GOODLY NEWS

NanU has taken up the gauntlet to keep the spirit of the poetry bussers alive. Get over to her blog, give her support and help choose a new name so that we can keep being forced into writing a poem every week!We need to be pushed!And it's great fun. So come on join in! Over HERE

Gwanyagudthings!
Kosmo.

TFE is dead.

NO flowers no cards no tears.
Hello my name is Saran (aka Kosmo Vinyl) brother of TFE. It is with sadness my duty to report that TFE is no more.Though not actually dead in the real world sense, he is in the blog sense no more, a dead parrot, virtual brown bread, jossed it, defunct, redundant,shot off his perch.

If you try to fly there is always someone to shoot you down, stick your neck above the barricade and someone will squeeze it. It's amazing it didn't happen sooner. It is beautiful that it didn't happen sooner. You can be a nobody all your life and through the power of the written word reach out and touch people and be touched in return.

TFE was able to fight when he was young, but he could not fly. Now he can fly he is unable to fight. It's the drunk and the lampost in his previous post brought to life.

The weekly task of The Poetry Bus produced some amazing work, so much so that a magazine was born from it. That magazine, born of the blogs, lives and breathes to this day with the promise of PB2. There would be no Poetry Bus Magazine without TFE, but equally there would be no PB2 or 3 or 4 or 5 without each and every person who took the time to get aboard and fuel the catalyst of creation.I hope some of you will wish the magazine well and follow it's progress HERE

He would love it , I'm sure, if the weekly task could continue under a different guise, a different name. And a big posthumous thank you, from him, to all that drove the bus through thick and thin.

Best wishes to all,
Kosmo.

THe Poetry Bus poem type thing

Shadows will cross your path, dead people rise up or lay down to haunt you, but it's the only way ahead, no turning back, never look back except in anger.

Tis a catharsis a symbiosis, a process by which..., a coping method, a linear procedure, a putting of one letter in front of another like feet of a thousand miles. Why, because they (b)are there and the only other alternative is not to, and that seems the greater of two evils and somewhat negative.

So to accentuate the positive while still (or through) emitting/ expunging/ processing the negative in a written detox seems like a reasonable thing to do in the face of everything we are faced with in our daily lives which like the courses of true love, never run smooth. In this life you will only regret the things you never did, unless you supported Liverpool Football Club or murdered all your family.

What I am trying to say is that this may not be a good poem but it might possibly be better than no poem , for the writer if not the reader!

Nothing exceeds like excess and Nanu was in search of too much, I hope she found it in spades in all your poems

Today I have mainly been drinking Obst- Schnaps and lager and am on the ledge /knife edge of relaxation and vomit. Such a thin line between too much and way too much and this ironically when your judgementy/perception of excess is at it's least accurate.

It's so strange. When you're sober you'd be at your best able but least likely to climb a lampost, and when you're drunk you are conversely at your least able but most likely to climb it. Life can be a sardonic bastard.

Also, and,if ,or but, the thing is, when things are really desperately bad you are paralysed in the moment and can't /won't/ wouldn't/ couldn't write at all. It is later when you are (almost) safely ashore that you can dare to go back. You need a little sunshine to cast a shadow.

The Easter song.

We had it all we wanted for nothing
We wanted more

And how will I cope how will I live
Among ghost estate life
Turf fires, embers now
Glowing in memory
Enough was enough
Never now
Too much is never…

Juke box bandits one-armed legless

Keys in the lock
A different lock every night
Oh,nameless as the stars above
Houses, houses ,houses
Up on the skyline we yearn to
Float flee fly free
Life once enjoyed,now endured

Thick through the thin years
And (pity me
Have mercy on me)
Money passes hands far
Quicker than the lives I broke
Goat rough hollow heart

The wren in the hand I held
The wren in the hand I crushed
Cowardice in telephone booth
every card held, poker faced
those thin lips I almost kissed
I wonder if that love is hate

too much is never enough


glass of red pint of blood
scar lit city
dirt beneath the nails
filthy lucre
skip filled, the in, the out
the richest corpse
the glory and the soul
worms turning
that forgave the plough
but who will live
to forgive
me

As rain’s river falls
In tumbling cats and dogs
I look for wounds to sink my hands
To kiss another cheek
From candlelit page
To moonlit street
My head bowed drunk
Over bare boards
Screaming hordes in my forgotten head
Forget-me-not
Lover, brother, sister, fool.
Hallelujah.

And all you need is intelligence a Swiss Army Knife and charm!!

Bus crash poetry from Nanook!

The latest Poetry Bus prompt is HERE! http://sciencegirltraveler.blogspot.com/2011/04/just-too-too-far-too-bussy.html
Many thanks To NanU for driving last week. This week she hands over the keys to her twin sister Nanook or more correctly ' Nanuq' who inspired by her sisters entrepreneurial skills invented a methane based self sufficient central heating system that syphons human gases from the air to burn as fuel.
People using this system had to maintain a strict diet of cabbage, bran, and baked beans to provide enough gas to fuel the system.The disadvantages of having to wear a clothes peg on your nose at all times and never having anyone visit were far out weighed by the financial benefits.Once installed there were no further bills and the sytem proved so popular that everyone for miles around had one fitted.

In short Nanuq ran out of customers and had to look for new territories. She decided on Hudson Bay In Quebec as it is so cold and heating would surely be needed. Again the system sold well, initially, but most customers lived in igloos and as their homes slowly melted they sought refund after refund as well as compensation from poor Nanuq till she was left penniless without even the means to get home. :(





(Above is a roofless 20 ft high 'Summergloo' being constructed from giant blocks of ice and snow on the frozen Tundra of South Wicklow last August.)


But Nanuq was a bright resourceful woman so she built herself an igloo and learned how to hunt and to survive and make new friends till she was very happy. Ever looking for new inventions she quickly realised that due to the sub zero temperatures foodstuffs seemed to last indefinitely without any sign of deteriorating. ( Here we see the dangers of living in this frozen wasteland, animals grow to vast sizes on a diet of human flesh and wheetos)


So coming full circle she developed a methane powered food cooling system that later was developed into the fridges we know and love today. She made a huge fortune but was so happy living among her new neighbours that she stayed where she was and built a giant igloo that is used as an ice hotel to this very day. And everyone lived happily ever after. Except for a few baby seals.

Mork calling Orson, NanU, NanU! Bus poetique!

EVEN AMIDST FIERCE FLAMES THE GOLDEN LOTUS CAN BE PLANTED.

Lovely scientist/inventor Nancy NanUhammertime, you can't touch this is drivelo le bus cette semaine und I have respondo with this quickler write off rapido fire respondo sansrewrito ou edit. Voila mon poemme et ici pour tout le monde et ses uncles de lire and rire , ou non as le case may be. Mais either which way, ici est mon attempt at le prompt.

Merci beaucoup ( indeedy muchlo muchio) and aussi que votre dieu/totem/facsimile/nothing de la poésiesoit may party avec vous pronto.Et in ,les words de la petite Oiseaux Edam Peeoff, 'No I regret nothing, except the things I regret. I have beaten Dylan Thomas's record and the curates egg.'

Poetry is.

Is poetry.

A confusion a contemplation a question an explanation

A profusion of colour a cloudburst of double rainbows

A jet of light a volcano of thought

Bidding bridling boastful bashful brilliant

In yellows and greens and blues all hues

Read and dead and crimson leaking

Seeking sapping tapping unwrapping

Mental mettle a singing kettle

A dream of joy that never fades

Never goes to grey

Never too high a price to pay though

every shade of black burgeoning and malign

But kept in line by the buzz the adrenalin rush the heartfelt crush

Of the crazy days of summer yellow iris sunshine

Bright white light headed

The ending of the days dreaded

The ejaculation of joy

The pleasure in the pain

Resistence futile

Fuse lit missile

The insistence constant nagging

C’mon c’mon c’mon yawill ya willya will

Dragging beguiling invigorating liberating

The urge to write write write write write!

Can flowers scream?

(Lotus= Lots Of Trouble, Usually Serious.)

But wait on the bus,don't get some sleep, no need to wait, your ship can come in.

THE ALL NEW NANU BUS!

Hello world. This week the bus heads to France which is near Europe to the home of NanU.
Her task is to be found HERE

Nanu is a multi millionaire who made her fortune from her numerous patented inventions including the reversible fleece jacket, the reversible car and the reversible decision, the latter being very popular with referees and married couples.

There was the self-winding clock, the self-walking dog and the self-punching boxer-all very poular in their time.Self-punching boxing is set to make a comeback as an Olympic sport. It's long been thought that boxers, although in roughly the same weight groups, are rarely evenly and fairly matched. As self-punching boxers only ever fight themselves it is a perfectly fair fight.It's also environmentally sound as only one pair of gloves, one stool,one gumshield etc are needed.

Not such a great success was the solar powered solar system and the tiny individual helicopter that never really took off.A big success was her remote remote. You know how annoying it can be when you're lazing comfortably feet up on the sofa watching 'Hart to Hart' and you want to switch channels when the ads are on but the TV remote is out of reach on the armchair? Well with NanU's 'Remote TV remote' you could operate the remote with out having to go and get it.Brilliant. Her follow up for the 'Remote Tv remote' was the 'Remote, Remote Tv remote' which outsold all previous models.

Fed up of losing teaspoons NanU designed and produced the first invisible teaspoon that was impossible to lose as you could never find it.

She invented a new recipe for Carling Black label lager that actually tasted nice, not like horse widdle, but it didn't catch on with the asbestos palettes of the Carling clientelle.This despite the added bonus side effect of reducing the length of the Carling drinkers arms so that their knuckles didn't scrape the ground.

She also made a lot of money from second -hand and recycled holes of various sizes. Very popular were her very small holes that she got for free from sweet giants Rowntrees who have millions of holes from their polo range of mints. She has larger holes from roads under repair and a giant one, in fact the worlds biggest hole (after Slough)taken from the ozone layer.

But right now she has invented a briliant prompt for the Poetry Bus , so get ye gone to her blog, pronto!

THE BUG BUS POEM!

The angled Son of The Perpendicular.

I am a crooked line

and I’ve walked a crooked mile,

sang every crooked song,

wishing for sixpence-

though none the richer,

I was Home

with the Devil at the stile.

Kittens never cats, barrel bound

each hungry mouth,except

the one that caught the mouse,

I let it go, we all let everything go

from that crooked little house.

Spuds laughing on the plate,

sods of humid turf wasting sweet in the grate,

and the hurried lorries of change

like thunder of our fate

on the one way tarmac road,

Before Tony hung himself,

Before I was afraid,

Before the heavy rains,

Before the internal storms that rage

would always scream,

in forgiveness, and for mercy

in every crooked line.

IT'S THE LAST GASP BUG BUS!!!!!

Bug to the rescue!! This weeks poetry bus task right here http://danabugseyeview.blogspot.com/2011/04/look-out-poetry-bus-is-all-over-road.html

Bus drivers required

Lots of dates available including RIGHT NOW like this very second, the engines running , passengers are looking for tickets but there's no driver. I'm the back up driver (I get everyones back up) but I'm calling in sick.

Any volunteers?

It's the wrong trousers!

The world has the wrong trousers on.And nothing fits my head either.All is akimbo.All is dark. Glimpses of light come and go like tube stations, but basically I'm in a black tunnel, travelling horizontally when I need to go vertically to the daylight.

I won't go on other than to warn you that the first poem is a dirge, but it is the only thing that fits exactly, so I have to wear it.

Tis Titus's bus drive and a fine one about animals but the only animal I could come up with was me. Apologos. I've added an old one at the end that fits the prompt a bit better, but comes from the same well. I only have one well, I'm beginning to think I only have one bucket too. Links to Titus below and to the side.


Parallel lines


Live within them
tumble without them
stumble the dire strait
The straightened narrow
Confined cornered
Bitched bollixed bewildered

Is it a pit or a pendulum
They’ve tied to nights
Sleepless arrow ?

Daybreak
Faces up like wallflowers
No sun no yard arm
sanity unrequited
Common cents
The finishing lines
These pistols of dawn
their rising panic of
another day
laid out before them
like a swaddled corpse

Waxy sweats break out
On the bus the train in the car
The shakes beaded beats like
Tiny hammers and coffin nails
Mirror after mirror
Day after day
Finite/infinite
Fleeting/eternal
Darkness, daylight
Incessant repetition
black dogs barking
And no going back
And no going forward
Grinding the gears, meshing the cogs,
of work, of death , of dreams.






Menagerie a tragedy.
(The auld triangle)


We hibernated most winter
but roared like snotty lions in the spring
We were howler monkeys, whooper swans,
cheeky meerkats always looking for a better view.
Our dads were grizzly bears
who never let the hare sit,
and when they were angry
the women showed their arses-
(only metaphorically, not like baboons)
especially the big ones who
were all cellulite and combustion.
We swarmed like rats in the summer
and swam like seals in the sea,
lounged like lizards on the canals grassy banks
and slept like lambs in our beds.
Mam and dad would fight like cat and dog
then make up like love birds, months later
we would be quiet as mice while the new one came along
When we could we ate like pigs and
as we grew we drank like fish,
Goldfish, that went round and round the pale
but still, like elephants, we couldn’t forget.

The Zoological Gardens Bus!

Forgive me folks for I have thinned. Tis six months since my last bath and 2 weeks since I went to the dentist and he attempted manslaughter. I need €450 worth of dental renovations to the East Wing, but I am an Eejit of little importance and no money, in fact quite a lot less than no money and some large wallety demands are foisted upon me and this is but another whimsy in the field of dreams. So the teeth hurt when I eat and I've been eating less, drinking (praise be to all that's holy), continues pain free and unabated.
And the dark that of late pervades both day and night lingers in the hollows and haunts the shadows still won't leave me be, but the human soul is a cork and it's hard drown it, it's natural inclination is to joy and a chink of light is all it needs to blossom But what's this got to do with the price of fish you ask/ Nothing says I Universe pass by, nothing to see here...BUT
there is something to see here http://titusthedog.blogspot.com/2011/03/tfes-poetry-bus-its-ark-this-week.html

Titus minimus Caninicus not only has a prompt but a plan? How can we resist?

Titus is from a long line of Eastend gangsters and biscuit manufacturers, her Uncle was Jack 'The Hat' McVities, who before he was plugged by the Krayzee twins Bonnie and Veggie in 'The Blind Bastard' pub, invented the Digestive biscuit and made a vast fortune.

He married the famous actress/politician/friend of the underworld, Barbara Windsor Castle, who not only was a champagne socialist of some renoun but also appeared in several 'Carry on' films including 'OOh er Matron' and 'Uncle Fred's giant marrow' starring alongside the irrascible Russian king of comedy Ivor Bigennd who changed his name to Skid James at stage school. His ingeneous catch phrase being'Mwahahahaha!'

Titus knew from an early age that she wanted to build on her uncles colourful past to become a poet and celebrity chef. Inspired by her cousin Jimmy 'Can I have some more please' Oliver , she enrolled in cookery school and graduated with flying colours and a lovely pair of vol au vents.
But cooking was not enough and having seen the hit American TV show 'Sarky and Crutch' starring Paul 'Man United 'Glaser and David R Soul, she decided the Police Force would only be a force to be reckoned with if she joined it, which she did, and crime in England ceased overnight!

Which was brilliant, but yet there was something missing, and the missing link was not Vinnie Jones, but POETRY and life's aching 'Je ne sais quois' And from that day to this Mighty Titus has devoted herself to the muse and Aldi's Thursday specials in equal measure.

And a PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT regular bus passengo and all round nice human Kat Mortensen has moved her blog to http://poetikat-km.blogspot.com/

So please viit and re-connect with her.

But here's a questo...

Would an affair between a Budgie , a lion and a walrus, be a menagerie á trois?

Meanwhile why not undo your azip and go up to the azoo?