The stream (all workshops)
Be the Romeo to my Juliet
My poison and the reason to need it
Don’t hand over the reins
To unproven hands
Being kept shouldn’t pass
For being found
Being held will never satisfy
The need for being known
Some days are meant for making
Some are meant for remembering
Some for damaging
Others for unmaking
With only the best string of stars
I've laced up a linchpin
For the middle of our dream
I've lit the path with shattered glass
I've stocked the shelves and
Words -
in the mind
they riot
in the heart
they mystify
but from
pen to paper, they
profess
confess
witness.
Poetry will not lie.
***
Upon green rolling hills,
Under the blazing sun,
Stood two shepherds arguing fiercely,
Over the possession of a found ewe,
"The ewe is mine!
She was on my land",
The taller of the two herdsmen exclaimed,
"You are a thief for sure,
As I recognize the markings,
On my poor lost creature"
The other said firmly,
Then from over the hills,
Came stomping Pan,
The God of shepherds and wild beasts,
To the men's excitement and honor,
I Silently sipping the last limping remains of wine
within the crumbling confines of my glass .
guiltlessly glistening in the amorous arms of evergreen.
Lonesomely , my eyes lift themselves
up from my blackened
blue brass bottle of bitterness
and gradually grows aware
of the arid aristocratic atmosphere.
Lustered with the luminous larks
who lurk within the numbing neon
nature of the iridescent nightlife.
But among these unfruitful flocks
feebly flutters the faint fanciful feathers of the frigid finch.
Just to clarify. I am me, that is I am writing this as one of the last Biological Units still doing creative writing. In as much as technological advances are way beyond what was imaginable as a child of the 60’s I remain committed to humanity in all its expressions.
In short I am a Biological (Generative Pre-trained Transformer) Unit in my own right.
signed ChrisCGT
I lost 'me' where the foliage had to stream,
in worn out memories, and cold dreams,
on the cliffs and the gulfs of time
where willows weep with no rhyme.
Then I found 'me' - bashing
through the bright ember
of September,
A phoenix grew_
I found
You
My dad he was a poultryman
He bought some geese one day
A dozen or so and when they came
He set them on the hay.
'Don't much like the look of them'
He swore, then swore again,
My dad could outswear anyone
And often did, but then
He knew he must be crafty
(That was his middle name)
'I'll teach that bugger for selling me
Such birds, I'll play his game'.
For a few days he did nothing
Then picking up the phone
Dialed the sellers number
Waited while it rung.
Turning on the shower this morning,
bleary-eyed and sleepy still, I spied
a charmingly awkward Daddy Long Legs
Whenever I encounter them
it seems as if they’re quarreling
with their circumstances,
trying to get where they want to be
with their uncertain, stop-and-start gait
This one, now wrestling with hazards
I had just carelessly introduced,
near the fearsome and unforgiving drain
Nothing, not even an ocean,
can douse the weeping fire.
as thorns spear the night
blood stains a constellation
Clouds of stars swathe
reflecting only in my eyes,
goodnight mortals, sleep,
as Amun-Ra rides the light
The thousand billion orbs
contour around horizons,
I, in my robe gasp in awe
that I may bear witness
There is no sound in heaven
but that of my sighing lips,
there is no dawn on earth
but of mans own creation
Granuaile Part 2
She heard rumours her stronghold would be invaded by them to stop her reign of terror at sea. She decided she had to show her strength and she decided she had to take one of their strongholds. Down the west coast, up the Shannon estuary, was the seat of the Fitzgeralds, Earl of Desmond at Askeaton Limerick her target. She amassed her army and some imported Gallowglassesmercenaries from Scotland.She advanced on the castle in the dead of night, found an access gate open, marched her troops in, straight into the hands of a waiting army and immediate arrest.
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