Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Verse 3 in particular is utter class!...although i disagree with the author...i think you are never too old to learn of love!
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Verse 3 in particular is utter class!...although i disagree with the author...i think you are never too old to learn of love!
Mossy - there's consistently something very lovely and gentle about the poems you post. And this is a treat.Quote:
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Pablo Neruda time me thinks:
Clenched Soul
We have lost even this twilight
No one saw us this evening hand in hand
While the blue night dropped on the world.
I have seen from my window
the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops
Sometimes a piece of sun
burned like a coin in my hand.
I remembered you with my soul clenched
in that sadness of mine that you know
Where were you then?
Who else was there?
Saying what?
Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly
when I am sad and feel you are far away?
The book fell that always closed at twilight
and my blue sweater rolled like a dog hurt at my feet
Always, always you recede through the evenings
toward the twilight erasing statues.
great minds think alike DT i was just thinking that myself...here is my (really should be post watershed option), good choice by the way...
Potter
Your whole body has
a fullness or a gentleness destined for me.
When I move my hand up
I find in each place a dove
that was seeking me, as
if they had, love, made you of clay
for my own potter's hands.
Your knees, your breasts,
your waist
are missing parts of me like the hollow
of a thirsty earth
from which they broke off
a form,
and together
we are complete like a single river,
like a single grain of sand.
Like all the best things in life freckle, you can't have too much of Pablo ;):cool:
Who is PabloQuote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
Following DT's Pablo Naruda how about this for deep and meaningful poetry...
If you catch a Chinchilla in Chile
And cut off its beard, willy-nilly
You can honestly say
That you have just made
A Chilean Chinchilla's chin chilly
:D
Pablo Neruda. Poet from Chile famous for love poetry (and communist beliefs)Quote:
Originally Posted by TurboTom
And while plumbing the depths of comic 'poetry' I'll finish off with crudity at its best/worst :cool:
There was an old farmer who lived by a rock
He sat in the meadow a'shaking his
Fist at the boys who were down by the crick
Their feet in the water, their hands on their
Marbles and playthings and in days of yore
There came a young lady. She looked like a
Pretty young creature, she sat on the grass
She pulled up her dresses and showed us her
Ruffles and laces and white puffy duck
She said she was learning a new way to
Bring up her children and learn them to knit
While the boys in the barnyard were shoveling
Refuse and litter from yesterday's hunt
While the girl in the meadow was rubbing her
Eyes at the fellows as girls sometimes do
To make it quite clear that she wanted to
Go for a nice, pleasant stroll on the grass
Then hurry back home for a nice piece of
Ice cream and cake that stood three layers tall
And after desert she was ready to
Go for another walk down by the dock
With any young man with a sizeable
Roll of one hundreds and a big bulge up front
If he'd ask politely, she'd show him her
Little pet dog who was subject to fits
Then maybe she'd let him grab hold of her
Small tender hands with a movement so quick
Then she'd bend on over and suck on his
Soda so sweetly 'til she finished it
Then pull down her panties to rub on her
Hip that she bruised when she ran down the hall
'Cause he tried to force her to lick on his
Candy so tasty made of butterscotch
And then he spread whip cream all over her
Cookies that she had been baking all night
If you think this is dirty, you know you're damned right!
Haha! :D Bit cold for shaving beards off atm ;)Quote:
Originally Posted by Stolly
I like the sound of a communist/socialist poet bet he was well recieved in South AmericaQuote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
Painting pictures
Painting pictures of the future
It helps you see
Painting pictures of the future
Transforms pain and misery
To rough sketches of hope
then reality
So pick your princess bed little un
A trip to Disney
Cosy Saturday nights with your da
And predictable routine from me
The immediacy of children
A lesson to us all
Express but don’t linger
And love between us all.
Snowflake.
I am born of the sky,
Mother air father sea,
In headstone grey clouds i lie,
On the wind i am set free.
Floating high so delicate,
Unique crystalline majesty,
Swirling around in the infinite,
Drifting down to my destiny.
Below I'm beckoned come hither my friend,
I'm sent down fast by a northern blast,
The time of my freedom is at an end,
No longer unique but happy as i'm with my brothers at last.
By Matt Harmston.
That's great t-m! :)
Quote:
Originally Posted by tri-mind
This is really lovely tri, and stolly you have outdone your self with your amusing verse!Quote:
Originally Posted by tri-mind
fine powdery snow
gravity laws tested well
Bolton's finest cope!
you really ar a haiku king DT!.......nice one :)Quote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
It's taken me 24hours to write three lines :oQuote:
Originally Posted by freckle
That's gorgeous Matt. :)Quote:
Originally Posted by tri-mind
Ooh! Its been a busy evening already. Good ones from Freckle, TM, and DT. I feel like I'd better get down to some hard work.
Oh my brain is baby mashed! I wish I could write like that! :oQuote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
From John Cooper Clarke's website www.johncooperclarke.com :cool:
Health Fanatic
Round the block - against the clock Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock Running out of breath - running out of socks Rubber on the road... flippety flop Non-skid agility... chop chop No time to hang about Work out health fanatic... work out The crack of dawn he's lifting weights His tell-tale heart reverberates He's high in polyunsaturates.. Low in polysaturates... The Duke of Edinburgh's award awaits It's a man's life He's a health fanatic... so was his wife A one-man war against decay Enjoys himself the hard way Allows himself a mars a day How old am I - what do I weigh Punch me there... does it hurt... no way Running on the spot don't get too hot He's a health fanatic, that's why not Running through the traffic jam - taking in the lead Hyperactivity keeps him out of bed Deep down he'd like to kick it in the head They'll regret it when they're dead There's more to life than fun He's a health fanatic - he's got to run Beans greens and tangerines And low cholestrol margarines His limbs are loose, his teeth are clean He's a high-octane fresh-air fiend You've got to admit he's keen What can you do but be impressed He's a health fanatic... give it a rest Shadow boxing - punch the wal One-a-side football... what's the score... one-all Could have been a copper... too small Could have been a jockey... too tall Knees up, knees up... head the bal Nervous energy makes him tick He's a health fanatic... he makes you sick
JCC at his finest.
I love green beans and tangerines :D
When past sometimes takes you with soft hands
forcelessly pulls you to your chair
hides you away from these half days
sunless at the end of the year
the air is like a knife cutting through you
a room in the house is always warm
stretched out on the bathroom floor thinking
of fair days your future may hold
love comes like surprise ice on the water
love comes like surprise ice at dawn
love comes like surprise ice on the water
love comes at dawn
deprived of the light and of the colours
the world ends at your window tree
darkness creates these illusions
but pale days can teach you to see
rain falls but no life is given
weeks pass no progress is made
past sometimes takes you with soft hands
and all that surrounds you will fade
O. C. Kings
HHH i like this a lot, especially these lines....
a room in the house is always warm
stretched out on the bathroom floor thinking
of fair days your future may hold
thank you :)
Some good stuff tonight. For those who are bothered book about 1/3 done.
A little poem called
'Spike'
Eccentric, beloved genius poet and artist too,
Manic grinning clown of the surreal what a loon,
Drawings, poetry,prose,radio and something he called q,
He told you he was ill and on that sad day he was dead and goon.
By Matt Harmston.
1/3 done! It is going to be huge when you've finished as you've still been writing loads. What number are you aiming for?Quote:
Originally Posted by tri-mind
About 100/120 pages 5x8 mainly text with odd picture and sleeve picture too. Available in soft and hardback and anything from about December 20th onwards that i like will be in volume 2. The paperback will be £5.95 as i think that will make a little profit for bipolar charity and to do same hardback would be £13.95. I am sending e mails to any celebrity no matter how minor who i know has bipolar to see if they would do a sleeve note. I haven't posted as much as i would like on here because of book. We could very easily do a F.P.S. book for the fra or something it would be easy. The only issue is who would be editor. How are you today anyhow today HHH ?.How much snow ?.
Evening Matt. Please continue to keep us posted regarding book progress. Cheers, Andrew :)
Will do. What's it like round your way ?.
Snowy. Ran Tues afternoon and Wed and Thurs evenings and really enjoyed it. Roads quite bad Tues but got better each day. Suspect Peak / S Yorks had worse than where I am in Ilkey / Skipton areaQuote:
Originally Posted by tri-mind
Yes it has been bad but ok now. I have to ask have you been on ilkley moor without a hat as per song ?. Also do you see a lot of the Brownlee boys and do they still do the odd fell race.
It sounds like you've got it all sussed out which is great. Good luck with it all.Quote:
Originally Posted by tri-mind
Still plenty of snow in Kendal....
http://newsimg.bbc.co.uk/media/image...britainjpg.jpg
Ah DT - this is my kind of Friday night treat.Quote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
"Beans greens and tangerines And low cholestrol margarines His limbs are loose, his teeth are clean He's a high-octane fresh-air fiend" only Jonny Clarke.
and inevitably I must follow it up with this... which as you know from the album he introduces as a poem about "wanking and weightlifting"
the BRONZE adonis
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
she didn't like the ribe cage / the coat-hanger HIPS
the razor-sharp shoulder blades / always give her JIP
she's reading Edward de Bono under the PALMS
he sprays odorono under his ARMS
I was to say the least ALARMED
when the BRONZE ADONIS got her...
I lay beneath the parasol / watched him with the CHICKS
horsing around with his aerosol / they whispered about his odd TRICK
"SEND NO CASH... FEAR NO MAN / YOU CAN BE A LOVE LEVIATHAN"
she's a FAN of the MAN with a TAN from a CAN
the BRONZE ADONIS got her
mr and mrs universe / the folks who live in the GYM
each night she sleeps in a room marked HER / he sleeps in a room marked HIM
muscle bound for stardom / the apollo of your EYE
can't seem to get a hard on / oh christ I wonder WHY
the BRONZE ADONIS got her
they honeymoon on muscle beach to cries of "Beat it Mac"
he plucks some puny pansy's peach / how do you like that
the BONZE ADONIS got her
there stands the body gorgeous / men worship girls ADMIRE
he bravely bears the scourges and the squelch of squashed DESIRE
what a physical jerk / no time for SEX
where's me bleedin' bullworker, baby oil and leopard KECKS
oh yeah / the BRONZE ADONIS got her
hubba hubba yum yum wow / what a hunk of BEEF
who made you the sacred cow / who hangs around his BRIEFS
in the corner sauna / with his MATES
wanking away unwanted weight
that's his idea of a heavy DATE
the BRONZE ADONIS got her
Christmas Present.
Boltons finest on my feet,
Hop, skip, running fast,
My wonderful walshs cant be beat,
Get outta the way slowcoach i want to get past.
By Matt Harmston
I like that. I'd let you past!Quote:
Originally Posted by tri-mind
Was up on Ilkley Moor last night but well covered in wooly headgear. Been up there plenty of times without a hat though. AB won Chevin Chase and ALS over holiday period. What a talent and a nice lad too by all accounts (I don't know them) :)Quote:
Originally Posted by tri-mind
Found this, like it:cool:
The Frost performs its secret ministry,
Unhelped by any wind. The owlet's cry
Came loud---and hark, again! loud as before.
The inmates of my cottage, all at rest,
Have left me to that solitude, which suits
Abstruser musings: save that at my side
My cradled infant slumbers peacefully.
`Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs
And vexes meditation with its strange
And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood,
This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood,
With all the numberless goings-on of life,
Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame
Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not;
Only that film, which fluttered on the grate,
Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing.
Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature
Gives it dim sympathies with me who live,
Making it a companionable form,
Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit
By its own moods interprets, every where
Echo or mirror seeking of itself,
And makes a toy of Thought.
But O! how oft,
How oft, at school, with most believing mind,
Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars,
To watch that fluttering stranger! and as oft
With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt
Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower,
Whose bells, the poor man's only music, rang
>From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day,
So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me
With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear
Most like articulate sounds of things to come!
So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt,
Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams!
And so I brooded all the following morn,
Awed by the stern preceptor's face, mine eye
Fixed with mock study on my swimming book:
Save if the door half opened, and I snatched
A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up,
For still I hoped to see the stranger's face,
Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved,
My play-mate when we both were clothed alike!
Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side,
Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm,
Fill up the interspersed vacancies
And momentary pauses of the thought!
My babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart
With tender gladness, thus to look at thee,
And think that thou shall learn far other lore,
And in far other scenes! For I was reared
In the great city, pent 'mid cloisters dim,
And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars.
But thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze
By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags
Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,
Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores
And mountain crags: so shalt thou see and hear
The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible
Of that eternal language, which thy God
Utters, who from eternity doth teach
Himself in all, and all things in himself.
Great universal Teacher! he shall mould
Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask.
Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge I believe. I wouldn't have known that prior to this thread starting! :)
Good choice for today.
Apart from my infant isn't slumbering peacefully. He's bawling for a feed!
Quote:
Originally Posted by merrylegs
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
A luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
Robert Frost