This thread, as they say, has momentum.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
There is no stopping it now. :)
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This thread, as they say, has momentum.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
There is no stopping it now. :)
I missed this earlier HHH...its brilliant! so funny and warm...thank you :) long live the thread!...( well at least till you buy me a snecklifter or two or three or four ...)Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Aah. So that is what this thread has been all about. The quest for a free beer or two.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
I'll drink to that, and I'm buying.
Tee hee!:DQuote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Remember
C.Rossetti
REMEMBER me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
A lovely choice Freckle.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
I missed it too HHH - sorry - but I applaud your fun verse - very well done.:)Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Thank you kind sir. I'm off now so see everyone soon.Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
x
A wonderful night on this thread full of both mirth and misery!....i'm off to bed soon so thought i would leave you with this cheery little number from neruda...night all!:)
A song of despair
The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.
Deserted like the dwarves at dawn.
It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one!
Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.
Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.
In you the wars and the flights accumulated.
From you the wings of the song birds rose.
You swallowed everything, like distance.
Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank!
It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss.
The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse.
Pilot's dread, fury of blind driver,
turbulent drunkenness of love, in you everything sank!
In the childhood of mist my soul, winged and wounded.
Lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire,
sadness stunned you, in you everything sank!
I made the wall of shadow draw back,
beyond desire and act, I walked on.
Oh flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and lost,
I summon you in the moist hour, I raise my song to you.
Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness.
and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.
There was the black solitude of the islands,
and there, woman of love, your arms took me in.
There was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.
There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle.
Ah woman, I do not know how you could contain me
in the earth of your soul, in the cross of your arms!
How terrible and brief my desire was to you!
How difficult and drunken, how tensed and avid.
Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs,
still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds.
Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs,
oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies.
Oh the mad coupling of hope and force
in which we merged and despaired.
And the tenderness, light as water and as flour.
And the word scarcely begun on the lips.
This was my destiny and in it was my voyage of my longing,
and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank!
Oh pit of debris, everything fell into you,
what sorrow did you not express, in what sorrow are you not drowned!
From billow to billow you still called and sang.
Standing like a sailor in the prow of a vessel.
You still flowered in songs, you still brike the currents.
Oh pit of debris, open and bitter well.
Pale blind diver, luckless slinger,
lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour
which the night fastens to all the timetables.
The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore.
Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate.
Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
Only tremulous shadow twists in my hands.
Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything.
It is the hour of departure. Oh abandoned one!
Pablo Neruda
LOVE SONG FOR EMILY(for Emily Dickenson)
You handed me
your eyes
so that I could see
as you saw.
I looking
in wonder
seeing you sew
the world together
in quick little stitches
a perfect embroidery
of knowing
drawing the thread through
& through
until nimble as a needle
I knew as you
knew.
Oh Emily
I was always
in love
with the beauty of your eyes
& how they saw
& said the world
the quick dashes
of your mind
like Braille
to my blindness
the Morse Code
of your thought
leading me through
the labyrinth of you
bound
in a nut
shell
until I arrived
at the beauty of your eyes
and you handed me
your seeing
and...I saw.
D Dempsey
Hurrah! Light at the end of the tunnel...it has been lovely to dip into all the great posts this evening whilst I was procrastinating...ooops I mean working! XRunner...that was a great poem about your run.
I have been concerned that the thread might dwindle and when I came back from India, it would be relegated to second page of the General Chat but I am certain now that that won't happen. Not with so many creative souls on here.
By the way Tri-Mind...if you read this later, Happy Birthday and I hope you did something special.
na night xQuote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
I'm on my way to clean my teeth and just caught this...how utterly moving, its so personal and heartfelt.....sigh.....thanks mossy....hes you will be missed whilst in india but we will hold the fort! not long now eh? ...right the land of nod beckons, night all xQuote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Morning all, quick cuppa then out into the cold for a run b4 work me thinks!
Love is a place
love is a place
& through this place of
love move
(with brightness of peace)
all places
yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skilfully curled)
all worlds
ee cummings
Departure
It's little I care what path I take,
And where it leads it's little I care;
But out of this house, lest my heart break,
I must go, and off somewhere.
It's little I know what's in my heart,
What's in my mind it's little I know,
But there's that in me must up and start,
And it's little I care where my feet go.
I wish I could walk for a day and a night,
And find me at dawn in a desolate place
With never the rut of a road in sight,
Nor the roof of a house, nor the eyes of a face.
I wish I could walk till my blood should spout,
And drop me, never to stir again,
On a shore that is wide, for the tide is out,
And the weedy rocks are bare to the rain.
But dump or dock, where the path I take
Brings up, it's little enough I care:
And it's little I'd mind the fuss they'll make,
Huddled dead in a ditch somewhere.
'Is something the matter, dear,' she said,
'That you sit at your work so silently?'
'No, mother, no, 'twas a knot in my thread.
There goes the kettle, I'll make the tea.'
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Two wonderful morning choices Freckle! After my 3.30am bedtime, I woke to a gorgeous sunny frosty day and it has me seeking out wintery poems.
Winter Wood
So I have put away the books
and I watch the last apples fall
from the frosty trees
and I have seen also
acorns stretching red shoots
into the hard soil
and the white bark of the birches
was more to me than all the pages
and what I read there
bared my heart to the winter sun
and opened my brain to the wind
and suddenly
suddenly in the midst of that winter wood
I knew I had always been there
before the books
as after the books
there will be a winter wood
and my heart will be bare
and my brain open to the wind.
Kenneth White
I'm glad that you posted a bit of Edna, Freckle. I have a quest for fellow poetry lovers. Many years ago I saw a program on the tv which was to accompany an English Literature A'level syllabus (I think) and since then I have been seeking a poem which I think may be one of hers. A person read it out and it talked of losing a man that she loved and how he wasn't there anymore but everywhere she looked he was present due to associations. OK...bit vague I know but it had such an impact on me and I've never been able to find it since. I just know it was by a woman poet and it was about the loss of a man she loved. (I expect the discovery of it may lead to disappointment as in my mind it is the work of genius!).
Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Oh my god...that's it! That's it! I cannot believe it Freckle. Thank you so much. I have searched for that for probably about 20 years but had no idea who the author was or what it actually said. I just knew that when I listened to it, it made me weep and totally summed up how I felt. The impact of the words has stayed with me for all this time. Seems we are definitely on the same wavelength. Thank you again.
What a sweet story of serendipity. Glad you've found what you were looking for, Hes. Was it worth the wait?;)
POETRY.
GOD to his untaught children sent
Law, order, knowledge, art, from high,
And ev'ry heav'nly favour lent,
The world's hard lot to qualify.
They knew not how they should behave,
For all from Heav'n stark-naked came;
But Poetry their garments gave,
And then not one had cause for shame.
Goethe 1816.
So perhaps that's why we can be a shameless lot on this thread?:D
Sectioned.
Wonder if they'll let me see the sun today,
In my white jacket with it's serpentine sleeves,
I want to frolic and gamble go out and play,
When i speak about my little friends no one believes.
Two blue, one yellow, three pink and two green,
The softs walls of my room go up to the sky,
More coloured sweeties so i do not dream,
They look thru the window see me scream and cry.
I get my clothes and thank for their kindness,
Sign out, get the bus get home to the wife,
My consultant says an unqualified success,
But you tell me is this really my life ?.
By Matt Harmston.
Friends.
You know it feels great to have friends like you,
Writing poems each night for our enjoyment,
Freckle,Hes,HHH and many more too,
It makes me happy when kind words are sent.
It is not easy for me to make any good friends,
People get scared of what they don't understand,
I realise my disorder doesn't help to these ends,
Like anyone else it's nice to be part of this merry band.
I just want to tell you all what you mean to me,
I need to let you know your special place in my heart,
When i am writing with you is when i'm most free,
For our friendships i hope this is the start.
By Matt Harmston.
It was indeed SS! There is a certain comfort to be had when you find your emotions conveyed so perfectly by a third party. I will save this for the next time I need it!:oQuote:
Originally Posted by southernsoftie
Matt, this is really lovely. I do hope it is the start too. I know quite a few of us feel that way and having the space to express ourselves has been wonderful. Long may it continue. I really loved your previous poem. For me, it was one of your best. The question of 'what is normality?' and who decides how we should live our lives is a pertinent one and by your presence here and your open and poetic writing, I hope that you will continue to help people learn that there are so many ways to live a life and not all are easy but require understanding and courage. You do have friends here and I am hoping that it won't be long before we have our first Fell Poetical Society get together.Quote:
Originally Posted by tri-mind
Nice one MossDog! Here's to further shameless moments:DQuote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Thankyou Hes it was meant with sincerity and it would be great to have a poetical society meeting. It is quite difficult to explain to someone that what might seem to be a normal life is entirely manufactured by the medical profession because it is safer for me. Does that make it right ?. Would it be better to burn twice as bright for half as long ?. There really has to be some degree of selfishness in any decision one could make. It would either mean
the 'patient' being totally selfish or their family being so {although the family would not see it that way.} probably better to have a facsimile of an husband,father and son than the original for less time. I fight with wanting to do the right thing and the safe thing everyday. I don't think i can say that i am truly the whole of me because of the price that comes with it. Sometimes with the poetry it helps get these things off my chest.
Poetry is a remarkable medium for working things out and I just wish I had a better capacity for it but I find other ways with my artwork. I can't pretend that I understand what it is like for you but I think that my empathy has grown through your presence here on the thread. I know two people that are bi-polar and recognise some of what you say in their comments. To live with the constant knowledge that you have to make such a choice every single day must be torturous. I am just so glad that Freckle had the foresight to start this off and provide us with a place to exchange not only poetry but ideas about life.Quote:
Originally Posted by tri-mind
The fascination of what's difficult
The fascination of what's difficult
Has dried the sap out of my veins, and rent
Spontaneous joy and natural content
Out of my heart. There's something ails our colt
That must, as if it had not holy blood
Nor on Olympus leaped from cloud to cloud,
Shiver under the lash, strain, sweat and jolt
As though it dragged road-metal. My curse on plays
That have to be set up in fifty ways,
On the day's war with every knave and dolt,
Theatre business, management of men.
I swear before the dawn comes round again
I'll find the stable and pull out the bolt.
Yeats
Well TM. What a nice post to find first tonight. I'm glad you feel amongst friends here.Quote:
Originally Posted by tri-mind
Well that's brilliant: Freckle, the human poetry encyclopedia strikes again.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
Awwwww...shucks :o...trying to compose something of my own tonight but my concentration is poor on account of two mini freckles having a spat in the background when they should be asleep, might have to use the old "santa only delivers presents to good litlle girsl" card soon....:DQuote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
By that rule does that mean that you are getting anything for Christmas for this year or not? :DQuote:
Originally Posted by freckle
I mentioned many many posts back that I had an album by Vikki Clayton composed entirely with John Clare poems. Well I finally found one of them on t'internet here...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FBRNfx-oL88
I think it is lovely and I hope some of you do too.
The chaffinch in the hedgerow sings, by a brown and naked thorn
By it's tail the titmouse hings searching the buds at morn
I'll wish dirty roads away and the meadows flooded water
And court before I end the day the gardners bonny daughter
She's sweeter than the first of spring , more fair than Christmas roses
When robins by the hovel sings sweet smiles this maid discloses
Her hair so brown her eyes so bright as clear as meadow water
I'll go and have a word tonight with the gardners bonny daughter
Her cheeks they're like a coloured rose, oh a kiss would surely burn ye
Her lips are gems more red than those for love I'll go the journey
When the white thorn comes in bloom and the chaffinch lays it's lauter
I'll walk where singing birds are brief with the gardners bonny daughter
I passed the gardeners house one night my heart burned to a cinder
I saw her face and her eyes so bright she was looking through the window
But when I passed the house again I'd been pounded in a mortar
But she smiled and looked upon me then, so I love the gardeners daughter
I love the gardners daughter -- Ooh that sweet daughter
John Clare
Er...no comment !!!!! ;) :DQuote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Awwwwwww...listening and typing at the same time...lovely...really like the line about cheeks like a coloured rose...sweet!....if only really life was so idyllic!...perhaps it is in moments.....mmmmm....ponderQuote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
by Michael Rosen, the children's laurete from his book "A treasure trove of nonsense", quite relevant to us forumites I think!........
Plonky Wonky Doodah
Plonky Wonky Doodah
chatting online,
Plonky Wonky Doodah
chatting all the time,
Plonky Wonky Doodah
computer nerd.
Plonky Wonky Doodah
"Don't be so rude!"
Plonky Wonky Doodah
"It's time for your food!"
Plonky Wonky Doodah
hasn't even heard.
Mmmmm...this has been read out to me with a knowing smile once or twice!!!!:)
I was awaiting something profound from you tonight, and I wasn't disappointed. :D
You are probably doing more writing than me. I'm just looking for Richard Thompson songs to listen to.
Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
it's gone past nine
but the evening's mine
my work is done
it's time for wine!
Hi HHH and Freckle (and anyone else reading)
I liked the John Clare, HHH, really lovely and Freckle's latest post was excellent. I'm in the mood for some plonky wonky doodah poetry!
lets hope that means you have an earlier night lady (???3:30am???:eek:)...sounds lovely...think i'll pop over....Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes