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SøułSurvivør Jun 2015
A TRIBUTE TO HELLO POETRY

This will be a long write.
There are so many I wish
to honor and thank.

Please, if you can, pull up
Bruce Cockburn's song
Maybe the Poet on YouTube.
Listen to the words as you read this.
It will greatly add to your enjoyment.

I play no favorites...
you ALL are class acts!

Here's a tribute. Yep. It's long!
But listen to Bruce Cockburn's song.
I want to emulate what's sung
Yes, not miss a poet, one!

ryn has got a range of art
Ded Poet's got a poet's heart
elsa angelica's soul resounds
Bhumika's a dove
with a golden crown!

Wolfspirit's pen can spill his love
Wonderman's ink from up above
sjr...1000 words so wise
Scarlet Pimpernel's talent's
not disguised!

Joe Malgeri's a spiritual gent
Paige Pots' work is heaven sent
Tivonna has love for natural things
Helena's work has roots and wings!

Pradip, in my eyes number one
as is Thomas A Robinson
jeffrey robin's style is loose and bold
Rupal has a heart of gold!

John Stevens has an earthy wit
Pax means peace, his candle's lit
Tryst's ballads are a perfect fit
and I love Lidi Minuet!

donna's sweet as honeydew
Jason Cole fits like a shoe
Prttybrd sings songs with style
Day Wing flies! He has a smile!

Deborah's walking on her beach
her talent has a range and reach
Rapunzel let's her hair way down
Weeping Willow
has a pleasant sound!

Joe Cole loves all fantasy
SSilkenTounge has a mind that's free
Solaces is a very old friend
I hope to see Botan again!

Urmilla writes beyond her years
Chalsey Wilder writes bring tears
Tonya Maria and I share pain
Wise is K Balachandran!

CA Guifoyle lives in my town
Adam Childs' the best around
SE Reimer can put us in the mood
Musfiq us Shaleheen
Is so VERY good!

Richard Riddle honors with poetry
Love my collab, Arcassin B!
Sally A Bayan's good and kind
Hayden Swan's a real find!

Love comments from Joe Adomavicia
zik, I'm always glad to see ya!
TGWLY has a heart that hurts
Erenn Y does heartfelt works...

Elizabeth Squires has classic writes
Frank Ruland's fights
for what is right
And if a scare you want to see
just look up POETIC T!

Oh! There are SO many more!
There are poets by the score!
I don't want to be a bore
But read them ALL! You will be
FLOORED !!!

MORE POETS!!!

Lori Jones McCaffery
Kalypso
Niamh Price
Mya Angel
Mike Hauser
Vicki
Ignatius Hosiana
Frankie J
Chris Green
mark cleavenger
brandon nagley
Winn
Puds (Pete)
Deborah Brooks Langford
Timothy
Marian
Hilda
Harriet Tecumsah Watt
it's gonna make sense
mybarefootdrive
Dark n Beautiful
WL Winter
Margaux
Pamela Rae
Venusoul7
Eddie Starr
Olivia Kent
Brenden Thomas
Zoe
Raj Arumugam
Elijah
Sukeerti
Manny
M.A.N
Jonny Angel
Dylan Mitchell
James M Vines
bulletcookie
i am miss brightside
Chris Fracc
Cat
Ocean Blue
Phil Lindsay
Mike Hauser
PearlSy
Christi Michaels Moon Flower
Raj Nandy
SPT
PoETEPETE Now RePETE After PETE
Makayla Kelly
Paul Gafney
Nan Trapp Messer
Chloe
Steven Langhorst
Daniel Palmer
Chris Smith Dark Poet Soul
C A Guilfoyle
TRAVELLER
Soul
GitacharYa VedaLa
Rosalind heather Alexander
S R Matts
Paul Gattney
Danny Mak
patty m
liv frances
Gary L
Ngamau Boniface
IOWA
Earl Jane
ber
Justin G
James
ste'phanie noir
born
Aztec Warrior


Last but not least... olestoryteller
and Francie Lynch! Ketoma Rose!
If there's someone I've forgotten
PLEASE TELL ME!

Also please read Hello again, Poets!
I wrote more! Also please read the poem 'diamonds'. There are many tributes to people who i missed in this write.

I'LL WRITE A SPECIAL POEM
JUST FOR YOU!

---
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
╰⊰✿´ℒ♡ⓥℯ '✿⊱╮
Puds are long, vanilla rich
Custard honey-sweet
Poured down from the liquid sun
Caramelised crust
turns nut-brown
and bubbling
Spoon!
╰⊰✿⊱╮
Tenth Epulaeryu! ^-^
I'm not gonna lie,  I liked it! The custard was like honey, very smooth but
I found that it's a bit TOO egg-y for me.
Then again, it could just be the cafe I went to at the time.
I'm open to trying it again, though I admit, I'm not in a rush.
One day! ^-^
Lyn ***
memineI Mar 2016
Good to see you healthy and about! How does the carp dream go?
If I were wealthy, I too would build a fish farm where Saudis and Donald Trump might go to
cast a line if I could but dream like A liar, too!
martin Dec 2011
My name is Dave, I'm polite and clean
I left my home in Aberdeen
To be your host, that is my task
All for the fun and a season's pass

So under the table with your feet
If you like garlic you're in for a treat
You'll sit and dine with cheapo wine
The recipes will work out fine
With fancy puds you will be nourished
All presented with a flourish

At the end of the week goodbye my friends
Next week I do it all over again.

Up the lift, must not be late
Find the ski school, they won't wait
Hello, and what's your name?
Do you think we ski the same?

Bend ze knees, don't lean back
Snake down in line, like on a track
This is how you need to be
It's counter-intuitive you see.

Under the lift, in full view
Two people collide
Ouch! I'm glad that wasn't me or you.

Stop for lunch, sit in the sun
Do the moguls, have your fun
But do take care, take care a lot
If you fall you may not stop.

It's nearly over all too fast
This morning's lesson is the last
"So 'ave you learned somesing? asks Jean-Louis
We all reply "Oui merci".
It’s Sunday dinner and I’m in the queue,
already bloated after a pint or two.
The queue moves forward and I’m finally here!
I think I’m gonna make myself sick, I fear!
With five types of spuds and four kinds of meat
I’m gonna get bloated right down to my feet!
I load up on sprouts and Yorkshire puds too.
I paid good money for this, so I think I’ll have two.
The plate’s ready to break so I head for my table,
but it’s so ******* heavy that I’m barely able!
Huffing and puffing, I get to my chair
and don’t waste a second; just dive right in there!
I eat and I eat, ‘till I think I could burst,
but I’ve gotta keep going and get my money’s worth.
I stuff myself silly, and I’m SO full of food!
Oh, ****! Need the toilet! But I don’t think I can move!
The British People are a greedy lot
It’s Sunday dinner and I’m in the queue,
already bloated after a pint or two.
The queue moves forward and I’m finally here!
I think I’m gonna make myself sick, I fear!
With five types of spuds and four kinds of meat
I’m gonna get bloated right down to my feet!
I load up on sprouts and Yorkshire puds too.
I paid good money for this, so I think I’ll have two.
The plate’s ready to break so I head for my table,
but it’s so ******* heavy that I’m barely able!
Huffing and puffing, I get to my chair
and don’t waste a second; just dive right in there!
I eat and I eat, ‘till I think I could burst,
but I’ve gotta keep going and get my money’s worth.
I stuff myself silly, and I’m SO full of food!
Oh, ****! Need the toilet! But I don’t think I can move!
The British People are a greedy lot
kirk Mar 2021
Who needs a box of Sandwiches, who needs a plump Pork Pie
Snap those flimsy plastic Knifes, and bleed your Hip Flask dry
***** up your Paper Serviettes, kiss Plates and Cups goodbye
The War on Picnics has begun, and Coffee Beans will die

Bar B Q's will let them burn, checked Blankets can be ripped
Don't squeeze those juicy Oranges, all Bananas must stay zipped
Lock away your Wicker Baskets, cos Yogi's post is piped
The average bear has had his day, and smartness will be stripped

Cobs of Corn are wilting; they can't believe their ears
Asparagus has now been thrown, along with all the spears
Fresh Cream is left to curdle, Milk shaking through the fears
Too many Hops have been deflowered, so stick your crate of Beers

Who wants your Cheese and Onion, spin on my Sausage Roll
The march of Walkers has commenced, and Crisps have gone Awol
Let Iceberg Lettuce melt away, toss out that Salad Bowl
Tuna Fish has just got canned, so has the Dover Soul

Vanilla in an Ice Cream Cone, that's frozen to the scoop
Hard Boiled Eggs are going soft, so they've all flown the coop
A ****** on a Cocktail Stick, one ***** that's on the droop
Ripe Tomatoes are now squashed, pack up your Cup a' Soup

Chicken has turned rather fowl, Ham is now wafer thin
Kitchen Roll has given up, their towels have been thrown in
Farmhouse Loafs caught Cottaging, will take it on the chin
Candy Floss is so confused, and gone into a spin

Pizzas have fell like Domino's, they refuse to leave the Hut
Oyster shells are clamming up, so they are staying shut
Quarter Pounders lost their purposes, now they can't bust a gut
The bluntness of cheep Meat Cleavers, just didn't make the cut

The revolution of French Fries, cos they've all had their Chips
Slavery has come to pass, amongst the Walnut Whips
All Smoothies have had it rough, no blend without the Pips
Escargot are much to slow, so they can't pass my lips

Spaghetti tried to slip away, because it doesn't give a Fork
It's hairy for the Coconuts, but they're too shy to talk
Pepsi has been smoking Coke, as well as pulled Roast Pork
The Battering of the northern Puds, has forced them back to York

All the Grapes are souring; they have good cause to Wine
Nuts are turning to bad Seeds, upon the lonesome Pine
Pigs say that Bacon rationing, "is really just a swine"
We've grounded our Black Pepper, and of coarse it's now too fine

Fallen Fruits are badly bruised, too hard for any healings
A Jacket that once was snug, lost in Potato Peelings
Jelly has thrown a wobbler, why Trifle with its feelings
Biscuits forced into a Jam, so no more Dodgy dealings

Those Chillies are so lazy, Watercress will stay in bed
It's as easy as a piece of Cake, but the Beetroots seeing red
Margarine has hardened up, and the news has not been spread
Beef Wellington has had the boot, and there's nowhere else to tread

Apples are forbidden fruit, and Ribs are going spare
The Pastry has flaked away, from my sweet Chocolate Éclair
Will Lady Godiva ride again, to show off her lovely Pear?
Pringles popped and cannot stop, but they decline to share

Salad Dressing that gets caught, well isn't that just rude?
All the Kebabs are angry, because their Vegetables are skewed
Bottles are remaining corked; it looks like we are *******
Food unwrapped will go to waste, now that its in the ****

My Candelabra's round the twist, and it's getting on my wick
Pineapple Chunks and Silver Skins, are sliding down the stick
Unsliced Bread on your doorstep, I'm afraid it's much too thick
Fields of Crops aren't dusted off, so you can't take your pick

Peperami was an animal, but now he's just a yob
Gourmet food has lost its class, and turned into a slob
My Butter has now melted, Lurpak has got no ****
Donut holes are being filled, so ******* PC Plod

The Salt is in the Cellar, Sugar has got the Cane
Lollipops have all been licked, Crackers have gone insane
Soufflés refuse to even rise, and Tea has felt the strain
Frankfurter has to face Riff Raff, and won't be sweet again

Tarts who've lost their Cherries, are no longer sat on top
Unlucky Scones have been let go, so they've all felt the drop
Beans have done a Runner; fizzy drinks have all gone Pop
Cops are giving us a fine, cos they want Picnics to stop
On 6th January 2021 two friends were fined £200 each for travelling just five miles to Foremark Reservoir in Derbyshire for their daily exercise.
Jessica Allen and Eliza Moore were surrounded by police officers in the car park shortly after arriving in separate vehicles.
Both ladies were read their rights and was told that the hot drinks they were carrying were not allowed as they were "Classed as a picnic"

It seems a bit extreme to confiscate a cup of coffee and classify it as a picnic and maybe a case of over zealousness on the part of the Derbyshire police officers.
Incidents of this nature over the past year are increasing and as a result of this I have been inspired to write about it.
This poem is just a small part of a bigger document but I thought it was worthy of its own posting
Unfortunately the document in question is too large to post in its entirety so maybe I will have to post it in sections as I was going to post a link
As a small bonus I have also re wrote the Teddy-Bears Picnic to fit in with this situation I hope you enjoy them thanks for reading.

Coffee Becomes A Picnic:
If you go down to the lake today well that is a big mistake
If you go out for a walk today there's officers on the make
For ever cop that ever there was will gather there for certain because
Today's the day when coffee becomes a picnic

Every bent cop will be there to take your treats away
There's lots of marvellous things to steal including your steamed latte
Beneath their knees whenever they please
They'll lurk and prey then issue large fees
Cos that's the way the coppers define a picnic

Picnic time for two young girls
It's only two young girls walking around the park today.
Stalk them, catch them unawares
It's no picnic when drinks go astray

There are many cops about
So don't you scream and shout
They're arresting women in pairs
By six o'clock you're treated like baddies and they'll take you instead
Because they're trained in illicit affairs

If you go out for a walk today you better go on your own
It's lovely down at the lake today, but your safer to stay at home
Cos every cop that ever there was will issue fines for certain
Because the day has come when coffee is now a picnic
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
days like these... i am left without any writing
ambition...
        was there any to begin with?
ambition... and writing?
                   i wouldn't call it anything: more -
this unnecessary more it already has become...
it's not an ambition,
but it's also not an escapism...
         it's sure as hell not some...
                    take on sylvia plath or anne sexton:
"treatment"...
writing either comes... or it doesn't...
and if it does: it does... and if it doesn't: with days
such as these: it really shouldn't...
but my once favourite jukebox is feeding
me a glitch... very old videos of content creators
and "new" music...
so i felt inclined to comment on that...
otherwise a snapshot of the day:
the t.v. didn't need me...
             but i still managed to squeeze in one
episode of gangs of london...
and i'll be ******* if anti-t.v. people wouldn't
find this gripping: zombie-eating-brains...
day... a very continental breakfast...
work in the garden...
                     then marinating some pork and chicken...
piri-piri and tomato puree: with additions...
like paprika, taekyung powder and tatlı (e)
ipek pul biber - turkish i'm guessing for sweet pepper
flakes... a dash of apple cider vinegar...

the pork marinated in... dijon mustard...
soya sauce... honey... garlic... etc. etc.
  
you can most certainly undercook pork...
best with undercooked beef:
well it's on a bbq...
                  it's not some fine dining...
among the neighbours... i wanted what the gardens
could be used for... since...
i see myself on a desert island with people
in the vicinity strapped to b.d.s.m. gizmos
indoors... not even for a suntan is the garden
used... or for... watching birds...
i can count at least 10 different types...
sitting and having a lazy cigarette...

     but chicken! you can't undercook it!
but getting it just right... well... chances of overcooking
it as slim...
more slim than overcooking pork or beef...
people who want a stake well done shouldn't
ever be allowed to eat steaks to begin with...
in the old restaurant... the smoking section...
the non-smoking section...
a section for people eating stakes...
and people of the bland persuasion that
want to doubly-butcher their beef:
the roast beef section...
all the gravy... all the trimmings...
the baked potatoes the yorkshire puds...

yeah... that might work...
        so much for reading up on schizophrenia
in julian jaynes': the origin of consciousness
in the breakdown of the bicemeral mind:
halal: implied idiot in hebrew...
not it implies kosher in arabic...
  and the "analogue i"...
             anything of psychology from the 60s
and an "i" with a prefix: just fine...

for lack of a better narrative:
a through (b) starting from (a) and ending up
at (c): here's a narrative with a quantum
leap... a lost pocket of reference:
IV + XV = XIX!

                    that happened come mid-day...
and a welcome break on the "throne of thrones":
alias for a *******...
to use the body in such a way that
the mind can be: more... but less and less
a constipation... more: akin to the unconscious
liver / kidney... a sponge central of
the connectivity of eyes, ears and prickly skin:
goosebumps...

"analogue": more like... collage...
an "enzyme" thrown into a "harem" of rats...
to subsequently watch them scuttle away
in... or... better... lifting a nearing rot
piece of wood... and finding the "grub"
cower when exposed to sunlight...
spiders... earthworms... house centipedes:
living in the garden...
analogue: continuously variable physical quantity
except for... a break in continuity...
and the invitation of: quality...
   zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance...
quality, quality, quality...

               alive in a truly: "static": status quo world...
or thereabouts...
supposed so...
when i can forget that the mind has by extension...
soul and god involved...
on its laissez-fair good days...
in an armchair of plotting an escape with
merely a breath...
               high minded: needs for "reading"...

    so much for catching up on my posthumous
writings of the pickwick papers by dickens...
maybe another perfect day...
a most perfect day: to be neither in love...
nor an angel of vengence...
                    to not hate but laze...
and by laze i implore myself to stress:
turn the brain into a kidney
and say: the kidney will not think...
the brain doesn't have to:
nor that it ever did...
where is my... exoskeleton of thought,
conscience, "consciousness"... soul and god?
drifting away with the clouds
while i remember the bones... the ****...
the esophagus rhetoric of backwards: if i wish...
and down the flush "alley":
literally... a choice of words riddled with
misnomers because: by misnomer it's so much
easier to forget a bank filled brimming with:
"too many" nouns...

back to music...
the only new music is the old music...
a chance refreshing of a fugazi catalogue:
nomeansno came up...
"intelligent punk rock" from the canadian
west coast...
so much verbiage in the description...

new music... yeah? fostermother - fostermother (2020)...
clouds taste satanic - the glitter of infinite hell (2017)...
for me... new implied:
godspeed! you, black emperor...

i must be getting old... 34 is pretty daft:
if it must be deemed as old...
            well... let's put it this way...
bukowski because: why not?
   that classical music "lost plot"...
classical music... it's such a tedium...
        fair enough for an event...
but i can't reinvent a bedroom an armchair...
a hunched body of crow metaphor bliss with it...
too strict the club and entry requirements...

jazz has aged so well...
whatever it was supposed to be with its worth
of the 20th century with the beatniks...
the choir girls... the homosexuals and the trumpet
players... the "experimental" load o' *******...
******* or no *******...
certainly no ******* dunked into mint mayo...
to state the extremes...
  
today... the 21st century is only 20 years old...
and i'm listening to gerry mulligan's night lights...
and: it's beyond... what's supposed
to age for the generic applause...
lazy trumpet... lazy guitar...
gerry mulligan... chet baker... kenny burrel...
not big orchestral jazz bands...
shady bars... and if i walked into a brothel
that played jazz than that...
tapeworm hypnosis of boomboomboom...
i'd consider it a church and a harem and never:
subsequently leave...

i took out the garbage: pretty adamant to
do all the right sort of recycling...
1963... that's what? 57 years ago...
the 1990s sitcoms missed the influences...
the thoroughfare of soap-opera marathons
from either england, turkey or mexico...

of the mention new music:
i'm not... "ageing"... i've reached a boring
plateau... the old flame of youth...
has fazed out...
             new music: i don't have an energy
for it...
music when growing up:
that i will still listen to... pearl jam...
offspring, silverchair... king crimson(?)...
but the new stuff...
old **** galore... better with some jazz than...
sometimes: yes... the odd excuse for Prokofiev...
but... pretending to be the maestro...
waving one's hands about in some sort
of vague appreciation: when a woman,
and drunk: it's good to know i can see cringe...
and it's my mother...

          perhaps: it would have been nice
to have invested in the idea of grandchildren...
but that would have implied:
having children... and a gambler's luck...
i never liked gambling...
the most i ever gambled was probably
2 quid on football scores...
a quid on the national... a religious institution
in england... for that one race...
i don't like gambling...
i like... the blank page inquisitive of me...
centipede of eyes...
c.c.t.v. god of wish-fulfilled omni-presence
of the litany of adjectives...
but that doesn't really matter...

it would have been nice
to have invested in the idea of grandchildren...
after all... i would be...
but that rome was built on fostering children:
somewhat... that's also a novel idea...
but dealing with 50% of you in a son or daughter...
with grandchildren that's only a 25% replica
of you...
        god forbid ******: talking about 75% of you...
if the rich started to clone themselves:
i can't imagine the hell: but a mirror is enough
to face once a day...
twice a month is just enough too...

jazz has aged really well...
2020 is a good year for jazz and even if there's no
wine... there's the lazy ms. amber...
classical music peaked in the 20th c. for me...
i can, i will... appreciate it...
if i want to give my heart a chance
to steal my eyes and create a waterfall of emotions...

- and perhaps new music...
i missed what became emo...
although i was still around for a.f.i.'s sing
the sorrow album...
how?                         filofax...
floppy disk 3.5"... dial-up... age of empires...
final fantasy VII... KMFDM: juke joint jezebel...
******... choke: doo...

sometimes the sorrows of:
not being part of the chinese one child state policy...
mother's fear... birthday...
may... 1986... chernobyl: 26th april 1986...
a nice whittle tattoo i too have...
if i had wings: i had one removed...
thankfully the shoulder-blade was kept
intact...

perhaps a brother, perhaps a sister...
perhaps my own little scoop of "solipsism"...
burden of "genius"...
no angel, no demon...
just a companion of: posit in sigma -
displaced attributes...
            weasel... a way out...
                   groom of spaghetti tangles...
      that turn into tapeworms that
turn into placentas and
foetuses in the sky: fully membraned
egos of confrontations...

                libido blues: but the "idiots"
will surive: double their claims of harvest!
numbers have no coinicidence
of effortless heart that do no:
necessarily buckle...
shoe-shine georgie met the hyper-inflated
cultural exchange: excuse...
for this trough: the pigs would eat...
the dogs would eat...
met with grimmaces...

              jazz allows me to wisen...
i can walk into a room filled with air...
scratchings of violins and...
i cna ignore the music...
take to treating it as... less...
an altar for maggot sacrifice...
a gig an altar of the idols...
i can escape it with attired and ulterior
motives...
captivate myself with a game of chess:
thought only: without playing anything
beside metaphorical chess...
as i will be playing metaphorical poker...
not actual poker...

imagine my anticipation of a circus:
******... a poatcard from either Tangiers
or Istambul...
crocodile juice from Kiev...
magic mushrooms from Helsinki...
but that's just my luck...
sober... nationalistic peoples...
Loon'don...
the welsh the scots and the ghouls of
gaelic on the "periphery"...
Dublin or "somewhere"...

                    and ms. amber and deciding...
what to do with the leftoever
rainbow trout caviar i used for christmas...
once... and now will have to use once
more... somehow...

thank god for this gift...
and this day... so easily... so made...
pristined and made by per se a complexity...
and... almost literally:
the best idea for coughing up fog.

— The End —