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| Please don't try to advertise products or services in this forum. Thank you. Post or Ask something here in 'Poetry' Poetry Ambit Magazine Poets & Uncle Rabbitat Heathcote Pub, 344 Grove Green Road - 8.00 pm Entry: £3 Leytonstone Festival presents an evening of music from Uncle Rabbit with poetry and prose readings from selected writers for Ambit Magazine. Donald Gardner & Naomi Foyle are among those appearing for Ambit. Uncle Rabbit play a quirky mix of improvisation using rock & jazz riffs, and will be joined later in the evening by their special guest, John Ellis, formerly of The Stranglers. Post reply -->London Poetry Noel Taylor 4 Jul ^ Poetry poemthis site seems to have become distinctly underused. The battlefield is drawn. Our artillery is mostly muffled as we take aim in gentle ways, the shells are filled with wit sprinkled with sarcasm for fun. We practice low-level conflict and fire incendiaries at each other that we easily dust ourselves off from. Our warfare is an arena of foolishness and stupidity, we try to gain ground from inert cannons and friendly fire. We charge like fickle soldiers who really don’t want a fight, we say make love not war. We find an armistice is agreed on as I cook and you do the washing up. Mail-me Post reply -->London Poetry vincent 17 Aug Poetry Poetry Evening with PurpleSt Mary the Virgin Church, Mortlake High Street, SW14 have invited Purple to come and perform some poetry in aid of their Tower Appeal on Friday 27 June 7.30pm. Open mike slot too - come and perform your own work or just listen. All part of Mortlake Weekend - a packed schedule of events Friday thru Sunday. All welcome, £5 Post reply -->London Poetry Sarah Kitchen 21 Jun Poetry She swims in my mind.She swims in my mind She swims to the shores of my mind gentle ripples of her sing a song in the quiet whispers of tenderness floating along my moments of solitude. My wilder currents are animated and gusts are blowing up a storm. Along the water the stillness carries her to me. Her voice invades in heady silence and her soul comes closer to me and mine. Post reply -->London Poetry Vincent 10 May Poetry 1973Music man Strumming life away With blistered fingers, poking out of black gloves. And dirty nails, making love to the guitar strings. Like each touch is the first, wishing the moment would last forever. Those same half closed eyes The same lost in a daydream smile, that he had back in 1973 When he used to fill concert halls And people sat in awe His name in lights, and on ticket stubs. Back when someone cared Even if it was for the wrong reasons And now he plays here As the world walks by And I feel bad Because his music touches me But I never dropped anything in his hat I pretended I didn’t see him As I rushed by 2008 Mail-me Post reply -->London Poetry Mark Taynton 3 May Poetry The visit of a warlord.The winged gods fly into our boats with the agility of mountain goats a hovering army with their leader always talking to us about his reader and his ideas and justifying death and if you look carefully at the breath they cast no hardy shadow now they have travelled into the dust - pow! and taken their soul into the abyss I'm glad we've given them the miss. Post reply -->London Poetry Roland Butter 18 Apr | These aren't commercial ads below: they are a rotating selection of postings contributed by MoveThat.com users in the last 24h. |
 | Poetry De rireJ'ai pensé à la vie Et j'ai vu que vous Reviennent à l'attaque L'autre avec talent Supérieur Et, ce faisant, Attaqué vous-même. Post reply -->London Poetry Roger Mee-Slowlee 15 Apr Poetry lolI thought of life and saw only you coming back to attack other's with superior talent and in doing so, attacked yourself. Post reply -->London Poetry Louise 14 Apr Poetry Steganopoiiseos ocean space.Now ocean space. Space is the area around the country Available at the end lost. Palirroiaki strength and Marching Holiday sand conceal dangerous Flaques water, and less than short-term measures -- People are wrong. Supply reduction Klapei peoples lips, In the short period between compassion An empty sometimes kissing It tracks Habib in the mouth. Ocean has always cliché Lost hope in people, is not it? It is very easy to lose people in the world What is the history of the illegality and facilities Ploutos personenfreizügigkeit drowned in the floods. Post reply -->London Poetry Roger Mee-Slowlee 12 Apr Poetry The far ocean space.The far ocean space. A far ocean space is no place to find each other lost. Tidal tensions and creeping holiday sands hide dangerous puddles, smaller than short steps between which people are misplaced. Within the narrowing width of peoples stolen lips, in between short kindnesses of empty paper kisses sometimes no imprint is left on the lover’s mouth. An ocean has always been a cliché of lost hope and lost people has it not? It is too easy to lose someone in the world which conceals bodies and histories drowned in the filled tidal stream of people. Mail-me Post reply -->London Poetry vincent 11 Apr Poetry Original Poetry and comedy workshop meet upInterested in writing comedy or peotry or doing it already and feeling ratehr alone...Want support, friendly constructive criticism and a laugh....Come along to the original comedy and poetry writing group.. We meet every 2nd and 4th Wednesday of the Month at 7pm at Garfield Community Centre, Garfield Road, London, SW11. Nearest tube is Clapham Common...Nearest overhead train is Clapham Junction or Queenstown Road. Email Mail-me Post reply -->London Poetry Rachel 9 Apr Poetry In each others sun.In each other’s sun She and I staggered thoughtfully, without fight time, thinking thoughts together. She and I affirm and move obstacles, invisible obstacles serenely. She is established, sleeps when I am still awake. My bed is warm, a flower of warmth, the petals of which have wandered often but now are still. She is my garden growing with ease. I think I am her soil sometimes but she slowly radiates me and I am cultivated. We are each other’s sun. Post reply -->London Poetry Vincent 29 Mar Poetry An Ode To “What strange hours travelers keep” byWhat if? The internal seeker’s Quest from beneath. Infiltrated, porous , free, Suckling on its fragments of ether Stichomancy, reality an acquired taste. What if?.. I asked 63336.. Define the desirable. Cut out the cryogenics. Soul so bountiful, Pliable like the perception of freedom. What if? Does she truly seek? Or perhaps just strange . Like her sister’s Bestfriend De noted. Loquacious, salubrious, Unbounded, Engaging they cry, What if? this is how Ones Aries energy must cascade, Down their own, Down trodden and Lively walls Forever too fast for infinity. Post reply -->London Poetry Holly 27 Mar Poetry A heartshaped stoneA heart-shaped stone. On my pillow rests a heart-shaped stone The rolling waters, strong piercing waters pulling and pushing Lady moon’s desires and Father Earth’s noisy quarrels gave slow accident to the complex body line you’d placed carefully here. The much of nature-time swirls without complaints, wrestled chattering stones, the slate and the flint, the shingle and shell in blended shimmering beauty. The life and death of the fisherman’s catch ploughing the darkness for an abundant one when the form was being sculpted. You worked the beach and picked up this form, which indent’s my pillow, poised and peaceful. Sinking into the feathers its lies peacefully, like a tranquil afternoon at rest. Mail-me Post reply -->London Poetry Vincent 11 Mar Poetry and Prose Writing Group central LondonIf you are a creative writer, whether as a hobby or a more serious pursuit, and regardless of the genre in which you write, our creative writing group may appeal to you. Our meetings act as a platform for the sharing of ideas in a comfortable environment with supportive people. Everyone is encouraged to bring some of their own creative work to read aloud to the group. People will then have an opportunity to share their ideas on what they have heard, providing constructive feedback the writer can take with them in order to further develop their writing and the inspiration with which to do so. We have exclusive hire of a comfortable and private pub dining room in central London and next meeting is in the evening of Monday April 7th. If you'd like to join us, please Mail-me Post reply -->London Poetry Ali 2 Mar Poetry London VoicesA small but perfectly formed poetry group meet to read their latest offering, to discuss and enjoy each other's company. This is a group of mature adults who enjoy the company of other's and have a passion for verse of all kinds. We invite you to come along and share your poetic thoughts and musings. The next meeting is on 29 Feb at the Lamb public house, Lambs Conduit Street, London WC1 on the 1st floor. If you have any friendly questions please email... Mail-me Post reply -->London Poetry vincent 28 Feb Poetry CarolPoetry The art...The art of my age. The art has transitioned enough. The narrative has broken up enough. The wit has cascaded into ideology. The tradition has become lost. The irony has become bloated. The modern has become conventional. The important voice is incarcerated. The display is style. The magpie is traditional. The art is stolen. The now is not original. It has all become a verbal opera. The epiphany is a lost cause. The artist has returned to the cave. Post reply -->London Poetry Vincent 2 Feb ^ Poetry The Art fanHello, I practise art, though I am not an artist. Your poetry really touched me, I found it really struck a chord with me. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind letting me quote it perhaps to go on a website that I am making? If so, who should I attribute it to? Thanks for sharing Carol Post reply -->London Poetry 4 Feb Poetry What is leftI think about life. and also of death. of the times that have gone. and the time i have left. And as each day passes. and another day dawns. ive come to realise. i must grab that day by the horns. For i am old. and my life almost through. and have done so little. with much left to do. I have wasted my years by living to work. and now its to late to work at living. For to work was to live. but now the work has gone. now ive nothing to give. how did i manage to get it so wrong. Post reply -->London Poetry John 31 Jan Poetry The most powerful men in the world.The most important man stutters The scarred, scorching arid land of others And plays with other powerful men Who speak the ancient foreign languages, And are awash with abundant currencies. Houses bigger than his ever were Squat the land encircling regional disasters, Although these strangers used to live in tents Other powerful men changed their lives When the black muck of industry wept riches And other men came to play their games. Earnest discussions through interpreters Talk of what is wanted from each other Keeping diplomacy above belligerence And the menace f one force upon another. That happens to their weaker neighbours. Men covered in protection buy and sell The height of defensive modern weaponry In the traditions of mass murdering armies, Place their bags of wealth before each other. In God and Allah they trust. Post reply -->London Poetry Vincent 26 Jan Poetry Pickled OnionsPickled Onions In a jar, And one of many I’m sure Waiting for a deserving hunger To come and feed on me. We jostle for space and we all Dream to lose our place, In this dead end queue With no one to sing to, Nobody’s love fool, But years of wear and tears Because no one wanted you. Not enough anyway. But everyone wants a double, Everyone wants the trouble Of a bleeding heart. Yet ours are still new, The labels still attached to And in perfect condition. So you worry at night, That you’ll never be alright Where is he That would die For me? Always for sale, Because you always fail At love. Mail-me Post reply -->London Poetry J 24 Jan Poetry EtienneThe bird that was in my life. You arrived at my door with your colourful exaltation like a preferred murder of crows and landed at my feet. You lived with me and we flocked well for a while we nested well and watched eggs boil after an evening of soaring flight, which left us exhausted. Your plumage beamed me into a flutter of ecstatic equilibrium which reminded me of the domination of gravity and then quite suddenly you flew off. Mail-me Post reply -->London Poetry Etienne 19 Dec Poetry UntitledIt's a far cry from the biblical Prophetical mumbling story Absent from the television and miles from the internet Drive across the ocean African desert reaching prospect Of ever finding anything to rival The feeling of insecure bliss That is keeping me alive. Post reply -->London Poetry alex 17 Dec Poetry EtienneMy Liquid Birthday. You lit a plate full of candles In the early reveille of this day Of my birthday - in that hour Before I lumbered to work. The sleepiness of my gaze Made the warmth of the flicker Scintillate this November shudder And it’s sterile and blank eclipse. I could have been swimming In the sun due to it, gently Glazed by every stroke described With this pen – the one you gave me - Describing as I do, the arching glow Of your romantic And thoughtful intentions. The warmth from these flambeaus That you ignited for me Radiate within my soul. Post reply -->London Poetry Etienne 16 Dec ^ Poetryflambeaus - what a wonderful word! This poem is very visual and I enjoyed it's expanse capsulated in one morning event. Post reply -->London Poetry CB60 17 Dec Poetry ButterfliesIf you touch their wings, they die. It seems cruel..to create something, so beautiful that one, should feel such need, as to posses it, But doing so destroys it. We possess, We love, We kill. Post reply -->London Poetry Naz 5 Dec ^ Poetry well^ PoetryI think' butterflies' is a lovely poem but I also think there needs to be more input. Common poets - show us your stuff. As it stands now we've been on the same poem for nearly a month! If you want to make this a poetry forum- then put up your stuff pleaaaase. Let's engage in more than one or two put forward. Post reply -->London Poetry CB60 14 Dec ^ Poetry I dont think so |