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Nov 2019
4:37pm, 1 Nov 2019
41,897 posts
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McGoohan
It is my solemn duty to go on Amazon using my special reviewing ID and review that reviewer thusly: "You are a fucking idiot"
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Nov 2019
4:41pm, 1 Nov 2019
11,343 posts
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Cerrertonia
Does seem a bit odd to mention Gill though.
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Nov 2019
10:22pm, 3 Nov 2019
14,810 posts
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Serendippily
Well this thread is a bit of a find
*gets confortable*
Was he really lightly dusted in toast?
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Nov 2019
11:14pm, 3 Nov 2019
30,537 posts
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LindsD
Hello! Will read back tomorrow.
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Nov 2019
6:42am, 4 Nov 2019
30,542 posts
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LindsD
Loving this thread so far 
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Nov 2019
10:03am, 5 Nov 2019
115,893 posts
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GregP
Hello. ~waves~
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Nov 2019
1:17pm, 11 Nov 2019
42,197 posts
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Diogenes
A friend came to see me
he sat on my settee
and gave me his woes until spent.
His smile was quite eerie
He spoke indistinctly
His voice came from somewhere in Kent
Sat on his knee
Was a wooden dummy
I guess he just needed to vent.
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Nov 2019
1:47pm, 11 Nov 2019
18,250 posts
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Dvorak
Day in
Day out
It's all
'bout nowt
Sat on
My bum
Just so
Humdrum
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Nov 2019
2:24pm, 14 Nov 2019
42,306 posts
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Diogenes
Today is going
quickly get yourself
together we will walk
forward guided by stars
enchained in dreams
conjured from a dark
void flooded with fears
unspoken.
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Dec 2019
11:40pm, 4 Dec 2019
344 posts
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Peregrinator
I was wondering what published poems there were related to running and I came across this in an anthology, by Brian Jones (no, not that one) (1938 - 2009).
Runner
Steadily stepping first, I let the world
keep time beside me, watch it sidelong coolly,
my competitor - then, with a stretch of stride
I set the pace, and in the dazed
and jumping eyeball hedgerow spends itself
unforms, and sprawls as shapeless
as any man whose flabby flesh I've mastered;
trees whirl, dizzy with pace, and the pumping heart
shakes the sky from blue complacency.
And here I ride on feet sprung with the will,
destroying rule of shape, the sway of custom,
while colours ribbon from the broken lines
of brick and trees. The brain
is hurled from platitude, the forced lungs
cry for the meagre air, organs of sense
are strained beyond their common catch, and
world
and tortured body
pulse into chaos. I unmake old realms.
Having to halt. I retch for breath
on a lonely road, and hear the blood
grow soft and usual. I feel stale threats
come up abreast and reassert
their normalcy, before whose arrogance
I straighten, fill my lungs, begin to stride.
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