Poems

Shake rattle and role

In a somewhat unusual turn for this blog, today's edition will be dedicated to poems for a random selection of people who have replied to my tweets, specifically blog related. This was not asked for, and won't be good, my poems never are, but writing a poem for someone, I have always felt, is an act of love in a way, and if someone wrote a poem for me, I have always thought, I would think, well, that's nice, and they are, at the very least, thinking about me, which is, if you believe that kind of thing, better than not thinking about you, but perhaps that might not be true in some cases, or at all, but perhaps, maybe, it's something that I personally alone believe, or might not. In any case, I have written, or will write just now because it's ten minutes to eight in the morning and I am recovering from a whisky tasting session the night before. Anyway onwards, my stalwart blog reader, my warrior champion, my long suffering solider. All my poems are titled by the twitter users 'handle' here we go here we fucking go

Rich Loves a Drop

I don't know if it's true or not but apparently 'old' Rich Really Loves a Drop

At what time of day I just don't know but I suspect it's in the evenings glow

When the sun goes down and the lights are low old Rich opens a bottle and lets things flow

From my dealings with Rich I think it's whisky and then he goes on Twitter and posts things 'risky'

But he seems nice enough and if you ask he'll tell you stories about a cask

That was handed down through the generations of his family with all the tales and explanations

Of how this barrel has supernatural powers he'll talk and talk for hours and hours

Old Rich was born in the 18th century and has seen the inside of many a penitentiary

What's in the cask is quite the mystery but I reckon it's why he has such a history

So next time you see this 'old' Richard post consider he's seen more than most

Spooky

Sav70

A morning swan bakes the bread (makes you think)

A driver fills their car with lead (what a stink)

Can you hear the morning swan? (No I don't think I can)

So pretty yet so many yawn (Perhaps that was always the plan)

Fulfilling dreams that were only planted (Rotting seeds in the sun)

Nothing that was really wanted (Rebellion never easy safe or fun)

All cast aside when the chips are down (Rich men with their cock like rockets)

Scrambling like otters attacking a clown (with otter food in their pockets)

Balloons escaping into an air (I am very hungover this shitty morning)

That's read and deadly and was never fair (I hope this has given you a little warning)

Purple Rain 123

A phoenix clutches above the web that formed yesterday

Without shame because nobody looked back at all that noise and savagery

We wonder what destiny we fought for under a national truce

A swell so high and who did not feel any purpose?

Time is faith and wicked to our hard copy versions

Well those are the soldiers of a daily mail

Endeavor to rake the historians over the drums

Air can be touched if you know how to sin

Vassop

The cost of living has exploded and agreement

That people are different and that causes problems due

North south divide like there so often is

Cold heat that when climates meet

Stand with pulling and pushing both to and from and away from and a push to

A hurricane to broken houses left and rubble

Repaired foundations built stronger than before

A temporary truce in living with a cost paid for

But living it is

Brian's Malt Musings

Side by side journeys marked

Analysis structured accessed composed and valued there I see

Blended heart art and science

Malted and mashed and distilled

Passion always and of course

Facts yet never alone

Meaningless by themselves

Trinidad Balls

You will never know truly how in those moments you were

Like a light or a beacon of something I had not seen before

Changing in that which changed so much you will never know

I really can't tell you how much you will never know

Although I really have tried so many times the message never gets through

And part of that is why

You will never know

At the moment I think five poems are enough, I mean, who wants to read anymore than five poems? I don't think anyone, ever, has truly read anymore than five poems, actually taken them in to their hearts, five seems to be the limit when it comes to poems. I do change my blogs, and might write a few more for people who might want one, but I might not, but I think five might be enough to start the day with, certainly, I have felt, they have been very much fun to write, and I have enjoyed writing them, so that's something. This has probably been my favourite blog to write of them all, but reading back those are terrible poems goddam, but I don't see any other poems written today, but then again, I am not looking, and poetry is everywhere

Update - There are now six poems

Rich loves a drop