Today's poet

Never a dull moment
for body and soul
with you
capricious lover

Blowing hot
and hotter
you draw me like Icarus
or a moth.

And when I melt
It is into you
and with burnt wings
I can never leave you

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

Well all I can say X runner is it is a good job that I have a bloody good sense of humour!!!!!!.............;)

If only my life was as exciting as the poet described! :-)

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:)

Did I introduce a Freckle into the poem?:D

Quote:

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Originally Posted by XRunner

:)

Did I introduce a Freckle into the poem?:D

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Yes!!!!! i think you did that to test if i read them all! well now you have your answer!...and i remember the golden days of sweet verse about sunspots!....:D

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Old Whippet

Never a dull moment
for body and soul
with you
capricious lover

Blowing hot
and hotter
you draw me like Icarus
or a moth.

And when I melt
It is into you
and with burnt wings
I can never leave you

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I adore the way you write OW, it is with such a gentle understated quality and did i notice a very slick bit of metaphor there?......:)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

I adore the way you write OW, it is with such a gentle understated quality and did i notice a very slick bit of metaphor there?......:)

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well....since i realised all this poetry was about sex (even when it seems it's not), it's easy!

Of course it's not all sex really, for example here's a poem about geography, transport and wine.


Like the erupting volcanoes of Java
Spouting their hot molten lava
And trains in a tunnel
Blowing steam from a funnel
And corks popping out of the cava

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Old Whippet

well....since i realised all this poetry was about sex (even when it seems it's not), it's easy!

Of course it's not all sex really, for example here's a poem about geography, transport and wine.


Like the erupting volcanoes of Java
Spouting their molten lava
And trains in a tunnel
Blowing steam from a funnel
And corks popping out of the cava

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Oooooo you are a card :D

Remember those hazy, crazy, lazy, days in Summer:

Summer is freedom,
laughter and joy;
small freckled darling,
mischievous boy;
shaded green valleys,
streams running free;
exploring the fellside,
running a scree.

Summer is dreaming,
long, lazy days;
far-off horizons,
flower strewn ways;
a whole wondrous world
all of us own;
distant adventures,
coming back home.

A small part of heaven
so much delight;
runnin’and swimmin'
from dawn until night;
hearts that are roaming,
minds bright and free;
eyes that know wonder,
that's summer to me.

~ By Garnett Ann Schultz ~

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.

Elizabeth Bishop

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Brilliant find Freckle - thanks

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Old Whippet

Never a dull moment
for body and soul
with you
capricious lover

Blowing hot
and hotter
you draw me like Icarus
or a moth.

And when I melt
It is into you
and with burnt wings
I can never leave you

---

I really like that too OW - very well written:)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Derby Tup

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of sad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

W B Yeats

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excellent one, really like it DT