Pity ye not The Mayfly.

Well Mrs EEjit vetoed my witty ditty about Teddy on the grounds of insensitivity and bad taste, so that's the end of that ,unleess you find me in the gutter one saturday morning looking for a couple of euro and an early house, in which case I will recite it to you for a few yo-yo's. The good news(for me) is that i stayed up till the small hours drinking and cracked out a new poem which hopefully can be boxed off in time for the Monday showdown. I was also thinking about this 'every day is sunday' hypothesis and how they disguise the rest of the 'week' not to look like sunday.But this is obviously a huge effort so they've decided it would be easier to make sunday look like the rest of the imagined week.All the shops are now open on a sunday and it's business as usual on the day of rest.And who says day ends at night? Seconds minutes hours day years are all man's invention's to mark his passing through the one eternal moment.So we are all living in one lifelong, perhaps eternal, moment, the very same moment that saw the rise and fall of the dinosaurs, the building of the pyramids and man stepping onto the moon.I mean the imagined concept of time is relative ,even in our constricted comprehension time is a notion and it's (virtual) parameters all relative.Never mind how long is a piece of string, how long is a piece of time? If you were on holiday in Corfu reading a book under a shady olive tree , overlooking a bluey green sea basked in 80 degrees of heat ,a cool breeze tickling your naked toes and a magnum of champagne in an ice bucket , half an hour would not seem long enough.If however you were buried up to your neck in human excrement and someone was poking red hot needles into your eyeballs accompanied by Richard Clayderman on the piano, half an hour might seem a very very long time indeed-it's all relative. The Mayfly for example lives, within the (human) confines, for but a day and invokes great sympathy for it's seemingly all too brief life.However to a Mayfly a lifetime is a lifetime, it has no concept of life been short (that's all relative).So I wouldn't feel too sorry for it at all.Not only that but the sole purpose of the mayfly is to procreate and it has been blessed with TWO lots of equipment with which to do it. The Mayfly's mouth is only vestigial, it's too busy F***in' to be feedin'.

Have a nice day.

THINGS YE SHOULD WORRY ABOUT #346

What if someone at the toothpaste factory has a bad day and decides to put glue in the toothpaste?

If nobody is perfect and everybody is somebody,why then instead of just somebody, isn't nobody running the country?

Tomorrow's another day. But is it? Who's to say it isn't yesterday? We're usually asleep for the transition so how the fuck do we know?I'd keep an eye on that if I were you.

Actually I've been up all night a few times to see if I could catch them out,but I think they were wise to me. Say nothing.I've had my suspicions ever since Morrissey sang 'Every day is like Sunday' He might have inadvertantly struck upon gold here.What if every day actually is Sunday but they just open a few more shops during the week to make us think it's another day?

Food for thought comrades, I think you'll agree.No, you WILL agree or there will be trouble ok?

How you doin with the Ted Hughes task? I think I've overstretched meself a bit here.The best I can manage-and I'm not proud of it- is..

Actually that is so tasteless I've deleted it.You can't have humour at any cost.

But on the bright side you should see, no, read, no, hear what The Watercats have come up with.I know it's not Monday yet but feck it get ye over to theirs- it's really good!

http://thewatercats.blogspot.com/2009/09/couldnt-help-it-wolves.html?showComment=1253749010822#c7349183174983702087

Ps I'll run the Ted Hughes ditty past the barometer of offensiveness(Mrs EEjit) tomorrow and if she approves I'll post it.Here's the first line and a bit......

Don't abuse Ted Hughes

he didn't......

The poetry train becomes a car!

Well Dudes and Dudettes that was a mighty journey , I didn't know where the feck we were going, a proper mystery train for sure.We stopped at a record 17 stations, 18 if you include my departure lounge and 19 if you include the buffet car where a bit of a shindig broke out when the bar opened.All the stops were different and all interesting, perhaps my faves so far. There was surely a few songs written as well as poems.The general poetic consensus ,for all the preamble and blather , seems to be that for better or for worse when we think of home we think of the place we were raised as children. Thanks to everyone who joined in and I hope you all got round to the others.There were a few late arrivals so I'm posting the full list again today. Incidentally I initially chose My Hometown By Bruce Springsteen because for all the years I've listened to it I've had the same little movie in my head that the lyrics conjure up. I didn't think too much of that till mRs EEj confessed the same and then I read in an interview that Springsteen had taken ten years trying to perfect writing cinematographically.He didn't say how, but that struck me as pretty amazing.Now, what that has to do with us writing a poem is less clear other than I think that creativity is contagious and one persons talent/ inspiration or art can inspire anothers.I'm trying to find catalysts to spark revolutions of writing by getting people to write what they otherwise may not have written.Which brings me rather neatly to this weeks task.Mwaahahaha ha, oh, the power! It's gone to my fat little baldy head. I would like you (yes ,YOU,all of you!) to read the poem below by Ted Hughes (The thought Fox) .Maybe print it off and carry it around with you. Read it as often as you can, in the car(unless you're driving of course), on the train,(ditto) the aeroplane, the helicopter, the toilet, at the dentists, at work, when you're watching telly,when you're not watching telly, in the bath, on the roof, cutting the grass, cooking,when you're having bedroom action with your partner,when you're eating, when you're sleeping, just all the feckin time right? Think about it, get to know it, and what it means to you, soak it all in. It is a tea bag and you are a cup of boiling water and we're gonna make poetea. It's not very long ,you might even learn it. Then read the second one 'The Horses' and by Monday write your own poem with all the things you've imagined about the poem tied up into it .We're going for a drive down the poetry superhighway,Ted's poem's are the catalyst to spark your imagination and we're driving out of his thoughts ,but your poem is the car, don't be tempted to write about his, they're just the petrol in the tank. We're on the road to nowhere ,come on and DRIVE! The usual recommendations of peace and solitude cups of tea/ coffee/ poteen /pork scratchings etc etc apply where possible.

Part two of this exercise involves putting a€50/£/$ note into a brown envelope and sending it to

Mr Total Fecking EEjit

Feckwit Castle

The Peoples Republo d'EEjit

North West Tipp.

THE THOUGHT-FOX

I imagine this midnight moment’s forest:
Something else is alive
Beside the clock’s loneliness
And this blank page where my fingers move.


Through the window I see no star:
Something more near

Though deeper within darkness
Is entering the loneliness:

Cold, delicately as the dark snow,
A fox’s nose touches twig, leaf;
Two eyes serve a movement, that now
And again now, and now, and now

Sets neat prints into the snow
Between trees, and warily a lame
Shadow lags by stump and in hollow
Of a body that is bold to come

Across clearings, an eye,

A widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly, concentratedly,
Coming about its own business

Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox

It enters the dark hole of the head.

The window is starless still; the clock ticks,

The page is printed.




The Horses

I climbed through woods in the hour-before-dawn dark.
Evil air, a frost-making stillness,


Not a leaf, not a bird -
A world cast in frost. I came out above the wood


Where my breath left tortuous statues in the iron light.
But the valleys were draining the darkness


Till the moorline - blackening dregs of the brightening grey -
Halved the sky ahead. And I saw the horses:


Huge in the dense grey - ten together -
Megalith-still. They breathed, making no move,


with draped manes and tilted hind-hooves,
Making no sound.


I passed: not one snorted or jerked its head.
Grey silent fragments


Of a grey silent world.


I listened in emptiness on the moor-ridge.
The curlew's tear turned its edge on the silence.


Slowly detail leafed from the darkness. Then the sun
Orange, red, red erupted


Silently, and splitting to its core tore and flung cloud,
Shook the gulf open, showed blue,


And the big planets hanging -
I turned


Stumbling in the fever of a dream, down towards
The dark woods, from the kindling tops,


And came to the horses.
There, still they stood,
But now steaming and glistening under the flow of light,


Their draped stone manes, their tilted hind-hooves
Stirring under a thaw while all around them


The frost showed its fires. But still they made no sound.
Not one snorted or stamped,


Their hung heads patient as the horizons,
High over valleys in the red levelling rays -


In din of crowded streets, going among the years, the faces,
May I still meet my memory in so lonely a place


Between the streams and the red clouds, hearing the curlews,
Hearing the horizons endure.












.Dominic Rivron
http://dominicrivron.blogspot.com/2009/09/one-day.html
Jeanne
http://iconicrealism.blogspot.com/2009/09/fielding-first-love.html
Karen
http://keepingsecrets-karen.blogspot.com/2009/09/going-home.html
Rachel Fox
http://crowd-pleasers.blogspot.com/2009/09/monday-poem-here-we-go-again.html
Niamh
http://variouscushions.blogspot.com/2009/09/another-monday.html
Mrs Nesbitt
http://mrsnesbittsspace.blogspot.com/2009/09/poem-by-moi.html
Don't Feed The Pixies
http://hungrypixies.blogspot.com/2009/09/wordzzle-and-eejit-poem.html
The Weaver of Grass
http://weaverofgrass.blogspot.com/2009/09/two-memes-in-one-day.html
NanU
http://sciencegirltraveler.blogspot.com/2009/09/monday-poetry-my-hometown.html
The Watercats
http://thewatercats.blogspot.com/2009/09/totalfeckineejits-monday-thingy.html
Uiscebot
http://johnholten.blogspot.com/2009/09/posted-poetry.html
Heather
http://raggedoldblogger.blogspot.com/2009/09/mondays-poetry-post.html
PJ Nolan
http://pjnolan.blogspot.com/2009/09/monday-poem-hometown-thoughts.html
Willow
http://willowmanor.blogspot.com/
Titus
http://titusthedog.blogspot.com/2009/09/tfes-third-monday-challenge.html
Emerging Writer
http://emergingwriter.blogspot.com/2009/09/change-at-crewe.html
Sandra Leigh
http://sandarastraveljournal.blogspot.com/2009/09/monday-monday-and-other-poems-some-of.html

Swiss

http://travelsinthefloatingelvis.blogspot.com/2009/09/two-poems-about-songs.html

The Monday poetry extravaganzAAA

GOOD MORNING WOOORLLD!Here it is, population of the universe, the moment you have been waiting for.I'm looking forward to reading this weeks responses.I struggled with mine, it started off too long and I never write long poems so I slashed chunks out of it and butchered it, it's not a prime cut but it will do.I will keep at it till I'm happy or give it to the dog. All aboard the poetry mystery train now folks we'll be making plenty of stops along the way visiting different lands and different people let's see if any of us are homeward bound. Pip pip! We're leaving from platfom 9 just follow through the gap in the fence.Tea coffee and biscuits are available from the buffet car. (Alcoholic beverages after )

Shadowlands

Took more than a fast car to get away
from any place we could call,
would we call it? Lies!
Dug the hole too deep
couldn’t keep it together.
The hunger at our bones
pour yourself the ice-breaker
the new romancers little joke,
blood- letting in the name of love,
off the rails, feel the

beating(flesh to fist) heart-
be still ,their beating hearts.
Screw up your face
to make it fit.
Screw up your life
to escape,

cast adrift ,
cut loose ,
hiding still ,from

the long evening shadows

of home.

ALL ABOARD NOW HERE WE GO!

Dominic Rivron

http://dominicrivron.blogspot.com/2009/09/one-day.html

Jeanne

http://iconicrealism.blogspot.com/2009/09/fielding-first-love.html

Karen

http://keepingsecrets-karen.blogspot.com/2009/09/going-home.html

Rachel Fox

http://crowd-pleasers.blogspot.com/2009/09/monday-poem-here-we-go-again.html

Niamh

http://variouscushions.blogspot.com/2009/09/another-monday.html

Mrs Nesbitt

http://mrsnesbittsspace.blogspot.com/2009/09/poem-by-moi.html

Don't Feed The Pixies

http://hungrypixies.blogspot.com/2009/09/wordzzle-and-eejit-poem.html

The Weaver of Grass

http://weaverofgrass.blogspot.com/2009/09/two-memes-in-one-day.html

NanU

http://sciencegirltraveler.blogspot.com/2009/09/monday-poetry-my-hometown.html

The Watercats

http://thewatercats.blogspot.com/2009/09/totalfeckineejits-monday-thingy.html

Uiscebot

http://johnholten.blogspot.com/2009/09/posted-poetry.html

Heather

http://raggedoldblogger.blogspot.com/2009/09/mondays-poetry-post.html

PJ Nolan

http://pjnolan.blogspot.com/2009/09/monday-poem-hometown-thoughts.html

Willow

http://willowmanor.blogspot.com/

Titus

http://titusthedog.blogspot.com/2009/09/tfes-third-monday-challenge.html

Emerging Writer

http://emergingwriter.blogspot.com/2009/09/change-at-crewe.html

Sandra Leigh

http://sandarastraveljournal.blogspot.com/2009/09/monday-monday-and-other-poems-some-of.html

Swiss

http://travelsinthefloatingelvis.blogspot.com/2009/09/two-poems-about-songs.html

Monday follows Sunday

like Night follows day and have ye yer pomes ready/ Well? Wrote mine today( used to copy my homework from Mark on the bus) skooldaze the best days of your life if they're right they must be wrong.Calculus arythmatic biological cleansing physics the rules of the dominant the fitter class the parameters set to suit please stay awake at the back your drinking days are ahead of you product of your upbringing you soft melted clay see how we mould you into a broken pot fire you in the highest temperatures where even the golden lotus may for sure be planted but watch it wither watch it die far from your back door the perception of your reality a mist in yours lost in their eyes this programme does not compute lungs lunge out of synch with heart all the pips in the grapes are gone spat out onto barren soil seedless progress redress the balance bring all to mind the years gone by seem waste of breath a waste of breath the years to come dead heroes know no freedom the pain increased by each year away from the heart of belonging a knife would pluck it out the splinters hard to tell from the planks so why try to tell change the gear root and branch reform the right to say no the right to deny the questions put so far out of place interplanetary travel the loss of reason horizons shine the meltdown the final kick the ballroom of last chance romance is dead lose it once lost it twice the same old mistakes Russian roulette lost the retail space to french baguette no regrets my friends the freedom train leaves from platform 9 midnite rendezvous be there.

Whatz da woid on da street king EEjo?

The word on the street world citizens is bogblocked! Apologies, that should be blogblocked, the castle plumbing is just fine.Seems blogging is a bit like riding a bike-if you stop pedalling you fall off.I've fallen off and I can't get back in the saddle.It's also a bit like banging your head against the wall ,you get used to it but when you stop you kind of ask yourself why on earth was I doing that? Is blogging an online diary, a hobby, a cry for help, a place where it can be just ME me me me look at ME! How long should we blog for.Should a blog be a recording of highlights ,special occasions or should we remember that a blog is for life, not just for Christmas.(Boom-boom!!) Ah fughit Ah jus don know.Being sick has turned me upside down and inside out,getting better now, apart from the pain, but perhaps it's not just my lungs that are scarred. Anyways I've had the flu jab in one arm and a pneumonia jab in the other which is grand but sore I can't hardly move me arms from me sides,I'd be mighty at an auld step! (Irish dancing) Took the dog for a walk today, saw this...

Stark-sailed sailing boats .

Ten question marks on the horizon

waving like white flags of surrender

or Tibetan prayers.

Seven windmills , sea turbines

or deadly sins, barely moving,

give nothing away.

Three seagulls like answers singing

coalesce, their single flame

setting fire to doubt.

Thanks also to Sandra Leigh (who wrote a great poem last Mon) http://sandarastraveljournal.blogspot.com/ for a creative blogger award(posthumous)

OI! you! THE MONDAY POEM BULLETIN

Right ,peeps of the peoples-poetry-republic-of EEjit-there-is no-wrong-writing group,listen up dudes.
THERE IS NO TIME LIMIT WRITING YOUR POEM/PROSE - ALSO JUST POST IT ON YOUR BLOG ANYTIME ON MONDAY. No 5 mins no 7pm that was back in the Pleistocene period.We've moved on, matured, developed, we ain't got no strings to tie us down,ya dig? We go wid da flow! As a unit we are floating down the path never travelled on the gossamer winds of creativity and admiring the different view.We're not in the box, we're not even thinking outside the box, we've made a new feckin box that isn't even a box ,it's a Ghtyredwsrtuuvvdtyb, okay? I'll be checking that you are ALL paying attention, not just skim reading and bluffing in the comments section.There WILL be detensions, there WILL be lines- lot's of them and if necessary there WILL be letters home to your parents. GET IT! GOT IT? GOOD? If you're all sitting still and paying attention then I'll continue,STOP fidgiting Kathleen at the back there. Now it has come to my attention that some people do not like The Boss, no not Mrs EEjit, Bruce Springsteen.This is not good, it may hamper the exercise,so I'm posting up two more songs with similar feel and hopefully there will be one that you connect with.Listen to one, or even better, listen to them all (Remember ,RELAX ,wear headphones ,have a cup of tea/ glass of champagne/ can of beer,lie on the floor, or the ceiling) then write yer doodle.If you really don't like any of these then as a last resort choose your own,it's vital that the song means something to you. Finally a warning to those of a nervous disposition, try not to look at the accompanying video to Homeward Bound.I accept no responsibility for the resultant fear of Ice cream sellers(Paul 'sprinkles' Simon) or candyfloss (Bart Carbuncle's hair) For God's sake don't look at them just listen to them, I didn't have time to track down the song without a vid,I've got a whole feckin republic to run here.God luck and may the wind always be at your back
-unless it's your own.

Fast Car by Tracy Chapman
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O6475u0wEG0

Fast Car lyrics

You got a fast car
I want a ticket to anywhere
Maybe we make a deal
Maybe together we can get somewhere
Anyplace is better
Starting from zero got nothing to lose
Maybe we'll make something
But me myself I got nothing to prove

You got a fast car
I got a plan to get us out of here
been working at the convenience store
Managed to save just a little bit of money
We won't have to drive too far
Just 'cross the border and into the city
You and I can both get jobs
And finally see what it means to be living

You see my old man's got a problem
He live with the bottle that's the way it is
He says his body's too old for working
I say his body's too young to look like his
but mama went off and left him
She wanted more from life than he could give
I said somebody's got to take care of him
So I quit school and that's what I did

You got a fast car
is it fast enough so we can fly away
We gotta make a decision
We leave tonight or live and die this way

So remember when we were driving driving in your car
The speed so fast felt like I was drunk
City lights lay out before us
And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder
I had a feeling that I belonged
I had a feeling I could be someone
be someone

be someone

You got a fast car
We go cruising to entertain ourselves
You still ain't got a job
And I work in a market as a checkout girl
I know things will get better
You'll find work and I'll get promoted
We'll move out of the shelter
Buy a bigger house and live in the suburbs

So remember when we were driving driving in your car
The speed so fast felt like I was drunk
City lights lay out before us
And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder
I had a feeling that I belonged
I had a feeling I could be someone
be someone

be someone

You got fast car
And I got a job that pays all our bills
You stay out drinking late at the bar
See more of your friends than you do of your kids
I'd always hoped for a better
Thought maybe together you and me would find it
I got no plans I ain't going nowhere
So take your fast car and keep on driving

So remember when we were driving driving in your car
The speed so fast felt like I was drunk
City lights lay out before us
And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder
I had a feeling that I belonged
I had a feeling I could be someone
be someone

be someone

You got a fast car
But is it fast enough so you can fly away
You gotta make a decision
You leave tonight or live and die this way




'Homeward Bound' by Pope Someone and Fart Daftuncle
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sI0enx_Jnqc&feature=related

I'm sittin' in the railway station
Got a ticket for my destination
On a tour of one night stands
My suitcase and guitar in hand
And every stop is neatly planned
For a poet and a one man band



Homeward bound
I wish I was
Homeward bound
Home, where my thought's escaping
Home, where my music's playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me

Everyday's an endless stream
Of cigarettes and magazines
And each town looks the same to me
The movies and the factories
And every stranger's face I see
Reminds me that I long to be

Homeward bound
I wish I was
Homeward bound
Home, where my thought's escaping
Home, where my music's playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me

Tonight I'll sing my songs again
I'll play the game and pretend
But all my words come back to me
In shades of mediocrity
Like emptyness in harmony
I need someone to comfort me

Homeward bound
I wish I was
Homeward bound
Home, where my thought's escaping
Home, where my music's playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me
Silently for me
Silently for me

My Hometown by Bruce ,not the real Boss that's mrs EEj, Springsteen


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvNUOElgmnk

was eight years old and running with a dime in my hand
Into the bus stop to pick up a paper for my old man
Id sit on his lap in that big old buick and steer as we drove through town
Hed tousle my hair and say son take a good look around
This is your hometown, this is your hometown
This is your hometown, this is your hometown

In `65 tension was running high at my high school
There was a lot of fights between the black and white
There was nothing you could do
Two cars at a light on a saturday night in the back seat there was a gun
Words were passed in a shotgun blast
Troubled times had come to my hometown
My hometown, my hometown, my hometown

Now main streets whitewashed windows and vacant stores
Seems like there aint nobody wants to come down here no more
Theyre closing down the textile mill across the railroad tracks
Foreman says these jobs are going boys and they aint coming back to
Your hometown, your hometown, your hometown, your hometown

Last night me and kate we laid in bed talking about getting out
Packing up our bags maybe heading south
Im thirty-five we got a boy of our own now
Last night I sat him up behind the wheel and said son take a good
Look around
This is your hometown

Let the words and music guide you, it doesn't matter where, keep an eye on home but the muse knows where ye are going,so follow!

Ps there is no new box really-yet!

Well ,poets, you feeling lucky?

HEADLIGHTS OUT'A HERE

I know what you're thinking — " Will he set six tasks or only five?" Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement, I've kinda lost track myself. But, being this is an almond flavoured Magnum the most powerful ice-cream in the world and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: "Do I feel lucky?" Well, do ya, poet? Go ahead make my day dudes ,join in with the next trip of the light fantastic otherwise known as TFE's global poetry extravaganza par excellence in the community, a trans global 'if the kids are united they will never be divided' peace and harmony project funded entirely from the sale of Jimmy the Butlers (confiscated) soft porn collection on ebay. Yesterdays response was gratifying in the extreme which is a strange phenomenon for me-again.Being some half-arsed class of clown who somewhat pretentiously strives to be something akin to somebody who writes stuff,I am of course incredibly egotistical, it's all about ME,why else would I blog? For world peace? I don't think so. And yet here I am all excited about what YOUS have written and the buzz is no longer ,'look what I've written, aren't i the great little fecker altogether', but look what THEY have written (albeit still with a muted' aren't I a great little fecker altogether for prompting them') So very well done to all of ye and thanks a million for joining in. For this weeks task I thought it might be interesting to see what happens if we did exactly the same exercise but this time all listen to the same piece of music. I've chosen(Oh, the sweet intoxication of POWER) 'My Hometown' by Bruce Springsteen, the final track on his 'Born in the USA' album. Now everybody in the world has this album and if you don't ,apart from wondering how you could have gone so horribly wrong in your life thus far, I am posting not only a you tube link http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvNUOElgmnk but a copy of the lyrics

was eight years old and running with a dime in my hand
Into the bus stop to pick up a paper for my old man
Id sit on his lap in that big old buick and steer as we drove through town
Hed tousle my hair and say son take a good look around
This is your hometown, this is your hometown
This is your hometown, this is your hometown

In `65 tension was running high at my high school
There was a lot of fights between the black and white
There was nothing you could do
Two cars at a light on a saturday night in the back seat there was a gun
Words were passed in a shotgun blast
Troubled times had come to my hometown
My hometown, my hometown, my hometown

Now main streets whitewashed windows and vacant stores
Seems like there aint nobody wants to come down here no more
Theyre closing down the textile mill across the railroad tracks
Foreman says these jobs are going boys and they aint coming back to
Your hometown, your hometown, your hometown, your hometown

Last night me and kate we laid in bed talking about getting out
Packing up our bags maybe heading south
Im thirty-five we got a boy of our own now
Last night I sat him up behind the wheel and said son take a good
Look around
This is your hometown

for you to peruse.The song is salt, you are water,rational thought is the membrane through which, by the process of osmosis, you will absorb inspiration and produce your own masterpiece. Home, what is it,where is it, does it exist, is it where we are born ,where we live,where the heart is, within us -or without us,do we ever truly find it at all?These are the thoughts but the song is the catalyst.Write about home ,write about the song, write about a bird on the wire,a bird in the cage, write about quantum physics, a penny chew,Che Guevara, Aldi prices,botulism,Hippos..whatever comes to ya , JUST WRITE- Well poets, you feeling Lucky?

Man /Superman Alive and kicking, man!

Yes, art lovers, the man /superman global fiesta continues apace this week with the world's greatest * assemblage apperaing in ,not one, but TWO premium glaerry of human life locations this week.Firstly here at my favourite aunts place http://madauntbernard.blogspot.com/2009/09/trebollocks-finds-superheroes-after.html Mad Aunt Bernard ,tortoise fancying beareded lady lunatic, if you haven't been to her blog, you haven't lived.Gird up your gloisters and get over there. Then as if the world werenot already overflowing with artification, the collage from heaven having mastered the art of bilocation is also at everyone's favourite granny's Heather,she may be 10 years younger than me at 73 but I still like to think of her as gran,she's a taleted craftswoman and becoming a dab hand at the old poetry malarky, get theee gone to her cosy home for a cup of tea and custard creams http://raggedoldblogger.blogspot.com/2009/09/mansuperman-and-gordano-textile-artists.html

International Poetry Monday

Doesn't Monday come round so quick? It only seems a week ago that we were posting poetry like there was no tommorrow.Looking forward to reading this weeks efforts.

Catching the wordy worm are these early birds:

Mr River Run http://dominicrivron.blogspot.com/2009/09/words-and-music.html


Jeanne posts below and blogs at http://iconicrealism.blogspot.com/

Yearning for serenity
an unsettled mind
drifts gracefully
flowing in paralysis
a paradox offering
spiritual coalescence
sweet malady
sweeter melody
sweetest memory
core surge caresses
in divine rhythm
echoes from arched bones
guard this heart
in solemn surrender to stillness
filling silence with rapture

(Fantasia on a theme by Thomas Tallis, composed by Ralph Vaughan-Williams)

Rachel Fox
http://crowd-pleasers.blogspot.com/2009/09/monday-poem-and-of-all-songs-in-all.html


NanU
http://sciencegirltraveler.blogspot.com/2009/09/monday-poetry-musical-interlude.html



Weaver
http://weaverofgrass.blogspot.com/2009/09/tfes-monday-poem.html


Titus
http://titusthedog.blogspot.com/2009/09/tfes-monday-challenge-two-birds-with.html

Poetikat (doing,ithink,the very first task)http://hyggedigter.blogspot.com/

5 Minutes

Tick, tick, tick.
I watch the digits
Flip and flick.
(I have an old clock.)
Tells the time
in my dimension,
It is only my intention,
to be clever,
though I never
really ever
pull it off.
(To my own satisfaction)
So, I'll print my own
retraction.
On another note,
I'm trying
to decide if you're denying
me the time
to lay it out there.
All about me?
Well, I don't care!
Time is flying--
one more minute.
Is there something really
in it?
Tick, tick, tick,
my old clock's winding
down,
down,
down.


Poet in residence http://poet-in-residence.blogspot.com/ for the first time instead of leaving money behind the bar with nebulous Noreen ,has posted tongue in cheek, should we have taken the money, or opened the (goggle) box? :)

Pome:
MUZIK IN THE NEXT ROOM

eej's monday challenge

slap on the goggle-box;
the gaping gawping
cornered noise-box,

half turn of my right cauli;
another dolly-bird songlet,
the background noise,
imagine shimmer
on a blonde with lip-gloss

hey eej it's musik,
an airspray advert,

she lwks so good
ah oh
so good

but damn it eej
i can't see her

no i can't see her

no not from ear


Mrs Niamh
http://variouscushions.blogspot.com/2009/09/seemed-like-good-idea-at-time.html

Another welcome debutante to the TFE experience, Drama Queen
http://dramaqueenjoan.blogspot.com/2009/09/frank-poem-4tfe.html

Heather http://raggedoldblogger.blogspot.com/2009/09/this-weeks-monday-poetry-post.html


D'Oub
http://domesticoubliette.blogspot.com/2009/09/more-tfe.html

Mrs Nesbitt
http://mrsnesbittsspace.blogspot.com/2009/09/my-world-tuesday-whilst-we-were-staying.html?showComment=1253016605477#c4574700048556905167


Swiss
http://travelsinthefloatingelvis.blogspot.com/2009/09/three-poems-about-music.html

Poetikat
http://hyggedigter.blogspot.com/2009/09/blame-it-on-tfe-monday-music-poem.html

Sandra Leigh
http://sandarastraveljournal.blogspot.com/

Colin Will

http://sunnydunny.wordpress.com/2009/09/15/after-crystal-gayle/

Here's mine TFE I blog right about HERE.

Last resort

Run bleeding over dry sand
black gold, guilt edge, only we can drown.
Come bullets, come bombs,
promenade your picture postcards.

Plough back all the wet words
these strange planes to foreign lands,
show our face, our hands.

Wish you weren’t here,
dying for a seaside town ?
Come poet, leveller, croppy boy,
pre steam-age romantics rise,
blow the ghost train .


Song was 'Every day is like sunday' by Morrissey