Today's poet

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Old Whippet

Merry - 3 lines saying a lot there. And a fair bit of empathy from the house of Whippet.

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Best wishes to the house of Whippet;)

Morning all!

New Every Morning
Susan Coolidge

Every day is a fresh beginning,
Listen my soul to the glad refrain.
And, spite of old sorrows
And older sinning,
Troubles forecasted
And possible pain,
Take heart with the day and begin again.

Gosh you lot have been busy! I've just escaped the asylum that was the train to Varanasi and am caling myself with your poetry. Tri...you've been writing some genius stuff!

OW, Freckle and HHH, I do love it when you all go head to head, you make me laugh. Ok... a couple from the last few days and then I better go and have a swim in the Ganges (ony joking!!).

walking the tideline
there is no place to hide from
persistant gypsies

another country
this night beach of sleeping dogs
awash with moonlight

last day on the beach
the waves carry marigolds
to bloom on the sand

Tibetan woman
fingers her beads and murmurs
prayers on the train

thirty eight hours
counting down to our escape
from this nightmare train

More lovely travel haiku Hes :cool: You must be made of tough stuff to endure 38hours on an Indian train :eek:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

Gosh you lot have been busy! I've just escaped the asylum that was the train to Varanasi and am caling myself with your poetry. Tri...you've been writing some genius stuff!

OW, Freckle and HHH, I do love it when you all go head to head, you make me laugh. Ok... a couple from the last few days and then I better go and have a swim in the Ganges (ony joking!!).

walking the tideline
there is no place to hide from
persistant gypsies

another country
this night beach of sleeping dogs
awash with moonlight

last day on the beach
the waves carry marigolds
to bloom on the sand

Tibetan woman
fingers her beads and murmurs
prayers on the train

thirty eight hours
counting down to our escape
from this nightmare train

---

love these hes. Especially the 2 beach ones.
38 hours on a train? I struggle with the 3 and a bit hours on the 125 to London!

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of sad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

W B Yeats

Come, the wind may never again
Blow as it now blows for us;
And the stars may never again shine as now they shine;
Long before October returns,
Seas of blood will have parted us,
And you must crush the love in your heart, and I the love
in mine!

Emily Brontë

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Derby Tup

Come, the wind may never again
Blow as it now blows for us;
And the stars may never again shine as now they shine;
Long before October returns,
Seas of blood will have parted us,
And you must crush the love in your heart, and I the love
in mine!

Emily Brontë

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THis is so nice DT...bittersweet

Hes-so good to hear from you and really enjoying your haiku travel log, you certainly must be tough!...enjoy the rest of your journey :)

Two Lunches
(o)i(n)n(e)
beginning/end/beginning

Waves crash, renewal and destruction
with each cycle
a hound looks on

Low fell soup
and chicken sarnies
replenishes a weary sunspot

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Derby Tup

Come, the wind may never again
Blow as it now blows for us;
And the stars may never again shine as now they shine;
Long before October returns,
Seas of blood will have parted us,
And you must crush the love in your heart, and I the love
in mine!

Emily Brontë

---

Nice one DT, and you've prompted me to seek out a few others from our Emily.

THE OLD STOIC

by: Emily Brontë (1818-1848)

ICHES I hold in light esteem,
And Love I laugh to scorn;
And lust of fame was but a dream
That vanish'd with the morn:

And, if I pray, the only prayer
That moves my lips for me
Is, 'Leave the heart that now I bear,
And give me liberty!'

Yea, as my swift days near their goal,
'Tis all that I implore:
In life and death a chainless soul,
With courage to endure.

ummmm...that Riches, not Iches, but then again....!:D

THE POTTER

Your whole body holds
a goblet or gentle sweetness destined for me

When I let my hand climb
in each place I find a dove
that was looking for me, as if
my love, they had made you out of clay
for my very own potter's hands.

Your knees, your breasts,
your waist
are missing in me, like in the hollow
of a thirsting earth
where they relinquished
a form
and together
we are complete like one single river,
like one single grain of sand

Pablo Neruda

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Mossdog

Nice one DT, and you've prompted me to seek out a few others from our Emily.

THE OLD STOIC

by: Emily Brontë (1818-1848)

ICHES I hold in light esteem,
And Love I laugh to scorn;
And lust of fame was but a dream
That vanish'd with the morn:

And, if I pray, the only prayer
That moves my lips for me
Is, 'Leave the heart that now I bear,
And give me liberty!'

Yea, as my swift days near their goal,
'Tis all that I implore:
In life and death a chainless soul,
With courage to endure.

---

abosolytely loving it Mossy! and DT...you have outdone yourself yet again with that neruda poem, i thought i had seen them all but not that one!.......ah...i love this here thread! :)

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Derby Tup

THE POTTER

Your whole body holds
a goblet or gentle sweetness destined for me

When I let my hand climb
in each place I find a dove
that was looking for me, as if
my love, they had made you out of clay
for my very own potter's hands.

Your knees, your breasts,
your waist
are missing in me, like in the hollow
of a thirsting earth
where they relinquished
a form
and together
we are complete like one single river,
like one single grain of sand

Pablo Neruda

---

Corrrrrr...... DT shouldn't that have been held back until after the 9 o'clock watershed? I mean the PC Thought Police will be Nee-Nah, Nee-Nah and blue-lighting it to your door at this very moment - hide!:D

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Derby Tup

THE POTTER

Your whole body holds
a goblet or gentle sweetness destined for me

When I let my hand climb
in each place I find a dove
that was looking for me, as if
my love, they had made you out of clay
for my very own potter's hands.

Your knees, your breasts,
your waist
are missing in me, like in the hollow
of a thirsting earth
where they relinquished
a form
and together
we are complete like one single river,
like one single grain of sand

Pablo Neruda

---

Oooh errrr missus! :eek:
DT is hot hot hot!!!! :D

The Potter is from 'The Essential Neruda' available from Amazon. 50poems in Spanish and English :cool:

Is it too early for this poem?

Sex With a Famous Poet (by Denis Duhamel - modified by me)

I had sex with a famous poet last night
and when I rolled over and found myself beside her I shuddered
because I was married to someone else,
because I wasn't supposed to have been drinking,
because I was in fancy hotel room
I didn't recognize. I would have told you
right off this was a dream, but recently
a friend told me, write about a dream,
lose a reader and I didn't want to lose you
right away. I wanted you to hear
that I really did like the poet in the dream, that I find her
rather attractive, that I only met her once,
that is, in real life, and that was in a large group
in which I barely spoke up. She pleased me
with her disparaging remarks about men.
She even used the word "Fell"
which I took as a direct insult to my wife who's Asian.
When we were first dating, I told her
"You were talking in your sleep last night
and I listened, just to make sure you didn't
call out anyone else's name." My future-wife said
that she couldn't be held responsible for her subconscious,
which worried me, which made me think her dreams
were full of blond men in boxer shorts,
but she said no, she dreamt mostly about boulders,
and the ocean, and fell running, dangerous weather
she witnessed but could do nothing to stop.
And I said, "I dream only of you,"
which was romantic and silly and untrue.
But I never thought I'd dream of another woman,
my wife and I hadn't even had a fight,
my head tucked sweetly in her armpit, my arm
around her belly, which lifted up and down
all night, gently like water in a lake.
If I passed that famous poet on the street,
she would walk by, famous in her sunglasses
and blazer with the suede patches at the elbows,
without so much as a glance in my direction.
I know you're probably curious about who the poet is,
so I should tell you the clues I've left aren't
accurate, that I've disguised her identity,
that you shouldn't guess I bet it's her,
because you'll never guess correctly
and even if you do, I won't tell you that you have.
I wouldn't want to embarrass Freckle
who is, after all, probably a nice person,
who was probably just having a bad day when I met her,
who is probably growing a little tired of her fame.
which my wife and I perceive as enormous,
but how much fame can a fell running poet
really have, let's say, compared to a rock star,
or film director of equal talent? Not that much,
and the famous poet knows it, knows that she's not
truly given her due. Knows that many
of these young poets tugging on her sleeve
are only pretending to have read all her poems.
But she smiles anyway, tries to be helpful.
I mean, this poet has to have some redeeming qualities, right?
For instance, she writes a mean iambic.
Otherwise, what was I doing in her arms.

Well all I can say X runner is it is a good job that I have a bloody good sense of humour!!!!!!.............;)

If only my life was as exciting as the poet described! :-)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Derby Tup

The Potter is from 'The Essential Neruda' available from Amazon. 50poems in Spanish and English :cool:

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Thanks for that DT i'll add that to my wish list :)

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.

Elizabeth Bishop

Never a dull moment
for body and soul
with you
capricious lover

Blowing hot
and hotter
you draw me like Icarus
or a moth.

And when I melt
It is into you
and with burnt wings
I can never leave you

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

Well all I can say X runner is it is a good job that I have a bloody good sense of humour!!!!!!.............;)

If only my life was as exciting as the poet described! :-)

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:)

Did I introduce a Freckle into the poem?:D

Quote:

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Originally Posted by XRunner

:)

Did I introduce a Freckle into the poem?:D

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Yes!!!!! i think you did that to test if i read them all! well now you have your answer!...and i remember the golden days of sweet verse about sunspots!....:D

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Old Whippet

Never a dull moment
for body and soul
with you
capricious lover

Blowing hot
and hotter
you draw me like Icarus
or a moth.

And when I melt
It is into you
and with burnt wings
I can never leave you

---

I adore the way you write OW, it is with such a gentle understated quality and did i notice a very slick bit of metaphor there?......:)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

I adore the way you write OW, it is with such a gentle understated quality and did i notice a very slick bit of metaphor there?......:)

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well....since i realised all this poetry was about sex (even when it seems it's not), it's easy!

Of course it's not all sex really, for example here's a poem about geography, transport and wine.


Like the erupting volcanoes of Java
Spouting their hot molten lava
And trains in a tunnel
Blowing steam from a funnel
And corks popping out of the cava

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Old Whippet

well....since i realised all this poetry was about sex (even when it seems it's not), it's easy!

Of course it's not all sex really, for example here's a poem about geography, transport and wine.


Like the erupting volcanoes of Java
Spouting their molten lava
And trains in a tunnel
Blowing steam from a funnel
And corks popping out of the cava

---

Oooooo you are a card :D

Remember those hazy, crazy, lazy, days in Summer:

Summer is freedom,
laughter and joy;
small freckled darling,
mischievous boy;
shaded green valleys,
streams running free;
exploring the fellside,
running a scree.

Summer is dreaming,
long, lazy days;
far-off horizons,
flower strewn ways;
a whole wondrous world
all of us own;
distant adventures,
coming back home.

A small part of heaven
so much delight;
runnin’and swimmin'
from dawn until night;
hearts that are roaming,
minds bright and free;
eyes that know wonder,
that's summer to me.

~ By Garnett Ann Schultz ~

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.

Elizabeth Bishop

---

Brilliant find Freckle - thanks

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Old Whippet

Never a dull moment
for body and soul
with you
capricious lover

Blowing hot
and hotter
you draw me like Icarus
or a moth.

And when I melt
It is into you
and with burnt wings
I can never leave you

---

I really like that too OW - very well written:)

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Derby Tup

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of sad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.

And bending down beside the glowing bars
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

W B Yeats

---

excellent one, really like it DT

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

I really like that too OW - very well written:)

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Cheers Mossy, appreciate the feedback.

SozNice One DJ & WBY!

Try this (did post this back in 2007...I think?!)...an old fav' of mine..

INVERSNAID......

This darksome burn, horseback brown,
His rollrock highroad roaring down,
In coop and in comb the fleece of his foam
Flutes and low to the lake falls home

A windpuff-bonnet of fawn froth
Turns and twidles over the broth
Of a pool so pitch black, fell frowning
It round and rounds despair of drowning

Degged with dew, dappled with dew
Are the groins of the braes that the broof
treads through
Wiry heathpacks, flitches of fern,
And the beadbonny ash that site over the burn

What would the world be, once bereft
O wet and wildness? Let them be left,
O let them be left, wildness and wet,
Long live the weeds and wilderness yet

G M-H

{Fleeting} Tranquility.

Tonight the stream flows quietly,
Thoughts meander depositing memories,
At peace i view my past through a muslin vale,
Long unopened joy fills me with calm.

Slowly my past unfolds,
Touched by moments long forgotten,
Gently like a butterflies kiss,
Sweet aromas travel to entice me once again.

These times are few of such angelic peace,
I become wHOlLY one with such fleeting dreams,
Soon the images of tranquility gone,
Hope beyond hope that they will return.

By Matt Harmston.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Luv Shack

SozNice One DJ & WBY!

Try this (did post this back in 2007...I think?!)...an old fav' of mine..

INVERSNAID......

This darksome burn, horseback brown,
His rollrock highroad roaring down,
In coop and in comb the fleece of his foam
Flutes and low to the lake falls home

A windpuff-bonnet of fawn froth
Turns and twidles over the broth
Of a pool so pitch black, fell frowning
It round and rounds despair of drowning

Degged with dew, dappled with dew
Are the groins of the braes that the broof
treads through
Wiry heathpacks, flitches of fern,
And the beadbonny ash that site over the burn

What would the world be, once bereft
O wet and wildness? Let them be left,
O let them be left, wildness and wet,
Long live the weeds and wilderness yet

G M-H

---

wonderful! studied a few Gerard Manley Hopkins poems a million years ago at school, this is a treat, and unsually upbeat for the man!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by tri-mind

{Fleeting} Tranquility.

Tonight the stream flows quietly,
Thoughts meander depositing memories,
At peace i view my past through a muslin vale,
Long unopened joy fills me with calm.

Slowly my past unfolds,
Touched by moments long forgotten,
Gently like a butterflies kiss,
Sweet aromas travel to entice me once again.

These times are few of such angelic peace,
I become wHOlLY one with such fleeting dreams,
Soon the images of tranquility gone,
Hope beyond hope that they will return.

By Matt Harmston.

---

Tri - I found this soothing, and strangely an interesting opposite in terms of intensity as the Hopkins poem it appears next to. Lovely to see original work posted next to classics. Such is the beauty of this thread.

The Answer

by: Carl Sandburg (1878-1967)

You have spoken the answer.
A child searches for sometimes
Into the red dust
On a dark rose leaf
And so you have gone far
For the answer is:
Silence.

In the republic
Of the winking stars
and spent cataclysms
Sure we are it is off the answer is hidden and folded over,
Sleeping in the sun, careless whether it is Sunday or any other day of the week,

Knowing silence will bring all one way or another.

Have we not seen
Purple of the pansy
out of the mulch
and mold
crawl
into a dusk
of velvet?
blur of yellow?
Almost we thought from nowhere but it was the silence,
the future,
working.

Night all;)

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Derby Tup

THE POTTER

Your whole body holds
a goblet or gentle sweetness destined for me

When I let my hand climb
in each place I find a dove
that was looking for me, as if
my love, they had made you out of clay
for my very own potter's hands.

Your knees, your breasts,
your waist
are missing in me, like in the hollow
of a thirsting earth
where they relinquished
a form
and together
we are complete like one single river,
like one single grain of sand

Pablo Neruda

---

DT...I've really enjoyed reading your recent choices, Thanks! Soothes this weary soul who has been kept awake by the call to prayer (never book a hotel next to a mosque). Just been slapped by a monkey too for not giving it my breakfast. I kid you not. A now at a hotel on the Ganges...much better.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Old Whippet

Never a dull moment
for body and soul
with you
capricious lover

Blowing hot
and hotter
you draw me like Icarus
or a moth.

And when I melt
It is into you
and with burnt wings
I can never leave you

---

This is lovely OW! and your post below it was very funny.

the call to prayer
hundreds of wailing voices
penetrate my sleep

a mist swathed ganges
swallows dip between the boats
as the bathers pray

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

the call to prayer
hundreds of wailing voices
penetrate my sleep

a mist swathed ganges
swallows dip between the boats
as the bathers pray

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Good to hear from you. I heard wailing voices in my sleep last night on several occasions but it was just the little one wanting another feed!

It is lovely to imagine these images of India.

Enjoy your travels.