Lost in the Forest
Assignment-- Try to approach the subject of Christmas unexpectedly. To try to creep up on it unawares, so we don’t actually realise that that is what you are doing, or that the poem or story is going to be about Christmas at all.
Lost in the forest
Lost in the forest, which path to take? Time has blended into an elastic whole.
Crows caw in the rookery, Rooks screech to shatter the dawn,
My path stretches forward through pine trees. I lost my track several hours ago,
Dampness pervades the air. Spider webs brush my face as I pass.
There is a dank, dark smell of pine decay. Bushes encroach on the rutted path.
I lost my companions some hours ago, I am sure they are not far from here.
Time has blended into a misty haze, frosty day with night, in a damp cold blur.
The Rooks see off the cawing Crows, an Owl screech in the dawning dark.
Which path to pick to take me home? A red Robin flies to the right in a flash.
Another odour reaches my senses, familiar smoke from a friendly chimney?
A cottage hidden away in the woods, A holly wreath adorns a wooden door.
Fairy lights sparkling on a Pine tree, I peek through the pretty red curtains.
Turkey on the table with tinsel to spare, colourful cards scattered around.
My lost companions with a welcome are here, happily celebrating.
I was lost in the dark, but now I have found the miracle of Christmas.
A Christmas Painting by Thomas Kincaid
Lost in the Forest
by John Yeo
Lost in the forest, which path to take?
I lost the track some hours ago
Time has blended into an elastic whole.
Bending bushes encroach the path
Brushing my face along the trail,
Lost in the forest, which path to take?
A damp, dark smell of pine and decay
An owl screeches in the dawning dark,
Time has blended into an elastic whole.
A tiny cottage hides away in the woods
Fairy lights sparkle on a pine tree,
Lost in the forest which path to take.
A holly wreath adorns a wooden door
Roasting turkey and so much more.
Time has blended into an elastic whole
A special surprise festive reunion,
I had lost my friends some hours ago
Lost in the forest, which path to take?
Time has blended into an elastic whole.
Copyright by John Yeo © All rights reserved
by John Yeo
Lost in the forest, which path to take?
I lost the track some hours ago
Time has blended into an elastic whole.
Bending bushes encroach the path
Brushing my face along the trail,
Lost in the forest, which path to take?
A damp, dark smell of pine and decay
An owl screeches in the dawning dark,
Time has blended into an elastic whole.
A tiny cottage hides away in the woods
Fairy lights sparkle on a pine tree,
Lost in the forest which path to take.
A holly wreath adorns a wooden door
Roasting turkey and so much more.
Time has blended into an elastic whole
A special surprise festive reunion,
I had lost my friends some hours ago
Lost in the forest, which path to take?
Time has blended into an elastic whole.
Copyright by John Yeo © All rights reserved
THE BOOKCASE~~~A PROCESS POEM ~~~NOVEMBER 2013
Develop a piece of writing, describing a significant memory, which includes a detailed process as an important part of the event or activity. Remember an occasion or event which included a particular and important process as part of its fulfilment
THE BOOKCASE
Hooray!
The expected parcel arrived today,
Six foot tall and very heavy
My bookcase, flat packed in pieces.
Excitedly I open the box to search
For the self assembly instructions.
These are obviously the sides,
This must be the top and bottom
Where are the instructions?
White plastic packaging to preserve
The parts from damage in transit.
Some small packages of nuts and bolts,
Metal brackets and rails.
Where are the instructions?
Ah! Paper on the bottom very clear,
The instructions written in Mandarin?
Horror of horrors, I telephone the UK number,
Sorry the number you are calling is busy.
I take a screwdriver and begin the task,
The bookcase is coming together,
I try phoning again without success. Still busy.
I continue the task of fitting together
The cabinet, with tools and my instinct,
I fit the parts, the bookcase stands tall
I telephone again, the number still busy,
I tear up the instructions, the task completed.
Using SELF HELP as my guide.
Copyright Poem by John Yeo © 28/11/2013 All rights reserved
FREE SPIRIT~~~~(A Villanelle poem)~~~~November 2013
FREE SPIRIT
The wind is a spirit set free,
Gusty and wild, without restraint
The wind will always be free.
Cool breezes, wafting, fanning,
A calm wind is a passive friend
The wind is a spirit set free.
The wild wind is a raging beast,
Angry power unrestrained,
The wind will always be free.
Dancing airwaves across the sea,
Gusting whirlwinds in the desert
The wind is a spirit set free.
We use the force of the powerful wind,
We harness the power not the wind
The wind will always be free.
The wind power is a force for good
Warm thermals softly gusting,
The wind is a spirit set free,
The wind will always be free.
By John Yeo 26th November 2013
Copyright Poem by John Yeo © 26/11/2013 All rights reserved
The Enigma
Rose hips in front of Overstrand, Cromer beach. Near the venue of our creative writers group meeting.
An e-mail from Phil our Creative writing group director. A new format is to be added to the usual monthly meeting. A get-together of members of the various groups on a monthly basis. To write about a given stimulus instantly. About twenty people turned up for the first session.
A metal box was passed from person to person, the object was to guess the content without looking. Using our five senses.~~~
THE ENIGMA
The treasure chest of the imagination
A tatty tin box containing many things.
Passed from hand to hand through many people
Minds at work using sensory perception.
The box is open, the contents revealed
Thirteen sea-vessels of varying types.
Fishing vessels, tall ships and a plastic boat
A veritable armada of ships packed together.
Perhaps sailing the sea from coast to coast,
Fishing, for pleasure or carrying merchandise.
Then a special day brought the fleet together,
The allies were trapped and the call was made
For many vessels to evacuate the troops
Pinned down and under tremendous pressure.
Thirteen captains with thirteen crews
Sailed in convoy across the stormy sea.
Loaded with survivors and under fire.
The boats returned home and tales were told
Heroes were hailed and lives were saved.
Medals awarded to recognise the brave,
The models were constructed in reverent memory
To commemorate this day of glory
Time passed and the models were preserved,
Collected together in a tatty tin box.
The creative conjurer then produced
An object disguised under a curious black cloth.
The cloth was removed with a flick to reveal
The pride of the fleet a very large vessel,
Flagless, unmarked and totally anonymous,
Without a name to preserve the character.
If I owned this ship my name for it would be~
The “Enigma” sailing the world of my imagination.
Copyright Poem by John Yeo © 16/10/2013 All rights reserved.
A metal box was passed from person to person, the object was to guess the content without looking. Using our five senses.~~~
THE ENIGMA
The treasure chest of the imagination
A tatty tin box containing many things.
Passed from hand to hand through many people
Minds at work using sensory perception.
The box is open, the contents revealed
Thirteen sea-vessels of varying types.
Fishing vessels, tall ships and a plastic boat
A veritable armada of ships packed together.
Perhaps sailing the sea from coast to coast,
Fishing, for pleasure or carrying merchandise.
Then a special day brought the fleet together,
The allies were trapped and the call was made
For many vessels to evacuate the troops
Pinned down and under tremendous pressure.
Thirteen captains with thirteen crews
Sailed in convoy across the stormy sea.
Loaded with survivors and under fire.
The boats returned home and tales were told
Heroes were hailed and lives were saved.
Medals awarded to recognise the brave,
The models were constructed in reverent memory
To commemorate this day of glory
Time passed and the models were preserved,
Collected together in a tatty tin box.
The creative conjurer then produced
An object disguised under a curious black cloth.
The cloth was removed with a flick to reveal
The pride of the fleet a very large vessel,
Flagless, unmarked and totally anonymous,
Without a name to preserve the character.
If I owned this ship my name for it would be~
The “Enigma” sailing the world of my imagination.
Copyright Poem by John Yeo © 16/10/2013 All rights reserved.
I've spent some time considering your poem and feel that it could do with distilling, losing some of the words to leave more space for the reader's imagination. I've had a go at doing this myself (see attached) and you better see what you think. It may not be quite there yet, and/or may not be what like - it's quite a liberty after all to play around with someone else's work, but I feel it is the only way to show you what I mean and would do, if it were my poem - which of course it isn't.
As I say if you don't like my suggestions, please ignore them. Or if you like some but not others, re-model your original poem to absorb them.
A treasure chest
of imagination,
a tatty tin
passing from hand to hand,
minds at work.
When the box was opened
packed together
thirteen vessels,
fishing boats,
tall ships
and a plastic launch,
a veritable armada
perhaps for sailing
from coast to coast,
fishing, for pleasure
or carrying merchandise.
But on that special day
the call went out
for as many ships as possible
to evacuate
the allies,
trapped,
pinned down
under tremendous pressure.
Thirteen captains
with thirteen crew
sailed across
the channel
loaded with survivors
and under fire.
Back and forth they sailed,
again and again,
before boats returned home
and tales were told
and heroes hailed
for lives that were saved.
Models were constructed
to commemorate that day
preserved together
in an old tin box.
Then the conjurer produced
from beneath a cloth
the pride of the fleet
a large flagless vessel,
unmarked and without a name.
If I owned this ship
it would be called “Enigma”
and would sail the world
of my imagination.
Copyright Poem by John Yeo © 16/10/2013 All rights reserved.
As I say if you don't like my suggestions, please ignore them. Or if you like some but not others, re-model your original poem to absorb them.
A treasure chest
of imagination,
a tatty tin
passing from hand to hand,
minds at work.
When the box was opened
packed together
thirteen vessels,
fishing boats,
tall ships
and a plastic launch,
a veritable armada
perhaps for sailing
from coast to coast,
fishing, for pleasure
or carrying merchandise.
But on that special day
the call went out
for as many ships as possible
to evacuate
the allies,
trapped,
pinned down
under tremendous pressure.
Thirteen captains
with thirteen crew
sailed across
the channel
loaded with survivors
and under fire.
Back and forth they sailed,
again and again,
before boats returned home
and tales were told
and heroes hailed
for lives that were saved.
Models were constructed
to commemorate that day
preserved together
in an old tin box.
Then the conjurer produced
from beneath a cloth
the pride of the fleet
a large flagless vessel,
unmarked and without a name.
If I owned this ship
it would be called “Enigma”
and would sail the world
of my imagination.
Copyright Poem by John Yeo © 16/10/2013 All rights reserved.
Copyright Poem by John Yeo © 16/10/2013 All rights reserved.
EQUILIBRIUM
A Euphemistic Word or Phrase which masks a deeper issue or concern.
The next task is to write a poem or story unpacking a word or a phrase that glibly masks or covers-up something much deeper, more challenging or complex.
We are surrounded by words and phrases that neatly and conveniently mask or cover-up something much more deep seated, challenging or complex; real issues and fundamental concerns, that become more palatable, easier to distance ourselves from and ignore or live with, when parcelled up in a neat, sometimes glib or euphemistic, word or phrase.
The next task is to write a poem or story unpacking a word or a phrase that glibly masks or covers-up something much deeper, more challenging or complex.
We are surrounded by words and phrases that neatly and conveniently mask or cover-up something much more deep seated, challenging or complex; real issues and fundamental concerns, that become more palatable, easier to distance ourselves from and ignore or live with, when parcelled up in a neat, sometimes glib or euphemistic, word or phrase.
EQUILIBRIUM
Welcome aboard the good ship Equilibrium
Often tossed and shattered by the storms of life,
Battered by waves of discontent or sadness.
Sometimes sailing fair on a calm sweet wind
Sailing smoothly through life on an even keel.
Guided by warm breezes with a steady wheel.
Sometimes with lovebirds, sometimes with crows,
Equilibrium balances the highs and the lows.
The delicate balance of the Equilibrium
Can be altered or adjusted to reflect a whim.
Remove a comforter from a baby's mouth
Equilibrium is instantly noisily shattered.
With howls and tears and eyes that are wet
The comfort-zone, considerably upset.
Sometimes with lovebirds, sometimes with crows,
Equilibrium balances the highs and the lows.
Does the Equilibrium adjust as the body ages
Altering, reshaping to take in new parameters?
When we are young we fall deeply in love
The mind is soaring, love is all that matters.
With hearts beating faster and the eyes dilated
The world has more colour almost recreated.
Sometimes with lovebirds, sometimes with crows,
Equilibrium balances the highs and the lows.
How do you measure Equilibrium, always changing?
In youth Equilibrium is dynamic always rearranging.
A senior citizen, a new direction, becoming a retiree.
The time when Equilibrium becomes shaky and weak
With many falls, hands shaking and joints that ache.
By what criteria do we judge Equilibrium?
Sometimes with lovebirds, sometimes with crows,
Equilibrium balances the highs and the lows.
Memories crowd in, that sometimes disturb,
Altering the balance of the Equilibrium.
Upsetting the delicate balance of thought.
Memories of long gone very close friends.
As age becomes us and leads to quiet pleasure
Equilibrium is surely impossible to measure
Sometimes with lovebirds, sometimes with crows,
Equilibrium balances the highs and the lows.
We cling to the promise and hope forever after,
Unique equilibrium will always be balanced.
EQUILIBRIUM~~~~~ IMPOSSIBLE TO MEASURE!
LOVEBIRDS
CROWS
Copyright Poem by John Yeo © 04/10/2013 All rights reserved
(Images from the net)
(Images from the net)
CHURCH LANE BEACH ROAD AND BEYOND
A poem based on a painting by Norfolk artist Lorna Reevell
Church Lane=Hope from above~~~Beach Road = Despondency~~~Beyond =The Unknown
I sit here alone on the shore head in hands,
The horizon promises escape to far distant lands.
My life is in pieces, a puzzle to me,
I need to escape and try to break free.
News Flash~~ GLOBAL WARMING IS BRINGING THE END
There is no hope at all, the future looks bleak,
I feel I am nothing, a microscopic freak.
Somehow nothing goes right, however I try,
If I had the power and wings, I would fly.
News Flash~~A GIANT ASTEROID IS FORECAST TO WIPE OUT THE EARTH
Fly away to anywhere to seek answers to life,
There is no hope in the sky to undo my strife.
No hope on the beach where I sit full of grief,
The seabed is crumbling with horror beneath.
News Flash~~THE SEA IS FULL OF POISON RADIOACTIVITY
There are no answers forthcoming, I have the impression
That will lift the heavy cloud of my inmost depression.
Then a seagull alights, a handsome solitary bird
Bringing life to the shore foraging without a word.
News Flash~~BIRD FLU WILL BRING THE NEXT PANDEMIC
I need compassion with love bringing hope
I look to the sky with my faith, to revoke
These feelings of dread and I whisper a prayer
For something beyond, for someone to care.
News Flash~~THE NEGATIVE ELEMENTS CONTRAST THE POSITIVE
My mind is a whirl of sad inmost thought,
No answers were given to the questions I sought.
I drift back to my childhood of long sunny days,
Flowers were everywhere along the lanes and byways
News Flash~~CHILDREN ARE HEALTHIER AND HAPPIER THAN EVER
The skies were blue and the sun always shone,
The birds sang sweetly, it was good to be young.
Then love and heartbreak and love once again.
I sit here alone and cry to shut out the pain.
News Flash~~PSYCHIATRY IS A PRODUCT OF DISEASE
THAT~~COULD BRING HOPE FOR MY FUTURE.
Church Lane=Hope from above~~~Beach Road = Despondency~~~Beyond =The Unknown
I sit here alone on the shore head in hands,
The horizon promises escape to far distant lands.
My life is in pieces, a puzzle to me,
I need to escape and try to break free.
News Flash~~ GLOBAL WARMING IS BRINGING THE END
There is no hope at all, the future looks bleak,
I feel I am nothing, a microscopic freak.
Somehow nothing goes right, however I try,
If I had the power and wings, I would fly.
News Flash~~A GIANT ASTEROID IS FORECAST TO WIPE OUT THE EARTH
Fly away to anywhere to seek answers to life,
There is no hope in the sky to undo my strife.
No hope on the beach where I sit full of grief,
The seabed is crumbling with horror beneath.
News Flash~~THE SEA IS FULL OF POISON RADIOACTIVITY
There are no answers forthcoming, I have the impression
That will lift the heavy cloud of my inmost depression.
Then a seagull alights, a handsome solitary bird
Bringing life to the shore foraging without a word.
News Flash~~BIRD FLU WILL BRING THE NEXT PANDEMIC
I need compassion with love bringing hope
I look to the sky with my faith, to revoke
These feelings of dread and I whisper a prayer
For something beyond, for someone to care.
News Flash~~THE NEGATIVE ELEMENTS CONTRAST THE POSITIVE
My mind is a whirl of sad inmost thought,
No answers were given to the questions I sought.
I drift back to my childhood of long sunny days,
Flowers were everywhere along the lanes and byways
News Flash~~CHILDREN ARE HEALTHIER AND HAPPIER THAN EVER
The skies were blue and the sun always shone,
The birds sang sweetly, it was good to be young.
Then love and heartbreak and love once again.
I sit here alone and cry to shut out the pain.
News Flash~~PSYCHIATRY IS A PRODUCT OF DISEASE
THAT~~COULD BRING HOPE FOR MY FUTURE.
Copyright by John Yeo © 02/09/2013 All rights reserved.
An early morning start and a beautiful warning
Assignment~~Bird Song
I want you to recollect an incident, past or present, when or where a bird singing or bird song has been particularly memorable or significant, at the time it happened or in retrospect, highlighting the situation, a state of mind, the season or weather, the place or the other person or people involved.
I want you to recollect an incident, past or present, when or where a bird singing or bird song has been particularly memorable or significant, at the time it happened or in retrospect, highlighting the situation, a state of mind, the season or weather, the place or the other person or people involved.
BIRDSONG
BY JOHN YEO
Dawn breaks on a mist dampy day
Frost fills the air and colours the parkway,
January shadows, loom and recede
Not a sound to shatter the icy mead.
Then, a deep throated sonata from a nearby bush
A fusion of birdsong to break the hush
Rising and falling to colour the morning
A Blackbird song signals a new day dawning.
The rich fluty quality, the tuneful sound
Resounds and is heard for miles around
This natural symphony is a beautiful warning,
A territorial stakeout, he is seriously performing.
He whistles and warbles sweet sound in profusion,
Smooth trilling notes with melody in perfect fusion,
My eyes narrow in the cold morning light
To catch sight of the songster before he takes flight.
The silence seems melodic and richly outspoken,
Then, the smooth flow of notes is suddenly broken,
A cry of alarm sounds, wings flap with a whir
The Blackbird flies from the danger of feathers or fur.
His natural defense against Man, Feline or Hawk,
Against the danger of attack or predatory stalk,
He will surely return when the threat is gone,
Safety beckons and he will take up his song.
A melody of love and careful protection
Of his territory, his nest after careful selection.
The beautiful warning resumes, a mass of sound,
Tuneful, melodic with a clarity profound.
Lifting my spirits, all danger is past
I return to my allotment, and take up my task.
I turn the soil, suddenly with a whir of wing
A blackbird arrives for food for his offspring.
Dawn breaks on a mist dampy day
Frost fills the air and colours the parkway,
January shadows, loom and recede
Not a sound to shatter the icy mead.
Then, a deep throated sonata from a nearby bush
A fusion of birdsong to break the hush
Rising and falling to colour the morning
A Blackbird song signals a new day dawning.
The rich fluty quality, the tuneful sound
Resounds and is heard for miles around
This natural symphony is a beautiful warning,
A territorial stakeout, he is seriously performing.
He whistles and warbles sweet sound in profusion,
Smooth trilling notes with melody in perfect fusion,
My eyes narrow in the cold morning light
To catch sight of the songster before he takes flight.
The silence seems melodic and richly outspoken,
Then, the smooth flow of notes is suddenly broken,
A cry of alarm sounds, wings flap with a whir
The Blackbird flies from the danger of feathers or fur.
His natural defense against Man, Feline or Hawk,
Against the danger of attack or predatory stalk,
He will surely return when the threat is gone,
Safety beckons and he will take up his song.
A melody of love and careful protection
Of his territory, his nest after careful selection.
The beautiful warning resumes, a mass of sound,
Tuneful, melodic with a clarity profound.
Lifting my spirits, all danger is past
I return to my allotment, and take up my task.
I turn the soil, suddenly with a whir of wing
A blackbird arrives for food for his offspring.
Copyright by John Yeo © 28/08/2013 All rights reserved.
A PAINTED GATEWAY TO THE WORLD OVERSEAS
Assignment~~July 2013
I’d like you to reflect on art, as an activity (either one you have been involved with, at school or elsewhere, and perhaps been put-off doing); and/or, as you may have come across it, as a 2 or 3 dimensional object at home or elsewhere (a painting, drawing, print, photograph, or object of clay, wood, stone, metal, etc. – Even perhaps in the form of a reproduction of any one of these in a book or framed-up on a wall somewhere) and the impact or effect that one of these may perhaps have had on you at some time in your life.
About a particular piece of work you remember seeing, or an exhibition or gallery you remember visiting.
About any other experience of looking at paintings and drawings - in books (a child’s illustrated bible perhaps), on the wall at home, in a relative or friend's house, in a local gallery or shop; which has stuck in your mind.
I’d like you to reflect on art, as an activity (either one you have been involved with, at school or elsewhere, and perhaps been put-off doing); and/or, as you may have come across it, as a 2 or 3 dimensional object at home or elsewhere (a painting, drawing, print, photograph, or object of clay, wood, stone, metal, etc. – Even perhaps in the form of a reproduction of any one of these in a book or framed-up on a wall somewhere) and the impact or effect that one of these may perhaps have had on you at some time in your life.
About a particular piece of work you remember seeing, or an exhibition or gallery you remember visiting.
About any other experience of looking at paintings and drawings - in books (a child’s illustrated bible perhaps), on the wall at home, in a relative or friend's house, in a local gallery or shop; which has stuck in your mind.
A PAINTED GATEWAY TO THE WORLD OVERSEAS.
A schoolboy~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I was eight years old at the time I first encountered a work of art that made a very big impression on me.
On the wall in the hall at my school was a picture that I passed every day on the way to classes.
I have no idea who the artist was
Or even the medium the artist used to paint the picture.
What I clearly do remember though is the picture itself
And the wonder it inspired on my eight year old mind.
In the foreground of the painting was a bearded man
Wearing a distinctive hat, seated in front of a beached fishing boat.
The fisherman was in conversation with two young boys
Pointing to a distant horizon with one hand while holding a fishing net with the other hand.
That distant horizon, where the clouds meet the sea
An unbroken line as far as the eye could see
Representing mystery and imagination to the schoolboy mind.
A gateway to the unknown an escape route from reality,
The sailor, telling tales of wonder across the waves
Waves as high as mountains and fish as big as a man.
Huge sea monsters with many humps spouting spume
Swordfish, mermaids, sharks and pearls in shells
I would stand and be transported to distant lands
Journey to places I was encountering in classes.
Ivory and the slave trade, copra, with spices
Sandy islands with Palm trees and Robinson Crusoe,
Cannibals and treasure with footprints in the sand.
Pirates and corsairs with cutlass and gunpowder.
Gold-filled galleons sailing the storm-tossed seas,
Hornpipe, sea shanties, shipwreck and disease.
Colourful birds flying high above the waves
Leading the traders to many distant lands
Jungles, filled with lions, bears and monkeys,
Elephants and tigers, and strange perfumed flowers
Faraway lands filled with milk and honey
With many peoples of the world in traditional dress.
Contrasting strange lives of splendour, and sad distress.
Deserts with oasis and camel train routes from the east.
The mystical oriental thousand and one tales of wonder
Magic lamps with genies granting wishes galore.
The science of Arabia the wisdom of China and more.
The perilous journey home across the seas braving storms
Carrying the cargo from ports and people round the world.
Unload a hold full of fish mend the nets whilst ashore
A dream filled reverie cut short by a caustic shout to implore
You there~~”Stop daydreaming boy, and cut along to classes”.
I was eight years old at the time I first encountered a work of art that made a very big impression on me.
On the wall in the hall at my school was a picture that I passed every day on the way to classes.
I have no idea who the artist was
Or even the medium the artist used to paint the picture.
What I clearly do remember though is the picture itself
And the wonder it inspired on my eight year old mind.
In the foreground of the painting was a bearded man
Wearing a distinctive hat, seated in front of a beached fishing boat.
The fisherman was in conversation with two young boys
Pointing to a distant horizon with one hand while holding a fishing net with the other hand.
That distant horizon, where the clouds meet the sea
An unbroken line as far as the eye could see
Representing mystery and imagination to the schoolboy mind.
A gateway to the unknown an escape route from reality,
The sailor, telling tales of wonder across the waves
Waves as high as mountains and fish as big as a man.
Huge sea monsters with many humps spouting spume
Swordfish, mermaids, sharks and pearls in shells
I would stand and be transported to distant lands
Journey to places I was encountering in classes.
Ivory and the slave trade, copra, with spices
Sandy islands with Palm trees and Robinson Crusoe,
Cannibals and treasure with footprints in the sand.
Pirates and corsairs with cutlass and gunpowder.
Gold-filled galleons sailing the storm-tossed seas,
Hornpipe, sea shanties, shipwreck and disease.
Colourful birds flying high above the waves
Leading the traders to many distant lands
Jungles, filled with lions, bears and monkeys,
Elephants and tigers, and strange perfumed flowers
Faraway lands filled with milk and honey
With many peoples of the world in traditional dress.
Contrasting strange lives of splendour, and sad distress.
Deserts with oasis and camel train routes from the east.
The mystical oriental thousand and one tales of wonder
Magic lamps with genies granting wishes galore.
The science of Arabia the wisdom of China and more.
The perilous journey home across the seas braving storms
Carrying the cargo from ports and people round the world.
Unload a hold full of fish mend the nets whilst ashore
A dream filled reverie cut short by a caustic shout to implore
You there~~”Stop daydreaming boy, and cut along to classes”.
Thanks to my friend Pat Wall for the identification of my inspirational painting as "The Boyhood of Raleigh"~~I guess I must have added the nets in my daydreams over the years~~ :)
Copyright by John Yeo © 28/07/2013 All rights reserved.
Copyright by John Yeo © 28/07/2013 All rights reserved.
Art~~~~~ The escaped career.
Assignment 25th June 2013
Think and try to write about why you’re not a painter
I’d like you to reflect on art, as an activity (either one you have been involved with, at school or elsewhere, and perhaps been put-off doing); and/or, as you may have come across it, as a 2 or 3 dimensional object at home or elsewhere (a painting, drawing, print, photograph, or object of clay, wood, stone, metal, etc. – even perhaps in the form of a reproduction of any one of these in a book or framed-up on a wall somewhere) and the impact or effect that one of these may perhaps have had on you at some time in your life.
Think and try to write about why you’re not a painter
I’d like you to reflect on art, as an activity (either one you have been involved with, at school or elsewhere, and perhaps been put-off doing); and/or, as you may have come across it, as a 2 or 3 dimensional object at home or elsewhere (a painting, drawing, print, photograph, or object of clay, wood, stone, metal, etc. – even perhaps in the form of a reproduction of any one of these in a book or framed-up on a wall somewhere) and the impact or effect that one of these may perhaps have had on you at some time in your life.
Sonnet~~Why did I not become an artist?
I love adding the detail to a very fine drawing
Then painting a picture for the sensual pleasure.
I love the satisfaction of producing real art
The pure creative pleasure of building a picture
A feeling of accomplishment at the completion
Positive reinforcement of my own interpretation
Producing a likeness, a creation of beauty.
The application of paint in glorious colours.
To produce a picture to match the mind's eye
The relaxation has benefits beyond measure
Blocking out mundane thought by contemplation
Of the subject, and the total intense concentration.
Leading to a final interpretation. Hard to resist
The question. Why did I not become an artist?
Yes~~Why DID I not become an artist?
- Was it because of a lack of encouragement in my early years at home or at school?
- Or was it because of a teacher's insensitivity when casting an eye over my early attempts at drawing dinosaurs in school. “Anybody can draw those”, Negativity in front of my classmates?
- Was it because of a wariness of the laughter of others continuing, with all my future attempts at art?
- Perhaps it was because of a sad lack of opportunity and a dearth of materials that would have been very expensive to buy in those days.
- Was it because I am very self conscious and over self critical and doubt my abilities to become an artist?
- Or did many other things get in the way such as working for a living, raising children and other pressing interests?
- Perhaps it was a lack of time to devote to the ongoing practice and determination to pursue a career in the art world.
- Was it the lack of the money needed to get to college and study the techniques and the background of art?
- Maybe it was the absence of the dogged determination that is required to succeed in any of the arts and cultural pursuits.
- The answer lies here somewhere~~I paint for pure pleasure but not as an artist~
My sonnet repeated to reflect the ongoing pleasure of producing a work of art.
I love adding the detail to a very fine drawing
Then painting a picture for the sensual pleasure.
I love the satisfaction of producing real art
The pure creative pleasure of building a picture
A feeling of accomplishment at the completion
Positive reinforcement of my own interpretation
Producing a likeness, a creation of beauty.
The application of paint in glorious colours.
To produce a picture to match the mind's eye
The relaxation has benefits beyond measure
Blocking out mundane thought by contemplation
Of the subject, and the total intense concentration.
Leading to a final interpretation. Hard to resist.
The question. Why did I not become an artist?
I love adding the detail to a very fine drawing
Then painting a picture for the sensual pleasure.
I love the satisfaction of producing real art
The pure creative pleasure of building a picture
A feeling of accomplishment at the completion
Positive reinforcement of my own interpretation
Producing a likeness, a creation of beauty.
The application of paint in glorious colours.
To produce a picture to match the mind's eye
The relaxation has benefits beyond measure
Blocking out mundane thought by contemplation
Of the subject, and the total intense concentration.
Leading to a final interpretation. Hard to resist.
The question. Why did I not become an artist?
Copyright by John Yeo © 20/06/2013 All rights reserved.
Stealing from Everybody
Stealing – Imaginative Lies
Write a poem about stealing something unusual, unlikely or improbable - a cloud, a hole, the sun or moon, hate or fear or love, a river.
Have some fun, the more unlikely the better
As this assignment has called for me to "have some fun" and my previous poem was very serious and the subject matter could never be construed as fun. Please bear with me and enjoy this~~ Thanks~~~
Write a poem about stealing something unusual, unlikely or improbable - a cloud, a hole, the sun or moon, hate or fear or love, a river.
Have some fun, the more unlikely the better
As this assignment has called for me to "have some fun" and my previous poem was very serious and the subject matter could never be construed as fun. Please bear with me and enjoy this~~ Thanks~~~
Stealing from Everybody
Concentrate on the power of flight,
Pegasus a horse flying through the night
With a goddess aboard enjoying the sight
Hermes a winged messenger, very fleet
Legend has it with wings on his feet.
Angels and fairies with wings on their backs
Enjoying the power of flight.
The excitement of flight. The wonder of flight
Soaring, weaving, wheeling through the sky.
Imps and dragons with scales for wings,
Even mankind with his roaring machines
Travels with wings that imitate the birds.
Icarus tried to fly but his wings sadly melted.
Flew close to the sun and disaster resulted
He failed to master the power of flight.
A flightless bird, very sad, wondering why
Looked up at his brothers gliding in the sky.
He called on the wise birds to form an assembly.
I will give you a fortune to possess the gift
Of one day in the air with the flying birds.
I need this power to join my brothers
To mate, court my lovers and replicate
To allow the emergence of the flying trait.
When all of my kind can take to the sky.
I am strong and I will use all of my might
To catch a bird with the power of flight.
Use my wits to conjugate, mingle my seed
I will replicate to steal the power I need.
I therefore come before you my case to plead.
The wise leader of the birds looked with askance,
Looked to the assembly for reassurance.
Owls and fowls and raptors and songbirds
Craned their necks to capture his words.
Would he reveal the secret of the power of flight?
Feathers were preened and polished and brushed,
There was a great cry then the assembly hushed,
Listening to the leader reiterate the creed.
“Flying is inbuilt and depends on the breed”
I am sure you enjoyed this flight of fancy
The words came easy without necromancy
The facts are clear and the truth is real
I stole something from you, but what did I steal?
Something was stolen and stolen from you.
I stole something while you read my rhyme
Five minutes of your precious time~~~~~
Thank you~~
Copyright poem by John Yeo © 1/06/2013 All rights reserved.
Images from the net
Images from the net
HOPE~~Where there is Hope~~there is everything.
Assignment~~~
Stealing – Imaginative Lies
Write a poem about stealing something unusual,unlikely or improbable - a cloud, a hole, the sun or moon, hate or fear or love, a river.
Have some fun, the more unlikely the better
Stealing – Imaginative Lies
Write a poem about stealing something unusual,unlikely or improbable - a cloud, a hole, the sun or moon, hate or fear or love, a river.
Have some fun, the more unlikely the better
HOPE
Where there is Hope there is everything.
My child has left and gone to work
I lie here alone with my thoughts,
I will not stir, I will not move, I am in pain.
My little girl Hope is twelve years old
Takes care of everything for us both
Since her mother left us alone again
Then the sadness descended on me.
Hope got up at dawn to prepare our meal,
Fetched water to wash the clothes
She cleaned our room and took good care of me.
Hope hides when visitors come to the door
We both need her here to be free, with me.
Hope works in a sweatshop making clothes
For the fat people over the sea.
As I lie here alone the rats appear,
They scuffle around then leave, foodless.
When the landlord calls to collect the rent,
I have noticed the way he looks at my Hope
As she pays him from her paltry earnings.
Mischievous, malevolent lascivious looks
That bodes no good for my child.
School for Hope was a couple of years
In a shack for a classroom until
Her mother left us and she went to work.
Hope has no time for friends or parties
New clothes or games and playing sport,
No time for laughter or enjoying a book.
Hope is too busy working to stop and look.
Selfishly I lie here and let things be
I know I can never let Hope be free
We are tied to each other irrecoverably
It is too late for all but my sympathy.
I know I’m a thief and I can clearly see
I have stolen a precious commodity.
The innocent freedom of childhood.
Where there is Hope there is everything.
My child has left and gone to work
I lie here alone with my thoughts,
I will not stir, I will not move, I am in pain.
My little girl Hope is twelve years old
Takes care of everything for us both
Since her mother left us alone again
Then the sadness descended on me.
Hope got up at dawn to prepare our meal,
Fetched water to wash the clothes
She cleaned our room and took good care of me.
Hope hides when visitors come to the door
We both need her here to be free, with me.
Hope works in a sweatshop making clothes
For the fat people over the sea.
As I lie here alone the rats appear,
They scuffle around then leave, foodless.
When the landlord calls to collect the rent,
I have noticed the way he looks at my Hope
As she pays him from her paltry earnings.
Mischievous, malevolent lascivious looks
That bodes no good for my child.
School for Hope was a couple of years
In a shack for a classroom until
Her mother left us and she went to work.
Hope has no time for friends or parties
New clothes or games and playing sport,
No time for laughter or enjoying a book.
Hope is too busy working to stop and look.
Selfishly I lie here and let things be
I know I can never let Hope be free
We are tied to each other irrecoverably
It is too late for all but my sympathy.
I know I’m a thief and I can clearly see
I have stolen a precious commodity.
The innocent freedom of childhood.
Copyright poem by John Yeo © 28/05/2013 All rights reserved.
Images from the net
Images from the net
SUPERSELF~SUPERTIME~SUPERLIFE~SUPERNATURAL
The next assignment, which I appreciate may be too close for some people to feel comfortable with, is to consider death and/or dying,perhaps reflections on a significant death and how it affected you, or thoughts about Death more generally (whether humorous or serious) and of course, by extension, on Life.
This is a repeat write by request ~~~~~
This is a repeat write by request ~~~~~
- SUPERSELF~~SUPERTIME~~SUPERLIFE~~SUPERNATURAL
In the time of the alter-time of Supertime
Death is a Passover from the self to the Superself
Life is a hard preparation for Superlife
Life is pain and struggle and strife
Heartbreak at the loss of Husband or Wife
The bonding and non-verbal closeness is riven
Torn apart from one dimension to another
Tears and sorrow mourning and desolation
At the very sad loss of Father or Mother
Pain-free now bathed in Superlight
Guilt and sorrow pass in times revere
A beautiful person, who lived, loved and laughed here,
Has passed from our consciousness but still feels near
In memories, images and many a dried up sad tear.
Copyright by John Yeo © 14/05/2013 All rights reserved.
Ashore on the Island of Giants
Mao statues of Rapa Nui
Land Ho! Sounds a loud voice across the waves,
The weather is stormy and rough,
A clap of thunder, lightning flashes,
We are aboard a loaded container vessel
Laden with boxes stacked very high,
A land full of giants is fast approaching.
Dawn breaks over these awesome figures
Standing out in the sunrise against the sky,
Ethereal, monolithic proud tall statues,
Overlarge heads with enigmatic faces,
Carved eye sockets with round replica eyes,
An atmosphere of supernatural mystery abounds.
Solid rock carved with very sharp tools,
Rough stone smoothed by rubbing with pumice,
Set on the shoreline, on guard or a warning?
The Moai statues of Rapa Nui or Easter Island,
A feat of engineering, stunning the senses,
Credited by some to extraterrestrial hands.
Microscopic spores from soil round the statues,
Have led to the discovery of a new wonder drug.
Captain John shares a tea- drink with the natives
To guard him against the spirits of sadness.
Made with sweet-smelling, soft pretty flowers
That leaves a sour taste and makes the tongue numb.
The trading complete we sail away from the island,
The Captain says farewell with flags and a salute.
The tribal leader joins the rest of the tribe
In an ancient protective dance of sad farewell.
The statues loom large and gradually recede
Into the midst and mist of mystery.
Land Ho! Sounds a loud voice across the waves,
The weather is stormy and rough,
A clap of thunder, lightning flashes,
We are aboard a loaded container vessel
Laden with boxes stacked very high,
A land full of giants is fast approaching.
Dawn breaks over these awesome figures
Standing out in the sunrise against the sky,
Ethereal, monolithic proud tall statues,
Overlarge heads with enigmatic faces,
Carved eye sockets with round replica eyes,
An atmosphere of supernatural mystery abounds.
Solid rock carved with very sharp tools,
Rough stone smoothed by rubbing with pumice,
Set on the shoreline, on guard or a warning?
The Moai statues of Rapa Nui or Easter Island,
A feat of engineering, stunning the senses,
Credited by some to extraterrestrial hands.
Microscopic spores from soil round the statues,
Have led to the discovery of a new wonder drug.
Captain John shares a tea- drink with the natives
To guard him against the spirits of sadness.
Made with sweet-smelling, soft pretty flowers
That leaves a sour taste and makes the tongue numb.
The trading complete we sail away from the island,
The Captain says farewell with flags and a salute.
The tribal leader joins the rest of the tribe
In an ancient protective dance of sad farewell.
The statues loom large and gradually recede
Into the midst and mist of mystery.
Copyright by John Yeo © 9/05/2013 All rights reserved.
~~~~~~~~~~~~Images from the web~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~Images from the web~~~~~~~~~~
DEATH IS A BLESSED RELEASE.
The next assignment, which I appreciate may be too close for some people to feel comfortable with, is to consider death and/or dying,perhaps reflections on a significant death and how it affected you, or thoughts about Death more generally (whether humorous or serious) and of course, by extension, on Life
SITTING SIX FEET ABOVE, LOOKING DOWN
Sitting alone, contemplating the futility
Of attempting to live forever.
DEATH IS A BLESSED RELEASE.
The body crumbles, the mind is blunted
As brain cells age, die off and deplete.
The pure indifference of deaths choice,
Who to claim, when to claim and how?
No pattern!!
DEATH IS A BLESSED RELEASE.
Old and young alike celebrate another birthday,
Towards the final Deathday.
Our Deathday is rarely a cause for celebration,
Except in Hate!!
DEATH IS A BLESSED RELEASE.
Death is the key to the family vaults
After a life well lived, the fear of death
Is the final insult!!
DEATH IS A BLESSED RELEASE.
Death is like an Autumn leaf
Falling from the family tree.
Death is the door to eternity,
DEATH IS A BLESSED RELEASE.
Sitting alone, contemplating the futility
Of attempting to live forever.
DEATH IS A BLESSED RELEASE.
The body crumbles, the mind is blunted
As brain cells age, die off and deplete.
The pure indifference of deaths choice,
Who to claim, when to claim and how?
No pattern!!
DEATH IS A BLESSED RELEASE.
Old and young alike celebrate another birthday,
Towards the final Deathday.
Our Deathday is rarely a cause for celebration,
Except in Hate!!
DEATH IS A BLESSED RELEASE.
Death is the key to the family vaults
After a life well lived, the fear of death
Is the final insult!!
DEATH IS A BLESSED RELEASE.
Death is like an Autumn leaf
Falling from the family tree.
Death is the door to eternity,
DEATH IS A BLESSED RELEASE.
Copyright by John Yeo© 10/04/2013 All rights reserved.
Image from the web
Image from the web
A DOVE AND A PIGEON MATE FOR LIFE
The next assignment, which I appreciate may be too close for some people to feel comfortable with, is to consider death and/or dying, perhaps reflections on a significant death and how it affected you, or thoughts about Death more generally (whether humorous or serious) and of course, by extension, on Life.
A DOVE AND A PIGEON MATE FOR LIFE
Lorry drivers really do love pigeons
They sometimes eat them in pies and stews.
A rough, tough pigeon ready for a fight
Fell for a dove feather'd in brilliant white.
Scrabbling, squabbling, preened and ready
Cooing and courting, the affair was heady.
Storm clouds gathered, the winds were rough
Controversy, rejection, life was tough
Relatives on both sides, always separate
In this confusion, were singing in unison.
From two different worlds, they met and mated,
Providing chicks of unusual hue,
A cross between beauty and sharp virtue.
Their love flew, higher and higher, ever true.
A lorry, a crash, a sickening thump,
Life drains out of a proud bird's breast.
Death in an instant, a sad, sad dove,
Flew high in the heavens searching for her love.
Higher and higher she flew into the sun.
Searching for her soulmate, the only one,
Who she could ever love; she never returned,
The life drained from her, as her body burned.
Copyright by John Yeo© 08/04/2013 All rights reserved.
Images from the web
Images from the web
The next assignment, should you choose to accept this task, is copied in below,
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING (with a real or fictional character, dead or alive) IN AN UNUSUAL or UNEXPECTED PLACE
WHO will you decide to meet and where?
Try to include telling details and facts, that anchor your who in time and space (where and when), and reveal what, why and how, then or now.
Your final piece can take the form of a poem, a story or prose.
12th. February 2013
The cruel decline of a brilliant husband of a poet.
Quite a good bus service here in Huddersfield,
The bus station was busy but empty,
It was a chilly day in town with a sharp wind.
I sat waiting next to a gent in a raincoat,
He puffed on his pipe and looked content.
Suddenly he turned to me and said,
“I was a boy in this area, it’s changed”.
I murmured a response and nodded.
The wind picked up, then I asked my friend,
“What time is the next bus due to arrive?”
“I’m not too sure, Mary will know” he replied.
“There was a huge gasometer down the road,
Near the grammar school, that I attended.
My name is James, they called me Jim at school”
The cruel wind was blowing mercilessly,
A bus arrived, already full, so Jim and I sat still.
A kindly lady bustled along, “There you are Harold!
I’ve looked everywhere for you, the driver is waiting,
The car is here”, She looked at me and smiled.
“I hope he has not been any trouble, I’m Mary”.
My friend looked at me, “Thank you for listening”
Pulled his raincoat collar up against the cruel wind.
~~Of change~~ “Mary I’m coming love,
I was Prime Minister, once you know”.
I sat stunned as realisation dawned,
My mind raced over the conversation
I would like to have had before his resignation
And cruel mental decline from Alzheimer's disease.
How he kept us out of the Vietnam war,
Awarded The Beatles an MBE
During a very long week in politics
Foreseeing the “White Heat of Technology”.
My companion had been none other than,
James Harold Wilson, Baron Wilson of Rielvaux. KG, OBE,FRS, FSS, PC
Prime Minister of the United Kingdom from 1964 to 1970 and 1974 to 1976,
The bus station was busy but empty,
It was a chilly day in town with a sharp wind.
I sat waiting next to a gent in a raincoat,
He puffed on his pipe and looked content.
Suddenly he turned to me and said,
“I was a boy in this area, it’s changed”.
I murmured a response and nodded.
The wind picked up, then I asked my friend,
“What time is the next bus due to arrive?”
“I’m not too sure, Mary will know” he replied.
“There was a huge gasometer down the road,
Near the grammar school, that I attended.
My name is James, they called me Jim at school”
The cruel wind was blowing mercilessly,
A bus arrived, already full, so Jim and I sat still.
A kindly lady bustled along, “There you are Harold!
I’ve looked everywhere for you, the driver is waiting,
The car is here”, She looked at me and smiled.
“I hope he has not been any trouble, I’m Mary”.
My friend looked at me, “Thank you for listening”
Pulled his raincoat collar up against the cruel wind.
~~Of change~~ “Mary I’m coming love,
I was Prime Minister, once you know”.
I sat stunned as realisation dawned,
My mind raced over the conversation
I would like to have had before his resignation
And cruel mental decline from Alzheimer's disease.
How he kept us out of the Vietnam war,
Awarded The Beatles an MBE
During a very long week in politics
Foreseeing the “White Heat of Technology”.
My companion had been none other than,
James Harold Wilson, Baron Wilson of Rielvaux. KG, OBE,FRS, FSS, PC
Prime Minister of the United Kingdom from 1964 to 1970 and 1974 to 1976,
Copyright poem by John Yeo© 07/02/2013 All rights reserved.
Dear John,
I think this is an excellent poem, a terrific idea and really well written. I have taken the liberty of trying it in a different tense, which has necessitated tweaking it a bit here and there. And also have experimented with one or two slightly different line breaks - but only because I think it is so good, and please, if you don't like what I've done, having compared the two, do stick to your own version. They are only suggestions.
Hoping all is okay with you both.
Very best wishes,
Phil
I think this is an excellent poem, a terrific idea and really well written. I have taken the liberty of trying it in a different tense, which has necessitated tweaking it a bit here and there. And also have experimented with one or two slightly different line breaks - but only because I think it is so good, and please, if you don't like what I've done, having compared the two, do stick to your own version. They are only suggestions.
Hoping all is okay with you both.
Very best wishes,
Phil
A Cruel Decline
Quite a good bus service here in Huddersfield.
The bus station is busy but empty.
It is a chilly day in town with a sharp wind.
I sit waiting next to a gent in a raincoat.
He puffs on his pipe and looks content.
Suddenly he turns to me and says,
“I was a boy in this area, it’s changed”.
I murmur a response and nod.
The wind picks up, and I ask,
“What time the next bus is due to arrive?”
“ I'm not too sure, Mary will know” he replies.
“There was a huge gasometer down the road,
near the grammar school, I attended.
My name is James, but they called me Jim at school”.
The cruel wind blows mercilessly.
A bus arrives, already full, so Jim and I sit still.
A kindly lady bustles along, “There you are Harold!
I’ve looked for you everywhere, the driver is waiting, the car is here”,
she looks at me and smiles.
I hope he has not been any trouble?”.
He looks at me, “Thank you for listening” he says.
Pulls his raincoat collar up against the wind.
~~Of change~~ “I’m coming Mary love.
I was Prime Minister, once you know”.
I sit stunned as the realisation dawns, my mind racing
over the conversation I would have liked to have had
before his resignation and this cruel mental decline
from Alzheimer's.
How he kept us out of the Vietnam war,
awarded The Beatles an MBE
during a very long week in politics
foreseeing the “white heat of technology”;
James Harold Wilson, Baron Wilson of Rielvaux.
Quite a good bus service here in Huddersfield.
The bus station is busy but empty.
It is a chilly day in town with a sharp wind.
I sit waiting next to a gent in a raincoat.
He puffs on his pipe and looks content.
Suddenly he turns to me and says,
“I was a boy in this area, it’s changed”.
I murmur a response and nod.
The wind picks up, and I ask,
“What time the next bus is due to arrive?”
“ I'm not too sure, Mary will know” he replies.
“There was a huge gasometer down the road,
near the grammar school, I attended.
My name is James, but they called me Jim at school”.
The cruel wind blows mercilessly.
A bus arrives, already full, so Jim and I sit still.
A kindly lady bustles along, “There you are Harold!
I’ve looked for you everywhere, the driver is waiting, the car is here”,
she looks at me and smiles.
I hope he has not been any trouble?”.
He looks at me, “Thank you for listening” he says.
Pulls his raincoat collar up against the wind.
~~Of change~~ “I’m coming Mary love.
I was Prime Minister, once you know”.
I sit stunned as the realisation dawns, my mind racing
over the conversation I would have liked to have had
before his resignation and this cruel mental decline
from Alzheimer's.
How he kept us out of the Vietnam war,
awarded The Beatles an MBE
during a very long week in politics
foreseeing the “white heat of technology”;
James Harold Wilson, Baron Wilson of Rielvaux.
Copyright poem by John Yeo© 07/02/2013 All rights reserved.
THE GERMINATION OF SIGNIFICANCE FROM AN INSIGNIFICANT SEED
AN INSIGNIFICANT LEGACY Assignment~~~~~15th January 2013
A seemingly small thing that has taken on more significance than it really should have had
Think about a subject which might represent or be symbolic of something larger or more significant (good or bad), in ways that you can’t entirely understand to begin with but which might become clearer as you begin to write and might repay further exploration and development.
What will you choose?
Perhaps something that you’ve: bought, seen, witnessed, worn, done or own, that has seemed or become more important than it really was or should have done, in the larger scheme of things.
AN INSIGNIFICANT LEGACY Assignment~~~~~15th January 2013
A seemingly small thing that has taken on more significance than it really should have had
Think about a subject which might represent or be symbolic of something larger or more significant (good or bad), in ways that you can’t entirely understand to begin with but which might become clearer as you begin to write and might repay further exploration and development.
What will you choose?
Perhaps something that you’ve: bought, seen, witnessed, worn, done or own, that has seemed or become more important than it really was or should have done, in the larger scheme of things.
The Germination of Significance from an Insignificant Seed
High Adventure, Romance, and Crime.
A uniform array of seats and students
A desk, an inkwell and a blotter
A dipping pen with a removable nib
Blotting paper to soak up the blobs
Inky fingers from leaks and smudges
Nib scratches on an exercise book
Nibs that got crossed from wearing them in
Tailored to the way you held the pen.
Train drivers, Firemen and Cowboys.
Then a competition for all the class
The prize to win was a modern pen
Blue in colour with a silver nib
With a container made of rubber within
That was filled by a lever with blue black ink.
Write a story, an essay or a poem
Using inspiration and imagination.
I won that pen through determination.
Nature, Gardens and Current Affairs.
I have respected that pen for years to come
My writing improved and my comprehension
A prize with hidden value beyond measure
That allowed me to convey my inner thought.
To all around it was just a cheap pen,
To me it represented a treasure fairly won
A gateway to expressing thought on paper
Writing many stories, essays and poems
Experiences of Life, Love and Growing up.
Message from Phil Barrett to me 12th February 2013
Dear John,
I just wanted to email to say, I/we thought/think your poem is marvelous. It is really strong and impressive and a real step forward, with a really interesting structural device and very evocative imagery and ideas.Really well done. I look forward to more of the same.
Look after yourself and hope to see you both soon,
Phil
Dear John,
I just wanted to email to say, I/we thought/think your poem is marvelous. It is really strong and impressive and a real step forward, with a really interesting structural device and very evocative imagery and ideas.Really well done. I look forward to more of the same.
Look after yourself and hope to see you both soon,
Phil
Copyright poem by John Yeo© 07/02/2013 All rights reserved.
A View from home and abroad
A snowbound day spent indoors. Following contact from two of our family members, both living in a beautiful sun-filled, paradise-like climate. Both said how much they envied us and missed our snow. I wrote the following two sonnets~~~My first ever, a double sonnet.
Meandering, drifting thought-waves
During dreary snow encrusted days,
Lost in creative imagination of the sunshine
10,000 miles away just across the ocean.
Garden birds starving, fighting for food.
Oh! How cute he looks, a lovely friend.
The battle for survival is without end.
Thoughts wander on course across the waves,
To tropical climes, long dry sun-filled days,
Palm trees wave in the windless blue skies.
The sun is golden from a snow filled view
Heat and dry thirst and the downside too.
Here the snow is pretty and cool to the touch,
The sun burns hot, but the snow is too much.
Meanwhile~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dreaming languidly with thoughts of home,
The intense heat burning, hot as dry bone.
Imagination drifts to snow filled scenes,
Logs on the fire, and icy Jack frost dreams.
Cockatoos screeching and Possums and Roos,
Bushmen survive burning fires as the desert renews.
For millions of years the harsh cycle continues,
The coastal beauty, the waves and the sand.
The tropical forest diversity, of this wonderful land.
Home is snow-filled, snowflakes everywhere,
Snowballs and snowmen, with snow to spare.
Here the sea surf is blue and the beaches are clean
The sun shines brightly and warms the dream
The snow freezes cold, but the heat is too much.
|
Proverb The grass is always greener on the other side. |
|
Copyright John Yeo© 22/01/2013
Urgent! Greta Garbo to Mae West~~~~Go Away! Get help! Leave me alone!~~~~In DEFENsE of Introversion~~~~
Assignment~~~~~~In Defense of ~~~~~~
Write a poem in defense of something, perhaps judged indefensible or unacceptable by society, or by the current legislators of morality and taste.
Or something which seems to need no defense but you want to make a case for defending anyway;
Write a poem in defense of something, perhaps judged indefensible or unacceptable by society, or by the current legislators of morality and taste.
Or something which seems to need no defense but you want to make a case for defending anyway;
Urgent! Greta Garbo to Mae West
Go Away! Get help! Leave me alone!
In Defense of Introversion~~~~
An Introvert is not born nor made,
It is most unsociable to enjoy being alone.
To shy away from the social scene
To determinedly seek a solitary life.
Loneliness often brings sorrow and strife.
Let the doorbell ring and turn off the phone
It is comforting being alone.
In Defense of Introversion~~~~
Introversion is a path through life,
Some of us are born to survive the race
By the protection of a self formed carapace.
Exploring thought by solitary means,
Energized by the inner world
Without distraction or interference
Energized by being alone.
In Defense of Introversion~~~~
Introverts are usually self sufficient.
Self judgemental, and self reliant.
Cautious, uncommunicative, lost in thought
Self contained, following solitary pursuits
To determinedly seek a solitary life.
A diagnosis often mistakenly applied
To a person depressed or painfully shy.
In Defense of Introversion~~~~
Breaking down the walls of Introversion
Requires a very special kind of person.
The highest form of compliment to be paid
Is the foundation of trust that is firmly laid
Through love, friendship and developing trust.
In a partnership built through understanding
Sharing the magic, in the joy of being alone
In Defense of Introversion~~~~
It is most unsociable to enjoy being alone.
To shy away from the social scene
To determinedly seek a solitary life.
Loneliness often brings sorrow and strife.
Let the doorbell ring and turn off the phone
It is comforting being alone.
In Defense of Introversion~~~~
Introversion is a path through life,
Some of us are born to survive the race
By the protection of a self formed carapace.
Exploring thought by solitary means,
Energized by the inner world
Without distraction or interference
Energized by being alone.
In Defense of Introversion~~~~
Introverts are usually self sufficient.
Self judgemental, and self reliant.
Cautious, uncommunicative, lost in thought
Self contained, following solitary pursuits
To determinedly seek a solitary life.
A diagnosis often mistakenly applied
To a person depressed or painfully shy.
In Defense of Introversion~~~~
Breaking down the walls of Introversion
Requires a very special kind of person.
The highest form of compliment to be paid
Is the foundation of trust that is firmly laid
Through love, friendship and developing trust.
In a partnership built through understanding
Sharing the magic, in the joy of being alone
In Defense of Introversion~~~~
Copyright Poem written by John Yeo © 10/01/2013
SPECIALLY FOR MARGARET
I met you in the Carribean,
I loved you in London,
I cherished you in Sheringham,
We got married in London,
Our honeymoon was hot in Iceland and Greenland,
We have shared my life with your life
Becoming Our life.
We have shared thousands of miles of ocean cruising,
We have visited many different lands together,
We have danced together
We have lived, loved, and laughed,
Shared many interests together.
We have seen our joint family increase together.
We have built a wonderful life together.
We will now share a special day together.
Our very strong marriage will never be broken.
I love you dearly Margaret xxxxx
Copyright~~Poem written by John Yeo© 29/12/2012
Assignment~~~~~~In defence of ~~~~~~
Write a poem in defence of something, perhaps judged indefensible or unacceptable by society, or by the current legislators of morality and taste.
Or something which seems to need no defence but you want to make a case for defending anyway:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Write a poem in defence of something, perhaps judged indefensible or unacceptable by society, or by the current legislators of morality and taste.
Or something which seems to need no defence but you want to make a case for defending anyway:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In DEFENCE of ~~~~~~~~~~{..CLICK~~HERE..}
Sadness in the system
Death of an age
Revolution and mourning
In defence of the printed page.
Death of an age
Revolution and mourning
In defence of the printed page.
I own an exceptional first edition
Hand tooled with leather binding,
Lovingly treasured and rare.
Signed by the author, pages edged in gold.
Hand tooled with leather binding,
Lovingly treasured and rare.
Signed by the author, pages edged in gold.
My bookshelves groan, the shelves are full
Groaning with the weight.
Mystery, adventure and reference tomes,
Colourfully bound, words from the great.
Groaning with the weight.
Mystery, adventure and reference tomes,
Colourfully bound, words from the great.
My brand new e-book reader is here
Containing numerous books.
Clear and clean and easy to read
The books are easy to find.
Containing numerous books.
Clear and clean and easy to read
The books are easy to find.
I sense change is here, can’t resist a tear,
For the dog-eared, dust filled
books of yesteryear.
I lovingly open my first edition.
Copyright~~Poem written by John Yeo© 20/12/2012
SENSES COMING TOGETHER
Assignment~~~Music or Responses to a Piece of Music
This task is about your response to a piece of music or music more generally. About trying to find words to express or make sense of the emotive experience of being fired up by and listening to – perhaps a particular song or piece of classical music; having attended a special concert; or the inspiration of a specific performer; and, perhaps, a song or piece of music associated with a particular person, time or event in your life.
Senses Coming Together
Synaesthesia~A magical process, Turning sound into colour.
Skiffle~~Rock~~Country sound, My youth in words~Swirling around.
Lonnie~The King and the Famous four. Crooners, Swooners and many more.
Vid Siscious~Junk Rock. Safety pins and the Union Jack.
Shouting, pouting, Strolling clones. Gyrating, ear-aching, mind numbing tones.
Then
Conversion through a live performance. An orchestral night out with a friend,
Feeling apprehensive and very mellow. Admiring a pretty girl, cradling a Cello.
The bow is poised, the strings are silent. The mind is focused. Expectant!
The baton is raised, the sound reverberates. A beautiful Cello sings.
Synaesthesia~A magical process, Turning sound into colour.
Skiffle~~Rock~~Country sound, My youth in words~Swirling around.
Lonnie~The King and the Famous four. Crooners, Swooners and many more.
Vid Siscious~Junk Rock. Safety pins and the Union Jack.
Shouting, pouting, Strolling clones. Gyrating, ear-aching, mind numbing tones.
Then
Conversion through a live performance. An orchestral night out with a friend,
Feeling apprehensive and very mellow. Admiring a pretty girl, cradling a Cello.
The bow is poised, the strings are silent. The mind is focused. Expectant!
The baton is raised, the sound reverberates. A beautiful Cello sings.
A cloudburst of music then resounded. Each note, a rainbow hued drop of
magic.
Gathering force and bursting forth. Entering and impressing my
consciousness.
The sensual Cellist, lost in producing, the magic of the sounds.
My mind taking in her interpretation. The mechanics of the piece.
She reads the script from the music sheet. Stroking the bow across the strings.
Producing sounds that shake the Soul. Sending the mind on a journey.
As the notes flow from the instrument. The musician interprets the composers
creation.
Mellow sounds fill the air, colourful, resonant. Each note touches a nerve.
The nerve ends tingle. Sound reaches out to colour the brain.
Interpretation begins.
Picturing a beautiful Swan from “The Carnival of the animals”
Composed and created by Camille Saint-Saens.
magic.
Gathering force and bursting forth. Entering and impressing my
consciousness.
The sensual Cellist, lost in producing, the magic of the sounds.
My mind taking in her interpretation. The mechanics of the piece.
She reads the script from the music sheet. Stroking the bow across the strings.
Producing sounds that shake the Soul. Sending the mind on a journey.
As the notes flow from the instrument. The musician interprets the composers
creation.
Mellow sounds fill the air, colourful, resonant. Each note touches a nerve.
The nerve ends tingle. Sound reaches out to colour the brain.
Interpretation begins.
Picturing a beautiful Swan from “The Carnival of the animals”
Composed and created by Camille Saint-Saens.
Copyright John Yeo© 27/11/2012
SENSES COMING TOGETHER
Below is the original format of this poem which I altered to the version I published on Facebook
Assignment~~~Music or Responses to a Piece of Music
This task is about your response to a piece of music or music more generally. About trying to find words to express or make sense of the emotive experience of being fired up by and listening to – perhaps a particular song or piece of classical music; having attended a special concert; or the inspiration of a specific performer; and, perhaps, a song or piece of music associated with a particular person, time or event in your life.
This task is about your response to a piece of music or music more generally. About trying to find words to express or make sense of the emotive experience of being fired up by and listening to – perhaps a particular song or piece of classical music; having attended a special concert; or the inspiration of a specific performer; and, perhaps, a song or piece of music associated with a particular person, time or event in your life.
Senses Coming Together
Synaesthesia~A magical process
Turning sound into colour.
Skiffle~~Rock~~Country sound,
My youth in words~Swirling around.
Lonnie~The King and the Famous Four,
Crooners, Swooners and many more.
Vid Siscious~Junk Rock,
Safety pins and the Union Jack.
Shouting, pouting, Strolling clones,
Gyrating, ear-aching, mind numbing tones.
Then, conversion through live performance,
An orchestral night out with a friend,
Feeling apprehensive and very mellow,
Admiring a pretty girl, cradling a Cello.
The bow is poised, the strings are silent,
The mind is focused. Expectant!
The baton is raised, the sound reverberates,
A beautiful Cello sings.
A cloudburst of music then resounded,
Each note, a rainbow hued drop of magic.
Gathering force and bursting forth
Entering and impressing my consciousness.
The sensual Cellist, lost in producing,
The magic of the sounds.
My mind taking in her interpretation.
The mechanics of the piece.
She reads the script from the music sheet,
Stroking the bow across the strings.
Producing sounds that shake the Soul
Sending the mind on a journey.
As the notes flow from the instrument,
The musician interprets the composers' creation.
Mellow sounds fill the air, colourful, resonant.
Each note touches a nerve and the nerve ends tingle.
Sound reaches out to colour the brain.
Interpretation begins.
Picturing a beautiful Swan from “The Carnival of the Animals”
Composed and created by Camille Saint-Saens.
Synaesthesia~A magical process
Turning sound into colour.
Skiffle~~Rock~~Country sound,
My youth in words~Swirling around.
Lonnie~The King and the Famous Four,
Crooners, Swooners and many more.
Vid Siscious~Junk Rock,
Safety pins and the Union Jack.
Shouting, pouting, Strolling clones,
Gyrating, ear-aching, mind numbing tones.
Then, conversion through live performance,
An orchestral night out with a friend,
Feeling apprehensive and very mellow,
Admiring a pretty girl, cradling a Cello.
The bow is poised, the strings are silent,
The mind is focused. Expectant!
The baton is raised, the sound reverberates,
A beautiful Cello sings.
A cloudburst of music then resounded,
Each note, a rainbow hued drop of magic.
Gathering force and bursting forth
Entering and impressing my consciousness.
The sensual Cellist, lost in producing,
The magic of the sounds.
My mind taking in her interpretation.
The mechanics of the piece.
She reads the script from the music sheet,
Stroking the bow across the strings.
Producing sounds that shake the Soul
Sending the mind on a journey.
As the notes flow from the instrument,
The musician interprets the composers' creation.
Mellow sounds fill the air, colourful, resonant.
Each note touches a nerve and the nerve ends tingle.
Sound reaches out to colour the brain.
Interpretation begins.
Picturing a beautiful Swan from “The Carnival of the Animals”
Composed and created by Camille Saint-Saens.
Copyright John Yeo© 27/11/2012
Words that inspire, or have inspired~~~~~~LOVE!
The following e-mail appeared in my e-mail in box, inviting me to take part and write a piece in not more than 100 words for possible inclusion in an anthology. I jumped at the chance and I am very pleased with what I came up with and how I came up with the final finished piece.
Event
Date:October 24, 2012 03:51PM -- December 03, 2012 11:59PMRSVP by:December 03, 2012 11:59PM Venue:online, GBType:otherWebsite, The Fine Line is compiling an anthology on the theme of words that inspire.
If you’d like to be considered for inclusion, we’re looking for short pieces, no longer than 100 words, in any genre or style about words that have inspired you.
Whether it’s something everyday like the line on a shampoo bottle that reminds you to rinse your hair after you lather or a novel that changed your life, write about your experience of being inspired by words and send it
The title isn't included in the word count and you can send as many submissions as you like.
Deadline: 3rd of December 2012 edit.
Date:October 24, 2012 03:51PM -- December 03, 2012 11:59PMRSVP by:December 03, 2012 11:59PM Venue:online, GBType:otherWebsite, The Fine Line is compiling an anthology on the theme of words that inspire.
If you’d like to be considered for inclusion, we’re looking for short pieces, no longer than 100 words, in any genre or style about words that have inspired you.
Whether it’s something everyday like the line on a shampoo bottle that reminds you to rinse your hair after you lather or a novel that changed your life, write about your experience of being inspired by words and send it
The title isn't included in the word count and you can send as many submissions as you like.
Deadline: 3rd of December 2012 edit.
Love!
Dedicated to Margaret
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Love inspires a feeling of self respect and honour in the sharing of a life together.
Love allows a unity and grows and improves with time.
Love inspires me to carry on when things look hopeless and problems seem insoluble.
Love allows me to share my life and allows me the sense of inclusion to make plans for the future.
Love brings a feeling of protection and a sense of the need to protect and inspire.
Love has given me the inspiration to do almost everything I have ever attempted or achieved.
Love has inspired me enormously during my life.
Love inspires a feeling of self respect and honour in the sharing of a life together.
Love allows a unity and grows and improves with time.
Love inspires me to carry on when things look hopeless and problems seem insoluble.
Love allows me to share my life and allows me the sense of inclusion to make plans for the future.
Love brings a feeling of protection and a sense of the need to protect and inspire.
Love has given me the inspiration to do almost everything I have ever attempted or achieved.
Love has inspired me enormously during my life.
I actually wrote the version below first, but I then did a bit of word experimenting and I turned the whole thing upside down. I used the last line as the first line and I think it sounds a whole lot better poetically. Wish me luck~~~~
Love has inspired me enormously during my life.
Love has given me the inspiration to do almost everything I have ever attempted or achieved.
Love brings a feeling of protection and a sense of the need to protect and inspire.
Love allows me to share my life and allows me the sense of inclusion to make plans for the future.
Love inspires me to carry on when things look hopeless and problems seem insoluble.
Love allows a unity and grows and improves with time.
Love inspires a feeling of self respect and honour in the sharing of a life together.
Love has inspired me enormously during my life.
Love has given me the inspiration to do almost everything I have ever attempted or achieved.
Love brings a feeling of protection and a sense of the need to protect and inspire.
Love allows me to share my life and allows me the sense of inclusion to make plans for the future.
Love inspires me to carry on when things look hopeless and problems seem insoluble.
Love allows a unity and grows and improves with time.
Love inspires a feeling of self respect and honour in the sharing of a life together.
14th December 2012
SUCCESS!!
Anthology Submission
Inbox
x
14 Dec (2 days ago)
to bcc: me
We're delighted to inform you that we would like to include your work in our e-book anthology on words that inspire.
Could you please send a short biography and link to any websites you would like to include?
We will email you when the e-book becomes available. You retain all rights to your work.
Best wishes,
SUCCESS!!
Anthology Submission
Inbox
x
14 Dec (2 days ago)
to bcc: me
We're delighted to inform you that we would like to include your work in our e-book anthology on words that inspire.
Could you please send a short biography and link to any websites you would like to include?
We will email you when the e-book becomes available. You retain all rights to your work.
Best wishes,
Dear Writers,
Congratulations on being included in the anthology on writers and their inspiration, The "I" Word.
The book is now available for purchase at The Fine Line online store,http://shop.editorial-consultancy.co.uk/e-books/the-i-word/
, for £2.
Copyright John Yeo© 15/11/2012
WHAT YTH??
The Creation Myth?
Why myth?~~~ Creation has happened.....
Where to start? :---------:Oh!!
In the beginning.
In the beginning there was nothing.
How to create something from nothing?
Two nothings equal nothing.
There must have been something......
If nothing plus nothing equals nothing,
How does one begin to create a myth?
“A person or thing held in excessive or
Quasi-religious awe or admiration,
based on popular legend.”
Abracadabra!! Kalamazoo!!
Before I look around, there is me and you,
Cavorting in a garden.
Somehow the seeds were procured and grown.
There must have been an original egg
To produce the entity that laid it??
Where to start creating a myth.....
I know in the beginning.... What yth??
Why myth?~~~ Creation has happened.....
Where to start? :---------:Oh!!
In the beginning.
In the beginning there was nothing.
How to create something from nothing?
Two nothings equal nothing.
There must have been something......
If nothing plus nothing equals nothing,
How does one begin to create a myth?
“A person or thing held in excessive or
Quasi-religious awe or admiration,
based on popular legend.”
Abracadabra!! Kalamazoo!!
Before I look around, there is me and you,
Cavorting in a garden.
Somehow the seeds were procured and grown.
There must have been an original egg
To produce the entity that laid it??
Where to start creating a myth.....
I know in the beginning.... What yth??
I had great fun putting this poem and the images together.. The firework images represent the Big Bang. The sunrise image represents a new dawn and Let There be Light. The Bird of Paradise Orchid with Margaret represents life and the notice is the mark we leave behind.
Copyright John Yeo© 5/11/2012
THIS WEEKS ASSIGNMENT........ Create a new (imaginative) Creation Myth and/or a re-write a re-imagining of The Garden of Eden story.
WARNING! DO NOT EAT THE FRUIT FROM THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE
The Fledglings leave the nest
I am the tree, the tree of life,
I live in the garden of the world.
My branches extend over the earth
Giving shade and shelter
Food and life.
I remember Eve.
I stand here and observe.
In Winter my branches are
Leafless, lifeless and barren.
Winds rage, rain falls
The snow covered Earth sleeps.
Adam was the gardener.
Spring arrives joyously fresh
I proudly display my blossom
Amid tender shoots and leaves.
The garden has new life everywhere
Colourful flowers and babes abound
Even the Serpent had young.
The Summer sun shines hot and strong
Adam and Eve toil, happy to belong
Together, in the peace of the garden.
My leaves have grown, my fruit is forming
Idyllic long days keep the Serpent yawning
The Creator arrives to repeat the warning.
Autumn brings my forbidden fruit,
Containing the seeds of despair.
Succulent, rosy and temptingly sweet.
The Serpent smiles and tempts Eve to eat
Adam resists, Eve begs him to share
My juicy fruit. so brilliant and rare.
The Creator exploded in celestial fury
Banished the couple from the garden of glory
To the deserts and lands of the wider world.
This fortunately was not the end of the story
My seeds of knowledge were ingested
The keys to the future in mankind were invested.
The Fledglings have fledged and left the nest.
I am the tree, the tree of life,
I live in the garden of the world.
My branches extend over the earth
Giving shade and shelter
Food and life.
I remember Eve.
I stand here and observe.
In Winter my branches are
Leafless, lifeless and barren.
Winds rage, rain falls
The snow covered Earth sleeps.
Adam was the gardener.
Spring arrives joyously fresh
I proudly display my blossom
Amid tender shoots and leaves.
The garden has new life everywhere
Colourful flowers and babes abound
Even the Serpent had young.
The Summer sun shines hot and strong
Adam and Eve toil, happy to belong
Together, in the peace of the garden.
My leaves have grown, my fruit is forming
Idyllic long days keep the Serpent yawning
The Creator arrives to repeat the warning.
Autumn brings my forbidden fruit,
Containing the seeds of despair.
Succulent, rosy and temptingly sweet.
The Serpent smiles and tempts Eve to eat
Adam resists, Eve begs him to share
My juicy fruit. so brilliant and rare.
The Creator exploded in celestial fury
Banished the couple from the garden of glory
To the deserts and lands of the wider world.
This fortunately was not the end of the story
My seeds of knowledge were ingested
The keys to the future in mankind were invested.
The Fledglings have fledged and left the nest.
Copyright John Yeo© 31/10/2012
Assignment for the Creative Writers Group. Monday October 8th. 2012
“DESCRIBE A FILM OR PLAY YOU HAVE SEEN, AND LOVE, (recently or in the past) in as much detail as possible.
Describe incidents in the film or play (perhaps one(s) that struck you as really important: images, interpretations, mood, speed/duration, soundtrack, storyline, meaning, beginning, ending, how it made you feel; etc.
Then try to add something about the circumstances in which you saw it, where,
when and with whom.”
"King Lear and the Fool in the Storm" by William Dyce from EN: w:Image:Kinglearpainting William Dyce (1806–1864)
A Dramatic Memory..........
King Lear, a tragic play by William Shakespeare
Will always, to me, remain insidiously clear.
The fear of the breakdown of mental capacity
A drift, so swift into dementia and unreality.
A sad description of the slide into madness
A story filled with intrigue and sadness.
What causes a mind to degenerate and
Powers of thought to disintegrate?
A proud King with an army so strong,
Three daughters, a family, lineage proud.
I will split my kingdom three ways if you care,
To pronounce your love for me loud and clear.
Three sisters, Gonerill, Regan and Cordelia.
Two of a kind and one very rare
Gonerill and Regan, fawningly complied
Cordelia declined, through personal pride.
This set the King in a raging ferment
Cordelia stubbornly refused to relent.
The kingdom was split then, two ways , not three
With Cordelia banished to France and matrimony.
Her sisters the kingdom then ruled together,
The King and his retinue travelled wherever
The chance to carouse and sport was decided
From palace to castle where food was provided
As time passed, the ungrateful daughters
Tired of the King and his army of supporters,
Refused to garrison his army with him.
King Lear, once stately, now in despair,
Fled to the wild heath to take refuge where
The slow decline that had already started
With insidious senility and instability
Suffered storms and torrents, and unnatural cruelty.
Mad Tom, a friend, clothed in rags ranting nonsense,
Attended the King, providing aid and relief.
While storms raged, lightning and winds on the heath,
Seemed to laugh insanely at the sadness beneath.
Mad Tom with his chatter, the King decrying,
Infamy, treachery, sad old age and decline.
Lord Gloucester raced to Cordelia in haste,
Bearing news of her regal fathers new state.
Cordelia angry, raised, an Army in France.
Her sisters seized Gloucester to wreak terrible vengeance
Gouged out his eyes and turned him loose.
The battle raged, the King and mad Tom,
and eyeless Gloucester rescued by Cordelia, lived on.
Gonerill and Regan died by poisoners hand.
The King's health improved and with Cordelia they reign.
The tragedy concluded with greed and treachery slain.
A brilliant description of the pitfalls of old age,
King Lear needed flattery to bolster his ego.
As his mental powers began to wane
The inevitable withdrawal of privilege became
The trigger to push him further and further
Along the path to breakdown and sad behaviour.
The moral is clear, think and plan while you are able,
Unforgiving Time, and decline are sadly inevitable.
COPYRIGHT John Yeo © 21/09/2012
Homework for the Creative Writers Group. Monday 10th. September 2012
Po-et-tree.
PO-et-tree.
This is the soil.
This is the seed
That was planted in the soil.
This is the plant that grew
From the seed
That was planted in the soil.
These are the roots
Anchoring the plant
As it grew from the seed
That was planted in the soil.
This is the stem
Attached to the roots
Which anchor the plant
As it grew from the seed
That was planted in the soil.
These are the leaves
Growing from the stem
Attached to the roots
Holding the plant
As it grew from the seed
That was planted in the soil.
This is the flower
Growing with the leaves
At the top of the stem
Attached to the roots
Anchoring the plant
As it grew from the seed
That was planted in the soil.
These colourful petals
Forming part of the flower
Which shows off the leaves
Growing from the stem
Attached to the roots
Which anchor the plant
That grew from the seed
That was planted in the soil.
This intensive perfume
Is soaked in the petals
That forms part of the flower
And soaks the leaves
Growing from the stem
Attached to the roots
Anchoring the plant
As it grew from the seed
That was planted in the soil.
This is the bee
That sensed the perfume
As it wafted from the petals
That forms part of the flower
Set among the leaves
Growing from the stem
Attached to the roots
That anchored the plant
As it grew from the seed
That was planted in the soil.
This Paeonia suffricosa, Latin pomposity
Unknown to the bee
Drenched in the perfume
That wafted from the petals
Forming part of the flower
With large green leaves
Adorning the stem
That grew from the roots
Securing the plant
As it grew from the seed
That was planted in the soil.
This Tree Peony, a magnificent plant
Or Paeonia suffricosa, Latin pomposity
Names unknown to the bee
Attracted by the perfume
that drenched the petals
Of the beautiful flower
Set among green leaves
Branching the stem
Attached to the roots
Anchoring the plant
That germinated from the seed
That was planted in the soil.
This is the soil.
This is the seed
That was planted in the soil.
This is the plant that grew
From the seed
That was planted in the soil.
These are the roots
Anchoring the plant
As it grew from the seed
That was planted in the soil.
This is the stem
Attached to the roots
Which anchor the plant
As it grew from the seed
That was planted in the soil.
These are the leaves
Growing from the stem
Attached to the roots
Holding the plant
As it grew from the seed
That was planted in the soil.
This is the flower
Growing with the leaves
At the top of the stem
Attached to the roots
Anchoring the plant
As it grew from the seed
That was planted in the soil.
These colourful petals
Forming part of the flower
Which shows off the leaves
Growing from the stem
Attached to the roots
Which anchor the plant
That grew from the seed
That was planted in the soil.
This intensive perfume
Is soaked in the petals
That forms part of the flower
And soaks the leaves
Growing from the stem
Attached to the roots
Anchoring the plant
As it grew from the seed
That was planted in the soil.
This is the bee
That sensed the perfume
As it wafted from the petals
That forms part of the flower
Set among the leaves
Growing from the stem
Attached to the roots
That anchored the plant
As it grew from the seed
That was planted in the soil.
This Paeonia suffricosa, Latin pomposity
Unknown to the bee
Drenched in the perfume
That wafted from the petals
Forming part of the flower
With large green leaves
Adorning the stem
That grew from the roots
Securing the plant
As it grew from the seed
That was planted in the soil.
This Tree Peony, a magnificent plant
Or Paeonia suffricosa, Latin pomposity
Names unknown to the bee
Attracted by the perfume
that drenched the petals
Of the beautiful flower
Set among green leaves
Branching the stem
Attached to the roots
Anchoring the plant
That germinated from the seed
That was planted in the soil.
Copyright John Yeo ©10/09/2012
This poem was composed on 5th. August 2012, as an assignment for our creative writing group.
THE WIZARD
Visiting friends in a suburban town,
With time on my hands, to shop around.
I was drawn to a window while passing by,
A distinctive character had caught my eye.
With a pointed hat, long hair and a kindly face,
An inviting smile, come and enter this place!
Come and explore every crevice and nook.
He was holding an open mysterious book.
A book full of magic in every word,
Perched on the cover was a little blue bird.
I entered the shop, imagination to allay,
Shelves full of goods in tantalising display.
A kindly person, behind the counter with style,
A friendly face with a helpful smile.
I enquired about the magical magician,
Or was he a learned alternative physician?
The shop-person smiled, the interesting gent,
Was a model, nothing but a garden ornament.
On sale to benefit the Sue Ryder charity.
I purchased the wizard with this new-found clarity.
I escorted him home, I beg your pardon
He is much too nice to live in the garden.
The wizard lives in our conservatory in essence,
He guards our home and lifestyle in our absence.
With time on my hands, to shop around.
I was drawn to a window while passing by,
A distinctive character had caught my eye.
With a pointed hat, long hair and a kindly face,
An inviting smile, come and enter this place!
Come and explore every crevice and nook.
He was holding an open mysterious book.
A book full of magic in every word,
Perched on the cover was a little blue bird.
I entered the shop, imagination to allay,
Shelves full of goods in tantalising display.
A kindly person, behind the counter with style,
A friendly face with a helpful smile.
I enquired about the magical magician,
Or was he a learned alternative physician?
The shop-person smiled, the interesting gent,
Was a model, nothing but a garden ornament.
On sale to benefit the Sue Ryder charity.
I purchased the wizard with this new-found clarity.
I escorted him home, I beg your pardon
He is much too nice to live in the garden.
The wizard lives in our conservatory in essence,
He guards our home and lifestyle in our absence.
Copyright John Yeo© 05/08/2012
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