Yes, that's good news freckle :cool:
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Yes, that's good news freckle :cool:
Brilliant news!!! I'm really pleased for you. Big hugs.xxx
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Originally Posted by freckle
Really lovely DT. You have totally captured the stag's strength and beauty. Great.
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Originally Posted by Derby Tup
Nice to see Leonidas back too. Hope you are well. :)
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Originally Posted by freckle
Rallying salmon
Leaps free from its land locked pool
Odyssey resumed
Very happy for you freckle :D
That's great Freckle. Steady as she goes.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Nice to see you back Matt, hope all is well.
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Originally Posted by Leonidas
Majorca
Fasten your seatbelts says a voice
Inside the plane you can't hear no noise
Engines made by Rolls Royce
Take your choice
...make mine Majorca
Check out the parachutes
Can't be found
Alert those passengers
They'll be drowned
A friendly mug says "settle down"
When i came round i was gagged and bound
...for Majorca
And the eyes caress
The neat hostess
Her unapproachable flip finesse
I found the meaning of the word excess
They've got little bags if you wanna make a mess
I fancied Cuba but it cost me less
...to Majorca
(Whose blonde sand fondly kisses the cool fathoms of the blue mediteranean)
They packed us into the white hotel
You could still smell the polycell
Wet white paint in the air-conditioned cells
The waiter smelled of fake Chanel
Gauloises... garlic as well
says if i like... i can call him "Miguel"
...well really
I got drunk with another fella
Who'd just brought up a previous paella
He wanted a fight but said they were yella'
...in Majorca
The guitars rang and the castinets clicked
The dancer's stamped and the dancer's kicked
It's likely if you sang in the street you'd be nicked
The Double Diamond flowed like sick
Mother's Pride, tortilla and chips
Pneumatic drills when you try to kip
...in Majorca
A stomach infection put me in the shade
Must have been something in the lemonade
But by the balls of Franco i paid
Had to pawn my bucket and spade
Next year I'll take the international brigade
...to Majorca
John Cooper Clarke for our forum administrator ;)
Someone
someone is dressing up for death today, a change of skirt or tie
eating a final feast of buttered sliced pan, tea
scarcely having noticed the erection that was his last
shaving his face to marble for the icy laying out
spraying with deodorant her coarse armpit grass
someone today is leaving home on business
saluting, terminally, the neighbours who will join in the cortege
someone is paring his nails for the last time, a precious moment
someone’s waist will not be marked with elastic in the future
someone is putting out milkbottles for a day that will not come
someone’s fresh breath is about to be taken clean away
someone is writing a cheque that will be rejected as ‘drawer deceased’
someone is circling posthumous dates on a calendar
someone is listening to an irrelevant weather forecast
someone is making rash promises to friends
someone’s coffin is being sanded, laminated, shined
who feels this morning quite as well as ever
someone if asked would find nothing remarkable in today’s date
perfume and goodbyes her final will and testament
someone today is seeing the world for the last time
as innocently as he had seen it first
Dennis O'Driscoll
I was just checking out the Esk Valley website for info on Saltergate Gallows race and our very own Hes is on the front page in full "flight" :cool:.
http://eskvalleyfellclub.org/
Will you be at Saltergate Gallows race on Sunday Hes ?
One Cigarette
No smoke without you, my fire.
After you left,
your cigarette glowed on in my ashtray
and sent up a long thread of such quiet grey
I smiled to wonder who would believe its signal
of so much love. One cigarette
in the non-smoker's tray.
As the last spire
trembles up, a sudden draught
blows it winding into my face.
Is it smell, is it taste?
You are here again, and I am drunk on your tobacco lips.
Out with the light.
Let the smoke lie back in the dark.
Till I hear the very ash
sigh down among the flowers of brass
I'll breathe, and long past midnight, your last kiss.
Edwin Morgan (1920-2010)
Liked DT's Majorca poem!
Something to suit our autumnal weather...
Gathering Leaves
Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.
I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.
But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.
I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?
Next to nothing for weight,
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.
Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?
Robert Lee Frost
5 days to go until the anniversary.
What a year it has been.
Where's the party?
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Originally Posted by Mountain Goatess
I like the Autumnal theme MG :)
http://i592.photobucket.com/albums/t.../pushing40.jpg
I can't believe how many poetry books I've acquired in the year :cool:Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Well spotted Harry! and some lovely choices on here tonight from MG and Alf, particularly liked the someone poem......Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
wonder how we shall celebrate? :-) x
Oh yes! I didn't mention the expense! :-)Quote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
Just like we celebrate every night my dear - a run, poetry and booze!Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
I'm in :cool:Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
sounds like a good idea, i propose we all run that day and write something about it....thething is whenever anyone proposes anything on this thread nobody ever does it (i think we are just naturally subversive) so what the hell, just do what seems right on the day! :-) xQuote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
I found this gem while just perusing, as one does, and it struck a cord.....
The Answer I Will Offer You
The Answer I Will Offer You
The act of creation is perhaps
more important
than love
certainly more
constant and
tangible
to fill the emptiness
with something that wasn’t
there before
is a grand defiance
and the only form of hope
I truly understand
it is the answer I will offer you
no matter the question
it may well be
the last bit of grace
left to us
and right here
and now
I tell you
it is
enough.
William Taylor Jnr
Tup's boiler's broken
strange gurgling sounds precede
drip, drip, drip, drip, drip...
:o
beautiful Mossy thank you ....DT sorry to hear about the boiler...expensive thingsQuote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Chin up mateQuote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
He who would Vaillant be, gainst all disasters;)
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Originally Posted by stevefoster
..theres no discouragement
that made him once relent
his first avowed intent
to be a Pilgrim.......I've forgotten what they taught me in the classroom but still remember the hymns :)
Whats that all about :confused:
Vaillant make boilers Alf:rolleyes::DQuote:
Originally Posted by Alf
quiet around here
silence regained, thankfully
no more drip, drip, drip...
Ah like Pat Butcher she's a right old Valiant !Quote:
Originally Posted by stevefoster
That's the one:wink:Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
Ooh how very personal! Cheers Alf! (did you know it's my big b'day coming up?!!!!:w00t:)Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
Hope I don't wither too quickly! Although going out in a last wild blaze sounds appealing! :thumbup:
Nope I didn't know that MG but I do now :DQuote:
Originally Posted by Mountain Goatess
From Monna Innominata [I wish I could remember]
I wish I could remember that first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or Winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom for many a May.
If only I could recollect it, such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand—Did one but know!
Christina Rossetti
Alf that was a lovely poem..........
here is my (almost) "first day" poem........
Leaning into the afternoons I cast my sad nets
towards your oceanic eyes.
There in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames,
its arms turning like a drowning man's.
I send out red signals across your absent eyes
that move like the sea near a lighthouse.
You keep only darkness, my distant female,
from your regard sometimes the coast of dread emerges.
Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets
to that sea that beats on your marine eyes.
The birds of night peck at the first stars
that flash like my soul when I love you.
The night gallops on its shadowy mare
shedding blue tassels over the land.
P.Neruda
Nice choice freckle. Here's one of my Today's poet favourites:
Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh
WB Yeats
Magnificent choice DTQuote:
Originally Posted by derby tup
My Firework Poem by Imogen-Rose aged 7 (just this minute composed!!)
Fireworks are
crackling, fizzing and popping stars
fast moving
exploding
shiny worlds
we all love fireworks
!!!
Good stuff Imogen-Rose :)
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Originally Posted by emmilou
This is brilliant Imogen Rose, a little stroke of genius.... I love the description of "crackling, fizzing and popping stars" and "shiny worlds!" I couldn't think of a better way to describe the other worldiness of fireworks! well done!!!!! :-)Quote:
Originally Posted by emmilou
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Originally Posted by Derby Tup
This is gorgeous DT thank you....
its so autumnal at the moment, my fave season...full of colour and melancholy in equal measure....
Turn Me to My Yellow Leaves
William Stanley Braithwaite
TURN me to my yellow leaves,
I am better satisfied;
There is something in me grieves
—That was never born, and died.
Let me be a scarlet flame
On a windy autumn morn,
I who never had a name,
Nor from breathing image born.
From the margin let me fall
Where the farthest stars sink down,
And the void consumes me,—all
In nothingness to drown.
Let me dream my dream entire,
Withered as an autumn leaf—
Let me have my vain desire,
Vain—as it is brief.
On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sixth Year (Jan 22, 1824):
'Tis time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it has ceased to move:
Yet though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!
My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!
The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone as some volcanic isle;
No torch is kindled at its blaze—
A funeral pile!
The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain
And power of love I cannot share,
But wear the chain.
But 'tis not thus — and 'tis not here —
Such thoughts would shake my soul, nor now,
Where Glory decks the hero's bier
Or binds his brow.
The sword, the banner and the field,
Glory and Greece, around me see!
The Spartan, borne upon his shield,
Was not more free.
Awake! (not Greece— she is awake!)
Awake, my Spirit! Think through whom
Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,
And then strike home.
Tread those reviving passions down,
Unworthy Manhood!— unto thee
Indifferent should the smile or frown
Of Beauty be.
If thou regret'st thy youth, why live?
The land of honourable death
Is here:— up to the field, and give
Away thy breath!
Seek out— less often sought than found—
A Soldier's Grave, for thee the best;
Then look around, and choose thy Ground,
And take thy Rest.
Lord Byron
Stunning Poem :cool:
Byron died 3 months later http://i592.photobucket.com/albums/t...gebit/sad2.gif
A good choice there Alf..."my days are in the yellow leaf" a corker of a line....
I can't quite believe that this thread is almost a year old and a nudge and wink away from 10,000 posts....it has been a tumultous year in many ways but I have found this thread very sustaining at some tricky times....there has been so many excellent pieces of writing that if anyone had the time I bet we could produce a nice little publication...there's definately a project there!
anyhow...I wonder if anyone recalls this particular verse...i read it again tonight and it took my right back...
Original version of La Belle Dame Sans Merci, 1819
John Keats
Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever-dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful - a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery's song.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna-dew,
And sure in language strange she said -
'I love thee true'.
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept and sighed full sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
And there she lulled me asleep
And there I dreamed - Ah! woe betide! -
The latest dream I ever dreamt
On the cold hill side.
I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried - 'La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!'
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.
And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.