Today's poet

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

It is a kiddies book that I picked off the shelf tonight and thought I'd share it with you.

---

Big kid at heart me, thanks for sharing Harry:wink:

That's lovely. I 've not come across John Drinkwater before.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Sunbeam Alpine

A seasonal one - and one of my favourites. There's an apple tree growng wild on the river bank - which I've fleeced of fruit. It would be good to know the type. I need to catch up with some of the posts - but I'll first grab an apple

MOONLIT APPLES

At the top of the house the apples are laid in rows,
And the skylight lets the moonlight in, and those
Apples are deep-sea apples of green. There goes
A cloud on the moon in the autumn night.

A mouse in the wainscot scratches, and scratches, and then
There is no sound at the top of the house of men
Or mice; and the cloud is blown, and the moon again
Dapples the apples with deep-sea light.

They are lying in rows there, under the gloomy beams;
On the sagging floor; they gather the silver streams
Out of the moon, those moonlit apples of dreams,
And quiet is the steep stair under.

In the corridors under there is nothing but sleep.
And stiller than ever on orchard boughs they keep
Tryst with the moon, and deep is the silence, deep
On moon-washed apples of wonder

---

Dog, kids, headtorch
3 miles of fun and laughter
No arguments, plenty of bats:thumbup:

Thank you. This is one I just came across from John Kinsella in Australia - there is a lichen that fluoresces - but I've forgotten its name. Lichens have colonised everywhere including the statues on Easter Island. Apparently the 'authorities' fearing that the lichen are doing damage are making a forcible eviction of them (probably after several thousand years of living there) - thereby causing damage for which they've called in eperts from Italy to apply cosmetic surgery.

Lichen Glows in the Moonlight

by John Kinsella
John Kinsella
Lichen glows in the moonlight
so fierce only cloud blocking
the moon brings relief. Then passed by,
recharged it leaps up off rocks


and suffocates—there is no route
through rocks without having to confront
its beseeching—it lights the way,
not the moon, and outdoes epithets


like phosphorescent, fluorescent, or florescent:
it smirks and smiles and lifts the corner
of its lips in hideous or blissful collusion,
and birds pipe an eternal dawn, never knowing


when to sleep or wake. They might
be tricked into thinking their time’s up,
in the spectrum of lichen, its extra-gravital
persuasion, its crackling movement


remembered as still, indifferent, barely
living under the sun, or on a dark night;
climbing up you’d escape, but like all great
molecular weights it leaves traces


you carry with you into the realms
of comfort and faith.

Just found this, don't know who wrote it, but i like it:thumbup:

A Night Run
The rhythmic footfall, darkness
Adrenaline pumping, rustling, shadows
Eyes watching, waiting
Breathing, heavy breathing
The first rays of light, a salty smear
Across face, into eyes
But the passing of night and I am
The passing of night and I am still here

I like it very much merrystevefosterlegs :thumbup:

oops! looks like the old Alfer missed National Poetry Day on the thread :)

This is a War Poem but maybe not immediately apparent.

Landlock

Rain came rarely to the white wood valley.
In between times, he did what he could,
cut rhubarb and gooseberries, brought flowers
from the hill: camel-thorn in winter, rest-harrow
in summer, rock-rose, barberry, mimosa.
He ground wormwood to settle her fever.
When the trouble was done he would take back the farm,
plant olive and cedar, build her a home.
But she thought mostly of the sea -
the uncommissioned sea -
wild at her, salt strong -
not the starving river, brackish and torn -
a river is never enough.
One of her wishes was to find her own path,
but the lowlands were locked down, the plains undone;
so they climbed, and climbed as one.
And when she could not walk he carried her
and when he could not carry her she walked.
Such as this the days went by, till his strength too was sapped.
He laid his back against the longer rock
and set her head that gently in his lap.
Sleep overtook them on the slope.
He woke to take the sunlight in his eyes
and could not see at first the greater distance,
the strange blue, stain blue light in the distance,
that seemed every bit to move, impossible, surely,
a thin drawn band of sea, somewhere meeting sky.
He raised her head that she might see it done.
But where she was she had already gone.

Matthew Hollis

Long-Tailed Titmice
flutter across misty road
feathered tadpoles

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Derby Tup

Long-Tailed Titmice
flutter across misty road
feathered tadpoles

---

i really like this, its misty here too very "season of mists and mellow fruitfeluness" and all that!

Alf i enjoyed your choice, moving........thank you

Hoorah! I’ve finally found some poems about my bit of the Yorkshire Dales :)
Boo! I don’t really like most of them :mad:

See here --> Dentdale - poems

I guess of them all this is probably the poem that best hits the spot with me

Moor Song

Here is my element.
The lift and swell
and lip and lie.
The stretch of sky
over the hills.
The way the moor folds;
the way it breaks
into a run of ghylls;
the way it falls;
the way the wide fells
hold the eye and all
is clear and still.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Stolly

Hoorah! I’ve finally found some poems about my bit of the Yorkshire Dales :)
Boo! I don’t really like most of them :mad:

See here --> Dentdale - poems

I guess of them all this is probably the poem that best hits the spot with me

Moor Song

Here is my element.
The lift and swell
and lip and lie.
The stretch of sky
over the hills.
The way the moor folds;
the way it breaks
into a run of ghylls;
the way it falls;
the way the wide fells
hold the eye and all
is clear and still.

---

nice.....anyhoo, you could always try writing some yourself Stolly! how is the calender going?

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Derby Tup

Long-Tailed Titmice
flutter across misty road
feathered tadpoles

---

"Bumbarrels" making a welcome return to the thread. Nice one DT :)

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

nice.....anyhoo, you could always try writing some yourself Stolly! how is the calender going?

---

As for writing poems myself.................. hahahaha!

You and Hes and others have more talent in their little fingers than me and it would take me weeks of grappling with the words just to come out with one of DT's 3 line Haiku's. When I'm out and about in the hills I do though experience really 'poetic' and transcendental moments, especially when I'm fantastically isolated with huge tracts of wilderness all to myself. But, unfortunately, thats as near to poetry as I can get :)

As for the calendar, I'm still at the um... planning stage

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Stolly

As for writing poems myself.................. hahahaha!

You and Hes and others have more talent in their little fingers than me and it would take me weeks of grappling with the words just to come out with one of DT's 3 line Haiku's. When I'm out and about in the hills I do though experience really 'poetic' and transcendental moments, especially when I'm fantastically isolated with huge tracts of wilderness all to myself. But, unfortunately, thats as near to poetry as I can get :)

As for the calendar, I'm still at the um... planning stage

---

Well I for one would love to experience the poetic moments you describe and am terribly envious of your little jaunts out! especially with my gammy leg! look forward to seeing the finished article (calendar wise!) :-)

I really like this very much, thanks Alf.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Alf

oops! looks like the old Alfer missed National Poetry Day on the thread :)

This is a War Poem but maybe not immediately apparent.

Landlock

Rain came rarely to the white wood valley.
In between times, he did what he could,
cut rhubarb and gooseberries, brought flowers
from the hill: camel-thorn in winter, rest-harrow
in summer, rock-rose, barberry, mimosa.
He ground wormwood to settle her fever.
When the trouble was done he would take back the farm,
plant olive and cedar, build her a home.
But she thought mostly of the sea -
the uncommissioned sea -
wild at her, salt strong -
not the starving river, brackish and torn -
a river is never enough.
One of her wishes was to find her own path,
but the lowlands were locked down, the plains undone;
so they climbed, and climbed as one.
And when she could not walk he carried her
and when he could not carry her she walked.
Such as this the days went by, till his strength too was sapped.
He laid his back against the longer rock
and set her head that gently in his lap.
Sleep overtook them on the slope.
He woke to take the sunlight in his eyes
and could not see at first the greater distance,
the strange blue, stain blue light in the distance,
that seemed every bit to move, impossible, surely,
a thin drawn band of sea, somewhere meeting sky.
He raised her head that she might see it done.
But where she was she had already gone.

Matthew Hollis

---

Hiya Stolly...am intrigued by yours and Freckle's posts, what's the calendar that you are working on?

ps Dt liked your long tailed tit haiku!

from The Rag Rug

Somebody had made one. You admired it.
So you began to make your rag rug.
You needed to do it. Played on by lightnings
You needed an earth. Maybe. Or needed
To pull something out of yourself-
Some tapeworm of the psyche. I was simply
Happy to watch your scissors being fearless
...
Whenever you worked at your carpet I felt happy.
Then I could read Conrad's novels to you.
I could cradle your freed mind in my voice,
Chapter by chapter, sentence by sentence,
Word by word: "Heart of Darkness,"
...
I dreamed of our house
Before we ever found it. A great snake
Lifted its head from a well in the middle of the house
Exactly where the well is, beneath its slab,
In the middle of the house.
A golden serpent, thick as a child's body,
Eased from the opened well. And poured out
Through the back door, a length that seemed unending-
...

by Ted Hughes,
printed in the New Yorker
published in Birthday Letters

Mist shrouded rooftops
Chimneys grey smoke spiralling
Cloud masked moon shines on

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Mountain Goatess

Mist shrouded rooftops
Chimneys grey smoke spiral
Cloud masked moon shines on

---

very evocative...nice one MG

Dreaming of Socrates.

Poets know not what they write,
For the inspiration comes from above,
Pen connects with paper words take flight,
Jove guides you with his love.

Do not dismay just follow the divine,
Have no arrogance dear pen no hate,
Your goodly self could write no line,
Make libation and Joves words will illuminate.

By Matt Harmston.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Leonidas

Dreaming of Socrates.

Poets know not what they write,
For the inspiration comes from above,
Pen connects with paper words take flight,
Jove guides you with his love.

Do not dismay just follow the divine,
Have no arrogance dear pen no hate,
Your goodly self could write no line,
Make libation and Joves words will illuminate.

By Matt Harmston.

---

So good to see you back Matt! Hope you and the family are well .....lovely verse :-) x

I enjoyed the Ted Hughes - but seems a serious challenge to read Joseph Conrad to your lover . or to listen to it being read. Don't recall Conrad using any paragraphs - or many full stops !
Well the end of a long day - and this one from Roy Fisher marks a long road with some familiar places from those up north - and has just some full stops .

The Running Changes
Driving northward in February once on the run, to be clear of the Midlands in a panic and ruin of life,
I heard the telephones ring in the air for the first hundred miles.

But in the afternoon rain I found Sedbergh and threaded on through it, a silent close stone lock which let me pass but barred my trouble; I feared only it might be gone on ahead to lie in wait for me by the Tyne. Then the look of the road up to Kirkby, the plainness and dark of it, settled my stomach; and the sight of Brough Keep, black as could be, risen in the fields by a change of road, made me for that day my own man, out over cold stripped Stainmore.

Another year, coming down in peace out of Durham in a late snowstorm towards sunset,
I met the lorries, headlamps full on, thrashing their way up over Stainmore in spray-wave of rose-tinted slush, cloud-world behind and below them filling the valley-bottom, rolling, shot through with pink, in the side-valleys breaking apart to lance the pastures right across with sunlight from no sure source:
and under the last trail of the cloud, the vanishing up of its blush into the grey, and the snow thinning, there, once again, was Brough Castle marking the turn southward, and being dark.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Sunbeam Alpine

I enjoyed the Ted Hughes - but seems a serious challenge to read Joseph Conrad to your lover . or to listen to it being read. Don't recall Conrad using any paragraphs - or many full stops !
Well the end of a long day - and this one from Roy Fisher marks a long road with some familiar places from those up north - and has just some full stops .

The Running Changes
Driving northward in February once on the run, to be clear of the Midlands in a panic and ruin of life,
I heard the telephones ring in the air for the first hundred miles.

But in the afternoon rain I found Sedbergh and threaded on through it, a silent close stone lock which let me pass but barred my trouble; I feared only it might be gone on ahead to lie in wait for me by the Tyne. Then the look of the road up to Kirkby, the plainness and dark of it, settled my stomach; and the sight of Brough Keep, black as could be, risen in the fields by a change of road, made me for that day my own man, out over cold stripped Stainmore.

Another year, coming down in peace out of Durham in a late snowstorm towards sunset,
I met the lorries, headlamps full on, thrashing their way up over Stainmore in spray-wave of rose-tinted slush, cloud-world behind and below them filling the valley-bottom, rolling, shot through with pink, in the side-valleys breaking apart to lance the pastures right across with sunlight from no sure source:
and under the last trail of the cloud, the vanishing up of its blush into the grey, and the snow thinning, there, once again, was Brough Castle marking the turn southward, and being dark.

---

your a class act sa ! :-) x

Good to see Matt back in fine form on the thread (hope Leonidas doesn't mind my Avatar :) )

Great choice freckle, I was reading that one a couple of weeks ago as I remember looking up what a rag rug was at the time.

I think we have had J.P. before on the thread and here is another one of his.

The Winter Wolf

There is something a little grayer than the snowed-upon
forest background: a watchfulness, a waiting hunger
in the peripheral vision. It is not that the white world
is comfortable to her, but she has found a way
to live in it: winter coat, letting the snow form
around her till it is a blanket that keeps her own
warmth within. It is not hard to see she lives
with purpose. This is where my beliefs begin:
she is the mind of snow. She has brought frost
to the pines, ice to the lake, and glitter to
the hills. Her voice is the wind cutting through
the landscape. When I hear her gospel in the boughs,
I know this is the cathedral, and when her gaze
is upon me, I am already on my knees.

J. P. dancing bear

If you are able,
save them a place
inside of you
and save one backward glance
when you are leaving
for the places they can
no longer go.
Be not ashamed to say
you loved them,
though you may
or may not have always.
Take what they have left
and what they have taught you
with their dying
and keep it with your own.
And in that time
when men decide and feel safe
to call the war insane,
take one moment to embrace
those gentle heroes
you left behind.


Major Michael Davis O'Donnell

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Alf

If you are able,
save them a place
inside of you
and save one backward glance
when you are leaving
for the places they can
no longer go.
Be not ashamed to say
you loved them,
though you may
or may not have always.
Take what they have left
and what they have taught you
with their dying
and keep it with your own.
And in that time
when men decide and feel safe
to call the war insane,
take one moment to embrace
those gentle heroes
you left behind.


Major Michael Davis O'Donnell

---

beautiful and so very apt at the moment

"My love, you are strong and you will do well in life.
I love you and my children deeply.
Today and tomorrow, each day grow and grow.
Keep smiling and never give up, even when things get you down.
So, in closing, my love... tonight, tuck my children in bed warmly.
Tell them I love them.
Then hug them for me... and give them both a kiss good night for Daddy."

From the film Black Hawk Down. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aowl7Wwzyis

Nice one Alf.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by stevefoster

"My love, you are strong and you will do well in life.
I love you and my children deeply.
Today and tomorrow, each day grow and grow.
Keep smiling and never give up, even when things get you down.
So, in closing, my love... tonight, tuck my children in bed warmly.
Tell them I love them.
Then hug them for me... and give them both a kiss good night for Daddy."

From the film Black Hawk Down. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aowl7Wwzyis

Nice one Alf.

---

Good one Steve, I think I will watch BHD again tonight :cool:

tastes of oak and spice
cherry flavours running thro
fine wine a'flowing

All That is Gold Does Not Glitter


All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

John Ronald Reuel Tolkien

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Mountain Goatess

All That is Gold Does Not Glitter


All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

John Ronald Reuel Tolkien

---

Like that MG, it's Hobbit forming, always wondered what JRR stood for:wink:

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Mountain Goatess

tastes of oak and spice
cherry flavours running thro
fine wine a'flowing

---

:cool::cool: Nice Haiku MG

I had a couple of glasses of Shiraz tonight to wash down a few guinness originals to wash down a large hot curry (best cold cure known to man ;) )


At the end of the film Black Hawk Down they play 'The Minstrel Boy' a song I first heard/sang back in Primary School and was always a favourite of mine.


THE MINSTREL BOY

The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone
In the ranks of death you will find him;
His father's sword he hath girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him;"
Land of Song!" said the warrior bard,
"Tho' all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!"

The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's chain
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its chords asunder;
And said "No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and brav'ry!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free,
They shall never sound in slavery!"

Thomas More

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Mountain Goatess

tastes of oak and spice
cherry flavours running thro
fine wine a'flowing

---

nice haiku...

and to go with the war theme from the boys...

Siegfried Sassoon
Autumn

OCTOBER’S bellowing anger breaks and cleaves
The bronzed battalions of the stricken wood
In whose lament I hear a voice that grieves
For battle’s fruitless harvest, and the feud
Of outraged men. Their lives are like the leaves
Scattered in flocks of ruin, tossed and blown
Along the westering furnace flaring red.
O martyred youth and manhood overthrown,
The burden of your wrongs is on my head.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

nice haiku...

and to go with the war theme from the boys...

Siegfried Sassoon
Autumn

OCTOBER’S bellowing anger breaks and cleaves
The bronzed battalions of the stricken wood
In whose lament I hear a voice that grieves
For battle’s fruitless harvest, and the feud
Of outraged men. Their lives are like the leaves
Scattered in flocks of ruin, tossed and blown
Along the westering furnace flaring red.
O martyred youth and manhood overthrown,
The burden of your wrongs is on my head.

---

The Sassoon was a good choice freckle. The 1st WW produced a lot of fine war poets but that's not surprising given the great tragedy of it all.

Another name for Lamium is the "dead nettle" .


LAMIUM

This is how you live when you have a cold heart.
As I do: in shadows, trailing over cool rock,
under the great maple trees.

The sun hardly touches me.
Sometimes I see it in early spring, rising very far away.
Then leaves grow over it, completely hiding it. I feel it
glinting through the leaves, erratic,
like someone hitting the side of a glass with a metal spoon.

Living things don't all require
light in the same degree. Some of us
make our own light: a silver leaf
like a path no one can use, a shallow
lake of silver in the darkness under the great maples.

But you know this already.
You and the others who think
you live for truth and, by extension, love
all that is cold

Louise Gluck

magnificent stag
red deer preparing to rut
dominant, roaring

Honour.

I kiss my wife for the last time,
And hold my boy tight,
As king i must stop this persian crime,
Leading the chosen 300 through the night.

We approach with our allies to the hot gates,
Shoulder to shoulder just like when we were boys,
Being compelled forward by the fates,
Hark listen i hear a million persians noise.

By Matt Harmston

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Derby Tup

magnificent stag
red deer preparing to rut
dominant, roaring

---

Wow.....love this...so simple yet so evocative

Leonidas i liked your verse, you obviously research your subject well

I is soooooooooooooooooooooooooooo happy tonight!



Must have been a funny sight
In the inky blue, a smiling elf
Bounds towards the sea
Grinning ear to ear
These legs run again
Yippeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Its good to be back (albeit on the ITB flat for now)

x

Great to hear Frecks....yipeeee! x

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

I is soooooooooooooooooooooooooooo happy tonight!



Must have been a funny sight
In the inky blue, a smiling elf
Bounds towards the sea
Grinning ear to ear
These legs run again
Yippeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Its good to be back (albeit on the ITB flat for now)

x

---