Poetry in Motion

[Accy cyclist]

"Oh a tree in motion".

 

[The Crofted Crest]

Dylan never did a cycling song that I know of, pity, I'd probably sing it on the way to work..

His Bobness on His Bikeness? Come, come! If your commute is long enough to get you to the fourth verse of Buckets of Rain, you'll be singing, "Little red wagon, Little red bike". Its apparently full of sexual innuendo!

 

[Levo-Lon]

His Bobness on His Bikeness? Come, come! If your commute is long enough to get you to the fourth verse of Buckets of Rain, you'll be singing, "Little red wagon, Little red bike". Its apparently full of sexual innuendo!

yes ill be about mile 5 for that

 

[EltonFrog]

I really dislike poetry
I was asked read a book
Full of rhymes and poncy poesy
On How to Make Men Cry
Pretentious shite in my eyes
and cost quite a lot of money
Which only made it worse.

 

[Levo-Lon]

I really dislike poetry
I was asked read a book
Full of rhymes and poncy poesy
On How to Make Men Cry
Pretentious shite in my eyes
and cost quite a lot of money
Which only made it worse.

Same here...at least you can ignore it.
Or turn over.

Unlike cookery and talent shows

 

[Deleted member 26715]

I don't understand poetry nor for that matter a lot of art

 

[Randomnerd]

Here, a starting point to an epic poem I'm thinking about getting round to. Other threads are available. Do post your creativity if you fancy, and your critique, if you feel bold.

Over the Ribble on Weather Hill Lane Steve wears ear muffs.
He cups his chin
With both redundant hands
And looks down at his scribble pad.
All the pencils; the order book; the telephone message pad.
Hades, the wood-hid hut on Holme Edge,
Is lit up again.
Steam-hammer din, valley wide.
There, Mister Cerberus fixes his triple gun-sight gaze
On the new machine.
The oiled paw slams a flywheel lever from off to on.
Stamps out five-sawns, flags, randoms,
Mullions and stacks each, sorted, off of belts directed
Cornerwise where gassy forklifts rumble in, shunt,
Momentarily pinprick the gloom with clough light through
The curtained doors
And out again to wagons, waiting. Steve’s lad
Garry
Puts down his scutch.
Garry walked today from Waltin
Down
Choppards Bank to see if he could see the chimney sparks
Or spot the venting vapour.
Nothing.
There are aconites which grow at Catholes Spring.
Their juice, dog killer, on a dipped-in javelin.

 

[PaulB]

I saw this on the door of a car garage opposite Alder Hey Hospital. It's probably still there.

I once was here but now I'm not
I'm round the corner smoking pot.

 

[Beebo]

For anyone interested Frank Skinner does a great podcast about poetry Which makes it very accessible.
He is very passionate about it and used to teach it when he was a college lecturer.