That is truly beautiful! I love the way you've captured the cycle of life and death and the idea that a soul might travel for a short time in a swallow...the swallow's song is one of my favourite sounds.Quote:
Originally Posted by neil wootton
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That is truly beautiful! I love the way you've captured the cycle of life and death and the idea that a soul might travel for a short time in a swallow...the swallow's song is one of my favourite sounds.Quote:
Originally Posted by neil wootton
cold swollen Wharfe
rolls inevitably on
under indigo sky
Good to see you have regained your Yorkshire muse DT! This is great. Just cycled back in the rain and floods after dropping car off and felt inspired myself:Quote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
pecking in puddles
jackdaws spattering a field
of still sodden sheep
weary ewes look up
and black tatters fill the sky
as I cycle through
procrastination
enemy of this artist
threatens to conquer!
on that note...I'm back to work again and the ode to Altura will have to wait.
High Street, Kidsty Pike
White dusting under pink sky
A fine winter's day
Some great stuff this afternoon!
Did we get to bottom of Harry's middle name? I wondered about Horatio or Hornblower :cool:
Nope. Keep going. ;) Best one wins a prize.Quote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
hello all, some great stuff on here today i admire everyone's haiku...
here is one i like by anne sexton...there is an interesting story behind it....
She is all there.
She was melted carefully down for you
and cast up from your childhood,
cast up from your one hundred favorite aggies.
She has always been there, my darling.
She is, in fact, exquisite.
Fireworks in the dull middle of February
and as real as a cast-iron pot.
Let’s face it, I have been momentary.
A luxury. A bright red sloop in the harbor.
My hair rising like smoke from the car window.
Littleneck clams out of season.
She is more than that. She is your have to have,
has grown you your practical your tropical growth.
This is not an experiment. She is all harmony
She sees to oars and oarlocks for the dinghy,
has placed wild flowers at the window at breakfast,
sat by the potter’s wheel at midday,
set forth three children under the moon,
three cherubs drawn by Michelangelo,
done this with her legs spread out
in the terrible months in the chapel.
If you glance up, the children are there
like delicate balloons resting on the ceiling.
She has also carried each one down the hall
after supper, their heads privately bent,
two legs protesting, person to person,
her face flushed with a song and their little sleep.
I give you back your heart.
I give you permission—
for the fuse inside her, throbbing
angrily in the dirt, for the bitch in her
and the burying of her wound
for the burying of her small red wound alive
for the pale flickering flare under her ribs,
for the drunken sailor who waits in her left pulse,
for the mother’s knee, for the stocking,
for the garter belt, for the call
the curious call
when you will burrow in arms and breasts
and tug at the orange ribbon in her hair
and answer the call, the curious call.
She is so naked and singular.
She is the sum of yourself and your dream.
Climb her like a monument, step after step.
She is solid.
As for me, I am watercolor.
I wash off.
- by Anne Sexton
http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/annesexton
I've only just twigged at the third time of reading about the Ode to Altura. I was thinking that was a bit high brow for me as I was sure that Altura was the Roman Goddess of summit or other. Then I realised that an ode to a pair of cycling shorts was right up my street. Can't wait to hear it Hes.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
And don't forget. Procrastination IS an art!
Not a goddess HHH but a god!
Ode to Altura
You cling to my curves,
stretching with every movement,
wrapping my body like a lover,
protecting me from the elements.
All that came before you -
so dysfunctional.
They let me down when I needed them most,
but you...you are reliable, practical and robust,
without you I would be so cold, so miserable,
wet, heart racing rides denied to me,
but together we can weather any storm
and, as the heat rises within,
I swoop through puddles,
laughing like a child,
singing your praises
thankful for the day that I found you,
quietly waiting for me
in Chevin Cycle's summer sale.
Well...it is amazing the difference good cycling waterproofs can make to your ride!
Freckle, you really do have the knack of finding the most thought-provoking and amazing poetry. Yet another fascinating but tortured soul...it seems that an awful lot of the most creative women suffered mental anguish. I've always been fascinated by women artists such as Georgia O'Keefe and Frida Kahlo...so much strength but so much heartache.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Truly wonderful. :D That is one of the best we've had so far. Just makes me want to put a cleat in a pedal.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
I agree HHH excellent effort Hes!....glad you liked the sexton poem...it would seem that many a good poet was a bit of a tortured soul....:(Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Eee. It makes things more exciting a little bit of emotion now and again.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Emotion - G Giesmar
Running through your bones
Neither warm, nor cold
A force so great, so powerful
It will never cease to tower over you.
The struggle is not the problem, the answer not the solution
Dust filled eyes, ominous pollution
A mere trap is laid, clouded we be,
Stay still, stay simple, amongst a sea of upward tyranny
We will proclaim, in battle, war, or times of scorn
You cannot beat me
Not my master, nor your slave, my being is secure
The transition is not hastened or premature.
In calmness and strength, think, feel, see, then it’s obvious:
Emotion
I hear it is someone's special day today.....
from the depths of his soul
rare gems does he find
a light which shines
is our tri-mind
:)
hope you had a good one tri!
i really like this, especially the line...stay still, stay simple, amongst a sea of upward tyranny....nice one HHH :)Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
It is one of those from PoemHunter that looks like it isn't from one of the greats, just someone who fancied a go themselves. Very much like us lot. I liked it.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Fearless
With the sky heavy and dark, upwardly they will glance
Seeking that which is not a goal, with nothing but an awkward stance
Pierced the veins that are, the road is long, a trodden path
The soul yearns not for what is deserved or owed,
Just a conclusion, a return to a natural state of glow
Dirty and worn, at the ground we may stare
Incredulous of our present state, always too aware
Nihilistic thoughts that dominate mind and soul
The Bridge and sea remain clear, velvet roping to end such toll
Only at the end do we realise the gift we had and are,
The mirror now fills itself with light,
Finally to understand, yes this was our plight, yes this was our fight
No control, or fear, loneliness slowly glides astray
Keep walking as tomorrow is another day
Gregory Geismar
Erase
Erase
The cleft in your chin
But my mouth it fit so snug there!
Erase
The shadows of you face
But my hands they cupped it so!
Erase
The well of your eyes
But mine dreamt of falling in!
Erase
The trees.
But we were meant to run alongside them.
Erase
The future
But we could have tried
Erase
That which can never be yours
Erase, erase, erase!
P.Pitstop
Ohhh...you two have been posting some wonderful choices tonight. I am supposed to be working but I'm feeling frustrated that I can't stay here but will be back later.
I taste a liquor never brewed,
From tankards scooped in pearl;
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!
Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,
Reeling, through endless summer days,
From inns of molten blue.
When the landlord turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove's door,
When butterflies renounce their drams,
I shall but drink the more!
Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,
And saints to windows run,
To see the little tippler
Leaning against the sun!
(Emily Dickinson)
Parting
One day i’ll bump into you
"Look" you say with glee!
You produce a leather notebook
from your breast pocket
The scribbles of your life
places, struggles,
your children’s lives.
The dreams that came to fruition,
the frustrations,
the sketch of you.
“There are a few pages remaining”
you hand me the book
and all at once
I remember the call of your eyes
and our parting.
P.Pitstop
Old Kinder keeps calling
A call that’s enthralling
It’s time I was running
Up and over the Low
For the grey in my hair
Means I’ve no time to spare
So I’m running up there
Still moving too slow.
It’s a pretty stiff climb
And I’m taking my time
But these old legs of mine
Will not give up the fight.
As I’m reaching the top
I feel ready to drop
Still my heart didn’t stop
So I must be all right.
Then I’m off on my way
On a windy, old day
And I’m covered in spray
Passing Kinder Downfall.
William Clough is a test
For I’m well past my best
And I want a good rest
As I’ve run a long way.
I’m back where I begun
After a very good run
It’s been great fun
Another good day.
My God. Everyone's on a roll tonight I just can't keep up (or get started) - story of my life, me thinks :).Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Freckle you're gonna have to help - what's the story behind that poem. I've checked the website but can't find a clue (quite poetic really cos I'm clueless quite often!).
she suffered from depression and had an affair with her psychiatrist...when his wife found out about it (stumbled across some exchanged letters) the affair ended and apparently this poem was the result....aye the tortured soul of the artiste!!!! ....anyway mossy how the hell are ya? :)Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
PS i think mondays are good on here on account of the high misery factor....pleeeeeeaaaaase someone find a good plath for me !
Anne Sexton...no surprise that she was a friend of our Sylvia.
as in....
Anne Sexton -
Sylvia's Death
for Sylvia Plath
O Sylvia, Sylvia,
with a dead box of stones and spoons,
with two children, two meteors
wandering loose in a tiny playroom,
with your mouth into the sheet,
into the roofbeam, into the dumb prayer,
(Sylvia, Sylvia
where did you go
after you wrote me
from Devonshire
about rasing potatoes
and keeping bees?)
what did you stand by,
just how did you lie down into?
Thief --
how did you crawl into,
crawl down alone
into the death I wanted so badly and for so long,
the death we said we both outgrew,
the one we wore on our skinny breasts,
the one we talked of so often each time
we downed three extra dry martinis in Boston,
the death that talked of analysts and cures,
the death that talked like brides with plots,
the death we drank to,
the motives and the quiet deed?
(In Boston
the dying
ride in cabs,
yes death again,
that ride home
with our boy.)
O Sylvia, I remember the sleepy drummer
who beat on our eyes with an old story,
how we wanted to let him come
like a sadist or a New York fairy
to do his job,
a necessity, a window in a wall or a crib,
and since that time he waited
under our heart, our cupboard,
and I see now that we store him up
year after year, old suicides
and I know at the news of your death
a terrible taste for it, like salt,
(And me,
me too.
And now, Sylvia,
you again
with death again,
that ride home
with our boy.)
And I say only
with my arms stretched out into that stone place,
what is your death
but an old belonging,
a mole that fell out
of one of your poems?
(O friend,
while the moon's bad,
and the king's gone,
and the queen's at her wit's end
the bar fly ought to sing!)
O tiny mother,
you too!
O funny duchess!
O blonde thing!
And....stylewise...
Just Once
Just once I knew what life was for.
In Boston, quite suddenly, I understood;
walked there along the Charles River,
watched the lights copying themselves,
all neoned and strobe-hearted, opening
their mouths as wide as opera singers;
counted the stars, my little campaigners,
my scar daisies, and knew that I walked my love
on the night green side of it and cried
my heart to the eastbound cars and cried
my heart to the westbound cars and took
my truth across a small humped bridge
and hurried my truth, the charm of it, home
and hoarded these constants into morning
only to find them gone.
Anne Sexton.
I hear competitive boys furiously Googling for our Sylvia....Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
back with one soon. :)
Thanks freckle - you is a hedgeucation, no mistake.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
And how about this for your Plath...
Admonition
If you dissect a bird
To diagram the tongue
You'll cut the chord
Articulating song.
If you flay a beast
To marvel at the mane
You'll wreck the rest
From which the fur began.
If you pluck out the heart
To find what makes it move,
You'll halt the clock
That syncopates our love.
:(
Mossy you little star! I adored these poems, especially the latter one which is appealing to my monday night melancholia...loved the reference to analysts in the first poem and the description of the stars as "scar diasies" just utterly brilliant! thank you x
Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Boys or maybe Girls eh Freckle;);)Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Two thousand posts you say?
Well we hit that mark today.
Who said they thought this thing would never last?
It’s always rather funny,
But we’ll never make no money,
But who cares? ‘cos it sure has been a blast.
We’ve had limericks galore.
And several hundred more,
Of them little tricksters known as the haiku.
We’ve had heartfelt little rhymes,
And have ended up at times,
Turning rather a naughty shade of blue!
Bloody nora!!!!!! as my daughter would say "You have outdone yourself with that one!" never seen this poem b4 its fab...one to cut and paste and keep for misery with a capital M moments....thanks again :)
Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Aw shucks :o :) :DQuote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
I was just too late again! :)Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Brilliant X Runner. And I can particularly relate to...Quote:
Originally Posted by XRunner
"As I’m reaching the top
I feel ready to drop
Still my heart didn’t stop
So I must be all right."
Oh yes. Sorry X Runner. I was going to say I liked that then got distracted. Many happy memories of Kinder. (The plateau not the surprise eggs)Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Thank you.
You made me feel so
S(l)m(o)a(v)l(e)l(d)
and enclosed again.
I like this so much X runner i am contemplating a change of signature to "Inebriate of air am I"....class !Quote:
Originally Posted by XRunner
Sounds like the long lost motto of the Fell Poets Society. :)Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
nice one HHH, 2008th post i see!!!! wow! that crept up fast (like xmas!!!!!)Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill