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Ha ha...it is a cracking pic, I'm well chuffed with it but at the same time...makes me look blooming awful. There are very few photos of me running that are flattering, I like to think it is because I put so much effort in and my face gets contorted but then again they say the camera never lies!:oQuote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
Neil, this is really brilliant. I think it is one of the best that you have posted but I am perhaps a little biased having had a long distance relationship where stations, trains and ferries played a large part. You have inspired me to write something of my own on this theme and I will try and do it today. Thanks, it really is lovely.Quote:
Originally Posted by N-dubya
Don't know if this will work but I mentioned in a previous post about a record I have that has John Betjeman reciting his poetry to music and its brilliant. I will try and attach a track here but this is me and I am not known for my techinical know how...
blast...it didn't work...invalid file. Ok, the album is called Banana Blush.
I've just found a youtube version but it is a bit wobbly...you'll get the picture though:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_q0uBLmBkeM
Pity Me.
I didn't ask you to love me,
With your cigarette stained teeth,
And eyes that tell me lies,
I don't want any part of you,
Just leave me alone.
Playing tricks on my mind,
My tortured soul,
You enter and you have me,
Poor wretched washed out boy,
Your clinging filth is better than being alone.
By Herakles.
Pet-Lamb, The: A Pastoral Poem
The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink;
I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink!"
And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied
A snow-white mountain-lamb with a Maiden at its side.
Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone,
And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone;
With one knee on the grass did the little Maiden kneel,
While to that mountain-lamb she gave its evening meal.
The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took,
Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his tail with pleasure
shook.
"Drink, pretty creature, drink," she said in such a tone
That I almost received her heart into my own.
'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare!
I watched them with delight, they were a lovely pair.
Now with her empty can the Maiden turned away:
But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay.
Right towards the lamb she looked; and from a shady place
I unobserved could see the workings of her face:
If Nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring,
Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little Maid might sing:
"What ails thee, young One? what? Why pull so at thy cord?
Is it not well with thee? well both for bed and board?
Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be;
Rest, little young One, rest; what is't that aileth thee?
"What is it thou wouldst seek? What is wanting to thy heart?
Thy limbs are they not strong? And beautiful thou art:
This grass is tender grass; these flowers they have no peers;
And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears!
"If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain,
This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain;
For rain and mountain-storms! the like thou need'st not fear,
The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here.
"Rest, little young One, rest; thou hast forgot the day
When my father found thee first in places far away;
Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none,
And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone.
"He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home:
A blessed day for thee! then whither wouldst thou roam?
A faithful nurse thou hast; the dam that did thee yean
Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could have been.
"Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can
Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran;
And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew,
I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and new.
"Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now,
Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the plough;
My playmate thou shalt be; and when the wind is cold
Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold.
"It will not, will not rest!--Poor creature, can it be
That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee?
Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear,
And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear.
"Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair!
I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there;
The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play,
When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey.
"Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky;
Night and day thou art safe,--our cottage is hard by.
Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain?
Sleep--and at break of day I will come to thee again!"
--As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet,
This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat;
And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line,
That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was 'mine'.
Again, and once again, did I repeat the song;
"Nay," said I, "more than half to the damsel must belong,
For she looked with such a look and she spake with such a tone,
That I almost received her heart into my own."
William Wordsworth
Thin blanket of cloud
Orion hidden from sight
Will always be there
February rain
dampens spirits, and obscures
celestial views
intoxicating
the heavy scent of lilies
evokes memories
No problem Freckle, my knowledge of poetry is slim, but there really is some great stuff posted on here, keep up the good work folks.:)Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Days slowly draw out
Promise of Spring in the air
Daffodils say hi
A little gem from The Essential Neruda
And it was at that age...poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river
I don't know how or when,
no, they weren't voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street it called me,
from the branches of the night,
abruptly from the others,
among raging fires
or returning alone,
there it was, without a face,
and it touched me.
I didn't know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
something kicked in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first, faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of one who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
the darkness perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the overpowering night, the universe.
And I, tiny being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars.
My heart broke loose with the wind.
More sun, more vit. D
Reduction in S.A.D.
Warmth for you and me
That's a lovely haiku and too true HHH.Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Nice! I could do with some of that sunshine :)Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Mamta Kalia has this to say about Robert Frost!!!
Against Robert Frost
I can't bear to read Robert Frost
Why should he talk of apple-picking
When most of us can't afford to eat one?
I haven't even seen an apple for many months -
Whatever we save we keep for beer
and contraceptives.
hmmm....interesting viewpoint.
The Anni.
The Awesome Hilly Anni Waltz,
Fell Poet Gathering,
Bloody Good Job No Cut Off.
By Herakles.
Evening Hes. That is nice of you to say so.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
It has been a mellow evening watching the Olympics, but I'm off to bed now.
Night all. Sleep well.
Night HHH, sleep well.Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Razor wire guarded mind.
Visit the place,
Inside my head,
It's Beautiful,
Dreadful,
A room where,
No light gets in I,
Can commit,
Myself to the,
Straightjacket of,
My Boxed and locked,
Deepest Lies that,
I'm desperate to share,
But only a fool,
Would open me up like,
That and let my darkest truths,
Taint them.
Where is that soul ?.
By Herakles
I think this could be one of your best Herakles! I really like it.Quote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
This is by Revathy Gopal who was an Indian poet who died of cancer in 2007.
Shapes
Mirror marks on wet glass
finger-writing on steam,
hieroglyphs drawn by
the one who lives behind
the mirror, the messages for me,
if I could only decipher them.
Communion of the lonely.
And when I spill milk I look
to see if the pattern spells anything,
meanings from a past or the future,
arrows shot through time
that will explain everything
I've missed.
Very good. All the Indian poetry you have come up with is very interesting and i like it a lot.
I am enjoying reading poetry that comes from people from a different culture and from very different backgrounds and finding the universal themes that connect us all but also it is good to experience new imagery and ideas and feel the atmosphere of India.Quote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
Love fades.
I secure your love,
A pocket full of gardenias,
Cheap love at the factory gates,
Two shining youths,
With their weeks pay,
He buys his fags and hair cream,
She buys nylons and a dress,
They meet the picture of,
Northern youth they kiss,
Amidst the sulphur laden air,
No cares just love,
Don't let them know,
The future brings,
Unemployment empty town,
Too much drink,
He slaps her around then,
Cries into his bottle wanting,
To die wondering how,
Youth has passed him by,
She leaves bruised battered,
Takes the children saddened,
Explains daddies drink makes him,
Bad she wishes it was like it was,
All youthful love and flowers and,
Smiles they found him dead on the,
Bathroom tiles.
Today she's wearing black.
By Herakles
Virginity lost
A glance a chance,
Sordid romance,
She talks to this,
Shy northern boy,
Nibbling my ear,
I blush as I'm told,
Things my mother,
Shouldn't know,
Outside the road,
Is greasy and,
Reflecting a thousand,
Cheap good times,
She gets her keys,
Her flat above,
The roughest pub,
Going upstairs to,
Be entangled in her,
Sordid lair I,
Step in she grabs,
Me and throws me down,
I'm looking up waiting,
For this to be over,
You're done she says,
Is that it ?.
I fasten my kecks,
Shouldn't have bothered,
I think i'd rather write poetry.
By Herakles
Yes, quite!........i've said it before and I'll say it again i reckon i'll be the last fell poet to finish, but if I fnish I'll be chuffed anyhow...and anyway I reckon there's bound to be a good looking sweeper at an event like that, surely?.........;)Quote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
Be Kind
we are always asked
to understand the other person's
viewpoint
no matter how
out-dated
foolish or
obnoxious.
one is asked
to view
their total error
their life-waste
with
kindliness,
especially if they are
aged.
but age is the total of
our doing.
they have aged
badly
because they have
lived
out of focus,
they have refused to
see.
not their fault?
whose fault?
mine?
I am asked to hide
my viewpoint
from them
for fear of their
fear.
age is no crime
but the shame
of a deliberately
wasted
life
among so many
deliberately
wasted
lives
is.
Charles Bukowski
Oh Yes
There are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it's too late
and there's nothing worse
than
too late.
Charles Bukowski
excuse my insomnia tonight, i do hope it isn't too irritating!
You ask me why I dwell in the green mountain;
I smile and make no reply for my heart is free of care.
As the peach-blossom flows down stream and is gone into the unknown,
I have a world apart that is not among men.
Li Po
:eek: Oh dear...look at the time!!!!!!
Gangplank
I walk this spring board ALONE.
Reaching the end, feet teasingly detach
with tiny bounces, just high enough to peep
inviting waters below.
Their darkness languid, their isolation luxurious,
no matter that they are deep, no matter that they are cold.
The soles of my feet rest once again,
precariously balanced, meeting
reverberating cool wood below.
I wait, what will fate bring next?
the urge to jump, a push?
or perhaps a careless loss of balance
and the fall.
Good Moooorning:)
some top stuff
Herakles some really gritty tales, very northern are you taking inspiration from your Avatar. one in particular (although I know its by Ewan Mccoll and not Morrissey) reminded me of "Dirty Old Town".
Hes, Love the last poem submitted, the finger drawing on the mirror.
Some really good Haikus as well by all the regulars I've never got to grips with these I am rubbish and distinguishing between the sylables.
Like Gangplank Frecks a little snippet of life from the cutting room floor.
Morning N-dubya
Bloomin eck freckle I had been in bed for 3 hours by the time you signed off :D I enjoy catching up with everyone's postings the day after though. It's a nice start to the day :cool:
I finally found my copy of Kavanagh's complete poems last night. It was in the garage with some other books and was damp and musty smelling when I opened it. Patrick you deserved to be treated better :(
The poems were still fresh however :D
I see what you mean N-Dubya about dirty old town. I was not aware of the song but there are similarities. i was listening to The Smiths and it got me thinking about the shared heritage and overview of the disintegration of the traditional northern towns which all of us of a certain age have seen. The towns which have not been able to change are desolate and i wanted to evoke what being in that area was like when thriving. Maybe not everyones idea of a great place but colourful and honest and earthy. I certainly do find inspiration in Morrissey he is master lyricist and one of the funniest men alive although many seem to miss this in his work completely. I know i have asked you lots of times and you may well have answered lots but unfortunately the meds mean i have a very bad memory. Are you a published writer or long time amatuer poet as your work is such high class and your knowledge encyclopedic.
Hey! Now your talking - oh actually you're not, but you know what I mean...I think...that's my kind of eastern poetry. Yes I like Li Po and his twin brother Li Po Ver :DQuote:
Originally Posted by freckle
That's very touching Freckle - really well written. But even someone like me, who lacks a great deal of sensibility, can perhaps detect a theme of, well is it loneliness, or just about being alone, in your posts, and written at such an early/late hour too? Remember, you've always got fellrunning cyber mates to cheer you along so not need to feel alone if you don't want to be.:)Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
What is hope.................
What hope means
Hope is bright shining light which keeps darkness at the bay
Hope is gentle cold breeze on a hot summer day
Hope is to remain positive when going gets tough
hope is seeking more when others think u had enough
What hope means
Hope is dreaming of tommorow
Hope is simmering under sorrow
Hope is sparkles when tears in our eyes
Hope is a beautiful thing & beutiful things never dies
What hope means
Hope is as light as a feather
Hope keeps all of us together
Hope is ubiquitous and free of cost
hope is the last thing ever lost.....
Vineet Bansal ???
Totally agree with Mossdog you certainly do have friends on here Freckle you are never alone. Remember a problem shared is a problem halved and i'm sure between us we have a lot of life experience to help you if you want it. Look after yourself.
Matt.
Death of Man.
Steel mills torn,
Down desolate east,
End broken town of,
Filth and noise to,
Be replaced by a,
Shopping mall somewhere,
To spend your,
Benefits instead of,
Booze just morally,
Bankrupt consumerism,
Turns the working,
Man into a red eyed,
Ghost ground down,
Pride forgot he finds,
His lifes meaning,
In daytime chat,
Shows laughing at,
The blue mouthed puppets,
As he waits around,
For impending death.
By Herakles
Agree wholeheartedly with that Mossdog and Herakles.Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
W.B. Yeats once movingly said he had no house but friendship.
Back to Patrick Kavanagh:
Innocence
They laughed at one I loved-
The triangular hill that hung
Under the Big Forth. They said
That I was bounded by the whitethorn hedges
Of the little farm and did not know the world.
But I knew that love's doorway to life
Is the same doorway everywhere.
Ashamed of what I loved
I flung her from me and called her a ditch
Although she was smiling at me with violets.
But now I am back in her briary arms
The dew of an Indian Summer lies
On bleached potato-stalks
What age am I?
I do not know what age I am,
I am no mortal age;
I know nothing of women,
Nothing of cities,
I cannot die
Unless I walk outside these whitethorn hedges.
Herakles, I'm loving your gritty new direction. As someone who spent his formative years working in what was then my home area (East Mids), in a traditional industry (textiles) you've really touched a nerve in a good way :)
You've also reminded me of the God-like Albert Finney :cool:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=OHsOSySZOyo