"natter" poems
Now, the truth
Luke & Leia is this love
Thank God not the wrong kind
Siblings apart since birth
Together till the end of time
Darth vader concious
Dark, evil, twisted
Luring Luke innocent
No Luke! Don't do it!
Doesn't matter he's your Dad
Doesn't matter how sad
He doesn't give a hoot
Who on earth he shoots
Stormtrooper beware
Puppet of your master
You will be beaten big time
By a gorgeous little Ewok
Chewy & Han
You are the man
Milenium shoots them all
You saved the day
Kept Darth vader at bay
You saved our heros
Wicked
Poor Han solid
In some ungodly squalor
Not the nicest end
Certainly not Han Solo's plan
Geez George ... really ...
Tin & metal
R2, See threepio
Nitter natter chatter
Lots of friendly banter
Cuter than buttons
You just wanna hug em
Jedi Knight Yoda
Played his part of course
Strong in force
He helped the cause
Although he has passed over
Goodness wins in the end
Good force takes the flag
Mighty, Epic, Timeless
And gloriously mad
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 3:46 AM UTC
I want to be a princess,
that's all I ever ask,
When I meet someone I only hope,
their promises will last.
But things always go the same way,
like a flower plucked when ripe,
Relationships they dwindle,
flop,
and lose all hope of life!
So, is it really worth it?
I find i'm questioning me!
A partnership's not destined,
it's the single life for me!
All I know is I wanna feel,
like someones number one,
The first thing that they think of,
and the last when the day is done.
I want to be their Princess,
it's the little things
that matter,
like phone calls right out of the blue,
for a cosy, loving natter!
I don't think that what I'm asking for,
is too much, to be true.
Cos, it's the little things that really count,
when someone declares they love you.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
The President is writing in ALL CAPS today
And that’s all right because caps are okay:
They keep his head warm in the winter’s cold
He has ‘em in colors: red, white, and gold
And an old one in green from Viet-Nam
Where he was a-serving 1 of his Uncle Sam
Only he didn’t, but that doesn’t matter
He’ll dodge the issue with bluster and natter
Be grateful he sports his red MAGA cap
To cover his head, ‘cause it’s full of
hair
1 allusion to Kipling's "Gunga Din"
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
An army of plastic fellows shelter from the pouring rain.
Hiding under shrubs and trees.
Guarding the garden insidiously.
They're on patrol again.
Sat by the pond, musing.
Nattering in their lingo gnome.
Unheard by ears of men.
They watch nature in balance.
Peeping at the trees.
Guarding their mothers security.
Mother Nature gives them trees, and grass and bumble bees.
Go out for a while, come back and smile.
They carried out with precision all the garden chores.
Come rain or shine, they live out doors.
Those gnomes took control of the garden their home.
They leave you a job, you come out with your mower.
They are a touch to small.
They can however, *** and ****
When they're in your garden, they are, they sow the seeds.
They natter to each other in their own sweet dulcet tones.
After carrying out security.
They're still just garden gnomes!
(c) Livvi
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 4:52 AM UTC
Clickety click, Clickety clack,
The train it rolls along the track.
The kids all get restless the parents all natter,
But at least they aren’t crying, so that doesn’t matter.
Clickety clack, Clickety click,
A child hollers out “mum I feel sick!”
“What did I tell you about eating those sweets?”
“Don’t make a mess all over these seats!”
Clickety click, Clickety clack,
The guard sitting bored, in his cab at the back.
We thunder through towns and all of its people,
Passing by churches, and that old pointed steeple.
Clickety clack, Clickety click,
A drinks cart on the train? Ah just the trick,
A nice cup of coffee and a cold can of beer,
“How much? You’re kidding!” I won’t get much change here!
Clickety click, Clickety clunk,
Oops, sounds like that rail's missing a chunk.
We cross over bridges, spanning their rivers,
I must close that window, it’s giving me shivers.
Clickety click, Clickety clack,
I’m getting hungry; I could use a good snack.
Back comes the hostess with her goods laden trolley,
No chance I’m parting with even more lolly.
Clickety clack, Clickety click,
So many destinations, which one should I pick?
Should I stay local, or should I go far?
It’s certainly more peaceful than driving a car.
Clickety click, Clickety clack,
It feels like we’re speeding along a fair whack.
The seconds to minutes, the minutes to hours,
From towns and their houses, to fields and their flowers.
Clickety clack, Clickety click,
Wherever I’m going, I’m getting there quick.
Bright eyed young faces, an adventure, exciting,
The doddery old folk, complain when alighting
Clickety click, Clickety clack,
We pass many crossings and a ***** old shack.
How many golf courses and quaint country pubs?
And weekend gardeners out pruning their shrubs.
Clickety clack, Clickety click,
These seats so uncomfy, now my neck's got a crick!
Now finally I've reached my long journey’s end,
And I'm glad that I've shared it with you my dear friend.
© Cinco Espiritus Creation
2012
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
Faces lost in blank expression
Wait in stasis for their stop,
Shuttled from one potential
To the next like letters
In a mailman’s bag.
The sounds and smells of strangers,
The uncomfortable touches,
The squeezing in spaces,
The jerking rhythm of the ride,
The pram queens who sag
Against the railing
While their kids twist and turn
And scream at the lack of fun
In the faces of blank expression,
While couples tongues quietly wag.
Youthful monsters sit at the back
Playing tunes for the irritation
Of the old school music hacks,
While grandma dozes against the glass,
Shopping drawn up like a wall
To protect her from her past.
Father and daughter
Playing a game,
Sitting next to two lovers
Who are doing the same.
The tickling natter of friends,
The glare of phones,
The lying dog’s stare.
Life on the buses,
A slice of people
For the cost of a fare.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
Hobbling over rock and dust,
The Nameless winces with every weary step.
His soles scorched and torn
By the unaccustomed roughness underfoot
The jagged teeth of a prickly piping earth.
Alone he makes his way
With tiny treads towards the dying dusk.
Fatigue dragging at his limbs
Bowing his neck to leave eyes downcast
And unfocussed; seeing naught but blurs and
The swirling and swaying of the trembling past.
A city:
Grand buildings stretching as one toward the sky;
Great lions waking from their feast and basking
In the brilliance of noonday air.
The bustle of flesh coursing about their purpose
The tight press of bodies all around
And the chatter and the natter and the laughter and the anger.
And then the silence.
The fear and the glares.
The hunger
And a guilty aversion of one’s eyes.
The shattering of glass
The raising with fire and boot.
And the stealing of Names.
And now here he trudges.
With tiny treads and into naked night.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 9:31 AM UTC
Chatter;
Prattle;
Babble;
Rant;
No, not a word…
a little red ant.
Gossip;
Natter;
Blather;
Chant;
The blatherskite’s fluent
The charming Prant;
Challenge;
Confront;
Tackle;
Dispute;
Fervor not here
… for the old discarded fruit.
Produce ;
Partake;
Compost;
Gone;
Leftovers are yours
To nibble on
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
You see her sitting in the chair,
daydreaming, staring into thin air.
You wonder what she sees,
with her hands neatly folded on her knees.
You watch her for a while,
notice a girlish smile, see her eyes brighten then dim.
You know she's thinking of him.
Her husband long gone.
You see her tilt her head as if in conversation,
what is she thinking of now?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm sitting again in the chair.
With nothing to do but wait and stare.
He'll be along shortly to talk to me,
we'll have a good natter, about nothing that matters.
We'll remember the war, when we were young,
when we had fun, when we danced and walked,
and made daisy chains in the sun.
We made love by the moon, then, all over too soon.
I've waited a long time here, and while he comes to visit,
he's always young, wearing his uniform, and I am old,
and forgotten in a chair.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 7:15 AM UTC
Chatter;
Prattle;
Babble;
Rant;
.
No, not a word…
a little red ant.
.
Gossip;
Natter;
Blather;
Chant;
.
The blatherskite’s fluent
The charming Prant;
.
Challenge;
Confront;
Tackle;
Dispute;
.
Fervor not here
… for the old discarded fruit.
.
Produce ;
Partake;
Compost;
Gone;
.
Leftovers are yours
To nibble on…
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC
Stinking Thieves and Degenerates thus proudly declared
We will drive you paranoid, give you ******* brain cancer
We will put hot things in your head, head lice they blared
We will plant dissenting seeds in your mind by our passers
Chatter and natter with toxic germination brain furrowed
With poisons, fears and doubts we'll polluted your mind
We are the majority and we'll recruit followers in numbers
Build a pyramid of lies and hassles to hound and down grind
One tell ten and onwards, chinese whispers makes you to wonder
Peck like vultures at your life with harassments that's unkind
In our putrid pond, caves and gutters a Grass is what you are
Goody shiny two shoes who stays aloof thinks he's better than us
Whistle clean, no crime or stains, how pompous, how you dare
Evil and destruction is our wont, purity is anathema go you suss
We'll sling mud, blacken you, weaken you and lay you bare
Go call your Jesus to save you, see if he dares tussle with the pack
The ******* cemetery is full of Saints who we've offered free rides
Showed them the Hell we make for good people before we wack
We'll get in your head and mind and trounce your soul with hide
We are knaves, criminals and reprobates and we have the knack
Yes, we burgled and stole from you, that's our trade, what we do
We are criminals not ******* Mother Teresa saving the poor
You work hard to acquire, we work hard to acquire, isn't it so
Then you chose to grass us up, ruin our trade and shut our doors
see what happens to upright and legit, jobless, lonely and broken too.
Hahaha....hahaha.....hahaha.....next!
Brother watch out, it could be you..............
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 6:32 AM UTC
i write poetry
from the collective,
that resides within my mind
they gather often,
at the water cooler
or for coffee, tea
and a bit of a natter..
all my idio's and syncranicities
my ego,
and my shy shuffling humble-bumbler
the flambouyant quirke,
the little girl memories
all get the memo and out they come.
earth mother, surfer chick,
daughter of despair,
moderator, instigator,
wanna-be litigator
acerberic premenstrual ditzbitch,
all represented there.
so in the end,
what you get to see;
are the minutes from the meetings,
or the gossip from the gatherings
the intimate murmurings...
from the musings.
of the legion, that ...
collectively
call themsevles
me.
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
you’re a snuggler
a tangler
a logistical link of limbs
that end up intertwining with mine
you kick me over some of the duvet
in the gentlest of gestures
and fester in the filth of your little sister’s linen
as the full moon sheds shame on our backsides.
but as the sun scowls through the window
that frames the four post
you wrap yourself in the sheets
like a sushi roll of biscuited bitterness
you natter to the bedbugs
the only ones who’ll listen to your curses
whilst me?
I’m basking in the warmth of a Sunday scandal.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 2:41 PM UTC
Taking all of the will, not so easily mustered
Mixing it with goodbyes, tears of guilt,
Lamenting the minutes just gone by,
Each second, each step, closer to isolation.
Marina whispers in the queue,
"Flying away from dispair, losing all of you".
Cutting the string with a home,
A life lived, familiar, with comfort.
The landscapes are carved, patchwork to be taken,
No waste to be seen in miles of new pastures,
Mapped our for us to explore.
Riches existing in snapshots of ruins;
Museums, halls, walking tours.
Dynamite rolls, caesars galore.
All that is waiting to be conquered
Before one returns to the wars.
The first stop rows of people traffic,
No red lights as warning signs.
Everyone waiting in line, to reach a plateau of thinking,
Willing to bask in newer time.
Crowds gathered to be "social",
All too aware of been seen,
The green paper flashed across tables,
A lifestyle no longer a dream.
To impress one must boast of acquaintances,
so rich you seem to know of success.
To matter became a fast contest, we will name it
"Who knows who best".
Next came the immigrants natter,
There was always a "when will you go?"
Marina observed such behavior,
Unwilling to reveal her horror show.
Forms prepared as leaves of security,
Languages took on new stature.
The boss controlled the fate of the non native,
How strange to have so little control.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
One two three four counting tiles on the wall
Do I do it in consciousness or subliminal
After all I put them there! I know how many already
We think the strangest thoughts, daydreams of simply bored
What if Shrodinger had a dog and Pavlov a cat
Would science be different for that?
Did man really walk on the moon or was it a desert soundstage?
Can air brushed looks ever replace a memory of another's face
Do dogs bark because they can? Or are we to thick to understand
I dont know I I don't speak dog or human sometimes for that matter
If I had religion with god I could natter
As I don't and never will I'll count more until I'm done
Five six seven eight
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC
1720, work’s all done.
Listen boss, I got to dash.
Stopped at florist.
Bought red roses for his lover.
Ran down the street clutching his bunch.
Glanced at his watch.
Sees that he’s late.
To meet the wife.
Anniversary date.
Puts his hand in jacket pocket.
Aims to find his mobile.
Silly sod forgot it.
Got to the phone box on the corner of the street.
Waited a minute or two.
Until in desperation, to give apologetic explanation.
Tap, tap tap, he rapped.
Bashes on the phone box door.
A silly old dear with hair rinsed in blue.
Spins round with venomous tongue.
Shouts out loud.
“Be patient son”.
“Can’t you see I’m having a chat!”
Chatter chatter.
Natter natter.
On and on she went.
Dude outside was going mental.
Mrs Ancient left the cubicle.
Throwing ***** looks around.
Huffing a puffing, like the dragon she is.
The flower man flies in the box.
Receiver picked up.
Dials lady lover’s number.
Typically the number’s engaged.
So, spitting fire the fella’s enraged.
Tired of trying to explain.
Knowing his next train is due in a while.
Runs from the kiosk not wearing a smile.
In his ire he chucked the roses.
Landed in the ******* bin.
At the terminus of train at last.
The flower seller grinned at him.
She could see his stress shine through.
Sold him a bunch of lilies of peace.
Before on to the train he swept.
Key in the front door.
Inside he ventured.
Smelling cremated dinner burn.
“Oops darling I’m so sorry.
You’d never believe the day I had.
See darling.
I didn’t forget our anniversary!”
(C) Livvi 2014
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 6:09 AM UTC
her moist candy lips decorate my eyes
with thick intentions **** sweet
she moves across the room like a liquid smooth and wet
her hot skin sends chills up my spine
as she unwraps herself and melts fluently into my arms
like my body is a second language to her
moist candy lips taste so good
her dreadlocks scented with roses
entwined with beads
she swallows me down to my heart and soul
hours later in the kitchen
visions of better pancakes
make her inspect the lumpy batter
with narrowed eyed suspicions
cluck the tongue and
natter natter natter the bakers pie
neener neener neener shes got my weener
you spoon out the day
like it was ice creams
flavours of the mind a rainbow of reasons to love
she hovers over your stove puts a pipe in your hat
and talks over your carefully chosen words
with her own reasons for her lumpy mind
poor girl never really got her batter really stirred by somebody
we laugh the day away
this is how life should be
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
On the surface of the moon, high in the sky and far out of sight.
Lives a creature, in a crater, half in shade, half in light.
The creature has a snarky grin.
And that is where this story begins.
People find it hard to describe the creature they see.
“he’s tall” some say, others “he only comes up to my knee”.
Some say he has two legs; some say he has four.
Some say he has six legs; some say he has more.
Some say he has two eyes, a nose, two ears and a mouth.
Some say he is charming; others say his charms are leaving him, heading south.
But one thing that is known for sure.
Is the creature that lives on the moon is a frightful old boor.
He has no words, no small talk, chitter chatter.
He doesn’t pass the time with a friendly natter.
He slinks and slithers.
He glides and shivers.
A snake, I hear you cry but “no!”
This creature is not a snake, he's neither fast nor slow.
He lives on his own and seeks no crowds.
He shouts at you “turn the music down”, if it gets too loud.
Some say he's a dinosaur, one hundred years old.
Some say he's a young un with a heart of gold.
The creature that lives on the moon, is happy being one of a kind.
He's happy being himself and has no desire to be refined.
The creature that lives on the moon, is happy in his own skin.
Makes no difference to the creature, if he has no known kith or kin.
The creature that lives on the moon, makes no judgement of what you wear.
Makes no judgement of how you choose to style your hair.
That is why the creature that lives on the moon is welcome to attend his neighbour’s parties.
That is why they welcome him with arms open wide, wholeheartedly.
The creature that lives on the moon is pleasant to them all, but he has no desire to be the star of the ball.
By preference, the creature sits alone in his chair, he does not speak, he does not stare.
He just enjoys the moment, living without a care.
He has no shackles; he is not bound.
The creature is content living life in his crater, he has no wish to be found.
The view he has before him of the planet below is a glorious sight.
A sight that waxes and wanes with the season, sometimes he is in the shade, sometimes eclipsed by the light.
A sight he adores and is grateful for.
A sight he is happy to be considered a “frightful old boor”.
When you see the moon in the sky at night.
Look for the creature, who lives in a crater, sometimes in shade and sometimes in light.
Give him a wave and say a prayer thankful he continues watching over the planet below from sunset to sunrise; from the time your head hits the pillow until the time you open your eyes.
Sweet dreams.
©Jacqueline Mead 2020
May 30, 2020
May 30, 2020 at 11:28 AM UTC
not got poetry within me...
have searched and sought,
found only dry bones
and hollow whispers
mirages to a soul that sighs.
mirages to a soul that cries...
bones that clack and clatter,
whispered words that natter
and scatter and dissipate
....at an alarming rate
my ear aches, my heart aches
and those bones, do break...
and shatter
mirages drift, mirages drift...
as i sift and seive a tired mind,
yet no poetry do i find....
Nov 26, 2015
Nov 26, 2015 at 4:50 PM UTC
Sheltered promises
fitting male into female,
and I hold out in this hotel room
standing up for nothing.
There is a time to pay the price
and just get on the ride.
The local folk, they don't smile much.
So I hunt my alone time down,
only to set it free when caught.
Get a whiff of that!
It smells like someone died in here,
their spirit choking on crumbs of thought.
Metal bars and a chainlink fence,
chewed torn sleep when it comes.
Some only sleep,
maybe they are free until their lids separate.
The toll being too high for me to cross beyond.
Unsweetened, sweaty dreams chide and natter,
becoming bitter yearnings
off in the distance,
only markings made by memories.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 6:09 AM UTC
black clouds of solitude,mid celebrating crowds,people oblivious,of his lonely cloud.knee caps exposed,holes in his socks,temporary soles,from a cardboard box.homeless, sad, lonely,tortured by fumes,christmas dinner,families in tune.laceless shoes, fleeing,agony of hunger,lost wasted chances,when ignorant youngster.tattered feet hasten,evading the din,to comfort of home....two rats, and a bin.shiver and sharing,leftover platter,green mouldy french fries,black soggy batter.cooking fumes blending,seasonal natter,his dreamland beckons,cold teeth chatter.
Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 1:31 PM UTC
She creases her forehead in confusion
She wonders what they say as they pass her by
What are they saying, to whom and why?
They murmur, frown, giggle and titter
As if they have no emotional filter
The little she hears almost brings her to tears
Do they dance to the tune of some shadow puppeteer?
Call them rumors, gossip, lies, hearsay or fabrication
Call them improvised news or forged information
Little difference would it make.
Malicious whispers, known to topple empires
Sunder relationships and cause death
Her chest hurts and she can’t seem to take a breath
As her heart tumbles in her chest, her mind is drawn to Wilkinson v. Downton
In that moment, she could almost relate to Miss Wilkinson.
Ware those Whispers
They travel far and wide
But their source is always close to home
Who tattled? Was it a loved one or a close friend?
She may never know.
Ware those whispers.
They may have as little as a kernel or as much as a boatload of truth
At this point, the defence of truth is surely moot
She called them girls, squad, friends and besties
In their company, she was merely lollygagging
Behind her back, their tongues were wagging
A mere misrepresentation can cause complete devastation
They scoff at her frantic utterances of truth
To them, it is no more than mere superstition
She retreats into her Fortress of Solitude
In this bubble of quietude, she lifts her hands in gratitude
Though she knows it is no more than a blanket fort of self-deception
They continue to natter and chatter
She ceases her cries of protest, for it no longer matters
In calm desperation, she starts to twine the hanging rope
But wait, suicide is still a crime under the law
She stands helpless as the whispers sneak past her defences
She grips her head in an effort to drown out their voices
To this they mutter, “look, surely she is non compos mentis”
Dear child, let them run their mouth for God is thy witness
Guard your tongue for the walls have ears
Calm your heart and hear no whispers
Let them speak, they are no more than vipers
Do not be sad, though you may lose some friends
It is only the beginning and not the end
They may think they have you assessed
But they have no idea how much you’re blessed
And at all times, ware those whispers.
May 29, 2020
May 29, 2020 at 5:55 PM UTC
Erenn 2 days ago
She always wondered what would it be like
To have that kind of love you see in the movies
Those moments where the guy stood in the rain
Singing in a coffee shop and the spotlight's on her
Screaming 'I LOVE YOU' at the top of the Eiffel Tower
Just someone who's willing to go the distance
Means the world to her
She didn't realized 'Fate' was already near
On a Saturday 27th of June is where everything changed
She's on the streets of Dublin with her friends
Listening to their favorite band playing
Their eyes met as he was packing his stuff
Her friends saw this & planned ahead
She was diffident at first, reluctant to progress
He made the first move & the magic begins
They were both drowned in conversations
Eyes locked on each other
Hoping this natter never ends
They met again on a Sunday to watch him play
But this time little sister is there to speculate
It was hard making moves
Both eager to land a kiss
Both didn't want to leave
He had to leave the next day
Back to Australia where his dreams underway
He made a promise to meet her again
But fate has its twist and they had to wait
She had to go to Portugal on a holiday
Where he's back in Dublin again to play
He's willing to go the distance for her
He'll be back in September
To fulfill that promise
Endeared in notions of affection
Waiting for that fateful day
Two days was all it take
For a love like this
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 1:27 AM UTC