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Savalot's (savalot on UKA) UKArchive
33 Archived submissions found.
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| Old glasses knew (posted on: 25-09-15) New things without life I put my old glasses on to remember Edges blurred, softened like portrait pictures Airbrushed to the max with love I'd only had my new glasses a week Very sudden, nowhere near No chance for goodbyes Old glasses saw her on holiday, in bikinis, tankinis, heaven forbid topless. Saw her eat, drink, carouse, caress, got themselves knocked off my head New glasses haven't had a chance to learn what old glasses knew, the only thing they share is the bedside table, when the lights go out Archived comments for Old glasses knew sweetwater on 25-09-2015 Old glasses knew Very unusual poem, never read one celebrating old glasses before. I thought this a very gentle, loving and poignant write, I loved it. π Sue. Author's Reply: Thank you for your kind words. Kipper on 25-09-2015 Old glasses knew Many of us I am sure will have shared a relationship with their glasses for years (and probably had another pair on the side as well). I guess it's a relationship we take for granted. Nice take on such a common subject. Cheers Michael Author's Reply: |
| Don't touch me if (posted on: 08-08-14) Sometimes the tension is unbearable Don't touch me if you don't mean it When we're lying in the dark don't Stroke me with that feather light touch That slams into me like two Hundred and forty volts and leaves Me, as Seamus says, all a-patter don't tease Don't look at me out of the corner Of your eye, making blood rush To all of me on show, looking at Me with greed in your eyes as If I was just your platter and you Were ready to devour me whole please tease When you have me in your Spiders web, when I am stuck Within that silken lair, as you Play along me slowly and Gradually, taking me as you build The crescendo in to a blinding pain please don't stop Archived comments for Don't touch me if No comments archives found! |
| Perseid Never Shone (posted on: 11-04-14) PTSD No shooting stars or meteor lights were seen by me, under cloud cover and the warmth of cardboard I stayed as reclusive as ever I've seen stars in the desert local kids call me stig It wasn't always like this for me A Corporal in the Infantry, wife, kid, happy with going to war It was the coming home that hurt Whilst you are away they send you books To read, try to take your mind off things To ease their guilt I suppose And mine needed a balm I read some poetry about a man who was dying, but his son expected him to fight death, fight with all his might against the fading light Nowadays the young men struggle to maintain a life, struggle against the dying light the light in their own eyes You would scarce believe this world now Dylan, no god as such to write for No more lamenting No great wars to be conscientious about We are a poor race we humans Perhaps some rage would help Archived comments for Perseid Never Shone Pelequin23 on 11-04-2014 Perseid Never Shone emotive and complex it makes you think and question Author's Reply: Mikeverdi on 11-04-2014 Perseid Never Shone Good to see your work again, great stuff. Mike Author's Reply: Bozzz on 11-04-2014 Perseid Never Shone Man can live in many worlds, this is what distinguishes him from the animal kingdom. Sadly he can also die in them. Which is better? The poem trades thought for understanding, interesting...Bozzz Author's Reply: pdemitchell on 15-04-2014 Perseid Never Shone A fabulous nod to Dylan Thomas as we rage, rage against the dying of the light. Mitch π Author's Reply: |
| My Worst Friend Ever (posted on: 07-02-14) A homage to cold sores I suffer with cold sores That viral itch, the twitch I say suffer but that might Not be the right word For being run down, bogged down I've had them for more than a long Time, in the span of my life Long before I met a wife A present from an Aunt before They knew what the open sores meant The virus lies in wait in the limbic System until all your energy is Expended and you are vulnerable to Attack, it's a nasty little twat And we'll never be free of each other They call it Herpes Simplex but I call it my Hermes because like The battleship I'm a carrier It's a harrier when it's in charge Laying me low, not letting go Until I force it back inside With a recharge of the battery Coaxing it in with flattery Making myself get better Even too much sun can stop me Having fun, an overload on the Vitamin D, put the itch back Into me and when I go Indoors my blood becomes enraged As if I've never engaged With the virus sat within I've even been a guinea pig For the creams you see on telly Put this on when you feel the itch It's got a long funny name Would score well at scrabble You know the game, soon clear up, Till you have another flare up Cold sore, you goddam bore I'd like to eradicate you of That I'm sure, you're knowledge Of my welfare is unnerving For when you are 'in' I am down And out, and you my only friend By the time I feel the itch It's too late Archived comments for My Worst Friend Ever Mikeverdi on 07-02-2014 My Worst Friend Ever Shit!! and I thought my cancer was bad...Ha Ha! good to see you back Steve. Mike Author's Reply: |
| A Long Time Ago (posted on: 29-11-13) The past. He waits for her in the rain They haven't seen each other for an age Since they went their separate ways Devastated at the way they broke each other He doesn't expect forgiveness Just to talk, like grown-ups do Something they never managed When they were trying to act mature They've papered over the cracks Created by constantly hammering each other Trying to win the battle by pin fall or submission Like seedy, seventies town hall wrestling He tries to look at their lives differently Hoping that it wasn't all wrong Trying to recall their spark Love snuffed out such a long time ago Archived comments for A Long Time Ago Mikeverdi on 29-11-2013 A Long Time Ago Hello mate, good to see you back here. I like this one, just a thought...would you wring out a spark? Maybe try another word to make it perfect π only my opinion. In friendship Mike Author's Reply: Hi Mike, Let's see how 'snuffed' works. Regards, Steve. Bozzz on 29-11-2013 A Long Time Ago This sort of encounter must happen a million times a day. With what percentage of success??. Good description of a cliche....David Author's Reply: Kipper on 30-11-2013 A Long Time Ago David snuk in before me, my resonse being in similar vein. How many people find their dreams shattered and hopes 'snuffed' out.? A good question perhaps but as your piece suggests, no easy answers. Michael Author's Reply: bo_duke99 on 01-12-2013 A Long Time Ago a lot of feeling in this, maybe a cool eyed look back can help - Greg Author's Reply: |
| My Lolita (posted on: 30-09-13) If only I was that lucky !!! Certainly not sixteen Closer to twenty four This feline, sexual minx Came knocking on my door I'd seen her face before Went to school with her dad Much closer to fifty than forty Forgotten how to be naughty She's stirred a long lost memory Awoken a certain part of me Buzzing and ringing between my ears Full frontal assault of age old fears I feel like the object Of a long forgotten school project Swabbed into a peccary dish This week I'm a floundering fish And when the lights go out In the dark I am Adonis once more Archived comments for My Lolita Andrea on 30-09-2013 My Lolita Ah me, tempus fugit, eh? Author's Reply: Bozzz on 30-09-2013 My Lolita Twice your age and feel the same - the urge never dies but eventually hope does. ... Good poem - much enjoyed... Bozzz Author's Reply: bo_duke99 on 01-10-2013 My Lolita name - call the police poem - call the cops Author's Reply: Ionicus on 03-10-2013 My Lolita You fifty and she twenty four? You are both above the age of consent, no need to involve the cops. So, what are you waiting for? You should be at your peak. Unless there is a wife eager to use a rolling pin. But I see the quandary for older guys. Author's Reply: Pelequin23 on 06-10-2013 My Lolita ahhh to be young again Author's Reply: Pronto on 06-10-2013 My Lolita Oh yeah I know what you mean. I was 53 rescued a young diver girl 22 she wanted to give me a real special 'thank you' I crapped myself and ran! Jaysus I now wish I hadn't! π Great poem mate. Author's Reply: |
| New Glasses Don't Know (posted on: 31-05-13) Just a poem. I'd only had my new glasses for a week When she died Sudden, accident, nowhere near me No goodbyes I put my old glasses on to remember her The edges are a little blurred Softened like portrait pictures Airbrushed to the max, by love My old glasses saw her on holiday In bikinis, tankinis, heaven forbid, topless My old glasses watched her eat, drink Carouse, caress, got themselves knocked off my head New glasses haven't had a chance To learn what old glasses know The only place they feel an affinity Is on the bedside table, when the light goes off. Archived comments for New Glasses Don't Know orangedream on 01-06-2013 New Glasses Dont Know An emotive poem, well penned. Tina Author's Reply: |
| Never Tear A Page (posted on: 27-05-13) One of the things we must do to write a poem. Never tear a page out of your book You'll never remember it if you lose it It's bound to be the one you'll miss Even if you're only using it as a bookmark It may point you in another direction A word you may associate another way My book is my little treasure trove Poems just started, or finished Waiting to be typed, edited, polished It helps me overcome any block, cramp Just looking through at unused verses Helping to set off a chain reaction Pages may come loose, use a rubber band Keep it compact until full and remember Never tear a page out of your book Archived comments for Never Tear A Page Weefatfella on 27-05-2013 Never Tear A Page 
I should take your advice. I've dried up at the moment. I know I'll come screaming back when the taxman's gone. Weefatfella. Author's Reply: ValDohren on 28-05-2013 Never Tear A Page I keep all my pages Savalot, lots of half written poems and lines. What did we do without dog clips, wonderful things !! Good advice in your poem. Very good. Val Author's Reply: |
| Sonnet To A Beginning (posted on: 24-05-13) A need to write. If I try to write into the night She wonders what I am doing It's just a need that needs fulfilling A well that calls for a bucket Each load carries a story That has to be assembled like a jigsaw Some more complicated than others Some so simple they make you cry The ease with which they present themselves Childlike in their naivety The bond they create with you Like when a newborn first looks at you Connections in your mind take hold Words make you responsible for them Archived comments for Sonnet To A Beginning Bozzz on 24-05-2013 Sonnet To A Beginning A nice piece of prosetry, good analogies, but not a sonnet. The last line is a charmer...Bozzz Author's Reply: karen123 on 24-05-2013 Sonnet To A Beginning I don't think anyone who does not write can understand the need to write a writer has. It is a need. Liked this very much Author's Reply: Weefatfella on 24-05-2013 Sonnet To A Beginning
Aye and it's not just poets. I find the merest thing can upset the flow. The zone is unreachable. annoying! Weefatfella. Author's Reply: ValDohren on 26-05-2013 Sonnet To A Beginning Yep, just about sums it up - but no, not a sonnet. Val Author's Reply: |
| Rekindled (posted on: 03-05-13) Emotion. (A backdraft is a situation which can occur when a fire's product-gases are starved of oxygen, consequently combustion slows. If oxygen is re-introduced to the fire e.g. by opening a door to a closed room, combustion will restart, often resulting in an 'explosive' effect) She approaches the room in her mind Only she can enter Just herself with the recalcitrant emotion Trying to explain its incarceration The pain its release could cause The last time this door opened And the emotion allowed release An unmitigated disaster ensued Given to the wrong recipient Starved of what it needed to survive Reduced to a single nub The emotion lies dormant in the room Awaiting the opening of the door The sudden influx of the element That will kick-start its life She is afraid to open the door again Unsure of how the emotion will react What it will do to her when fed How it could consume her What would be left of them both? He wants to find the key To open that very last door The last one she hides behind He wants to feed the emotion Give it what it desires, feel its heat She is afraid, he wants to be brave He offers her the trust she craves Takes her by the hand to the door Turns the key, flings it wide open The emotion tastes the element it desires The ensuing conflagration sears them both She sees him standing like a rock Gathering her need to him Stoking rather than dousing her fire Finally, someone to tend her passion The heat remains, embracing them The door, frame, entrance detonated away The emotion content now as a pilot light Awaits his touch, no longer dormant Alive, rekindled Archived comments for Rekindled karen123 on 04-05-2013 Rekindled wow - as one who is locked behind so many doors and so afraid of any kind of emotion this really spoke to me. To have someone who is brave enough to stand there in the fire until it is all burnt out is someone to treasure. Thank you for your poem Author's Reply: ValDohren on 05-05-2013 Rekindled Excellent writing Savalot, kept me engaged to the end. Great take on emotional catharsis. Val Author's Reply: |
| The Poet Stalker (posted on: 29-04-13) A bit of scary fun !! Plagiarize and bastardize The works of those soon dead Use their words as though their mine Whilst vultures circle around their head Pinch a line off Carol D Re-work a piece off Roger M A whole stanza from Tony H Let's see what else I can nick from them I'd like to thank them for the thought Out of their book I recently bought As I stood and parted with my cash I knew in my mind their blood I'd splash Whole new things they've brought to me As I stand and shout my soliloquy Listen as my voice does boom From behind the walls of my day release room What next can they bring to me Maybe a sequel to the wonderful V Or will Roger die his young man's death Will Manhattan stifle Carol's breath For now it's just these three I'll stalk Follow with my pencil as they walk If they should trip and fall or slip I want the last word off their lip Those last words won't by them be penned I'll have my own words at their end And when they're gone I'll find three more I might be knocking on your door Eventually I'll reach the top Eventually I'll have to stop And I'll have created for all to see The brand new Dead Poets Society Archived comments for The Poet Stalker ValDohren on 29-04-2013 The Poet Stalker Very good Savalot - I'm sure you wouldn't dream of plagiarism!! Enjoyed reading, amusing too. Val Author's Reply: |
| The World Waves Goodbye (posted on: 26-04-13) Just a thought Read what's written in front of you About the past behind you The woman that's beside you The world that's all around you Have you still got time to learn? When you find you have to earn Folks look at you and become stern Your childish things you'll have to burn Imagine living without a care Just like the child still stuck in there All your world a magical fair With silly games like truth or dare Games that adults no longer play Like postman's knock to run away Doctors and nurses some other day Or hide and seek, no one will stay Adult games tinged with desire Games to set your blood on fire Games to incite a partner's ire Retracted words from the red-faced liar For when you pass a certain age It's like your life is on a stage All enclosed in a lion's cage Squatting, festering, fuelled by rage Looking for the exit out To live a life without the doubt A brave new dawn to think about Escape before the frustrated shout How to break out from the norm What's the score, what's the form? Like days spent back in that schoolboy dorm Realising the start of your violent storm Back then I formed a plan What to do when grown to man All in tatters like a broken fan Confined to history before I began I sit and watch as life goes by Past my tower in the blink of an eye From my self-imposed eyrie way up high The world looks at me and waves good-bye Archived comments for The World Waves Goodbye Savvi on 26-04-2013 The World Waves Goodbye good title, and the poem captures our journey through life very well, spot on meter (thanks for the lesson) make the flow so smooth that it rushes bye much like life. Thanks S Author's Reply: |
| As An Observer (posted on: 19-04-13) I don't get religion. Why are no churches built in Muslim lands? I ask this as an observer without either faith I remember missionaries preaching to the heathen, from somewhere before I gave up on religion And I'm pretty sure I've read every muslim is in a jihad against all non-believers, but that's just the extreme elements Six hundred years between these religions, one follows an in the flesh human, one follows a man that might have been, both to the detriment of women, when it was women that put them here Underpinning them all is Judaism They know a thing or two About survival Archived comments for As An Observer Andrea on 20-04-2013 As An Observer I don't get it, either - enjoyed your pome, though π Author's Reply: |
| Death of a Virgin (posted on: 19-04-13) Defloration Blood on the end of his cock Stood rigid like a rock He knew that there'd be blood inside When he chose a virgin bride Blood dripping mixed with semen The end of the out-stretched hymen No more blushing virgin bride Now just a bride And what of her stallion groom From where does his experience bloom? Or did more than one virgin die that night Not only she, was swathed in white Archived comments for Death of a Virgin Andrea on 20-04-2013 Death of a Virgin Oooh-er, I say! It made me laugh - do hope it wasn't meant to be serious (but then I do have a weird sense of humour) Author's Reply: stormwolf on 21-04-2013 Death of a Virgin Hi Savalot I am all for bold poetry and am certainly not easily shocked...there was just something about this that was abhorrent. You have said critique and comments welcome so this is it. I felt the imagery was shocking but not in a nice way... a bit disgusting actually. I also do not care for the feeling or 'voice' behind it. You have had in excess of 80 reads but only one has commented up till now. I sincerely do not want to discourage you...but as a woman I recoiled. Sorry Alison Author's Reply: |
| Don't - I Like It! (posted on: 12-04-13) Emotions. The intensity of you hurts me You seem blind to the flames I've been drinking and writing You've been creating and need succour We prowl around each other On our sofa, in front of the fire Daring each other to speak Or to sigh out of turn too loudly We build the tension deliberately Stomping up the stairs to bed Throwing our clothes down aggresively Until we are naked and fuming with lust Archived comments for Don't - I Like It! Kat on 12-04-2013 Dont - I Like It! I like this portrayal. Have been in a relationship like that. Good last stanza. Kat Author's Reply: |
| Where Did The Noise Go? (posted on: 12-04-13) Nature takes a breath A finch flies in attracted By the calls of those around Letting the ether know of the cluster Birds on the wing let the knowledge slip Of the nut delight on the wall A quick take-away before heading on To another table in another yard Chirping for another's ear Unaware of the silence they leave behind A dread silence, like the deliberate scene Where the noise is taken out To signify the impending danger Before the freeze-fried shock makes you jump The heart beats faster than a Keith Moon drum roll Why this happens, I Can't Explain A noise breaks into the silence Just a little insinuation in the brain That lets you know normal service is being restored The Robin is on the scene Bullying all who would take his feed Bringing focus back into line You can relax once again Everything back in place Just remember, sometimes nature holds her breath Archived comments for Where Did The Noise Go? karen123 on 13-04-2013 Where Did The Noise Go? I loved this. It is so true - near me is a large plot of land that has been left to grow wild. I walk there most days and usually there is all sorts of noise, from birds to small animals (rats) rustling around in the undergrowth - then quite suddenly it stops and there is silence and it really does seem like everything is holding its breathe and waiting. Author's Reply: japanesewind on 13-04-2013 Where Did The Noise Go? I really enjoyed your interaction here of nature, you injected a tension that I sometimes feel if they are telling each other a cat is around especially when fledglings are around.....fine closing line...David Author's Reply: Mikeverdi on 13-04-2013 Where Did The Noise Go? Good writing Steve, I liked it a lot; Nice finish with the last line. I wondered if the Keith Moon reference and the 'can't explain' was deliberate :-). Mike Author's Reply: I'm a big Who fan Mike, so it was definitely deliberate. Bozzz on 13-04-2013 Where Did The Noise Go? You have studied well - done justice to the precarious and scrappy life of small birds. Some excellent writing amid the chatter. ..Bozzz Author's Reply: ValDohren on 13-04-2013 Where Did The Noise Go? Nature often holds her breath when there is impending danger such as an earthquake or thunderstorm - beautifully captured here in your poem. Val Author's Reply: |
| Remember - Part 1 (posted on: 25-03-13) A short precis of early years. Do you remember walking along the Top of a wall for the first time Without your mum holding your hand Because it was too tall Not realising how intensely aware She was that you were so small And yet always her little man Do you remember your first kiss On your cheek off a girl as small as you Nursery or infant school, you'd found A touch of gallantry, given over a toy That stopped eyes welling up Became a knight for an instant Till another boy was kissed and you welled up Do you remember that first day At the big school, the bus trip Or the walk in new shoes Scuffed by the end of the week Both you and the shoes, trying to Get yourself ready for the big world Learning to develop survival skills already Do you remember the last day At the big school, the confidence you had Ready to take on the world, oldest Looking boy had managed to get Some beer from the local off-licence So cock-sure that everything would Work out, the world your oyster Do you remember your first job as an adult You thought you were adult at 16 didn't you Getting up early to make a big impression On a big world that would swallow you up A world that you would soon learn wasn't The idyllic one that had been painted for you By people you never realised wanted you to succeed Do you remember the first girl you loved And lost, and swore you'd never fall in love Again, but you didn't understand the addiction That had afflicted you, the need you had To love and be loved, to have and to hold That nagging ache that you never wanted A whole new necessity in life Do you remember your first legal pint 18 years old and a real man, finally Stood by a proud father and grand-dad Made to pay your way and yet still Asked for i.d. like some joke amongst The adults you didn't get yet, wouldn't do Till you'd seen it repeated over and over Do you remember 20-30 at all They say if you remember the sixties You weren't there, do you remember The girls, the gaffes, the laughs with the lads Finding the one, losing her, finding The next one, time flying by like Concorde on nitro, where did it all go? Archived comments for Remember - Part 1 Savvi on 25-03-2013 Remember - Part 1 A clever piece that allows the reader to superimpose their own invoked memory over the poem. Very much enjoyed. In answer to your question I have no idea where it went or continues to go. Savvi Author's Reply: |
| Saturday Religion (posted on: 18-03-13) Watching the football results come in. Sat in the other room in the pub Alone in company, alive in thought Noises coming through the walls The religion of Saturday's results Much cleaner atmosphere these days Not the foggy times of youth In the bar with the vidi-printer Old men, Dickie Davies and 8 score draws Even the pub itself seems strangely modern Hand pulled beer a rarity, mass produced Pints of gas, or bottles of apples and pears But the old vinyl benches remain In place of the pools we have the lottery The bonus ball bonanza of luck Thirty people share ten quid Every other week, if they're lucky enough The only community spirit left in the village If the church sold communion wine cheap More would visit, but on Saturdays The only religion is the results Archived comments for Saturday Religion Savvi on 18-03-2013 Saturday Religion A sense of melancholy to this but an acceptance of the new, I enjoyed the look back. Thanks S Author's Reply: orangedream on 21-03-2013 Saturday Religion Well-penned, this one Savelot, and I like the title. You are right, much has changed over the years...Dickie Davis for one;-) The last stanza is particularly telling. Tina Author's Reply: Andrea on 21-03-2013 Saturday Religion I pine for the old days... Author's Reply: |
| Nature Meanders (posted on: 15-03-13) Just natures way. Nature doesn't travel in straight lines She meanders in and out of our lives Rivers and streams change course Although their lifetimes might Span longer than ours and we may Never see their next turn, they Will roll over us and beyond us Nature doesn't make triangle hills Mounds may grow into mountains Ranges will sink and fall over time That we will only guess at Millennia will come and go as They try to raise themselves Above what we thought they were Nature's grass grows in swathes Not linear lines on stadium pitches It moves with the wind and allows Cattle and sheep to keep it neat Self seeding the bald patches to keep Life green, sucking in our bad air And giving us back our daily breath Nature's trees aren't the cartoon kind Branches move and wrap around each Other like old friends, leaves are like Mayfly, there one season, gone till The next, dressing the branches So the trees can preen in green Nature's true colour through many shades Archived comments for Nature Meanders cooky on 16-03-2013 Nature Meanders excellent write which captures the life of this planet. i like this Author's Reply: Kat on 17-03-2013 Nature Meanders A wonderful write with lots of clever ways to maintain rhythm and metre. Many parts I especially like: 'Not linear lines on stadium pitches' 'Self seeding the bald patches to keep Life green, sucking in our bad air And giving us back our daily breath' 'So the trees can preen in green' I'm not usually a great fan of nature poems as such, just because it's so often written about (like love), and there's nothing wrong with that, but it's hard to do things differently, and nature is an excellent metaphor, of course, which I think you show here. Kat x Author's Reply: Andrea on 17-03-2013 Nature Meanders Yes, agree with Kat. Good stuff. Author's Reply: |
| The Big Lad (posted on: 11-03-13) A sight often seen A Big lad came in You know the score A Big lad came in Frame filled the door But he had a little wife Who really bossed the game Just a little wife Who let slip his special name A Big lad came in Of that I have no doubt A Big lad came in But he never went out Archived comments for The Big Lad stormwolf on 13-03-2013 The Big Lad Hi Savalot This made me smile. Such a simple poem but with a deep message! well done. Alison x Author's Reply: Savvi on 14-03-2013 The Big Lad Is she a feeder ? I like the message and its simplicity packs a punch. S Author's Reply: |
| The Last Thought (posted on: 01-03-13) Trying to make sure we get it all down. Sometimes I don't have the time to write Can't seem to lay my hands On that most precious commodity Suddenly it's as if it slipped through my fingers Like the sand that is used to represent it The day has passed me by In the twitch of an eye I lie in my bed close to slumber Unable to focus the thoughts Unable to bring pen to paper Behind my heavy eyes a flicker of remembrance A few words that I had put together earlier that day Hoping that I would be able to re-conjure them later Like a clown trying to recall up which sleeve He'd hidden the bouquet I'm unable to make any sense of them Can't recall the circumstances That brought them together Was it something I'd seen or heard? What put them together that way? Too tired now to understand the fusion The cyclic nature of the dreamscape Is beginning to descend One last attempt to grasp the thread Too late, the pencil slips quietly to the floor Archived comments for The Last Thought cooky on 01-03-2013 The Last Thought I like this . the third stanza is terrific Author's Reply: Mikeverdi on 01-03-2013 The Last Thought Great writing Steve. Mike Author's Reply: ValDohren on 02-03-2013 The Last Thought Know just what you mean Savalot - been there many times. Very well penned. Val π Author's Reply: Savvi on 03-03-2013 The Last Thought Very fine writting, and a sleepy topic I really enjoyed the sence of drifting away you created with this. All the stanza's carry weight with detailed images. My only thought is that the line below lets the rest down by feeling forced and a little cliche when all others are original, hope you don't mind me saying that and I only say it because the rest of the poem stands out for me. In the blink of an eye Author's Reply: |
| Leopard Print Carpets (posted on: 18-02-13) Old fashioned boozers eh? Leopard print carpets Leopard print carpets I know he said it was an Old-fashioned boozer But leopard print carpets Flock wallpaper Flock wallpaper Covered in sepia tinted photos Vinyl benches in the bar Velvet in the snug Tiled toilets Tiled toilets With a new-fangled sloping Stainless steel piss pan With blocks in it to aim at Roaring fire Roaring fire In the grate that must have Been cleared and re-set daily Logs and coals from local men Proper beer Proper beer Served by a man and woman that Have served it for over forty year We'll think about your 'jukebox' idea Welcome in Welcome in They'll take the piss out of you For the first ten years Don't sit there, that's Franks Archived comments for Leopard Print Carpets Mikeverdi on 18-02-2013 Leopard Print Carpets I know this pub, it's the Queens Arms on the Barbican in Plymouth ! Brilliant . Mike Author's Reply: Weefatfella on 18-02-2013 Leopard Print Carpets 
Aye, English pubs are much better rigged out than Scottish 'Bothans.' The beer is crap though. Scottish ale and English pubs Good combination. ( not heavy or lager though) Light and Stout. Whisky though, need the whisky Aye, Whisky. Weefatfella. Author's Reply: Savvi on 18-02-2013 Leopard Print Carpets Ah when Pubs was Pubs and you could drink till 4 in the morning illegally, because the chief of police was playing Doms in the snug, Brilliant. S Author's Reply: Nomenklatura on 19-02-2013 Leopard Print Carpets We've all been in one of these. Very good.Interesting format. Author's Reply: Kat on 19-02-2013 Leopard Print Carpets Really enjoyed this... haha. Kat Author's Reply: Andrea on 19-02-2013 Leopard Print Carpets I know that pub - it's in the old Camden High St. π Author's Reply: ValDohren on 19-02-2013 Leopard Print Carpets We had one like this in our village - they demolished it, and now its a housing estate (another) !! Enjoyed reading. Val Author's Reply: |
| Mum Won The Pools (posted on: 08-02-13) Life's memories can help you through. They play with their offspring As I did with mine Distant from me now Fruit never falls far from the tree It just rolls away, as I did I see the cycle repeat A trait started at mothers' hip Passed like a hereditary tick A need to show we don't need I'm alright, so will you be Sometimes the hardest trick Is just to leave them be Then by the time they remember They realise they don't need you Consigned to a guilty memory It's never too late to make amends But it might be too early for him I hope he can deal with The demons of his parents Better than I dealt with mine I remember a time when mum won the pools And we had a new colour telly Then I look at a picture Walking along a sunny street Holding hands with a small boy at my side Archived comments for Mum Won The Pools Mikeverdi on 09-02-2013 Mum Won The Pools Beautiful words, I loved it. Mike Author's Reply: Bozzz on 09-02-2013 Mum Won The Pools Deft touches with your brushwork here. But you don't even give Mum a capital letter - ah well, as you say, that's life ! Lose one mark for cruelty to the aged..... great stuff otherwise....Bozzz Author's Reply: |
| Battleships In The Clouds (posted on: 08-02-13) (Sitting in a coastal conservatory after visiting Martin Creeds balloon art installation project at Tate, St Ives in summer 2011) They gather overhead Line up to cruise inland Like great grey battleships Remember when you were young Finding faces and shapes Amongst those massive marshmallows Time would stand still for an afternoon As the cowboys and Indians of youth Drifted across our child's minds eye Over time thoughts get clouded By things not known as children No string left to ravel ourselves up in Yesterday we played amongst Tate's balloons Today there are battleships in the clouds Archived comments for Battleships In The Clouds Mikeverdi on 08-02-2013 Battleships In The Clouds Ah! St Ives. Nice touch with this one Steve. Mike Author's Reply: |
| Some Wonderful Treats (posted on: 04-02-13) Just a bit of fun. There are places in this world That help me to write, The corner of the Hollybush, as was The streets, alleyways and beaches of St Ives And I'm pretty sure that artists feel This way about locations in their life It must be lovely to be poet in residence Somewhere with a poetic history, I'm Sure it's something I strive towards Not sure I could give it the gravitas It deserves, but if Mojacar comes up I'll give it a go! Just a white-walled Spanish village on The Costa d'Almeria, for two of us It became heaven on earth in the Early noughties, family holiday, followed By honeymoon, just a perfect idyll South of France this year She finds some wonderful treats Archived comments for Some Wonderful Treats bo_duke99 on 04-02-2013 Some Wonderful Treats free wheeling Author's Reply: Savvi on 06-02-2013 Some Wonderful Treats wonderful treats indeed, my kind of treats. S Author's Reply: |
| Once (posted on: 25-01-13) A time gone by. Are you that same boy that I knew? Years gone by, dancing to a different tune That takes me back, to a whole old world Skipping, I'm sure I used to skip Over to the fields, our own Greenham common No tents, wives or mums, just grass And the wondrous woods No worries about when to be home alone, without an adult, keys in the door no worry about burgling, stealing friends close at hand to belay the threat Remember the football on the field, me Smithy and Dom, tops against skins close to the door for when she called Have you stood and looked at that door since then All gone now, far away from where we were, different being your own man, for once A thought provoking stereotype, maybe Just a bloke, trying to remember the lad inside, the innocence Archived comments for Once Weefatfella on 25-01-2013 Once 
Aye. It all gets lost in the mists of time, but sometimes the wind blows an opening and we glimpse again that front door. Made me think. Thanks for sharing I enjoyed this piece. Weefatfella. Author's Reply: Just a thought eh? Nemo on 25-01-2013 Once Hi Savalot, You're doing the old days too - we can't help it - your childhood environment sounds like fun, expressed with great clarity with a wistful sense of a change in later times. Good line 'Have you looked at that door since ...' I have, on google. Not an enjoyable experience. Hard to rate a poem, need to see a few 10's and work from there. Very subjective, what? Author's Reply: Hi nemo, are we the same two over from forward? hope so. barenib on 25-01-2013 Once A good narrative drives this poem and makes me feel like I'm skipping through the nostalgia with you, and then we are brought to a reflective halt which nicely concludes the piece - John. Author's Reply: Thank you for your comments. Andrea on 26-01-2013 Once Ahhh, lovely - those were the days, eh? Author's Reply: Mikeverdi on 26-01-2013 Once Terrific write, one of your best for me. Mike Author's Reply: Texasgreg on 27-01-2013 Once Aye! I try to let him out for playtime as often as possible. Good write! Greg π Author's Reply: ValDohren on 27-01-2013 Once Memories of youth, we all go there as we get older. Very well written Savalot. Val Author's Reply: |
So that Mr Owen knows (posted on: 21-01-13) A poem about the futility of war nearly 100 years on. The bombs still crump, or blossom now No longer the boche, older enemies even We've moved on from 'tommies' But the futility is still the same No chance of a 'peg' these days Thoughts of it welcome in this dryness Decorum is as decorum does, It's certainly not sweet, any more than it was The tactics have changed Going out on our daily patrols Likened to going over the top We hope, like you, the enemy sleep Our weapons have progressed Wouldn't you know it But the drills are still the same GAS! GAS! GAS! - nine seconds to death Not a full on conflict They call it peace-keeping My life expectancy greater than yours But dreams recall our choking horrors ('peg' - usually brandy and soda water) Archived comments for So that Mr Owen knows Corin on 21-01-2013 So that Mr Owen knows This sounds as if you have had experience of Afghanistan, but you are right about the parallels and the ironies of the 'War to end Wars'. What is planned I wonder for August 4th 2014? Dave Author's Reply: I was in the Army from '82 to '97, still keep in touch with a few old buddies. Thank you for your comment. Weefatfella on 21-01-2013 So that Mr Owen knows
I have friends and friends sons over in Iraq. The sooner the boys and girls are home the better. Thank you for sharing this. Weefatfella Author's Reply: Thank you for your comments. franciman on 21-01-2013 So that Mr Owen knows Our leaders tell us that our young men and women are fully committed to the struggle. They paint a picture of our forces being convinced of the rectitude of what they are doing. If true, therein lies the difference with the Great War. Your very fine piece paints an effective counter-balance to such crude propaganda. In all regards you are carrying on the very necessary work of the War poets. A fitting tribute to Owen. BZ. cheers, Jim Author's Reply: Thank you for your comments. royrodel on 21-01-2013 So that Mr Owen knows You're fighting a losing battle, because if you want to be like the folks on the hill, then just, do as you've always done, go with the flow. We the British have just declared war on Africa, well they'll call it war, it'll be a genocide but they'll call it war Author's Reply: Texasgreg on 22-01-2013 So that Mr Owen knows Aye! The difference between victor and conquered is merely frame of mind. While I detest things people do to each other in the name of God, one cannot intervene successfully in such a situation. Their people must stand up together and say βEnough!β. Greg π  .Author's Reply: Mikeverdi on 22-01-2013 So that Mr Owen knows This is a great write Steve, thanks for posting it here. Mike Author's Reply: Andrea on 22-01-2013 So that Mr Owen knows An excellent write, Savalot. Author's Reply: Thank you for your comment. Ionicus on 22-01-2013 So that Mr Owen knows It isn't the first time that these sentiments have been expressed but does anybody listen? Not on your nelly. Author's Reply: Savvi on 23-01-2013 So that Mr Owen knows I like your stance within the poem, countering current techniques always ending with the same conclusion, futility. Thanks for sharing. S Author's Reply: Thank you for your comments. stormwolf on 23-01-2013 So that Mr Owen knows Welcome to UKA π Super poem. congrats on the nib and nom. When will people wake up to the manipulation? Not in time I fear. Alison x Author's Reply: Thank you for your comments. butters on 23-01-2013 So that Mr Owen knows we hope, like you, the enemy sleep GAS! GAS! GAS! - nine seconds to death But dreams recall our choking horrors these are lines that steal the heart. I'll go out on a limb here, Savvi, and say the rest isn't as strong as you could make it, poetically; V's 1&2 are constructed better (imo) than what follows, and a little restructuring/elbow-grease would make this shine above and beyond the concept into which we all, as readers, can buy. I'd also question 'then' at the end of L8. enjoyed the references to Owen's own piece. what sorrow would Owen experience, knowing so little's changed? the war to end all wars - such a misnomer. Author's Reply: Thank you for your constructive words, I'll look into a few tweaks over the next few days, I agree about 'then'. Savalot on 31-01-2013 So that Mr Owen knows This was modified on 31/01/2013. I think it just got a little bit tighter. Hope you do too. Author's Reply: |
| I speak to her each day (posted on: 30-11-12) Emotion I speak to her each day When we are apart through work I phone her on the slightest pretence That I have something to tell her But really it's just to hear her voice To know that she is okay, safe It's my biggest fear she won't answer That I'll never hear her voice again Her essence won't be there The house will be empty and lonely I never tell her how much I worry Don't express my fears to her Wouldn't want to scare her Wouldn't want to scare me Archived comments for I speak to her each day Bozzz on 01-12-2012 I speak to her each day Hi Savalot, This is pain, I have been married for 60 years and still have the same feeling. Simple and well-worded...Bozzz. Author's Reply: butters on 02-12-2012 I speak to her each day that last line is so telling. love can make us needy, for fear of losing what we have. Author's Reply: |
| Not DressedFor Travel (posted on: 30-11-12) Winter's nearly here I spent autumn watching As each leaf left the tree Eulogising each leafy suicide As the tree watched me It became naked, bare Stripped of its magnificent crown I was hunted by its shadow Tree alone, on the edge of town If only the trees could move To where they could be together Would they let us in? Or be enclosed from us forever Tree is bare now I watched his clothes unravel He'll not move this year He's not dressed for travel Archived comments for Not DressedFor Travel Nomenklatura on 30-11-2012 Not DressedFor Travel Ha, splendid. Do you need another comma "Tree, alone, on the edge of town"? Author's Reply: Mikeverdi on 30-11-2012 Not DressedFor Travel Brilliant!! I love it Steve. Mike Author's Reply: Ionicus on 01-12-2012 Not DressedFor Travel A clever poem. Well done on the 'nib'. Author's Reply: butters on 01-12-2012 Not DressedFor Travel hello π your final four lines hit the best notes for me of a piece that works well as a straight read and as a metaphor for people as we age. I wondered what your purpose was in choosing to stray from the humanising of the tree (as set up in V1 and consolidated in V4), moving from assigning a persona on to calling the tree 'it'? Author's Reply: Bozzz on 01-12-2012 Not DressedFor Travel For me the poem and its story stand well alone and free from any allegorical sense. I read it loved it for its simplicity and flow..... Bozzz. Author's Reply: cooky on 01-12-2012 Not DressedFor Travel lovely write.Normally I hate Autumn poetry because the poet always commits suicide by describing the colours of the leaves. This infuriates me. I am glad to say your poem is different and is very good. I like this. Author's Reply: Texasgreg on 02-12-2012 Not DressedFor Travel I was hunted by its shadow Just wondering...for some reason, I was wanting to say haunted in my mind in lieu of hunted. Congrats on the nib! Greg π .Author's Reply: franciman on 02-12-2012 Not DressedFor Travel I really like the structure of this. The story is compelling, and complete, and accomplished with real economy. One of my best reads this autumn. cheers, Jim Author's Reply: |
| The Silence of Snowfall (posted on: 19-11-12) Families & Emotions. (i) Snowflakes falling through Trees at dawn Jack Frost marching in Youth marching out Winters icy claws Nature's seasonal menopause Drifts move like icebergs Heavily laden branches Turning to inside Warming toes In the hearth's glow Stockings hang waiting Rosy cheeked faces All sledged out Sleeping fitfully Awaiting sleigh bells All will be fine Outside tracks obliterated Back to white, anew In the Silence of Snowfall (ii) Snowfall, even, crisp Cleansing the soul With its arrival Its purity Whiteness Canvas white Unlined, unblemished, uncluttered Father by father and son Smiling and laughing An age hard remembered Hillside to fireside Sledge to snug White faced pastiness To rosy glowing joy Sat amongst the men Canvas white shirt Black jacket, tie and trousers Whether sliding doors Or earthbound abyss No more laughing today (iii) Today we faced our world Me, her, our family Grabbed scarves and gloves Hats,'waterproof' coats Sledges long hidden in sheds Trekking to the top of the hill Whooping and whooshing back down In that moment free, finally Of all ties and worries Fears and bad memories Free of sadness and loss Infused with joy and happiness Layering new memories Blocking the old and sour tasting Things not needed anymore Snow, the great cleanser White that fills the darkness I walk amongst the snowflakes Falling through trees at dawn The Silence of Snowfall Archived comments for The Silence of Snowfall orangedream on 19-11-2012 The Silence of Snowfall I just love snow, and this poem made me very impatient for it. Enjoyed - very much;-) Tina Author's Reply: Mikeverdi on 19-11-2012 The Silence of Snowfall I loved this the first time I read it; I love it more now the second time. Mike Author's Reply: Andrea on 20-11-2012 The Silence of Snowfall Reminds me of a Christmas card! Very happy and cheerful! Author's Reply: |
| Did you ever go conkering Dad? (posted on: 16-11-12) Memories handed down. Just over the road from where Nan lives Through a couple of rough talking alleys Out onto the common fields and swings Into the forests beyond That's where we'd go conkering There were lots more then Up to your knees in them we were No need to throw a stick up They all fell off on the same day Every year without fail Bring 'em home to show Nan She'd bake a few and pickle a few Give us a head start in the playground Until Jonesy got his dad to drill a hole In a small pebble he'd painted brown Archived comments for Did you ever go conkering Dad? butters on 16-11-2012 Did you ever go conkering Dad? wonderful! crammed with sights and sounds and smells, home-grown stuff of our early years - all topped off with that neat little twist at the end making (i would almost guarantee it) anyone who'd ever played conkers as a kid wince. nicely done and yes, i did notice the clever use of sound throughout tying this together cohesively without use of more obvious end-rhymes. Author's Reply: roger303 on 17-11-2012 Did you ever go conkering Dad? Very good IMO. Love the rough talking alleys. You had to be quick to get them off the ground around our way! How did Jonesy get busted? Roger. Author's Reply: Andrea on 17-11-2012 Did you ever go conkering Dad? Love it! Used to go conkering in Regents Park as a kid. Pickled 'em too. Bloody Jonesy deserves a clip round the ear! Author's Reply: orangedream on 17-11-2012 Did you ever go conkering Dad? I used to get mine in the grounds of Alexandra Palace...conkers, that is;-) Much enjoyed your poem. Tina Author's Reply: ValDohren on 17-11-2012 Did you ever go conkering Dad? Those were the days - do kids still do it ? My daughter did, but she's 34 now. They probably do it online these days !! Lovely little write. Val Author's Reply: Andrea on 17-11-2012 Did you ever go conkering Dad? You have to wear a protective helmet these days Val, by all accounts - bloody rubbish! Author's Reply: Bozzz on 17-11-2012 Did you ever go conkering Dad? And that, my friends, is how the armaments industry began. Great poem. .. Bozzz Author's Reply: Mikeverdi on 19-11-2012 Did you ever go conkering Dad? Fantastic writing and well worth the nib my friend. Mike Author's Reply: |
| Attenborough Would Understand (posted on: 16-11-12) 60 Years of nature programmes, I'm sure he'd get it. I usually sleep through Until the 4 a.m. break Scenting the porcelain bowl I heard two noises One relatively close A fox bark on the nearby car park One in the near distance An owl hooting in the woods beyond No security light came on As I stood buck naked in the kitchen Searching out any movement Standing with arms akimbo Like a giant silverback surveying his territory Daring anything to set my halogen alight That's when I felt a noise Gently thrumming Through the floorboards She was snoring contentedly I could lollop my way Up the ex-tree trunk To the matrimonial leaf pit Of freshly washed linen I'm sure that I awoke With my thumb in my mouth Archived comments for Attenborough Would Understand japanesewind on 16-11-2012 Attenborough Would Understand Standing with arms akimbo Like a giant silverback surveying his territory Daring anything to set my halogen alight hahaha....great that...David Author's Reply: Andrea on 17-11-2012 Attenborough Would Understand What a wonderful chap he is, that Attenborough. Nice π Author's Reply: ValDohren on 18-11-2012 Attenborough Would Understand Love my nature programmes - very funny write. Val Author's Reply: |
| Old Sunday In The Pub (posted on: 12-11-12) Memories of a time gone by. Cold with no patrons, no matrons Those golden old brasses, who would Let you touch their stockinged leg Whilst they drank a glass of gold label, just before The old man clipped you behind the ear Your cheeky ear, obviously No more this is my niece, just visiting Dad's gone away, if you know what I mean Niece had trouble written all over her But you had to have a go Try to get her to take her gum out And suck her tongue, fumble her tits The young mum whose husband was away Spelled danger to the other women They could smell it on her So could the dads, she never had An empty glass in front of her Or a stray mongrel far behind her It's all been boarded up Since I've been away Not been a bad lad Joined up for a lifetime Found my life had changed Some memories are better framed Archived comments for Old Sunday In The Pub Mikeverdi on 12-11-2012 Old Sunday In The Pub Excellent, I like this a lot. Mike Author's Reply: Thanks Mike. Andrea on 12-11-2012 Old Sunday In The Pub Yes, I liked it too. Such a shame that the old English boozer seems to be disappearing rapidly. I remember (and frequented) pubs like that π Only thing I'd suggest, for easier reading and clarity, is to ditch the capitals at the beginning of every sentence thus (perhaps): Cold with no patrons, no matrons. Those golden old brasses, who would let you touch their stockinged leg whilst they drank a glass of gold label, just before the old man clipped you behind the ear. Your cheeky ear, obviously. Just a thought, and welcome to UKA! Author's Reply: Thanks for that Andrea, I can see what you mean, I will probably re-write should I publish elsewhere. Kind regards. Ionicus on 14-11-2012 Old Sunday In The Pub Yes, the traditional English pubs of yesteryear have become wine bars or have been demolished. The atmosphere that was typical of these establishments is just a distant memory. The line "The young mum who's husband was away" contains a typo: it should be 'whose'. Author's Reply: Thank you Ionicus, error seen and amended. Regards, S. |