The stream (all workshops)
THE ISLE OF MAY By Ian Thomson
Weekend break with friends, we travel
To the place I spent my youth
Beaches; sand and rock and gravel,
Villages with pan tile roofs.
Arrive in Anstruther - it's raining
Waves are breaking on sea - wall,
Same all over, no complaining
Scottish summer? dodging squalls!
Saturday we walk the coast path,
In the rain to Elie bay
Cheering up with Sunday forecast,
Dull but dry for Isle of May!
Humble like a Sunday afternoon,
Smiling while the hours bloom;
Sweetie, you are lovely indeed,
A creation of woman, God made complete.
Righteous once you have awaken,
Testimony with trouble you’ve undertaken…
To witness you pray yourself asleep
Is a blessing beyond any other feat…
It’s-
The Christian in you
That makes you so sexy,
Every time I am with you
I praise God for He’s blessed me.
The Christian in you.
it’s nice
an evening outdoors for the first time in a long time
what with winter being so very wet this year
and so very cold
spring’s coming
its essence tantalises expectation of
jasmine and wattle and amenity
BREAKING INTO FANDANGO
Twists and turns
ragged edges
and right angles
circles broken
crashing
into perpendicular
chaotic serendipity
chance or destiny
then suddenly
life’s madness
breaking into bleeding
or fandango….
my ignorance of self….. my desire to manifest ….the wisdom
which I have not …but profess
and
hope to throw teachings across the web… makes my face...red
and those who have me read… smile at my thoughts …all astound
As one goes round and around… they fetch a smirk upon frowns
with smiles galore… some laugh …some roll on the floor
till I have had my ravishing fill...I shan’t administer you…
with the desired pill...
But then it’s me they say… what of others can one display...
thoughts evoke an interest in some
treponema
pallidum
the hard bargain of love's road
beneath the savage velvet of the moon
the candle gutter gloom
we picked our pockets of silver
and toxin
licked our lips with sated
maxims
the careless boost
our hearts loosed
we spun like sparks
beneath the stars
we lived like boars
made love like Czars
the fires quenched
the days roamed past
the palsy trembles do
hold me fast
Now (Rhyming Patterns workshop revision 1 Ron BlueDemon77)
A Rhyme pattern workshop it is indeed
to help us to germinate a small seed
to guage precision when limits are set
it can help this poem, many more yet!
A classroom, a guideline for each of us
meant as a forum where we can discuss
form poems that teach us disciplined craft
free style is still there the classicist laughed
I felt its presence but it held its sway
I was alone without my feelings today
A lifeless mass not thinking straight
A squatting beggar with an empty plate
How did this thing devour me so
When friends had told me to let it go
They can rot in hell, thought came through
Now who to blame not me, it must be you
Turn back the clock and stare at me then
A complete person, writing I would pen
Love stories and sonnets so clear
Look at me now my mind so bare.
Littleton’s son, Littleton’s son
His father loved to beat him
The poor kid was a bastard-child
Born of just a whim
Pokers of fire, glowing red
Were instruments of torture
Burning flesh and salty tears
On one so immature
Red Beard, Red Beard is so feared
No one knows he’s haunted
His daylight hours are dreadful
His nightmares keep him taunted
Stained cloak of dun, clutched closer still
Backyard grave is guarded well
Littleton’s son is buried there
In his father’s private Hell
Looking back at the day we met
From where I’m sitting sulking now
I regret what made me ask you out
I made jokes with cordiality
You spoke eagerly and giggled
Your voice sounded like an angel
Your smile stole my tactless presence
Reaching home, I told my people
They stared with concealed cautious look
Thinking I was pulling their legs
We moved in as one ever since
You say you love me, state again
The things you do, query your claim
Hot tears run down my face freely
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