London Forum Poetry

Poetry lol

I thought of life
and saw only you
coming back to attack
other's with superior talent
and in doing so,
attacked yourself.

Post reply -->London Poetry Louise 14 Apr

Poetry Steganopoiiseos ocean space.

Now ocean space.

Space is the area around the country
Available at the end lost.
Palirroiaki strength and Marching
Holiday sand conceal dangerous
Flaques water, and less than short-term measures --
People are wrong.

Supply reduction
Klapei peoples lips,
In the short period between compassion
An empty sometimes kissing
It tracks Habib in the mouth.

Ocean has always cliché
Lost hope in people, is not it?

It is very easy to lose people in the world
What is the history of the illegality and facilities
Ploutos personenfreizügigkeit drowned in the floods.

Post reply -->London Poetry Roger Mee-Slowlee 12 Apr

Poetry The far ocean space.

The far ocean space.

A far ocean space is no place
to find each other lost.
Tidal tensions and creeping
holiday sands hide dangerous
puddles, smaller than short steps
between which people are misplaced.

Within the narrowing width
of peoples stolen lips,
in between short kindnesses
of empty paper kisses sometimes
no imprint is left on the lover’s mouth.

An ocean has always been a cliché
of lost hope and lost people has it not?

It is too easy to lose someone in the world
which conceals bodies and histories
drowned in the filled tidal stream of people.

Mail-me

Post reply -->London Poetry vincent 11 Apr

Poetry Original Poetry and comedy workshop meet up

Interested in writing comedy or peotry or doing it already and feeling ratehr alone...Want support, friendly constructive criticism and a laugh....Come along to the original comedy and poetry writing group..

We meet every 2nd and 4th Wednesday of the Month at 7pm at Garfield Community Centre, Garfield Road, London, SW11. Nearest tube is Clapham Common...Nearest overhead train is Clapham Junction or Queenstown Road.

Email Mail-me

Post reply -->London Poetry Rachel 9 Apr

Poetry In each others sun.

In each other’s sun

She and I staggered
thoughtfully,
without fight time,
thinking thoughts together.

She and I affirm
and move obstacles,
invisible obstacles serenely.

She is established, sleeps
when I am still awake.

My bed is warm,
a flower of warmth,
the petals of which
have wandered often
but now are still.

She is my garden
growing with ease.

I think I am her soil
sometimes
but she slowly radiates me
and I am cultivated.

We are each other’s sun.

Post reply -->London Poetry Vincent 29 Mar

Poetry An Ode To “What strange hours travelers keep” by

What if?
The internal seeker’s
Quest from beneath.
Infiltrated, porous , free,
Suckling on its fragments of ether
Stichomancy, reality
an acquired taste.

What if?..
I asked 63336..
Define the desirable.
Cut out the cryogenics.
Soul so bountiful,
Pliable like the perception
of freedom.

What if?
Does
she truly seek?
Or perhaps just strange .
Like her sister’s Bestfriend
De noted.
Loquacious, salubrious,
Unbounded,
Engaging they cry,

What if? this is how
Ones Aries
energy must cascade,
Down their own,
Down trodden and
Lively walls
Forever too fast for infinity.

Post reply -->London Poetry Holly 27 Mar

Poetry A heartshaped stone

A heart-shaped stone.

On my pillow rests
a heart-shaped stone

The rolling waters,
strong piercing waters
pulling and pushing
Lady moon’s desires
and Father Earth’s
noisy quarrels
gave slow accident
to the complex body line
you’d placed carefully here.

The much of nature-time
swirls without complaints,
wrestled chattering stones,
the slate and the flint,
the shingle and shell
in blended shimmering beauty.

The life and death
of the fisherman’s catch
ploughing the darkness
for an abundant one
when the form
was being sculpted.

You worked the beach
and picked up this form,
which indent’s my pillow,
poised and peaceful.

Sinking into the feathers
its lies peacefully, like
a tranquil afternoon at rest.

Mail-me

Post reply -->London Poetry Vincent 11 Mar

Poetry and Prose Writing Group central London

If you are a creative writer, whether as a hobby or a more serious pursuit, and regardless of the genre in which you write, our creative writing group may appeal to you.

Our meetings act as a platform for the sharing of ideas in a comfortable environment with supportive people.

Everyone is encouraged to bring some of their own creative work to read aloud to the group. People will then have an opportunity to share their ideas on what they have heard, providing constructive feedback the writer can take with them in order to further develop their writing and the inspiration with which to do so.

We have exclusive hire of a comfortable and private pub dining room in central London and next meeting is in the evening of Monday April 7th.

If you'd like to join us, please Mail-me

Post reply -->London Poetry Ali 2 Mar

Poetry London Voices

A small but perfectly formed poetry group meet to read their latest offering, to discuss and enjoy each other's company. This is a group of mature adults who enjoy the company of other's and have a passion for verse of all kinds. We invite you to come along and share your poetic thoughts and musings. The next meeting is on 29 Feb at the Lamb public house, Lambs Conduit Street, London WC1 on the 1st floor. If you have any friendly questions please email...

Mail-me

Post reply -->London Poetry vincent 28 Feb

Poetry Carol

Hi Carol, tell me more about what you are doing. Mail-me

Post reply -->London Poetry Vincent 8 Feb

Poetry The art...

The art of my age.

The art has transitioned enough.

The narrative has broken up enough.

The wit has cascaded into ideology.

The tradition has become lost.

The irony has become bloated.

The modern has become conventional.

The important voice is incarcerated.

The display is style.

The magpie is traditional.

The art is stolen.

The now is not original.

It has all become a verbal opera.

The epiphany is a lost cause.

The artist has returned to the cave.

Post reply -->London Poetry Vincent 2 Feb

Poetry The Art fan

Hello, I practise art, though I am not an artist. Your poetry really touched me, I found it really struck a chord with me. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind letting me quote it perhaps to go on a website that I am making? If so, who should I attribute it to?

Thanks for sharing

Carol

Post reply -->London Poetry 4 Feb

Poetry What is left

I think about life.
and also of death.
of the times that have gone.
and the time i have left.

And as each day passes.
and another day dawns.
ive come to realise.
i must grab that day by the horns.

For i am old.
and my life almost through.
and have done so little.
with much left to do.

I have wasted my years
by living to work.
and now its to late
to work at living.

For to work was to live.
but now the work has gone.
now ive nothing to give.
how did i manage to get it so wrong.

Post reply -->London Poetry John 31 Jan

Poetry The most powerful men in the world.

The most important man stutters
The scarred, scorching arid land of others
And plays with other powerful men
Who speak the ancient foreign languages,
And are awash with abundant currencies.

Houses bigger than his ever were
Squat the land encircling regional disasters,
Although these strangers used to live in tents
Other powerful men changed their lives
When the black muck of industry wept riches
And other men came to play their games.

Earnest discussions through interpreters
Talk of what is wanted from each other
Keeping diplomacy above belligerence
And the menace f one force upon another.
That happens to their weaker neighbours.

Men covered in protection buy and sell
The height of defensive modern weaponry
In the traditions of mass murdering armies,
Place their bags of wealth before each other.

In God and Allah they trust.

Post reply -->London Poetry Vincent 26 Jan

Poetry Pickled Onions

Pickled Onions

In a jar,
And one of many I’m sure
Waiting for a deserving hunger
To come and feed on me.
We jostle for space and we all
Dream to lose our place,
In this dead end queue
With no one to sing to,
Nobody’s love fool,
But years of wear and tears
Because no one wanted you.

Not enough anyway.

But everyone wants a double,
Everyone wants the trouble
Of a bleeding heart.
Yet ours are still new,
The labels still attached to
And in perfect condition.

So you worry at night,
That you’ll never be alright
Where is he
That would die
For me?
Always for sale,
Because you always fail
At love.

Mail-me

Post reply -->London Poetry J 24 Jan

Poetry Etienne

The bird that was in my life.

You arrived at my door with your colourful exaltation

like a preferred murder of crows and landed at my feet.

You lived with me and we flocked well for a while

we nested well and watched eggs boil after an evening

of soaring flight, which left us exhausted.

Your plumage beamed me into a flutter of ecstatic

equilibrium which reminded me of the domination

of gravity and then quite suddenly you flew off.

Mail-me

Post reply -->London Poetry Etienne 19 Dec

Poetry Untitled

It's a far cry from the biblical
Prophetical mumbling story
Absent from the television and miles from the internet
Drive across the ocean African desert reaching prospect
Of ever finding anything to rival
The feeling of insecure bliss
That is keeping me alive.

Post reply -->London Poetry alex 17 Dec

Poetry Etienne

My Liquid Birthday.

You lit a plate full of candles
In the early reveille of this day
Of my birthday - in that hour
Before I lumbered to work.
The sleepiness of my gaze
Made the warmth of the flicker
Scintillate this November shudder
And it’s sterile and blank eclipse.
I could have been swimming
In the sun due to it, gently
Glazed by every stroke described
With this pen – the one you gave me -
Describing as I do, the arching glow
Of your romantic
And thoughtful intentions.
The warmth from these flambeaus
That you ignited for me
Radiate within my soul.

Post reply -->London Poetry Etienne 16 Dec

Poetry

flambeaus - what a wonderful word!
This poem is very visual and I enjoyed
it's expanse capsulated in one morning event.

Post reply -->London Poetry CB60 17 Dec

Poetry Butterflies

If you touch their wings,
they die.
It seems cruel..to create something,
so beautiful that one,
should feel such need,
as to posses it,
But doing so destroys it.
We possess,
We love,
We kill.

Post reply -->London Poetry Naz 5 Dec

Poetry well

In order I'd prefer
love
possess
kill
but I get your meaning

Post reply -->London Poetry CB60 6 Dec

Poetry

I think' butterflies' is a lovely poem but I also think
there needs to be more input. Common poets - show
us your stuff. As it stands now we've been on the same poem
for nearly a month! If you want to make this a poetry forum-
then put up your stuff pleaaaase. Let's engage in more than one
or two put forward.

Post reply -->London Poetry CB60 14 Dec

Poetry I dont think so

Rarely are things possessed before they are loved.

Post reply -->London Poetry CB60 9 Dec

Poetry ascend

death rides beneath the feet
just below your little toe
ascends quietly
waves of matter
not yet there
tiny molecules
so tiny, it's hard to notice
but if you look hard enough
you will witness
the harness of flesh
broken at the seam
before a fall
complete in
its entirety

Post reply -->London Poetry CB60 3 Dec