All poems in this section are by poets from the Teflfarm and are copyright to the authors.

If you like them please visit http://www.teflfarm.com.

The poets all have farm names [subject to continual inventive mutation]. On the farm you will find their poems under their own names. If you join the poetry e-mail list on the farm, poems will appear there under their farm names.

 

WHEN I WAS YOUNG by Poison Ivy © Jeanne Perrett     When I was young I used to dream Of dragons with green scales Flying over distant seas Breathing fire on ocean breeze Skimming over ships with sails, Ships floating in my dreams.   I used to fish in rock pools For tiny crabs, all soft and wet Hiding from my searching hand They disappeared in weed and sand (I used to have a fishing net A red one from the Strand).   I used to like the pavements, Blistered in the summer heat Grey and smooth with great big lumps I liked walking on the bumps In my Startrite sandalled feet I skipped and hopped and ran and jumped.

FOREVER FRIEND Magpie [aka  ] and the snowflake fell upon the ground and no one here or anywhere could hear the snowflake's sounds   he cried: please winter clouds don't let me fall don't make me cry don't let me fall for all year long i stayed with you kept you alive but now i fear the past will flash before my eyes no one will hear my mournful cries please winter cloud don't let me go don't let me fall don't let me go...   and the cloud did tremble in the cold north wind and he shook his head as he spoke again he said aloud to the falling tear: i let you go but have no fear for only once in change of season the future looks so bright and you my innocence will change it all to white and when spring arrives and takes me away the fog and mist will bring you back to stay...   so the snowflake fell upon the ground and the cloud was the only thing that heard its sounds and when spring arrived the snowflake cried from the sun there was no place to hide   but the warm wind blew and the warm sun shone and the snowflake remembered that the cloud had known and before too long he began to rise through the misty air up into the skies and once up there he cried no more for he smiled and spoke just before the storm: i'll tell you now before i fall again you cloud are my forever friend.

THE BREAKING POINT by Magpie - dedicated to her grandfather. Hans Bosch   Years after it is over the stench stays in my mind Gun powder and the smell of blood on the battlefield of time   Within me I see sorrowed eyes, filled with pain and fear I close my eyes and once again the battlefield is near.....   I hear fire raging from a cannon far away Around me I see anxious faces will I live another day   Orders given we move on I feel a different point of view I am trained to stay alive there is nothing I won't do   A memory fades of a humble life that I left so far behind I am here in a different world a life of another kind   A sweat breaks out the chill is cold the misty sky hangs low This battlefield is made of dreams and behind them waits my foe   A rifle fires out in anger theirs answer our call Subconsiously I count my friends the ones who didn't fall   Beside me fights my closest friend who I know would die for me I turn around to see him there instead I see his agony   He yells out his hand is gone and no longer can he fight For his friend against the enemy or for his very life   I shout his name and hold him close as the bullets fly around He bleeds to death within my arms without whispering a sound   I smell his blood upon my clothes as I sit up straight in bed The sweat runs down my shoulders there's a cannon in my head   I pray to God with all my might so I can face the day I ask Him for the strength he has to chase this dream away   Years after it is over things just aren't what they seem Every night my best friend dies on a battlefield of dreams   Within me I see sorrowed eyes filled with pain and fear I close my eyes and once again the battlefield is near.....

IF GOD HAD A NAME by Don [aka Scarecrow] © Don Ward what would it be and would You call it to His face if You were faced with Him in all His Glory what would You ask if You had just One Question...   Yeah, yeah- God is Great Yeah, yeah- God is Good Yeah, yeah- yeah   What if God was one of Us? Just a slob like one of Us? Just a Stranger on a bus, trying to make His way Home...   If God had a Face, what would it look like and would You want to See if seeing meant that You would have to Believe in things like Heaven and in Jesus and the Saints and all the Prophets and...   What if God was one of Us? Just a slob like one of Us? Just a Stranger on a bus, trying to make His way Home...   Tryin' to make his way Home Back up to Heaven all alone... Nobody callin' on the phone 'Cept for the Pope maybe in Rome...   What if God was one of Us? Just a slob like one of Us? Just a Stranger on a bus, trying to make His way Home...   Just tryin' to make his way Home Like a holy rolling stone... Back up to Heaven all alone Just tryin' to make his way Home Nobody callin' on the phone 'Cept for the Pope maybe in Rome..................

MEDITATION ON A FALLEN NESTLING by Hayseed [aka Will]. © Will Chassereau   A crumpled heap of blue-gray down Of feathers nearly bare Weakly flutters half-grown wings That will never soar the air   A giant's hands in pity cup And seek to comfort lend But all their strength to no avail This tiny life to mend   A flutter more, a sigh of peace And through the Titan's hand Though all must pass, yet not alone A life departs this land   Wherever souls of birds may fly Lord, may he fly to you And lend my heart his mended wings That it may fly there, too.

Another written because I was to teach a section on poetry. WHAT IS A POEM? by © Elizabeth Patterson   A poem is a slippery eel, For when I try to say What makes it so uniquely it, The words just slide away.   It can be very short you know, With just a line or two, Or take a whole long book to tell Its lengthy tale to you.   A Poem may be happy; A Poem may be sad; It may cheer your every day Or make you just feel mad.   A poem can make you snigger Giggle, or guffaw Or make you weep the biggest tears Anyone ever saw.   A poem can be just exact In rhythm and in rhyme, Or it can float completely free Of structure and of time.   A poem can tell a story Or say a song to you Or paint a scene with "picture words" Like "shades of every hue".   A poem speaks of life and death, Of pleasure and of pain, Of war, of peace, of love, of hate, Of all things that remain   A part of man's experience In this old world of ours. A poem tells of beauty, Of wounds and angry scars.   A poem stirs our feelings And helps us know our fears, Our joys, our sorrows, and our hopes Arising through the years.   So when you want to sing a song Or tell a tale or two, Or paint a picture of a mood, A poem may be for you.

MAZDA, PHILIPS, OSRAM... A lightbulb is a lightbulb by any other name © Don Ward [aka Scary - a Scarecrow by any other name]   My Osram, why would I change you? Did I not purchase you from Woolies (Or was it Marks and Sparks?) Paying a fortune, Carry you carefully home on top of the groceries? And beside my bed Did I not screw you Into your holder On the bedside lamp?   I did.   Why would I change you Just because your filament Goes jingle-jangle Inside your perfect, smooth, glass body? Because you no longer Brighten my nights? Because at 11:35 pm on Monday 2nd of the year two thousand You said "Pop!" Throwing my world into darkness?   Let me answer My bulbous, lightless one You were guaranteed to last ten years And I only bought thee a few months ago So, oh dim darling, once a hundred watt dazzler (My furnace of hot summer nights) I will not change you For you shall be gently carried to Woolies (Or Marks and Sparks if necessary) Wrapped in swadling clothes (Or kitchen roll)   And there, the bloody shop will change you Or I will kick up a rumpus My tinkling, de-brighted Fragile ex friend of my nights.

THE NAMELESS A heap of bodies, human trash, Entangled limbs; Abhor, abhor   A pile of shoes, so many feet Will walk this earth No more, no more   The sightless eyes of Auschwitzs The hollow guards Are blind, are blind   The yawning windows, blackened panes Are calling us Remind, remind   An empty gaze, a withered frame Shaved naked, bare Demean, demean   A never-ending sense of loss And thoughts that scream Unclean, unclean   Our brothers suffered, babies cried We only can Regret, regret   Forgiveness comes with passing time But never to Forget, forget   Grim (aka The Farmer © Sab Will)

A BAND OF POETS   Came chuckling quacking down the road Slapping thighs (not always their own) Wailing at the moon (whilst scratching out a poem on a stone with fingernails, a candle, a distant moan)   Lurching lusting band of scoundrels Poems dangling from pockets Pinned into lockets Wrapped up in haste   Lost, forgotten masterpieces Writ in tears and froth from beers Upon poet-stained taverna tables Among taverna stanza babel   A seedy crew of ragged rascals Bleating, herding...   Up springs Farmer with grim grin "Hey, Scary, may I pick your brains?" Rips out my best thinking straw! Picks at a rhyme stuck between his teeth Smiles roars Picks up his urchin Tightens belt   "The Band of Poets! Onward! Look!   Yonder, that Oak, enamoured ivy entwined It is The Slow Skywriter! There the salty leafed Widowed Willow! Tread lightly...Ewe don't eat the clover! Come huddle..."   Caped in the wisdom of fools we sat Circling a damp muddy knoll Some on toadstools Some on toads Others in acorn shells   One fell flat In the only cowpat in the field Losing only sense of balance Dignity and tact   As Humour Love Laughter Joy Hope Faith and Trust Sailed through the night Aboard the billowing-sailed Friendship.   Scary [aka the Scarecrow]  © Don Ward

THE NAKED MAN OF REALITOS Lets It All Hang Out Waving at the cars that go his way He Doesn't Care Who's About Those of us who are "in the know" Search His Yard When we Pass To get a glimpse of "you know what" Or Maybe His Suntanned Ass The naked man of Realitos Thrives on Startled Looks And Shocks And grandmas' gasps and girls' giggles Wearing Only His boots And His socks It's not that his body is anything special I've Seen What There is To see But I think this naked man must know What It is To Live Free I am glad there is still a place Rough And Rural And Hot So the naked man of Realitos won't Live Like Someone He's Not I could search for another road to Zapata There Are Others Around I know But it's much more fun to pass by and enjoy The Realitos Naked Man Show   Ewe [aka Beth] ©

PISCES' SONG I am Water. I am Water I am the Well Deep and cool, That never runs dry In thirst or drought Always some to give Whatever the need. I am Water I am the laughing Brook Playful and light Cheerily calling Turning rocks and snags Into laughter and smiles. I am Water I am the Pond Shaded and serene I am the calm, the listener I am the mystic I seek the solace of the soul. I am Water I am the Geyser Eruptive force of pressure built Of hours, days, months, years I am the vent of frustration I am the release of pain. I am Water. I am the Whirlpool I am the conflict of opposites The struggles of confusion The challenge to resolve. I am Water. I am the River Flowing through the ages Ever moving, ever constant Lazy eddies, impetuous rapids But always flowing Steadfastly to the sea. I am Water. I am the Ocean I am that which spans The length and breadth of the world. I am untold depth, untold mystery The echo of ages serenading the shore The Collective Conscious, the Spirit Part of all that is, and was, And shall be. I am Water. I am the Torrent Strength of purpose, irresistable flood Driven by the force Of the heart's pure will. I am Water. I am Tears I live in sorrow and in joy I am the empath I am the self-undoing I live in the healing As well as the pain. I am Water. But it is I Who long to drown In You.   Hayseed © Will Chassereau

My boy's a warrior, Bold and brave, Throwing stones in rivers, Making waves.   My girl is an explorer, Always out, Seeking new adventures, Finding out.   Now the sky's alive with stars, The dark is deep. The warrior and explorer Are asleep.  Jeanne [aka Poison Ivy - who is not in the least poisonous] © Jeanne Perrett

The Sad Demise of Lisa Unlucky. Being a somewhat flippant communal creation by the Teflfarm poets.   She stood on the bridge at midnight, Her lips were all a-quiver. She gave a cough, Her leg fell off, And floated down the river.   So frail she was and innocent, No-one could wish her harm. When just one sneeze, And the treacherous breeze Did run off with an arm.   Alone she stands in the moonlight All lost in thought, and then From the midnight blue, Comes a lightning bolt-- And--oops--there goes her chin!   From one gentle eye she gazes now (The other was lost to some crows) When quick as a wink And before she could think A tiger ate off all her toes   Undaunted and still (half) in love She felt in quite good cheer But as she bounced towards her man A sparrow got her ear.   Despite her night of accidents Her love made her feel grand But as she picked a red, red rose A scythe lopped off her hand.   "I love you, darling" he declared. Her leg it turned to jelly. Then right in her gut she heard a loud "Splut!" And that was the end of her belly.     Undaunted still, and full of warmth She held his hand in her... err... teeth But a wiggly worm With a schlurp and a squirm Chomped off what was left underneath   Poor Lisa-loo didn't know what to do, She bowed her head in despair When along came a spider Who sat down besider And wove a nice web with her hair Her eyebrows were oh so expressive As she wiggled her pledges of love But then a huge crane Took off half her brain And her forehead was lifted above.     Most of Lisa was up in the sky Spiritually beaming around At the very small part Of her still loving heart Which was jumping about on the ground.   Poor Jimmy John! Lisa had gone! But her heart was still with him at least. But as he bent down To pick it from the ground It was eaten by a hungry beast. Oh Jimmy John Jack! Alas and alack! What was the poor boy to think? Then he did espy Just walking by, Her sister. He gave a big wink. But no, my dear friend That is not the end Don't be so quick to go off. Lisa's sad tale is true   And if I were you, I wouldn't go out with a cough.   By the Tefl Farm English List. February 11th 2000. ©