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original


Gerry Burns


Breuegel

 Sky the colour of blue,
Scumbled over paler ground,
And feeling down, deprived of snow,
I shoved my way through crowded streets
To view the Flemish Masters on display,
Stood in awe
Before Herr Breuegel’s masterpiece,
His ‘Massacre of the Innocents’
Transposed to Holland in the snow,
And though, initially,
I took it for a simple,
Snowy, village scene,
With icicles and animals,
And leafless trees a filigree
Against the snow,
A closer look showed soldiers
At their gruesome work,
With wide-eyed mothers pleading
For their children’s lives;
But there will be no rescue
On this day of reckoning;
I felt my blood run cold,
And yet I could not turn away,
Transfixed,
Transformed,
Forgotten was the fact
That I had only stopped to look,
Because I felt deprived of snow.

after i tweaked


BREUEGEL

        Sky the colour of blue,
Scum-bled on paler ground
feeling down, deprived of snow,
I shoved my way through crowded streets
To view the Flemish Masters on display,
There I stood in awe before Herr Breuegel’s
Masterpiece:     ‘Massacre of the Innocents’

Transposed to Holland
And though, initially,
I took it for a simple,
Village scene with icicles
animals, and leafless trees a filigree
Against the pure white.

A closer look showed soldiers
At their gruesome work,
With wide-eyed mothers pleading
For their children’s lives;
But there will be no rescue
On this day of reckoning;


I felt my blood run cold,
And yet I could not turn
Away transfixed, transformed,
Forgotten that I had only  r
stopped to look, because
I felt deprived of snow.

Hi gerry

I tweaked your poem as you had to many
Snowy and snow words in the middle. cool poem.
I changed how it looks on page I hope you don’t
mind.  Compare it now to original, a very pure poem
From a fine poet, thanx gerry for sharing.
Gerry if you ponder every word the poem takes
A life of its own form.  Read  both aloud and send
It the way u want its your poem. Love that word scum- bled
i think it might be a typo but i like it.   your poem
you do your way.



AINE

The Gathering 2002 ORIGINAL


Slowly the house crammed to the hilt
like the poor crimbo turkey.
Each room occupied by family
each room a generation of gaps.
Inside the curtained windows
voices rise into the night
like an opera of opinions or
an anthology of wishes.
Missing, the ould pair.
The eldest now drape the fireside
with songs of old Ireland
and a bit of Hogmany thrown in
for good measure.
The twenty-ish gather at the dressing table
exchanging notes on Uni, shots
and the opposite sex, oblivious to
the blethering of family at this time.
The teens storm each room, moaning
about the crap music they hear and low
mobile signals, create tension and take advantage
of the elders tipsy nature.
The 40’s sip wine and recall the days
when The Undertones and Kenny Everette
wher cool and how no one questioned
Morcambe & Wise sharing a bed.
Midnight brings all to the hearth, some
reluctant to link for old times sake.
First kisses of the new year are meted out.
There’s an air of remembrance.
By 12.30 am slowly the house empties.
A trail of singing is heard by the road
The twenties and teens have gone, united
for now they head for the nearest club.
The elders stalk the fireside agreeing and not,
laughing and singing. The 40’s get cosy with thoughts of the
coming year, and more wine.




after i tweaked it hope you like







The Gathering 2002


Slowly the house crammed to the hilt
like the poor turkey.   Each room
occupied by family a generation of gaps.
Inside the  curtained windows
voices rise into the night
like an opera of opinions or
an anthology of wishes.


Missing, the ould pair.
The eldest now drape the fireside
with songs of old Ireland
and a bit of Hogmany thrown in
for good measure.


The twenty-ish gather at the dressing table
exchanging notes on Uni, shots
and the opposite sex, oblivious to
the blethering of family at this time.


The teens storm each room, moaning
about the crap music they hear and low
mobile signals, create tension and take advantage
of the elders tipsy nature.


The 40’s sip wine and recall the days
when The Undertones and Kenny Everette
wher cool and how no one questioned
Morcambe & Wise sharing a bed.


Midnight brings all to the hearth, some
reluctant to link for old times sake.
First kisses of the new year are meted out.
There’s an air of rememberance.


By 12.30 am slowly the house empties.
A trail of singing is heard by the road
The twenties and teens have gone, united
for now they head for the nearest club.
The elders stalk the fireside agreeing 
and not laughing and singing. Thoughts
of the coming year.


COOL nice simple images
i only took out crimbo as
its a bit cliched i think turkey
sugggests time ok you had each room
you had twice twice
 i split into stanzas like
rooms.  if u dont like
changes that ok its your poem.












iv'e put all your poems here until i find a home on exercise 1 blog on my website, if anyone interested in exercise please email me at    




apf1961@live.co.uk

.

SusanFarrell

CUTTINGS

I’m in here darlin-’’ the carer said
taking books from the fridge,
moving black plastic bags,
sagged with eighty four years,
weaving a well worn path
through stacks of Good
Housekeeping magazines,
walls of empty jam jars, washed
 margarine tubs heaped
neat in readiness for cuttings
 from plants that remember the famine.
 ‘-you can get through here now darlin’
to your bedroom and the bathroom.’




Miss Sally Maguire, zimmer-framed
shopping trolley manoeuvring,
smiles, and thinks of driving,
 because she’ll be back at work
next week -she imagines proudly.
She’ll get rid of those-
carers’ who call her darlin’’
who wreck her bag organised,
placed, catalogued, filed, fond
memories, and cuttings:
at least two epics and a new century.
She’ll be back at work guiding
the present round the past.
all writers on this blog please follow i cant set exercise until you follow,   comment on each others if u like or dislike
whats this the mute creative writing class?  
 i thought that was the whole point to get feedback.
all writers on this blog please follow i cant set exercise until you follow,   comment on each others if u like or dislike
whats this the mute creative writing class?  
 i thought that was the whole point to get feedback.
adrian fox.org


MONKEY POLE......... (the evolution of recovery)

The sun throws
a shimmering
shadow on my wall.
A shadow within a shadow,
an image within a image
like a heat hazed mayhem.
I ponder a book
on the graphic works of
      M.C. ESCHER a man way
      ahead of his time, his drawings
of rippled water are like
the splash of shadowed summer
on my wall. The evolution
of his surrealism must have been like
the diagrams of Darwins mind,
you have to go down to come up.


Birds become fish and fish become sky
spanning acres of land.
Life is there in that shadow,
Dancing leaves upon my wall.

My carer put me to bed at 9pm and left
me to play with my monkey pole.

My home is like a hospital
there is a wet room and
and a wheelchair and rails for me
to pull up from but not

pull down.


this is a new poem and like the cafe can i ask you all to folllow the blog and tell me you are intersted if i set an exercise.   i need your support.