[John Isbell]

Hi Fliss,

I think I particularly enjoy your rhymed poetry, so your sun piece does not sail under my radar. I like it. Thank you for your comments on Penelope et al; I like our chats as well. One thing you do in your free verse that I suspect would be harder in meter is this splendid thing:

I really want to meet
John Lennon,

which reminds me a bit of this old thing for some reason:

The Boston Evening Transcript
BY T. S. ELIOT

The readers of the Boston Evening Transcript
Sway in the wind like a field of ripe corn.

When evening quickens faintly in the street,
Wakening the appetites of life in some
And to others bringing the Boston Evening Transcript,
I mount the steps and ring the bell, turning
Wearily, as one would turn to nod good-bye to Rochefoucauld,
If the street were time and he at the end of the street,
And I say, "Cousin Harriet, here is the Boston Evening Transcript."

Regards,
John

[F.F. Teague]

🍹🍪

That's squash and a biscuit for you, John. Yes, it's actually a cocktail, but you can have a non-alcoholic concoction if you wish :-)

I think most people prefer the rhymed stuff. I certainly enjoy writing it more than attempting blank verse, which always feels unfinished to me. That's odd, because I seldom feel that way about other poets' non-met. Ho hum.

You're welcome for my comments; I think chatting is good, as it can spark extra ideas. I'm glad you like the bit about John Lennon, lol. I have quite a selection of dream-poems :-)

Here's the sonnet I mentioned. It's a summary sonnet, so possibly rather compact, although I do flesh out the themes in other work within a series. It's about a relationship between N, 22, and a solicitor at the law firm where they both work, who is quite a lot older. The Promenade is a posh part of town; the aviation age occurs in Shropshire, his home county.


To take flight

His love, 'If love,' he sighed, had 'hatched too quick',
00for he'd prefer us walled in stony shell
designed to shatter slowly, silent, slick –
00matured contentment in a measured cell.
I kept from fledging, though I longed for flight
00above the promenade of suits and heels
where he feared frowns and whispers might alight
00to spike his smooth repute, career ideals.
Once swept from threats of scandal and disgrace,
00he let us wanderlust in sunset skies
with wings spread warmly, awe upon his face
00for caution spurned, then joy on its demise.
Just seven days, our aviator age;
he bound us safe for home, stuffed in a cage.

🐣🐣🐣

I'm rushing off now as an aunt needs a chat, but shall be back at some stage. Tomorrow: lyrics. I think :-)

[John Isbell]

Hi Fliss,

Just a quick note to say the ending is brutal, particularly perhaps for someone who spent the last four years in a suburb of McAllen, Texas. It’s a striking ending.

[F.F. Teague]

Thanks, John;

Yes, I needed striking and brutal and I'm glad this comes across. Thanks for reading the poem :-)

[F.F. Teague]

🌞🌞🌞

Now I'm taking a trip, specifically to the Scilly Isles, posting the first poem in the Scilly series. It's spoken, cha-cha-CHING, with a pause at the end of each even line. It's very much a Planet F. poem.

Performance notes: I perform this myself, using my natural voice for narration, super-clear high-pitched tone for Coo, Gloucestershire accent for FT, and something strident for the mossops. The problem is, I can't stop laughing. Coo & Co offices are my studio room.

There's a photo of the mossops here :-)


St Mary's Mossops

In the Coo & Co offices, up in the trees,
00there are shelves of quite serious books,
but above Aristotle, Plato, Sophocles,
00stand some knick-knacks in crannies and nooks.

'Who be these?' Coo asked FT, one midsummer morn,
00of a collection of seven small folks,
colours ranging from pale pink to bright bean to corn,
00eyes egg white-esque with squinty black yolks.

'Well, dear Coo,' FT answered, her own eyes aglow,
00'These be mossops, from St Mary's Isle –
they cost three-pounds-and-fifty, expensive I know;
00I was charmed by their fabulous style.'

'As am I,' chirped the colombine, twirling a tad,
00'And moreover, they seem super-sleek.'
'Super-sleek, super-stylish,' FT thought to add,
00as the mossops stood proud in their clique.

'This is Rose Quartz, I think.' FT pointed top right,
00and her finger brushed one mossop's head,
just a second of contact, her touch very light,
00but the mossop shrieked slightly and said:

'Yes it's true, we are St Mary's mossops, are we,
00and we wish to embark on a trip,
to the far Isles of Scilly with Coo and FT,
00so let's all board this glorious ship!'

A svelte sea ship appeared at the window of Coo's
00and the mossops jumped onto the deck,
'Shall we sail?' mused FT. 'I do fancy a cruise,'
00Coo replied, 'and the ship looks high tech!'

So they sailed through the trees to the fields to the coast,
00reaching Cornwall at just past midday.
'Are we there yet?' Coo asked; FT answered, 'Almost!'
00Then, 'We're here!' cheered the mossops. 'Hooray!'

🌴🌴🌴

Tomorrow: who knows?

[mignon ledgard]

it said BANNED POST repeated over several lines

??

But I revised post #27

[John Isbell]

Good morning Fliss,

Or alternatively, good afternoon. I liked this and found it made me happy. So thanks! Am I wrong to hear a little Edward Lear in it?

Also, good to hear that West Country burr again. My sister worked for some years in the Bristol Housing Authority, where she told me one client liked some options and said "Tickee they."

Regards,
John

[F.F. Teague]

🍓🍓🍓

mignon, I don't know what happened there, but I've copied and pasted your #27:

revision:
Parallels

flee to the woods
and bark the trees
with the tongue—what
better dagger
than one which wags
—a fountain pen
poking points with
perseverance—
woodpecker drilling
to find hollows
—nothing—to make
something and paint
oneself silly
little animal
lost in the forest

~ml
June 22, 2021


Parallels

I flee to the woods
and bark the trees
with my tongue

what better dagger
than one which wags

or a fountain pen
poking points
with perseverance

woodpecker drilling
to find hollows
—nothing

to make something
and paint myself silly

little animal
lost in the forest

~ml
May 19, 2009

I like what you've done with the poem. It feels like a portrait, insofar as it's condensed into one space, and I still love the woodpecker and the silly little animal :-)

- - -
Good evening, John. Yes, it's a happy piece, written to relieve the stress of homebuying about three years ago.


As John mentioned Lear, I'm posting my Jumblies piece. The silly Scilly party met the Jumblies on St Martin's, which is one of the islands. There's a few interesting things about the island on Wikipedia, including a photo of the splendid daymark :-)


When Coo & Co met the Jumblies

So the party sailed northwards to St Martin's Isle,
00dropping anchor at Bread & Cheese Cove,
before journeying upwards with soup, super-style,
00and a mini yet mighty gas stove.

'We are bound for the daymark, FT,' Coo explained,
00'it resembles a tinned pencil tip
and its radiant red-and-white stripes are maintained
00to assist every barque, boat, and ship.'

'Yay, the daymark!' the St Mary's mossops gave cheer;
00'It is certainly bright,' smiled FT.
'Yes, indeed; and behold, we have strong soup-and-beer,'
00added Coo, 'to heat up presently.'

But as everyone neared the said red-and-white stripes,
00they perceived other colours as well –
there were greens, there were blues, of quite jubilant types,
00a fine blend with the Scilly-sea swell.

As the party drew closer, the colours took shape
00and the greens became well-rounded heads,
then the blues became hands, holding joy-juice of grape
00and some cheese and a few brown-rye breads.

'Who be these?' asked the mossops, their eyes all a-glow;
00'These be Jumblies,' Coo whispered reply –
'I had thought that their wanderings ceased long ago;
00here they are, though, most spruce and most spry!'

'Greetings, Jumblies!' Coo curtseyed, and held out a wing,
00'We are honoured to meet you this day.
I am Coo, these are mossops, and this flissty thing
00is FT.' And the mossops sang, 'Yay!'

All the Jumblies came prancing in pink-paper shoes
00they had fastened well down with a pin,
and shook hands, wings. 'Such pleasure to meet all of yous!'
00they all chorused, with greenial grin.

'Are you travelling again?' asked FT. 'That we are!'
00they responded, 'wherever we turn,
in our swift-circling sieve and our crockery jar,
00and through waters both peaceful and stern.'

'That is fun!' Coo decided. 'And what of your jaunt?'
00Jumblies asked. 'It is Scilly throughout,'
Coo informed, 'seeing many an historic haunt,
00sometimes witnessing ruin and rout.'

'Let's sit shadily down by the daymark, fond friends,'
00said the Jumblies, 'and make a long lunch,
and our wanderings never shall come to their ends
00while there's bread, cheese, and soup fit to crunch.'

So all ate, drank, and merried, and grew very tall,
00parting company just after five,
for the Jumblies to re-visit St Martin's mall
00to buy plums and a seal who could jive.

🍞🧀🥣

I have to take a break from this thread now, as I'm a bit busy updating my portfolio in between working long hours below minimum wage. Do carry on in our absence, though :-) :>)

[Allen Tice]

I greatly like your post #19 on the Interrobang, Ann.

[F.F. Teague]

Evening, John!

Any time is teatime at Freshtival, really. Inspired by Sarah-Jane's post on Insectageddon, I'm thinking all-day breakfasts and all sorts of little snacks too. Coo has a cookie for you 🍪

Have fun with Hunt the Teddy! Sir K is wearing a nifty little blue hoody at the moment, teemed with classic jeans. He looks very cool and thanks you for welcoming him to our gathering. There's an earlier photo of him here (you might recognise) and you're more than welcome for the poem.

Cheers to you,
Fliss, Sir K., Coo :>)