Ok I know its quite long but please bear with it and spare a little time to tell me what you think it means. Any comments at all on how to better this would be welcome.

Red brickand crafted, honed, a single individual home
with no resembelance to the surrounding crowd.
Thatched with crowning gold,
chizzled wood above the door twisted knots
still breathing in the shade.
Clean paint, new scarlet glistens in the fading sun,
the water trickles through the green green grass
to feed the climbing rose.
New soft petals blush tickled by the rush of the breeze.
Windows scarcely bared amid tendrils of twirling hair,
wipe the mist from the glass
and stare
at walls adorned with period faces
joyous happy,
playful squinting,
leering accusing,
looking
the other way.
walls breathing pulsating, intruding,
Doors locked wide, screaming other worldly sound
and drip drip drip
of a tap that no one bothered
to fix.
flick flick flick
little red winks with
promises of voices loved
but silence alone issues forth.
Drafty fingers turn pages of ordered time too fast,
clocks crawl to thier peek, but don't fall.
slide slowley down.
Chair arms muster from laziness to greet
and curl around,
soft chennille worn in patches, comfort first.
Shining lamplight baring the threadbare
and the breeding dust.
Windows stuck with musty fuzz
hiding away
doors locked wide....

I'll sit in my chair
Its comfortable there.

I cant help you on what it imeans but i can its really cool. Its like a collage of images and i love how it all ties together without actually stating idea links.

Really cool, id love to hear the ending if you can find the buffet table.

Ben

Wow, this is great, sorry I missed the others. Kind of brings to mind 'The Listeners' I think with a minor rewrite, some spelling corrections and reformatting it will be fantastic. JP

Speaking of spelling corrections, I noticed two typos; thier and slowley. Should be Their and Slowly.

Otherwise, I must say that the rhymes were very cunningly disguised within the midst of the poem itself until the very end, and so reamained unobtrusive.

It is a very well written piece, and quite an enjoyable read.

I think that it is about the last denizen of an old English manor house, or castle, with many rooms that have been left vacant and gathering dust for eons, with the pictures of all the ancestors hung from the picture rails.

Am I close, or does this piece resonate with me differently than with you IZZY?

Brucefur

You really hate my upper case name, don't you bruce? I know that my spelling is attr..... attroc..bad, its something I must work on. I do sometimes avoid words I would like to use because I can't spell them.
You are no where near with the meaning. you are all taking it too litterally.
I'll give you a clue - this was inspired by ian's wall, and each line refers to something specific. The only one line in it that means exactly what it seems say is the flick flick flick of the little red light on my answer phone. Stupid idiot ex with his silent phone calls!
Jp - formatting - help me! I never know where or how to cut it up. very few of my pieces have verses, becaus I never know where to divide them!
Oh by the way Bruce, the simple rhyme at the end has a very important purpose. Taking your view of this kid of ryhme being boring, its ment to covey a comfortable non threatening, stuck in a rut boredem.
A period in time does not have to be in classical history.
Thankyou though for your time. It makes the effort worth it.

Well, I took a stab at it. I took out the word 'single' as it kind of means the same in this case as individual. I put in some punctuation, though heaven knows I'm not that great at it. Just seemed as if it needed some pauses. And yes, Thought, thought his feet were hanging out of bed, so he got out to put them back in again. What's your version?. JP

Red brick, and crafted, honed, an individual home
with no resemblance to the surrounding crowd,
Thatched with crowning gold;
Chiseled wood above the door, twisted knots
still breathing in the shade.
Clean paint, new scarlet, glistens in the fading sun,
the water trickles through the green, green grass
to feed the climbing rose,
New soft petals blush, tickled by the rush of the breeze.
Windows scarcely bared, amid tendrils of twirling hair.
Wipe the mist from the glass,
and stare
at walls adorned with period faces,
joyful, happy,
playful, squinting,
leering, accusing,
looking
the other way.
Walls breathing, pulsating, intruding.
Doors locked wide, screaming other worldly sound,
and drip, drip, drip
of a tap that no one bothered
to fix.
Flick, flick, flick,
little red winks with
promises of voices loved,
but silence alone issues forth.
Drafty fingers turn pages of ordered time too fast,
clocks crawl to their peak, but don't fall.
Slide slowly down.
Chair arms muster from laziness to greet,
and curl around
soft chenille, worn in patches, comfort first.
Shining lamplight baring the threadbare,
and the breeding dust.
Windows stuck with musty fuzz,
hiding away
doors locked wide....

I'll sit in my chair
It’s comfortable there.

Red brick, and crafted, honed, an individual home
with no resemblance to the surrounding crowd,
Thatched with crowning gold;
Chiseled wood above the door, twisted knots
still breathing in the shade.

Clean paint, new and scarlet, glistens in the fading sun,
the water trickles through the lush, green grass
to feed the climbing rose,
new soft petals blush, tickled by the rush of the breeze.
Windows scarcely bared, amid tendrils of twirling hair.

Wipe the mist from the glass,
and stare
at walls adorned with period faces, joyful, happy,
playful, squinting, leering, accusing,
looking
the other way.

Walls breathing, pulsating, intruding.

Doors locked wide, screaming other worldly sound,
and drip, drip, drip of a tap that no one bothered to fix.
Flick, flick, flick, little red winks on the answering machine
with promises of voices once loved,
but now silence alone issues forth.

Drafty fingers turn pages of ordered time too fast,
clocks crawl to their peak, but don't fall.
Slide slowly down.
Chair arms muster from laziness to greet,
and curl around soft chenille, worn in patches, comfort first.

Shining lamplight baring the threadbare,
and the breeding dust.
Windows stuck with musty fuzz,
hiding away
doors locked wide....

I'll sit in my chair
It’s comfortable there.

Here is my suggestion on formatting IZZY, and no, I actually have no problem with your name and was just having some fun. One of the most serious downfalls of letters of any kind, is that they lose a certain amount of tone and are often misunderstood. Sorry about that.

I have added in a few words here and there; poets often fall into the trap of being too cryptic, and lose the reader. i.e. the blinking red light could be anything from flickering neon light of a pub's sign seen through your foggy window, to a broken radio alarm clock, so I felt that it needed some clarity.

I still don't know what you mean with this line;
"Windows scarcely bared, amid tendrils of twirling hair." Is this real hair, or a metaphor for the creeping vines? I am assuming the latter.

Lastly. When posting poetry on a forum, use the words YOU feel, not the ones that you can spell correctly. Take the heat of making a mistake on it if you have to, but don't change your vision to something less than it might have been; take the opportunity instead to learn how to spell something new.

Oh ;-) and lastly, lastly, you sound very lonely up there in your foggy English flat/cottage; I do hope that you are okay?

Affectionately yours,
Count Brucefur
PS: Last, last, lastly. I wish that I could hear YOU read this. I do so love your accent!

Thanks to both of you. It now reads as I wanted it to read. The split of the verses I also like, but you changed a couple of things that I did on purpose. The drips and flicks need their own line for emphasis, and to up their annoyance value and the green green grass leads people to the green green grass of home (a bit sarcastic). The rest of the changes I will definately keep. :-)
I take your piont about being TOO criptic, so just briefly here's what it means. Its about me. The house is me. I'm ok from the outside - beginning to look a bit lived in (the rose), but not old - red brick houses tend to be newish. The thatch of gold is poetic licence - more like dishwater blond! The inside is how I felt, and still feel from time to time. the drips are the need for a soul mate, the chair a kind of retreat - to go into yourself and hide is something we all do sometimes when we need to recover. The pictures (and I was going to say "stuck in their time") are friends, the happy faces are still with me, the rest I'm better off without.
Yes I'm painfully lonely sometimes, but It's getting better. I'm slowly rebuilding my social life, as much as I can being a single mum.

The house inside is almost tidy now. I keep finding forgotten corners though, it feels like you clean four corners and the place suddenly becomes a pentagon!
I'd love to know what Ian thinks. I'm in a kind of pre wall state. I'd rather be india rubber though.

Lastly - you weren't expectinga princess di accent I hope! The nearest comparison I can think of is the girl who played Daphne in "Fraiser", only faster and with worse diction! (and less nasal!)

JP - I like your thought better! Mine is : followed a muck cart and thought it was a wedding.

Thankyou both so much.
Izzy X

IZZY: Good piece and was interesting to read the helpful hints from JP and Brucefur and your explanation---great metaphors----take good advise and keep you own points in tact---post again-----------after your revisions---would like to see the final words------and please use a dictionary---and do not choose only the words you can spell---take a chance---it gets easier---you have talent---thanks for sharing Ell

Yes IZZY,

Ell is very right. She is such a good mum to us all!

Thank you also for your further explanation and background on the both the piece and on your own life. Although I would still like to see a full profile posted.
For isnstance you have raised more curiosity within my mind than you have solved. Do you have a daughter or a son? What has your life been really like; whne did you take up poetry (you ARE very talented, and I am so glad that I was badgered into reading it); How old is your child(ren) etc..

Just a quick side note; you are fortunate in one way to be a single mum. You now have no one to suborne your concept of how your child(ren) should be raised, and you can with the support of good friends raise them to a higher truer standard of your own beliefs. The best thing that my parents ever did for me, was stop pretending to stay together for the good of the kids. I hope that yours will one day feel the same.

I am sorry that you feel lonely hugs but I am hoping that you will see eventually that you don't need anyone else to define who you are. I can already see that you are a wonder (perhaps in the top 7?).

Any English accent is a marvel of song, when spoken by a woman. So you have an A+ there in my books!

Lady also has the cutest accent that you have ever heard, and is unique in the entire world.

I so wish that I could hear Siren, and some of you others :-(

Brucefur

"Any English accent is a marvel of song, when spoken by a woman" He must be thinking of the 'Queen's english'. I don't think either the Yorkshire or Lancashire accent is too enticing. He should hear a rendition of 'On Ilkley Moor baht'at' especially about closing time. JP

Call me a sick puppy if you will there JP, but I even like the cockney accent.

My second favourite accent would have to be Russian, followed by Japanese. I just can't get enough of how varied and wonderous other cultures languages are.

Except Cantonese... nails on a chalkboard, that one is. I don't mind Mandarin, which is almost the same, but is spoken slower, and with softer tones, although I wouldn't say that it is sexy like the English, or Russian is.

Brucefur

Izzy, this house feels like my cave. The cave is my own private hideaway, away from the world, and the pain.

I cannot be seen in the darkness,
sat in my leather executive chair,
my computer at my right side,
2 TV's 6 feet in front of me;

One TV is linked to a dish,
pointing up to the bird orbiting,
the other linked to an aerial outside,
getting pictures from a tower nearby;

On my left is a wireless reciever,
with many bands of possible reception,
these are my links to a world I distrust,
my way of keeping it at bay;

Beyond all this is light so white,
the outside world that hurts me so,
until I face my fear and leave the cave behind,
here I'll stay in my own private hideaway.

Obviously, I don't actually live in this cave, but it is symbolic, imagery of how I feel.

I like and have some affinity with what I read in your poem. The imagery in your poem is stunning, I can see it all so clearly, just like I can see my own cave.

I'm glad to have been some inspiration to you.

Have you ever seen the video series 'The Story of English', Bruce? Fascinating. There's an old gaffer speaking in dialect, with a signpost behind him which says 'Pocklington 7 miles' - sounded just like my stepfather, and not far from where I lived. JP

Oh dear - 'Talented', 'a wonder', 'stunning imagary' I do hope I live up to your expectations! But thankyou. I have moved it from my inbox to a folder, along with JP's "a old womans dream" which by the way brought tears to my eyes. Tears of laughter though thinking about the football yobos at my old local singing "On Ilkley Moor baht'at" at closing time! Much worse songs have taken over I fear since you were last 'down the nags head' JP.
I will post a profile as soon as I can. I have a tech question though, can I mail it from my out box or do I have to be on line to post it? And if so how? I could go on for a while you see, I do tend to ramble. Also, can I reply to threads by using reply to sender? I'm tryinng to cut the bills down you see, I've never used the net much until I found this site. maybe I'd be better off switching to a contract, at least then I know how much I need to save! Help I'm a technophobe! no jargon please. Words of two syllables or less!
Thankyou everybody. Your comments are valued more than you know.
Iz X

IZZY,

One way to do so, is to read what you need to and take quick notes. Log off of the internet, and write out your responses in Word, or some other word processor program. Then you can simply cut and paste it into the reply box when you sign back on.

For posting pictures under your profile, you would do the same thing (something has to be written in the reply box, or it just won't post), then click on add attachment, browse (make sure that you know where your file is already located so as not to waste time), and then upload your picture. Only do one at a time, or sometimes they just won't take. If you can make your picture a JPEG, then it will take less time to post it.

The other option is that if they provide it to you, go broadband, with unlimited access. Ian should be able to help you some more with that as he is a tech head!

Brucefur
(Who is so glad that he has DSL and can spend a week online for no further cost should he choose!)

great poetry. i really became immersed in the imagery. i saw a couple of the reworks done on it. seem like improvements. to take a stab at it's meaning though would be a shot in the dark. I think that perhaps this poem is about someone, maybe an old aquaintance (or maybe it's you). The brick house is a metaphor for this, or for something. definitely not literal. that would be too easy. anyway, curious to find out.

English Teacher, if you read the post by IZZY from 10-12-02 much of the poem is explained therein.

IZZY's other current piece, Cocoon is also quiet good I think, though not nearly as vibrant with the imagery as this one is.

Also I have taken Ian's little poem here and rewritten part of it entirely in my own words. I am using his ananologies, distances, and placements as my reference points, but that is where the similarities end.
This is not meant to be a remake of Ian's poem. It is intended only as an exercise... kind of like an English assignment. So using only what Ian has given me, here is my version of the first 6 lines, and I challenge the rest of you to help me complete this new poem.

two glowing eyes stare back at me,
a manlength away
the creatures brain humming in the darkness
as myriad nerves snake hither and yon
connecting its eyes, and brain with its raised up, rounded ear,
straining for any whisper of sound across the wide cosmos.

Brucefur

That's an incredible bit of work there, Bruce. Oh and thanks a bunch for calling me a tech head!!! p

Izzy, what you need to do is go for a provider who does anytime access to the net for a fixed monthly fee. That way, you can spend as long as you need without having to rack up a big phone bill.

Thanks Ian, thats probably what I'll do? Do you know who is the cheapest? And in the meantime, how about some very detailed instructions on this cut and paste thing! you should start a new thread giving instructions to novices like me!
Bruce, challenge accepted but you'll have to give me time! I have homework and decorating!

IZZY,

Read back and realised that you never answered this question;

"I still don't know what you mean with this line;
"Windows scarcely bared, amid tendrils of twirling hair." Is this real hair, or a metaphor for the creeping vines? I am assuming the latter."


Also, don't forget my challenge!

Brucefur

The hair is the creeping vines. I was going to alter the line so that that was clear, but I decided to leave it in as a clue that the house was actually me. I haven't forgotten your challenge bruce, but I had the new one forming in my head and it took precidence. better out than in! The windows represent my eyes by the way. the only sign visible from the outside that all might not be well with the house, inspite of first impressions!
Izzy X

I did not go threw all the comment's,but i did cheat. I must admit i did not get the poem. I went over the rewrite's by different people. I read what it meant etc... I must say lovely poem and yet at time's sad. You are a very clever and smart person. It must have tooken time to write and think up such a story. Good job.

"To write something, you have to risk making a fool of yourself." Anne Rice

Noloco, what a lovely thing to say! Thankyou! The ideas have been buzzing round in my head for a while but it was Ians post, "The Wall" that gave me the push to put it together.
Izzy X

IZZY,

Now you are making it sound like a haunted house? :-P

Must be Sammain in the air eh Thorn? I guess the wiccans don't sacrifice a criminal to the goddess anymore eh? Oh well, I guess we will just go with the tamer version of halloween.

Brucefur

Its Samhain, and no...no sacraficing. I still don't see how that make halloween less tame. ;p
Thorn

Thorn,

Very good point that... Scaaaaaaaaaaaaaaary Stuffffffffffffff!

As for IZZY, she can haunt my thoughts anytime she wishes too!

Brucefur

How do you know I'm not already haunting your thoughts. I might have been in your dreams and nightmares, you would never know. You don't know what I look like! ooooooo. Scary!
the idea would make a good spooky poem If I get the time to write it! maybe someone else could do it?
Iz X

Izzy luv,

You said that it read the way you wanted a while back, but that some things needed to stay. Would you mind posting a revised version, so that I may print it out?

Thanx muchly; kissy face!

Brucefur

Theory of a dead man great band

Point To Prove

The country's gone to hell but believe me I didn't do it
you left me all alone and now they call me stupid
Didn't think it would take this long to see the things that you've been doing
didn't think I could wait this long to make the point that you've been proving
Just when you think you've found a friend that's when they call you stupid
just when you think that life is dull that's when they call you pathetic

Didn't think it would take this long to see the things that you've been doing
didn't think I could wait this long to make the point that you've been proving
Didn't think it would take this long to see the things that you've been doing
didn't think I could wait this long to make the point that you've been proving

I wish we all could make it,
I wish we all could make it
I wish we all could make it,
I wish we all could try,try,try

Didn't think it would take this long to see the things that you've been doing
didn't think I could wait this long to make the point that you've been proving
Didn't think it would take this long to see the things that you've been doing
didn't think I could wait this long to make the point that you've been proving
the point that you've been proving
the point that you've been proving

"To write something, you have to risk making a fool of yourself." Anne Rice

Now that Nolon is the epitome of pedantic and doesn’t do justice to IZZY at all!

Her poem is all painted in subtle shades of colour. It is art. I don’t really know what to call something that is as repetitive as what you have pasted here, but art certainly isn’t it. I can’t even bring myself to call it poetry, and even with the excuse that it is just a song and must be given a certain amount of leeway doesn’t hold water when it is this bad!

That is an example why there are as many remakes and cover songs from my youth making a comeback, as there is what we will loosely term modern music. No wonder people are actually listening to country music now. Comparatively country music is rich in content :-P

Oh, I am sorry, I guess that I am beating around the bush to much here, so let me speak plainly; that song isn’t worth the toilet paper that it would take to wipe it off this thread!
About the only good thing that I have to say about it, is that by contrast alone, it shows the difference betwixt true poetry that inspires one to great vision, and well that overflow from the sewage plant, that quite literally made me nod off on my keyboard last night.

Brucefur, defending the Lady Izzy’s honour. Chaaaaaaaaaaaaaarge!

Izzy,

A request. You say that this one now reads how you wanted it too, with a few exceptions. Would you mind taking the time from your busy schedule to post the revised version here. I very much wish to read it.

Also, one last thing... if the house is you, as you say, aren't you in two places at once with those last two lines; either the house is a metaphor for you, or you are in the rocking chair. Which one is it? I hate to bring that up, because I really love those last two lines, but...

Brucefur
PS: Nolon, sorry about that last. Not retracting my comments, because I do believe them to be true, but I shouldn't have hit you specifically like that.

The house on the outside is me on the outside. The house on the inside represtents all my feelings on the inside. the essence of me is sat in a comfortable chair in the only safe place within, kind of surveying the damage. I have't got round to re writing it yet, but I am going to go with all my own words and your punctuation and line breaks. I will mail it to you with a full explanation of everything in it when I've done it. I don't know where you find the time for all this Bruce! Do you ever sleep!
Iz X

He does, but only once in a blue moon!

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Dusting out the attic