Fire and Pride

Fiercely won in humility,
Independence of conceptual thought,
Remains the writer’s ambition
Evoked by words drifting to line and verse.

Ambiguous acts of governments
Nurtured contempt and fear of the quill
Demands for freedom lie silenced.

Personal battles fought with the pen
Rights wrestled from censors,
Inventive imaginations born in free creativity
Deviant poets voices will be heard
Evolving in openness to reveal artistic flow

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Intuitive

Syllabic: in·tu·i·tive

Pronunciation: in-tyoo-i-tiv

Definition: 1. perceiving by intuition, as a person or the mind.
  2. perceived by, resulting from, or involving intuition: intuitive knowledge.
  3. having or possessing intuition: an intuitive person.
  4. capable of being perceived or known by intuition..

The senses we trust to keep us in tune
A touch can burn or it can caress
Sight and hearing give us the pleasures of
Art and music both joys of sweet tenderness

Smell and taste are both vital
Scents of flowers, tastes all so bitter sweet
The inner sense that I should rely on most
Intuitive trust myself I know my challenges I shall meet.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Williwaw

Syllabic: wil·li·waw

Pronunciation: wil-ee-waw

Definition: a violent squall that blows in near-polar latitudes, as in the Strait of Magellan, Alaska, and the Aleutian Islands.

The kids are screaming at each other again
"Give me back my ipod" yells one
So loud, its like a knife piercing the brain
The ipod found peace returns briefly to our home

All to soon the shouting starts once more
Constant bickering from morning 'til night is the scene
Its a war zone, an endless battle, a continuous williwaw
Oh the delights of being mum to a pair of teens.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Curriculum Vitae

A student of classics that is me
Never intended to write the words
That inspire me to draw and paint
A poet, no not me.

There once was a writer called Jem
The best of her erotica made one ‘ahem’
Much to her shame
She has quit that game
OK she still writes some of them.

A student of classics that is me
Never intended to write the words
That inspire me to draw and paint
A poet, no not me.

Nonsense verse that makes sense.
A love of Lear comes forth.
Dribbles and drabbles so intense
Like winds that bite from the north
Botherswipes that get in the way,
Grumblewits that say grow up now,
An inner child is at her play,
To keep her alive is my vow.

A student of classics that is me
Never intended to write the words
That inspire me to draw and paint
A poet, no not me.

The rule of play now is a beat,
To give poems rhythm and flow,
The meter gives a verse some feet,
And words now glow.

A student of classics that is me
Never intended to write the words
That inspire me to draw and paint
A poet, no not me.

The sonnet, long has been my muse in art
My dearest Shelley now lies in my heart
As paint and I unite with words of love
Like minds in time, a creative team above.

He died before his time in foreign sea,
He comes alive in paint and board with me.
'Though he was born two hundred years ago
In all his work I see my world on show

I paint and try to think as Shelley thought
The rebel of a Lord in Scouser's art
I use my talent and the skills I'm taught
But mostly I just paint a poet's heart

I want to try to paint away my rage
He used a pen to put his on the page.

A student of classics that is me
Never intended to write the words
That inspire me to draw and paint
A poet, no not me.

Words can be art, an image paint,
A poem can set feelings free,
Emotions with colour acquaint
A poet of sorts I will be.

Creation of art on paper,
Arts form a union inside me,
It really is quite a caper
A poet of sorts I will be

I am learning meter and rhyme
As part of classic poetry,
Flowing like paint, I hope, in time
A poet of sorts I will be.

A student of classics that is me
Never intended to write the words
That inspire me to draw and paint
A poet, no not me.

P oetry and art combine
A midst my blood, they entwine.
I magination and creativity
N eeds that make me who I am
T alented, probably not,
I am not conceited that way.
N ow and then inspired
G uess that is nearer the truth.

P eripatetic, with no line limit,
O verview of my poetic
E xperience you want,
T his is it … thus far.

A student of classics that is me
Never intended to write the words
That inspire me to draw and paint
A poet, no not me.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

A Writer's Rage

Yet another typo missed by the spell check
Draft after draft I have to type again
My fingers move faster than a hen’s peck
Or get judge’s comments full of disdain.

Proofreading screams at mistakes in grammar
The anger I feel is building up inside
Start again I don’t want all the drama
Just so editors won’t push me aside.

Yet more errors to infuriate me
Hours spent in front of the glaring screen.
I’m now going to be late home for tea,
Patience all gone, it’s now a has been.

System failure its now quite grotesque
That is how my keys ended in the desk

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.