Today's poet

OW. I have decided that we should all note down our ideal jobs. You can not say fellrunner. Based on some thing i was watching earlier i want to be a 'Professional Cardinal Richelieu Impersonator' . I think i can corner the market.

Nice one Herakles

I would very much like to be a 19th century aristocratic dandy, not a job as such more of a way of life:)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Herakles

OW. I have decided that we should all note down our ideal jobs. You can not say fellrunner. Based on some thing i was watching earlier i want to be a 'Professional Cardinal Richelieu Impersonator' . I think i can corner the market.

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I want to be a Binman, loads of running/walking in all weathers, not a rubbish job;)

Eternity.

Soft Guyana winds,
Follow us as we take leisure,
Your Dark lustrous eyes,
Caress me gently,
Your strong will as you,
Lead us to the sea,
Saltwater glistening on your,
Naked skin,
As we join together,
The sea breaks over us.
My sweet calypso.

By Herakles

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Herakles

OW. I have decided that we should all note down our ideal jobs. You can not say fellrunner. Based on some thing i was watching earlier i want to be a 'Professional Cardinal Richelieu Impersonator' . I think i can corner the market.

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There was once a job I applied for as a forest warden (Epping Forest) that came with a lodge to live in and a trail motorbike to get around on.... seemed about as good as it gets, but if I was greedy, then maybe a beer-tasting motorcycling forest poet.

Haven't been on for a few days basically laziness and I managed to actually see some mountains this weekend (Carneddau, I was defeated you won the war). dya like what i did there:rolleyes:

Poem I have written in response to an article in local paper

Garbage had gathered, spread from
the pedal bin into corners and cupboards
anywhere the house would accomodate.

She was used to him, her
Husband, taking out the bags to the bin.
Bags of scrapfood, glass and tins; the days
before recycling.

But he had left thirty five years ago
and she waited for him to return to
Take out the bags, the bags that have
heaped like memories then split and spilled
the hours of each day across the floor.

She kept the rubbish, she kept
the eggshells , breadcrusts and potato peelings
she kept the scraps of time.

Some really good stuff at the mo from herakles frecks stef f and oneoffpoet keep posting

Quote:

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Originally Posted by OneOffPoet

Is there such a thing as a two-off-poet? The last line popped in my head as a memory from Martcrag and out came the notebook…

The idea is you're only halfway in distance/physical effort…


Martcrag Moor - a poem

Things are getting serious now that we're on the moor
The fells that lie ahead are even bigger than before
So far so good especially now that Steel Fell's given sway
And the sun has joined the party in a non-committal way

Things are getting interesting now we're on the moor
A hiatus in the jumbled peaks devoid of pitch and yaw
A place to measure progress made between the rise and fall
The map says that we're halfway but we're not halfway at all

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Gosh just getting caught up, there has been a flurry of lovely activity on this thread overnight and through today. I really like this One Off Poet, i think the first line has a sense of foreboding which is carried throughout the poem and slightly offset by the sun joining the party! please write some more!.....thank you to all for their kind comments about the poem I posted yesterday...:)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

Freckle, I can only echo what everyone else has said but I would like to say that your poem 'Cadence' was brilliant. Totally sums up the battle a lot of us feel when running.

Yesterday I cracked both my little toe and my knuckle and both have gone black just to add to the bruises from the bike spill. If I was a child I'd be taken into care by now.

once familiar
my pale body resembles
a foreign pallette

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Aw Hes poor you, i think you have earned that week in a health farm somewhere! take care you!...stef i loved your toe/foot poem, i have often thought a true sign of undying affection would come via the kiss of a fell running toe!!!!!!!:eek:....herakles i see you have been as busy as ever, i have an image in my mind of you doing the Anniversary Waltz writing at the same time!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by N-dubya

Haven't been on for a few days basically laziness and I managed to actually see some mountains this weekend (Carneddau, I was defeated you won the war). dya like what i did there:rolleyes:

Poem I have written in response to an article in local paper

Garbage had gathered, spread from
the pedal bin into corners and cupboards
anywhere the house would accomodate.

She was used to him, her
Husband, taking out the bags to the bin.
Bags of scrapfood, glass and tins; the days
before recycling.

But he had left thirty five years ago
and she waited for him to return to
Take out the bags, the bags that have
heaped like memories then split and spilled
the hours of each day across the floor.

She kept the rubbish, she kept
the eggshells , breadcrusts and potato peelings
she kept the scraps of time.

Some really good stuff at the mo from herakles frecks stef f and oneoffpoet keep posting

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This is awesome...a tale of unresolved loss manifested in a garbage crisis!....Freud himself would be proud of your poetic description of mourning and melancholia!...nice one NW

Where is Stevie these days?...i used to really enjoy your contribution to this thread Stevie, hope you are well...I seem to recall you liking a bit of Plath and Hughes? I read this one today and liked it very much...from birthday letters

The Owl

I saw my world again through your eyes
As I would see it again through your children's eyes.
Through your eyes it was foreign.
Plain hedge hawthorns were peculiar aliens,
A mystery of peculiar lore and doings.
Anything wild, on legs, in your eyes
Emerged at a point of exclamation
As if it had appeared to dinner guests
In the middle of the table.
Common mallards Were artefacts of some unearthliness,
Their wooings were a hypnagogic film
Unreeled by the river. Impossible
To comprehend the comfort of their feet
In the freezing water. You were a camera
Recording reflections you could not fathom.
I made my world perform its utmost for you.
You took it all in with an incredulous joy
Like a mother handed her new baby
By the midwife. Your frenzy made me giddy.
It woke up my dumb, ecstatic boyhood
Of fifteen years before. My masterpiece
Came that black night on the Grantchester road.
I sucked the throaty thin woe of a rabbit
Out of my wetted knuckle, by a copse
Where a tawny owl was enquiring.
Suddenly it swooped up, splaying its pinions
Into my face, taking me for a post.

What a great idea Freckle.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

Aw Hes poor you, i think you have earned that week in a health farm somewhere! take care you!...stef i loved your toe/foot poem, i have often thought a true sign of undying affection would come via the kiss of a fell running toe!!!!!!!:eek:....herakles i see you have been as busy as ever, i have an image in my mind of you doing the Anniversary Waltz writing at the same time!

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Thanks Freckle, I am actually taking some time out to visit my mum in Penzance next week. The restorative powers of the ocean should help.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by N-dubya

Haven't been on for a few days basically laziness and I managed to actually see some mountains this weekend (Carneddau, I was defeated you won the war). dya like what i did there:rolleyes:

Poem I have written in response to an article in local paper

Garbage had gathered, spread from
the pedal bin into corners and cupboards
anywhere the house would accomodate.

She was used to him, her
Husband, taking out the bags to the bin.
Bags of scrapfood, glass and tins; the days
before recycling.

But he had left thirty five years ago
and she waited for him to return to
Take out the bags, the bags that have
heaped like memories then split and spilled
the hours of each day across the floor.

She kept the rubbish, she kept
the eggshells , breadcrusts and potato peelings
she kept the scraps of time.

Some really good stuff at the mo from herakles frecks stef f and oneoffpoet keep posting

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Good stuff NDubya. I really like this, can totally picture it.

A ghostly siren
three mournful hoots from above
the eagle owl glares

(can't believe that this blooming huge owl was peering down fromthe chimney at the studio tonight. I've never seen one in the wild before)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

A ghostly siren
three mournful hoots from above
the eagle owl glares

(can't believe that this blooming huge owl was peering down fromthe chimney at the studio tonight. I've never seen one in the wild before)

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North Yorkshire farmers
lock new-born baby lambs up
Eagle Owl about!

:eek:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

Thanks Freckle, I am actually taking some time out to visit my mum in Penzance next week. The restorative powers of the ocean should help.

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Lovely place, Cornwall, give my best to the ocean, have a good time and watch out for pirates;)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

Aw Hes poor you, i think you have earned that week in a health farm somewhere! take care you!...stef i loved your toe/foot poem, i have often thought a true sign of undying affection would come via the kiss of a fell running toe!!!!!!!:eek:

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That is along the lines of a Tim Burton fairy tale...

For whoever shall kiss the skanky toe;
Shall have the princess's hand in marriage.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

A ghostly siren
three mournful hoots from above
the eagle owl glares

(can't believe that this blooming huge owl was peering down fromthe chimney at the studio tonight. I've never seen one in the wild before)

---

Wowee, I bet that was brilliant. They are pretty rare (or keep a low profile) but they are quite big aren't they. They'd soon have your eye out! :eek:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

Thanks Freckle, I am actually taking some time out to visit my mum in Penzance next week. The restorative powers of the ocean should help.

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That'll be lovely. I've not been down there since college when we were down there for a 6 week field trip. A beautiful part of the world. That train journey is spectaclar too. I trust you aren't biking there! :eek:

Well I can't beat an eagle owl :cool:

So a poem about a place we would all like to go if only for a break now and then :)

Where the Sidewalk Ends

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

Shel Silverstein

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Alf

Well I can't beat an eagle owl :cool:

So a poem about a place we would all like to go if only for a break now and then :)

Where the Sidewalk Ends

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

Shel Silverstein

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That's gorgeous Alf, what a find.:)

Spring is definately in the air this morning. The first Oystercatchers have returned here and are already looking amorous.

Fresh Oystercatchers share
The sun-warmed morning mist.
Wing against soft wing,
Like a pair of coy teenage lovers
Snuggling surreptitiously
Yet willing you to notice
Their proud happiness.

There is a great article in the Guardian about writing today. Most of this will apply to poetry too....

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2010...ction-part-one

• Quote:

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  • Write. No amount of self-inflicted misery, altered states, black pullovers or being publicly obnoxious will ever add up to your being a writer. Writers write. On you go.

  
  

  • Read. As much as you can. As deeply and widely and nourishingly and ­irritatingly as you can. And the good things will make you remember them, so you won't need to take notes.

  
  

  • Be without fear. This is impossible, but let the small fears drive your rewriting and set aside the large ones ­until they behave – then use them, maybe even write them. Too much fear and all you'll get is silence.

  ---

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Spring is definately in the air this morning. The first Oystercatchers have returned here and are already looking amorous.

Fresh Oystercatchers share
The sun-warmed morning mist.
Wing against soft wing,
Like a pair of coy teenage lovers
Snuggling surreptitiously
Yet willing you to notice
Their proud happiness.

---

Loved that poem Harry
"Snuggling surreptitiously" nice bit of alliteration :cool::D

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Alf

Loved that poem Harry
"Snuggling surreptitiously" nice bit of alliteration :cool::D

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Afternoon Alf! I appreciate the alliterative admiration.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Spring is definately in the air this morning. The first Oystercatchers have returned here and are already looking amorous.

Fresh Oystercatchers share
The sun-warmed morning mist.
Wing against soft wing,
Like a pair of coy teenage lovers
Snuggling surreptitiously
Yet willing you to notice
Their proud happiness.

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Gosh you 'old' romantic HHH - v. good one though, thanks:)

'Sylvia Time' again...

Among the Narcissi

Spry, wry, and gray as these March sticks,
Percy bows, in his blue peajacket, among the narcissi.
He is recuperating from something on the lung.

The narcissi, too, are bowing to some big thing :
It rattles their stars on the green hill where Percy
Nurses the hardship of his stitches, and walks and walks.

There is a dignity to this; there is a formality-
The flowers vivid as bandages, and the man mending.
They bow and stand : they suffer such attacks!

And the octogenarian loves the little flocks.
He is quite blue; the terrible wind tries his breathing.
The narcissi look up like children, quickly and whitely.


I felt a bit like aged Percy after 'screwing-up' at HC Nick last w/e:o

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Spring is definately in the air this morning. The first Oystercatchers have returned here and are already looking amorous.

Fresh Oystercatchers share
The sun-warmed morning mist.
Wing against soft wing,
Like a pair of coy teenage lovers
Snuggling surreptitiously
Yet willing you to notice
Their proud happiness.

---

Nice one hhh

I beg to differ with the Guardian I reckon being publicly obnoxious is a pre-requisite of any self respecting writer/poet;)

A Howgill Run

Bowderdale farmsteads,
hushed by grey, clamouring mist,
stare sullen, as a neighbour's scorn.
Baleful hounds raise alarm -
an interloper,
uninvited, synthetic,
antithesis to this world of flax, wool,
the earth and solitary secrets.

Laces tightened, straps pulled, watch glanced,
The Ritual begins.
Final check, and head for West Fell,
dirty snow prised of it's grip,
a gravel spewed trench,
an Eton mess of peat, soil, sheep piss.

Trudge forward,
seeking the metronome of pace-pulse,
an inner equilibrium of effort.
Predictably, doubts descend,
as winter midges,
sirens of despondency;
but I know better,
cultivated refusal to relent,
fuelled, at first, by petite conceits,

The squelch of sodden fell,
steeper ground,
the taunting begins,
the first skirmish with pain.
Yet, entranced by strands of yellowed grass,
a twist of peat,
a subtle shift!
That loosening of identity,
no longer runner,
an impress on the air,
an exhalation of warm, moist breath,
a studded imprint,
allowing the Moment to pull forward.

The Calf, unsuckled, rears,
mist shrouded, then passes;
and the Moment surges onwards,
shedding identity,
a fragmented wake,
black as minums,
singing the efflorescence of spirit
a quiet unity, achieved at last!

Excellent Mossdog.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

A Howgill Run

Bowderdale farmsteads,
hushed by grey, clamouring mist,
stare sullen, as a neighbour's scorn.
Baleful hounds raise alarm -
an interloper,
uninvited, synthetic,
antithesis to this world of flax, wool,
the earth and solitary secrets.

Laces tightened, straps pulled, watch glanced,
The Ritual begins.
Final check, and head for West Fell,
dirty snow prised of it's grip,
a gravel spewed trench,
an Eton mess of peat, soil, sheep piss.

Trudge forward,
seeking the metronome of pace-pulse,
an inner equilibrium of effort.
Predictably, doubts descend,
as winter midges,
sirens of despondency;
but I know better,
cultivated refusal to relent,
fuelled, at first, by petite conceits,

The squelch of sodden fell,
steeper ground,
the taunting begins,
the first skirmish with pain.
Yet, entranced by strands of yellowed grass,
a twist of peat,
a subtle shift!
That loosening of identity,
no longer runner,
an impress on the air,
an exhalation of warm, moist breath,
a studded imprint,
allowing the Moment to pull forward.

The Calf, unsuckled, rears,
mist shrouded, then passes;
and the Moment surges onwards,
shedding identity,
a fragmented wake,
black as minums,
singing the efflorescence of spirit
a quiet unity, achieved at last!

---

this is absolutely brilliant love the lines in the first verse the antithesis to flax and wool, there is a lot of thought gone into this mate top stuff

also like the last verse the calf unsuckled I thought you were on about the peak but wasn't sure till i re-read the title nice metaphor

Quote:

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Originally Posted by N-dubya

I beg to differ with the Guardian I reckon being publicly obnoxious is a pre-requisite of any self respecting writer/poet;)

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Quite right too! :)

That's brilliant Mossy. I love the pace of it and the imagery is sublime. I wish I was out on the fells.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

A Howgill Run

Bowderdale farmsteads,
hushed by grey, clamouring mist,
stare sullen, as a neighbour's scorn.
Baleful hounds raise alarm -
an interloper,
uninvited, synthetic,
antithesis to this world of flax, wool,
the earth and solitary secrets.

Laces tightened, straps pulled, watch glanced,
The Ritual begins.
Final check, and head for West Fell,
dirty snow prised of it's grip,
a gravel spewed trench,
an Eton mess of peat, soil, sheep piss.

Trudge forward,
seeking the metronome of pace-pulse,
an inner equilibrium of effort.
Predictably, doubts descend,
as winter midges,
sirens of despondency;
but I know better,
cultivated refusal to relent,
fuelled, at first, by petite conceits,

The squelch of sodden fell,
steeper ground,
the taunting begins,
the first skirmish with pain.
Yet, entranced by strands of yellowed grass,
a twist of peat,
a subtle shift!
That loosening of identity,
no longer runner,
an impress on the air,
an exhalation of warm, moist breath,
a studded imprint,
allowing the Moment to pull forward.

The Calf, unsuckled, rears,
mist shrouded, then passes;
and the Moment surges onwards,
shedding identity,
a fragmented wake,
black as minums,
singing the efflorescence of spirit
a quiet unity, achieved at last!

---

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

Gosh you 'old' romantic HHH - v. good one though, thanks:)

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I have my moments! Less of the "old" though missus :p (I must just getting "old" enough to just start feeling sensitive about it!) :)

Cheers guys - HHH, hope the achilles is well on the mend.:)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

Cheers guys - HHH, hope the achilles is well on the mend.:)

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Thanks Mossy. Another couple of weeks and it'll be just fine.

I can't wait to get out on the Howgills again after your poem.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

A Howgill Run

Bowderdale farmsteads,
hushed by grey, clamouring mist,
stare sullen, as a neighbour's scorn.
Baleful hounds raise alarm -
an interloper,
uninvited, synthetic,
antithesis to this world of flax, wool,
the earth and solitary secrets.

Laces tightened, straps pulled, watch glanced,
The Ritual begins.
Final check, and head for West Fell,
dirty snow prised of it's grip,
a gravel spewed trench,
an Eton mess of peat, soil, sheep piss.

Trudge forward,
seeking the metronome of pace-pulse,
an inner equilibrium of effort.
Predictably, doubts descend,
as winter midges,
sirens of despondency;
but I know better,
cultivated refusal to relent,
fuelled, at first, by petite conceits,

The squelch of sodden fell,
steeper ground,
the taunting begins,
the first skirmish with pain.
Yet, entranced by strands of yellowed grass,
a twist of peat,
a subtle shift!
That loosening of identity,
no longer runner,
an impress on the air,
an exhalation of warm, moist breath,
a studded imprint,
allowing the Moment to pull forward.

The Calf, unsuckled, rears,
mist shrouded, then passes;
and the Moment surges onwards,
shedding identity,
a fragmented wake,
black as minums,
singing the efflorescence of spirit
a quiet unity, achieved at last!

---

I felt so moved reading this poem Mossy, as NDubya said, clearly much thought has gone into it, there was so much I liked about it I didn't know where to start so I highlighted my fave bits in red. I love the imagery of the metronome and funnily enough tonight when I went for a run I felt a sense on the way back of having acheived a nice melodic rythmn which was almost comforting....i love eton mess too! Brilliant!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Spring is definately in the air this morning. The first Oystercatchers have returned here and are already looking amorous.

Fresh Oystercatchers share
The sun-warmed morning mist.
Wing against soft wing,
Like a pair of coy teenage lovers
Snuggling surreptitiously
Yet willing you to notice
Their proud happiness.

---

I read this today when I was on a break at work but didn't have a chance to comment, it really lifted my spirits Harry and I think indeed encapsulates the sense in the air today that spring has arrived! the last line is awesome!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

I read this today when I was on a break at work but didn't have a chance to comment, it really lifted my spirits Harry and I think indeed encapsulates the sense in the air today that spring has arrived! the last line is awesome!

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I felt lifted too seeing them stood on that boulder today. I love this time of year when the birdlife all starts courting and nesting. I'm glad I managed to convey something of that feeling.