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I never had to run glum.

When life seems a little blahzay
The smoothness a little too smooth
A dullness that does'nt even need to knock
Cause it knows where it lives
When all about you seems the same
Yet life's apparently upside down
Gone topsy turvy berserk n all broke
When the calmness likens to a flattened sea
Genteel undulations only noticed from afar
That vantage point beyond all things
From where no one yet can see
Yet still within minds eye lays a glimmering manifestation
Where deep within sleeps still all thing that are
Shortcuts to Visions from afar
One that holds resilient that poker face I see
When mirrors sneaky blackness reveals all self to me
Watching and willing a smile evoked to be
That very smile now, residing here on me.

Silver
18-04-2020
 
The last Post.

From the wide-brown land we love the most
From the mountains,plains and shore
Comes the sound that we have heard before
A bugle playing the Last Post.

And its mournful melody rings out Cross the oceans and the sea
And it echos upon that fateful scene
On the shores of Gallipoli.

And it carries on to Poziers
And the trenches of the Somme
To the places where the diggers lay
And the lands they fell upon.

And the Wars they fought to end all Wars
And their sacred sacrifice
Was not forgotten here at home
And still the tears fall from our eyes.

And Private Albert Vincent Goodwin
My Grand Uncle whom I never knew
There is no grave that bears your name
The Last Post playing reminds me of you.

God forbid sweet Jesus please no more
I hear you calling about all war
Cannot you see the the ranks of ghosts
For whom the Bugler plays the Last Post...copyright Ross L. Langlands 2020..
 
Written in 1918.

1587864485_timeless.jpg
 
Hello Pete the Pom in LLLLockdown......
Same situation over here
with our wide expance and spaceness
Verging on insane as.....
those echoes come back round
The hello who is out there sounds.....
so wracked with feeble pain
As I listen to that echo.....
again again a gain
It reminds me of old blighty
with their houses all in rows
And how the echoes down the street just...
bounce off the cobble stones
So wide expane or housing....
I guess it's all the same
With those wind blown echoes sayin
Am I in this all alone...... am I in this all alone....

Silver
28-04-2020
 
You know what I like in Australia.

You know what I like in Australia
It's that I never see anyone cough
Even though life here can be rough
The locals about are all tough

You know what I like in Australia
Crime is down , so is divorce
As Covid is running its course
But the cops here are all out in force

You know what I like in Australia
It's not like a flood where there's so much to see
We've got to stay home and let be what's to be
Oh heck I'm so glad to do things here for me

You know what I like in Australia
We live on an Island alone me an you
Ok I'll admit twenty million or two
But we stand fast together in oneness of view
And thats what I like about Strailya

Silver

5-5-2020
 
Who am I

Who am I, what is my purpose. Is it to linger on into old age.
Is it to be a thinker perhaps to tinker with issues of the mind,a kind of Sage.
Who am I really,when it comes to existence,A purveyor of wisdom born of cosmic design
Or a wasted old vintage left to wither on the vine.

What has it all been for,this life here on Earth
The struggles, losses, victories and gains My whole life experience since the year of my birth Oh wait, just a minuteSays a voice in my head.
Dont look for a purpose,think this way instead.

On the the day you were born, Twas a bright winter morn
And your Family awoke in expectation.
For the waters had broke
And at Three on the stroke,you made your Earthly presentation.

And from then until now,you were different somehow the youngest of all five of your siblings
And right from day one you were doted upon and admired for your early scribbling
You were blessed with a voice,you had little choice you were born to sing for your Family Youve sang through the years,the good times and tears, cept now you sound somewhat crusty

With a song in your heart, As there was from the start,
You inspired belief in tomorrow
So go on with the song, sing loud and sing strong
Before theres no time, left to borrow"...copyright.Ross Langlands. 2020.
 
On Melancholy

It's the quiet hours when you feel it most
Once the dust has settled on the days events
And your mind abuzz has settled down
With both feet n mind up off the ground
Nothing left but quiet tame dead of night
That's the time Melancholia strikes
Raises its head like the river of sad
Carrying the flotsam and jetsam of if it could be
And what's left undone or could not be helped
All manner of twisting emotions all stirred
Where sadness flits one from another
Can just start with one then lucky if none
Attach like a string line of pearls
And each with their own gutted endings
Like tentacles ending in tendrils
Like if whisps were like faceted rock
With almost anything setting it off
Looking forward in time and reflecting right back
Only to see what is lost
Yet still in dispair with what's lost still right there
Cause nothing yet said is still done
Melancholia's job is to stir and dismay
Yet with knowing its worth, its design and its rules
And how it can do all these things
Still yet it holds fast and it clings with all claws
As I drip tears of loss on my bed
If this thing is so bad so like loss and like death
Then just why can't it be rid from my head
I yet carry it forth as it sallies on high
Cause this damnable thing is just still part of i

Silver
04 06 2020
 
Hang in there mate. The black dogs will eventually pass. These are glum times, and winter is the season for that veggie of the mind melancholy to grow. Seasonally affected disorder is what I think they call it (even thinking about the d1ck who got paid to make an acronym for S.A.D is enough to put a smile on my face). That Serotonin is powerful stuff that in the wrong amounts can make all colors seem blue. A Zoloft a day works for me mate, and the smile of my kids :)

Take care,
Deepseeker :Y:
 
Thanks Deepseeker...like Shrek...
"better out than in... I always say

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........... "unless I'm in a brothel"
 
Guys, I want to write own poems one day like:
After the Sea-Ship-after the whistling winds;

After the white-gray sails, taut to their spars and ropes,

Below, a myriad, myriad waves, hastening, lifting up their necks,

Tending in ceaseless flow toward the track of the ship:

Waves of the ocean, bubbling and gurgling, blithely prying,
by Walt Whitman but now I need to work and get help in html assignment
 
Well darui...most of us who write on this topic have no or little professional background. That's not to say however that we might all improve after having some! :playful: I have for a long time now kept a copy of a Thesaurus handy. It will often come in handy when seeking words that differ but have the same meaning.Handy if your seeking a word that describes what you want to say but also rhymes with the last word of the preceding line of verse.
In the long run the words must come from within you...they don't necessarily have to rhyme at all.
Feel free to put your thoughts on paper here...so to speak...no one will make judgement on your work for that defeats the purpose of the thread.And even if someone was to make 'judgement' on your work, then they would be saying more about themselves than about you.
Sorry for not getting back to you earlier...I have not been quite so prolific lately with my poetry...something that we all tend to do at times.
My Storm.
In this year of global pandemic and financial crisis, the world seems trapped in endless turmoil and uncertainty ...waves of woe and winds of change have had me at the helm fighting to keep my ship on course for so long I am tired and need to site land soon. My crew are sick and need attention and I fear my helm might suddenly go off in a useless spinning mess as rudderless, my ship is dashed upon the rocks of the land I have for so long sought.
Regardless, I shall stay at the helm and resist this stormy gloom. I shall bring my ship home or it will be my briny tomb......Ross.L.Langlands.2020.
 
Well Hard Luck..I can only quote Churchill...when he said"No, this is not the End. This is not even the beginning of the End,but it is perhaps the end of the beginning!"... :8 :cool: :cool: :Y: .
 
The gold that we seek.

I miss the glow of the campfire at night,that Eucalyptus smell
Being confined to the household like now,is such a living hell
I miss the sound of a nearby stream
Its bubble and swish is a sleep making theme.

I miss the greetings and the rattle of pans
As the camp wakes up on those goldfield lands
I miss the bacon and the slightly burnt toast
And the warble and song of my wild magpie host.

And I miss my companions who join me out there
Some, with the vigour and strength of their youth
Others more laid back with a beer in their chair
Others with grey hair and a bit long of tooth.

Together when out there we make a good mix
Every and each one seeks a gold-fever fix
And often as not a gram or twos found
It can be hard going in these goldfields ground.

Yet all is not lost, a plan is in place
No need for hurry we must arrive safe
And its there when the firelight kisses each cheek
Is where we will find the true gold we seek.
 

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