PB 5 - Open for Submissions

Illustration by Steve Simpson

Great News for all poets!!!!

Peadar O' Donoghue  of The Poetry Bus Magazine is accepting submissions

So here 's the deal.....

PB mag Will Accept simultaneous submissions (be sure to tell us though)
Will Accept emailed submissions
Will Acknowledges your submission right away
Will Reply  with a yes or no with a personal email


Replies within one calendar month Maximum... (often replies within a week)

To submitt to the Autumn 2013 issue of PB

Email 4 or 5 poems (max) to thepoetrybusmag@gmail.com

Offers of artwork/illustrations are also welcome.

Now what could be easier????

Poetry Bus Poem - Crooked Line

This week the wonderful Bug came to the rescue of a near driver-less bus, and did so with the great prompt of starting a poem with the words 'I am a crooked line'. 

I wish I could say that I wrote an equally great poem, but I'm afraid that is not the case, but I did write something, albeit in a rush this morning, sorry Bug.

For some wonderful bus rides from this great prompt, visit HERE

Crooked Line

I am a crooked line,

that splits and divides,

like veins that throb of an unknown kind.

There are times I am angry, afraid, or less sure,

and times I feel happy, brave and self-assured.

The way I can laugh like nothing else counts,

or cry so hard my heart just might bounce.

When I thought things would be straight,

they never could be,

because life has a habit of tricking you see.

Right from the start of that very first line,

there are twists and turns of an unknown kind.

You need to travel the path neither afraid nor confused.

It’s all about being crooked,

both happy and sad,

and running the line,

from beginning to end,

by grabbing on tight for the ride of your life,

as the crooked line’s truth,

is found in the fight.

Poetry Bus Poem - Moon Change

Yeah, yeah, yeah before everyone starts going on about not being allowed to visit the Moon, I missed that small instruction!

Anyhow, I figured seeing as how last night the full moon was at its closest point in its orbit to the earth, and it would appear larger and brighter, being only a mere 221,565 miles away (thanks to Words A Day for this piece of info), that it was a pretty good place to go.  So if Uiscebot is in a killing mood and won't let me on the bus this week, I'll just have to swing out of the skylight!

You can see all the wonderful prompt instructions HERE for those of you intelligent enough to follow them!

Moon Change

Standing halfway up my mother,

neck bent back, I looked hard at the moon,

heard stories about the man who lived in it,

full of cheese and shaped like a banana.

Older, out the back garden,
I saw it through my brother’s telescope,

all white and round and full of dark holes

that he told me were  ‘moon craters’.

Crossed- legged below the kitchen table,

I watched Neil Armstrong land on it,

bobbling with his flag of stars and stripes,

listening to the men from N.A.S.A.

Later I kissed under it, long and deep, 

dark romantic laneways lit by indigo blue,

falling in love and right back out again,

wondering who was looking at who?

When the kids were small, I swore by it,

wishing sleep would replace lonely nights awake,

whilst now, above the mountains it guides me home,

even in the light of day, teetering behind clouds.

Through the skylight-window on the upstairs landing,

it is closer now than any other night,

my neck bends back, just like a child,

as I remember piece by piece, the moon change.

Poetry Bus Poem - Ballroom

The Poetry Bus is being driven by TFE this week, the challenge was to write a 14 line poem based on some very interesting photographic prompts and an audio prompt from Van Morrison.  I chose the photo above. 

Ballroom

Excitement in her eyes,

fake pink rose on ample chest,

‘you look divine,’ she’d whispered when we met,

low lights, drink filled tables,

a dance floor throbs with love and lust combined,

desire veiled by  smoke, old spice and cheap cologne,

girls swoon parading in their satin dress,

pleasing my eye,

men sense the thrill of lovely flesh,

seated, she taps her feet,

touches my knee,

a hint of what’s to come,

part of the  game,

I love to play.

See Other Bus Riders HERE

Poetry Bus - And we're off.........

Yes the L-plates are on the Poetry Bus and all passengers are welcome!

First brave passenger to climb on board this week is Jeanne, who delights us with a memory we can all relate to. 

 Plenty of pain, poetry and empty pockets.


2nd passenger who never comes second in her wonderful poetry is Kat, and I dare anyone not to be moved by this.  You can also view the poem HERE  where you get a chance to check out Kat's other brilliant blog http://acadianeire.wordpress.com/ 


The engine is acting up this morning so 120 socks is currently using a 2000 year old laptop to keep the bus going, apologies for any temporary technical difficulties!  Next up on the bus is Dave, with a wonderful poem that introduces us to someone special.


I am still trying to fix the engine but taking passengers all the same, next to take a seat on this rather dodgy bus ride is Lydia who is in powerful flight.  Yes this dodgy bus can drive and fly!


Yikes watch out, I'm driving and trying to be a passenger at the same time, just as well I can multi task!  120Socks


The Bug does 'MEAN', but is far too wonderful to ever really be anything but the opposite.  However if you want to read a fantastic poem about someone who can do mean, check it out here at Bug's Eye View.


Looks like I'm not the only one Caught in Amber this week as  Jinksy has created a very interesting and thought provoking Tanka!


Sometimes even I am left speechless.  If you want to know 'a woman who....' you better speed over and visit Mrs Proper at Various. (Warning your life might never be the same afterwards!) 


For a fabulous image and an equally fabulous take on one of this week's prompts visit Helen's Amber Eyes on the Bus.


'Have genes will travel' knew a man and a woman and ultimately parts of herself on the journey.  Read this splendid poem here at Nanu


It is just as well we are a moving bus because many of the poems this week are particularly moving, including this one by Peter at The Stammering Poet who shows us that sadness can move us to madness.


The Bus is certainly taking many different directions this week, and the fab TFE takes us on one that many of us question along the way.


The story of Germany’s appropriation of Catherine the Great’s Amber Room during Operation Barbarossa is explored in Dr FTSE's perceptive take on the prompt 'Amber', plus links to historical details regarding 'The Amber Room'.


Ah all the clever bus passengers are climbing on board now as 'Medium' another take on the Amber theme by Titus takes us back 1600 years!  Plus you get 2 for the price of 1, as 'Frozen' a poem based on last week's great prompts by The Bug is also available for your perusal! 


Another great poem from Dave at Pics & Poems - well worth visiting.


Using the prompt 'I knew a woman who....' Izzy reminds us of the wonderful people we meet along the way, it did my heart good anyway, so have a read.


Yay, we have another passenger on the bus and someone who many of you most probably missed for the last little while.  If you want to read a poem that cooks up a storm and a killer opening line to boot then visit Padhraig and you won't be disappointed.


A poem that paves the way for Lady Chatterley 'Forever Amber Forever' by Lucy is one not to be missed! 


Did you ever find yourself in Waffle House at the corner of Daddle and Late? Well it's a pretty good place to be and I am fond of it myself.  It is also where you will find Muse Swings with a great bunch of 'Forget- me-Nots'


The bus is not yet full, CAD is now on board, with thoughts on insect instincts and a whole lot more besides.


A note to all late or would-be late passengers, remember the old saying, 'the best is yet to come!', and just to add some inspiration from the wonderful poet John Keats to our little poetry bus, we have 'On the birthday of John Keats' with Karen.  


I sense a race to see who actually will be last!  But the all powerful, competitive, and this week entombing her burnished love
 Domestic Oubliette is fighting it out with the drunk at the back!





There are lots of seats on the bus, but it is leaving shortly! View the prompts here.


Leave a comment and I'll link up with you.

Poetry Bus - Calling all bus riders!

You will need to hold on tight to your seats this week whilst riding the Poetry Bus as

120 Socks is in the driving seat!  It's my first time behind the wheel so life and limb and the risk of poetry madness is in the air.

For any new and willing riders of the Poetry Bus, just to say the idea came from the wonderful TFE who came up with this brilliant means of inspiring writers, testing their imagination to create a poem each week by use of a prompt given by alternating bus drivers. 

You can become a rider on the bus this week by leaving a comment below once your poem is posted on, before, or even slightly after Monday 21st February and through the wonders of technology, I will link up with you.

The prompts for this week are as follows:

1.  This was one of the first creative prompts I ever received and it proved to be a good one - 

 I knew a woman who........ or indeed I knew a man who........

(real/fictitious or somewhere in between) 

OR

2. The last time I was there...........

(again real,imagined, emotionally felt or pretty well any way you'd like to go with it)

OR

3. The photograph below or the colour Amber.

Happy Writing



Poetry Bus Poem - Embrace

This week's poetry bus prompt came from the previously 7ft 10 inch Bug who is driving the bus on the eve of Valentine's Day and she gave us 3 different snowy picture prompts, I chose number 2 of two battered old couches abandoned in the snow.

For images and other bus riders visit  here

Embrace

When the excitement of newness fades,

and years of being take their toll,

when things that matched,

seem less sure,

perhaps you should discard,

replace, or maybe just renew,

by looking close again,

to see what wasn’t obvious before.

Old patterns fade and fabrics wear,

but shape and form,

a solid base,

can ease together,

and once again embrace.

Poetry Bus Poem - Connections 2

This week's poetry prompt came from the fab TFE, and it was to write about an image from the Photograph Prose Website.  Other bus riders will be found on the TFE site @ http://totalfeckineejit.blogspot.com/

Cheated a little bit this week, as when I checked out the photoprose images, I seen the image of a young baby and it sort of reminded me of the poem I did a couple of weeks back.  Anyhow, I had to change the poem a little, so here is the new version. 

Connections

You are all grown up now,

but I still remember you small,

squashed up little person,

tiny hands that gripped my fingers,

trusting eyes that never questioned.

A bond that followed from the womb,

 ran through each part of me,

and like a lioness protecting her own,

 I breathed you in, kept you close.

We go back to a time before language,

our ancient bond that never faltered,

as I watch and keep you safe,

until the end of time.

http://photographprose.com/2011/02/05/connections/

Poetry Bus Poem - Moments

NanU asked us to write a poem this week reflecting different days of the week or write about time, change or evolution. 

See prompt and other bus passengers @

http://sciencegirltraveler.blogspot.com/2011/01/poetry-bus-for-january.html

Moments

Days change by the moment not the hour,

never still long enough to fully grasp each part.

I have lived many, won and lost some,

guarded remnants, seeking honesty of heart.

I didn't always see the things that I'd remember,

nor what it was, that I would soon forget.

Despite flawed recollection,

truth remain twisted in them,

within each strand,

the minuscules of life's path.

Poetry Bus Poem - Connections

This week's poetry bus theme from http://sciencegirltraveler.blogspot.com/2011/01/poetry-bus-for-january.html asked us to write about something you like that other people don’t like. Or you’re afraid they don’t like it. Or you think they think you’re strange for liking it.

When I read this, I knew immediately the one thing that I would write about, which falls into the category of something you like but others might not, or think strange or weird or all that stuff that we all worry about.  Anyhow, it goes back to my early days of motherhood, that mad crazy time when so much takes you by surprise,  but I had such a draw to the smell of each of my babies, so think me strange, but the truth be out.  

Connections

They are all grown up,

all three of them.

It seems so long ago now,

but I still remember them small,

squashed up little people,

tiny hands that gripped my fingers,

trusting eyes that never questioned,

a primal bond that followed from the womb,

pulsating through every part of me,

like a lioness protecting her own,

and breathing in the smell of them,

back to a time before language,

a ancient bond that never falters,

the sense of you and them and yours,

to watch and keep close,

until the end of time.

Poetry Bus Poem - Night

This week's prompt came from the wonderful TFE, see link http://totalfeckineejit.blogspot.com/2011/01/behold-tis-mighty-poetry-bus.html 
and it was all about taking time out and listening to oneself by breathing etc etc.  My plan was to do so early on Sunday morning, but events took over and this plan failed completely.

It was a good day though, filled with lots of extra bits of the unexpected, so why the dark melancholy late at night when I finally stopped reading and decided  at long last to go to bed?

I wish I knew, but wide awake with the rest of the house asleep, and the normal mountain breeze that sweeps across the valley taking a temporary holiday, I found myself in silence.

Maybe it was the damnation of depressing January, or the absence of Christmas chocolates, or the dark winter night waiting for the snowdrops to peek up and tell us that it will soon be Spring, but for the life of me, I can't remember when I listened and I heard so little back.

I think perhaps it's time I got out more, but the end result, a dark poem, roll on the snowdrops!

Night

It is late, in the restlessness of night,

infrequent sounds, stark interruptions,

to silence gently carried by the breeze

that now creeps across the valley.

It is the very absence of real noise

that echoes the spell of loneliness,

‘as quiet as the grave,’

no wild bellows from the depth of earth.

Nor the voices of others asleep,

even my own, loud normally inside my head, stops,

no longer busy, seeking, running away from,

and the silence deafens.

The eerie nothingness invades.

And so I breathe,

because I must,

the harshness is in the silence I hear back.

Poetry Bus Poem - Whisperings

This week's great poetry bus prompts came from 'Emerging Writer' @ http://emergingwriter.blogspot.com/ , and they were certainly varied and interesting.

I got tempted by the first prompt which was based on the revenge of the critic, and being one for leaning to the dark and depressing side of things at times, I got swallowed up by the idea of this little gem.

Hopefully I moved to the light and the positive nearer the end, which is a much more rewarding state of mind!!! 

Whisperings

Have you heard the whisperings?
The doubts and uncertainties that seep and soak,
visiting at unexpected hours,
like in the dead of night,
or just before you take a chance,


Having a language all their own,
one that charms your ear, in silence and in noise,
leaning to the dark, clawing at belief,
with a subtlety of self,
that fools the pupil it knows best.


A sombre thought indeed, that our biggest critic hides within us all,
who consumes with glee and skill of viciousness,
turning us into mere shadows of ourselves,
by its slash of minor beliefs, or pride,
enthusiastic wonders that bring a smile,


Hinting one might achieve,
a small or soft or great,
or even gentle murmuring,
that would gather in arms of strength,
harnessing against the dark whisperings of self.


For revenge of this critic is perhaps the sweetest of them all,
for in it lies the secret of success,
think hard how foolish he or she might seem,
if you were not taken by their spell of doubt,
but rather silenced,


The one most feared,
who knows us far too well and yet not at all.
This knowledge means their game is up,
for when you listen to their whisperings,
you must turn, and make them listen back.

Poetry Bus Poem - Hidden Star

This week the poetry bus driver is Weaver of Grass, which, even as a name is pure inspiration.  Visit other poetry bus riders as they enjoy the great theme of 'Star' @ http://weaverofgrass.blogspot.com/

Have a great christmas everyone.

Hidden Star

In Jerusalem the wise men followed,

the promise of something new,  

and man on clear black night looks up,

illuminates, review,

The wisdom of the life we lead,

the vastness beyond our world,

a hope , a dream, a memory ,

tempts,

That we might catch,

and dance and feel,

this place, our earth, ourselves,

tiny flickers dazzling bright,

elusive star above,

within a child’s smile shines,

wrapping lonely man,

and you and I, and they and theirs,

can grasp and share,

for  in the travelling see,

the gift of life,

the vibrant star hidden inside of thee.

Poetry Bus Poem - Kaleidoscope

Poetry Bus Driver this week is the fabulous Titus who has given us great inspiration based on the theme of one's essence. 

You can see all the other bus riders at http://titusthedog.blogspot.com/

Kaleidoscope

Hand shapes creating shadows on the wall,

a child belief in something more,

books and stories,

a magic carpet ride,

my first sunrise,

the touch of the Atlantic on my toes,

Christmas lights,

Top of the pops,

Being free,

fire in my soul,

falling in love, madly,

tears for broken things,

mixed up love,

slices of time past,

silly dreams of a little girl,

fireflames,

snowstorms from the Milky Way,

the kaleidoscope of all the bits inside of me,

the ones that make me real,

the essence of me.

Poetry Bus Poem - Rebellion

Poetry bus this week is being driven by Kat @ http://hyggedigter.blogspot.com/  And a mighty interesting challenge she has set for us all. 

The idea was to write something rhyming and humorous about our favourite pub or if not a pub, a restaurant.  Anyhow, I thought long and hard, and as with most good ideas, once you stop thinking too much, you find one! So here is the story and the  poem!!

Image from the mid fifties

One part of the house that we live in used to be a public house back in the late part of the 18th century, records go back as far as about 1750 (see image above from about sixty years ago).  Like all good things, it has survived the test of time, even if it isn't a public house anymore.

But back in 1803 when Robert Emmet led his failed Rebellion in Dublin, running from the authorities he and the rebels hid out in a glade near our house, and the following morning they visited the then public house because the owner William Kearney was a known supporter of the cause.  There is no doubt that part of the course of history would have been changed had it not been for the quick thinking of Mrs Kearney when the house was surrounded by Yeomen.

Robert Emmet

Anyway, here is said poem!

Rebellion

They lay in the glen those men in their green,

hoping to God that they wouldn’t be seen.

The moon in the heavens looked down on the night,

as chilled from the air, they wrapped up out of sight.

In morn they arose, refreshed anew,

And wanted to taste some parliamentarian brew.

Kearney a rebel from ‘98,

Opened his door, and bid them to haste.

Emmet and Devlin quietly they spoke,

in secret tones of true rebel folk.

But then Robinson a constable came in for some beer,

From him, the strangers had something to fear.

Had it not been for Kearney he’d have given up his life,

As the men with their blunderbusses had some might.

But still on their tracks was the enemy Robert Shaw,

who wanted his glory for killing an outlaw.

Whilst hid in the loft of the small walled house,

They kept an eye out, huddled as quiet as a mouse.

Across the valley from their hideout they saw,

Ten score men and more, wanting them by the law.

The wife of Kearney she was real quick,

Scared the yeomen off without a stick.

For she gave them a yarn that saved the day,

Leaving Arthur Devlin with the last word to say.

'My blunderbuss was loaded, ready good and fair,

Shaw was lucky his family wasn’t made barren of heir'.

Away the brave men parted from their upper mountain glade,

To find other hideouts and seek some more aid.

Before the men left, Emmet gave Kearney his coat,

In thanks for what he had done, to help him the most.

No sooner did the rebels leave the public house for the day,

But Mrs Kearney piped up ‘no bloody way’.

It was she after all, who'd saved the men where they laid,

And a rebel’s coat, was the high price to be paid.

The lady she looked very spiff in her green,

But sadly of course, she could never be seen!

Poetry Bus Poem - Across The Valley

Very interesting prompts for the bus this week from Danabug. I finally settled on the 2nd one because I consider myself lucky to live in a place that I love. 

'Write about the place you dream of living some day. Or if you're lucky enough to already live there write about home.'

http://danabugseyeview.blogspot.com/

 (photo of the hills and valley behind our home)

Across The Valley


Home for me is when I see the birds swoop across the valley,
Home for me is the change of seasons, surprise sunsets,
Home for me is time with family,
curled-up love that keeps us real,


The kind that feels tight deep to the core,
The kind that makes me brave, less afraid,
The kind that bring tears when pained,
that makes me whole for,


We are  there when we cherish those we love,
We are there when we support a friend in need,
We are  there when the world around us seems to fall,
when we stand tall,


And care,
And breath,
And help,
And share,


The many facets of ourselves,
The many troubles of those that touch our hearts,
The many tiny things that make us who we are,
The many birds that swoop across the valley.

Poetry Bus Poem - Existence

This week's wonderful poetry prompt by 'Enchanted Oak', asked us to think about our existence on earth, good, bad, or indifferent. Plenty to think about there!

See Link:    http://chrisalba-enchantedoak.blogspot.com

For what it's worth, here's my contribution this week.

Existence

Some people with more knowledge in these things,
have told me lots of reasons for living a good and healthy life.
I have heard all the usual soundbites,
even some strange ones like,

How the rings around my pupils,
(eye pupils that is) mean I am a woman with strong inclination.
That I am psychic,
and see lots of things,

Having 'fire in my soul',
keeping hubby well hooked,
and for the most part,
pretty nuts about me.

And not wanting to blow my own trumpet,
lots think, I am some woman, for one woman you see,
although others including yours truly,
have questioned the childhood in me.

Figuring something warp must have happened within it,
for what other reason could there be,
for wanting to be pretty great at blinkin' everything,
and failing, despite bloody-minded me!

For the most part, only those that really know me,
have ever seen, my strange other side,
the one lined in self-doubt and confusion,
and vulnerability roaring high through the ride.


Like most of us, I have my deep moments,
when it's just me and not anyone else,
when I wonder the reason for one's existence,
and stop being so caught up in other parts of self.


On philosophical days, I think it is all about just leaving,
more good than bad along your way,
or having one hell of a fantastic memory,
sure isn't life for the living, they say.

I scold myself for not having done more to help others,
for wasting too many hours in bed,
or thinking too much,
about things that don't really matter,

Like whether it rains or life will get any better,
or who'll gets kicked out of 'Xfactor' next week,
or what colour my hair might turn out to be next time,
or my son's penalty points on the jeep.

I guess of late I've just come to discover,
that little old me doesn't know what answer to call.
So like most, I'll just keep on trucking,
sure confusion isn't too bad after all.