Evening OW
Sometimes you just find the perfect one.
He's a rather fine artist too...
http://www.rorymotion.co.uk/gallery.htm
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Evening OW
Sometimes you just find the perfect one.
He's a rather fine artist too...
http://www.rorymotion.co.uk/gallery.htm
Thanks HHH and Happy Birthday Freckle. I've recently come across this apposite poem...
Silence the colour of snow
Silence the colour of snow
settles against everything we love –
the late, startled flowers, the roadside stones –
all edge softened, all calamities blurred.
Why do you accuse me of never talking with you?
You know, they used to say that
if every tongue in the world were stilled at once,
the common silence would translate itself
to a snow that summer winds
could never drive away. Hush now, not another word.
Look! High over the frozen roofs,
my answer hangs and falls, that six-fingered star.
John Glenday
Flying at night
Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations.
Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies
like a snowflake falling on water. Below us,
some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death,
snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn
back into the little system of his care.
All night, the cities, like shimmering novas,
tug with bright streets at lonely lights like his.
Ted Kooser
aged Wharfedale oak
half a millenium old
naked, defiant
A Snow Burial
by: Florence Peacock
Dream not of spring-tide's blossoms,
They perished long ago,
And all dead summer's roses
Are past; the autumn's glow
Has faded from the woodland;
The world is white with snow.
The sea lies grey below me,
Above the trees are bare,
The brook is hush'd and silent,
Whose music filled the air,
That far off day in summer,
When we two wander'd there.
What dreams, like spring, have vanished;
What radiant joy, what fears,
What hopes that never ripened,
What summers wet with tears,
What vain regrets, what longings,
Lie buried with past years.
To me the breath of winter,
Is welcome, for I know
No other voice will mingle
With hers above the snow;
In spring tide and in autumn,
Across the long-ago
Your voice seems ever calling;
And I may not forget
The days when roses blossom'd.
A life-time of regret
Has made me love the winter
Because we never met,
But with blue skies above us;
No footprint on the snow,
Calls back the days departed,
To me the summer's glow
Comes but to stir a memory,
Deep buried mid the snow.
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.
But if I had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Robert Frost
Not sure if this has been posted before; hard to keep track! :)
Have a nice day
'Help, help, ' said a man. 'I'm drowning.'
'Hang on, ' said a man from the shore.
'Help, help, ' said the man. 'I'm not clowning.'
'Yes, I know, I heard you before.
Be patient dear man who is drowning,
You, see I've got a disease.
I'm waiting for a Doctor J. Browning.
So do be patient please.'
'How long, ' said the man who was drowning. 'Will it take for the Doc to arrive? '
'Not very long, ' said the man with the disease. 'Till then try staying alive.'
'Very well, ' said the man who was drowning. 'I'll try and stay afloat.
By reciting the poems of Browning
And other things he wrote.'
'Help, help, ' said the man with the disease, 'I suddenly feel quite ill.'
'Keep calm.' said the man who was drowning, ' Breathe deeply and lie quite still.'
'Oh dear, ' said the man with the awful disease. 'I think I'm going to die.'
'Farewell, ' said the man who was drowning.
Said the man with the disease, 'goodbye.'
So the man who was drowning, drownded
And the man with the disease past away.
But apart from that,
And a fire in my flat,
It's been a very nice day.
Spike Milligan
Ice holds my body
Nose drips, hands freeze, toes blue
Cold consumes my soul
Ice.
Crystalline beauty,
Inspires gift to apollo,
Ethereal light shimmers.
By Matt Harmston.
blue silk sky, pink thread
contrail comet – fire to ice
watercolour sundown
Evening all, i am a little run down so just popping on and off and being a consumer tonight rather than a producer!...there have been some lovely pieces posted by one and all...Harry i really liked this haiku, i can just imagine that sky...beautiful! DT your haiku is as wonderful as ever...right off to peruse
Some More Light Verse - Wendy Cope
You have to try. You see a shrink.
You learn a lot. You read. You think.
You struggle to improve your looks.
You meet some men. You write some books.
You eat good food. You give up junk.
You do not smoke. You don't get drunk.
You go to yoga, walk and swim,
And nothing works. The outlook's grim.
You don't know what to do. You cry.
You're running out of things to try.
You blow your nose. You see the shrink.
You walk. You give up food and drink.
You fall in love. You make a plan.
You struggle to improve your man,
And nothing works. The outlook's grim.
You go to yoga, cry and swim.
You eat and drink. You give up looks.
You struggle to improve your books.
You cannot see the point. You sigh.
You do not smoke. You have to try.
This is the first poem I've come across that looks like it is written about a headtorch that wasn't written by one of us...:)
With her labrador, at night,
a Cyclops in a caving hat
or Davy lamp, your mother
out along the lane
for exercise, for air,
until her one bright eye
rounds on a dozen magpies
in the popeye tree.
A dozen magpies in the popeye tree?
What does that mean?
Simon Armitage
The river
One day a pet lamb felt weary,
sad nets for blue eyes
A friend said "now come on petal,
lets have no more cries
Your lonely now wor canny lass,
but right enough with time,
You’ll see again the high lights,
right here on the Tyne,
Your da ‘ll be there,
with that indefinable smile
and gently he’ll guide you back
to that inexhaustible mine
the safe harbour you forgot
was there waiting all the time
your heart, you very own heart."
http://newcastlephotos.blogspot.com/...ghthouses.html
5 miles on a rubber strip
going nowhere fast on a
treadmill - literally
I like space, me, as you've probably guessed, so I was delighted to find this gem...:)
Nothing Ventured
by Kay Ryan
Nothing exists as a block
and cannot be parceled up.
So if nothing's ventured
it's not just talk;
it's the big wager.
Don't you wonder
how people think
the banks of space
and time don't matter?
How they'll drain
the big tanks down to
slime and salamanders
and want thanks?
Ballad
by Sonia Sanchez
(after the spanish)
forgive me if i laugh
you are so sure of love
you are so young
and i too old to learn of love.
the rain exploding
in the air is love
the grass excreting her
green wax is love
and stones remembering
past steps is love,
but you. you are too young
for love
and i too old.
once. what does it matter
when or who, i knew
of love.
i fixed my body
under his and went
to sleep in love
all trace of me
was wiped away
forgive me if i smile
young heiress of a naked dream
you are so young
and i too old to learn of love.