Out damned Spot.
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Out damned Spot.
you are spooking me out Grouse!Quote:
Originally Posted by Grouse
....and now for something completely different.....Hes i thought of you with this one ....
more Rilke
Silent friend of many distances, feel
how your breath enlarges all of space.
Let your presence ring out like a bell
into the night. What feeds upon your face
grows mighty from the nourishment thus offered.
Move through transformation, out and in.
What is the deepest loss that you have suffered?
If drinking is bitter, change yourself to wine.
In this immeasurable darkness, be the power
that rounds your senses in their magic ring,
the sense of their mysterious encounter.
And if the earthly no longer knows your name,
whisper to the silent earth: I'm flowing.
To the flashing water say: I am.
Lovely. It reminded me of this...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y2jxjv0HkwM
Day Is Done
When the day is done
Down to earth then sinks the sun
Along with everything that was lost and won
When the day is done
When the day is done
Hope so much your race will be all run
Then you find you jumped the gun
Have to go back where you begun
When the day is done
When the night is cold
Some get by but some get old
Just to show life’s not made of gold
When the night is cold
When the bird has flown
Got no-one to call your own
Got no place to call your home
When the bird has flown
When the game’s been fought
Newspaper blown accross the court
Lost much sooner than you would have thought
Now the game’s been fought
When the party’s through
Seems so very sad for you
Didn’t do the things you meant to do
Now there’s no time to start anew
Now the party’s through
When the day is done
Down to earth then sinks the sun
Along with everything that was lost and won
When the day is done
Nick Drake
Quote:
Originally Posted by Mountain Goatess
aw how sad and lovely......sigh
Quote:
Originally Posted by Grouse
http://i592.photobucket.com/albums/t...bit/spot-1.jpg
Now what have I done :confused:
Wow, thanks Freckle. I really like that a lot. Good for inspiring inner strength I think. :)
Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
‘What Every Woman Should Carry’
My mother gave me the prayer to Saint Theresa.
I added a used tube ticket, kleenex,
several Polo mints (furry), a tampon, pesetas,
a florin. Not wishing to be presumptuous,
not trusting you either, a pack of 3.
I have a pen. There is space for my guardian
angel, she has to fold her wings. Passport.
A key. Anguish, at what I said/didn’t say
when once you needed/didn’t need me. Anadin.
A credit card. His face the last time,
my impatience, my useless youth.
That empty sack, my heart. A box of matches.
Maura Dooley
freckle posted this last year but it is certainly worth another run out again tonight !
Remember
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
Christina G. Rossetti
Er Harry I have a bone to pick with you!...you neglected to mention that you have only gone and won the BOFRA championships again! You are way too modest for your own good, but then, thats probably what we love about you!Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Well done Harry! :thumbup:
our little star!
x
Nice one Freckle!! Well done HHH, you are indeed a star. Hope to see you at some of the winter league races.
Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Oooh I like this choice Alf. Makes me think back to my big trip and want to write my own version (which won't be as good but might be fun to try).
Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
Well done Harry:thumbup:Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Brilliant Harry. http://i592.photobucket.com/albums/t...ebit/Cool2.gifQuote:
Originally Posted by freckle
....what a star. And some of us remember that back in the day, he used to knock out some rather good poetry! I most recently thought of this 3H classic last weekend at the top of Causey Pike
But I never saw the view
I’ve been up every Lakeland fell
Racing hard and true
I’ve followed studmarks closely
But I never saw the view
I’ve raced round all the Wainwright’s
Done BG reccies too
Head down following the map
But I never saw the view
I’ve done every Karrimor and OMM
Since 1992
My car’s covered with stickers
But I never saw the view
From the summit cairn of Gable
And from Scafell too
They say that Wasdale’s stunning
But I never saw the view
Kentmere, Fairfield, Weasdale
The most scenic horseshoe?
I’ve even done the Anni Waltz
But I never saw the view
I’ve followed calves and ankles
Vests of green and blue
I know all the shortest routes and lines
But I never saw the view
One day I’ve promised to myself
When my racing's through
I’ll climb back up to every top
Sit down, breathe in that view
HHH wrote some great stuff early doors Old Whippet, you're right :)
Quote:
Originally Posted by Old Whippet
I visited Shakespeare's birthplace yesterday - a superb autumnal day:)
here is an appropiate poem:
Quote:
Act IV, Scene 1 from Macbeth (1606) by William Shakespeare
Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.
Thrice and once, the hedge-pig whin’d.
Harpier cries:—’tis time! ’tis time!
Round about the caldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw.—
Toad, that under cold stone,
Days and nights has thirty-one;
Swelter’d venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot!
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg, and owlet’s wing,—
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
Scale of dragon; tooth of wolf;
Witches’ mummy; maw and gulf
Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark;
Root of hemlock digg’d i the dark;
Liver of blaspheming Jew;
Gall of goat, and slips of yew
Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse;
Nose of Turk, and Tartar’s lips;
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-deliver’d by a drab,—
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron,
For the ingrediants of our caldron.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
Dressing Down for Halloween
At Halloween
Does the goth teen
Wear a paisley shirt
Or a floral skirt
So as not to conform
To the accepted norm?
Patrick Winstanley
That was a particularly great poem. I reckon HHH has a few more up his sleeves and is just keeping us in suspense for a bit. The best things in life and all that....:)
Quote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
Missed that, brilliant. Being not as fast as HHH i always have a look at the view, usually just before i fall over to taste the tussocks!Quote:
Originally Posted by Old Whippet
Its been a while since we had some limericks and I'm feeling cheery after getting some miles in this saturday:
For six men, two dogs and me,
the views were a joy to see,
feeling at one
in the glorious sun,
we finished at mile twenty three.
my legs were restless in bed
I burned from my feet to my head
but despite feeling weary,
I still feel quite cheery
and look forward to races ahead.
Nice limericks HesQuote:
Originally Posted by Hes
Flying Bangkok to Saigon without a visa
Isn't like travelling London to Pisa
It's really not much fun
To hear, 'not on this plane, son'
It really was quite a teaser!
But They Are At Peace.
Never to weary more, nor suffer sorrow,—
Their strife all over, and their work all done:
At peace—and only waiting for the morrow;
Heaven's rest and rapture even now begun.
So tired once! long fetter'd, sorely burden'd,
Ye struggled hard and well for your release;
Ye fought in faith and love—and ye are guerdon'd,
O happy souls! for now ye are at peace.
No more of pain, no more of bitter weeping!
For us a darkness and an empty place,
Somewhere a little dust—in angels' keeping—
A blessèd memory of a vanish'd face.
For us the lonely path, the daily toiling,
The din and strife of battle, never still'd;
For us the wounds, the hunger, and the soiling,—
The utter, speechless longing, unfulfill'd.
For us the army camp'd upon the mountains,
Unseen, yet fighting with our Syrian foes,—
The heaven-sent manna and the wayside fountains,
The hope and promise, sweetening our woes.
For them the joyous spirit, freely ranging
Green hills and fields where never mortal trod;
For them the light unfading and unchanging,
The perfect quietness—the peace of God.
For both, a dim, mysterious, distant greeting;
For both, at Jesus' cross, a drawing near;
At Eucharistic gate a blessed meeting,
When angels and archangels worship here.
For both, God grant, an everlasting union,
When sin shall pass away and tears shall cease;
For both the deep and full and true communion,
For both the happy life that is "at peace."
by Ada Cambridge (1868)
Nice choice xrunner http://i592.photobucket.com/albums/t...ebit/Cool2.gif
The Autumn
Go, sit upon the lofty hill,
And turn your eyes around,
Where waving woods and waters wild
Do hymn an autumn sound.
The summer sun is faint on them --
The summer flowers depart --
Sit still -- as all transform'd to stone,
Except your musing heart.
How there you sat in summer-time,
May yet be in your mind;
And how you heard the green woods sing
Beneath the freshening wind.
Though the same wind now blows around,
You would its blast recall;
For every breath that stirs the trees,
Doth cause a leaf to fall.
Oh! like that wind, is all the mirth
That flesh and dust impart:
We cannot bear its visitings,
When change is on the heart.
Gay words and jests may make us smile,
When Sorrow is asleep;
But other things must make us smile,
When Sorrow bids us weep!
The dearest hands that clasp our hands, --
Their presence may be o'er;
The dearest voice that meets our ear,
That tone may come no more!
Youth fades; and then, the joys of youth,
Which once refresh'd our mind,
Shall come -- as, on those sighing woods,
The chilling autumn wind.
Hear not the wind -- view not the woods;
Look out o'er vale and hill-
In spring, the sky encircled them --
The sky is round them still.
Come autumn's scathe -- come winter's cold --
Come change -- and human fate!
Whatever prospect Heaven doth bound,
Can ne'er be desolate.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Some wonderful choices on here of late....liked the melancholic tone of the last two....
anyhoo....dreams are precious and fragile things....
but entirely necessary .....
Cloths of Heaven
William Butler Yeats
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
this is a really old and well known poem but i love the sound of it in my head! (i am so articulate sometimes i astound myself! :obut honestly, doesn't it just trip off the tongue!?)
Here is another poem by W.B.Yeats:
THE WILD SWANS AT COOLE
**********
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine and fifty swans.
The nineteenth Autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.
I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All’s changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold,
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.
But now they drift on the still water
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake’s edge or pool
Delight men’s eyes, when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?
Thanks for all the comments guys. Those were the days! That was a product of quiet late nights, waiting up to give son no.2 his late night feed. Since then I'm lucky to squeeze in a haiku or two. :-)Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
He could write a bit that William B. http://i592.photobucket.com/albums/t...gebit/grin.gif
One Flesh
Lying apart now, each in a separate bed,
He with a book, keeping the light on late,
She like a girl dreaming of childhood,
All men elsewhere - it is as if they wait
Some new event: the book he holds unread,
Her eyes fixed on the shadows overhead.
Tossed up like flotsam from a former passion,
How cool they lie. They hardly ever touch,
Or if they do, it is like a confession
Of having little feeling - or too much.
Chastity faces them, a destination
For which their whole lives were a preparation.
Strangely apart, yet strangely close together,
Silence between them like a thread to hold
And not wind in. And time itself's a feather
Touching them gently. Do they know they're old,
These two who are my father and my mother
Whose fire from which I came, has now grown cold?
Elizabeth Jennings
Loved both Yeats poems...again slightly melancholic but beautiful nevertheless, particularly liked the imagery of the swan one and the lines in alf's choice "silence between them like a thread to hold and never wind in" ...and "time's a feather...touching them gently" .........sigh
November Night
Adelaide Crapsey
Listen.
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees
And fall.
All Souls (by Edith Wharton)
A thin moon faints in the sky o'erhead,
And dumb in the churchyard lie the dead.
Walk we not, Sweet, by garden ways,
Where the late rose hangs and the phlox delays,
But forth of the gate and down the road,
Past the church and the yews, to their dim abode.
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.
Fear not that sound like wind in the trees:
It is only their call that comes on the breeze;
Fear not the shudder that seems to pass:
It is only the tread of their feet on the grass;
Fear not the drip of the bough as you stoop:
It is only the touch of their hands that grope--
For the year's on the turn and it's All Souls' night,
When the dead can yearn and the dead can smite.
And where should a man bring his sweet to woo
But here, where such hundreds were lovers too?
Where lie the dead lips that thirst to kiss,
The empty hands that their fellows miss,
Where the maid and her lover, from sere to green,
Sleep bed by bed, with the worm between?
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear and the dead have sight.
And now they rise and walk in the cold,
Let us warm their blood and give youth to the old.
Let them see us and hear us, and say: "Ah, thus
In the prime of the year it went with us!"
Till their lips drawn close, and so long unkist,
Forget they are mist that mingles with mist!
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the dead can burn and the dead can smite.
Till they say, as they hear us--poor dead, poor dead!--
"Just an hour of this, and our age-long bed--
Just a thrill of the old remembered pains
To kindle a flame in our frozen veins,
A touch, and a sight, and a floating apart,
As the chill of dawn strikes each phantom heart--
For it's turn of the year and All Souls' night,
When the dead can hear and the dead have sight."
And where should the living feel alive
But here in this wan white humming hive,
As the moon wastes down, and the dawn turns cold,
And one by one they creep back to the fold?
And where should a man hold his mate and say:
"One more, one more, ere we go their way"?
For the year's on the turn, and it's All Souls' night,
When the living can learn by the churchyard light.
And how should we break faith who have seen
Those dead lips plight with the mist between,
And how forget, who have seen how soon
They lie thus chambered and cold to the moon?
How scorn, how hate, how strive, wee too,
Who must do so soon as those others do?
For it's All Souls' night, and break of the day,
And behold, with the light the dead are away. . .
lovin it X runner...very eeery!
That's very evocative freckle. I liked the Niagara poem she wrote as well .Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Niagara
(Seen on a Night in November)
How frail
Above the bulk
Of crashing water hangs,
Autumnal, evanescent, wan,
The moon.
Freckle, are we going to invent lots of Crapsey cinquains now?Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
Spooky stuff xrunner.:w00t:Quote:
Originally Posted by XRunner
The Man he Killed
Had he and I but met
By some old ancient inn,
We should have set us down to wet
Right many a nipperkin!
But ranged as infantry,
And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
And killed him in his place.
I shot him dead because--
Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was;
That's clear enough; although
He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
Off-hand like--just as I--
Was out of work--had sold his traps--
No other reason why.
Yes; quaint and curious war is!
You shoot a fellow down
You'd treat, if met where any bar is,
Or help to half a crown.
Thomas Hardy
I can think of someone who's going to have a go at one :oQuote:
Originally Posted by XRunner
that's lush!
Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
This afternoon in the office there was a bit of commotion, a rumbling sort of sound as if a heavy trolley was being pushed down the ailse. It turned out someone had had a fit and an ambulance was on its way.
A while later, I was coming back from the toilet and I looked over at where it'd happened. I couldn't see the man, he was laying at the end of a bank of desks, but I could see the paramedic lady leaning over him.
It brought to mind the poem below. Strange that he was lying there while all around him people got on with the mundane things we do here.
Musée des Beaux Arts
About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on
W.H. Auden
ps, maybe google the painting, The Fall of Icarus by Breughel. It helped me to understand and enjoy the poem.
I was watching something the other week on the BBC about Breughel and it showed that painting with Icarus "splashing down" and everyone going about their business totally unaware of the event.Quote:
Originally Posted by L.F.F.
Good post by the way :cool:
How to Die
Dark clouds are smouldering into red
While down the craters morning burns.
The dying soldier shifts his head
To watch the glory that returns;
He lifts his fingers toward the skies
Where holy brightness breaks in flame;
Radiance reflected in his eyes,
And on his lips a whispered name.
You’d think, to hear some people talk,
That lads go West with sobs and curses,
And sullen faces white as chalk,
Hankering for wreaths and tombs and hearses.
But they’ve been taught the way to do it
Like Christian soldiers; not with haste
And shuddering groans; but passing through it
With due regard for decent taste.
Siegfried Sassoon