Iambic Feet

The rhyme is in iambic feet,
It’s left my pen alone in defeat.
As words that come and go today
I’m practising to write this way
Then write some more to ease my pain
Then edit it and write again
The guys I read from long ago
The pulse of words, some fast, some slow,
Thus poems flow with rhythmic beat
With rhymes that form iambic feet


I sit with pen in hand, but have no ink
No time or space to dream as pictures sink
Beyond the art my eyes no longer see
As words entwine in random form for me
Arrange in lines to build a structured verse
Poetic joys I often find a curse
But words like rivers have to ebb and flow
And dance in thoughts and dreams with cosmic glow
A new art form to learn as I turn grey
The Painting Poet’s here to write her way.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Artist's Jug

I am her jug , her brushes rest in me
I hear her sing while mixing paint today
And feel the cold water, wet and icy
I wish she would listen and hear me say

Warm hands grip my handle, my sexy curve
Her nudes often have the very same pose
I wish it was fine wine that I could serve
As she paints the scene her mind has now froze

Instead its poison mixed with flailing brush
Sharp, bitter essence like lime tree’s fruit
When will the artist empty the foul mush
And savour a cool sweetness that I suit

Anger burns my glaze as I sit and seethe
Then with her tender care comes her touch
My bath, lavender scented warmth I breathe
The stench lifts and I know her need is such

Soft muslin cloth wipes away the dark stains
By a new creation I stand with pride
She couldn’t do it alone, hence my pains
Just a jug, its me she keeps by her side.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Truth

Truth is purity.
Truth feels like a soft downy feather.
Truth smells of citric fruit on a warm day.
Truth looks like a baby.

Truth sounds like a breeze in the trees.
Truth tastes like polo mints.
Truth is the mother of trust.
Truth keeps the heart clean.

Truth sleeps with the angels.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

What is an Image?

A moment of emotional instances of time
As complex or as simple as a brief thought.
Abstracts caught by poets making a rhyme
With a pen just as they were taught.
Surreal nature trapped by colour in paint
From artists who see with their inner eyes.
Photographs of the mind, intense or feint
They stay as a reminder as time flies.
Hold the moments that make those brief images
For when you take trips on past pilgrimages.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

Hymn to the Gods

Forces of nature, hail to Thee,
From here on bended knee.
The Earth Mother graces us with life
To live free without strife.

The blessings surround us each day,
The tree spirits shelter our way.
The song of life is ours to dance
With passion and romance.

As our feet walk upon her soul
Let truth remain our goal.
In hope and faith let there be trust
The light of all life our lust.

So smile as you see Her and greet
The Earth sings 'Merry Meet'.
By the will of the gods ' Blessed Be'
With peace She lets us live free.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.

First Song

Mary, Mary was quite contrary
With a garden all prim and proper.
No slugs or snails invaded,
Even greenfly came a cropper.

Pretty flowers all in a row,
No weeds to spoil the scene.
A garden that's simply idyllic,
A place of peace, so serene.

Tricks of the trade I think
Weed killer, slug pellets in a tub.
A carton of 'Miraclegro' too
So she could have the perfect shrub.

© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.