Today's poet

Quote:

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Originally Posted by tri-mind

Will do. What's it like round your way ?.

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Snowy. Ran Tues afternoon and Wed and Thurs evenings and really enjoyed it. Roads quite bad Tues but got better each day. Suspect Peak / S Yorks had worse than where I am in Ilkey / Skipton area

Yes it has been bad but ok now. I have to ask have you been on ilkley moor without a hat as per song ?. Also do you see a lot of the Brownlee boys and do they still do the odd fell race.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by tri-mind

About 100/120 pages 5x8 mainly text with odd picture and sleeve picture too. Available in soft and hardback and anything from about December 20th onwards that i like will be in volume 2. The paperback will be £5.95 as i think that will make a little profit for bipolar charity and to do same hardback would be £13.95. I am sending e mails to any celebrity no matter how minor who i know has bipolar to see if they would do a sleeve note. I haven't posted as much as i would like on here because of book. We could very easily do a F.P.S. book for the fra or something it would be easy. The only issue is who would be editor. How are you today anyhow today HHH ?.How much snow ?.

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It sounds like you've got it all sussed out which is great. Good luck with it all.

Still plenty of snow in Kendal....

http://newsimg.bbc.co.uk/media/image...britainjpg.jpg

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Originally Posted by Derby Tup

From John Cooper Clarke's website www.johncooperclarke.com :cool:

Health Fanatic


Round the block - against the clock Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock Running out of breath - running out of socks Rubber on the road... flippety flop Non-skid agility... chop chop No time to hang about Work out health fanatic... work out The crack of dawn he's lifting weights His tell-tale heart reverberates He's high in polyunsaturates.. Low in polysaturates... The Duke of Edinburgh's award awaits It's a man's life He's a health fanatic... so was his wife A one-man war against decay Enjoys himself the hard way Allows himself a mars a day How old am I - what do I weigh Punch me there... does it hurt... no way Running on the spot don't get too hot He's a health fanatic, that's why not Running through the traffic jam - taking in the lead Hyperactivity keeps him out of bed Deep down he'd like to kick it in the head They'll regret it when they're dead There's more to life than fun He's a health fanatic - he's got to run Beans greens and tangerines And low cholestrol margarines His limbs are loose, his teeth are clean He's a high-octane fresh-air fiend You've got to admit he's keen What can you do but be impressed He's a health fanatic... give it a rest Shadow boxing - punch the wal One-a-side football... what's the score... one-all Could have been a copper... too small Could have been a jockey... too tall Knees up, knees up... head the bal Nervous energy makes him tick He's a health fanatic... he makes you sick

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Ah DT - this is my kind of Friday night treat.
"Beans greens and tangerines And low cholestrol margarines His limbs are loose, his teeth are clean He's a high-octane fresh-air fiend" only Jonny Clarke.

and inevitably I must follow it up with this... which as you know from the album he introduces as a poem about "wanking and weightlifting"

the BRONZE adonis


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

she didn't like the ribe cage / the coat-hanger HIPS

the razor-sharp shoulder blades / always give her JIP

she's reading Edward de Bono under the PALMS

he sprays odorono under his ARMS

I was to say the least ALARMED

when the BRONZE ADONIS got her...


I lay beneath the parasol / watched him with the CHICKS

horsing around with his aerosol / they whispered about his odd TRICK

"SEND NO CASH... FEAR NO MAN / YOU CAN BE A LOVE LEVIATHAN"

she's a FAN of the MAN with a TAN from a CAN

the BRONZE ADONIS got her


mr and mrs universe / the folks who live in the GYM

each night she sleeps in a room marked HER / he sleeps in a room marked HIM

muscle bound for stardom / the apollo of your EYE

can't seem to get a hard on / oh christ I wonder WHY

the BRONZE ADONIS got her


they honeymoon on muscle beach to cries of "Beat it Mac"

he plucks some puny pansy's peach / how do you like that

the BONZE ADONIS got her


there stands the body gorgeous / men worship girls ADMIRE

he bravely bears the scourges and the squelch of squashed DESIRE

what a physical jerk / no time for SEX

where's me bleedin' bullworker, baby oil and leopard KECKS

oh yeah / the BRONZE ADONIS got her


hubba hubba yum yum wow / what a hunk of BEEF

who made you the sacred cow / who hangs around his BRIEFS

in the corner sauna / with his MATES

wanking away unwanted weight

that's his idea of a heavy DATE

the BRONZE ADONIS got her

Christmas Present.

Boltons finest on my feet,
Hop, skip, running fast,
My wonderful walshs cant be beat,
Get outta the way slowcoach i want to get past.

By Matt Harmston

Quote:

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Originally Posted by tri-mind

Christmas Present.

Boltons finest on my feet,
Hop, skip, running fast,
My wonderful walshs cant be beat,
Get outta the way slowcoach i want to get past.

By Matt Harmston

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I like that. I'd let you past!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by tri-mind

Yes it has been bad but ok now. I have to ask have you been on ilkley moor without a hat as per song ?. Also do you see a lot of the Brownlee boys and do they still do the odd fell race.

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Was up on Ilkley Moor last night but well covered in wooly headgear. Been up there plenty of times without a hat though. AB won Chevin Chase and ALS over holiday period. What a talent and a nice lad too by all accounts (I don't know them) :)

Found this, like it:cool:

The Frost performs its secret ministry,
Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry
Came loud---and hark, again! loud as before.
The inmates of my cottage, all at rest,
Have left me to that solitude, which suits
Abstruser musings: save that at my side
My cradled infant slumbers peacefully.
`Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs
And vexes meditation with its strange
And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood,
This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood,
With all the numberless goings-on of life,
Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame
Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not;
Only that film, which fluttered on the grate,
Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing.
Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature
Gives it dim sympathies with me who live,
Making it a companionable form,
Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit
By its own moods interprets, every where
Echo or mirror seeking of itself,
And makes a toy of Thought.
But O! how oft,
How oft, at school, with most believing mind,
Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars,
To watch that fluttering stranger! and as oft
With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt
Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower,
Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang
>From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day,
So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me
With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear
Most like articulate sounds of things to come!
So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt,
Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams!
And so I brooded all the following morn,
Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye
Fixed with mock study on my swimming book:
Save if the door half opened, and I snatched
A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up,
For still I hoped to see the stranger's face,
Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved,
My play-mate when we both were clothed alike!

Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side,
Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm,
Fill up the interspersed vacancies
And momentary pauses of the thought!
My babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart
With tender gladness, thus to look at thee,
And think that thou shall learn far other lore,
And in far other scenes! For I was reared
In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim,
And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars.
But thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze
By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags
Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,
Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores
And mountain crags: so shalt thou see and hear
The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible
Of that eternal language, which thy God
Utters, who from eternity doth teach
Himself in all, and all things in himself.
Great universal Teacher! he shall mould
Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask.

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge I believe. I wouldn't have known that prior to this thread starting! :)

Good choice for today.

Apart from my infant isn't slumbering peacefully. He's bawling for a feed!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by merrylegs

Found this, like it:cool:

The Frost performs its secret ministry,
Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry
Came loud---and hark, again! loud as before.
The inmates of my cottage, all at rest,
Have left me to that solitude, which suits
Abstruser musings: save that at my side
My cradled infant slumbers peacefully.
`Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs
And vexes meditation with its strange
And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood,
This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood,
With all the numberless goings-on of life,
Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame
Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not;
Only that film, which fluttered on the grate,
Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing.
Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature
Gives it dim sympathies with me who live,
Making it a companionable form,
Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit
By its own moods interprets, every where
Echo or mirror seeking of itself,
And makes a toy of Thought.
But O! how oft,
How oft, at school, with most believing mind,
Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars,
To watch that fluttering stranger! and as oft
With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt
Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower,
Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang
>From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day,
So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me
With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear
Most like articulate sounds of things to come!
So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt,
Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams!
And so I brooded all the following morn,
Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye
Fixed with mock study on my swimming book:
Save if the door half opened, and I snatched
A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up,
For still I hoped to see the stranger's face,
Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved,
My play-mate when we both were clothed alike!

Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side,
Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm,
Fill up the interspersed vacancies
And momentary pauses of the thought!
My babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart
With tender gladness, thus to look at thee,
And think that thou shall learn far other lore,
And in far other scenes! For I was reared
In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim,
And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars.
But thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze
By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags
Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,
Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores
And mountain crags: so shalt thou see and hear
The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible
Of that eternal language, which thy God
Utters, who from eternity doth teach
Himself in all, and all things in himself.
Great universal Teacher! he shall mould
Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask.

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.

---

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
A luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

Robert Frost