pugilistic hares
exchange hormonal punches
in Wharfedale fields
:)
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pugilistic hares
exchange hormonal punches
in Wharfedale fields
:)
A Calendar of Hares
by Anna Crowe.
- At the raw end of winter
the mountain is half snow, half
dun grass. Only when snow
moves does it become a hare.- If you can catch a hare
and look into its eye
you will see the whole world.- That day in March
watching two hares boxing
at the field's edge, she felt
the child quicken.- It is certain Midas never saw a hare
or he would not have lusted after gold.- When the buzzard wheels
like a slow kite overhead
the hare pays out the string.- The man who tells you
he has thought of everything
has forgotten the hare.- The hare's form, warm yet empty.
Stumbling upon it he felt his heart
lurch and race beneath his ribs.- Beset by fears, she became
the hare who hears
the mowers' voices grow louder.- Light as the moon's path over the sea
the run of the hare over the land.- The birchwood a dapple
of fallen gold: a carved hare
lies in a Pictish hoard.- Waking to the cry of a hare
she ran and found the child sleeping.- November stiffens
into December: hare and grass
have grown a thick coat of frost.
Epitaph on a Hare
by William Cowper
Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue,
Nor swiftewd greyhound follow,
Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,
Nor ear heard huntsman's hallo',
Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,
Who, nurs'd with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confin'd,
Was still a wild Jack-hare.
Though duly from my hand he took
His pittance ev'ry night,
He did it with a jealous look,
And, when he could, would bite.
His diet was of wheaten bread,
And milk, and oats, and straw,
Thistles, or lettuces instead,
With sand to scour his maw.
On twigs of hawthorn he regal'd,
On pippins' russet peel;
And, when his juicy salads fail'd,
Slic'd carrot pleas'd him well.
A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
Whereon he lov'd to bound,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,
And swing his rump around.
His frisking wa at evening hours,
For then he lost his fear;
But most before approaching show'rs,
Or when a storm drew near.
Eight years and five round rolling moons
He thus saw steal away,
Dozing out all his idle noons,
And ev'ry night at play.
I kept him for his humour's sake,
For he would oft beguile
My heart of thoughts that made it ache,
And force me to a smile.
But now, beneath this walnut-shade
He finds his long, last home,
And waits inn snug concealment laid,
'Till gentler puss shall come.
He, still more aged, feels the shocks
From which no care can save,
And, partner once of Tiney's box,
Must soon partake his grave.
Ah Yes, as they say "hare today gone tomorrow":rolleyes:
Interesting idea for a penance, to be reincarnated as a crow! I could think of alot worse punishments - think dung beetle:DQuote:
Originally Posted by freckle
The Dung Beetle Poem
The dungiest of all dung beetles
Is the dung beetle dung dung beetle.
Yes, the dung beetle dung dung beetle.
I said the dung beetle dung dung beetle.
And a dung beetle dung dung beetle
Who eats a dung beetle dung dung beetle's dung
Is a dung beetle dung dung beetle's
Dung beetle dung dung beetle.
Yes, that's the one!
Yes, that's the one!
The author of this 'poem' chose to remain anonymous - I wonder why?:D
a reluctance to become the next poet laurete? tee hee :DQuote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Probably trying to keep one step ahead of the mental health act.Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Very enjoyable Hare and Crow related poetry today - thanks all.
A Poem Of Thanks For You All.
The Light of friendship warms me,
Helps me feel strong,
So i can face the day renewed,
I feel one day my dreams may come true,
Cared for by others,
Making sure my first steps are safe,
I know you'll be there in spirit,
Even when i'm alone,
On the fell taking it one step at time,
All together never apart,
I know now because of you,
My strength will grow,
Just as my love for you will too,
Just know that i am,
And always will be your friend.
Love Herakles.
Temporality
I wasn’t ready to come into this world,
but I arrived,
the same weight as a bag of sugar,
so THEY said.
Tiny and beloved by a newly wed ma,
but really I wasn’t ready,
to be separate.
And now,
looking down at my toes,
curling over these 91 year old feet,
my spine in a stupor,
breasts once firm and life giving,
empty sacks dangling from withered flesh,
(I can barely see for goodness sake)
I am still not ready,
to be separate.
I still long for the water,
for the quiet hub hub of my mothers womb,
oh the irony,
after my birth we did not connect,
but now I long for the timelessness
of the tender pool
and the safety of the first unknown.
Instead I flounder,
what do you do when you are terrified,
when you reach the nameless part of fear?
Try and hold on? Grasp at others?
or like Alice
jump in?
Good, postive poem my friend:)Quote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
This is great Herakles, keeping taking those small steps, I'll be taking them with you in spirit!Quote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
Good stuff Matt! :) Try and get to run at the Anni Waltz. I just know you'll enjoy it ;)
Quote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
there's something achingly (and frighteningly) sad about these reflections of a 91 year old. And gently and warmly conveyed by you here FreckleQuote:
Originally Posted by freckle
That's great buddy. We are with you.Quote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
That's beautiful Freckle and very apt for me this week. I posted a Wendy Cope on Sunday night that reflects some of the same ideas.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Nice one
x
Encouraging to read an uplifting tone Herakles. Looking forward to seeing you on the fells.Quote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
brian patten does it well too...i love this one...Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
by Brian Patten
How long is a man's life, finally?
Is it a thousand days, or only one?
One week, or few centuries?
How long does a man's death last?
And what do we mean when we say, 'gone forever'?
Adrift in such preoccupations, we seek clarification.
We can go to the philosophers,
But they will grow tired of our questions.
We can go to the priests and the rabbis
But they might be too busy with administrations.
So, how long does a man live, finally?
And how much does he live while he lives?
We fret, and ask so many questions
Then when it comes to us
The answer is so simple
A man lives for as long as we carry him inside us,
For as long as we carry the harvest of his dreams,
For as long as we ourselves live,
Holding memories in common, a man lives.
His lover will carry his man's scent, his touch:
His children will carry the weight of his love.
One friend will carry his argument,
Another will hum his favourite tunes,
Another will still share his terrors.
And the days will pass with baffled faces,
Then the weeks, then the months,
Then there will be a day when no question is asked
And the knots of grief will loosen in the stomach,
And the puffed faces will calm.
And on that day he will not have ceased,
But will have ceased to be separated by death.
How long does a man live, finally?
A man lives so many different lengths of time.
That is good. I like that.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
I might have said this before but Brian Patten is also the name of the Chuckle Brothers older brother.
But have you ever seen them together?Quote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
Quote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
"To Me, To You!" :)
Good stuff Matt !Quote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
Hey ! Most of you guys have had poems printed in "Fell Runner".
Well done folks :)
Thanks for letting us know! I wondered if we were in after seeing your post above about the mag :cool:Quote:
Originally Posted by nightingale
DT, you've got two in.Quote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
Now I really must drag myself away from the mag and go to work. Cheers and well done.
nightingale brings news
of newly published poems
in Fellrunner mag!
:cool::D
March Evening
Blue through the window burns the twilight;
Heavy, through trees, blows the warm south wind.
Glistening, against the chill, gray sky light,
Wet, black branches are barred and entwined.
Sodden and spongy, the scarce-green grass plot
Dents into pools where a foot has been.
Puddles lie spilt in the road a mass, not
Of water, but steel, with its cold, hard sheen.
Faint fades the fire on the hearth, its embers
Scattering wide at a stronger gust.
Above, the old weathercock groans, but remembers
Creaking, to turn, in its centuried rust.
Dying, forlorn, in dreary sorrow,
Wrapping the mists round her withering form,
Day sinks down; and in darkness to-morrow
Travails to birth in the womb of the storm.
Amy Lowell
If I posted on here, it would the 7,000th posting on this thread... but as I'm not one of the poetry crowd it would be inappropriate so I won't!
Well done to you all for your fantastic injection of culture!
Published Poet.
Now the Published poet I,
Wears Beret askew,
Rubbing my goatee beard.
Herakles.
Suggest we all have black berets and goatees even the girls.
That's excellent. I've not got mine yet but I bet it looks great.Quote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
Nobody would have minded at all. You should have gone for the glory! Thanks for your comment though.Quote:
Originally Posted by Boy Wonder
There were so many good ones to choose from that it was hard narrowing it down to just two to allow as many contributors as possible.Quote:
Originally Posted by nightingale
Maybe next mag there can be a DT special edition!
We do need to have a think about whether we want to do something for next time. At the very least we need an advert in for the Simon Armitage event.
Fan...tas...tic!!!! I love it. Cheers Freckle.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Ohhh...someone is smiling down on me today, first Freckle's Ted Hughes choice and now your lovely haiku and I think I have just spied a post by XRunner that will appeal to me. Corvids and hares, two of my major muses.Quote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
Wow...this is brilliant and Moss Dog's choice is too. Thank goodness I got wireless connection here in Cornwall. How come you guys chose the day I left to get all harey?!:DQuote:
Originally Posted by XRunner
Make the most of it Hes, Hare today, gone tomorrow:DQuote:
Originally Posted by Hes
Ha ha ha...very good Merry.:DQuote:
Originally Posted by merrylegs
the cold wind brings tears
but the smell of sunwarmed gorse
cheers this weary soul
Ooooo I like! hope your break is going well, i read a poem out to sophie earlier and thought of you hes...off to find it....:)Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
for lovely hes who i think is near a beach (possibly? my geography is bad!!!!)...hope you are having a fine time...
maggie and milly and molly and may
ee cummings
maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)
and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and
milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;
and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and
may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.
For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea
the fells are cool...but so is the sea! :-) x