taking the young Boadicea to the polar caps.
Up high in the mountains the infant slept,
safe from Martian storms and time to elapse,
when rain may return and those secrets kept,

would stay unrevealed under a pink sky.
A warning to all, this Martian first birth;
a voice so distant a young baby's cry-
a new star rising: a warning to Earth.



Jarvo 2019

GLESGA


So much lost, and yet so much hanging on.
I won't look behind me, as if to care;
as if to say: don't miss me when I'm gone.
This escape, this reckless act that I dare

to do, some twenty years to the day, late.
But I'm here, watching from this window seat:
the east end as plain as the Park Head gate.
Soon to venture and closer to meet,

a city in waiting with no familiar
face to pause and say: just here for the day...
I notice the Light House, over the river:
slowly, onward, the green light's right of way,

into the dark Cathedral's platform end.
I stop and hesitate: let them all go.
Let the train empty, I am now condemned,
(as the one that bit into the black sloe,)

and face the hangman on my return home.
Too late! By the clock I await my fate.
And time moves on and I am not alone:
She stands so inviting, there at the gate...



Jarvo 2015/2019

Nice, keep up the good work

TEN YEARS LATER


Ten years later,
and the sea we crossed
still separates us from the past.

No going back,
we said...
No going back.

Today,
the snow came in from the Atlantic.
It brought

frosted flakes
of white and gold,
like the ones you wore,

long ago...



Jarvo 2019

ON THE LEE SHORE


And there,
I left you on the Lee Shore,
and walked inward to the town.

I left all that I had discovered;
turning my face from the wind,
leaving you

alone on the bridge
as our ship ran
aground.


Jarvo 2019

For S.H.

ELOISE


You came to me in a moment,
across the great divide
of fifty years passed.
No one else really mattered;
it was always you who kept the candle lit.

Today, I heard your name again:
the song in two parts.
Fifty years now,
but I still keep coming back to it...


JOURNEYMAN


I fell asleep
coming home late on the midnight train.
Funny,
but it almost happened again.

Age creeps up,
in the most unusual ways.
But the journey carries on:
the minutes, the hours, the days.


Jarvo 2019

Six more days are left to go
Before we say goodbye
To a union of dictators
Eating humble pie
Trying this and trying that
To to keep us bound in chains
To a system of corruption
With secret global aims.
But we will have none of it
We`re fighting to be free
And run our sovereign country
Let it used to be.
We face a no-deal Brexit
Which many cite as doom
But once this farce is over
We`ll see our country boom.
Two world wars we suffered
And when the job was done
Everyone was happy
Because we fought as one.
It left us skint and bankrupt
And brought us to our knees
But the people kept on smiling
Through hardship and unease.
We embraced the task together
And it didn`t take too long
To go alone and prosper
And make our country strong
To hell with Musk and Junker
We have no need of them -
We`ll soldier on regardless
And still be great again.

N J.

On Twitter?

Don't do Twitter,just Facebook

Well done........ Jarvo, another good one

AnotheA cucker is a cooker
I don`t care what they say
For I come from Wigan me
And it`s always been that way.
A buck has never been a book
For that`s a type of deer
And a cuckoo`s not a coocoo
That`s obviously clear.
When I look I never luck
For that is fortune glad
And when I fish I use a hook
Cos huck sounds just as bad.
It`s just these clever southerners
Replacing uck for oo
Trying to get one up on us
Like they always do
But they just can`t get beyond it
Oo is just two o`s
And a cruck will ner be a crook
As everybody knows
So they can carry on with it
And make an oo an uck
For I come from Wigan me
And I don`t give a cluck !

Keep up the good work, jarvo

Nice one NJ

Really nice thread, jarvo

Could not agree more NJ..well done

A Letter from the Youth of Britain

"Little Britain is severed and splintered,
A country divided in two,
Seeking answers in the slamming of doors;
We have turned our backs on you.
We weep for the union we’ve broken,
We mourn for the ties that we’ve torn,
For our break from a unity built on peace;
Into which we had been born."

by Krystina Mawer

Another one from the Youth of Britain.
Whom the majority voted to remain. Just like myself

Pencil Drawn Borders.

Robert tells me over curry
I’m sick of immigration,
stuffs Masala in his mouth and
sips his cup of tea.

There’s a poster on the wall
above the table in the kitchen,
There’s a diner, people laughing,
and a jukebox by the side.

Robert loves the ‘50s,
the dancing and the smiles-
when Britain won a war and
only 60 million died.

The carnival and music
passes by his window
he dances and he laughs,
marvels at the lights.

And when his car gets a scratch
He blames them on the corner
the shifty looking bloke,
He should go back home.

Robert tells me over curry
We’re going down the drain
and romanticises a past
that hurt more than it helped.

by Martha O’Brien

Oh no, look at Jarvos smashing thread

basil, where does it say this is only ‘jarvo’s thread’ ?
Who made you judge and jury?

Specsavers calling.

Because jarvo started it, looks like sbs got it on him, today

‘Because jarvo started it’........I thought the idea of starting threads was to get other people commenting?
basil, I’ve certainly not ‘got it on’ today, but at least do the decency of using another poster’s name properly!

Maybe Admin could remove it,as he did with the other one.

“A lot of Leave voters say ‘Stop complaining, it’s democracy!’ Well democracy doesn’t always work. If five people democratically elect to take your iPhone, it’s a mugging.” –

Dane Baptiste.

Sb, why jarvo started the thread, so it's he's thread, maybe if you posted alot like I do you might understand.

Ni

I see cowardly leccymac is trying to cause trouble again

Its a poets thread nes pas ?...so people can add poetry.....doh

But your not to post politics, its against the rules and moaning mindar will start skrykin... DOH!!!!!!

AN OLD PHOTOGRAPH OF LIVERPOOL


It made me think:
the day we traveled in your father's car,
through the streets of Old Swan,
to the Mitzi Bar.

You were sick coming back after the match.
A late penalty, twice taken,
almost broke our hearts.
Times remembered, people forsaken,

we lost contact when you went back home.
Today, I will take the train to Liverpool,
through the time tunnels of our youth.
I will look for you, like I always do,

as I pass the back streets of
a life half gone.
Looking at the old photographs,
one by one...


Jarvo 2019

WE MET AGAIN LAST NIGHT


We met again last night.
Through the hours after midnight,
when the brandy glass filled with ice.
You appeared in the doorway
and beckoned me home.
I wish, I wish,
because you were the chosen one.
A memory to touch,
but twenty years gone...


Jarvo 2019

THE BLACK FLAG


Look,
far far out to sea,
the black flag is flying,
for you
and for
me...


Jarvo 2019

THE NEWS FROM SPAIN


You are walking
behind the ghost of Laurie Lee.

Tell me,
in the years that have come between us,

where did the bond go?
And what tied us to the trees of home,

is now cut and gone.
You send me a written note from Spain,

saying you are sheltering
from the sun.

And I in turn,
turn my back and am gone.

Walking by the brook
with the evening coming on...

Walking by the brook
with the evening coming on...


Jarvo 2019


For A.S and A.J.

'Thank you...'

SUNSET POEM


So far away now,
you have gone back home.
Let the day reach its conclusion:
you are back home,
free in the sun.

Here,
the time ticks on,
as the light blue sky
turns slowly to black.

I knew all along you'd go.
And if you did,
you'd never come back...



Jarvo 2019

Excellent, keep up the good work jarvo

END GAME


The end is here.

No more,

the late night charade.

It is hard

to take in the truth,

and yet,

as I curse and comprehend,

the wicked moon rises...

playing his tricks

again...



Jarvo 2019

GRAVE NEWS


I have nothing to report,

but-

late love has broken in.

You'd laugh,

and ask me to tell you of

younger days,

when the beer flowed

and love was less complicated.

Now, you'd raise a smile

and say:

'...About time too...'

Today,

the summer breeze

blows over this sad place.

I bring you a flower

and ask for your forgiveness.

The day rolls on

to its conclusion...

There is no other news...


Jarvo 2019

THE HIGH TREES


Look,
look at the high trees,
they have hidden you from view.
But, if I pass,
you may ask,
and I will talk to you.

I still know the way,
to the little door,
and I have still kept
the key...

And for awhile,
no one would see,
how much you still mean
to me...


Jarvo 2019

SCORPIO


You never knew,

that,

after all the days lost,

it wasn't you...

Wasn't you

that came and went;

wasn't you

in those hours I spent,

that came any nearer

to the truth.

The sea of love was too wide

to cross.

My escape from the deep

was your loss...


Jarvo 2019

THE LITTLE HOUSE I DIDN'T LIVE IN


I passed it today,
the little house I didn't live in.

I imagine you,
sitting in the corner;

and the gillyflowers you picked
on the window ledge.

These are the ghosts
of what might have been,

and the days uncounted
in-between...


Jarvo 2019

Jarvo - ‘Grave News’ is very touching, great stuff.

Thank you, Steve.

V much like the HIGH TREES jarvo.

Cheers, Grim...

I read a lot of this mans poems on here.
Very enjoyable they are.
Ive never commented on them before now.


The Grave News one was a great poem.
I totally agree with Steve

Thank you.

Some great poems on here and very enjoyable to read . I agree with Grimshaw , The High Trees is excellent

It is really refreshing to read posts giving positive feedback to Jarvo's efforts.

Many people rubbish it because they don't agree with his views on other topics, so to see posters telling him that they enjoy his work must be a real fillip to him.

I agree B boy,it's got to the stage now where who can throw the most
insults out,very intelligent not..I've just been reading some threads from
way back when WW was exactly that, Wiganers..eg..people getting in
touch with mates,relations friends etc, all because of someone posting a
thread,there was hardly any back biting or insults,threatening..what has this
forum turned into,certainly not Wiganworld as it should be..have these
stupid people not the intelligence to see what they're doing..bringing Wiganers down big time..it's got to the stage where everyone is seeing who can quite the most snide remarks..and that isn't what WW should be all
about.

Thank you for all the kind words.

I have a voice, but what folk don't know is that most of these poems are purely spontaneous. I hardly work on a poem, maybe those that are written in specific meter being the exception.

My short ones are my best...in my opinion.

Thanks again again for reading them.

By the way - I didn't say that I enjoyed them

The short ones ARE the best as you get the end of them quicker.

Bring plenty of money on Saturday - I will be thirsty.........

No Corona’s on Saturday Phil. I never read them Phil. Must be something in my DNA. I have no time for poetry or Shakespeare etc. Read lots of books though.

Be good if you could do one about Ashurst Beacon jarvo.

Spent many many happy hours up there with mam and dad ,sisters and brother ,and mates during school holidays and even when i had left school .

Grimshaw , Not been to Ashurst Beacon for a number of years , but went to visit just a few weeks ago , still as beautiful as ever . Yes , any Poems by Jarvo relating to local beauty spots , would be very welcome on this , his Poets Thread

I wonder if his wife reads these soppy poems about lost loves and what could have been?

I don't think it's any of our business lectriclegs.

Don't worry Momac, he'll soon get Ron to remove that post.

Bill

Tetley Bitter man for many many many years. I do remember Corona pop and am wondering if that was what you meant - I can't pretend that I have any appetite for bottled lagers.

I am not a poetry fan either but I try to read Jarvo's to see whether the topic is one that I can see the logic behind. I must confess that 99 times out of 100 I have no idea what motivates his subject matter.

As far as book reading is concerned I am with you all the way. I must read a hundred or more every year.

Lectriclegs - his wife probably dictates them to him.

Is he not with Julie any more, then Builderboy?

Why not pose the question to Jarvo rather than me. There's a good fellow.

Was only asking because he seemed to be quite proud of himself at the time,posting all about it on here.

Strange thing is all the posts seem to have disappeared.

Ah well, I ask him like you said next time he's on.

Phil,
I was referring to the Mexican beer that you may have sampled. Hope it went well.

Bill

The hotel itself had draught XX (whatever that is).

We spent a couple of days sampling the bars of 5th Avenue in nearby Playa del Carmen and tried numerous types of beer, both draught and bottled.

When it's hot and sunny they all hit the mark albeit I am not sure that they would be as pleasant on a rainy January evening in Pemberton.

The holiday itself was fine - a kind of nothing to report fortnight really (and that is never a bad thing)

Mrs Builderboy is wanting to go cruising next time so I will be hunting around to try and fine something she fancies.

Well done Toronto Wolfpack. I suspect that they will find next year a bit different from the previous two or three.

Builderboy: Hopefully we'll be cruising down to the Queens on Saturday night.

Tie-up with Mr Melody and tell him to be in the Bat Cave at eight bells.

Jarvo, I confess to reading and liking your poetry.
It is usually personal, about people, places, and events from your life.

You use mainly blank verse, but poetry can use any form, be it rhyming verse, blank verse or even iambic pentameter like Shakespeare did.

I hope you continue to post them, but more importantly, have you thought of getting them published?

Ray - don't encourage him!

"Ray - don't encourage him!"

LOL, SORRY BB!!!!!!!!

COUNTRY BOY


And I am just a country boy
money have I none,
but I've got silver in the stars
and gold in the morning sun,
gold in the morning sun...

Barer/Hellerman


...And I too was a country boy,
going to Ashurst Beacon.
With a rolled-up tent to shelter in,
and a sleeping bag to lie on
a sleeping bag to lie on...

We went at dawn with the sun at our backs
going to Ashurst Beacon.
With a tin of mandarin oranges,
and a spanish to chew on
a spanish to chew on...

We heard a cockerel and saw an owl,
going to Ashurst Beacon.
And caught a glimpse of the Irish Sea,
on the long flat plain beyond
on the long flat plain beyond...

We touched the hand of God that morn,
going to Ashurst Beacon.
And he showed us heaven was here on earth,
and not for those long gone,
and not for those long gone...

The years have passed since we went that day,
going to Ashurst Beacon.
But our faith's still strong and has never died ,
in the wise men that we've become.
in the wise men that we've become...

And so I am still a country boy,
when I go back to Ashurst Beacon.
And I have something I cherish to this day,
a memory that will live on,
a memory that will live on...


Jarvo 2019

For Grimmy...

And thank you, Ray.

Ronnie...

Eat your hearts out, non-believers...

Terrific jarvo.Very well done .

Many thanks .

The late and very great Ronnie Lane..thanks for the link Jarvo,the poems not bad either lol

Joemaplin:

Joe & Jarvo.

You'll know this one then
I didn't write it. But you two should know

I've had my friends
All them that come and ate with me
All them that come and drunk with me
I've had my friends
And there's been loads
All them that said they would stand by me
All them that said they could see what I could see
I've had my friends
I've had my dreams
New moon and roses, like a foolish kid (crazy kid)
Do unto others like I would to me
But I've had my dreams
And it's one for the road, yes it is
One for the cat's eyes, yes and
One for the white line
That's taking me back home
Well now, I've had my way
All them that took me there and back
All them that left me way off the track
I've had my way
Oh and I've had my day
Just like that doggy in the story goes
But night-time comes and he's got no bones
But I've had my day
And it's one for the road... (etc.)
I love my woman
Takes her gardenia, now she stares away
Stares out the window with her eyes of grey
I love my woman
And it's one for the road... (etc.)

Nice one sb

One Thousand Men Are Walking

One thousand men are walking
Walking side by side
Singing songs from home
The spirit as their guide
they walk toward the light milord
they walk towards the sun
they smoke and laugh and smile together
no foes to outrun
these men live on forever
in the hearts of those they saved
a nation truly grateful
for the path of peace they paved
they march as friends and comrades
but they do not march for war
step closer to salvation
a tranquil steady corps
the meadows lit with golden beams
a beacon for the brave
the emerald grass untrampled
a reward for what they gave
they dream of those they left behind
and know they dream of them
forever in those poppy fields
there walks one thousand men
This poem has just appeared on my Facebook page & was written by a 14 year old for Remembrance Day

This poem is about my lovely late Brother who I miss every single day.

I thought I heard his voice today
Whistling through the trees
And was that his sweet gentle voice
That was on the Summer breeze
The warm winds that surround me
Could that be his embrace
If I look long enough
Will I see his lovely face
My tears are in the rain that falls
My dreams are on the wing
When I hear the lovely blackbird call
I can almost hear him sing

For Michael.

Very touching momac,my brother's been very ill for a year but hopefully got over the worst,take care x

Thank you NJ..I will say a little prayer for your Brother.

Terrific stuff .

Really like them .

Nomacs one hits home .

I lost my younger bro to the dreaded C.
Miss him like hell .He loved a game of snooker and always gave me at least 4 blacks start given he was a decent player .
R I P LES.

LATE


I am late,
of late.
Not wanting
to meet the deadline,
I hesitate,
and sit back in my chair.
There,
I rest in the morning black,
before the boiler comes back,
on...
The rain rattles the kitchen window,
and the autumn tea lights flicker.
I am still here,
as the old leaves fall-
four years longer than my father;
four years further on.
What could I tell him?
Or would I rather
imagine that it wasn't to be,
after all.
And my dear mother?
Her legacy lives on,
in my warm-milk breakfast bowl
of honey and oats,
and her Saturday gift
of a ten shilling note,
now a shiny ten pounds on the window ledge.
The children have gone:
their returns,
are more seldom than oft.
What can I reveal? The inner truth?
The inner turmoil of a life nearly spent?
What can I possibly tell them?
They go about their business
with traditions handed down,
that they are happy to keep
and to celebrate as their own,
coming back less frequently
and then only by phone.

I am late.
And now life comes to me
in unanswered messages
that are lost in their transit.
Words of want,
and dreams of desire;
visions of love
never to aspire,
to the road chosen and traveled upon.
So who is watching over me?
I wonder,
as the train tickets tumble
from the red machine,
and the girl on the platform
tells me stand back behind the yellow line.

I am fine.
But I am late,
of late,
and now to old age,
that embraces me
and catches my eye:
the reflection that I never wanted-
refusing to raise a smile.
And yet my train pushes on,
mile after mile;
taking me to where I want to go:
the hills of home are replaced
by the low
lands, and the derelict
foundries from another time.
Over old bridges still intact;
and the whole sweep
of middle England to view,
returning to the childhood memories
and the places I knew.
But surely the fingers will slow
and come to a stop.
And the clock will tick no more.
Then, I will reach my destination
in the realisation
that
I cannot be late
anymore...



Jarvo 2019

Good God John. What have you been sniffing??

I carried on until late last Saturday - I got into a round with Eric and Ros.

Thank the Lord I got an extra hour to sleep it off on Sunday morning.

I must confess I don't understand poetry unless someone explains the meaning of the poem to me. I think the point or subject is lost though if it needs explaining.

That's why I never comment.

I don't but jarvo is a decent poster and a good contributer to Wigans no1 site

Terrific jarvo .

POPPY DAY



I remember...

you were late
that morning,

fussing as usual
with the kids,

leaving your poppy
till last-

and then
stealing mine.

This year
there will be

no such
theft:

just an empty
place on the pew;

and,

at the going
down of the sun,

I will
remember

you.


Jarvo 2009

Builder boy I’m still recovering from our last meeting you put me with jarvo on one side and Billy Melling on the other, I didn’t know what to do listen to the poetry or recover the circulation in my arm from shake hands.
See you soon

I don't recall sorting out seating arrangements last time we met wizzer. But, since you seem to have had such an enlightening time, I am sure that something similar could be arranged...........

wizzerwin, shake hands

i was talking to him last week, still daft as a brush.

THE LAST DAY OF NOVEMBER


It's the last day of November:
it will go unnoticed
as the lights are lit.
And no one in particular
will know the significance of it.

Only a memory from an old Mill House
and a lavender stick,
and the sun in the window
bring me back to it.

Driving home,
with the afternoon behind us,
we listen to Famous Blue Raincoat;
somewhere, in a poetry book, lies a broken heart,
and a goodbye note...


Jarvo 2019

THE LETTER


Here,
she said...
Here is my testimony.

Theses are my final
words.
Take them

and let the years spin away.
They are written in my language.
That's all I have to say...


Jarvo 2019

I strode
we met
Delighted am sure.
What a delighrful night
We shall meet again.

TRUCE

Christmas Eve, 1914


They came on,
the young boys with their tins of black chocolate,
over the frosted front line.
We held our breath,
to keep them at bay...
'Steady, boys, let them come on...'
A bright moon shone;
as the darkness slipped away.
Not a word more was said,
and down the line the silence spread.
And then,
a voice,
was heard again:
Who goes there?
As,
men came to face men,
like no other time before,
or would ever be,
again.
We held our nerve.
But they held the ace cards:
the chocolate and the black cigarettes;
and the photographs
of sweethearts
with sweet regrets.
'Look, said a boy from our ranks,
'They're all coming on...'
And as sure as the midnight moon
they kept coming...
in ones and twos,
across the barbed night frost-
and it looked like all the world
had joined up as one...
as peace held out its hand.
And all was not
lost...


Jarvo 2019

All Write Up North 2020 Short Story Competition
500 - 1000 words, with the theme of all things up north, closing date: midnight, 20th Jan 2020

Link: www.wigan.gov.uk/Resident/Libraries/All-Write-Up-North.aspx

Edit: The winning story “The Woman Behind the Bar” was by Ian McLoughlin (IanMcl of WW)

WENCESLAS


Call me Wenceslas.
I was the one,
who got you out of jail.

I came to you
when others fled-
when others left you in the cold.

I brought with me your winter fuel.
From the darkness
to warm your bones.

Not tonight
will you brave the previt,
or sleep under the deciduous hedge.

It is warmer here,
by the winter trees,
and the crackle of burning oaks.

So let me stay awhile,
by the roaring fire,
until it's time for me to walk.

Heading home by a map of the stars,
counting up the constellations;
spelling out your name in the dark...



Jarvo 2019

Courtesy of the bard of Ince Kevin Holcroft,a proper poem!

It was on the never never
And it didn`t last so long
It came encased in leather
Complete with a lace and tongue.
Twas like a crumpled tortoise
But with a softer shell
All stitched up in hexagons
With a most delightful smell -
Inflated with a bike pump
And a fitting called a friend -
It took it`s time in coming
But I got it in the end.
It was a casey football
For Christmas - with a kit
Of Wolverhampton Wanderers
And it was a perfect fit,
With socks and boots with screw-on studs
In shiny black and gold -
My favourite fist division team
From the days of old
And I ran out in the falling snow
On Christmas morn to play
As if I was on Grandstand
Or Match of the Day
Filled with great excitement
As living in a dream
Like the skipper Derek Duggan
Leading out his team.
It was on the never never
And it took some time to pay
But it took me up to heaven
In the snow that Christmas day
And though it didn`t last so long -
Like the joys of being a kid -
The ball and outfit faded
But the memory never did.

...Derek 'Duggan' (Dougan) was NEVER skipper of Wolves...

Poetic licence....

builderboy,

Correct

PARADISE LOST


They have gone.
All the buses as the last whistle blew.
All the roads leading us safely home.
We wondered then, but never knew,
what was to come as the years went.
Their passing mourned now gone to waste,
in idleness and minutes spent;
or decisions made in reckless haste.
Those loves that came to us too soon
and those longings for the brighter day,
are reflected back by the summer moon
but strangely mute with nothing to say.
Gone are the days on fields of grass,
so green and lush on that sunlit plain;
and times we knew could never last
those faces never to see again.

It is lost, this paradise we touched upon;
so brief in the bravest April night.
And Aquarius carries those lovers home
under silent showers and misty light.
Show me then your badge of faith,
the one you carried carefree and brave;
alas lost now in time and space
through careless hands unable to save.
Time passes - impostors have broken in.
Loved ones are gone to ash and dust.
Time to brace for the storm to begin:
and to mourn for our paradise lost...


Jarvo 2020

SNOW JOKE


We were marooned, in that tiny room,
and as the snow intensified,
the cold came between us
and turned us into
ice.

And now,
how I long for those days.
Sitting here,
in this sun-drenched chateau,
thawed of all emotion...

wishing it would snow.


Jarvo 2020

MRS ROBINSON


You were never Mrs Robinson-
too young for that-
and blonde anyway.

But...

I heard the song again today:

Summer Sunday afternoons,
out on the cropped grass.
There were no trees then,
and the sun shone as summer passed.
You were my Liza Goddard:
as fresh as the yellow primrose,
sitting on the factory wall
under a deep blue sky.

But time went unnoticed,
and autumn took you
as I knew it would.
Then the skies turned grey
and the factory shut for good.

But,

you were never Mrs Robinson,
but to me maybe you
were:

Sitting, fifty-two years later,
across this crowded room-
with flowers in your hair...


Jarvo 2020

THE HOUR IS GETTING LATE


Outside, the rain is relentless,
but let the storm pass.

I know,
that somewhere
you are sheltering,

so tonight I will not
ask.

This shelter we have
is merely miles apart,

but it surely delays our
fate.

Outside, the storm waits for no one,
and the hour is getting
late.


Jarvo 2020

DEAR JOHN


Dear John,

don't be sad.

You never had

me.

Never walked

hand in hand.

Never too close to

understand.

Never swept me off my

feet.

And never ever

did we

meet.

Never to share

a moonlit night.

Or catch the lark

at dawn...

or lie with me till dusk

on the freshly cut

lawn.

So,

Dear John,

please understand

and do take care...

Your love for me

was a castle in the

air...



Jarvo 2020

BLACK


I wore black that day.
And,
it's been my favourite colour
ever since...

Black,
to remind me of how
I escaped from the
darkness...

And,
how good it felt
when the morning finally
came.


Jarvo 2020

SNOW IN MADEIRA


So much time has elapsed,
and now the fields are waterlogged.
I picture you
sitting on the quay,
elegantly smoking your french cigarette,
looking far out to sea.

Here,
the rain washes away
all that was before, and all is gone.
But your name is still on the boards,
there for all to see,
highlighted in orange for the trees of home.

I sometimes think of the distance between us:
the raging blue Atlantic
stretching beyond the harbour lights;
the days and weeks
of winter into spring,
and the endless nights.

Someone mentioned you today,
and asked how you were,
where you were living,
I told them you'd gone,
back to the bench on the quayside,
looking far out to sea
across the great beyond.

I lied,
of course,
wishing that maybe it was true...
but knowing that the five miles of reality
are but over the black hill,
separating me and you.

Such folly.
We keep the past participles:
all is ended,
all ties are broken.
And still they ask about you
as if nothing has changed:
and I tell them, the truth unspoken,
my lies,
my myths and my fiction:

You are sitting on the quay,
smoking your French cigarette-
wrapped in your warm winter coat-
looking far out to sea...

And there is snow in Madeira...


Jarvo 2020

VENUS HAS RETURNED


Venus has returned.

Yes, to where she first left

that house,

in the year that death

closed its front door,

and to all that went before.

You will remember her:

walking up the lane,

eyes fixed as she passed.

You may remember that you hardly spoke

a word to her

and never asked,

how it felt to be Venus

in her blue jeans

and pretty shoes;

or,

how special it was to shine

like a crescent moon,

and to smile at you

from a crowded room.

She has passed number 82

and gone to live where her garden

looks on to the old fields.

It is here where she stands at midnight

looking back again,

and shining like a torch,

listening to the songs

that you should have shared.

Shall I ask her?

Shall I dare to be the go-between?

If I don't,

what will you do?

What will not unfold?

Tell me,

the Venus you barely knew in those lost years,

will she still be the same?

For once, I know

that she spoke kindly of you,

and smiled when I mentioned

your name.



Jarvo 2020

IN THE GARDEN AT GETHSEMANE


You can still go there,
by the light of a Middle Eastern moon.
You can rest under the olive trees,
drink your bottled water
and needn't worry about washing your hands.

It is free-
to go as you please,
free from the media and the internet.

And there are no plans
to begin your self isolation there...

No never...
Not yet.


Jarvo 2020

THE RED LIGHT


Someone
has switched
the red light
off.

The danger,
I thought would be there forever,
has passed.

Now,
the trains,
the cities,
and the lovers lost,

are waiting on the bridges
I never crossed.


Jarvo 2020

ISOLATION


No,

you cannot go out

said

the man in the suit.

You

must stay at

home

and live off

fruit.

So,

I did what I was

told,

and,

low and behold,

during

the duration,

I lost

twenty-seven pounds

in

isolation.


Jarvo 2020

Topical.

HER PAPER BOAT


Ten years have gone,
since your paper boat
set sail
I remember, you pushed it,
carefully,
your fingers gently letting go.
It sailed downstream,
and under the weeping
willow.
With it
went a memory,
of a day
not unlike this.
On that day, down by the river,
my boat foundered,
on a river stone,
and ran aground in the
mud.
But yours sailed on-
leaving mine
for good.
In the clear water it sped,
onward,
to the sea...
Leaving all
that was finished,
between you and me.
Everything you'd brought
you'd packed
on your paper boat;
watertight with candle wax,
its precious cargo
intact.
Today, this harbour is empty,
and the tide is low.
But, out at sea,
a tiny vessel
braves the waves
still afloat.
And you
are long
gone,
taking all we had with you,
in search of your
paper boat...


Jarvo 2020

These are more like statements rather than poetry...

I worked with man that could write what he called Odds to ----- anything that append that day is name was Alan Thorpe a good friend, these two are from about 40 years ago
(A night out with our Dougie)----(Phone call for Dougie)

Definition of Free Verse:

Free verse is a literary device that can be defined as poetry that is free from limitations of regular meter or rhythm, and does not rhyme with fixed forms. Such poems are without rhythm and rhyme schemes, do not follow regular rhyme scheme rules, yet still provide artistic expression.

He would write them free hand why working on any scrap paper at hand a few lines a time, it was one of them good friend love/hate relationships had they not typed it out in the office after showing it them, this would be with the others still on scraps of paper, they are still knocking about after 40+ years this just turned up unexpectedly---(there's a full story to them both)

I do not like rhyming schemes like the one above; it is so easy to write, and I find it achingly dull.

That said, each to his own.

If you study Her Paper Boat, there are many things in there that are poetic. You've got to know what you are looking for.

Thanks for reading.

O.K. Suckholin again LG Found it, each to there own

I always look to see what you have uploaded

POLLY'S SONG


Polly,
look up to the sky.

You will find me there
in-between Venus and the
crisp crescent
moon.

The darkening of the day
can bring back memory-
alas - brief and bright,
but gone too
soon.

For now guilt has come between us,
and,
as telling the truth
plays its painful part,
denial will surely deaden the
heart.

I am gone now,
so go to your piano.
Play me your song-
but play only
the black notes.

In the days that
are left,
I will hear it everywhere I go.

At every corner,
I may stop,
and see a face I knew,
long ago.

But the song will play on,
a timeless testimony
to a love denied by
obligation;

its sad refrain
lingering from season to
season.

And,
when history
recalls the years of
regret,

look again to the sky
and take comfort
at sunset.



Jarvo 2020

x

Jarvo--- Hope you don't mined me using your poem, as my brother passed away this week, I printed a really good photo of him sat relaxed on the bowling green and printed it this way so it fit on the back. (is it O.K.to give to family members) YES or NO will do

Yes.

THE VIXEN AND THE VIRUS MOON


She'll be there,
a blink away from the dark.
Follow her,
if you can,
away from the little park.
Take care down by the tracks,
where life is taken
in the passing of an hour.
Take your torch
and slyly watch which way she goes-
across the down fast,
or on to the up slow.
This virus moon is bright tonight,
which may help her on her way.
But take heed at the junction's cross,
or you'll let her get
away!


Jarvo 2020

Nice one Jarvo..Ralph was a lovely man

JOHN PRINE


I got there late
as they turned the house lights bright.
Someone said,
Too late, he's gone, out of sight.

But he left you this song,
about Sam Stone,
saying you'd understand
when you got home.

And so I did,
holding back the tears,
having missed this voice,
over all these years.

And listening now,
I just had to know,
why I'd never heard
his music before.

This man of words
and voice of gold,
that I'd saved for the day
when I got old.

And so I hear his voice
for the first time tonight,
and the years fall away
and the world's alright...


Jarvo 2020

For John Prine.

R.I.P.

Another good-un Jarvo, I would like to thank you for the use of your Poem I printed it in a small card folder that I made for each family member as a keep sake,

Dougie: You're welcome.

LONGEST DAY


If ever there was,
a day as long as this,
then show me your history books.

Show me where it began,
and show me where
it ends.

And then tell me, if you must,
that you want to stay
friends...


Jarvo 2020

CAMBUSLANG


Coasting through Cambuslang,
I text to say I'm on the east side of town.

The train slows on the severe curve;
and I pull the carriage window down.

Into the suburbs of Glasgow the doubts remain.
Will I ever see home again?

Will I ever walk those familiar streets,
or feel those pangs for home-

As I go further into the complex web
with all loyalties gone?

And yet, as the morning fades to certain midday,
I hear other calls that want me to stay.

Other voices that spur me on:
To the new and unknown I carry on.

To begin a life on a far outpost,
By the sea and sand of a rugged coast?

Too late - this particular train will not stop here.
And Central Station will surely appear.

Leaving doubt to die and fate to hang.
As I look back leaving Cambuslang...


Jarvo 2020

JOHNNY WINTER


He didn't steal your heart away.
Instead, he planted
the seeds of love in your garden.

In June,
his night scented stock
will breeze by your
open door:

he will come back to you then...
and be Winter no more.


Jarvo 2012

You're not in the same league as
J.C.C.!

THIS BE THE CURSE


It f---s you up does love.
It doesn't mean to,
but it does.

Those thoughts and feelings
become tired and old hat,
over night.

Misery is never that far
from your back door;
it deepens

like a river after rain.
And the pain returns
like an old friend

penniless.

Sleep now,
and let this day pass:
the birds will stay

roosting in bare trees;
and the rain will turn
and fall as snow...

becoming black ice.


Jarvo 2012


For Philip Larkin

POEMS FROM THE WOOD:

MALC


Wish you were here...
On the rope you'd cling,
and yet, unseen,
this tree still sheds its
tears of green.

You flew from the highest branch -
fearless and free,
and yet,
a short life of darkness
ended suddenly.

Your ghost appears now,
clinging on at the dusk of day,
the ironic sadness,
the rope you cling to,
took your life away.


NIGHT IN THE WOOD


The sound of laughter
around the campfire bright,
that night
in the summer wood.
Echoing down the lost years,
a night song
we all
understood.


NIGHT FOX


Night fox
his head forever
on the block.
Love him dearly
love him not.
Let him run free
deep in the night.
And then let him see
the morning light.


Jarvo 2020

For Malc x

THREE WISHES


And then he came to his last wish.
He thought of the first girl he'd loved,
long ago.

I wish, he said,
she could come back to me,
my first love, the girl I knew and loved
before.

The Genie,
looking down,
replied slowly in a state of
repose:

The other two,
your first and second wishes,
I cannot grant you those...

And so,
in the general scheme of things,
he was right, I suppose.

But the Genie could not fulfill it.
and felt some remorse.

So the third wish was granted,
and she appeared in due course.

And the two lovers were reunited
and were lonely no more

And as they walked into their cottage,
she asked what the other two were,

looking straight into his eyes
at the foot of the stair.

Those wishes were improbable
and don't fear that you've been misled...

I had to test his powers,
he quietly said.

And the other two? she answered,
with a slight hint of defeat.

He looked at her with affection,
and then gazed down the street...

They were for my mother and my father,
he turned to her and said...

But the Genie could not do it-
he could not bring back the dead...



Jarvo 2020 x

THE MAN IN THE MOON, AND OTHER LOVE SONGS


Long ago,
the man in the Moon loved a woman.
And they walked together over the
dusty plains.

When it rained,
(which it did then)
they sheltered in a lunar cave.
That was their happy home.

Time passed:
and the man grew restless.
Then, one dark day, looking up in the east,
he spotted Venus.

A year later,
he'd gone:
leaving the woman in the Moon
to her own devices.

Soon, the woman in the Moon,
danced to other love songs:
American soul records left
by her new Astronaut friends.

Now,
she rocks away her days,
to songs about love
and lost dreams.

While the man, she once loved,
sleeps on another planet,
with his Venus
in blue jeans...



Jarvo 2012/2020

PHOTOGRAPH


You are sitting on the right,

lemon blouse to match your hair.

Ten years on,

and yet

it could be yesterday,

or even

forty two years further back.

America embraces you-

in all its sunshine and sham-

and you are at ease in your

easy chair.

Tell me,

did you really remember?

Or was it just for me that you made an

exception?

I believe you;

no matter what becomes of us

at the turn of the year.

I thank you for your patience.

And I am waiting

here.


Jarvo 2020

HYDRA


He wrote Sisters of Mercy here,

playing barre chords,

smoking Gauloises,

and fasting for a week.

I miss him,

his gentleness,

and his wise thoughts concerning

love, hate and the meek.

He said once,

and I quote:

one day all lovers will find

a way back

and be beside the

ones they chose first.

I wonder if he was referring to me?

sitting here,

by the little road,

holding your hand in the hot sunshine of

Hydra.



Jarvo 2020

For L.C.

THE BROWNIE TREE


Under the Brownie tree,
you are sitting with the girls...
Leave the light on, you said-


when your little day has come to an end,
and you come home to your bed.
Walking home at dusk-

a little ghost now,
half seen, never forgotten,
kicking pebbles in the dust...


Jarvo 2020

Notes on The Brownie Tree:

The Brownie Tree is a poem about loss. The narrator sees his late daughter again under the Brownie Tree. This is the tree where the local Brownie Troop gather at midsummer to sing songs and tell stories.

Her last words to him are 'Leave the light on...' This is when she returns at dusk to go to bed. She did not return.

The narrator (father) returns years later to search for the Brownie Tree. He sees her again, under the tree, with the others...He watches her and her last words to him are repeated in his head...'Leave the light on...'

The poem ends when he sees her ghost, at dusk, following the path home kicking the pebbles, like she used to do, in the dust.

Crikey Jarvo you are a bundle of laughs first thing in a morning, aren't you.

AT DAWLISH


A five hour trek
to the edge of the sea.
You come,
hidden with me,
and to keep away those eyes
that cannot see.
That cannot stop
the rot
we cast away.
All night and all day
this train sped south,
away from all that is now not ours.
And we watch the sea breaking forth
these passing hours
have bled us dry.
As we cross the line
that leads to a new day
under a dawn Dawlish
sky.


Jarvo 2020

From 'The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn'

THE PIPER AT THE GATES OF DAWN

Dawn


Oh great God Pan
play your pipes on the island
across the stream.
Play as the clean
water flows over the stones;
deep in the soil the bones
of the dead souls lie.
And as the dawn cracks the sky
walk the hallowed ground again
with the warm sun rising
misting away the rain...


Jarvo 2020

HIS HEART


She wanted only this:
his heart to hold
and to carry till the day
she died.

At her deathbed,
he caresses her cold hand.
His heart,
that he cannot place inside her,

is deep in his chest.
His steady tears blind him
as the nurse closes her eyes

His heart that she needed
beats a hundred goodbyes...


Jarvo 2020 x

MISUNDERSTANDING


How cruel,
this English language institution,
with all its vagueries and traps.
We tred warily
for fear of humiliation;
for fear of stumbling
as the audience gasps.
The love letters are rushed,
but not by the old hand that beckons,
or caresses to touch,
but by the mechanical keys
that catch the weary fingertip's crunch.
We slip,
and count the cost of such folly-
hoping for salvation in our hour of need.
But then the verdict comes,
so swift its reply
but with no judge to read....
And yet,
the image shown, is still
of the black cap...

...You are guilty of treason-
and the sentence for such is this:
Ten years more of solitude,
for the grammitical errors
you missed...


Jarvo 2020

PAN


Two pronged horn,
the Goat God watches night.

At dawn,
he will reel you in.

Across the ice cold brook,
he will look,

his reflection
in the water's shade.

His music will play,
on this his holy ground.

So be alert to guard,
all possessions you have found.

And the love that you cherish,
your sweetheart he will woo,

by stealth and by trickery,
decieving you.

But under these illusions,
harbour similar false pretence,

he will strike as the sun scorches
leaving nothing to expense.

So bow as though in admiration,
and slyly let him think...

You care not for his kingdom,
his deciet and his bluff...

Hold tighter to your sweetheart,
it will surely be enough...


Jarvo 2020

From 'The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn'



Special thanks to Kenneth Grahame

ESCAPE


Escape-
it takes you to places where you want go to-
and away from peope you'd rather not know...


Jarvo 2020

SHE IS SITTING BY THE OPEN WINDOW


No other moment, as perfect as this.
Solitude comes now,
on this late Sunday afternoon.
My journey here,
by woodland paths and endless summer dawns;
by sunsets and night birds gathered.
Your journey,
by the long road-
of hope, but tarnished by deceit;
that imposter that weighed you down.
This was to be:
our courses separated by two stormy seas.
This gift of you,
sent by the powers that have long
eyed us from afar.
You have come to me
late-
not by fate, or chance,
but brought together by our star-
long shining over that western sea.
A crescent light,
she shines for all who are weary
a beacon guiding us home.

Home now:
by the fading light,
your scent on the cushions,
your fingers, delicate,
sewing your rose-petal pillow...

...sitting by the open window.


Jarvo 2020

NIGHT LEAVING


He would leave,
by the back door,
and out into the winter street.

His reluctance weighed him down,
almost to stop-
and go back again.

But the night got the better of him-
leaving all its guilt,
to shower him like rain...


Jarvo 2020

30,000 + dead and you are posting this bilge. I'll go to the top of our stairs. What an hypocrite. Word on the street is you are aging rapidly. True or false?

You ok, Bill?

Don't normally hear you post cheap stuff like this.

Not on here, lad...you can do better than this.

Reaction to your appalling post to Anne yesterday. No need for it.

Appalling?

Just putting things into perspective don't you think?

Folk are under tremendous pressure in the work place, hospitals, and generally.

A jetwash pales into insignificance when folk are queuing for food wearing masks.

My poems are read by many people on here - and are enjoyed by many. To call me an hypocrite, is spectacularly unfair.

You do not know Anne's circumstances.
At the moment people are having to do whatever they can to stay mentally well especially if they are stuck at home 24/7.
If that means jet washing helps then so be it, just like your poetry helps you.

One of the longest threads, and a nice one, RUINED!!!!!!

Jarvo,
Could you tell us that poem about the Village Idiot please. Seems very appropriate.

And what we are looking are here ladies and gentlemen is yet another case of........not what has been said, rather who said it

Please, don't spoil this thread.

Thank you.

I thought the Ashurst Beacon one was rather good .

Just saying .

Grimmy: Thanks...

Jarvo,
I, for one,have no intention of spoiling the thread and I am sure you will return the compliment on all the RUGBY LEAGUE threads moving forward. Don’t take it personal but I have no appreciation whatsoever for poets and playwrights etc. Would sooner spend an hour in Walshy’s company than read a poem.

Well you and the "newbie" spoiled it.

The Village Idiot he was there,
He wasn’t up too much.

Let the Bard complete it.

It is clearly apparent Bill, that you CANNOT read or appreciate poets and playwrights.

But please keep your comments off this thread. If you must insult my intelligence, then open up a thread of your own to do so.

This thread is for poetry and nothing else.

I have no other comment to make on this matter.

When did you become admin saying what threads are for? Very few threads stick to subject. I look forward to Jarvo free RUGBY LEAGUE threads. Off to bed. Work tomorrow.

Well said jarvo, 👍👍👍

Perpetuation.

Just ignore them, jarvo.

Jarvo.

Whats your take on EDEN ROCK by Charles Causley.?

Excellent.

THE LOOKING GLASS


Take a last look, said a voice,
before the glass cracks
and breaks into sixty five pieces.

He looked:

I see Robert Lewis and Michael Bailey;
Mr Brown is sharpening the red pencils.
I see David Harris and poor Mr Causey.

Look closely, said the voice:

I see Isobel tidying her desk, and Elaine
is giving her a fresh white feather.
Margaret Connelly has lost her glasses-
and Dorothy and Francis
are writing me a letter.

And what do you see in that lonely room?

I see the shadows from the fire:
they are dancing like the devil on the
flowered wallpaper.
I see the flames:
snapping and spitting through the long night,
later.

And who is smiling at you under the lampost?

It is my first love;
her name I shall not disclose
She is calling out my name...
And she is offering me a red rose.

Look again through the looking glass.

My brother is playing his guitar:
it is that song about the riverbank
with the sweet refrain.
He is well - and there is no more
pain.

And now, who is behind you?

I cannot see. I will not look behind me.
Those in the looking glass are not what they seem.
They are ghosts that can only appear
in my dream.

Look again...

She is here...returned!
In all her beauty and charm,
my first love come back from the dead...

The voice reassured him:

She is alive, and always has been...

It said.




Jarvo 2020

Thank you, Grimmy, that poem, which I never read before, inspired me.

So I wrote the Looking Glass in fifty minutes.

Thank you.

My pleasure jarvo.

Terrific stuff re THE LOOKING GLASS.I enjoyed reading it .

Glad you enjoyed EDEN ROCK.

Thank you, Grimmy. You comments are most welcome.

I must read more of Charles Causley.

Your welcome jarvo .

Tell truth i wasnt aware of him until a friend alerted me.

Keep up your obvious enjoyment of writing your stuff and sod the critics .

Thank you so much.

People of Wigan & beyond!
The Old Courts want your poems, creative writing and pictures for a book.

The submission portal is now open at: ww.theoldcourts.com (Submit by 31st May)

The book will be available to buy from Amazon.
All proceeds will be used to support the work they do.

Jo anne:

Please continue to post your poems Jarvo.
I confess to not always understanding them, they are certainly enigmatic and personal, , but they are ‘wordy’ and meaningful.