A is for Adam the Aardvark and his band the African Ants
B is for Broderick the bumble bee who thinks they are pants

C is for a cynical cat named Crusoe
While D is for Darwin the delightful deer
E is for Eric the elephant who always drinks my beer
F is for Fernando the Fox but in Spain he known as  Zorro
He lost his wife Matilda last week and is now brimming with sorrow
G is for Gerald and yes he is a Giraffe
He wore odd socks last Tuesday and made Heinrich the Hyena laugh
Imelda is an Iguana and she is quite immense, though she is really old but has unstoppable sense.
Jack the Jackal has a regular name but he is an assassin and has a pretty good aim
K is for Kimberly who happens to be a kangaroo but she doesn't live in the outback anymore because she lives in London Zoo

Laramie the Llama lives south of the United states , he loves hiking in the mountains but one thing he hates, is being mixed up with Arnie the Alpaca.

Monty the Moose loves drinking maple syrup and playing ice hockey,
yes he is a stereotype but I am his Jockey
Nero the Narwhal is the unicorn of the deep, he loves scaring sailors and loves to sleep
Olive the Orangutan is a neighbour of Kimberly the kangaroo
but they have a plan to escape from London Zoo.

Pug is a Pig , just a regular pig, but he wishes to be ferocious and really big
Quentin is a quail and buddies with Pug, he likes eating sunflower seeds but never a slug
Ramon the Rhinoceros also dwells in the Zoo and is part of the escape plan with The red ape and kangaroo , he'll actually be the one to bust them out,
but to get his attention you really must shout.

Sylvia slithers, Sylvia is sleek if you were a mouse and saw her, you'd go EEK!
Terence T. Tiger is terrified, because he was asked to escape from the Zoo,
yes with the Red ape , Rhino and Kangaroo.

Ulysses is a horse who super glued a horn to his fore-head , he wanted to be the last known Unicorn because he heard that they were all dead. Vincent is a Bat, just a Vampire Bat,
he doesn't really like blood but is enemies with Crusoe the Cat.

Warren the wolf has many female fans but spends half the day with Eric the Elephant drinking my cans .Xenops is not an alien , it's just a rain forest bird, I'll give you more info as soon as I've heard
Y is for Yul and I don't mean the bald actor , this Yul is a yak but does watch the X factor
Z is for a Zebra named Zak and yes he does know the Yul the Yak , they were introduced by a certain kangaroo, and now it's their job to visit London Zoo

Tarzan, I really liked the African animals,
and sure the freedom of the jungle

I guess looking around,
I chose the desert island

Robinson Crusoe
always took me somewhere else

the sedate living of it all
yes, without the strenuous swinging

Stories of shipwreck
and desert islands
can point to loneliness
experienced in society,
De Foe being one.
It is so appealing to me
the child I was and man
I have become
to live some kind of secluded Island life
so appealing that I made it become real
and have no regrets
unlike Robinson
so Robinson Crusoe
can go hang.

Once I looked to the Bard for words profound;
ageless, his wisdom ran unabated.
Yet Hamlet is now ideologically unsound,
“the slings and arrows” historically Iocated.
I wept for the creature of Frankenstein,
spurned by his master, forced to roam the Earth.
But I’d been subjectively positioned in a paradigm
by Mary’s anxiety about childbirth.
I read Balzac, Hardy and Henry James
describing “worlds” which seemed quite sensible.
Now Eagleton’s exposed their bourgeois games
I find them morally reprehensible.
I dreamt of being Robinson Crusoe
or proud, fierce Hawkeye in his buckskins dressed,
but Fenimore and Defoe have to go,
they’re culturally encoded and empirically obsessed.
Inspired by Guinness, did James Joyce sit down
to see what magic flowed when he was ******?
The stream of Ulysses floats Bloom-about-town
dreamthinkingnever : “I’mamodernist”.

I’d gladly give Woolf a Room of Her Own
and be one of the boys with Hemingway,
but sensitive guys leave their bulls alone
say de Beauvoir and Luce Irigaray.
No more fun with Wordsworth being daffodilly,
no simple pleasure reading Mickey Mouse;
Steamboat Willie can’t help but look silly
dissected by Foucault and Levi-Strauss.
The Bible shows intertextuality
says the two Jacques, Lacan and Derrida.
Judas, a construct of bisexuality?
The **** fixations of Herod are?

It’s got so bad I deconstruct a holiday brochure.
I can’t even **** without Roland Barthes and Ferdinand de Saussure.

I only have one photo of Grandad
from his years of service in the Great War,
and in it he’s wearing a leopard-skin leotard.

My paternal grandfather, Grandad,
was brought up in Brockley, South-East London
In his teens he was conscripted
and became a gunner sergeant in the Royal Field Artillery.

I still have his stirrups and his French/English phrase book
which includes useful words, like dysentery,

(think of the movie, ‘War Horse’, and you’re almost there).
He fought in the mud in France and put a lot of horses out of their misery.

Apparently, he enjoyed the stage – a song and a dance,
and almost went professional after a string
of successful nights at the local Roxy,
all of which makes me want to have known him better,
but he died in my teens.

He laughed a lot, loved his vegetable garden
and had a collection of handy-sized, hard-back books
giving details of how various circuits and wiring worked.

I recall his bear of an armchair
and how it was in easy reach
of a slim stack of shallow drawers
from which he would take slender tools or small curios
and sit and explain their significance to my bemused child self.

I have the brown photo somewhere -
it’s not one I’d like to frame as it raises too many questions for me.

Like – is that bloke next to grandad meant to be Robinson Crusoe?
Like – what prompted grandad to ‘black up’ from head to toe – is he Man Friday?

And now, I stare at the photo handed to me by my friend of his grandfather, complete with rifle and medals,
and again I silently ask my grandad – why?

Somewhere far below me in the valley of the madmen where the shadows follow shadows and they cast away the darkness
and the moonlight fights a battle with the candle flames in Harlem,where the movie makers haggle over starlets in the making,
I am home.
Southeast in the castles where the abbey men are sleeping and the shining of the bells will make for clearer sounds of morning and the dogs eat Chinese noodles as if they're waiting for a wedding but the moon still fights its battle with the candle flames in Harlem,
I am home.
If this home is where the heart is and we start at some beginning,does the ending come before that,have we been here,is it more than,just a sheepdip in the evening, where the flames lay dying,bleeding and the dogs have finished feeding,is it abbey men on battlements dispersing holy sacraments,
is it life or is it cheesecake,,is this why I ache to taste it, is it why I want to waste or feed alone.

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

      Robinson Crusoe Orders a Generator from Amazon.com

Another hurricane, warning or watch
One forgets which while clearing off the lawns
Of chairs and toys and all the summer dreams
And giving the generator its monthly run

In practiced unison we again recite
The liturgies of flashlight batteries
Bottled water, paper plates, and plastic sporks
And Meals-Ready-To-Eat, though they really aren’t

Another hurricane, warning or watch -
And maybe just an inch or two of Scotch

There is a song that skins remember.
A line that resounds in silences.
A form the heart revisits
in fervid recollections.

That you must not speak,
that you must not speak.

Silences can ****.
No need to ask Crusoe.

Stars that explode in suicide:
From aeons of tortuous silences,
from distant companions,
silently cold.

Yes, our silences talk. Sorry, this
was not how it was supposed to be.
Strains of there we go again.

Gulfs of empty spaces between
silent vales, that birth the
mourning winds.

Murmurs leap out like dolphins
out of our silences.

Waiting to hear each other. Past
the dirge at the grave of my errors.

So long have I been on this lonely planet
so long a castaway on distant shores
so far from home
I pine no more

I build my castles in the sand
make them fleeting just for man
for this Robinson Crusoe is shy
to reveal himself, he would rather die

This is my island I call home
without claim I have a zone
and this holy place
I with conviction call home

For I am a castaway
one of Gods voices
and I stay
another castaway

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris

© 2011 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)

Ups and downs
Ups and downs
Ups and downs

We had so many grounds
To not enjoy what we had
We used to be so mad
But now it’s all over
The year should had go slower

We miss what we had
We cry because we are so sad
It’s gone
All the joy and fun

Enjoy what you have
Maybe it will be halve
It will never come back
The life will give you a smack

But there is
Ups and downs
Ups and downs
Ups and downs

We had so many grounds
Now I see what it was
But we couldn’t see it cause
We thought it would last forever
But now I am cleaver

I will love all I have now
I will balance on the life’s bough
I know how it fells to lose
I must be strong like Robinson Crusoe

Enjoy what you have
Maybe it will be halve
It will never come back
The life will give you a smack

But there is
Ups and downs
Ups and downs
Ups and downs

All ferries are cancelled making way for the storm
tied to their piers, rocking back and forth, back and forth
ropes pulled tight, taut, no mail today, no fresh supplies
this is Robinson Crusoe life lived alive in the 21st century
a time set aside, cut off, forgotten by the rest of the World.

All Ferries Cancelled.
75mph winds.
Today we are marooned.

crescendo.

#robinsoncrusoe.

those books, that music.

rises. zadok was a priest.



#legend.

here  again we have

absolom.         aided.



#hebron



your brother killed him.



#crescendo.



some of us know why.



sbm.

Caution in his voice, apprehension in his lungs
Up the rungs of certainty & into solitude flung,
Off the coast of Chile
Of the utmost regret feel he,
A dilly plea and yet there be,
A castaway of the Pacific sea

If misgivings in him swelled
And yelled aloud of his misdeeds,
News of Cinque Ports' downfall
Would call to mind his wise decree

But not for several years
Would this privateer be reprieved,
Until the long awaited day of Duke
Awaited him where he once had grieved

Somebody out there save me
I sent a message in a bottle
Poured all my emotions into it
And I think it sank to the depths
I just want somebody to help me
I can't stay on this deserted island
I'm no Robison Crusoe
I have no intention of being the depressed version of Gilligan
I'm tired of being an outcast
Shadowed by everyone
I want my own spotlight to stand in
I want to fight with the stars
So I can bath in the blessed moonlight
I can't fight the universe
But a poem a day
Keeps the pain away
Right?
S.O.S
I need some help
I can't find it
The water supply is running out
The timber on this land
Doesn't exist
I'm sinking into a ****** pool
That covers three quaters of the Earth
I need solid ground
Not cave-ins at the slightest touch
Please anybody out there
Help me
Save me

From me

ferries being cancelled
could say marooned
except I never leave our small isle these days
and unlike Robinson Crusoe I do not look out for a ships sail on the horizon to come rescue me ( Defoe in fact felt marooned in society and never went anywhere near a remote island, it was his 'alone in a crowd' syndrome that was at the heart of the inspired writing of Robinson Crusoe)
I am a seconded hardly ever seen anomaly
happy to be forgotten by the World.

I sit upon my throne of a bench and drink my coffee,
All day long I play games or play the piano,
The smell of dark roasted black, strangely so sweet,
And just wait or watch the flowers and grass grow.

Just a moment, give me a second to explain my life,
Popcorn popped at the stove sits, I look like lurch,
It's just like that, things that we pay for Movie Time,
I wasn't the least bit interested in going to church.

So I ask myself where are we going from here?
Anyone else notice these rules seem quite austere?
I wonder if I'm the only one who wonders far or near
If I could get a job that matters in even 10 years?

But what does it matter, I guess this way of life's my fault,
I will just get fatter, such a noble way to excuse my waste line,
As each day grows longer, I'm just likely to somehow evolve
Into another one of those guys who is just a waste of time.

Why if I had my way-don't get me wrong-this wouldn't be,
I'd live like a wild man would, a Robinson Crusoe, oh dear me.
Why I have to feel so down all the time? Well it's all so free,
I live in the land of the free, free to become a casualty
Of corporate competition, whether I meant to be,
Wouldn't really matter, like that means anything.

And the answers always been that I'm alone with my dream,
We already "knew" you had a way out of everything,
You just happen to lack the needed ambition to leave son,
So get with it your life is none of our concern or anything.

Dear wounded, lost and powerless one, alone having "fun,"
Even in your darkest, most horrible despair,  consolations.

Pongo un dedo, el meñique, en la linea por la que voy. Voy bajando el dedo a medida que progresa la lectura y acomodo el librito edición de bolsillo de Robinsón Crusoe que medio arreglé con cinta porque había perdido el lomo.
Cae la segunda gota en la página, en la palabra Martes, que no es un día sino un muchacho, mientras trato de evitar la tercera con un pañito que ya huele demasiado mal.
Oigo sin escuchar las voces del fondo, oigo sin escuchar la mala música a intolerable volumen, oigo sin escuchar a la señora que intercambia las erres por las eles, quejándose por el peso de las compras, y de que nadie le cede el puesto.
Lo único que oí y también escuché ese día fue la pregunta de un señor dirigida a la señora:
¿No sabes lo que significa "hacerse el loco"?
Desde ese día decidí dejar de oír sin escuchar

When it all feels like hell in a handbasket,
when you shout out at the wind and ask it
where the silence begins and all that you hear
is the wind howling at you and wonder
who is it you are, when the shortest step is
too far to take,
it's
time to break the connection,
cast off and head for the islands.

Everybody wants a slice of the cake
for gods sake
make a bigger cake
let's all have a bit of the pie.

We are being bought,being sold by the
men with the folders,
the bankers and committees
behind doors,
secret cities.

Everyone wants a slice of the cake.

The peasants and farmers
the suicidal
self harmers
the dopeheads and deadheads,
the student
the impudent
the clever
the daft
Crusoe built a raft and he's coming back for tea
the cake has to be bigger or we
will get
crumbs.

Ladies, do you wanna know more about your man? I'm sure you know by now he isn't ashes or sand. Or the area in which water meets land. A man is just a man, and this is a list of what your man can't stand.

1.*** isn't everything, any man could agree with such, sometimes being nice is equally a rush

2.Please don't expect to win an argument of it involves my family especially my mum, I swear that **** just leads to me perusing ***

3.if I go out of my way to please you then I expect the same respect and effort or I will leave you

4.it's simple, no lurking on a social media page that belongs to ME

5.expect to get uncle philled out the door if I pick a restaurant and you get mad about it, that I abhor,

6 If we get dull in bed and you make a choice to not address it please expect me to watch a dubious movie , in fact expect it

7.Don't tell a story without a punchline or point unless I'm drunk and reckless with a high dollar joint

8.Know what the problem is before you try to fix it, or trouble will find you because you picked it

9.Don't ask a question to which you don't the answer
Because if you do so across the floor you ego will splatter

10.I don't care for your friends, I care for you, if they have something to ask me, they shouldn't ask you

11.Don't be upset when I laugh, while you fumble or folly, it's a humorous affliction, light spirited and jolly

12.If I cut someone off I expect the same from you, if you don't expect me to stay with you

13.the past is the past, nothing we can do about it now,
so please stop bringing it up, it's childish and pointless now.

14.pets are great. I love animals, one and all
but I don't wanna hear about it holding hands in the mall

15.Don't ask me if I'm alright every five minutes, if I say I'm good. I'm good. I don't need you constantly asking it.

16.Don't be an overzealous zealot and by that I mean don't be overly jealous.

17.If you go shopping that's fine, just don't take me with you, it's not that I don't want to I'd just rather have 20 nails shoved into my skull

18. Don't expect everything I create or write to be about you, I'm not saying I won't but that won't be the only thing I do

19. If you know I have a crush and I'm putting forth the effort, at least acknowledge me, you know respect it.

20. If you know the right guy for you is in your friend zone then why aren't you with him? are you trying to be like Robinson Crusoe. all alone?

I was thrown from a boat like a prophet,
washed ashore on an Island of Baalbek-sized structures.
In the Atlantic, under the ‘i’ and ‘c’,
thirty-three north, thirty-three west, degrees.

Ancient mariners must have missed it,
concentric waterways and land bridges, cut by a channel to the sea.
Occasional women gathering and cutting cane,
dirges being sung by a certain, Sarah.

Farther up around the outer ring,
a Bay horse, trapped in a tidal pit.
Just enough seaweed at high tide,
eyes white from living in the dark.

A strange place,
I find myself the only man,
another Adams or Crusoe.
I will free the Bay tomorrow, and head inland.

Busy days?
not when we're
castaways

you can't talk over each other
when you're on your own
sat at home
with only
the cat for company.

This is where the psychosis
comes in
when we're hypnotised by the
grim times we are living in.

guess what?
I'm going fishin'

Mare Clausum
by Michael R. Burch

These are the narrows of my soul—
dark waters pierced by eerie, haunting screams.
And these uncharted islands bleakly home
wild nightmares and deep, strange, forbidding dreams.

Please don’t think to find pearls’ pale, unearthly glow
within its shoals, nor corals in its reefs.
For, though you seek to salvage Love, I know
that vessel lists, and night brings no relief.

Pause here, and look, and know that all is lost;
then turn, and go; let salt consume, and rust.
This sea is not for sailors, but the ******
who lingered long past morning, till they learned

why it is named:
Mare Clausum.

Originally published by Penny Dreadful. Keywords/Tags: mare, clausum, closed, sea, narrows, shoals, reefs, uncharted, islands, wreckage, shipwreck, damage, dark, tides, waters, surf, stranded, Robinson Crusoe

If you were to walk,
To where the bay curves,
There is a cove with fishes,
And slippery clay,
Grey and squelched,
Between toes;
Here is where we played,
Under the seagulls call,
Between  the fishing boats;
Watching "Red Funnel"
Make straight lines
For France.

In my rocking horse sundress,
Red plastic sandals,
I collected shells and
Coloured pebbles,
Splashed in the warmed
Sea water and thought of
Robinson Crusoe.
My brother climbed
The cliff face above,
I watched him, still young,
My heart beating time.

And so we suddenly left,
Grew away from childhood,
From each other,
Drifted as the seaweed,
In and out with the tide.
Floated looking at the sky,
Calling out sometimes
To the echo of the bay,
For all those days of sunshine,
Of innocence and oneness,
Never to return as we were then,
Children on a beach at play.

Love to my brother ,Richard from Mary **