I really like this...on a shopping trip in newcastle sophe, me and "nana" have just seen the a huge moon....
dreams are new white
ballet shoes, and little sophe
chasing the moon.
Printable View
Mister's mistress
Today I got a mail that wasn't meant for me
it was written by a man I'd loved who's love was not to be
he'd cast his net and drawn me in til I was dreaming merrily
of his hebridean accent and his cottage by the sea
I gave my heart, I gave my soul and then reality,
I found he had a woman and he wasn't really free.
It took a year to leave him but I did it painfully
and today the mist has lifted and I see things differently.
So now I read his words...oh the familiarity
the woman that he writes to is his mistress just like me
so I click reply to sender and make the following plea
for god sake love your woman and leave this lady be.
A Nonny Mouse
Cure for self-pity
a long moonlit run
two mad loving dogs and a
friend with chocolate
Along Poem About Fell Running
I wrote
a long poem
about fell running.
I came back
after a day
to re-read
and thought
you ****in' pseud!
Anyone spot any irony around here - I need some shirts doing?:D
well, I've just been invited to the pub for a swift half but no doubt I will call back here later and see what other great stuff has been posted. Have a good evening all, see you later.
Busy week. Lots of letters to write. Cuppa just hit the spot thanks.
Hilly torture sounds just like what I do for fun. You are getting in some good miles in. Sounds good.
How come the moon looks so big near the horizon? That's tonight Google challenge to myself.
Enjoy your half. Make it two!
Charlie's Girlfriend
Selima Hill
When God made Charlie
He said "Listen Charlie,
soon I will be sending you
a girlfriend
and when you see her
you must shriek at her
and grab at her by the hair
and then lean in
and peck her on the cheek
until she pouts
and starts to make
peculiar little kissing -noises
and this will means she loves you!
And I do!
I let him pinch the raisins
from the fruitcake
and hide them for him
in my ears and hair.
sign outside a London block of flats
Honestly, do we have to spell it out?
No tents, space-hoppers, orgies, Brussels sprout
enthusiasts, no sponsored squirrel fights,
no Ayurvedic quacks, no woolly tights,
no weeping for the joy you think you’re owed,
no winking at the house across the road,
dividing rainbows into seven strands
of single colour, no quick show of hands,
no pastry-cutting, origami, chess,
no taking pleasure in your own success,
no sand, no shark impressions, no culottes
no Christmas pantomimes, no liver spots,
no lurking in the shadows by the shed,
no improvised salutes, no olive bread,
no weightless floating with an auctioneer
in the small pond. No ponds. Hope that’s now clear.
Pessimism for Beginners, Sophie Hannah (Carcanet, 2007)
This poem is called No ball games by Sophie Hannah.
I have often seen this sign and wished i could convert the sign into a poem.I think Sophie has done a great job.
January has passed so quickly and it has really frightened me! I have lots of things that I am looking forward to this year, I want to savour the anticipation and not have them come upon me sneakily and be over in a flash. Maybe we could all run in one direction and slow the world down a bit...never was any good at science!:o
Of course...it was Superman! Brilliant, thanks Merry, right, now we just need to start a 'on the count of three' thread and get everyone running in the same direction at the same time. Kind of like a lot of hamsters in a wheel. Should make February the longest in history.;)
Gosh, I don't have the stamina tonight and so I'll be having an early one;) Good night all.x
Hello all
There has been 6 inches of snow overnight here!...amazing!...just got back from the local golf course sledging with the kids, thank fully with no broken bones!.....
Dust of Snow
Robert Frost
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
eyes smart in cold air
but with todays winter sun
warmth to cheer this soul
Full Moon and Little Frieda
A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket
And you listening.
A spider’s web, tense for the dew’s touch.
A pail lifted, still and brimming – mirror
To tempt a first star to a tremor.
Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges with their warm wreaths of breath –
A dark river of blood, many boulders,
Balancing unspilled milk.
“Moon!” you cry suddenly, “Moon! Moon!”
The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work
That points at him amazed.
--Ted Hughes, from Wodwo (1967)
(this was one of Jeanette Winterson's selection and it is perfect for these last few nights I reckon)
Trying to write poetry
is like picking meat
from the bones of
an animal that is still
grazing peacefully
in a lush field.
one more from robert frost before i go....
Love at the lips was touch
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed too much;
I lived on air
That crossed me from sweet things,
The flow of - was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Down hill at dusk?
I had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they're gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle.
I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that stung.
Now no joy but lacks salt
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave the stain
Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love,
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove.
When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on it hard
In grass and sand,
The hurt is not enough:
I long for weight and strength
To feel the earth as rough
To all my length.