Today's poet

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

Of course...it was Superman! Brilliant, thanks Merry, right, now we just need to start a 'on the count of three' thread and get everyone running in the same direction at the same time. Kind of like a lot of hamsters in a wheel. Should make February the longest in history.;)

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That would be a :cool: leap year!
Good taste OW, only discovered Neil Young a couple of years ago through a friend, bit slow:rolleyes:
Goodnight all, take care and have fun;)

Hello all

There has been 6 inches of snow overnight here!...amazing!...just got back from the local golf course sledging with the kids, thank fully with no broken bones!.....

Dust of Snow
Robert Frost

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

Hello all

There has been 6 inches of snow overnight here!...amazing!...just got back from the local golf course sledging with the kids, thank fully with no broken bones!.....

Dust of Snow
Robert Frost

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

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This is probably my favourite poem by Robert Frost and the sentiment is so lovely...nature always has a way of cheering me up and it seems to be the same for so many people. Thanks Freckle and your sledging sounds like a great way to spend the morning. :)

eyes smart in cold air
but with todays winter sun
warmth to cheer this soul

Full Moon and Little Frieda

A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket

And you listening.
A spider’s web, tense for the dew’s touch.
A pail lifted, still and brimming – mirror
To tempt a first star to a tremor.

Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges with their warm wreaths of breath –
A dark river of blood, many boulders,
Balancing unspilled milk.

“Moon!” you cry suddenly, “Moon! Moon!”

The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work
That points at him amazed.


--Ted Hughes, from Wodwo (1967)

(this was one of Jeanette Winterson's selection and it is perfect for these last few nights I reckon)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

Full Moon and Little Frieda

A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket

And you listening.
A spider’s web, tense for the dew’s touch.
A pail lifted, still and brimming – mirror
To tempt a first star to a tremor.

Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges with their warm wreaths of breath –
A dark river of blood, many boulders,
Balancing unspilled milk.

“Moon!” you cry suddenly, “Moon! Moon!”

The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work
That points at him amazed.


--Ted Hughes, from Wodwo (1967)

(this was one of Jeanette Winterson's selection and it is perfect for these last few nights I reckon)

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Lovely Hes I really liked this....well I am off out for the evening soon with a friend, have a nice evening all.......:)

Trying to write poetry
is like picking meat
from the bones of
an animal that is still
grazing peacefully
in a lush field.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

eyes smart in cold air
but with todays winter sun
warmth to cheer this soul

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this is so cool.....my eyes were smarting this morning too!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

Lovely Hes I really liked this....well I am off out for the evening soon with a friend, have a nice evening all.......:)

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Have a lovely time Freckle.

one more from robert frost before i go....

Love at the lips was touch
As sweet as I could bear;
And once that seemed too much;
I lived on air
That crossed me from sweet things,
The flow of - was it musk
From hidden grapevine springs
Down hill at dusk?
I had the swirl and ache
From sprays of honeysuckle
That when they're gathered shake
Dew on the knuckle.
I craved strong sweets, but those
Seemed strong when I was young;
The petal of the rose
It was that stung.
Now no joy but lacks salt
That is not dashed with pain
And weariness and fault;
I crave the stain
Of tears, the aftermark
Of almost too much love,
The sweet of bitter bark
And burning clove.
When stiff and sore and scarred
I take away my hand
From leaning on it hard
In grass and sand,
The hurt is not enough:
I long for weight and strength
To feel the earth as rough
To all my length.