Favourite Poems and Prose.

The third stanza is true, but Ive no wish to be ripped apart.

cheers to my fellow gooner quoting btw… you lil sausage!

Funny how you get differing responses on differenrt nites.

@rubyred wrote:

were ALL entitled to post here !!

fvck i put up ditties about my bluddy mother in law.. yeah i CAN do better .. and yeah I CAN write. but i come on here to free the mind, NOT tie it in knots and ponder if its good enough !! we might never be the next Alexander Pope and John Keats lassie.. but hell i think we are better and more open anyway than some o the pish and so called classic written by some privileged eejit while REAL men were Scrubbing their floors !

NEVER you apologise for what ye are !!

love you xx

well technically you’re all wrong.

This is peps thread for established writers, and I prefer Mims one for the DIY efforts, rather than forget-me-nots………

but with some of the stuff I can’t tell the difference, although with others I can

: o )

The Collar

I struck the board, and cried, “No more!
I will abroad.
What! shall I ever sigh and pine?
My lines and life are free; free as the road,
Loose as the wind, as large as store.
Shall I be still in suit?
Have I no harvest but a thorn
To let me blood, and not restore
What I have lost with cordial fruit?
Sure there was wine
Before my sighs did dry it; there was corn
Before my tears did drown it.
Is the year only lost to me?
Have I no bays to crown it?
No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted?
All wasted?
Not so, my heart; but there is fruit,
And thou hast hands.
Recover all thy sigh-blown age
On double pleasures; leave thy cold dispute
Of what is fit and not; forsake thy cage,
Thy rope of sands,
Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee
Good cable, to enforce and draw,
And be thy law,
While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.
Away! take heed;
I will abroad.
Call in thy death’s-head there; tie up thy fears;
He that forbears
To suit and serve his need
Deserves his load.”
But as I rav’d, and grew more fierce and wild
At every word,
Me thoughts I heard one calling, “Child”;
And I replied, “My Lord.”

George Herbert

Autobahnmotorwayautoroute

Around the gleaming map of Europe
A gigantic wedding ring
Slowly revolves through Londonslowestberlin
Athensromemadrdidparis and home again,
Slowly revolving.

That’s no ring,
It’s the Great European Limousine,
The Famous Goldenwhite Circular Car

Slowly revolving

All the cars in Europe have been welded together
Into a mortal unity,
A roundaboutgrandtourroundabout
Trafficjamroundaboutagain,
All the cars melted together,
Citroenjaguarbugattivolkswagenporschedaf.

Each passenger, lugging his
Colourpiano, frozenmagazines, high fidog,
Clambers over the seat in front of him
Towards what looks like the front of the car.
They are dragging behind them
Worksofart, lampshades made of human money,
Instant children and exploding clocks.

But the car’s a circle
No front no back
No river no steering wheel no windscreen no brakes no

Adrian Mitchell