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  1. Thanks Tink. My first stanza is written in the past tense and meant as a reflection of how the world was presented to a child. The second stanza written in present tense, is that of the same child, now a grandparent-- musing of how very much the times have changed. Geoff.
  2. I also liked both poems though the revision for me is excellent. I particularly liked the enjambment which carries the rhythm expertly through the above lines and into some exceptional imagery. Quality over quantity every time. Geoff :-)
  3. Hello Tony. Many thanks for such an insightful review. Most writers (of anything really) are advised to stick to things they're familiar with. I try to balance 'interesting and informative' where possible with 'entertaining' forms of expression. The older one gets however, the more perspectives shift and the pool of experience changes into a sea of wondering; for there are always more questions than answers, that stretch over the horizon. I have witnessed so many things: from growing up in post war austerity, where food was rationed until 1956; where many lived in back to back Victorian gas-lit terraced housing, with an outside privy and a single cold water tap.. To the great strides in technology, health, education and social attitudes. I can recall conversations with people who were born in the 19th century. My grandmother figure for instance: synonymous with a little old lady teacher called Miss West, who read to us children, wonderful tales with colour plate illustrations, that sparked a child's imagination in drab times. I first watched t/v in a community centre room in June 1953 (The Coronation). It stood on the floor and had a 9inch screen with rounded corners. The endless black and white parade of horse guards and the pomp of an outmoded empire, did not register with children, who were more concerned with the ensuing street party-- and missing out on the sunshine outside. Perhaps we are all such children: constantly masked from what the future holds. Our world turns constantly-- yet polarises the 'haves' and 'have nots' as never before; while one kind of empire is superseded by another. Geoff.
  4. When asked how long she'd pricked her 'raggy' rugs; Grandmother smiled and said: “Ooh! Donkey's years!” Charred crocodiles of logs spat from the hearth: Dragons and snakes, flickered on parchment walls. And life was filled with colour, warmth and light That raised a chuckle when she told a tale.. The Fat Mayor and his Cock-a-doodle Hat: Squashed!! By his 'put upon' pet elephant. Comeuppance from the mightily oppressed: Contained within her mesmerising yarn.. My morning percolator's bean-fed wraiths, Disperse in fragrant wisps of minutiae: That forty days of rain may come again. That destruction and creation, are the left And right hand of some ancient cosmic force. And I-- who store smidgens of many things Which took a lifetime in the gathering; Confess, none of them help me to explain Want and Starvation to a nascent child, Whose thoughts are owned by all things digital.
  5. Thank you Tony-- your presence and input here is much appreciated. I find it poetically fascinating how the senses work in conjunction with the imagination. Most will have never heard of the word – but all will be familiar with imagery in the embers of a fire: cloud formations, and more famously, faces on the Moon and Mars, or even religious depictions in day to day objects. Perceptions of things that are perhaps uniquely and psychologically relevant to each of us. Kindest regards, Geoff
  6. Hello Dave many thanks for your review and comments which are much appreciated. I took some poetic license with “under the stairs” to present a traditional psychological place of mystery and uncertainty; a hint at the very English phrase: “below stairs” which represents the oppressive class structure of it's day and of “knowing one's station” :-) Geoff.
  7. Another Spring is on you! My heart cries. High in the trees the first woodpecker drives And clacks of jousting stags fill out the morn; Whilst passive does suspect my single form. I stand stock-still-- and watch them, silently; For there is no where else I have to be. And wonder, can they sense my loneliness, As through the gentle clouds I see your face.
  8. A masterclass in show not tell. Your brevity evokes expansive imagery:- imagery that's laced together in such a way, that it would take far more than your proffered six lines to interpret. Meticulously well presented. G.
  9. Thanks Tony. “The war to end all wars” seems like an ironic precursor when one examines 20th century history from 1919 onward. It may have changed attitudes both spiritual and tangible, yet we remain destructively human. G.
  10. Thank you Tony. Your time is much appreciated. G.
  11. Resurrected from my backburner.
  12. Out of a past under the stairs He breathes with anonymity Where mystery and madness range From tallow candles to Tesla bulbs The conscience of his human face A hunter's moon with spindrift bows And silver darts that pierce the mind On fields of Mars where countless died-- Still die-- to crowd his universe Where all religion is a foolish Answer to a foolish question And he haunts for a better life Headstone detached-- gathering dust Archaic as Ozymandias
  13. Thanks badge and Tink your comments are always appreciated.G
  14. Tony. Your efforts are much appreciated: Also, Judi's reference site is superb, a true labour of love. The members who contribute and spend time here may not be prolific but consistently present work of quality and variety. My best wishes and kindest regards to all. Geoff.
  15. Simple is good: it has a positive feel without feminine line endings and your 'warm' choice of language offers a broad poetic appeal. G