ha ha:thumbup:
Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
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ha ha:thumbup:
Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Perusing my book of Contemporary Indian Poetry and liked this:
Gifts
You unfold, like a starfish
On a beach, your touch
Stills the rumpled sea,
Hair plastered seaweed.
I come from the labyrinths:
Traffic lights park in my eyes
Before I cross, highways fork
And stream like veins in my hand.
You hunger for a blade of grass
In the welter of concrete,
I step on softening sand
Suspiciously. Together
We trace a bridge: you pick
a shell translucent as neon,
And I a tribal earring
Reflected in plate glass.
Manohar Shetty
another interesting bed time conversation with my 7 year old daughter....
My work here is done
"There is more chance
of man eating live worms,
than god mam" .
(Discuss with reference to Charles Darwin).
i think "sumptious" is the word...nice one hes xQuote:
Originally Posted by Hes
That's great Freckle! It makes me wish I had kids...well, at least one of my sisters did;)
Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Seeing as the poetry thread is getting dangerously near being relegated to page 2, I feel it is my responsibility to shift it up the ranks again.
She
I think the dead are tender. Shall we kiss? --
My lady laughs, delighting in what is.
If she but sighs, a bird puts out its tongue.
She makes space lonely with a lovely song.
She lilts a low soft language, and I hear
Down long sea-chambers of the inner ear.
We sing together; we sing mouth to mouth.
The garden is a river flowing south.
She cries out loud the soul's own secret joy;
She dances, and the ground bears her away.
She knows the speech of light, and makes it plain
A lively thing can come to life again.
I feel her presence in the common day,
In that slow dark that widens every eye.
She moves as water moves, and comes to me,
Stayed by what was, and pulled by what would be.
Theodore Roethke
a beautiful choice to save the thread!........Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
Not being a royalist I was suprised to find myself feeling a little swept away by the fairytale going on today...here is a little bit of romance from carol ann duffy.....
Name
When did your name
change from a proper noun
to a charm?
Its three vowels
like jewels
on the thread of my breath.
Its consonants
brushing my mouth
like a kiss.
I love your name.
I say it again and again
in this summer rain.
I see it,
discreet in the alphabet,
like a wish.
I pray it
into the night
till its letters are light.
I hear your name
rhyming, rhyming,
rhyming with everything.
Nice one Freckle.
I was never against the wedding but not particularly interested in it so I was surprised that I ended up watching most of it too and I'm glad that I did. It had a feeling of genuine warmth to it and I thought they looked happy and surprisingly relaxed considering the circumstances! I liked that he kept saying little things to her and the interaction between him and his brother.
Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
My Goodness! Well done on savign the thread from relegation Hes - phew! A close one. Where are we all - obviously the great weather and holidays have tempted us out onto the fells as expected. This is an extremely powerful poem.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
And similarly by TR...
I Knew a Woman I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I'd have them sing in a chorus, cheek to cheek).
How well her wishes went! She stroked my chin,
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn, and Stand;
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin;
I nibbled meekly from her proferred hand;
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing we did make).
Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:
Her full lips pursed, the errant notes to sieze;
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved).
Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:
I'm martyr to a motion not my own;
What's freedom for? To know eternity.
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
(I measure time by how a body sways).
Theodore Roethke
Sonnet 60
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned,
Crookèd eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth despite his cruel hand.
WS
oooh I like this Mossy, I'll have to go and look up some more Roethke.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Hi Hes. You could try this link
http://www.scribd.com/doc/18945183/R...oems-Anthology
That's great, thanks! :)
Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Mandy Coe
Be Dog
Wouldn’t you rather
this tail-wagged world
than the surreptitious turn of the wrist,
checking when the hell
all this might be over?
Instead of tilting your head
and laughing
at one man's jokes for years,
how about plunging your nose
into his crotch just the once
– then trotting past?
Throw away your diary.
Pee on the significant moments of your life:
your lover’s door, the post-box,
the midwife's bag, the wheel of the hearse.
When your arse itches,
scoot along the floor with your tongue lolling.
No more singing hymns
or happy birthday, open yourself up
and howl. Wolf down
communion wafers and candle-bright cake.
Turn your belly to the sky.
Let the hand of god reach down
and rub, who’s a good dog.
A Dream Within A Dream
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream
Edgar Allan Poe
Goodness MG that's really sad! Hope it's not a reflection of your current mood. If so, hope it lifts soon.Quote:
Originally Posted by Mountain Goatess
Mackintosh
Two gentlemen named Mackintosh (but one without a ‘k’)
Both Glaswegians, both named Charles, were famous in their day;
One gentleman named Mackintosh (the one that had a ’k’)
Designed amazing buildings to take one’s breath away.
The other Charles was practical, fed up with getting soaked,
Made a waterproof coat, with rubber he was cloaked.
Artistic Charles loved light and space, the other one kept dry,
We’re sure the name of Mac(k)intosh abroad will never die.
Although we know in Scotland the scenery’s sensational,
We also know it rains a lot, a hazard occupational,
When visiting waterfalls, mountains, fjords, lochs
It’s best to take a pac-a-mac, with extra pairs of socks
Caroline Hansen 2010
I really like this especially the line about feeding on nature's rare truths...he ceratinly was a geniusQuote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
The thread has definately quietened a bit but lets hope it becuase people are just having too much fun!
On a different note...I have just returned from a wonderful weekend in the lakes. Its hard to put into words the psychological effect the lakes has on me, it brings out a weird mix of peace and surreality which I think comes from a dim awareness that amongst those hills, we really are but a spot on the landscape a fact that I find both reassuring and scary!
Honister suprise
As we approach it is not apparent
Where the notifications lie
True the vista is clear
But life’s lines of demarcation are blurred.
An outdoor factory with natures exceptions
Make for eerie bedfellows,
And twixt spongy peat and a flawless azure
Inverted cotton wool shadows are cast
Moving O’er Great Gable, Scafell and Pillar.
Before long the cairn reveals a gift
As Buttermere cradles an ever evolving certainty
How much is apart, how much is unified?
And so the conundrum of self, life and other continues.
Very good freckle. I was up the lakes at the weekend as well and the 'Honister Surprise' made me smile. I was on the Ennerdale Horseshoe route crossing to pick up the Moses trod when a young couple heading down the hill towards the Ennerdale Valley asked me if they were on the right path for Honister :w00t: I turned them round 180 degrees and sent them in the opposite direction looking a bit relieved :DQuote:
Originally Posted by freckle
It was definately a reflection of my mood at the time but I'm ok now Mossy thanks! :thumbup:Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Still a nice poem though. :)
Aw Alf wish we had known we could have met to say hi! Funnily enough the moses trod was pointed out to me and if we had more time (and less weary legs) we would have taken it. I couldn't hep noticing that a memorial has been placed at honister which has rudyard kiplings "IF" ....it was really moving to read it in such a spectacular environment and a lovely way to remember someone.Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
MG- glad you are feeling better x
She raised 9 kids and had a waster of a husband who dragged her and the kids into debtors prison one time. She still found time to write a little gem like this (and many others :cool: ) and probably had a good understanding of the subject matter considering her situation.
Sonnet XXXII. To Melancholy
(Written on the banks of the Arun, Oct. 1785.)
When latest Autumn spreads her evening veil,
And the grey mists from these dim waves arise,
I love to listen to the hollow sighs,
Through the half-leafless wood that breathes the gale:
For at such hours the shadowy phantom, pale,
Oft seems to fleet before the poet's eyes;
Strange sounds are heard, and mournful melodies,
As of night wanderers, who their woes bewail
Here, by his native stream, at such an hour,
Pity's own Otway I methinks could meet,
And hear his deep sighs swell the sadden'd wind!
O Melancholy!--such thy magic power,
That to the soul these dreams are often sweet,
And sooth the pensive visionary mind!
Charlotte Smith
I like that Freckle. I do find Honister a site of contradictions and I've never resolved them, and probably never will, but that's okay. The scar and the beauty, the history and the present. It's always seemed an eventful place (the so-called infamous OMM incident, the recent air tragedy). And yes, you're right, the gift of Buttermere and that strange. stone dale to descent thro. Spent many a night wild camping near there too an in Dubs hut and wandscale bothy. It's the final pull for the BG too and the cut off for Borrowdale - lots of tension and ghosts there for many!Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
On another matter, has anyone else noticed the change on this website, that means you have to log in each time you visit? Or is it just me!!!
I think I would be too scared to wild camp there....it would give me the eeeby jeebies! "contradictions" is a good way of summing up honisterQuote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
re the site i hadn't noticed that particular change so perhaps it is!
Really like that freckle, makes me wish i was there.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
thanks steve, i realy like your signature they are always quite inspiringQuote:
Originally Posted by stevefoster
I like it too, borrowed it off some inspiring person who felt inspired to write it, inspires me. It's true as well.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Not new to this thread, but I just felt like a bit of CB and this is one of my favourites.
Eulogy To A Hell Of A Dame
some dogs who sleep At night
must dream of bones
and I remember your bones
in flesh
and best
in that dark green dress
and those high-heeled bright
black shoes,
you always cursed when you drank,
your hair coming down you
wanted to explode out of
what was holding you:
rotten memories of a
rotten
past, and
you finally got
out
by dying,
leaving me with the
rotten
present;
you've been dead
28 years
yet I remember you
better than any of
the rest;
you were the only one
who understood
the futility of the
arrangement of
life;
all the others were only
displeased with
trivial segments,
carped
nonsensically about
nonsense;
Jane, you were
killed by
knowing too much.
here's a drink
to your bones
that
this dog
still
dreams about.
Charles Bukowski
Just watched 'The Man with two brains' tonight, love that film:thumbup:
The Pointy Birds
The Pointy Birds are Pointy, Pointy,
Anoint my head,
Anointy Nointy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nU4RD2f2BnY
Brilliant! love a bit of bukowski!!!!...now where is that whisky? :-)Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
That's brilliant. I love that film. Great post Steve!:thumbup:
Quote:
Originally Posted by stevefoster
Good and powerful stuff Mossy! A friend has just been given a book of Bukowski's poems and she doesn't like them...I can think of a much better home for it, I'm dropping big hints! :)
Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
My Crow
A crow flew into the tree outside my window.
It was not Ted Hughes's crow, or Galway's crow,
Or Frost's, Pasternak's, or Lorca's crow.
Or one of Homer's crows, stuffed with gore,
after the battle. This was just a crow.
That never fit in anywhere in its life,
or did anything worth mentioning.
It sat there on a branch for a few minutes.
Then picked up and flew beautifully
out of my life.
Raymond Carver
I enjoyed that. Thanks.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
I've got a book of his called Elephant that I haven't yet read. It's now next on the list.
Hes really liked ' My Crow ' .... it actually reminds me of a Glyn Hughes poem , which I'm going to post as soon as I find .
Anyway , here is a poem I found today , that I'd forgotten all about ....... taken from the lovely book ' The Desiderata of Happiness ' .....
Love and Faith by Max Ehrmann
You are not poor if you
love something , someone ,
humanity maybe , and have faith
that you will somewhere,
sometimes be satisfied , though you
know not how .
YOu may even feel that your
sorrow is but a school to teach
you the virtues of sympathy and
gentleness, that will avail
you hereafter, though you know
not where
I am not always on the highway
that leads to this hilltop,
but I have seen the lighted road
stretching on and on ;
sometimes I have even fancied
that I saw the windows of
the castle all aglow
And I have hastened my steps
to be in time for the feast
and taken counsel of my courage
lest I falter and fall on the way
May I keep this vision of
the castle ever before my eyes
and a belief in my heart
that the journey is worth while,
and the castle and the glow
in the windows not all illusion .
Norfolk
How did the devil come? When first attack?
These Norfolk lanes recall lost innocence,
The years fall off and find me walking back
Dragging a stick along the wooden fence
Down this same path, where, forty years ago,
My father strolled behind me, calm and slow.
I used to fill my hand with sorrel seeds
And shower him with them from the tops of stiles,
I used to butt my head into his tweeds
To make him hurry down those languorous miles
Of ash and alder-shaded lanes, till here
Our moorings and the masthead would appear.
Then there was supper lit by lantern light
And in the cabin I could lie secure
And hear against the polished sides at night
The lap lap lapping of the weedy Bure,
Dear whispering and watery Norfolk sound
Which told of all the moonlit reeds around.
How did the devil come? When first attack?
The church is just the same, though now I know
Fowler of Louth restored it. Time, bring back
The rapturous ignorance of long ago,
The peace, before the dreadful daylight starts
Of unkept promises and broken hearts.
JOHN BETJEMAN
3 good uns by Hes, Machgirl and Alf. My uncle lives in Norfolk, California actually, too flat for my liking, but he's in his 80's and still riding a bike. Great old character and daft as a brush, my mother says i'm just like him. When he joined the navy they asked him if he could swim, he said 'Why? Have you no ships left?':D
nice to see you back machgirl and with sucha lovely choice....spoke to the skint part of me! the jourmey is definately worthwhile i reckon!Quote:
Originally Posted by MachGirl
Like it!:D:D:Quote:
Originally Posted by stevefoster