Today's poet

What's on the menu tonight? Can I have one guess? :D

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

I just Googled for a cycling Limerick for you and came up with this...

http://www.limerickcc.com/

Can't see a poem anywhere. Bloody rubbish!

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ha ha, like it!:D

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

What's on the menu tonight? Can I have one guess? :D

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oh no...please don't, its embarrassing...

My friends cooked for me after yoga and guess what i got? Go on...you will never guess!

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Originally Posted by Hes

My friends cooked for me after yoga and guess what i got? Go on...you will never guess!

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NO! I bet you were so polite though and said you hadn't had one in ages! :D

I just realised that I've eaten cheese and pickle sandwiches every day since Fraser was born. I've not had chance to make anything more exciting!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

NO! I bet you were so polite though and said you hadn't had one in ages! :D

I just realised that I've eaten cheese and pickle sandwiches every day since Fraser was born. I've not had chance to make anything more exciting!

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I love cheese and pickle! Not sure if I love it enough to have it everyday though. You could always vary the pickle and the cheese varieties to make it like a new flavour.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

I love cheese and pickle! Not sure if I love it enough to have it everyday though. You could always vary the pickle and the cheese varieties to make it like a new flavour.

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I've tried varying the amounts of cheese and pickle per sandwich to get the correct cheesy/pickly blend. But it might be pushing the boat out to try different flavours! Ooh what an exciting life I lead at times. :D On the edge!

Do You Think Hes Likes Baked Potatoes ?.

Does Hes eat tatties with butter,
Or chives and cheese what a nutter,
A vegetable curry or bolognaise,
Or salad leaves with mayonnaise,
I know she doesn't play with her food,
As this would be so very rude,
She has many talent poems,art maybe even scuba,
Many instruments Hes can play but she cannot play the tuber.

By Matt.

Glad your ok after your Hazard roll HHH
Glad you enjoyed your pain barrier breakthrough Hes
Cheese and pickle mmmmmm!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

I've tried varying the amounts of cheese and pickle per sandwich to get the correct cheesy/pickly blend. But it might be pushing the boat out to try different flavours! Ooh what an exciting life I lead at times. :D On the edge!

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Gosh, looks like I will have to come to the fell poets meet armed wth a jar of homemade onion marmalade for you to try with your cheese sarnies. (I haven't forgotten Merry's cake either or the bookmarks)

OOPS.

Triple H likes running a lot,
Giving it all that he's got,
He's normally safe when out,
But today he got a clout,
He bonnet rolled much,
Like Starsky and Hutch,
And frightened the driver a lot.

By Matt.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by tri-mind

Do You Think Hes Likes Baked Potatoes ?.

Does Hes eat tatties with butter,
Or chives and cheese what a nutter,
A vegetable curry or bolognaise,
Or salad leaves with mayonnaise,
I know she doesn't play with her food,
As this would be so very rude,
She has many talent poems,art maybe even scuba,
Many instruments Hes can play but she cannot play the tuber.

By Matt.

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Cheers for that Tri! It made me laugh.:)

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Originally Posted by merrylegs

Glad your ok after your Hazard roll HHH
Glad you enjoyed your pain barrier breakthrough Hes
Cheese and pickle mmmmmm!

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Thanks Merry! Nice to see you.

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Originally Posted by Hes

Gosh, looks like I will have to come to the fell poets meet armed wth a jar of homemade onion marmalade for you to try with your cheese sarnies. (I haven't forgotten Merry's cake either or the bookmarks)

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Sounds good to me!

Night all.

Love your poem TM. Thanks for that

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Sounds good to me!

Night all.

Love your poem TM. Thanks for that

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Night Harry;)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by merrylegs

Night Harry;)

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If you say goodnight two more times you'll hit 11,000!

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Sounds good to me!

Night all.

Love your poem TM. Thanks for that

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Night Harry! Sleep well. Take care tomorrow.

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Originally Posted by Hes

Thanks Merry! Nice to see you.

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Now you've mentioned cake i'm hungry again:rolleyes::D

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

If you say goodnight two more times you'll hit 11,000!

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One more Goodnight and it's in the bank;)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

Night Harry! Sleep well. Take care tomorrow.

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Night Hes. You too.

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Originally Posted by merrylegs

One more Goodnight and it's in the bank;)

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Goodnight Merry! :D

Soft snow and moonlight
What a difference a day makes!
No run is the same.
:):)

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

Soft snow and moonlight
What a difference a day makes!
No run is the same.
:):)

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True words Mossdog, never had the same run twice.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

Soft snow and moonlight
What a difference a day makes!
No run is the same.
:):)

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I quite agree. I have my regular routes that I've done dozens and dozens of times, but each time is a slight variation. I never get bored of them.

Have a good day everyone

Harry

Away from Shakespeare I enjoy Sonnets. Their brevity, structure(s) and build up to the delivery of the final "punch line" :cool:

Heres one from a local boy in Rochdale, Lord Byron.

Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe,
And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush
Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush,
My heart would wish away that ruder glow:
And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes---but, oh!
While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush,
And into mine my mother's weakness rush,
Soft as the last drops round Heaven's airy bow.
For, though thy long dark lashes low depending,
The soul of melancholy Gentleness
Gleams like a Seraph from the sky descending,
Above all pain, yet pitying all distress;
At once such majesty with sweetness blending,
I worship more, but cannot love thee less.

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Originally Posted by Hes

Ode to Bicycles

I was walking
down
a sizzling road:
the sun popped like
a field of blazing maize,
the
earth
was hot,
an infinite circle
with an empty
blue sky overhead.

A few bicycles
passed
me by,
the only
insects
in
that dry
moment of summer,
silent,
swift,
translucent;
they
barely stirred
the air.

Workers and girls
were riding to their
factories,
giving
their eyes
to summer,
their heads to the sky,
sitting on the
hard
beetle backs
of the whirling
bicycles
that whirred
as they rode by
bridges, rosebushes, brambles
and midday.

I thought about evening when
the boys
wash up,
sing, eat, raise
a cup
of wine
in honor
of love
and life,
and waiting
at the door,
the bicycle,
stilled,
because
only moving
does it have a soul,
and fallen there
it isn't
a translucent insect
humming
through summer
but
a cold
skeleton
that will return to
life
only
when it's needed,
when it's light,
that is,
with
the
resurrection
of each day.

Pablo Neruda

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It has been said that Neruda "puts the eyes and tongues into every dumb and inanimate object"....

funnily enough i picked up a neruda book in oxfam yesterday and was leafing through it, certain poems had been ripped out including "I could write the saddest lines" and "everyday you play"...it made me wonder about the story of the book, who had owned it and why they had ripped the pages out.....

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Originally Posted by freckle

It has been said that Neruda "puts the eyes and tongues into every dumb and inanimate object"....

funnily enough i picked up a neruda book in oxfam yesterday and was leafing through it, certain poems had been ripped out including "I could write the saddest lines" and "everyday you play"...it made me wonder about the story of the book, who had owned it and why they had ripped the pages out.....

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It does make you wonder...maybe they were travelling and could only carry the bare minimum but hastily tore the most meaningful poems from the book before giving it away with the rest of their things...or maybe over years they had torn the poems that expressed themselves the best and sent their tattered pages to a loved one? Hope you enjoy what is left of the book.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Alf

Away from Shakespeare I enjoy Sonnets. Their brevity, structure(s) and build up to the delivery of the final "punch line" :cool:

Heres one from a local boy in Rochdale, Lord Byron.

Thy cheek is pale with thought, but not from woe,
And yet so lovely, that if Mirth could flush
Its rose of whiteness with the brightest blush,
My heart would wish away that ruder glow:
And dazzle not thy deep-blue eyes---but, oh!
While gazing on them sterner eyes will gush,
And into mine my mother's weakness rush,
Soft as the last drops round Heaven's airy bow.
For, though thy long dark lashes low depending,
The soul of melancholy Gentleness
Gleams like a Seraph from the sky descending,
Above all pain, yet pitying all distress;
At once such majesty with sweetness blending,
I worship more, but cannot love thee less.

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A lovely choice Alf!

Ode to Sadness

Sadness, scarab
with seven crippled feet,
spiderweb egg,
scramble-brained rat,
bitch's skeleton:
No entry here.
Don't come in.
Go away.
Go back
south with your umbrella,
go back
north with your serpent's teeth.
A poet lives here.
No sadness may
cross this threshold.
Through these windows
comes the breath of the world,
fresh red roses,
flags embroidered with
the victories of the people.
No.
No entry.
Flap
your bat's wings,
I will trample the feathers
that fall from your mantle,
I will sweep the bits and pieces
of your carcass to
the four corners of the wind,
I will wring your neck,
I will stitch your eyelids shut,
I will sew your shroud,
sadness, and bury your rodent bones
beneath the springtime of an apple tree.

Pablo Neruda


Good old Neruda...some of us have to make do with a run to remedy sadness.

Beautiful Songs Two
Keeps me in good company
On the journey home

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

Ode to Sadness

Sadness, scarab
with seven crippled feet,
spiderweb egg,
scramble-brained rat,
bitch's skeleton:
No entry here.
Don't come in.
Go away.
Go back
south with your umbrella,
go back
north with your serpent's teeth.
A poet lives here.
No sadness may
cross this threshold.
Through these windows
comes the breath of the world,
fresh red roses,
flags embroidered with
the victories of the people.
No.
No entry.
Flap
your bat's wings,
I will trample the feathers
that fall from your mantle,
I will sweep the bits and pieces
of your carcass to
the four corners of the wind,
I will wring your neck,
I will stitch your eyelids shut,
I will sew your shroud,
sadness, and bury your rodent bones
beneath the springtime of an apple tree.

Pablo Neruda


Good old Neruda...some of us have to make do with a run to remedy sadness.

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It is that kind of day. I hope your endorphine fix helped bring back a grin.

Friday night cuppa
Put my feet up for 5 mins
Shame I've no biccies.

unexpected moon
rises large above beech wood
see tranquility

Still wishing people
A Happy New Year. Blimey!
January gone!

Forgotten Clown.

There is nothing so sad as the clown,
Whose lost his audience who no longer mass,
He looks out into the stalls checking up and down,
The revellers are gone like whisky in the clowns glass.

Forlorn he stands alone in his baggy pants and too tight coat,
A tear runs down his cheek smudging the drawn on stubble,
Returning to his dressing room he leaves a solemn note,
He's sorry for pulling in a favour with the manager and all the trouble.

Wandering outside passing through the fog strewn street,
He smells the acrid stench of industry and makes his way to the river,
There was a time they would flock to him throw flowers at his feet,
He jumps into the icy cold it takes his breath he's now at peace forever.

By Matt Harmston.

Scatttergun approach.
Meaning quality versus
Quantity verses

Scattergun.

A scattergun approach is very good,
As it leads to instinctual poetry written down,
It is also less painful no sweat or blood,
And if it works your talk of the town.

By Matt

Quote:

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Originally Posted by tri-mind

Forgotten Clown.

There is nothing so sad as the clown,
Whose lost his audience who no longer mass,
He looks out into the stalls checking up and down,
The revellers are gone like whisky in the clowns glass.

Forlorn he stands alone in his baggy pants and too tight coat,
A tear runs down his cheek smudging the drawn on stubble,
Returning to his dressing room he leaves a solemn note,
He's sorry for pulling in a favour with the manager and all the trouble.

Wandering outside passing through the fog strewn street,
He smells the acrid stench of industry and makes his way to the river,
There was a time they would flock to him throw flowers at his feet,
He jumps into the icy cold it takes his breath he's now at peace forever.

By Matt Harmston.

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Evening TM. I hope you had a good day. Another good poem.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by tri-mind

Scattergun.

A scattergun approach is very good,
As it leads to instinctual poetry written down,
It is also less painful no sweat or blood,
And if it works your talk of the town.

By Matt

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I think you are right. If it works it works, if it doesn't then it doesn't matter. A great attitude.

Off now, but back later.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by tri-mind

Scattergun.

A scattergun approach is very good,
As it leads to instinctual poetry written down,
It is also less painful no sweat or blood,
And if it works your talk of the town.

By Matt

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Love this Ttri ...think i use this approach :)