July has sunk! Long live July, July, July!
From blackened skies the sun still tries to shine,
But raindrops fall, in never-ending stream.
Left cold and wet, limp laundry hugs the line,
A lightning bolt and thunder split the scene.
Will summer come before the seasons change?
Will deck chairs flap in warm and golden sand?
From break of day, the weather, very strange,
Along the coast and right across the land.
Who calls the tune? Who makes the garden green?
Gives us sun-light and warmth to make plants grow?
Now pours the rain upon the muddy scene,
As if to mock, and kill, the seeds we sow.
Across the sky, an answer will remind,
A rainbow arch with gold for us to find!
Ezinda and team,
I hope you are all fit and well.
Please can you look at title etc. of this thread and make it say 'too lazy to trawl' instead of 'to lazy to trawl'
This is done.
Hope you're feeling better since your posts earlier this morning.
Thank you. I was feeling better but now I'm starting to go off again! Up and Down, Up and Down!
I am listening to the radio at the moment and someone has just said - It's hard to hug a robot. Now, that seems a good line for a poem so if I get going with that - it might take my mind off other things.
It’s hard to hug a robot when you’re feeling sad,
Something softer is what’s called for, when things are looking bad.
An iPhone or a lap-top can never hug you back,
It’s something in their make-up, it’s softness that they lack.
Give me a furry teddy or hot wheat bag filled with beans,
Or a special kind of someone who knows what my sadness means.
An old cardi or a jumper you knitted long ago,
A cushion or a pillow or a cuddly, fleecy throw.
The radio or the telly, I suppose may have a place,
When you’re feeling lonely, they provide a happy face.
No, a robot’s not the answer, it will not ‘do’ at all!
When you’re feeling rotten, who is it that you call?
Hi,Lin. Hope you're feeling better..
When you're feeling rotten
It's good to be at home,
To feel the safety net around you
Of the familiar and the known.
When you're feeling lonely,
It's good to cuddle up
And remember all the good times
Of an overflowing cup.
But ultimately there's no one
For any of us at all,
Who can truly empathise
And respond to a desperate call.
So let us all together
In the forum here unite
And be there for each other
In the words that we now write.
ElleMac - that was sensational. Thank-you. Yes! Med working again now.
FREEZE FRAME - Too few Meds
Frozen to the spot,
I’m inside but can’t get out,
The irony of the living hell
That dyskinesia brings about.
Aware that time is ticking by,
I see the clock, can move my eye,
But all else is beyond my control.
I tell myself,
For God sake………………………………… MOVE!
And my watchful eye waits for consent,
For appendages to signal they approve,
Confirm they understand the message sent.
As my appendages refuse my command to take.
As 10 derailed commands arrive simultaneously, from my brain,
And the whole damn grid shuts down once more,
Itself to ZOMBIE default mode restores,
And suddenly I’m stuck for sure
Ironically inside an open door.
Oh Marcel - I know exactly what you mean - a perfect description of a vile condition.
freezing is something i am not yet acquainted with, but having read your poem i think i understand it much more. very good indeed.
Marcel, through your words I now have an idea of how freezing feels. Hope you have some means of coping with it.
Why O why O why
July July July
Rain rain rain
Such a pain
Pack my bags
I'm off to Spain
For a little sun sun sun
So glum glum glum
Will be back full of fun
Once I've had a little Sun
Need the warmth inside of me
Will be back, wait and see.
Or should that be unfortunately.
PB, Have fun, in the sun! EMx
AS IT WAS
Seemed like a good idea at the time
Under the circumstancas,
In mind blowing desperation,
Curled up in bed,
In no way able to move,
Devoid of function....
Energising plan at last.
Some plans surely misfire
Until the unplanned transpires
In unexpected stealth
Coming from behind
In manner so unkind
Destroying others in its path....
At sea 1940.
A blip of sonar from beneath troubled waves
The scream of an albatross scatters a pod of whales.
Deck hands industry paused, by a deathly scream
Man overboard, as one they run to the stern.
Flashlights are lit, a lone searchlight cuts through
Blackness all around, the deck lurching, swimming
Dark water takes one more to Davy Jones locker.
Who is it this time, they wait, for the counting
It is the boy, that cheerful bright, blue eyed, boy
Sadness seeps silently oozing from the decks
There are no tears to cry, not even a prayer
To be said tomorrow, if this night they survive
For now, it is that they circle in a widening arc
Eyes straining against the darkness and wind
A shout, I could have sworn I saw something,
I must have been mistaken, no there it is
Each man stops, and looks with horror
A white trail of fizzing bubbles, fast approaches,
And in that instant they know what awaits them.
Melancholy or what?
The sad old clown has let the greasepaint dry,
And cracks appear when tears begin to fall.
In days of old, the laughs would make you cry,
An old routine, fetch bricks to build a wall.
The puppet frowns as strings are pulled too tight,
Once more to dance to someone else’s tune,
Jump through the hoops if timing is just right,
Or left on shelf next to a burst balloon!
A ring-side seat, the best view of the show,
But then the wall comes crashing down on you,
With sad old clown and puppet you must go,
Walk over bridge and quickly out of view.
As greasepaint slips, and strings become untied,
No-one is there to count the tears you cried!
marcia funebre, molto lento
dah dah daaaaaaaah, da da da dah,dah dah daaaaaaah, da daaaah
No sad clown here, you rise above it all,
No depths to plunge, the winner of the game.
Stay in attack don’t let them know you fall,
See through their eyes, one person and the same.
With hope in place, determination strong,
Reach for the goal, although it hurts like hell.
You can be proud, so sing a happy song,
Each time you feel something is going well.
When days are long and nights are all too short
Take time to rest, recharge, renew, revive,
Good health is not a product to be bought
You are in charge, from front seat you can drive.
No clown lives here, no puppet on a string,
I’ll never throw my hat into the ring.
Easy to say but ......
in the manner of a funeral march.
Is that morse code or is it the way in which the poems should be read? poems
The melancholy soul that formed each note,gone
As strings now altered strain from bent in dischord
Harmony,as eyes clear now scan each morning
That floats upon the dawning of each missed chord
A Robot looking stiffly now behind him
Scans the wreckage,scattered,lost,along with trust
The years gone,shed with tears that make him older
Yet maybe wiser,as realisation sheds each layer of rust
A Clown,Robotic,can,from layers of grease-paint
A picture of the future,as hope springs
Just as a Puppet who realises they act the best when
Making changes,in controlling their own strings
All is clear and fragrant,but for the hurt caused
Yet,all dark tunnels have an end when glimpsing light
Life will never be a bed of Roses,that is clear,though
Can still bloom beautiful with hope and renewed insight
A Robot,or a Puppet,or in Clown's shoes
Matters not,it's that person deep inside
Each of us wonderful,individual and compelling
As the waves which caress the shoreline with each tide
THE SEARCH FOR HELP
She went to the doctor's,
And waited again,
For the tide of patients
Both women and men.
It was hard to describe
Just how she felt
When finally she entered
Waves of tears welled
At injustices dealt.
Doctor,can't you see
From all over my body
So much lying about.
A few questions later
And yet a few,
She took the prescription,
And floated off home..
She looked at the box,
Could not believe,
Nothing but plasters
To stem the flow
Of life-giving blood..
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
It's ok the psychiatrist said
All the bleeding
Is in your head.
Here's a pill
Or two to take,
That'll sort you out, no mistake.
Pills and plasters they both merge
In to one
A trickle that has no hope to give..
With no reason to live.