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A poem for MAY
from member Tyler Heart:
Viola and the Conductor
I remember you walking in
with not even a second glance,
not noticing me
not seeing me standing there
not open to romance.
I stared openly,
staring right in your direction,
left in a trance,
my heart pleading with you
for just one chance.
Everyone was bowled over
with your audition,
winning yourself the role
along with my hearts exposure,
stood on the stickered spot
you triggered some kind of ignition.
It was so easy for me to say yes,
as I signed your contract
just above the dotted line,
right beneath your address.
I remember shaking a little
as I tried not to make a mess.
I don't think you ever really knew
how I truly felt,
as you tried to somehow ignore
these cards of which we had been dealt.
Perhaps it were the orchestra
or me pleading with you whilst knelt.
If I could see it clearly
then why could you not see it too?
Me the conductor,
You the viola,
my viola with vision blurry,
blind to affections anew
of which I felt sincerely.
You never did get back to me,
in between matinee shows and musicians
Was it that you were not free?
committed instead to someone else,
me sat here with my suspicions
pondering whether it was even meant to be.
I stayed here so many nights
in the hope that you may return,
in the hope that you would see the light
the light from each candle, I did burn
my flame somehow ablaze and bright
my heart, how it did so savagely yearn.
The sound of how it strums
and how it does beat in time,
the vibration from the kettle drums
and how the tubular bells still chime,
positioned comfortably between both lungs
for you, my words somehow always rhyme.
And now I see how things are very different,
We were never a two piece
never a duet
never an ensemble,
having imagined something magnificent,
I see now that a conductor stands alone,
he plays for release
he plays to forget
he sets the tempo
the pace and the beat,
I am still significant
as I stand alone
and continue tapping my feet.
A poem for APRIL
poem from member Tyler Heart:
Oh tired weeping man before me, has’t one become so over fed with such hefty emotion, enough to soften ones heart?
I recall some time ago, a man who was hardened to all feeling, not wanting to owe his life to another for the sake of love but yet here I see before me a once dominant male, now buckled over with such lustful heartache.
Maybe one has’t had his heart melted over fire of red, now alight with such passion that he has forgotten his former self. I would say that this fellow of old is now a fella of new.
For the love this person has’t given you has’t surely given thee yet more dimensions. As I see before my eyes, this man is now ready for the world but what if the world is not quite ready for him.
A poem for March
from member Tyler Heart:
Bobbin the Hip Hoppin Robin from Wapping
This is the story of Bobbin the Robin,
often seen in his home town of Wapping making a living by robbing or plotting.
He’s a clever little Robin,
always on the go, not used to stopping.
He often flies across the world globetrotting or at the wheel whilst super-yachting.
Life for a bird like this is actually pretty shocking, even when flocking within season between Hocking, Wapping and that other place, Thingamabobbin.
It’s the life of the Hip Hoppin Robin, known for his dancing and lockin’, spending his nights rockin n bopping whilst inside some drunken lock-in, body poppin’!
But there was this one morning when he awoke and his head was throbbin’, for on his way home the eve before he came to a stopping, as he became tangled up in his neighbours silk stocking!
He slipped, tripped and fell upon his noggin’ and upon dropping he took quite the clobbering, left dizzy, in a daze and slobbering.
Poor Bobbin the Hip Hoppin Robin was left with a great big lump upon his Toppin’. His leg was hurt which left him hobbling, how this had happened was quite mind boggling he thought to himself as he stood up vomiting. Gone was that modelling career he had been promising.
When the wife woke up and noticed, she was sobbing and gave Bobbin a throttling and when he went outside, he saw the other birds eavesdropping and gossiping.
So Bobbin puffed out his chest & went jogging, just far enough to do the shopping, spluttering yet courageous and coughing.
Each day that passed over in Wapping, he would spend cleaning and mopping. He would train with weights, jumping, lifting & dropping.
Not even the time had he been clocking’.
One thing for sure about Bobbin the Robin is that he was determined to beat the coffin and for now he was a changed bird, found in the kitchen chopping or on Instagram photoshopping.
The fall had taught our Robin to just move forwards whilst nodding’, and for us all to remember the story of Bobbin the Hip Hoppin Robin from Wapping.