Inky Streams

 

 

To say the words of thanks to you,
for guiding the pen across the page
and now its you that is our cue
as ink and paper our thoughts engage.

With smiles and words my gratitude,
to Peggy who inspired my dreams
a poet's verse, no attitude,
just thoughts with love and inky streams.

 

 

JF 01 May 2009

The King of Goth

The Sussex lad, to title and land born,
an alumni, now he stands proudly tall.
In Oxford students pass at future’s dawn,
for some the inspiration was his call.

Provocative, a mighty pen his sword,
expelled for godless view from hallowed hall.
The Baronet poet, friend to a Lord,
the Gothic king’s voice did incite them all.

His Mary worshipped at her husband‘s feet,
she held his heart tight from death’s final flame.
Did they engage in black acts, pagan mete?
A dark and often troubled soul laid claim.

Into the storm set sail, the end foretold,
He died before his talent could unfold.



© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Twenty One?

Fireworks brighten the night sky,
reason why? To honour you.
I believe that to be so,
my nan’s show, surely it’s true.

Simply the best should be yours,
without pause for thought or chance.
My nan is special, no doubt,
so I’ll shout aloud or dance.

On paper and ink in quill
a poem will say with style
my wish of happy birthday
with word play to bring a smile.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Ballad of Sir Jeff

Oh knight in shining armour stand
A watch on rhymes and flows.
A lance of words is in your hands
As meter's glory glows.

The shining waistcoats your defence
They come and lay the curse.
They write while questing for suspense
The dragons of free verse.

Oh knight in shining armour stand
A watch on rhymes and flows.
A lance of words is in your hands
As meter's glory glows.

So gather shields of metered rhyme
Be firm with iamb feet.
Release spondaic darts in time
To save the poet's seat.

Oh knight in shining armour stand
A watch on rhymes and flows.
A lance of words is in your hands
As meter's glory glows.

The fiery breath of random word
Descends the walls of verse
And cause the sonnet, now absurd,
To flow a little terse.

Oh knight in shining armour stand
A watch on rhymes and flows.
A lance of words is in your hands
As meter's glory glows.

Sir Jeff, is he legend or myth?
From iambic wizards
He used his magic poet gift
As flow defeated lizards.

Oh knight in shining armour stand
A watch on rhymes and flows.
A lance of words is in your hands
As meter's glory glows.

And when he sleeps in mermaid dreams
Inside dark fantasy.
The rhyme and rhythm are the seams
And words of ecstasy

Oh knight in shining armour stand
A watch on rhymes and flows.
A lance of words is in your hands
As meter's glory glows.

The quest is done time for PG
And scones with cream and jam.
A mug of brew his cup of tea
And his feet are iamb.

Oh knight in shining armour stand
A watch on rhymes and flows.
A lance of words is in your hands
As meter's glory glows.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Quean of Poetry

If I take the craw road from here to Dundee
I will find the lassie my quean of poetry.
I read the wirds an aw that sing
As the pen haud in her hand ring

Sing to me again my quean of ink
I luve the lass that makes me think
I ken the wirds will make me cry
An aw that sing I'll smile an sigh.

So a wannabe poet put pen ta paper
An writ in mither tongue for caper
For the lassie that is aw that an more
I ken it will be a wee poetic bore.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Written using Scots dialect

Handfast Pledge

My Beloved I give you my heart
To entwine with yours from this day
As we join and become one
My path will be beside you all the way

My Beloved I give you my honour
It is you My Beloved that I trust
As the years roll by our love will grow
Times change we together will never fall to dust

My Beloved I give you myself
In our joyous and blessed handfast
To souls in union, one ring binds us
A love never ending, all eternity we will last

My Beloved I give you my love
No conditions, it is yours for all time
Beside you and with you I want to be
Tenderness and grace our lives we entwine

My Beloved I give you all that I am
Precious and blessed by the Goddess above
Mind Body Spirit and Blood
One together bound in Her tender love

As we stand united amongst the Stones
There circle all around us, where we belong
My Beloved my dream lover
With you I am safe from the world's wrong

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Gateway to the Skies

I see the gateway lit above the clouds
To worlds that lie beyond my dreaming eyes.
The place he waits for me.
His face behind soft billows of wisp shrouds
Until I take his hand and reach the skies
Then once more love is free.

And yet my dream is here beside me now
I feel his touch, I hear his voice and sigh
Why can’t I see you too?
Open space in heart as left beneath the bough
I do need you but I am left to cry
Because I ain’t got you.

I Love you dad

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

A Sonnet for Sue

The poet girl is something pure
He says a sonnet write for Sue
That simply does not work for you
A pretty kyrielle I’m sure.

Friendship is often the best cure
My friend, a sister in my heart
She writes fine words that is her art
A pretty kyrielle I’m sure.

Tainted minds together endure
Dark moments come into the light
At last, my world has somewhere bright
A pretty kyrielle I’m sure.

The poet girl is something pure
A pretty kyrielle I’m sure .

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

From Fruit to Linen Cloth

As juices flow from fruit to linen cloth
So has the poet guided written word
His hand the one that trapped an aimless moth
And made her write in ways that can be heard.

A seed he took and planted in her mind
With tender hand he nurtured through her fight
One day he knew her meter, his to find,
A love of rhyme and flow now in his sight.

She did resist, a block to this his way
A frosty glance at meter yelling no
She writes in free, against all that he say
He watched, a guiding word in ear of Crowe

The poet Jeff my mentor, guide and friend
My thanks, I got the meter in the end.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

The Nine Tailors

Church bells ring at Fenchurch St Paul.
A wedding, celebrated in true English fashion.
A time for joy before the out break of war,
Shattered by a thief, chased by a gent, so dashing.
Two villains caught, hard labour should even the score.

Church bells ring at Fenchurch St Paul.
So many struck down by that awful Spanish flu,
Family secrets, as the New Year bells chime.
Lady of the manor passes, what a to do!
Again, a gent and his man are central to this rhyme.

Church bells ring at Fenchurch St Paul.
Nine tailors toll this time for a gentleman’s passing mark.
To finally be at rest with his fair lady wife.
All is well until is found there a corpse, disfigure and stark.
Who will solve the mystery behind all this strife?

Church bells ring at Fenchurch St Paul.
Lord Peter is on the case, it will soon be solved,
With the help from his man, Bunter, always at his aid.
No villain will escape from them now they are involved,
But was there a crime? Who was the man found dead?

Church bells ring at Fenchurch St Paul.
Listen close they have much to tell.
A little campanology know how would be handy.
A church and its bells, things hidden in its well.
All clues to a gentleman detective, so dandy.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Summer's Rain

A love found in nature’s glory,
A passion freed me from the pain,
The kiss that started our story
In summer’s rain.

Shelter in the trees’ green cascade,
A warm embrace the waters drain,
As we embarked on love’s crusade,
In summer’s rain.

The damsel in me has a need,
For the knight in you that is plain,
The tender lips that are my feed
In summer’s rain.

Saved from the cloud burst by your touch
Lovers unite in country lane
The tenderness I need so much,
In summer’s rain.

The fingers in my moist hands fall
The loving shoulders take the strain
Our pairing for love stands for all
The summers’ reign.

Purls of dew that taste so sweet,
Forming like new tears on a chain,
Freshness of senses in the heat
In summer’s rain.

In storms we play hide and go seek
The claps of thunder will lay slain
By the power of love that speaks
In summer’s rain.

All through the days of sun we wait
For the first flash in windows pane,
Reach for the peaks of desire’s fate
In summer’s rain.

From you, my love, I never part,
My eternity, you remain,
Forever reigning in my heart
And summer’s rain.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Remorse

For all those years you sat in pose,
your love endured to meet my art.
My muse you were, I saw no rose,
Just shapes in heart.

Your curves that drive my mind to paint,
To capture all the eye can see..
To hang on walls without a taint,
In joyful glee.

The names I use are not your own,
As homage is not paid to you.
The seeds of pain that I have sown,
Unjust and true.

My brush betrayed my muse and heart,
The longing lost in ev'ry stroke
The cold inside, controls my art,
I should revoke?.

My muse is sullied with my ink,
The hurt has gone beyond her care.
I wish I had the time to think,
My soul lay bare.

Just once I want to say three words

I am sorry.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

One Hell of Mate

Um err what! I think maybe I have lost the plot.
Been trying to battle with that damn writer's block.
Looking everywhere for a spark, a smidgen not a lot.
Would look in my box but can't open the lock.

My brain is asleep, I'm going absolutely mad,
so scarpered last night to my cold studio and paint.
The garden shed by torchlight is my own little pad.
Messed with colours opaque, bright and translucent.

That's a terrible rhyme Jem, for goodness sake.
Not going to even try with formality or form,
Give up... no way this is for Jeff, a hell of a mate.
So a 'poem' to give him a grin larger than norm.

Still messing with paint it didn't help much
but got a few sketches to build into to a frame.
Fantasy my art is an escapism if you need such.
Beats landscapes that all look the same.

Then just after lunch I sign on to AP, to look awhile,
There is Jeff, hooray, so click, I read all his stuff,
Like a jester is he, now I am guaranteed to smile.
I can never imagine our Jeff is in anyway gruff.

A contest, you git, now I got to try and write funny,
and I bet you are sat there snickering, you dastardly hound,
Waistcoat blazing bright, challenging this here hunny!
Maybe I should just write as I speaks as that's a weird sound.

So forgetting all sense, and rhyme too, I'll write as I speaky.
All I really wants to says is Jeff a big thank you babe,
For chirping me chipper each day when I'm down and peaky.
You is a gent with style and class, and one hell of a mate.

Hellfire and britches that last bit almost does rhyme
And it wasn't meant too, well slap my butt and call me Charlie,
Maybe the muse is returning, it's about bloody time,
Now I'm stuck what goes with Charlie ... maybe rusks of Farley!

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

I Can Fly

I hear your voice,
as I sleep
I feel your touch
as you dream.
When you kiss me…
I can fly...

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

My Hero My Daddy

A Harley's roar,
the scent of fall,
a vision in my mind,
a presence in my heart,
the cajun tastes of Dixie.
All keep you alive and with me.

I miss your counsel,
I so need a hug,
from arms strong,
tattooed with love.
I just have one wish
that you were here to comfort me.

I miss you Dad!

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Mitakuye Oyasin

I know the grave is not where you reside,
your spirit, love, walks with me as my guide.
With spiritual whispers I feel your hand,
gently guiding me towards that etheral land.
And though sometimes I feel alone and sad,
I know you are there, as always, Dad.

Mitakuye Oyasin

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Wolf Cry

I heard your call, carried on the breeze,
a guide from beyond taking my hand.
A distant drum from across the seas,
a child, how could I understand?

Skin darker, I stood out against the fair,
no one was brave enough to answer me.
In my dreams I was free in your care,
one day the truth I would see.

Lost and confused teen in wilderness lie,
once again you called out, I heard you.
Across the seas, on a plane I did fly,
you showed me your pride, myself now true.

My heritage from you fills me with pride,
named 'Shewolf' in a language so strange.
Yet like the drum, it beats deep inside,
so long denied me, now will never change.

Spirit calls often from across the veil,
even now you still hold my hand.
My guide as the sea of life I sail
onward to that promised land.

I live so far from our Sacred Lands
but never alone as beside me you walk.
One day I'll return to the tribal bands,
for now I have our spirit talk.

For you, my dad, I keep my head high
feel your honour and pride my soul engulf.
You are a part of me even when I sit and cry
the soft deep whisper 'Be strong lil wolf'.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Inner Balance

Fate deals the hand and we must play,
the cards so painful we must still lay.
Life out of sorts, lost and dazed!
If it ever becomes right, we'll be amazed.

No aces in the deck it would seem,
just deuces and threes nothing to redeem.
The odds are stacked against us so,
risks high, do we chance and go?

Two deuces, the lowest pair,
life just isn't playing fair.
It feels so complex, when will it cease?
Why can't you and I just have inner peace?

Our time will come, of that I am sure.
Our balance returned, at ease once more.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Ink

K inky inked beauty,
A dored by her fans,
T attooed lady

V eritable work of art
O ne in a million
N aughty but nice.

D ream, my idea of heaven.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

My Poet Guide

I have a guide in poetry, I do!
A poet guide who sees me right and true.
No spirit he, so real. A friend in word,
meter and rhythm, things I find absurd.

The sonnet played to elegant finesse,
musical rhyme, to cheer and does impress
a darken heart as icy cold as mine,
the warm embrace, with words as rich as wine.

My poet guide he sooths my fears a treat,
a gentle voice to help me hear the beat.
A steady pace, so kind, his words are wise,
he laughs not at my hopeless poem tries.

To Jeff, my poetic totem, thank you friend,
my time is up, she’ll assess, poem end.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.