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Poetry  

'Drums of constant pressure ATTACH themselves'. Doh!

Post reply -->London Poetry Euan Mee 11 Oct
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Poetry Starboard Tack  

A windy day, small white fluffy clouds
Move frantically across a pellucid blue sky.

The dock wall approaches fast.
“Ready about, five four three two one”
Tiller hard over; the children hit the deck,
The boom flies across, ropes fly through blocks
And sails flap.

A girl in a yellow oil skin hauls on the jib sheet,
We fly round, up becomes down and kids scramble.
The red sails fill and the boat settles for a new tack.

The children laugh and shout, but the island girl keeps lookout,
Perched on the foredeck, salt spray in her hair,
Dreaming sailor’s dreams.



By: Peter Litton




Post reply -->London Poetry nordicemail@aol.com 10 Oct
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Poetry POTTY!  

I don't care about your scribblings and your obsession with punctuation! The gothic nature of your last wretched example really took the biscuit, I thought it was a joke, or at a stretch a parody. This cul de sac of a site is becoming unpleasant. My comments were aimed before your Christine Rosetti patchy pastiche. But self-obsession is always the concern of the artless and creatively redundant.
ps. I've just reread it.....oh dear...

and remember, this all started when you plagiarised my work without my permission and without paying homage or recognising it as mine a-hole.


Post reply -->London Poetry vincent 9 Oct
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Poetry Gentlemen, please  

Please - all parties - can we stop this slanging match and revert this site to poetic expression. I don't think comments like this are very constructive. Anyway, what's wrong with Gothic? Level 42 were a great band. And as for Christina Ricci she's not a bad actress either.

Post reply -->London Poetry Emily Dickinson 9 Oct
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Poetry  

Do I get the feeling you're a tiny bit upset? Big hug for Vincent!

(Still struggling with the capital letters, I see)

Post reply -->London Poetry Michael T. 9 Oct
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Poetry to emily dickinson  

I agree with you 100% emily that this is totally out of order. I would never have reacted this way unless someone like M had not just used my poetry in the way he had done.  Mail-me 

Post reply -->London Poetry vincent 10 Oct
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Poetry anyway...  

stupid sarcastic and witless...

Post reply -->London Poetry 9 Oct
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Poetry Well done!  

Firstly, Vincent, if you're going to criticise my work, please be brave enough to sign your name.

Secondly, learn to punctuate. It should be 'Stupid (capital S), (comma) sarcastic and witless.' (full stop)

Post reply -->London Poetry Michael T. 9 Oct
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Poetry Re Vincent  

I think Vincent is pretentious arrogant git.
I wrote a simple poem about a sad girl on a sea wall and Vincent tore it apart line by line word by word. It wasn’t supposed to be high literature; it was just a simple poem. If I meet Vincent I shall punch him on the nose hard.


Post reply -->London Poetry nordicemail@aol.com 10 Oct
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Poetry ER ELVIS OR NOT ELVIS?  

Oh dear! I was really enjoying this site, and when I came across the poetry I was in seventh heaven because I write poems and stories? I was going to put on my Elvis poetry tribute? However, I am a bit reluctant to do so now? I am happy to accept criticism? But Vincent's message was harsh? I actually liked the poem about the sad girl on the sea wall! I shall have to think about making a contribution now! I'm rather shy lol.

Post reply -->London Poetry ROSINA LOCK 11 Sep
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Poetry Dradvax Vol Ti Anarchiosti  

Oh Dradvax, come hither!!!
Thine verdant paths doth quiver!!!
In doltant rhyme thy crimson heart quaffs merrily,
And in the residue of light sighs heavily.

Sing, sing, sing again. Sing in vain.
In troubled waters despatch thine pain.
Call wanderer in nonsuch clammy haze
And drift along to meet their purpled gaze!

Salute thee now, on Dradvax, king.
Tomorrow's sorrows in lucid times will bring.
Onward the night calls sorrow's labours lost.
Ignore thee now? That speaks the mortal cost!

- thank you, I'd really appreciate some feed back.
Michael T.

Post reply -->London Poetry Michael T. 8 Oct
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Poetry Oh dear, Vincent  

Oh dear, oh dear, Vinny. What do we have here??? To begin a poem with visitations of ‘winged gods’ is clichéd to say the least and straight out of a 15 year old’s vocabulary. We’re then hit with the ‘agility of mountain goats’, which is almost laughable in its effort to be descriptive. Worse follows. Inevitably the hackneyed favourites of ‘death’ and ‘shadow’ make an appearance, as do ‘darkness’ and ‘abyss’. Quite simply, this is a litany of how not to write a poem. It falls into so many traps that any beginner should easily avoid. You must try harder, Vinny. Maybe in time you’ll get better.

Post reply -->London Poetry T. Watts 8 Oct
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Poetry LOL  

tell that to the judges of the forward prize for literature, they didn't mention all that.

Post reply -->London Poetry vincent 8 Oct
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Poetry  

Glad to see you can take criticism so well. The sign of a true poetic genius.

Post reply -->London Poetry T. Watts 8 Oct
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Poetry the visit of a warlord  

The visit of a warlord.

The winged gods fly into our land
with the agility of mountain goats
a hovering army with their leader
always talking to us about himself
and his ideas and justifying death
and if you look carefully at them
they cast no hardy shadow now
they have travelled into darkness
and taken their soul into the abyss.

 Mail-me 

Post reply -->London Poetry vincent 5 Oct
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Poetry Girl on the Seawall  

You sat on the seawall
Your head buried in your hands
Staring out at the storm tossed beach.

You fumbled with a lighter
Desperate for some calming smoke,
Even the wind was against you.

A single tear rolled down your cheek,
A sudden rain squall hit the beach
Scattering the remaining walkers.

So young to learn that life can be a bitch,
Seagulls screech contempt,
A gust, once more, extinguishes your flame.

At last, the bitter taste drawn deep,
Thoughts collected, decisions made,
A beam of sunlight through the clouds

Illuminating troubled waters...

nordicskyemail'aol.com

Post reply -->London Poetry nordicsky 4 Oct
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Poetry  

Dear Nordicsky, try not to use phrases like storm-tossed as they were poeticised music invented by other poets before you. A single tear is too literal, make it different, use your imagination, as is life is a bitch, an Americanism that is now out of favour and old fashion, bitter taste is trite and too easy, the sun doesn't have beams it has rays and troubled waters doesnt work either, sounds like a Simon and Grafunkel lyric. Poetry has to be mined deeper than the crust of the language one speaks, like an ore it needs careful work till one finds the reward beneath it, look at the words invented by Shakespeares, the phrases, the dogs of war, etc. I hope you don't mind me editing your work. I was first edited many years ago privately by a writer and teacher, it help me to understand where my words were coming from, the difference between Pound and Auden, so to speak.  Mail-me 

Post reply -->London Poetry vincent 5 Oct
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Poetry THIS IS WHAT I CALL POETRY!  

I loved this poem because as I read it "I could see in my minds eye the whole of the poem. I found it very moving, and I could imagine being this girl. A really nice poem with a lot of feeling. Well done on a very nice piece of work!

Post reply -->London Poetry ROSINA LOCK 11 Sep
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Poetry Gurgles of Joy  

A downward glance of absolute love,
Tiny hands reach up,
Gurgles of joy,

Warm milk…

 Mail-me 


Post reply -->London Poetry nordicsky 4 Oct
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Poetry London Voices  

A 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 October 19th at the Lamb public house, Lambs Conduit Street, London WC1 on the 1st floor. If you have any friendly questions please contact  Mail-me 

Post reply -->London Poetry vincent 25 Sep
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Poetry Michael T - brilliant!  

Michael T - can I just say I thought your poem was brilliant!! You're clearly very talented. It's a shame people like Vincent try to pass off your work as their own. Keep up the good work!

Post reply -->London Poetry Donna 21 Sep
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Poetry To Donna  

Thats great that you can enjoy M's poem even if it is by proxy! Of course if M and yourself fancy coming to one of my workshop's I would be able to give you a good lesson on the history of poetry from Pound onwards. Here's another one of mine! Just in a different language, thats all...

L’oiseau qui vint dans ma vie.

Tu es arrivée à ma porte dans ton exaltation colorée
comme un meutre préferé de corbeaux et tu as attéri à mes pieds.
Tu vivais avec mois et on s’est bien attroupé pendant un temps
nous étions bien au nid et nous regardions les œufs boillir
aprés une soirée en plein essor qui nous laissa épuisés.
Ton plumages m’a épanoui dans un battement d’ailles d’équilibre
exatique qui m’a rappelé la force de la pésanteur
et puis soudain tu t’es envolée.





 Mail-me 

Post reply -->London Poetry vincent 21 Sep
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Poetry grammar  

its a verb muppet!

Post reply -->London Poetry vincent 13 Sep
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Poetry  

And capital letters seem to have passed you by, too.

Post reply -->London Poetry Michael T. 13 Sep
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Poetry  

doesn't get away from the fact that this is not your poem michael, that this happened to a friend, that I wrote it while taxying in a Greek airport, edited it and gave it to him before we took off and that it has already been published.  Mail-me 

Post reply -->London Poetry vincent 11 Sep
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Poetry  

Surely you taxi on the runway and not in the airport?

Post reply -->London Poetry Michael T. 11 Sep
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Poetry My Latest Poem  

The Blossom of Falling Sound.

With simple love, he talks to her like a father
stepping verdant paths, he describes
the soft and hardy hills they walk along
while in each others presence entwined.

With his love of nature, the dialogue he feeds,
pointing out while gazing
the myriad greens – and crispest colours.

’Do you see what I see?’
‘Do you hear what I hear?’ he asks.

And with a child’s mind that’s bright,
she answers after looking and thinking:
‘I can hear the blossom of falling sound.’

They listen for a moment. Standing still.


Post reply -->London Poetry Michael T. 11 Sep
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Poetry  

There is always one line that catches my attention, "I can hear the blossom of falling sound" is great.

Post reply -->London Poetry nordicsky 4 Oct
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Poetry poem  

The Sound of Blossom falling.

He talks of her with the simple love of a father,
describing how they walked the verdant path
and along the softness of the hardy hills
entwined in each other’s presence.

He feeds the dialogue of his love of nature
as he gazes and points out
the crisp colours and myriad greens –

he asks if she sees what he sees,
if she hears what he hears –

and as she looks and thinks
with a bright child’s mind
she says ‘I can hear the sound of blossom falling.’

They both stand still and listen for a moment.


 Mail-me 


Post reply -->London Poetry vincent 11 Sep
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Poetry Tender is Your Touch  

Tender is your touch
In the cool of the night
I feel the warmth of your love
Through your finger tips.

Tactile probing digits
Move across my skin
Delicate but powerful;
Provoking emotions.

Eyes closed I warm to your contact
Feel my heart race faster
Your soft hands caress my skin
I revel in the joy of human contact.

Your gentle fingers survey my face,
My neck, my shoulders, they run down my
Spine, they miss nothing building a picture
Telling you things your eyes no longer see.

Comments please
 Mail-me 


Post reply -->London Poetry Peter Litton 1 Sep
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