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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.