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Inner Turmoil.
What do you think in the middle of the night,
Are you safe from your thoughts,
Or is your mind playing tricks so your filled with fright,
Do you like what you find,
Maybe it would be better to be someone else,
Does the thin veneer of civility make you blind,
Is it a monster that dwells within,
Could be an angel or both maybe nothing at all,
Or you fight all your life hiding you secret sin,
Can you cast the first stone ?.
By Herakles.
Nice one H and funny - I did not see the twist in the tail coming.Quote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
Nice one Alf. And your new avatar - no comment on that here yet? Is it the elephant in the poetry room? You consumer of prog rock!Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
I have eclectic tastes OW :rolleyes:;):DQuote:
Originally Posted by Old Whippet
She was too kind, wooed too persistently]
Samuel Butler (1805-1932)
i
She was too kind, wooed too persistently,
Wrote moving letters to me day by day;
The more she wrote, the more unmoved was I,
The more she gave, the less could I repay.
Therefore I grieve, not that I was not loved,
But that, being loved, I could not love again.
I liked, but like and love are far removed;
Hard though I tried to love I tried in vain.
For she was plain and lame and fat and short,
Forty and over-kind. Hence it befell
That though I loved her in a certain sort,
Yet did I love too wisely but not well.
Ah! had she been more beauteous or less kind
She might have found me of another mind.
ii
And now, though twenty years are come and gone,
That little lame lady's face is with me still;
Never a day but what, on every one,
She dwells with me, as dwell she ever will.
She said she wished I knew not wrong from right;
It was not that; I knew, and would have chosen
Wrong if I could, but, in my own despite,
Power to choose wrong in my chilled veins was frozen.
'Tis said that if a woman woo, no man
Should leave her till she have prevailed; and, true,
A man will yield for pity, if he can,
But if the flesh rebels what can he do?
I could not. Hence I grieve my whole life long
The wrong I did, in that I did no wrong.
iii
Had I been some young sailor, continent
Perforce three weeks and then well plied with wine,
I might in time have tried to yield consent
And almost (though I doubt it) made her mine.
Or had it been but once and never again,
Come what come might, she should have had her way;
But yielding once were yielding twice, and then
I had been hers for ever and a day.
Or had she only been content to crave
A marriage of true minds, her wish was granted;
My mind was hers, I was her willing slave
In all things else except the one she wanted:
And here, alas! at any rate to me
She was an all too, too impossible she.
Sonnet
Like as a ship, that through the ocean wide,
By conduct of some star, doth make her way,
Whenas a storm hath dimm'd her trusty guide,
Out of her course doth wander far astray;
So I, whose star, that wont with her bright ray
Me to direct, with clouds is overcast,
Do wander now, in darkness and dismay,
Through hidden perils round about me plast:
Yet hope I well that, when this storm is past,
My Helice, the lodestar of my life,
Will shine again, and look on me at last,
With lovely light to clear my cloudy grief.
Till then I wander careful, comfortless,
In secret sorrow, and sad pensiveness.
Edmund Spenser . 1553-1598/99
A couple of good choices there Mossy :D
Samuel Butler certainly has a way with the ladies :rolleyes:
Renouncement
I MUST not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,
I shun the love that lurks in all delight--
The love of thee--and in the blue heaven's height,
And in the dearest passage of a song.
Oh, just beyond the sweetest thoughts that throng
This breast, the thought of thee waits hidden yet bright;
But it must never, never come in sight;
I must stop short of thee the whole day long.
But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,
When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,
And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,
Must doff my will as raiment laid away,--
With the first dream that comes with the first sleep
I run, I run, I am gather'd to thy heart.
Alice Meynell
This is particuarly wonderful.....I so like the idea of the ship being guided by the star and the underlying metaphor, the last two lines are so moving, especially the use of the word "comfortless"............sighQuote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Alf i liked your beefheart track hadn't heard that one before and i enjoyed the sentiment!
Oooo now this is nice.....i must google her......between you and mossy's choices today it almost feels like saturday night on this thread , lovely!....;)Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
I might not be on much tonight so have a lovely night all...
To my friends
by Primo Levi
Dear friends, and here I say friends
the broad sense of the word:
Wife, sister, associates, relatives,
Schoolmates of both sexes,
People seen only once
Or frequented all my life;
Provided that between us, for at least a moment,
A line has been stretched,
A well-defined bond.
I speak for you, companions of a crowded
Road, not without its difficulties,
And for you too, who have lost
Soul, courage, the desire to live;
Or no one, or someone, or perhaps only one person, or you
Who are reading me: remember the time
Before the wax hardened,
When everyone was like a seal.
Each of us bears the imprint
Of a friend met along the way;
In each the trace of each.
For good or evil
In wisdom or in folly
Everyone stamped by everyone.
Now that the time crowds in
And the undertakings are finished,
To all of you the humble wish
That autumn will be long and mild.
I love the idea of "everyone stamped by everyone"
Have a lovely evening Freckle. That is a nice poem. Everyone we meet has some sort of influence on us. Some profound, some fleeting. All shape us in one way or another.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Dear reader what are you ?. And would you know if it was gone ?.
Passing through life,
Like a vestigial memory,
Floating, ethereal,
Lost in the moments,
Between life and death,
Unable to find myself,
No solace forever gone,
Erased out of history,
By the medical profession,
Replaced by a pale shadow,
Fake, translucent, empty.
By Herakles.
Ode to Joy.
Ode to joy,
The love between girl and boy,
Times of beauty that make you sing,
Crystal perfection of the diamond ring,
Borrowed the money from my girl for it,
Tried to save so difficult feel like s**t,
I love her so much but i'm an unemployed boy,
And now i find the money is,
Owed to joy.
By Herakles.
Lakeland Hero.
Quiet listening intently,
To the wiry athletic old man,
Talking of the fells and the sheep,
Offcomers buying up the property,
Passion, intensity are there in his eyes,
I coax him into telling me of his running,
A veritable encyclopedia of fell history,
Wasdale and BG'S and all the lakeland,
A true pleasure to listen to this gentleman,
One of a dying breed,
We must cherish them and learn.
By Herakles.
Great find Alf, and in the same theme too! Repressed / lamented love :)Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
i like this i can just imagine you sitting and listening intently :)Quote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
I Am A Runner
(with thanks to the original version of "The Manchester Rambler" by Ewan MacColl)
I've been over Snowdon, I've run up to Crowden,
I've passes by the Wain Stones as well,
I've sunbathed on Kinder, been burnt to a cinder,
And many more things I can tell.
My bumbag has oft been my pillow,
The heather has oft been my bed,
And sooner than part from the mountains,
I think I would rather be dead.
Chorus
I'm a runner, I'm a runner from Manchester way,
I get all my pleasure the hard moorland way.
I may be an employee on Monday,
But I am a free man on Sunday.
There's pleasure in running thro' peat-bogs and bragging
Of all the fine races that you know;
There's even a measure of some kind of pleasure
In running through ten feet of snow!
I've stood on the edge of the Downfall
And seen all the valleys outspread,
And sooner than part from the mountains
I think I would rather be dead.
The day was just ending as I was descending
Through Grindsbrook by Upper-Tor,
When a voice cried, "Hey, you!" in the way game-keepers do,
(He'd the worst face that ever I saw).
The things that he said were unpleasant;
In the teeth of his fury I said,
That sooner than part from the mountains
I think I would rather be dead.
He called me a louse and said, "Think of the grouse."
Well - I thought but I still couldn't see
Why old Kinder Scout and the moors round about
Couldn't take both the poor grouse and me.
He said, "All this land is my master's!"
At that I stood shaking my head, -
No man has the right to own mountains
Any more than the deep ocean bed.
I once loved a maid, a print-maker by trade,
She was fair as the rowan in bloom,
And the blue of her eye mocked the June moorland sky,
And I loved her from April to June.
On the day that we should have been married
I went for a run instead;
For sooner than part from the mountains
I think I would rather be dead.
So I'll run where I will over mountain and hill
And I'll run where the bracken is deep;
I belong to the mountains, the clear running fountains
Where the grey rocks rise rugged and steep.
I have seen the white hare in the galleys
And the curlew fly high overhead,
And sooner than part from the mountains
I think I would rather be dead.
Mmmmm...glad to see you back to your mischevious self X runner!
Quote:
Originally Posted by XRunner
first draft
Gifts
I brought gifts, a dream,
above the edge of an escarpement,
unfathomable drop,
I felt the fear and the desire to fall.
Another dream, my naked torso,
huge cavernous omission where a stomach should have been,
the wind howling through.
After that I saw holes everywhere, and the drop,
some kind of pleasant vertigo followed.
At the theatre I gazed at the distance
between my seat and the stage
dizzied with the prospect of some magical falling,
not conceiving of decking out,
the unconscious illogical harness of certainty
held my risk taking mind.
Eventually the delectable fear of falling
could be resisted no longer,
and an unsuspecting catalyst
luminous hood in november rain,
unsure of the descent,
we peeled away, without realising
at each carapace.
And so began the journey,
crashing and banging
down a huge bamboo shoot
of possibilities,
I landed with a bump into uncertainty.
The chockstone unlodged, it got ugly,
I think...
I got ugly.
I wasn’t expecting that.
But now, after the machinations,
I catch glimpses,
here is the centre of myself,
a stillness forgotten.
Tonight my mother found some poems
written for her when I was a child
“you were always writing poems”,
I had forgotten completely,
it was a relief to remember.
Wow! and that's the 1st draft? intruiging to see how it will evole, and brave to do this publicly.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Really good Freckle. And top stuff from x runner.
artistic licence my friend, artistic licence ;):D:)Quote:
Originally Posted by Old Whippet
oh and cheers herakles.......:-)
Snack.
You'll find me here,
Trying to find the words,
Sometimes i leave disappointed,
Not knowing if i'll write again,
But tonight at least,
If not a feast of prose,
Then a snack on a word or two.
By Herakles.
i really like this, sometimes writing can be a daunting process but its worth a go especially in such a supportive environment...:)Quote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
Past,Present,Future. {Complicated}.
If i was to say i love you,
What would you say to me ?,
Would you care, would you share,
Your purest place in your heart,
Am i to be given the keys,
To open your garden of delight,
Your eyes tell me the answer,
Before you utter a syllable,
Oh my beautiful, mysterious creature,
Why should those 3 words,
Strike fear into the heart of man,
Because my love is unrequited,
And forever is it likely to stay this way.
By Herakles.
Mighty Aphrodite.
Stardust in your eyes,
Beauty incarnate,
Aphrodite made flesh,
Wonderment,
Quiet contemplation,
From a distance,
My conscience pricks me,
The years pass.
By Herakles.
Very good poem freckle with some great imagery there :cool:Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Heck of a journey ;)
Nice one Freckle. Be brave. You'll know when the editing should stop and suddenly the draft which you thought might be there for a while becomes final copy in an instant. :)
Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Expletives come to mind...better not say them here, but my goodness this is good! The fear of falling, the miracle of remembering and rediscovery and the joy of finding yourself or the potential of yourself...themes that resonate so completely with me and, I am sure, many of us. Just keep writing Freckle.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Hes its good to have you back around...thanks for all the kind comments about this poem, its really validating when what you writes touches something in someone else.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
Freckle it is really, really good. Looking forward to your next draft.
very sunday night (except its monday but hell you know what i mean)......i love bukowski's authenticity.....
An almost made up poem
Charles Bukowski
I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny
blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny
they are small, and the fountain is in France
where you wrote me that last letter and
I answered and never heard from you again.
you used to write insane poems about
ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you
knew famous artists and most of them
were your lovers, and I wrote back, it’ all right,
go ahead, enter their lives, I’ not jealous
because we’ never met. we got close once in
New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never
touched. so you went with the famous and wrote
about the famous, and, of course, what you found out
is that the famous are worried about
their fame –– not the beautiful young girl in bed
with them, who gives them that, and then awakens
in the morning to write upper case poems about
ANGELS AND GOD. we know God is dead, they’ told
us, but listening to you I wasn’ sure. maybe
it was the upper case. you were one of the
best female poets and I told the publishers,
editors, “ her, print her, she’ mad but she’
magic. there’ no lie in her fire.” I loved you
like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have
loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a
cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,
but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder.
your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all
lovers betray. it didn’ help. you said
you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and
the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying
bench every night and wept for the lovers who had
hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never
heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide
3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met you
I would probably have been unfair to you or you
to me. it was best like this.
I'd almost forgotten it was Monday night already. Lovely and melancholic choice.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Above me, at the abbey,
from the window
where you wonder...if
you let your golden hair
unfurl from there, a lifeline, curl
by curl, unload it
down the wall...
I will. I will
Simon Armitage
It does feel like Sunday night but the good news is next weekend is only four days away! :D
I think I could copeQuote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
with four-day weekends every
single week. Could you?
Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
I thought this thread was on its last legs....:eek:
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the east, and wor Harry (and Derby T) is the sun.
or as leonard would say.....
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WJTiXoMCppw
I love that armitage choice...classy!
A five day weekendQuote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
was planned in my living room
two hours ago!
:cool:
Last legs? Never! It is all in the pacing.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Leonard is a star.
I was decorating to the sounds of Rufus Wainwright today.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2l3lswalDEA
So speaksQuote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
the voice of reason
Harry happy to hope
Howgill
:)
nice tune, i hadn't really come across him until this thread, lovely stuff