Today's poet

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by southernsoftie

Not dipped in here for ages.
Blimey it's got some legs
Innit

---

the legs of Joss Naylor
except for the knees
which lack cartlidge

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Have a listen to "Why should I tidy my room" on here. It is so sweet. :)

http://www.myspace.com/107907074

---

Aw Harry this is so sweet, thats the kind of thing i would have said as a child....i have managed to persuade sophe to tidy her room on a regular basis by appealing to her "I am Alan Sugar's new apprentice" mindset (ie £2.50 pocket money per week) and i do not want you undoing all thi sgood work!.....of course we could follow up on your suggestion of a scientific enquiry into the effects of tickling on the over four fell running types, i think the after armitage gig would be the perfect experimental conditions

a stratified sample
of fell running poets
puts tickle hypothesis to the test

Oh...there's the little un up,she must have heard all the tickle patter...laters :)

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Alf

Did anyone catch "A good read" on Radio 4 this afternoon ? They were discussing Simon Armitage's recent translation of 'Sir Gawain and the Green Knight' . They seemed very impressed with it :D

---

Oooo wish i had heard that one mighht catch it on replay thanks Alf......

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Mossdog

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate, my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

ee cummings

---

This is one of my favourite e e cummings poem....so utterly romantic thank you mossy

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Old Whippet

oh dear...the devil makes work for idle hounds....

Funny old place
this poetry thread
where poems are crafted
presented and read

Tentative offerings
modestly proffered
generous responses
enocouragement offered

Days in the mountains
imagined or real
depicted in colour
with poetic zeal

Flora and fauna
moorland and hill
blood sweat and tears
all grist to the mill.

Yet scratching the surface
is there a subtext?
beneath the veneer
an emotional vortex

Of turmoil, longing,
frustration and yearning?
Sometimes this thread
is so hot it's burning

Closer inspection
suggests a dual purpose
for the purveyors
of fell running verses

It's clearly both playground
for rhymers and punners
but also a knocking shop
for frustrated fell runners

---

Hello OW long time no see ! Well this is very well constructed you are quite the dark horse of this thread me thinks...but those last two lines :eek: as someone funny once said "How very dare you!"........:D

ps southern softie....yes this thread does have legs, i wish mine were as fast but sadly i am still pretty slow!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Alf

Did anyone catch "A good read" on Radio 4 this afternoon ? They were discussing Simon Armitage's recent translation of 'Sir Gawain and the Green Knight' . They seemed very impressed with it :D

---

Hi Alf, I caught it whilst I was framing some work up and they did seem to ike it except a few of his uses of slang! I think I'll have to pick up a copy and have a look myself.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Old Whippet

oh dear...the devil makes work for idle hounds....

Funny old place
this poetry thread
where poems are crafted
presented and read

Tentative offerings
modestly proffered
generous responses
enocouragement offered

Days in the mountains
imagined or real
depicted in colour
with poetic zeal

Flora and fauna
moorland and hill
blood sweat and tears
all grist to the mill.

Yet scratching the surface
is there a subtext?
beneath the veneer
an emotional vortex

Of turmoil, longing,
frustration and yearning?
Sometimes this thread
is so hot it's burning

Closer inspection
suggests a dual purpose
for the purveyors
of fell running verses

It's clearly both playground
for rhymers and punners
but also a knocking shop
for frustrated fell runners

---

Ha ha ha! That made me laugh a lot, cheers OW! :D

A little bit of Rilke before bed:

Progress

And once again the depths of my life rush onward,
as if they were moving in wider channels now.
Things are becoming more close to me
and all images more thoroughly looked upon.
I feel more comfortable with that which is nameless,:
With my senses, as with birds, I reach up
into the windy heavens out of the oak,
and in those pools broken off from the day,
my feeling, as if standing on fishes, descends.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

A little bit of Rilke before bed:

Progress

And once again the depths of my life rush onward,
as if they were moving in wider channels now.
Things are becoming more close to me
and all images more thoroughly looked upon.
I feel more comfortable with that which is nameless,:
With my senses, as with birds, I reach up
into the windy heavens out of the oak,
and in those pools broken off from the day,
my feeling, as if standing on fishes, descends.

---

Cheers for this Hes. I've enjoyed the Rilke postings (having never heard of her before). This is intriguing. Like so many poems that I like but dont really understand. On my 'to do' list is to find out about Rilke and hopefully better appreciate the context of her work.

One of the problems with this thread... 7000+ postings on, is that it generates a lot of homework!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Old Whippet

oh dear...the devil makes work for idle hounds....

Funny old place
this poetry thread
where poems are crafted
presented and read

Tentative offerings
modestly proffered
generous responses
enocouragement offered

Days in the mountains
imagined or real
depicted in colour
with poetic zeal

Flora and fauna
moorland and hill
blood sweat and tears
all grist to the mill.

Yet scratching the surface
is there a subtext?
beneath the veneer
an emotional vortex

Of turmoil, longing,
frustration and yearning?
Sometimes this thread
is so hot it's burning

Closer inspection
suggests a dual purpose
for the purveyors
of fell running verses

It's clearly both playground
for rhymers and punners
but also a knocking shop
for frustrated fell runners

---

Fantastic OW, truly fantastic. You've got this place sussed too :D

That's fabulous OW. I hadn't spotted the finish coming either. Brilliant.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Old Whippet

oh dear...the devil makes work for idle hounds....

Funny old place
this poetry thread
where poems are crafted
presented and read

Tentative offerings
modestly proffered
generous responses
enocouragement offered

Days in the mountains
imagined or real
depicted in colour
with poetic zeal

Flora and fauna
moorland and hill
blood sweat and tears
all grist to the mill.

Yet scratching the surface
is there a subtext?
beneath the veneer
an emotional vortex

Of turmoil, longing,
frustration and yearning?
Sometimes this thread
is so hot it's burning

Closer inspection
suggests a dual purpose
for the purveyors
of fell running verses

It's clearly both playground
for rhymers and punners
but also a knocking shop
for frustrated fell runners

---

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

A little bit of Rilke before bed:

Progress

And once again the depths of my life rush onward,
as if they were moving in wider channels now.
Things are becoming more close to me
and all images more thoroughly looked upon.
I feel more comfortable with that which is nameless,:
With my senses, as with birds, I reach up
into the windy heavens out of the oak,
and in those pools broken off from the day,
my feeling, as if standing on fishes, descends.

---

This is just divine Hes, your posts the past few days have been awesome, keep them coming!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

A little bit of Rilke before bed:


I reach up into the windy heavens out of the oak,

---

Love that particular line Hes :cool:

I liked OWs offering as well. Very well put together. :cool::)

Unending Love

I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times…
In life after life, in age after age, forever.
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,
In life after life, in age after age, forever.

Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it's age-old pain,
It's ancient tale of being apart or together.
As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,
Clad in the light of a pole-star piercing the darkness of time:
You become an image of what is remembered forever.

You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.
At the heart of time, love of one for another.
We have played along side millions of lovers, shared in the same
Shy sweetness of meeting, the same distressful tears of farewell-
Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.

Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you
The love of all man’s days both past and forever:
Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.
The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours –
And the songs of every poet past and forever

Rabindranath Tagore

According to 'Old Poetry' web-site this was Audrey Hepburn's favourite poem and Gregory Peck read it out at her funeral

Talking of funerals :rolleyes:, I think this poem, as read by John Hannah (with his Scottish twang) in Four Weddings and a Funeral is fantastic

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one:
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods:
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W H Auden

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Stolly

Talking of funerals :rolleyes:, I think this poem, as read by John Hannah (with his Scottish twang) in Four Weddings and a Funeral is fantastic

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one:
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods:
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

W H Auden

---

probably one of the best poems ever written in my opinion

Not visited in here for far too long but insprired after reading a poetry book last night, however Mossdog and Hes especially have made me cry! It's too dangerous in here!!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by emmilou

Not visited in here for far too long but insprired after reading a poetry book last night, however Mossdog and Hes especially have made me cry! It's too dangerous in here!!

---

Try this as a bit of light relief Emmilou

Nigh on 40 years ago, shortly after I started my first job in a cartographers office in Sunderland, I was told by one of the old hands there that “Map-reading isn’t a skill, it’s an belief”. This past year of my fellrunning comeback has meant that I’ve repeatedly explored that belief - not least on the Hobble last weekend.:D

Here’s a bit of Miroslav Holub that I use to reassure myself.

Brief reflection on maps

Albert Szent-Gyorgi, who knew a thing or two about maps,
by which life moves somewhere or other,
used to tell this story from the war,
through which history moves somewhere or other:

From a small Hungarian unit in the Alps a young lieutenant
sent out a scouting party into the icy wastes.
At once
it began to snow, it snowed for two days and the party
did not return. The lieutenant was in distress: he had sent
his men to their deaths.

On the third day, however, the scouting party was back.
Where had they been? How had they managed to find their way?
Yes, the men explained, we certainly thought we were
lost and awaited our end. When suddenly one of our lot
found a map in his pocket. We felt reassured.
We made a bivouac, waited for the snow to stop, and then
with the map
found the right direction.
And here we are.

The lieutenant asked to see that remarkable map in order to
study it. It wasn’t a map of the Alps
but the Pyrenees.

Goodbye

Towards the End

She was like a dodgem car stuttering, low
on sparks, all stops and starts a walk of a
hundred yards or slightly less could test
her heart and all its gubbins. Smoking started

at the age of nine, she never
stopped or tried to quit ever. Even
when early on in her career, her dad,
my great grandad locked her in the cellar
or bogey hole, with a pack of fags and a
box of matches. Everyone was lit and
smoked in turn, till she was ill. After eightyone

years a full patina of nicotine
on the index and middle finger is no more
than a give away of a dirty habit. The real
trouble was the rattling in her shoes.
The body decaying; her very toes
had blackened and shook loose, like
those of a mishapped mountaineer.

Death itself is instantaneous, dying
can take, minutes or years. It took
six months of refusing food, developing
bedsores and fits whilst possessed
under the spell of morphine. The end
was not sudden, unexpected or unseen
and however much grief you bare it
does not compare to the relief.

This might be a tad religious for some tastes.

I am the Great Sun

(From a Normandy crucifix of 1632)
by Charles Causley

I am the great sun, but you do not see me,
I am your husband, but you turn away.
I am the captive, but you do not free me,
I am the captain but you will not obey.
I am the truth, but you will not believe me,
I am the city where you will not stay.
I am your wife, your child, but you will leave me,
I am that God to whom you will not pray.
I am your counsel, but you will not hear me,
I am your lover whom you will betray.
I am the victor, but you do not cheer me,
I am the holy dove whom you will slay.
I am your life, but if you will not name me,
Seal up your soul with tears, and never blame me.

I am the colours of the setting sun
I am tommorrow when today is done
I am the big bang and its crunch
and the reason you eat Sunday lunch
I am a black hole that eats up stars
and the fuel you put in cars
I am the earth, grass and flowers
I give life and take the hours
I could be a rock or grain of sand
I am everything you hold in your hand

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by N-dubya

I am the colours of the setting sun
I am tommorrow when today is done
I am the big bang and its crunch
and the reason you eat Sunday lunch
I am a black hole that eats up stars
and the fuel you put in cars
I am the earth, grass and flowers
I give life and take the hours
I could be a rock or grain of sand
I am everything you hold in your hand

---

I love this! I also liked 'Towards the End', it was poignant and moving without being overly sentimental. Extremely effective.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Alf

This might be a tad religious for some tastes.

I am the Great Sun

(From a Normandy crucifix of 1632)
by Charles Causley

I am the great sun, but you do not see me,
I am your husband, but you turn away.
I am the captive, but you do not free me,
I am the captain but you will not obey.
I am the truth, but you will not believe me,
I am the city where you will not stay.
I am your wife, your child, but you will leave me,
I am that God to whom you will not pray.
I am your counsel, but you will not hear me,
I am your lover whom you will betray.
I am the victor, but you do not cheer me,
I am the holy dove whom you will slay.
I am your life, but if you will not name me,
Seal up your soul with tears, and never blame me.

---

I like this too, I think you could use a lot of the lines and apply it to whatever is the most important thing to you...whether that is God, nature, love etc...and it becomes a poem about when we briefly lose faith in these things.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by tinyman

Try this as a bit of light relief Emmilou

Nigh on 40 years ago, shortly after I started my first job in a cartographers office in Sunderland, I was told by one of the old hands there that “Map-reading isn’t a skill, it’s an belief”. This past year of my fellrunning comeback has meant that I’ve repeatedly explored that belief - not least on the Hobble last weekend.:D

Here’s a bit of Miroslav Holub that I use to reassure myself.

Brief reflection on maps

Albert Szent-Gyorgi, who knew a thing or two about maps,
by which life moves somewhere or other,
used to tell this story from the war,
through which history moves somewhere or other:

From a small Hungarian unit in the Alps a young lieutenant
sent out a scouting party into the icy wastes.
At once
it began to snow, it snowed for two days and the party
did not return. The lieutenant was in distress: he had sent
his men to their deaths.

On the third day, however, the scouting party was back.
Where had they been? How had they managed to find their way?
Yes, the men explained, we certainly thought we were
lost and awaited our end. When suddenly one of our lot
found a map in his pocket. We felt reassured.
We made a bivouac, waited for the snow to stop, and then
with the map
found the right direction.
And here we are.

The lieutenant asked to see that remarkable map in order to
study it. It wasn’t a map of the Alps
but the Pyrenees.

Goodbye

---

Brilliant!!! I can so relate to that. I am thinking of getting a map of Aran for when I run Jura this year!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by emmilou

Not visited in here for far too long but insprired after reading a poetry book last night, however Mossdog and Hes especially have made me cry! It's too dangerous in here!!

---

Sorry for making you cry...if you can be bothered wading back a few thousand posts (!) you'll find a load of daft poems on biscuit porn, that should reassure you that it isn't all doom and gloom here. :)

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

Sorry for making you cry...if you can be bothered wading back a few thousand posts (!) you'll find a load of daft poems on biscuit porn, that should reassure you that it isn't all doom and gloom here. :)

---

oh it wasn't doom and gloom!! I'm just soppy!!!

My Life.

I am there at the beginning,
I am there at the end,
I am the pain that fight with everyday of your life,
I am the part of you that cuts each day with a knife,
I am the scars that run down your wrist,
I am the siren call of death that you can't resist,
I am the relief that you feel as you start to fade,
I am the slow pooling blood in which you are laid,
I am wonderment as you are passing on,
I am the answer to the question now you are gone.

By Herakles

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by tinyman

Try this as a bit of light relief Emmilou

Nigh on 40 years ago, shortly after I started my first job in a cartographers office in Sunderland, I was told by one of the old hands there that “Map-reading isn’t a skill, it’s an belief”. This past year of my fellrunning comeback has meant that I’ve repeatedly explored that belief - not least on the Hobble last weekend.:D

Here’s a bit of Miroslav Holub that I use to reassure myself.

Brief reflection on maps

Albert Szent-Gyorgi, who knew a thing or two about maps,
by which life moves somewhere or other,
used to tell this story from the war,
through which history moves somewhere or other:

From a small Hungarian unit in the Alps a young lieutenant
sent out a scouting party into the icy wastes.
At once
it began to snow, it snowed for two days and the party
did not return. The lieutenant was in distress: he had sent
his men to their deaths.

On the third day, however, the scouting party was back.
Where had they been? How had they managed to find their way?
Yes, the men explained, we certainly thought we were
lost and awaited our end. When suddenly one of our lot
found a map in his pocket. We felt reassured.
We made a bivouac, waited for the snow to stop, and then
with the map
found the right direction.
And here we are.

The lieutenant asked to see that remarkable map in order to
study it. It wasn’t a map of the Alps
but the Pyrenees.

Goodbye

---

That's fabulous. And very relevent to fell running too. There is more than one person out there who carries exactly the same map whatever race they are running. :)

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Derby Tup

Unending Love

I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times…
In life after life, in age after age, forever.
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,
In life after life, in age after age, forever.

Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, it's age-old pain,
It's ancient tale of being apart or together.
As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge,
Clad in the light of a pole-star piercing the darkness of time:
You become an image of what is remembered forever.

You and I have floated here on the stream that brings from the fount.
At the heart of time, love of one for another.
We have played along side millions of lovers, shared in the same
Shy sweetness of meeting, the same distressful tears of farewell-
Old love but in shapes that renew and renew forever.

Today it is heaped at your feet, it has found its end in you
The love of all man’s days both past and forever:
Universal joy, universal sorrow, universal life.
The memories of all loves merging with this one love of ours –
And the songs of every poet past and forever

Rabindranath Tagore

According to 'Old Poetry' web-site this was Audrey Hepburn's favourite poem and Gregory Peck read it out at her funeral

---

i love this in particular the line about old love in shapes that renew and renew...lovely

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by N-dubya

Towards the End

She was like a dodgem car stuttering, low
on sparks, all stops and starts a walk of a
hundred yards or slightly less could test
her heart and all its gubbins. Smoking started

at the age of nine, she never
stopped or tried to quit ever. Even
when early on in her career, her dad,
my great grandad locked her in the cellar
or bogey hole, with a pack of fags and a
box of matches. Everyone was lit and
smoked in turn, till she was ill. After eightyone

years a full patina of nicotine
on the index and middle finger is no more
than a give away of a dirty habit. The real
trouble was the rattling in her shoes.
The body decaying; her very toes
had blackened and shook loose, like
those of a mishapped mountaineer.

Death itself is instantaneous, dying
can take, minutes or years. It took
six months of refusing food, developing
bedsores and fits whilst possessed
under the spell of morphine. The end
was not sudden, unexpected or unseen
and however much grief you bare it
does not compare to the relief.

---

this is really moving n dubya i am a bit speechless but i really like it

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Herakles

My Life.

I am there at the beginning,
I am there at the end,
I am the pain that fight with everyday of your life,
I am the part of you that cuts each day with a knife,
I am the scars that run down your wrist,
I am the siren call of death that you can't resist,
I am the relief that you feel as you start to fade,
I am the slow pooling blood in which you are laid,
I am wonderment as you are passing on,
I am the answer to the question now you are gone.

By Herakles

---

good to see you back! nice work

When you are old
Pierre de Ronsard

(1524-85)


When you are very old, at evening, by the fire,
spinning wool by candlelight and winding it in skeins,
you will say in wonderment as you recite my lines:
“Ronsard admired me in the days when I was fair.”

Then not one of your servants dozing gently there
hearing my name’s cadence break through your low repines
but will start into wakefulness out of her dreams
and bless your name — immortalised by my desire.

I’ll be underneath the ground, and a boneless shade
taking my long rest in the scented myrtle-glade,
and you’ll be an old woman, nodding towards life’s close,
regretting my love, and regretting your disdain.

Heed me, and live for now: this time won’t come again.
Come, pluck now — today — life’s so quickly-fading rose.

For the love of death.

Fear death i do not,
For he is my constant companion,
Sharing my deepest thoughts,
And whispering kind words in my ear,
To feel his love is to be in his thrall,
Such beauty in tempered violence,
I listen closely to my love,
To join him wandering,
The eternal planes,
And leave this fleeting existence.

By Herakles

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Old Whippet

oh dear...the devil makes work for idle hounds....

Funny old place
this poetry thread
where poems are crafted
presented and read

Tentative offerings
modestly proffered
generous responses
enocouragement offered

Days in the mountains
imagined or real
depicted in colour
with poetic zeal

Flora and fauna
moorland and hill
blood sweat and tears
all grist to the mill.

Yet scratching the surface
is there a subtext?
beneath the veneer
an emotional vortex

Of turmoil, longing,
frustration and yearning?
Sometimes this thread
is so hot it's burning

Closer inspection
suggests a dual purpose
for the purveyors
of fell running verses

It's clearly both playground
for rhymers and punners
but also a knocking shop
for frustrated fell runners

---

"A knocking shop" :eek::eek: Define your term young whippet me lad!!!

Otherwise, smashing verse - really made me smile:):)

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

A little bit of Rilke before bed:

Progress

And once again the depths of my life rush onward,
as if they were moving in wider channels now.
Things are becoming more close to me
and all images more thoroughly looked upon.
I feel more comfortable with that which is nameless,:
With my senses, as with birds, I reach up
into the windy heavens out of the oak,
and in those pools broken off from the day,
my feeling, as if standing on fishes, descends.

---

YES, YES, YES (no Old Whippet don't get the wrong idea!). I adore this Hes, and especially relate to...

"I feel more comfortable with that which is nameless,:"

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by N-dubya

Towards the End

She was like a dodgem car stuttering, low
on sparks, all stops and starts a walk of a
hundred yards or slightly less could test
her heart and all its gubbins. Smoking started

at the age of nine, she never
stopped or tried to quit ever. Even
when early on in her career, her dad,
my great grandad locked her in the cellar
or bogey hole, with a pack of fags and a
box of matches. Everyone was lit and
smoked in turn, till she was ill. After eightyone

years a full patina of nicotine
on the index and middle finger is no more
than a give away of a dirty habit. The real
trouble was the rattling in her shoes.
The body decaying; her very toes
had blackened and shook loose, like
those of a mishapped mountaineer.

Death itself is instantaneous, dying
can take, minutes or years. It took
six months of refusing food, developing
bedsores and fits whilst possessed
under the spell of morphine. The end
was not sudden, unexpected or unseen
and however much grief you bare it
does not compare to the relief.

---

I've read this twice already. It's really compelling and I find I've got this thread of admiration for her, running through each reading, despite the inevitable sadness of loss.

Love comes quietly
Robert Creeley

Love comes quietly,
finally, drops
about me, on me,
in the old ways.

What did I know
thinking myself
able to go
alone all the way.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Herakles

For the love of death.

Fear death i do not,
For he is my constant companion,
Sharing my deepest thoughts,
And whispering kind words in my ear,
To feel his love is to be in his thrall,
Such beauty in tempered violence,
I listen closely to my love,
To join him wandering,
The eternal planes,
And leave this fleeting existence.

By Herakles

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Don't leave just yet please Herakie - if only for my selfish wish to keep reading your verse. Anyway, as we're all gradually edging towards that door marked 'Exit' and as, like they say, 'eternity last for a bloody long time, so why rush into it?':)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

Love comes quietly
Robert Creeley

Love comes quietly,
finally, drops
about me, on me,
in the old ways.

What did I know
thinking myself
able to go
alone all the way.

---

Freckle, you devil you. I can see we're 'all aboard the Love Train, Love train' again:D (I bet that motown is before your'e time, eh!)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

Freckle, you devil you. I can see we're 'all aboard the Love Train, Love train' again:D (I bet that motown is before your'e time, eh!)

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Indeed! i think i prefer the love train idea to "knocking shop" :eek: although I have to give it to him, it was a mighty fine poem was it not......;)

here's a bittersweet one I wish I had written....

All you who sleep tonight
Far from the ones you love,
No hand to left or right
And emptiness above -

Know that you aren't alone
The whole world shares your tears,
Some for two nights or one,
And some for all their years.

Vikram Seth