Bloomin' 'eck it was chilly again this afternoon. It was snowing at S*H*A*P 4077th this afternoon.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
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Bloomin' 'eck it was chilly again this afternoon. It was snowing at S*H*A*P 4077th this afternoon.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
I'd not seen that before. :D I like the style!Quote:
Originally Posted by N-dubya
The Sound of the Trees
by: Robert Frost (1874-1963)
I wonder about the trees.
Why do we wish to bear
Forever the noise of these
More than another noise
So close to our dwelling place?
We suffer them by the day
Till we lose all measure of pace,
And fixity in our joys,
And acquire a listening air.
They are that that talks of going
But never gets away;
And that talks no less for knowing,
As it grows wiser and older,
That now it means to stay.
My feet tug at the floor
And my head sways to my shoulder
Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
From the window or the door.
I shall set forth for somewhere,
I shall make the reckless choice
Some day when they are in voice
And tossing so as to scare
The white clouds over them on.
I shall have less to say,
But I shall be gone.
Fine snow strokes my face
lanolin and silage air
run into the dark.
:)
That's lovely HHH, thank you:)Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
The Company of the Birds
Ah the company of the birds
I loved and cherished on earth
Now, freed of flesh we fly
Together, a flock of beating wings,
I am as light, as feathery,
As gone from gravity we soar
In endless circles.
Sasha Moorsom
Winds Light to Disastrous
By Spike Milligan
As I sipped morning tea
A gale (force three)
Blew away a slice of toast
Then a gale (force 4)
Blew my wife out the door,
I wonder which I'll miss the most.
She was still alive
When a gale (force five)
Blew her screaming o'er Golders Green,
When a gale (force six) blew
And it took her to
A mosque in the Medanine.
Now I pray to heaven
That a gale (force seven)
Will whisk her father still,*
Let a gale (force eight)
Land her on the plate
Of a cannibal in Brazil.
As I sat down to dine
A gale (force nine)
Blew away my chips and spam
But! (a gale force ten)
Blew them back again,
What a lucky man I am!
(*Father Still, a stationary priest)
:D
The North Pennine hills
an awful lot of nothing
exquisitely - free!
I love the Spike Milligan. Father Still. :)Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Lovely haiku too.
What is this life if, full of care
We have no time to stand and stare?
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare
Leisure by W. H. Davies
Broad Stand.
Broad Stand Minor Climb,
If you suffer vertigo,
Mor like Brown Pants Time.
By Herakles.
A classic. This is a favourite of mine.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
Haha :DQuote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
There are some excellent haiku tonight.
Sleepy daffodils
Push through snow to misty chill
They have second thoughts
4 words truly said
Lifts anyone's heart
I love you Daddy
Stealth bomber Buzzard
Low against the dark hillside
Crumples, drops to kill.
Thanks Mossy. It's taken several weeks to finish what's turned out to be ten words :o:)Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Love that Harry, got a mental picture just reading it:cool:Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Awwww. That's lovelyQuote:
Originally Posted by merrylegs
I thought my big boy (2 & 3/4) was going to swear for the first time yesterday. He was getting frustrated and tired on a walk when he turned to me, looked straight into my eye, and growled in anger, "you, you, you,............bumblebee!"
You can't rush haiku. It takes weeks to get them perfect! I'm planning an Easter one already! :DQuote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
The Having to Love Something Else
There was a man who would marry his mother, and asked his
father for his mother's hand in marriage, and was told he could
not marry his mother's hand because it was attached to all
the rest of mother, which was all married to his father; that
he'd have to love something else....
And so he went into the world to love something else, and
fell in love with a dining room.
He asked someone standing there, may I have this dining
room's hand in marriage?
You may not, its hand is attached to all the rest of it,
which has all been promised to me in connubial alliance, said
someone standing there.
Just because the dining room lives in your house doesn't
necessarily give you claim to its affections....
Yes it does, for a dining room is always to be married to
the heir apparent in the line of succession; after father it's
my turn; and only if all mankind were destroyed could you
succeed any other to the hand of this dining room. You'll have
to love something else....
And so the man who would marry his mother was again in the
world looking for something to love that was not already
loved...
-- Russell Edson
Bless him, the things they come out with;)Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
The Word of an Engineer
- "SHE'S built of steel
- From deck to keel,
- And bolted strong and tight;
- In scorn she'll sail
- The fiercest gale,
- And pierce the darkest night.
"The builder's art- Has proved each part
- Throughout her breadth and length;
- Deep in the hulk,
- Of her mighty bulk,
- Ten thousand Titans' strength."
The tempest howls,- The Ice Wolf prowls,
- The winds they shift and veer,
- But calm I sleep,
- And faith I keep
- In the word of an engineer.
Along the trail- Of the slender rail
- The train, like a nightmare, flies
- And dashes on
- Through the black-mouthed yawn
- Where the cavernous tunnel lies.
Over the ridge,- Across the bridge,
- Swung twixt the sky and hell,
- On an iron thread
- Spun from the head
- Of the man in a draughtsman's cell.
And so we ride- Over land and tide,
- Without a thought of fear--
- Man never had
The faith in God
That he has in an engineer!
James Weldon Johnson
Seasonally a bit late...or perhaps too early...:D
ERRANT AUTUMN
BY A.D. GASPARD
She was supposed to be green
forever,
but shook her head,
turning richly brown
as earth under the rain.
They scheduled time for a youthful blush;
she blended into vivid garnet hues.
She is Errant Autumn,
changing into every color
they never expected,
never wanted.
Flowing like warm ink under skin,
there are too many curves
and golden veins of her own selection
to make everyone else happy.
So she falls,
fluttering down
under all the wrong trees,
but keeps the brightest leaves
on upper branches,
vivid at the edges of her mind.
Errant Autumn
has a patch the color of witch's blood,
pumpkins of a strange mother,
spilling tartly orange from the center
(or simply meshing with the sweet potatoes,
skin milky and white).
She takes this time for herself
to breathe in with satisfaction
the same chilled air
that makes anothers lungs hurt and nose run,
lighting a bonfire to burn
bright in the night
and absorbing into her hair,
so she is the scent
of her own season.
Eeeee, who cares about the season? A good poem is good any time of year, and I like that one.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
I'm doing the perfect FPS exercises tonight. Alternating posts with core stability.
Core stability
Count breaths rather than seconds
There are less of them
I Hear the Stars Still Singing
I HEAR the stars still singing
To the beautiful, silent night,
As they speed with noiseless winging
Their ever westward flight.
I hear the waves still falling
On the stretch of lonely shore,
But the sound of a sweet voice calling
I shall hear, alas! no more.
James Weldon Johnson
Tee hee - knowing your previosuly expressed views on religion HHH, I think that one is 'choice' well done:DQuote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Morning, Noon and Night
WHEN morning shows her first faint flush,
I think of the tender blush
That crept so gently to your cheek
When first my love I dared to speak;
How, in your glance, a dawning ray
Gave promise of love's perfect day.
When, in the ardent breath of noon,The roses with passion swoon;
There steals upon me from the air
The scent that lurked within your hair;
I touch your hand, I clasp your form--
Again your lips are close and warm.
When comes the night with beauteous skies,I think of your tear-dimmed eyes,
Their mute entreaty that I stay,
Although your lips sent me away;
And then falls memory's bitter blight,
And dark--so dark becomes the night.
James Weldon Johnson
Beautiful Old Age
David Herbert Lawrence
It ought to be lovely to be old
to be full of the peace that comes of experience
and wrinkled ripe fulfilment.
The wrinkled smile of completeness that follows a life
lived undaunted and unsoured with accepted lies
they would ripen like apples, and be scented like pippins
in their old age.
Soothing, old people should be, like apples
when one is tired of love.
Fragrant like yellowing leaves, and dim with the soft
stillness and satisfaction of autumn.
And a girl should say:
It must be wonderful to live and grow old.
Look at my mother, how rich and still she is! -
And a young man should think: By Jove
my father has faced all weathers, but it’s been a life!
Night all - after a great evening of postings I'm certainly 'ripe with fulfilment' but hopefully not too wrinkled; not yet any road:)
Glad I stayed up for that one too - marvellous HHH.Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Night Mossy; tonight was the night I discovered Poet's Corner...Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
http://theotherpages.org/poems/index.html
Night Mossdog:)
The Law of Copyright
(after Kipling)
by Wendy Cope
(not reproduced by kind permission of Wendy Cope)
Now this is the Law of Copyright – good subject for Poetry Day.
If you keep it some poets may prosper, in a modest and limited way.
And some of the people who break it have little idea of the wrong
They do to the indigent author who dreamed up the poem or song
That they put into print without asking, or perform in a theatre or hall
With an audience paying good money, while the writer gets nothing at all,
Or offer the world on their web-sites, assuming that poems are free.
They are shocked when you mention permission, aghast if there’s talk of a fee.
This is the law: the creator has rights that you can’t overlook.
It isn’t ok to make copies – you have to fork out for the book.
It isn’t ok to use poems on posters or cards or in shows
Unless you have asked for permission. You may have to pay through the nose.
But not necessarily. Try it. If you’re a good cause, or you’re poor
And unlikely to make any profit, the cost of obeying the law
May be negligible, may be nothing. It’s one thing to ask for a gift
And another to take without asking, and we call that other thing theft.
And poets they need to eat supper, and poets they need to wear shoes
And you’ll seldom encounter a poet enjoying a luxury cruise,
So remember the Law of Copyright, and make sure you do as you ought,
And if you read this and ignore it, I bloody well hope you get caught.
Nice.....:)Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
this is simply stunning....thank you for posting and well doneQuote:
Originally Posted by N-dubya
this is my mum's fave poem she used to recite the first couple of line's to me a lot as a kid...which reminds me DT did you tell your ma about the poems in the end?Quote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
Kinder and beyond.
Free to run,
Flying round Kinder,
Scout about for next,
Trig point,
Joy of life out,
Amongst the fells.
By Herakles
great stuff mattQuote:
Originally Posted by Herakles