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2.41am
15 May 2015
Offline
Nice, WeepingAtlasCedars!
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WeepingAtlasCedarsA ginger sling with a pineapple heart,
a coffee dessert, yes you know it's good news...
6.00am
11 September 2018
Offline I love poetry. Sometimes I write it too.
Dorothy
She wears ruby-red slippers
stolen from the fresh corpse of a pensioner,
clicks her heels with demands
and dares anyone to question her.
The villagers can do nothing but watch
the act in silence, gagged by the fear
of further violence.
Mothers hide their children
behind apron strings as lovers search in vain
for each other. Eyes glisten with terror,
and panic rises like the howl of a wolf
as a Nokia rings to cut through the horror.
The owner will not survive tomorrow.
Days later, ramblers
stumble across a murder of scarecrows.
Alarms are raised. Helicopters buzz like honeybees
overhead as sniffer dogs search the hedgerows
for clues. Somewhere over the rainbow
fields, a killer skulks through woodland,
hiding from the police and her conscience.
She finds a cabin and makes a sculpture of its contents.
She is foolish. Heartless. A craven bastard.
Social media is a pit of gossip and rumours.
Names are suggested and cursed
like cancerous tumours. Landlords are arrested
and put on trial by tabloids
as witnesses are pumped with drugs.
Meanwhile Dorothy lights a cigarette
and strokes her terrier,
fast asleep on the lion-skin rug.
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Beatlebug, SgtPeppersBulldog, TangerineTrees11.17am
11 September 2018
Offline Dear John
When new generations study your life;
your art-college bride, your Japanese wife,
your mother, Aunt Mimi, Julian, Sean,
your existence from the day you were born.
The sadness behind your teenage trauma,
the madness, the mayhem, the endless drama;
the true meaning behind Instant Karma .
There are men who say they witnessed it all,
from your schoolboy pranks at Quarry Bank School,
the rise of the legend after the fall,
that first meeting between you and Paul,
starting a dream in St. Peter’s Church Hall.
They’re sure their grandparents lived next to you
at Mendips, at Kenwood, at Tittenhurst too.
There are family and friends, you’ve never seen
who’ll claim to have lived through all of your dreams.
who have memories of the mania
at Candlestick Park and Shea Stadium.
Who saw you on the Ed Sullivan Show,
up on the rooftop of 3 Saville Row,
live in Hamburg and the Hollywood Bowl.
Stood by your bed at the Hilton Hotel,
and witnessed you weave your wonderful spell
They know every word: verse, bridge and chorus
from Jealous Guy to I Am The Walrus ;
swear you fathered their sons and their daughters.
You were their favourite – witty and gorgeous.
They sat on the bus, the day you met George,
bought you a guitar and taught you some chords.
Watched you beneath the sweat of the Cavern,
sat on the floor as you wrote Imagine ;
introduced you to Stuart and Yoko,
and captured the love in every photo.
There are women you may not remember,
who held your hand one night in December,
who heard every shot, scream, shout and whisper
as you died in the weeks before Christmas.
These are the people who’ll chatter to hacks,
repeating their lies as though they were facts;
poison your name like a malignant tumour,
spreading their muck through gossip and rumour,
But time will come soon when you can reveal
all of the secrets behind Strawberry Fields,
Give Peace A Chance and Watching The Wheels .
And when that time comes, we’ll listen to you;
John, you can tell us the things that are true.
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Ahhh Girl, SgtPeppersBulldog, Beatlebug, TangerineTrees8.23am
11 September 2018
Offline 
It saddens me that this thread doesn’t get more input. There must be some of us who are willing to share their thoughts an creativity.
I will try and kick us off (again) with something I wrote the other day.
HOW TO WRITE A POEM (written 14.09.2020)
This is where you start. Where you pick up your pen,
or place your fingers on the keyboard,
and turn your thoughts into letters,
into words, into poetry.
Be direct. Grab the reader’s attention
like a hand around their neck.
Don’t worry too much about structure,
just put your thoughts down on paper.
You can come back to this later.
It’s important not to lose focus
as you come towards the middle verses.
Concentrate on the rhythm,
not the rhyme. Though you’ll be forgiven
for thinking the latter is more important.
It isn’t. At least not this time.
Now you’re on the final stretch;
the last few hurdles to jump, to soar.
End your poem with something original, something raw;
or something beautiful, something pure.
But always end it with something
that leaves your reader wanting more.
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kelicopter, Beatlebug, WeepingAtlasCedars, SgtPeppersBulldog, QuarryMan2.13pm
Moderators
15 February 2015
Offline
Ooh yes, I approve this thread revival; I’ve been enjoying a good bit of poetry lately because I’m taking British Lit. I particularly love reading and writing sonnets – something about the structure I find a delightful challenge. I wrote this recently:
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7.52am
11 September 2018
Offline Oh no @Beatlebug you seemed to have accidentally time-travelled back to the 16th Century. You’ve clearly got a good understanding of the form and structure and would’ve love to see you produce something more modern.
Top work though. 
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Beatlebug3.01pm
Moderators
15 February 2015
Offline Modernity is overrated, I am happy to inhabit the 16th century 
I did write this a couple years (??!?!?!?!!!!!) ago, a considerably less structured form. Seems thematically appropriate here @Tony Japanese you might enjoy. 
Work in progress
Out of the thinness of inner space
Studded through with nebulae,
Half-buried
Gently creeping
Cast about for them
Reach down into the depths and find them
Not whole, not pebbles or pearls
Elusive wisps
Grasp them
Feel them
Slip through your fingers even as you mould them
Coax them into the light of day
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4.00am
Reviewers
17 December 2012
Offline "I only said we were bigger than Rod... and now there's all this!" Ron Nasty
To @ Ron Nasty it's @ mja6758
The Beatles Bible 2020 non-Canon Poll Part One: 1958-1963 and Part Two: 1964-August 1966
1.57pm
11 September 2018
Offline ^^ I find it very difficult to do political poetry well, which is why I tend to avoid it. You’ve got to know your strengths.
ON LOOKING AT POETRY BOOKS ON MY SHELF
The kind of poets you study for exams.
Making Cocoa for Kingsley Amis,
bought second-hand.
Winners of the Costa Poetry Award,
Chambers Rhyming Dictionary,
A collection of poems
from the First World War.
A red-tinted photograph of a fly-tipped couch,
Three dolls, naked and blurred.
a silhouette of a man in a gas-mask,
The Penguin Book of English Verse.
What looks like dandelion
on a purple cover, probably plum.
Two collections by Jonathan Edwards.
No, not him. Another one.
8.57pm
Moderators
15 February 2015
Offline I’m personally not a huge fan of political art in general because art is my escapism. One can do art with philosophical themes inspired by politics and current events and it be great, but it’s very difficult to do well imo.
^^”The kind of poets you study for exams” is a great line lol. 
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8.11am
11 September 2018
Offline This isn’t my best poem, but it’s Beatle-themed.
HE WEARS HIS DAUGHTER’S CLOTHES
He flicks through the clothes in the wardrobe
as though he is looking for a record to play,
pulling out a tailor-made suit
postbox blue, kaleidoscope grey.
The underwear he wears
to keep privates secure;
the trousers to stop his legs from getting wolf-whistled at
the vest to shield his chest,
the shirt cut to fit;
the knitted sweater to keep his torso dry;
the coat to toast his skin;
gloves to keep his thumbs aloft;
the scarf to stop his head from falling off;
the hat to keep his head from growing
too big.
He is a living mannequin of his daughter’s designs.
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Beatlebug, Ahhh Girl11.57am
Moderators
15 February 2015
Offline I see ye maccas 
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