No way to treat royalty

[Keith]

Edit thanks to feedback

It used to move sugar and cotton,
hoofed tensioned tow ropes
now decorate cast iron moorings,
tarmac creeps black through its veins.

A shopping trolley for the lock keeper,
army ant perch strangled the canal,
I know the colour of drowning water,
mixed with a tear in my anglers hand.

Nature’s graveyard is quiet today,
children amble ahead, splat bricks
in stinking beds, conversations dead
free to be but no place or purpose.

Majestic pike strikes the surface,
his gills can't fill in stagnant pools,
a broken bulldog's jaw trawls for food.
I saw panic in its eyes and it saw me.

The young matadors sense its pain
trying to maim something so precious,
so barely alive evolved to survive,
little flags did it, no trumpet sounded.

No celebration on council house streets,
silver threads floated, bloated, another
sport of kings they've missed,
precious little shits, it’s no way to fish.


Original
It used to move sugar and cotton,
hoofed tensioned tow ropes
now decorate cast iron moorings,
a road has severed its vein.
The keys have rusted in the locks,
over stocked with permitted perch,
the colour of drowning water is brown,
planners linear walks where nothing talks.

Nature’s graveyard is quiet today,
children play ahead, splat bricks
in silted beds, said 'look over there'
throw stones, point and stare.
Majestic pike strikes the surface,
his gills cannot fill in stagnant pools,
a broken bulldogs jaw, trawls for food.
I didn’t like its eye until it saw me.

The boys thought this would be a game
to try and maim something so precious,
so barely alive, yet evolved to survive.
One big brick did the trick, its great
silver body floated, bloated another
sport of kings they’ve missed, little
shits, it’s no fucking way to fish.

[tmanzano]

I read this a few times and have gathered the powerlessness of our country and where we are headed. I may be off here but I see a stab at America, and the lack of morality, humility. I enjoyed this.

[Leanne]

It used to move sugar and cotton,
hoofed tensioned tow ropes
now decorate cast iron moorings,
a road has severed its vein. -- I don't know where you mean specifically, but this speaks of dockyards all over the world -- my mind instantly goes to Glasgow but wherever it is, the image is heartbreaking
The keys have rusted in the locks,
over stocked with permitted perch, -- here in Australia it's illegal to throw perch back -- if you've caught too many, you have to kill them on the banks, bloody greedy vicious things they are, destroying all our natives
the colour of drowning water is brown, -- "drowning water" is outstanding
planners linear walks where nothing talks.

Nature’s graveyard is quiet today,
children play ahead, splat bricks
in silted beds, said 'look over there'
throw stones, point and stare.
Majestic pike strikes the surface,
his gills cannot fill in stagnant pools,
a broken bulldogs jaw, trawls for food.
I didn’t like its eye until it saw me. -- the children, like the fish, are dying in stagnant pools

The boys thought this would be a game
to try and maim something so precious,
so barely alive, yet evolved to survive.
One big brick did the trick, its great
silver body floated, bloated another -- punctuation could do with addressing in this stanza -- so many commas
sport of kings they’ve missed, little
shits, it’s no fucking way to fish. -- or to live

Painful, poignant stuff Keith.

[cidermaid]

Keith as ever I sing the praises of one of your poems (as your number one fan I can do this without risk of the wow lable).
You have nailed the image of our canal networks in the UK. Sad and poignant and a good character assasination of mindless yobs the world over. Very nicely done.
fav line: hoofed tensioned tow ropes and this line: the colour of drowning water is brown, as leanne said is outstanding. It is such a sad reminder of the grungy dangers to children and drunks the world over. AJ

[Keith]

It used to move sugar and cotton,
hoofed tensioned tow ropes
now decorate cast iron moorings,
a road has severed its vein. -- I don't know where you mean specifically, but this speaks of dockyards all over the world -- my mind instantly goes to Glasgow but wherever it is, the image is heartbreaking
The keys have rusted in the locks,
over stocked with permitted perch, -- here in Australia it's illegal to throw perch back -- if you've caught too many, you have to kill them on the banks, bloody greedy vicious things they are, destroying all our natives
the colour of drowning water is brown, -- "drowning water" is outstanding
planners linear walks where nothing talks.

Nature’s graveyard is quiet today,
children play ahead, splat bricks
in silted beds, said 'look over there'
throw stones, point and stare.
Majestic pike strikes the surface,
his gills cannot fill in stagnant pools,
a broken bulldogs jaw, trawls for food.
I didn’t like its eye until it saw me. -- the children, like the fish, are dying in stagnant pools

The boys thought this would be a game
to try and maim something so precious,
so barely alive, yet evolved to survive.
One big brick did the trick, its great
silver body floated, bloated another -- punctuation could do with addressing in this stanza -- so many commas
sport of kings they’ve missed, little
shits, it’s no fucking way to fish. -- or to live

Painful, poignant stuff Keith.

Thanks for the help and your time here Leanne I will take it into the edit, thanks Keith

---

Keith as ever I sing the praises of one of your poems (as your number one fan I can do this without risk of the wow lable).
You have nailed the image of our canal networks in the UK. Sad and poignant and a good character assasination of mindless yobs the world over. Very nicely done.
fav line: hoofed tensioned tow ropes and this line: the colour of drowning water is brown, as leanne said is outstanding. It is such a sad reminder of the grungy dangers to children and drunks the world over. AJ

Many thanks Aj, its horrible to watch once vibrant waters decaying this way and as already said the banks used to be filled with kids fishing and swimming now there's no one and the few kids that do go there don't know how to use it. thanks for your comments as ever very helpful. Best Keith

[Brownlie]

Edit thanks to feedback

It used to move sugar and cotton,
hoofed tensioned tow ropes
now decorate cast iron moorings,
tarmac creeps black through its veins.

A shopping trolley for the lock keeper,
army ant perch strangled the canal,
I know the colour of drowning water,
held with a tear in my anglers hand.

Nature’s graveyard is quiet today,
children amble ahead, splat bricks
in silted beds, conversations dead
free to be but no place or purpose.

Majestic pike strikes the surface,
his gills can't fill in stagnant pools,
a broken bulldogs jaw trawls for food.
I saw panic in its eyes and it saw me.

The young matadors sense its pain
trying to maim something so precious,
so barely alive evolved to survive,
little flags did it, no trumpet sounded.

No celebration on council house streets,
silver threads floated bloated another
sport of kings they’ve missed precious
little shits, it’s no fucking way to live.


Original
It used to move sugar and cotton,
hoofed tensioned tow ropes
now decorate cast iron moorings,
a road has severed its vein.
The keys have rusted in the locks,
over stocked with permitted perch,
the colour of drowning water is brown,
planners linear walks where nothing talks.

Nature’s graveyard is quiet today,
children play ahead, splat bricks
in silted beds, said 'look over there'
throw stones, point and stare.
Majestic pike strikes the surface,
his gills cannot fill in stagnant pools,
a broken bulldogs jaw, trawls for food.
I didn’t like its eye until it saw me.

The boys thougt this would be a game
to try and maim something so precious,
so barely alive, yet evolved to survive.
One big brick did the trick, its great
silver body floated, bloated another
sport of kings they’ve missed, little
shits, it’s no fucking way to fish.

The matador was intriguing and the sentiments about livestock were also interesting. It looks like you need to add an apostrophe to bulldogs

[Keith]

I read this a few times and have gathered the powerlessness of our country and where we are headed. I may be off here but I see a stab at America, and the lack of morality, humility. I enjoyed this.

Hi tmanzano
No stab at USA, not qualified for that only been there once, more about what the UK is becoming that scares me. Thanks for your comment TOMH

---

Edit thanks to feedback

It used to move sugar and cotton,
hoofed tensioned tow ropes
now decorate cast iron moorings,
tarmac creeps black through its veins.

A shopping trolley for the lock keeper,
army ant perch strangled the canal,
I know the colour of drowning water,
held with a tear in my anglers hand.

Nature’s graveyard is quiet today,
children amble ahead, splat bricks
in silted beds, conversations dead
free to be but no place or purpose.

Majestic pike strikes the surface,
his gills can't fill in stagnant pools,
a broken bulldogs jaw trawls for food.
I saw panic in its eyes and it saw me.

The young matadors sense its pain
trying to maim something so precious,
so barely alive evolved to survive,
little flags did it, no trumpet sounded.

No celebration on council house streets,
silver threads floated bloated another
sport of kings they’ve missed precious
little shits, it’s no fucking way to live.


Original
It used to move sugar and cotton,
hoofed tensioned tow ropes
now decorate cast iron moorings,
a road has severed its vein.
The keys have rusted in the locks,
over stocked with permitted perch,
the colour of drowning water is brown,
planners linear walks where nothing talks.

Nature’s graveyard is quiet today,
children play ahead, splat bricks
in silted beds, said 'look over there'
throw stones, point and stare.
Majestic pike strikes the surface,
his gills cannot fill in stagnant pools,
a broken bulldogs jaw, trawls for food.
I didn’t like its eye until it saw me.

The boys thougt this would be a game
to try and maim something so precious,
so barely alive, yet evolved to survive.
One big brick did the trick, its great
silver body floated, bloated another
sport of kings they’ve missed, little
shits, it’s no fucking way to fish.

The matador was intriguing and the sentiments about livestock were also interesting. It looks like you need to add an apostrophe to bulldogs

Thanks for the nit Brownlie and your comments I have done a quick edit.

[Vistaldust]

This is a poem packed with so much imagery and deep meaning in each line. This is a power in poetry that you definitely demonstrate. Things that had great purpose our now decorations while purpose has shifted to decaying ventures......what I get from this.

[Keith]

This is a poem packed with so much imagery and deep meaning in each line. This is a power in poetry that you definitely demonstrate. Things that had great purpose our now decorations while purpose has shifted to decaying ventures......what I get from this.

Thanks for your comments Vistaldust things change in the name of progress or so they say, and it could just be me getting old but values seem to die a little each time we lose something precious like a water way such as this.

[animasrwm]

Your use of foul language in your last verse shows your true talent. You ain't no poet .
Sometimes things are best left unsaid. An extremely disappointing end to a cliche ridden offering

[billy]

off topic...are you fuckin' serious :HUH:

---

i missed this 1st time round or so.

where i live the canals are or have been cleaned up, i'm not sure if the perch have taken over but i did enjoy the fight a 2 or 3 pounder put up on half pound line i think you capture a time gone by and the present, i can't believe we still have ruined canals in the uk, (i was an avid angler ) but your poem gives that impression.
i think it still needs some work but not loads

Edit thanks to feedback

It used to move sugar and cotton,
hoofed tensioned tow ropes
now decorate cast iron moorings,i took the the above as canals and barges, and can't reconcile the next line to the 1st 3 lines.
tarmac creeps black through its veins. a suggestion would be over it's veins.

A shopping trolley for the lock keeper, it sounds too much like an award, a suggestion would be; a dead shopping...
army ant perch strangled the canal, i've even caught zander which is an invasive species from abroad.
I know the colour of drowning water, great image
mixed with a tear in my anglers hand. i'm thinking the perch problem has got worse since i last fished the canals.

Nature’s graveyard is quiet today,
children amble ahead, splat bricks
in silted beds, conversations dead
free to be but no place or purpose. for me this stanza does little for the poem

Majestic pike strikes the surface,
his gills can't fill in stagnant pools,
a broken bulldog's jaw trawls for food.
I saw panic in its eyes and it saw me. i'm not sure you need 'i saw'

The young matadors sense its pain
trying to maim something so precious,
so barely alive evolved to survive, a comma after alive?
little flags did it, no trumpet sounded.

No celebration on council house streets,
silver threads floated bloated another
sport of kings they’ve missed precious
little shits, it’s no fucking way to live. i like the rant and the summation of the last stanza but feel you could say/word it better.


Original
It used to move sugar and cotton,
hoofed tensioned tow ropes
now decorate cast iron moorings,
a road has severed its vein.
The keys have rusted in the locks,
over stocked with permitted perch,
the colour of drowning water is brown,
planners linear walks where nothing talks.

Nature’s graveyard is quiet today,
children play ahead, splat bricks
in silted beds, said 'look over there'
throw stones, point and stare.
Majestic pike strikes the surface,
his gills cannot fill in stagnant pools,
a broken bulldogs jaw, trawls for food.
I didn’t like its eye until it saw me.

The boys thought this would be a game
to try and maim something so precious,
so barely alive, yet evolved to survive.
One big brick did the trick, its great
silver body floated, bloated another
sport of kings they’ve missed, little
shits, it’s no fucking way to fish.

[Keith]

Your use of foul language in your last verse shows your true talent. You ain't no poet .
Sometimes things are best left unsaid. An extremely disappointing end to a cliche ridden offering

Hi animasrwn,
I find it quite bizzar you have gone to the trouble of trawling back in the archives to a poem you obviously dislike, however my main problem with your feedback is that you give me nothing to work on, other than, the fact I use expletives renders me impotent as a poet, all this I can take on the chin as you have your own opinion but please if you feel strongly enough to tell me "I'm not a poet" then at least justify what lines you believe to be cliche. I do agree completely with one thing you said, "Sometimes things are best left unsaid". If you really want to tell me how crap I am I have at least 12 poems here that have no comments at all which is probably a good indication that they are crap, so why not post on one of them at least I'll get rid of one of my '0's >< Best TOMH

[Keith]

off topic...are you fuckin' serious :HUH:

---

i missed this 1st time round or so.

where i live the canals are or have been cleaned up, i'm not sure if the perch have taken over but i did enjoy the fight a 2 or 3 pounder put up on half pound line i think you capture a time gone by and the present, i can't believe we still have ruined canals in the uk, (i was an avid angler ) but your poem gives that impression.
i think it still needs some work but not loads

Edit thanks to feedback

It used to move sugar and cotton,
hoofed tensioned tow ropes
now decorate cast iron moorings,i took the the above as canals and barges, and can't reconcile the next line to the 1st 3 lines.
tarmac creeps black through its veins. a suggestion would be over it's veins.

A shopping trolley for the lock keeper, it sounds too much like an award, a suggestion would be; a dead shopping...
army ant perch strangled the canal, i've even caught zander which is an invasive species from abroad.
I know the colour of drowning water, great image
mixed with a tear in my anglers hand. i'm thinking the perch problem has got worse since i last fished the canals.

Nature’s graveyard is quiet today,
children amble ahead, splat bricks
in silted beds, conversations dead
free to be but no place or purpose. for me this stanza does little for the poem

Majestic pike strikes the surface,
his gills can't fill in stagnant pools,
a broken bulldog's jaw trawls for food.
I saw panic in its eyes and it saw me. i'm not sure you need 'i saw'

The young matadors sense its pain
trying to maim something so precious,
so barely alive evolved to survive, a comma after alive?
little flags did it, no trumpet sounded.

No celebration on council house streets,
silver threads floated bloated another
sport of kings they’ve missed precious
little shits, it’s no fucking way to live. i like the rant and the summation of the last stanza but feel you could say/word it better.


Original
It used to move sugar and cotton,
hoofed tensioned tow ropes
now decorate cast iron moorings,
a road has severed its vein.
The keys have rusted in the locks,
over stocked with permitted perch,
the colour of drowning water is brown,
planners linear walks where nothing talks.

Nature’s graveyard is quiet today,
children play ahead, splat bricks
in silted beds, said 'look over there'
throw stones, point and stare.
Majestic pike strikes the surface,
his gills cannot fill in stagnant pools,
a broken bulldogs jaw, trawls for food.
I didn’t like its eye until it saw me.

The boys thought this would be a game
to try and maim something so precious,
so barely alive, yet evolved to survive.
One big brick did the trick, its great
silver body floated, bloated another
sport of kings they’ve missed, little
shits, it’s no fucking way to fish.

Billy thank you for the considered feedback you raise some good points here that will be useful in the edit. The uk's water ways are much improved these days and so has the fishing but this poor little stretch has been missed off the list, a group of us spent time trying to improve it a couple of years ago and I've not been able to get back since then so not sure of its current condition. Cheers Keith

[ScurryFunger]

Edit thanks to feedback

It used to move sugar and cotton,
hoofed tensioned tow ropes
now decorate cast iron moorings,
tarmac creeps black through its veins.

A shopping trolley for the lock keeper,
army ant perch strangled the canal,
I know the colour of drowning water,
mixed with a tear in my anglers hand.

Nature’s graveyard is quiet today,
children amble ahead, splat bricks
in silted beds, conversations dead
free to be but no place or purpose.

Majestic pike strikes the surface,
his gills can't fill in stagnant pools,
a broken bulldog's jaw trawls for food.
I saw panic in its eyes and it saw me.

The young matadors sense its pain
trying to maim something so precious,
so barely alive evolved to survive,
little flags did it, no trumpet sounded.

No celebration on council house streets,
silver threads floated bloated another
sport of kings they’ve missed precious
little shits, it’s no fucking way to live.


Original
It used to move sugar and cotton,
hoofed tensioned tow ropes
now decorate cast iron moorings,
a road has severed its vein.
The keys have rusted in the locks,
over stocked with permitted perch,
the colour of drowning water is brown,
planners linear walks where nothing talks.

Nature’s graveyard is quiet today,
children play ahead, splat bricks
in silted beds, said 'look over there'
throw stones, point and stare.
Majestic pike strikes the surface,
his gills cannot fill in stagnant pools,
a broken bulldogs jaw, trawls for food.
I didn’t like its eye until it saw me.

The boys thought this would be a game
to try and maim something so precious,
so barely alive, yet evolved to survive.
One big brick did the trick, its great
silver body floated, bloated another
sport of kings they’ve missed, little
shits, it’s no fucking way to fish.

I actually liked the whole 'that's no way to fish' thing, I wish that you would have built the whole cutting indictment of society as a whole (I blame the parents) thing around that line.

I figure that why everything seems 'better' when 'we' were young is on account of the fact that we were young, lol, youth is wasted on it, blah blah blah.

I don't live near any canals but I live near rivers and it's only pike season when it's cold, which should be the only way to do battle with them.

(I hate fishing)

Thanks, made me think that did.

-Deb

[Keith]

Edit thanks to feedback

It used to move sugar and cotton,
hoofed tensioned tow ropes
now decorate cast iron moorings,
tarmac creeps black through its veins.

A shopping trolley for the lock keeper,
army ant perch strangled the canal,
I know the colour of drowning water,
mixed with a tear in my anglers hand.

Nature’s graveyard is quiet today,
children amble ahead, splat bricks
in silted beds, conversations dead
free to be but no place or purpose.

Majestic pike strikes the surface,
his gills can't fill in stagnant pools,
a broken bulldog's jaw trawls for food.
I saw panic in its eyes and it saw me.

The young matadors sense its pain
trying to maim something so precious,
so barely alive evolved to survive,
little flags did it, no trumpet sounded.

No celebration on council house streets,
silver threads floated bloated another
sport of kings they’ve missed precious
little shits, it’s no fucking way to live.


Original
It used to move sugar and cotton,
hoofed tensioned tow ropes
now decorate cast iron moorings,
a road has severed its vein.
The keys have rusted in the locks,
over stocked with permitted perch,
the colour of drowning water is brown,
planners linear walks where nothing talks.

Nature’s graveyard is quiet today,
children play ahead, splat bricks
in silted beds, said 'look over there'
throw stones, point and stare.
Majestic pike strikes the surface,
his gills cannot fill in stagnant pools,
a broken bulldogs jaw, trawls for food.
I didn’t like its eye until it saw me.

The boys thought this would be a game
to try and maim something so precious,
so barely alive, yet evolved to survive.
One big brick did the trick, its great
silver body floated, bloated another
sport of kings they’ve missed, little
shits, it’s no fucking way to fish.

I actually liked the whole 'that's no way to fish' thing, I wish that you would have built the whole cutting indictment of society as a whole (I blame the parents) thing around that line.

I figure that why everything seems 'better' when 'we' were young is on account of the fact that we were young, lol, youth is wasted on it, blah blah blah.

I don't live near any canals but I live near rivers and it's only pike season when it's cold, which should be the only way to do battle with them.

(I hate fishing)

Thanks, made me think that did.

-Deb

Hi Deb many thanks for the feedback, you make some interesting comments here that I hadn't thought of so I will have another look at this, Ha I agree young is for the youth and every generation can tell us why there time was the best, they are wrong of course the 70's was the time to grow. Best Keith