Today's poet

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

You two can fight it out over your handbags at the AW. :)

---

If only, but I guess I'm just more a lover than fighter in life HHH;):D

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

Oooooo I like a challenge! :D


Definitions

Hoo man Mossy,
Wor frecks is belta,
Aye she’s right clivva,
divin’t dis the freckle,
she might get monged
and she is not minted,
but she knaas her Geordie slang,
and “lush” is geet lovely or nice,
but hey ney botha mossy,
I’ll no take offence,
a pint of snecklifter or two,
after the AW,
and all the radgieness will disappear,
all thoughts of you being a Heed the Baal,
gone forever!

---

:confused::confused::confused::

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

Still


A long day,
a tiring day,
I lie,
we lie,
wordless,
in each others arms,
the balm of silence and warmth between us,
and watch without sight
as the days woes wash away
into the ink of the night.

---

Now that really is gert lush:)

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Stef F

Edale Skyline

Skyline of Edale
Peat bogs, snow holes, icy cold
Will I survive it?

I can't wait for the weekend. Hope it doesn't rain too much.

First camping expo
of the year. Hip hip hurrah,
three cheers for canvass

---

Blimey our Stef F
you really have the rhythm
Go Girl Go Edale!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Mossdog

Blimey our Stef F
you really have the rhythm
Go Girl Go Edale!

---

Thanks :cool:

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Mossdog

If only, but I guess I'm just more a lover than fighter in life HHH;):D

---

Good answer Mossy. :D

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Mossdog

:confused::confused::confused::

---

And I thought you were a local!

One art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.

Elizabeth Bishop

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Stolly

A running question for Hes - I figure she'll be more likely to read it here :D.

So Hes, a bit outside of Masham, Pateley Bridge and Nidderdale I know but have you ever run a loop up Simon's Seat, starting off from say Greenhow or Stump Cross Caverns? I drive this way fairly often returning towards home from Wetherby/the A1 and the moor always looks fabulous, usually with a dark, slightly ominous Simon's Seat brooding in the background. I suspect I could just stop the car, put my running togs on and hack a route there and back either way but, given that you are based in that neck of the woods, I thought you may have run there once or twice? I can see a couple of cart tracks on the map that I'm sure will do the job but that looks all too straight forward and boring. (I know Simon's Seat and Barden Fell really well but have always run it from Bolton Abbey/Cavendish Pavillion/Devonshire Arms).

Apologies for not being skilled enough to put that to rhyme :)

---

Hi Stolly, sorry for the delay...work has been hellish. I do know Simon's seat but haven't done a run from Greenhow or Stump Cross Caverns, sounds like a good idea though.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Derby Tup

It’s the penultimate headtorch run of the year,
The usual format: dash up a hill, then drink beer,
We all start off in scenic Appletreewick,
The usual faces: Grifter, Millipede, Brett and Stick

Along the flowing Wharfe we all trot,
Then up to Simon’s Seat, that’s our spot,
Me and Millipede plod along at the back,
Enjoying post Hobble gossip, savouring the craic

To let everyone through, I open a gate,
And up in the trees there’s an owl calling its mate,
The fields are full of lambs and ewes,
As my mind turns to post-run booze

Ace descender Ted leads the pack home,
This is his country; the Dale’s where he roams,
While seeing him rapidly flying past,
It dawns quickly on us that we’ll be the last

After the run, it’s into the Craven to quench our thirst,
Where to start? Bronte Bitter for me first,
The Hetton Pale Ale is really great,
And Moorhouse’s of Burnley is supped by the crate

When we’ve finally finished our ale,
It’s time to wander home, back down the Dale,
With thoughts of summer evenings and our next run,
Being out in the dark is great but it’s hard to beat the sun!

---

That's excellent DT! Really good work, I like it a lot.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

Still


A long day,
a tiring day,
I lie,
we lie,
wordless,
in each others arms,
the balm of silence and warmth between us,
and watch without sight
as the days woes wash away
into the ink of the night.

---

Wow....that is gorgeous Freckle. I have a lump in my throat.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

Wow....that is gorgeous Freckle. I have a lump in my throat.

---

Thanks and welcome back Hes! you hardworking gal! I am just popping on quickly mid tea party but hope to be back laters...good luck with the rest of your work I look forward to seeing the results hopefully!

Hi Freckle, yep, been feeling totally frazzled for a while but there is light at the end of the tunnel and this time next week I can look forward to a period of making new work. Hope the tea party is going ok!

Indoor Games near Newbury
poem by John Betjeman


In among the silver birches,
Winding ways of tarmac wander
And the signs to Bussock Bottom,
Tussock Wood and Windy Break.
Gabled lodges, tile-hung churches
Catch the lights of our Lagonda
As we drive to Wendy’s party,
Lemon curd and Christmas cake

Rich the makes of motor whirring
Past the pine plantation purring
Come up Hupmobile Delage.
Short the way our chauffeurs travel
Crunching over private gravel,
Each from out his warm garage.

O but Wendy, when the carpet
Yielded to my indoor pumps.
There you stood, your gold hair streaming,
Handsome in the hall light gleaming
There you looked and there you led me
Off into the game of Clumps.

Then the new Victrola playing;
And your funny uncle saying
"Choose your partners for a foxtrot.
Dance until it's tea o'clock
Come on young 'uns, foot it feetly."
Was it chance that paired us neatly?
I who loved you so completely.
You who pressed me closely to you,
Hard against your party frock.

"Meet me when you've finished eating."
So we met and no one found us.
O that dark and furry cupboard,
While the rest played hide-and-seek.
Holding hands our two hearts beating.
In the bedroom silence round us
Holding hands and hardly hearing
Sudden footstep, thud and shriek

Love that lay too deep for kissing.
"Where is Wendy? Wendy's missing."
Love so pure it had to end.
Love so strong that I was frightened
When you gripped my fingers tight.
And hugging, whispered "I'm your friend."

Goodbye Wendy. Send the fairies,
Pinewood elf and larch tree gnome.
Spingle-spangled stars are peeping
At the lush Lagonda creeping
Down the winding ways of tarmac
To the leaded lights of home.

There among the silver birches,
All the bells of all the churches
Sounded in the bath-waste running
Out into the frosty air.
Wendy speeded my undressing.
Wendy is the sheet's caressing
Wendy bending gives a blessing.
Holds me as I drift to dreamland
Safe inside my slumber wear

Was this the kind of tea party you were having?;) Cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off...

The Runner

Fickle woman
dreams of you
poetic soul
never thinking
you could be hers
that maybe you are
free as a bird
and now...
here you are
within grasp
and there she runs
fear gripping
a scarred heart.
You won't catch her.
Better alone
than step into
the unknown.

My lovely mum bought me The Poetry of Birds edited by Simon Armitage for my birthday and I am about to start work on my residency at the museum wher I'll be drawing stuffed birds and eggs...this poem sums up how I always feel when I find a dead bird or a bird skulls:

Perfect

On the Western Seaboard of South Uist
Los muertos abren los ojos a los que viven

I found a pigeon's skull on the machair,
All the bones pure white and dry, and chalky,
But perfect,
Without a crack or a flaw anywhere.

At the back, rising out of the beak,
Were domes like bubbles of thin bone,
Almost transparent, where the brain had been
That fixed the tilt of the wings.

Hugh MacDiarmid

(I think the spanish translates as the dead open the eyes of those that live)

I'm absent for a few days and now you can't shut me up!

This is morbid but how true:

On a Bird Dead in the Road

What formerly flounced and flew its fantastic feathers
Now lies like a flattened old leather glove in the road,
And the gigantic wheels of the articulated juggernaut lorries
Pound down on it all day long like the mad will of God.

George Barker.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

The Runner

Fickle woman
dreams of you
poetic soul
never thinking
you could be hers
that maybe you are
free as a bird
and now...
here you are
within grasp
and there she runs
fear gripping
a scarred heart.
You won't catch her.
Better alone
than step into
the unknown.

---

FFS Hes, who ever it is don't be such a prat ;). And if the poem's not a self critique... ignore me completely but the poem is completely brilliant by the way :D

Better still ignore me either way as I'm Mr Rubbish as far as making life choices of any kind is concerned, let alone romantic ones :rolleyes:

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Stolly

FFS Hes, who ever it is don't be such a prat ;). And if the poem's not a self critique... ignore me completely but the poem is completely brilliant by the way :D

Better still ignore me either way as I'm Mr Rubbish as far as making life choices of any kind is concerned, let alone romantic ones :rolleyes:

---

Cheers Stolly! Nay worries as they say, it is partly reality and partly imagined. Just a situation that made me realise what a strange and complex character I am...and yes, probably a prat!:D No decisions to be made as yet. Just doing some introspection. I am making myself chuckle wth my contrariness but ultimately, I'm not daft, if a really good thing does turn up...I'll make the leap....I think...

Bedlam.

Chained to the wall,
What do you see ?,
Paying your penny,
You poke me with sticks,
Spit,drink and vomit on me,
I see right through you,
Whilst you look down at us all,
We might be animals to you,
But we are free,
We can speak our mind,
Without loss of liberty,
The king cannot put us in our place,
We are already separated from the human race,
So i ask you who is free ? ,
The sane or the mad,
Is yours just a prison with more light,
The soldiers can't take me in the middle of the night,
I will try with all that i am,
To prove that i am more free than you,
In Bedlam.

By Herakles.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

Hi Freckle, yep, been feeling totally frazzled for a while but there is light at the end of the tunnel and this time next week I can look forward to a period of making new work. Hope the tea party is going ok!

Indoor Games near Newbury
poem by John Betjeman


In among the silver birches,
Winding ways of tarmac wander
And the signs to Bussock Bottom,
Tussock Wood and Windy Break.
Gabled lodges, tile-hung churches
Catch the lights of our Lagonda
As we drive to Wendy’s party,
Lemon curd and Christmas cake

Rich the makes of motor whirring
Past the pine plantation purring
Come up Hupmobile Delage.
Short the way our chauffeurs travel
Crunching over private gravel,
Each from out his warm garage.

O but Wendy, when the carpet
Yielded to my indoor pumps.
There you stood, your gold hair streaming,
Handsome in the hall light gleaming
There you looked and there you led me
Off into the game of Clumps.

Then the new Victrola playing;
And your funny uncle saying
"Choose your partners for a foxtrot.
Dance until it's tea o'clock
Come on young 'uns, foot it feetly."
Was it chance that paired us neatly?
I who loved you so completely.
You who pressed me closely to you,
Hard against your party frock.

"Meet me when you've finished eating."
So we met and no one found us.
O that dark and furry cupboard,
While the rest played hide-and-seek.
Holding hands our two hearts beating.
In the bedroom silence round us
Holding hands and hardly hearing
Sudden footstep, thud and shriek

Love that lay too deep for kissing.
"Where is Wendy? Wendy's missing."
Love so pure it had to end.
Love so strong that I was frightened
When you gripped my fingers tight.
And hugging, whispered "I'm your friend."

Goodbye Wendy. Send the fairies,
Pinewood elf and larch tree gnome.
Spingle-spangled stars are peeping
At the lush Lagonda creeping
Down the winding ways of tarmac
To the leaded lights of home.

There among the silver birches,
All the bells of all the churches
Sounded in the bath-waste running
Out into the frosty air.
Wendy speeded my undressing.
Wendy is the sheet's caressing
Wendy bending gives a blessing.
Holds me as I drift to dreamland
Safe inside my slumber wear

Was this the kind of tea party you were having?;) Cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off...

---

Aw Hes this is so lovely i love JB...our tea party was for the little uns so not quite so sedate, more running round like headless chickens and trashing my house ! I highlightedin red the lines i especially liked...beautiful stuff...I really liked your bird poem too, its funny becuase when I went for a walk with the dog this morning through our local graveyard which is also a bit of a nature reserve (no kids) there was a dead pheasant lieing on one of the paths near the graves, i found it a bit eery...that books sounds nice tho will have to look it up.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

The Runner

Fickle woman
dreams of you
poetic soul
never thinking
you could be hers
that maybe you are
free as a bird
and now...
here you are
within grasp
and there she runs
fear gripping
a scarred heart.
You won't catch her.
Better alone
than step into
the unknown.

---

How enigmatic fair artiste ;) very beautiful

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Herakles

Bedlam.

Chained to the wall,
What do you see ?,
Paying your penny,
You poke me with sticks,
Spit,drink and vomit on me,
I see right through you,
Whilst you look down at us all,
We might be animals to you,
But we are free,
We can speak our mind,
Without loss of liberty,
The king cannot put us in our place,
We are already separated from the human race,
So i ask you who is free ? ,
The sane or the mad,
Is yours just a prison with more light,
The soldiers can't take me in the middle of the night,
I will try with all that i am,
To prove that i am more free than you,
In Bedlam.

By Herakles.

---

Thank god its isn't quite as bad as all this these days although far from perfect I am sure! thank you for the reminder herakles

Maelstrom

You, yes you,
have launched me
tonight
into a maelstrom
of confusion-
love, desire, pain, regret,
FEAR
all is - collision,
shatter,
fragments, of
my essence
into so much
shrapnel
now earth bound,
exhausted, these
silent shreds
barely rest,
before,
once more
cast asunder
dizzily, skyward.
I
cannot think,
catch my thoughts,
hear my feelings,
through the
delirium
of Love
for YOU.
I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO......

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Mossdog

Maelstrom

You, yes you,
have launched me
tonight
into a maelstrom
of confusion-
love, desire, pain, regret,
FEAR
all is - collision,
shatter,
fragments, of
my essence
into so much
shrapnel
now earth bound,
exhausted, these
silent shreds
barely rest,
before,
once more
cast asunder
dizzily, skyward.
I
cannot think,
catch my thoughts,
hear my feelings,
through the
delirium
of Love
for YOU.
I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO......

---

Wow! this is amazing Mossy just utterly brilliant, you so achingly describe the fear of falling in love and the sense of resignation and abandon when it happens.........a classic friday night poem! thank you so much for sharing this one with us

ps "all is collision" wish I had written that!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Mossdog

Maelstrom

You, yes you,
have launched me
tonight
into a maelstrom
of confusion-
love, desire, pain, regret,
FEAR
all is - collision,
shatter,
fragments, of
my essence
into so much
shrapnel
now earth bound,
exhausted, these
silent shreds
barely rest,
before,
once more
cast asunder
dizzily, skyward.
I
cannot think,
catch my thoughts,
hear my feelings,
through the
delirium
of Love
for YOU.
I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO......

---

I really love this Mossy. Hmmm...seems I am not the only one that finds love (or the idea of it in my case) frightening and overwhelming.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

The Runner

Fickle woman
dreams of you
poetic soul
never thinking
you could be hers
that maybe you are
free as a bird
and now...
here you are
within grasp
and there she runs
fear gripping
a scarred heart.
You won't catch her.
Better alone
than step into
the unknown.

---

Beautifully put Hes.

That's brilliant. Does anyone know what the game of Clumps is all about?

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

Hi Freckle, yep, been feeling totally frazzled for a while but there is light at the end of the tunnel and this time next week I can look forward to a period of making new work. Hope the tea party is going ok!

Indoor Games near Newbury
poem by John Betjeman


In among the silver birches,
Winding ways of tarmac wander
And the signs to Bussock Bottom,
Tussock Wood and Windy Break.
Gabled lodges, tile-hung churches
Catch the lights of our Lagonda
As we drive to Wendy’s party,
Lemon curd and Christmas cake

Rich the makes of motor whirring
Past the pine plantation purring
Come up Hupmobile Delage.
Short the way our chauffeurs travel
Crunching over private gravel,
Each from out his warm garage.

O but Wendy, when the carpet
Yielded to my indoor pumps.
There you stood, your gold hair streaming,
Handsome in the hall light gleaming
There you looked and there you led me
Off into the game of Clumps.

Then the new Victrola playing;
And your funny uncle saying
"Choose your partners for a foxtrot.
Dance until it's tea o'clock
Come on young 'uns, foot it feetly."
Was it chance that paired us neatly?
I who loved you so completely.
You who pressed me closely to you,
Hard against your party frock.

"Meet me when you've finished eating."
So we met and no one found us.
O that dark and furry cupboard,
While the rest played hide-and-seek.
Holding hands our two hearts beating.
In the bedroom silence round us
Holding hands and hardly hearing
Sudden footstep, thud and shriek

Love that lay too deep for kissing.
"Where is Wendy? Wendy's missing."
Love so pure it had to end.
Love so strong that I was frightened
When you gripped my fingers tight.
And hugging, whispered "I'm your friend."

Goodbye Wendy. Send the fairies,
Pinewood elf and larch tree gnome.
Spingle-spangled stars are peeping
At the lush Lagonda creeping
Down the winding ways of tarmac
To the leaded lights of home.

There among the silver birches,
All the bells of all the churches
Sounded in the bath-waste running
Out into the frosty air.
Wendy speeded my undressing.
Wendy is the sheet's caressing
Wendy bending gives a blessing.
Holds me as I drift to dreamland
Safe inside my slumber wear

Was this the kind of tea party you were having?;) Cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off...

---

Let me put it this way:
if you came to lay

your sleeping head
against my heart or sleeve,

and if my arm went dead,
or if I had to take my leave

at midnight, I should rather
cleave it from the joint or seam

than make a scene
or bring you round.

There,
how does that sound?

Simon Armitage

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

Aw Hes this is so lovely i love JB...our tea party was for the little uns so not quite so sedate, more running round like headless chickens and trashing my house ! I highlightedin red the lines i especially liked...beautiful stuff...I really liked your bird poem too, its funny becuase when I went for a walk with the dog this morning through our local graveyard which is also a bit of a nature reserve (no kids) there was a dead pheasant lieing on one of the paths near the graves, i found it a bit eery...that books sounds nice tho will have to look it up.

---

I've done a lot of cycling this week to and from work and I've seen more dead animals than alive sadly. A badger, fox and a young deer all currently along the A6. Poor things.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Let me put it this way:
if you came to lay

your sleeping head
against my heart or sleeve,

and if my arm went dead,
or if I had to take my leave

at midnight, I should rather
cleave it from the joint or seam

than make a scene
or bring you round.

There,
how does that sound?

Simon Armitage

---

Bloody nora! How gorgeous is this!!! I can't believe the posts tonight just awesome! I hope he reads this one too!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

Bloody nora! How gorgeous is this!!! I can't believe the posts tonight just awesome! I hope he reads this one too!

---

Couldn't have put it any better Freckle...what a beautiful poem!

Chosen ones. {I wish you could share}

Struggle no more,
Against what can make you free,
Man made Handmade,
Tie dye straightjacket of your so called sanity,
Imagine you could be like me,
Just for brief moments pandora unbound,
Such clarity such perfection,
You really could be as lucky as me,
The joy and pain is true liberty,
I just wish you could all feel this,
And realise this is not an illness,
It is the gateway to the purest human being,
If only it could be all the time,
And you were here with me.

By Herakles.

Just seen a lady on the news caring for her mother who has dementia.
Selfless soul, who cares for others
Without thought of praise or money
Should be rewarded in Heaven

Night all, take care and have a good weekend:)

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

Couldn't have put it any better Freckle...what a beautiful poem!

---

I'm afraid to say that I didn't realise how good Simon Armitage actually is. It is only recently that I've started reading him more and there is loads of good stuff. My copy of "book of matches" has a post-it on virtually every page.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by merrylegs

Just seen a lady on the news caring for her mother who has dementia.
Selfless soul, who cares for others
Without thought of praise or money
Should be rewarded in Heaven

---

Like this and agree with the sentiment, carers are the unsung heroes of this world, night merry x

It has been so lovely to be here with you all again! I won;t leave it so long next time!:) Off to bed now, night all.xx

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

It has been so lovely to be here with you all again! I won;t leave it so long next time!:) Off to bed now, night all.xx

---

night wandering star...x

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

It has been so lovely to be here with you all again! I won;t leave it so long next time!:) Off to bed now, night all.xx

---

Night Hes, Night All.

Reverie

on the cusp
perhaps
butterflies flutter
long dormant
awakened by your sun
standing on the edge
that dizzying height
wheel and run
or lean and fall
hoping their wings
can carry me...

(the author wishes to point out that she is just introspecting...any resemblance to actual people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental;))