Poetry Appreciation

[Indigo]

I notice that the majority of the discussion here seems to be on the subject of graphic art. I have nothing against graphic art, but obviously there are many other creative mediums that it'd be interesting to explore. I pick poetry for this topic, firstly because I think it's quite an underrated art form, and secondly because it's quite accessible; I think it's fair to say that near enough anyone could write a poem if they put their mind to it.

 

So, if we have any poets here, feel free to share your work and make constructive comments.

 

For now I'll share what is probably my favourite of the poems I've written. Thoughts appreciated.

 

-------------------------

 

Dusk to Dawn

 

The mark of a lover, scribbled on the table

A line through the dust, fingertip fray

The static compliments those drooped shadows

Exhausted, quiescent and sad

Lost in the unknown of artificiality

Lost in the silence of night

 

The light-bulb would like to say hi

A wish to spark, just this once

The monochromatic canvas of early-hour

Anhedonic, anxious and afflicted

Subsistent in its world

From dusk to dawn, nightfall to sunrise

 

Gravity is pulling me

I've an appointment with fantasy

An adventure out of time

An escape from reality

 

The pattern on the lampshade casts its sweet farewell

A sigh of relief greets my eye-lid's close

Drifting in unconsciousness

In her arms I'll stay

Masked in bliss

By starlight I'll stay

Forever in her touch

[mario114]

It's pretty cool, I can't rember much about poetry I wasn't that good at english AS, but the poem seem pretty cool, better than the borring dilyan tomas ones i had to study (that guy is obssed with death!). I like the contrast of semantic fields (thats the right word right?) of light and dark, it really adds to the poem. I find the fouth stanza (thats the term for paragraphs right, hey i'm on fire today ) particulary good, the lexus choice "fantasy", "adventure" and "reality", really spark the imagantion.

[Arragaun]

I like how the poem appears to tell the story of a past love and I do like your use of alliteration.

However, to me it reads too bookwormy, mainly because of all the words like 'quiescent' and 'artificiality'. Otherwise though, it makes me smile.

[Shorty]

particulary good, the lexus choice "fantasy", "adventure" and "reality", really spark the imagantion.

Lexis. This is a lexus.

 

But I agree with your point anyway :p

[Daft]

I'm going to bump this thread to give it another chance and because I think its an awesome idea!

 

I wrote this earlier...It hasn't got a title.

 

---------------

 

Stood up tall and all alone,

Broken ground falls into the sea.

Slender roses, slowly growing old,

But I am so alone.

 

Fear holds me,

Takes me everywhere,

There is nothing new for me to see,

Yet I am all alone.

[jayseven]

This is a scrap o' mine that does little else but rhyme...

 

____

 

Feel like i should be dreaming

clouds drifting by and i can't find the meaning

did i give away all i had to offer?

am i too late to change the future?

 

Tried so hard so soon

took the wrong chance

pushed the boundaries

never could make it last

 

Feel like i'm overthinking

Situation surrounds me as if i've been drinking

Did I cut too deep this time?

truth's so hidden it's hard to find

 

________

 

_________

 

 

Exchanged your borrowings for a heartful of debt,

took away all their feelings

'till less than nothing was left.

 

Back up to the line,

the mark has been raised,

struggle to reach it

because your mind's too shallow,

can't help but dream

of the heights elevated

past your level,

even though dreaming

is not believing

and seeing

is as close

as you

can't get.

 

Don't tease their fragments,

let them rest awhile,

shatter some more hearts

to add to the pile.

 

_____

.. and this is stuff I did for a module last year...

_____

For Things Too Important To Simply Just Remember

Each beat a sigh of truth I hate

A laugh, a smile, a joke.

Each pain a memory in fade,

A splinter more of hope.

 

Each drop a taste of lies I made

A scream, a cry, confess.

Each cut a minute of mine saved.

One nearer yet to death.

 

Her eyes so wide so open red

Each look to me too late.

Her hand so tight on mine tonight,

But now I just can’t wait.

 

Her smile a line to ponder on,

Forgiving me no more.

Her tear to beg for mercy, but

Not what I’m asking for.

 

You have already broken me,

So much for tales of fate.

Just let these fragments rest a while

And make your own escape.

 

 

Of Favours and Regrets

 

The sun is blinded black by memories,

Asleep and cast in dreams of no more white.

The rivers drowning deep below the sea,

Unseen by shadows breathless through the night,

Choking the stars and skies and all still free.

Alone the mountains all crumble to earth,

The woods and forests fall to the last tree

As every jewel is crushed by its own worth.

When each and all last words fall into place

I shall be first to tell you who was wrong.

“all that remains of you is put to waste

Is this slow love poem, my final song”.

I said our love would turn around the world

And what I meant cannot now be untold.

 

 

Just Start Speaking Before You Cannot Speak Any More

 

This is on time, still on time right? I’ve got seconds

To spare though I stutter when I start to speak

Nothing will stop me, cease me beginning

To open my mouth and say out loud

The words whole and complete at last

That persuade or gaze too long

At what you might not think

Or remember well

But my words do

And they shall

Tell you

More

-

 

Who is writing in my book?

 

My pen’s full of ink

Again fate overflows

Through my fingers, ever searching

The brink.

Never worth the pages you fill when

 

You think you can write,

So read on

Faithfull reader

I won’t bite, I need

my teeth so I can smile when

 

I’m always right?

Until these lines are full

Filled by leaks from my mind’s

insides out,

I won’t eat or sleep my days or nights –

 

‘Til I find that last rhyme

Is this an ode to November

Pompous, stuffed to the cuffs

With strong lines and anger-

Or is this another rough

Hope I know I won’t remember.

The first flame frome the fire

Always hurts the most

Like the worst lover’s name

Is forever a curse for

One thing, or is it

Another. Can I ever judge

A book by its

Cover, my memories shook.

Still can’t decide if I’m forgotten or

Can’t you unwind until the ember

Fires the last shot.

Never a winner unless you’ve lost

Your last breath.

 

_______

 

Ok, apologies for lengthy post >_<

[Paj!]

I don't often write poems, and I don't have to hand, but I find Joanna Newsom's song lyrcis to be like poems animated.

 

*brace yourself, the song is like 10 minutes long*

 

Monkey And Bear, written and performed by Joanna Newsom

 

Down in the green hay

Where monkey and bear usually lay

They woke from a stable-boy's cry

He said; someone come quick!

The horses got loose, got grass-sick!

They'll founder! Fain, they'll die

What is now known by the sorrel and the roan?

By the chestnut, and the bay, and the gelding grey?

It is: stay by the gate you are given

And remain in your place, for your season

And had the overfed dead but listened

To that high-fence, horse-sense, wisdom...

Did you hear that, Bear? Said monkey

We'll get out of here, fair and square

They've left the gate open wide!

So

My bride

Here is my hand, where is your paw?

Try and understand my plan, Ursala

My heart is a furnace

Full of love that's just, and earnest

Now; you know that we must unlearn this

Allegiance to a life of service

And no longer answer to that heartless

Hay-monger, nor be his accomplice

(that charlatan, with artless hustling!)

But; Ursala, we've got to eat something

And earn our keep, while still within

The borders of the land that man has girded

(all double-bolted and tight-fisted!)

Until we reach the open country

A-steeped in milk and honey

Will you keep your fancy clothes on, for me?

Can you bear a little longer to wear that leash?

My love, I swear by the air I breathe:

Sooner or later, you'll bare your teeth

But for now, just dance, darling

C'mon, will you dance, my darling?

Darling, there's a place for us

Can we go, before I turn to dust?

Oh my darling, there's a place for us

Oh darling

C'mon will you dance, my darling?

Oh, the hills are groaning with excess

Like a table ceaselessly being set

Oh my darling, we will get there yet

They trooped past the guards,

Past the coops, and the fields, and the farmyards

All night, till finally:

The space they gained grew

Much farther than the stone that bear threw

To mark where they'd stop for tea

But walk a little faster

And don't look backwards

Your feast is to the East, which lies a little past the pasture

When the blackbirds hear tea whistling, they rise and clap

And their applause caws the kettle black

And we can't have none of that!

Move along, Bear; there, there; that's that

Though cast in plaster

Our Ursala's heart beat faster

Than monkey's ever will

But still;

They have got to pay the bills

Hadn't they?

That is what the monkey'd say

So, with the courage of a clown, or a cur

Or a kite, jerking tight at its tether

In her dun-brown gown of fur

And her jerkin' of swansdown and leather

Bear would sway on her hind legs;

The organ would grind dregs of song, for the pleasure

Of the children, who'd shriek

Throwing coins at her feet

Then recoiling in terror

Sing, dance, darling

C'mon, will you dance, my darling?

Oh darling, there's a place for us

Can we go, before I turn to dust?

Oh my darling, there's a place for us

Oh darling

C'mon, will you dance, my darling?

You keep your eyes fixed on the highest hill

Where you'll ever-after eat your fill

Oh my darling, dear, mine

If you dance

Dance, darling, and I love you still

Deep in the night

Shone a weak and miserly light

Where the monkey shouldered his lamp

Someone had told him

The bear had been wandering

A fair piece away from where they were camped

Someone had told him

The bear'd been sneaking away

To the seaside caverns, to bathe

And the thought troubled the monkey

For he was afraid of spelunking down in those caves

Also afraid what the village people would say

If they saw the bear in that state;

Lolling and splashing obscenely

Well, it seemed irrational, really; washing that face

Washing that matted and flea-bit pelt

In some sea-spit-shine, old kelp dripping with brine

But monkey just laughed, and he muttered;

When she comes back, Ursala will be bursting with pride

Till I jump up!

Saying: you've been rolling in muck!

Saying: you smell of garbage and grime!

But far out

Far out

By now

By now

Far out, by now, Bear ploughed

'Cause she would not drown:

First the outside-legs of the bear

Up and fell down, in the water, like knobby garters

Then the outside-arms of the bear

Fell off, as easy as if sloughed from boiled tomatoes

Low'red in a genteel curtsy

Bear shed the mantle of her diluvian shoulders;

And, with a sigh,

She allowed the burden of belly to drop like an apron full of boulders

If you could hold up her threadbare

Coat to the light where it's worn translucent in places

You'd see spots where

Almost every night of the year Bear had been mending suspending that baseness

Now her coat drags through the water

Bagging, with a life's-worth of hunger, limitless minnows;

In the magnetic embrace

Balletic and glacial of Bear's insatiable shadow;

Left there!

Left there!

When Bear left Bear

Left there!

Left there!

When Bear stepped clear of Bear

Sooner or later you'll bury your teeth

[Indigo]

I'm glad this thread has been resurrected. Let's try keep it active.

 

This year I don't seem to have written much poetry. However I think that's more to do with being out of the habit of expressing myself through the form. Instead I've been writing melodies and then moulding previous poetry I had written into a lyrical form to make songs.

 

Now I am at uni though, and while I do have my guitar with me, I'm in a large halls of residence with many people on my corridor and paper thin walls, so I've been hindered by self-conciousness whenever I pick up my guitar and want to express myself. It's probably quite irrational, considering I've performed songs in front of many people; but the creative process is quite something else - it is something very personal and solitary, and so something feels lacking when I do not feel alone.

 

For that reason I see myself getting back into writing some poetry.

 

 

Ok, apologies for lengthy post >_<

No apologies necessary. You have some fine work there. Very cryptic, but great flow. I'm liking the experimental structure of "Just Start Speaking Before You Cannot Speak Any More".

 

Here's something I wrote last year which I'm quite fond of. It's better in its song-form, so some of the rhythm might seem a little clumsy depending how you read it. Let me know what you think anyhow.

 

----------------------------------------------

 

They sunk me in the ocean

 

Tied a cannon ball round my leg,

and pushed me off the edge

 

At first I panicked.

Everyone panics, but it's no use struggling

 

So I thought I'd sit back,

enjoy the blurred sights of the sea

 

But I tell you now, it's not what you'd think.

 

There's no happy lobsters playing shellfish xylophones.

And God help me, there wasn't a topless mermaid in sight,

 

Only darkness

All-consuming, encompassing darkness

 

And the deeper you sink, the darker it gets

Until it's so dark you have to check you've not closed your eyes

 

And that's only half-way down,

when you finally hit rock bottom, you know it -

there's that stillness, that feeling

 

That there ain't even one little fishie in sight,

to hear you scream

 

No there ain't even one little fishie in sight,

to hear you scream.

 

 

 

And that's where they found me

My body dead and useless,

but my heart still beating like the day that I was born

 

You see, they can take my money,

they can take my body

and they can even take my pride

 

But the heart?

They'll never touch this

[gaggle64]

We were asked to write a poem based on a number of different stimuli and elements - some memories, something from outside, what we think is important to us, an outline of our hand, stuff like that.

 

Yesterday afternoon I started writing, then I sort of blacked out for six hours. When I came too, this was on my screen. Not so much a poem, more a general outpouring of just... stuff. All kinds of stuff. I feel much lighter now for some reason.

 

The Vast Individual

 

Upstream,

At the very top where the English forest grows thick,

A tiny figure stumbles his first steps down the steep slope.

Steadily over the rocks and grassy slopes he picks his way,

Growing bigger and bigger with every step

Clutching his mothers hand to save him from each slip and stumble

And together they loose themselves in a throng.

 

The autumn leaves drift slowly around me and my father,

Thumbs whirling in the contest of generations,

Digitised 80s rap blaring at us from the bulky screen.

The preachers debate my religion;

Exactly which church would the child be most suited in?

The monsters that haunted my childhood dreams enjoy tea and crumpets.

My brother and sister play together, oblivious.

Fleeting spirits of daydreams and revelation hover noiselessly overhead.

 

 

Downstream,

Where the river runs wide and the trees bloom spring pink and red,

A young man helps his mother stumble down the steep slope,

Guiding her gently over the rocks and pools

She grows feebler with every step.

They stop to rest and look back

As the heavy fog consumes them both.

 

An old and unwanted acquaintance strolls through the scene,

Gently clutching first his girlfriend, then his wife, then his children.

They shake my hand and bid me a very good day.

I nod politely and wished him good luck as he vanished into the mists.

Dim shapes and figures wander and flicker,

A house, a desk, an arguing couple, cityscapes and birthday cakes.

Groups embrace each other and some leave while others stay.

Images of the new and familiar intertwine like coloured smoke.

 

I look back out across the plains behind me where sun and moon share the sky,

Where the innumerable legions of past, present future mill together,

An endless train of all beings following times endless river

Which flows ceaselessly in every possible direction.

The people I laughed with, the people I cried with,

The people I fought and played against.

The people I will love and the people I will die with,

An endless procession gathers of artists and players,

Tutors, trailers, loved ones and characters

That shaped the materials of my mind

And cultivated my soul and personality.

 

But amongst the swelling crowd are people I don’t know.

Faint ghosts and spirits shake hands with those who built me.

Together they talk, argue, compete and play,

Fade away or turn to solid people and join the mass.

Each made whole by the ones they see marching in their own parade.

I know now I am not merely the tip,

I am near the edge of an ever shifting polygon,

A shape with no shape nor dimension to define it

An immortal and endlessly mobile organic machine of actions and emotion.

A single, vast, self contained cell of humanity and history and the present,

Fuelled by chaos, governed by chaos theory and planning only for the future.

 

Around me ghostly denizens and flesh and blood friends gather together,

And I gladly join them to see what we can teach each other.

I am the product of billions.

I am just one of billions.

As one of billions I will build another.

[Mikey]

One day I was at school

I was 16 years old

the girl across me was looking hot

I liked this girl for a while

but something changed

instead of my usual fantasies

I started to think about her naked

my penis began to tingle

then it became hard

I pretended to scratch my leg

but I was stroking my penis

it was harder than it's ever been

luckily I could do this under my desk

then as I rubbed myself more

I started to feel something wet around my penis

it wasn't urine

so I didn't know what it was

instead of worrying I kept on rubbing

it started to feel really good

I think my teacher spotted me

but she didn't know what to do

after all I was probably the first teenage lad to masturbate in her class

regardless of suspecting my teacher had spotted me

I kept on rubbing

if anything it made me more excited

I was now thinking about the teacher as well

who had great bewbs

I wanted her to sit on my face

along with the girl in my class

in my mind it was heaven

but then I cummed in my pants

and it started to smell

my pants were wet from all of the semen

people thought I had peed myself

my teacher was wet too

I think she wanted to suck my cock

the girl across the room looked at me

I gave her a dirty look back

she ran off and reported me to the police

I shouted fuck off

[gaggle64]

I wrote it this morning:

Skinless.

 

I want to peel myself like an orange.

Step out and away from my rubbery animal hide

Feel the sunshine beat upon my red flesh

And hear the wind whistling through my bones and sinews.

 

What a liberation it would be,

No more eczema, pimples or warts,

No fretting about looking too pale in the morning,

And I could save a fortune on sun tan lotion.

 

The fashionistas couldn’t touch me.

The birds would coo as I walked beneath the trees.

Children would point and stare in the supermarket

And women would scream wherever I went.

 

If everyone did it, billions would be saved from not buying wrinkle creams,

Racism would become almost impossible

Anatomical science could advance in leaps and bounds,

And public nudity would be almost entirely beside the point.

 

Though, if everyone does it, why should I?

I don’t want to become just another fleshy mass amongst millions,

Just another idiot without his skin who likes to think he’s cool,

So I think I’ll stay fully skinned, thank you.

Lets see what people think of me then.

[gaggle64]

Just wrote this. Needs editing though.

The Senna Bird

 

Across the sea and the mountains

I could see you

Wings of white and blue fire

A shinning star upon my eye

A precious jewel

Floating on the air

 

Such beauty that others craved

The hunters baited you

Hailed shot and arrow against you

You did not flinch or falter

Swooping

Torching weapons from hands

 

I longed to clasp your wings

Feel your fire scorch my hands

See close your glorious sunshine

Pluck a feather from your back

Share the joy of your beauty,

that was not meant to be touched.

 

A great storm

A furious wind

The hot summer sky at war

Sound and light rending dark

I gasped as I saw

A jagged finger stroke your back

 

Your fire faded

And you fell

Spiralling

Onto a carpet of green.

I felt your plumage in my hand that day.

I wept.

[killthenet]

Here is poe(a)m.

 

In Tune Four

Passed your way

In the Eleventh Century.

I'f I thought like you are

Something I forgot about.

 

Preach for ghosts

 

I used this milk frother

To put across my feelings

And they're so well writ.

 

I'm so impressed.

But you're not impressed.

 

Because I have bad spelling.

And a terrible rhyme scheme.

And my handwriting is incomprehensible.

 

[And another...]

 

Bare Clown

But that doesn't include the time you spent in Montmatre.

Trying on shoes and grunting at the sales girl.

As she tugged at your orange socks.

 

"I think I'll try another pair."

 

But you never did.

[jayseven]

Here is poe(a)m.

 

In Tune Four

Passed your way

In the Eleventh Century.

I'f I thought like you are

Something I forgot about.

 

Preach for ghosts

 

I used this milk frother

To put across my feelings

And they're so well writ.

 

I'm so impressed.

But you're not impressed.

 

Because I have bad spelling.

And a terrible rhyme scheme.

And my handwriting is incomprehensible.

 

[And another...]

 

Bare Clown

But that doesn't include the time you spent in Montmatre.

Trying on shoes and grunting at the sales girl.

As she tugged at your orange socks.

 

"I think I'll try another pair."

 

But you never did.

 

I like those quite a lot. In the first one it's mostly the last stanza, because it's so self-aware it brings the whole thing to life :P The second one I didn't like at first, but it got in my head and ate away at me for a while. Always good

[gaggle64]

I love the "Bare Clown" one. It's a sort of surreal and yet oddly familiar scene.

[Haver]

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Introduction-English-Poetry-James-Fenton/dp/0141004398

 

This is a wonderful book if you're getting into writing/reading poetry, written by the marvelous James Fenton. It's interesting that our best on Politics (Christopher Hitchens), Novels (Martin Amis, Ian McEwan) and Poetry (James Fenton) were all friends at university.

[Supergrunch]

Garlic and sapphires in the mud

Clot the bedded axle-tree.

The trilling wire in the blood

Sings below inveterate scars

Appeasing long forgotten wars.

The dance along the artery

The circulation of the lymph

Are figured in the drift of stars

Ascend to summer in the tree

We move above the moving tree

In light upon the figured leaf

And hear upon the sodden floor

Below, the boarhound and the boar

Pursue their pattern as before

But reconciled among the stars.

 

...okay, this is actually by TS Elliot. But it's so awesome, it deserves to be in this thread even if I'm not the one being creative.

[jayseven]

lollers! And there was me about to ponder on the repetition of tree :P (ponder should read as "criticise"!) In my own defence, I've not started studying TS Eliot yet...

[MoogleViper]

lollers! And there was me about to ponder on the repetition of tree :P (ponder should read as "criticise"!) In my own defence, I've not started studying TS Eliot yet...

 

It's the pattern of tree.

 

*ahem*

[killthenet]

Cheers guys, pretty much agree with your comments, the first one is all over the place until the end, might re-write it at some point.

[Jasper]

Echo in je ogen

Stemmen klinken hol

Het lijkt alsof je luistert

maar niet hoorde wat ik zag

 

Echo in je ogen

Hol stemt de klank

je luistert alsof het lijkt

dat ik hoorde wat je zei

 

----- English edition:

 

Echo in your eyes

Voices sound hollow

It seems as if you listened

but didn't hear what I saw

 

Echo in your eyes

Hollow voices the sounds

You listen as if it seems

that I Heard what you said

[Supergrunch]

Had a go at writing a Pushkin sonnet, I love their sense of rhythm:

 

A walk, inside your own reflection,

Great streaks across an open sky,

A mass of things; a fine collection,

Devices for suggesting why,

A clutch of thoughts, all strewn asunder,

Remnants of a crack of thunder,

Panic, worry, black frustration,

Clean wrought hopes of reformation,

But something more, among the medley,

I see it shimmer in the dust,

Much like the glittering of lust,

Yet this one is somehow more deadly.

It lies forgotten - nothing much,

But rue the day you feel its touch.

 

Edit: And a randomish Sestina:

 

It seems I've been presented with a mystery.

I look at it and frown - what's in this funny box?

There is a keyhole, yet I have no key

to open it with. I slump, sigh, and scratch

my head, and think - what can I do? There

must be some way I can crack this bastard open.

 

Of course, some "simple" methods would open

the damn thing. That'd solve the mystery

for good. But, if I were to do it like that, there

wouldn't really be much point - it'd just destroy the box.

Plus, it's a nice looking thing. I wouldn't want to scratch

it - much more satisfying to get in with the proper key.

 

And therein lies the problem. I have no such key.

And without one, I have no idea how I'll open

it. I search the surface for a telltale scratch.

I need something odd, some hint of mystery.

It brings to mind those Persian things - a box

with a little secret catch. Of course, there

 

doesn't seem to be anything. Damn Persians - their

boxes had tricks. Much better than a bloody key!

As it is, what can I do? Great, another useless box

to litter the place - and this one won't even open.

I don't know - in a way this is the worst kind of mystery.

No solution at all, however far you decide to scratch

 

beneath the surface. God, I could almost scratch

my own eyes out with frustration, but there

wouldn't be much point. The dammed mystery

would still be there - a box, without a key.

I could scream in rage - "open sesame, open

you fool!" But that'd do nothing to this silly box.

 

Giving up, I narrow my eyes and glare at the box.

And it's at this moment that I hear a little scratch.

I look at the thing in wonder as it swings open -

all that trouble, and it does this now? And look, there!

I've discovered the location of that blasted key:

it's right inside the box. Ha! No more mystery!

 

And that's how I opened the box. You thought I'd used a cunning technique,

but there was nothing of the sort - I heard a scratch, and there was the key.

So, I suppose that's all for that mystery. Any other boxes you want me to open?

[tapedeck]

Some of my poems...I wrote these EIGHT years ago

 

Addiction, I'm fine:

 

A day it breaks, a smoker spits

a drinker feels the crushing cysts

a user feels the inner bits.

I'm fine.

 

A day it goes on but I feel alone

I dont smoke nor drink till my mind has gone.

I'm fine.

 

I keep on saying as the user's praying

'I'm fine'.

yet the affection collection is drained.

 

I pass them by on dusky nights.

There talking pain, of hate and fights.

I keep on walking, just singing and talking.

I'm fine.

 

Human Nature:

 

We all provoke the slightest joke to go on and elope.

We all demean the slightest thing to show that we are mean.

We have our views which just confuse a recent piece of news.

We'll never find a piece of mind to make us all seem kind.

We can only see a you and me in a world that deems us free.

 

Always lost and always gone in a world that we treat wrong.

 

Mashed Potato:

 

Mashed potato in my head.

Mashed potato all things said.

Mashed potato things are done.

Mashed potato things are sung.

Mashed potato for my tea.

Mashed potato aside mommy.

Mashed potato sitting there.

Mashed potato eating air.

Mashed potato seeing, being.

Mashed potato just a feeling.

Mashed potato in my stomach.

Mashed potato just platonic.

Mashed potato always free.

Mashed potato just for me.

Mashed potato in my head.

Mashed potato you've just read.

 

Love:

 

As love reflects a rivers flow and sweeps down to the seas.

As love reclaims a broken heart and sweeps a thousand dreams.

As love lies in the moonlight just waiting to be found.

As love waits in the crowds of all, adorning to be crowned.

And love it swamps our inner thoughts to a degree of inner care.

As love will wait for no-one, yes love will never spare.

 

Pre-Association: Associated with Life

 

Walking, talking, no remorsing.

Monday everyday, Tuesday new day.

Wednesday your way.

Tears and fears, emotional clears.

Lazy, tired, lost job; fired!

 

One way some day, Your way everyday.

Memories of a lost ones love,

One may ask is there an up above?

 

School:

 

School is good school is bad.

The teachers shout, the teachers mad.

The teachers show the way to go.

But the pupils they dont want to know.

Paper planes and jokes aplenty,

The buses leave; the school is empty.

School is good and school is bad.

And when it's over we'll be sad.