Sunday, 27 October 2013

Poetry Corner #11: Man's Never-ending Desire.

Long one this week, perhaps this is my inner-essayist begging to be freed. Either way, sorry this was a long time coming, I blame it largely on illness and uni. I've got quite a lot of essays incoming as well, but now with the video shift I think I'll be able to keep my flow of both articles and videos quite steady, providing I don't get ill. Also, as those in England know, apparently the mother of all storms is coming. So I'm wishing everyone luck.

Also, I've just purchased an old nostalgic game on the back of Harvey's Harry Potter article, prepare yourselves.

It is hard to believe when I came here.
This town numbered 4 or 5.
When I walk the lit streets at night,
it just feels so alive.

But now winter has arrived.
And my harvest may have stalled
but with the town around my table
it is hard not to feel enthralled.

The mayor sits besides me.
He knew my parents well.
It was his restoration plan
that made our numbers swell.

Beside him are the older residents.
The shopkeeper, she is old and kind.
Her husband, a scruffy fisher.
They will never leave, but they don't mind.

The chef and his waitress, who restaurant I built
They cooked the food despite my insistence.
She is quite a flirt;
despite my resistance.

The journalist starts to eat before anyone else.
I've never met someone so hyper-active.
She has enthusiasm in spades and skill to boot.
Some would find her quite attractive.

The boys sit next to each other.
In their own little clique
Animal handler, hairdresser, prince.
They all look quite chic.

Then there is the blacksmith.
She sits alone and forlorn.
She glances sternly at me
annoyed I rescued her from the storm.

The meal goes well, the feast a success
We drink for winter to end, and to our health.
I look once more, as my friends chat and dance.
Bring on Spring and the vast amounts of wealth.


  1. Could this by any chance be about Harvest Moon? Another entertaining read. Mine was written in my head on seeing a homeless person in the town where I live.


    I see
    But can't be seen
    Noone knows where I go
    Or where I've been

    I meld into the concrete
    Grey on grey
    And noone will be missing me

    Others live their lives
    Run by the clock
    While I sit here all day
    Tick tock

    I hold the bottle close
    To dull the pain
    Of never being anything
    To anyone again

    As evening creeps along
    They disappear
    The lights go on
    And they are gone
    But I'm still here.

    1. We appear to be in-tune again, I considered doing a poem about an alien pretending to be a homeless person, as no-one would notice him.

      Excellent work.

  2. "My harvest may have stalled". That would be all the eating and drinking going on. Get back to your hoe!


    1. Winter isn't a great time for hoes, but my decadence probably doesn't help.

  3. My second haiku. It was topical at the time.

    Tog hill
    Aaron and his mates
    Arrive late
    Insult someone
    And then run.

    1. For as long as I live, Tog Hill will be topical.

  4. There is an epic poem inside you just bursting to get out. One of those that takes up a whole book. I can feel you gearing up to it.

    1. James Joyce would've totally started on websites given the chance.

  5. You should never try to rescue women they don't like it. The waitress is after your yaks.

    1. She will never get my precious Harvey the Yak.

    2. That is both offensive and lame at the same time