Today's poet

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

http://www.birthdaydressup.com/images/ninja-large.jpg

Don't mess with the F.P.S.

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that is soooooooooooooooooooooooo funny! bagsy I am the one in the middle!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by XRunner

Those other two eclectic and eccentric Clubs the Steam Bunnies and the Fell Ponies have black and white vests.

We would need to be different - after all our use of words is more colourful!

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Very good point X runner....Mmmmm the ponder continueth ;)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

Very good point X runner....Mmmmm the ponder continueth ;)

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Surely we need to use the colour "read":D and play on the word!

Poetry would not exist if it was not red!

I fancied a black turtle-necked number with a matching beret :cool::cool:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by XRunner

Surely we need to use the colour "read":D and play on the word!

Poetry would not exist if it was not red!

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Yes....now you come to mention it red is the colour of passion with a capital P...and another bonus is that I might be less likely to get lost forever on the moors like Kathy if i am a nice bright red!...

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Derby Tup

I fancied a black turtle-necked number with a matching beret :cool::cool:

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Cato where will he spring from next? :D

It's a shame our resident poet / artiste Hes is away as I'm sure she would have enjoyed some input into the great FPS vest debate :)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Derby Tup

It's a shame our resident poet / artiste Hes is away as I'm sure she would have enjoyed some input into the great FPS vest debate :)

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we will be sure to remind her on her return :)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

we will be sure to remind her on her return :)

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Maybe Hes could print us a suitable red fabric. :)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Maybe Hes could print us a suitable red fabric. :)

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I would rather fancy like a tee-shirt with "The Sudden Start" printed on it.

http://www1.clikpic.com/hesterc/imag...uddenStart.jpg

PS. Is the middle name of Harry H Howgill "hare"?

Quote:

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Originally Posted by XRunner

I would rather fancy like a tee-shirt with "The Sudden Start" printed on it.

http://www1.clikpic.com/hesterc/imag...uddenStart.jpg

PS. Is the middle name of Harry H Howgill "hare"?

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Funny that. I was just perusing the same gallery!

cheers
Harry Hare Howgill

One of my Hes favourites is 'Moonlight Shadows' Always reminds me of happy nights out running with friends :)

I love the red idea the play on words is great. An individual haiku is great too.
And the hes' hare would be good.

....or maybe a bit of subtlety. The colours of choice with

.....
.......
.....

in a complmetary colour.
Only the finger counting Haiku runners would know.

........
.......
.....
.....
........
Would of course be the pattern for the limerick specialists

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Old Whippet

....or maybe a bit of subtlety. The colours of choice with

.....
.......
.....

in a complmetary colour.
Only the finger counting Haiku runners would know.

........
.......
.....
.....
........
Would of course be the pattern for the limerick specialists

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Even more subtlety? (Or is that obscurity?)...

..-. . .-.. .-.. / .--. --- . - ... / ... --- -.-. .. . - -.--
Di-di-dah-dit Dit Di-dah-di-dit Di-dah-di-dit, Di-dah-dah-dit Dah-dah-dah Dit Dah Di-di-dit, Di-di-dit Dah-dah-dah Dah-di-dah-dit Di-dit Dit Dah Dah-di-dah-dah

http://www.qbit.it/lab/morse.php

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Even more subtlety? (Or is that obscurity?)...

..-. . .-.. .-.. / .--. --- . - ... / ... --- -.-. .. . - -.--
Di-di-dah-dit Dit Di-dah-di-dit Di-dah-di-dit, Di-dah-dah-dit Dah-dah-dah Dit Dah Di-di-dit, Di-di-dit Dah-dah-dah Dah-di-dah-dit Di-dit Dit Dah Dah-di-dah-dah

http://www.qbit.it/lab/morse.php

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come on Harry - that's just me when I got a tad inebriated on Saturday night. I though we'd agreed not to get our iambic pentameters out!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by harry H Howgill

even More Subtlety? (or Is That Obscurity?)...

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... --- -- . / -- .- -.-- / - .... .. -. -.- / .-- . / .- .-. . / .-. .- -.. .. --- / .... .- -- ...

Quote:

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Originally Posted by XRunner

... --- -- . / -- .- -.-- / - .... .. -. -.- / .-- . / .- .-. . / .-. .- -.. .. --- / .... .- -- ...

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Nighthawk calling London...

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Old Whippet

come on Harry - that's just me when I got a tad inebriated on Saturday night. I though we'd agreed not to get our iambic pentameters out!

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very funny :D

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

Mossy I'm so glad you liked my earlier choice...and hope you and stolly will be on the team!!!! especially Mossy as we could probably car share?

anyway, are people forgetting that Monday's need to have at least a smattering of misery, we can't be jolly all of the time ye naaaaaaa!

and so....

The saddest poem

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

Pablo Neruda

"Permission for bottom lip to wobble?"

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Granted:(:(:(:(

Refusal

by Maya Angelou


Beloved,
In what other lives or lands
Have I known your lips
Your Hands
Your Laughter brave
Irreverent.
Those sweet excesses that
I do adore.
What surety is there
That we will meet again,
On other worlds some
Future time undated.
I defy my body's haste.
Without the promise
Of one more sweet encounter
I will not deign to die.
:(:(

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

Granted:(:(

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Awwwww Mossy. :(

Here's a :) for you.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

Refusal

by Maya Angelou


Beloved,
In what other lives or lands
Have I known your lips
Your Hands
Your Laughter brave
Irreverent.
Those sweet excesses that
I do adore.
What surety is there
That we will meet again,
On other worlds some
Future time undated.
I defy my body's haste.
Without the promise
Of one more sweet encounter
I will not deign to die.
:(:(

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That is a Monday-nighter if ever I heard one.

Night night poetry fans

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

That is a Monday-nighter if ever I heard one.

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Aye, and there's worse lad, gulp!

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


Just reaching for the Prozac (again):(

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

Aye, and there's worse lad, gulp!

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


Just reaching for the Prozac (again):(

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wow Mossy! puts my shit week into perspective! Better avoid despair it seems.

I've had a look at Ron Hill bespoke kit looks like vest would be in the region of 12 to 15 pounds depending on colours and amount ordered and they can cope with designs and lettering.So if we fancy doing this when Hes gets back and if she wants to be the designer it looks to be a goer.

THIS is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the forum* done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou
lovest best.
Night, sleep, and the stars.

(Walt Whitman)
* this word was not by Whitman

Quote:

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Originally Posted by XRunner

THIS is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,

Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the forum* done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou
lovest best.
Night, sleep, and the stars.

(Walt Whitman)

* this word was not by Whitman

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What a lovely poem to end the evening x runner ! looks like you guys had a wonderful time last night!....i love the idea of hes's hares being on the tops in some way, tri mind good research re bespoke ron hill's....what was all the morse code about, please someone elaborate!

Anyway, top of the morning everyone...

A flower has opened in my heart…
What flower is this, what flower of spring,
what simple, secret thing?
It is the peace of daybreak skies that bring
Clear song and wild swift wing.
Heart’s miracle of inward light,
What powers unknown have sown your seed
And your perfection freed?…
O flower within me wondrous white,
I know you only as my need
And my unsealed sight.

S Sassoon

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

Refusal

by Maya Angelou


Beloved,
In what other lives or lands
Have I known your lips
Your Hands
Your Laughter brave
Irreverent.
Those sweet excesses that
I do adore.
What surety is there
That we will meet again,
On other worlds some
Future time undated.
I defy my body's haste.
Without the promise
Of one more sweet encounter
I will not deign to die.
:(:(

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Beautiful Mossy, beautiful.......

Good Morning poets Been a couple of days since I made a post. Started a new post grad project (it's almost a job) BEGAD SIR! A job surely not.

Tri mind your really exploring the darkness at the moment.

Ive got loads of stuff I want to say, but thanks to all for inspiring me to use words again. So he's one

Working life

We are growing older every day
Squandering nearly every one
Some of us our wishing the years away
Until it is almost gone

Working ourselves into a grave
Saving the money but never the time
Retiring after our pensionable age
our working life is always a climb

RUBBING SHOULDERS WITH CELEBRITY POETS

Did anyone watch the excellent documentary about the poem, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. It was on BBC 2 earlier in the year. I can't remember the bloke who presented it, but he has a very distinctive voice. Anyway I was on holiday in St Ives and I heard a distinctive voice I thought I recognised I turned round and there he was a celebrity poet whose name escapes me.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

what was all the morse code about, please someone elaborate!

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That dashing fellow, Harry "The Hare" Howgill", was being rather dotty:D

Quote:

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Originally Posted by neil wootton

Good Morning poets Been a couple of days since I made a post. Started a new post grad project (it's almost a job) BEGAD SIR! A job surely not.

Tri mind your really exploring the darkness at the moment.

Ive got loads of stuff I want to say, but thanks to all for inspiring me to use words again. So he's one

Working life

We are growing older every day
Squandering nearly every one
Some of us our wishing the years away
Until it is almost gone

Working ourselves into a grave
Saving the money but never the time
Retiring after our pensionable age
our working life is always a climb

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I really liked this Neil, I can totally realte to it....not sure who that famous poet was!...x runner you are as elusive as ever! :)

Since posting about the famous poet I thought i'd google "Sir Gawain and The Green Knight BBC2" The famous poet was Simon Armitage:)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by neil wootton

Since posting about the famous poet I thought i'd google "Sir Gawain and The Green Knight BBC2" The famous poet was Simon Armitage:)

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Oooo now he is famous!!!!! :)

And do you think that love itself

And do you think that love itself,
Living in such an ugly house,
Can prosper long?
We meet and part;
Our talk is all of heres and nows,
Our conduct likewise; in no act
Is any future, any past;
Under our sly, unspoken pact,
I KNOW with whom I saw you last,
But I say nothing; and you know
At six-fifteen to whom I go—
Can even love be treated so?

I KNOW, but I do not insist,
Having stealth and tact, thought not enough,
What hour your eye is on your wrist.

No wild appeal, no mild rebuff
Deflates the hour, leaves the wine flat—

Yet if YOU drop the picked-up book
To intercept my clockward look—
Tell me, can love go on like that?

Even the bored, insulted heart,
That signed so long and tight a lease,
Can BREAK it CONTRACT, slump in peace.

Edna St. Vincent Millay </B>

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

Oooo now he is famous!!!!! :)

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Now even I''ve heard of Simon Armitage.

I don't think I've ever met a poet!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by XRunner

That dashing fellow, Harry "The Hare" Howgill", was being rather dotty:D

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I'm a lesser spotted Hare these days I'll have you know.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

And do you think that love itself

And do you think that love itself,
Living in such an ugly house,
Can prosper long?
We meet and part;
Our talk is all of heres and nows,
Our conduct likewise; in no act
Is any future, any past;
Under our sly, unspoken pact,
I KNOW with whom I saw you last,
But I say nothing; and you know
At six-fifteen to whom I go—
Can even love be treated so?

I KNOW, but I do not insist,
Having stealth and tact, thought not enough,
What hour your eye is on your wrist.

No wild appeal, no mild rebuff
Deflates the hour, leaves the wine flat—

Yet if YOU drop the picked-up book
To intercept my clockward look—
Tell me, can love go on like that?

Even the bored, insulted heart,
That signed so long and tight a lease,
Can BREAK it CONTRACT, slump in peace.

Edna St. Vincent Millay </B>

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Oh dear. Another sad poem? About infidelity, perhaps? But rather poignant all the same, and seems to beautifully evoke the inevitable hollowness of such temporality circumscribed affairs. However, I'll try and find something a bit more 'upbeat' tonight. Thanks F.