Ha ha ha...brilliant choice!
Quote:
Originally Posted by IanDarkpeak
Printable View
Ha ha ha...brilliant choice!
Quote:
Originally Posted by IanDarkpeak
Snow Flakes
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Out of the bosom of the Air
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.
Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.
This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.
For anyone who's already had enough of the white stuff...
Too Much of the "Beautiful Snow"
by: S. Moore
They may sing of the beautiful snow
Who dwell in a sunnier clime;
For me I would rather bestow
My songs on a theme more sublime.
I long for the beautiful Spring
When the snow, we have had half a year,
Will dissolve, and the little birds sing
With joy when the flowers appear.
In this bleak hyperborean clime
Our winters are chilly and long,
And oft prove a wearysome time
Not worthy a jubilant song.
It is all very well for the rich
Whose comforts are ever in view;
But hard upon women who stitch,
And men who have nothing to do.
Our winters are hard on the poor
And trying to both young and old,
Who have fuel and food to procure,
And suffer the terrible cold.
How oft, when the stormy winds blow
And the sky is with clouds overcast,
And facing the cold drifting snow,
We wish the dread winter was past.
Even now, while I write, the rude storm
Is kicking the clouds 'neath his feet,
While the snow-mounds in many a form
Are raising blockades on the street.
When I sing of the snow, let me lay
Be a wail that is plaintive and sad;
And when the ice passes away
O! won't I rejoice and be glad!
And when Flora visits our earth
I'll join with all nature and sing
With a heart overflowing with mirth,
A song to the beautiful Spring.
Nice One!
Quote:
Originally Posted by IanDarkpeak
The Boy In The Bedroom
Obsessed suggests madness,
In love suggests bliss.
My thoughts have all left me,
Now which one is this?
My insides are empty,
My desire has gone,
The world all around me
And my mind is on one.
See sunlight in darkness,
See water in sand,
See life in eyes
That do not understand.
I could just forget you.
That’s a blessing I miss.
The boy in the bedroom,
Now which one is this?
(written about 10 years ago when life was very different!)
NIce choices on here past couple of days and LFF.....what a little gem this is....you darkest of horses you!Quote:
Originally Posted by L.F.F.
I can't quite believe that we are in the last month of 2010....what a year!
The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
this poem has such a magical quality to it...beautiful! tho i have to confess I am growing weary of the snow a bit now! (so thanks Harry for your choice!!!)Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
It is appropiate to read this poem by Christina Rossetti again:
In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter,
Long ago.
Our God, heaven cannot hold him,
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When he comes to reign;
In the bleak midwinter
A stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty,
Jesus Christ.
Enough for him, whom Cherubim
Worship night and day
A breast full of milk
And a manger full of hay.
Enough for him, whom angels
Fall down before,
The ox and ass and camel
which adore.
Angels and archangels
May have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim
Thronged the air;
But his mother only,
In her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the Beloved
With a kiss.
What can I give him,
Poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd
I would bring a lamb,
If I were a wise man
I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him -
Give my heart.
Thank you. I'm glad you liked it:)Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
What! A Friday and no posts!!!! Better remedy that then with our Sylvia..
Event
How the elements solidify! ---
The moonlight, that chalk cliff
In whose rift we lie
Back to back. I here an owl cry
From its cold indigo.
Intolerable vowels enter my heart.
The child in the white crib revolves and sighs,
Opens its mouth now, demanding.
His little face is carved in pained, red wood.
Then there are the stars - ineradicable, hard.
One touch : it burns and sickens.
I cannot see your eyes.
Where apple bloom ices the night
I walk in a ring,
A groove of old faults, deep and bitter.
Love cannot come here.
A black gap discloses itself.
On the opposite lip
A small white soul is waving, a small white maggot.
My limbs, also, have left me.
Who has dismembered us?
The dark is melting. We touch like cripples.
You are not alone Mossy! There are a lot of very strong images in that poem, I found it compelling but disturbing. Had a very surreal drive back from an exhibition preview in a blizzard.
Journey
The road stretches ahead
darkness closing like a fist
and I am alone
but for the silent fall of snow
I do like this very much, glad I didn't miss it.
Quote:
Originally Posted by L.F.F.
That's gorgeous Hes. But you're not really alone, not on here anyway.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
Felltop
That final glance, locks the gardened haven,
As the key turns to our Autumn home;
Lakeland's ochre vista quietly stowed away,
Slipping, even now, into what 'had been'.
Images of playful spaces and crisp sheets,
Of glowing coals lighting love's smiles,
Now soar into the void of time;
Distant already as summer's swallows.
That brief world we conjured, a retrieved dream,
Of what we might have been, so long ago;
Reached from the kaleidoscope of life's choices,
Yet lost by circumstance, swaddled in regret.
And yet still, the world churns onwards,
Our conscientious moon, rises, zeniths, sets,
Even Autumn's colours must fade too,
Under the chilled layered still of Winter.
Does Felltop echo still with our joys?
Ghosts of smiles, hugs of long held longing
Of gentle love making, fill the corridor?
Or is tangible a mere fantasy of fable?
That is a disturbing description of their marriage bed http://i592.photobucket.com/albums/t...gebit/sad2.gifQuote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Thanks for posting that Mossy and I loved your "Felltop" poem. Lets hold that memory till next year http://i592.photobucket.com/albums/t...gebit/grin.gif
I am reading John Clare's biography at the moment and it begins with John Clare escaping a private asylum in 1841 and walking the 80 miles home, eating grass to stave off hunger, convinced he will meet up with his childhood sweetheart Mary Joyce. He was forbidden from forming a lasting relationship with Mary by her father. The fact that Mary died in a house fire in 1838 makes this journey all the more tragic.
John Clare wrote this poem in 1848.
Mary (A Ballad)
Love is past and all the rest
Thereto belonging fled away
The most esteemed and valued best
Are faded all and gone away
How beautiful was Mary's dress
While dancing at the meadow ball
—'Tis twenty years or more at least
Since Mary seemed the first of all
Lord how young bonny Mary burnt
With blushes like the roses hue
My face like water thrown upon't
Turned white as lilies i' the dew
When grown a man I went to see
The school where Mary's name was known
I looked to find it on a Tree
But found it on a low grave stone
Now is past—was this the now
In fine straw-hat and ribbons gay
I'd court her neath the white thorn bough
And tell her all I had to say
But all is gone—and now is past
And still my spirits chill alone
Loves name that perished in the blast
Grows mossy on a church-yard stone
John Clare
Oh Mossy, that's incredibly moving and very beautiful.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
That's true indeed. I've just had a fantastic day of running in the snow, made new friends and ran the longest I've managed in two years. How can I feel sorry for myself when I really have so much to be thankful for and there is always here to come and share things.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Thanks Hes. That's much appreciated.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
O SOLITUDE! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,-
Nature’s observatory - whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
’Mongst boughs pavillion’d, where the deer’s swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.
But though I’ll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin’d,
Is my soul’s pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
John Keats
I like that. Strangely perhaps, I read the last two lines almost as a positive. I like the idea anyway.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
I wanted it to be read either way and so I'm glad that you thought it was positive. I find solitude has the ability to either make me feel strong, inspired and at peace or sad and wistful. I do take inifinite pleasure in moments such as being alone in a snowstorm and the night closing in is like a blanket enfolding you.
Quote:
Originally Posted by L.F.F.
I absolutely adore this Mossy, just plain gorgeous, thank you for sharing it with us...Hes I really liked your short piece too and I found your observations about solitude really helpful, I know that I often flit from tow positions of both craving solitude to feeling lonely but sometimes it can be blissful!Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Alf that story about Clare is fascinating, why is it so many poets, artists and writers on are on the edge of so called "sanity", perhaps some might argue, becuase they see things as they really are without the positive biases of the "happy"!!!!
I miss this thread...not on enough but I am still in the process of sorting out ten years worth of accumulated junk in my house before the move...it is quite a reflective experience looking over old photos as well as taking in how many useless objects we have gathered which have been shoved in the loft and never used for about 6 or 7 years...it really makes me wonder about how materialistic I may have become unwittingly!...anyway, I am packing away the last of my poetry books but will keep Carol Duffy's near my bed til the last I think....i am using it as a baton between this world and the next....
this is just lovely....
December
The year dwindles and glows
to December's red jewel,
my birth month.
The sky blushes,
and lays its cheek
on the sparkling fields.
Then dusk swaddles the cattle,
their silhouttes
simple as faith.
These nights are gifts,
our hands unwrapping the darkness
to see what we have.
The train rushes, ecstatic,
to where you are,
my bright star.
The Winter's Spring
THE winter comes; I walk alone,
I want no bird to sing;
To those who keep their hearts their own
The winter is the spring.
No flowers to please--no bees to hum--
The coming spring's already come.
I never want the Christmas rose
To come before its time;
The seasons, each as God bestows,
Are simple and sublime.
I love to see the snowstorm hing;
'Tis but the winter garb of spring.
I never want the grass to bloom:
The snowstorm's best in white.
I love to see the tempest come
And love its piercing light.
The dazzled eyes that love to cling
O'er snow-white meadows sees the spring.
I love the snow, the crumpling snow
That hangs on everything,
It covers everything below
Like white dove's brooding wing,
A landscape to the aching sight,
A vast expanse of dazzling light.
It is the foliage of the woods
That winters bring--the dress,
White Easter of the year in bud,
That makes the winter Spring.
The frost and snow his posies bring,
Nature's white spurts of the spring.
John Clare
Quote:
Originally Posted by XRunner
Great choice XRUNNER http://i592.photobucket.com/albums/t...ebit/Cool2.gif
I took this photo today while I was out running. In summer this is a nondescript, unpicturesque grass covered bridge over a discoloured brook but in winter it comes alive.
http://i592.photobucket.com/albums/t...it/icicles.jpg
Wow!Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
P.s. Am liking the avatar :cool:
lovely choice x runner, i like the notion of the winters garb of spring...Quote:
Originally Posted by XRunner
here is an old fave of mine....
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
Sonnet 29
William Shakespeare
When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee—and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
stunning!Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble;
His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves;
The gale, it plies the saplings double,
And thick on Severn snow the leaves..................
Housman
Great choices from Freckle, XRunner and I like the excerpt from Solomon. Alf...that picture is amazing! I thought I had some good icicle shots but nowhere near as good as that!
Haven't had a Kenneth White for a while:
Heron of the Snows
Chinese studies on Maryhill
China, Xth century, when Siu Hi
painted his Heron of the Snows
on a Frost-covered Branch
the ungainly, cold-eyed bird
the mass of white plumage against
the grey sky, the uncouth claws
and Chuang-tzu asked: what
does the great bird see that can rise
so high in the wind? Is it original
matter whirling in a dust of atoms?
the air that gives life to creatures?
the unnamed force that moves the universe?
on the riven branch, the heron
like the ghost of an answer
balances in the wind
and stares at the questioning world.
one more from Kenneth and then its off to my bed:
Chant
Birch rites
empty moors
raw skies
incredible snow
mussel beds
gull screams
lost islands
moonglow
wet woods
heron shells
crimson leaves
dark rain
hare pads
lightning flash
written rocks
begin again.
Nice one Solomon. I need to read more Housman. I love this one from Wendy Cope about him...Quote:
Originally Posted by Solomon
I think I am in love with A.E. Housman,
Which puts me in a worse-than-usual fix.
No woman ever stood a chance with Housman
And he's been dead since 1936.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Solomon
Good find Solomon - thanks.
That's very funny, nice one HHH. I just read this by Housman and liked it:
XVII
The stars have not dealt me the worst they could do:
My pleasures are plenty, my troubles are two.
But oh, my two troubles they reave me of rest,
The brains in my head and the heart in my breast.
Oh grant me the ease that is granted so free,
The birthright of multitudes, give it to me,
That relish their victuals and rest on their bed
With flint in the bosom and guts in the head.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
This could have been about me this morning as I lay like a dormouse not wanting to get up! (another Housman)
XI
Yonder see the morning blink:
The sun is up, and up must I,
To wash and dress and eat and drink
And look at things and talk and think
And work, and God knows why.
Oh often have I washed and dressed
And what's to show for all my pain?
Let me lie abed and rest:
Ten thousand times I've done my best
And all's to do again.
I'm back like the preverbial bad penny
Man Flu
Feeling blue, caught the flu, head like glue, what to do.
Feel the chill, feel quite ill, take a pill
Bed is best, have a rest, what a pest
Miss the game, what a shame.
Can’t watch telly, aching belly, feet are smelly, ate some jelly
Made me worse, what a curse, throat like furze.
Drank some coke, what a joke, made me choke
Feel so weak, can hardly speak.
Think I’m dying, feel like crying, friends are sighing. WIFE”S not buying
“Stop the moaning, give up groaning, no more conning,
Just be glad, you’re not as bad, as poor old Brad,
He’s got piles." Hides her smiles
Counted sheep, fell asleep, in a heap, nice and deep.
Woke up fine, after nine, drank some wine,
What a day, I have to say, come what may,
I’m still alive, I’ll survive.
Margaret Foster
Given he was murdered 30 years ago today, a quick blast from John lennon who scarily was must of been thinking of stolly 2010 version by the sound of things :)
Quote:
Nowhere Man
He's a real Nowhere Man,
Sitting in his nowhere land,
Making all his nowhere plans for nobody.
Doesn't kave a point of view,
Knows not where he's going to,
Isn't he a bit like you and me?
Nowhere Man, please listen,
You don't know what you're missing,
Nowhere Man, the world is at your command.
He's as blind as he can be,
Just sees what he wants to see,
Nowhere Man can you see me at all?
Doesn't kave a point of view,
Knows not where he's going to,
Isn't he a bit like you and me?
Nowhere Man, don't worry,
Take your time, don't hurry,
Leave it all till somebody else lend you a hand.
He's a real Nowhere Man,
Sitting in his nowhere land,
Making all his nowhere plans for nobody