well found merrylegs. I was going to ask, but googled - Coleridge.
Quite serene and meditative.
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well found merrylegs. I was going to ask, but googled - Coleridge.
Quite serene and meditative.
Nice choice merry! :cool:
Keep meaning to post a link to Summertime in England by Van Morrison on Tonight's Music. Wordsworth and Coleridge get a mention, along with William Blake and TS Eliot :)
Out on the hills, confronting my demons,
Every step leaves them behind,
It's the only place where life makes sense!
Goodnight good people;)
Under The Balcony by Oscar Wilde
O beautiful star with the crimson mouth!
O moon with the brows of gold!
Rise up, rise up, from the odorous south!
And light for my love her way,
Lest her little feet should stray
On the windy hill and the wold!
O beautiful star with the crimson mouth!
O moon with the brows of gold!
O ship that shakes on the desolate sea!
O ship with the wet, white sail!
Put in, put in, to the port to me!
For my love and I would go
To the land where the daffodils blow
In the heart of a violet dale!
O ship that shakes on the desolate sea!
O ship with the wet, white sail!
O rapturous bird with the low, sweet note!
O bird that sits on the spray!
Sing on, sing on, from your soft brown throat!
And my love in her little bed
Will listen, and lift her head
From the pillow, and come my way!
O rapturous bird with the low, sweet note!
O bird that sits on the spray!
O blossom that hangs in the tremulous air!
O blossom with lips of snow!
Come down, come down, for my love to wear!
You will die on her head in a crown,
You will die in a fold of her gown,
To her little light heart you will go!
O blossom that hangs in the tremulous air!
O blossom with lips of snow!
High waving heather 'neath stormy blasts bending
High waving heather 'neath stormy blasts bending,
Midnight and moonlight and bright shining stars,
Darkness and glory rejoicingly blending
Earth rising to heaven and heaven descending
Man's spirit away from its drear dungeon sending
Bursting the fetters and breaking the bars
All down the mountain sides wild forests lending
One mighty voice to the life-giving wind
Rivers their banks in their jubilee rending
Fast through the valleys a reckless course wending,
Wider and deeper their waters extending
Leaving a desolate desert behind.
Shining and lowering and swelling and dying
Changing forever from midnight to noon
Roaring like thunder, like soft music sighing
Shadows on shadows advancing and flying
Lightning-bright flashes the deep gloom defying
Coming as swiftly and fading as soon
Emily Bronte
Good finds from Mountain Goatess and Derby Tup there.
Morning all, I feel a spot of sledging coming on today.
Torn.
Quiet intensity stirring deep,
Feelings rise mental turmoil,
Pace the room cannot sleep,
Muscles tensed up like a coil.
Too long mind torn,
Find peace go run,
Snow in face reborn,
Think clear now done.
Days hard Nights are too,
Mind and body split apart,
Tell me please what to do,
Always listen to your heart.
By Matt Harmston.
I really really like this Tri...being torn is one of the most uncomfortable psychological states I think and one which I can relate to...
On a different note...
I have just been given a book by Stephen Fry "The Ode Less Traveled"; Unlocking the Poet Within so plan on educating myself this evening!...lovely:)
I was going to buy that myself and didn't at the last moment. Drop a post on thread to tell us all if any good.
Always be drunk
That's it
The great imperative
In order not to feel
Time's horrid fardel
Bruise your shoulders grinding you into the earth
Get drunk and stay that way.
On what?
On wine, poetry, virtue, whatever
But get drunk
And if you sometimes happen to wake up
On the porches of a palace,
In the green grass of a ditch
In the dismal loneliness of your own room
Your drunkenness gone or disappearing,
Ask the wind,
the wave
the star
the bird,
the clock,
Ask everything that flees,
everything that groans or rolls or sings,
everything that speaks,
Ask what time it is;
and the wind, the wave, the star the bird, the clock
will answer you
"Time to get drunk
Don't be martyred slaves of Time,
Get drunk
Stay drunk
On wine, virtue, poetry, whatever!"
Charles Baudelaire
Someone find the real me.
I look inside and long to see,
A thing of beauty looking back at me,
Instead a monster do i find,
That others see and leave behind.
Alone, empty and confused,
Darkness drifting lost my muse,
A singularity of pain splitting my head,
Motionless silent i wish i was dead.
I don't know if i'm in here any more,
Mind and body wrecked to the core,
It might take someone who is me,
To go in and search bring me back to reality.
By Matt Harmston
The Ode Less Travelled is a brilliant book by a real poetry fanatic. I've just bought a second copy as can't find the first copy I bought. I'm determined to give more writing a try this time I read it as he sets little tasks in each style. It certainly helped me appreciate just how darned clever some of these poets are. Well worth reading.
Out in the Dark
by Edward Thomas
Out in the dark over the snow
The fallow fawns invisible go
With the fallow doe ;
And the winds blow
Fast as the stars are slow.
Stealthily the dark haunts round
And, when the lamp goes, without sound
At a swifter bound
Than the swiftest hound,
Arrives, and all else is drowned ;
And star and I and wind and deer,
Are in the dark together, - near,
Yet far, - and fear
Drums on my ear
In that sage company drear.
How weak and little is the light,
All the universe of sight,
Love and delight,
Before the might,
If you love it not, of night.
At Night
Home, home from the horizon far and clear,
Hither the soft wings sweep;
Flocks of the memories of the day draw near
The dovecote doors of sleep.
Oh which are they that come through sweetest light
Of all these homing birds?
Which with the straightest and the swiftest flight?
Your words to me, your words!
Alice Alice Meynell
On a roll Harry enjoying the choices.
THE HOUSE BEAUTIFUL
by: Robert Louis Stevenson
- http://www.poetry-archive.com/a_pic.gif NAKED house, a naked moor,
- A shivering pool before the door,
- A garden bare of flowers and fruit
- And poplars at the garden foot:
- Such is the place that I live in,
- Bleak without and bare within.
- Yet shall your ragged moor receive
- The incomparable pomp of eve,
- And the cold glories of dawn
- Behind your shivering trees be drawn;
- And when the wind from place to place
- Doth the unmoored cloud-galleons chase,
- Your garden gloom and gleam again,
- With leaping sun, with glancing rain.
- Here shall the wizard moon ascend
- The heavens, in the crimson end
- Of day's declining splendour; here
- The army of the stars appear.
- The neighbor hollows dry or wet,
- Spring shall with tender flowers beset;
- And oft the morning muser see
- Larks rising from the broomy lea,
- And every fairy wheel and thread
- Of cobweb dew-bediamonded.
- When daisies go, shall winter time
- Silver the simple grass with rime;
- Autumnal frosts enchant the pool
- And make the cart-ruts beautiful;
- And when snow-bright the moor expands,
- How shall your children clap their hands!
From morn to midnight, all day through,
I laugh and play as others do,
I sin and chatter, just the same
As others with a different name.
And all year long upon the stage
I dance and tumble and do rage
So vehemently, I scarcely see
The inner and eternal me.
I have a temple I do not
Visit, a heart I have forgot,
A self that I have never met,
A secret shrine -- and yet, and yet
This sanctuary of my soul
Unwitting I keep white and whole,
Unlatched and lit, if Thou should'st care
To enter or to tarry there.
With parted lips and outstretched hands
And listening ears Thy servant stands,
Call Thou early, call Thou late,
To Thy great service dedicate.
Charles Hamilton Sorley
The Shepherdess
She walks-the lady of my delight-
A shepherdess of sheep.
Her flocks are thoughts. She keeps them white;
She keeps them from the steep;
She feeds them on the fragrant height,
And folds them in for sleep.
She roams maternal hills and bright,
Dark valleys safe and deep.
Into that tender breast at night
The chastest stars may peep.
She walks-the lady of my delight-
A shepherdess of sheep.
She holds her little thoughts in sight,
Though gay they run and leap.
She is so circumspect and right;
She has her soul to keep.
She walks-the lady of my delight-
A shepherdess of sheep.
Alice Alice Meynell
Wander Thirst
Beyond the east the sunrise; Beyond the west the sea
And East and West the Wander-Thirst that will not let me be;
It works in me like madness to bid me say goodbye,
For the seas call, and the stars call, and oh! The call of the sky!
I know not where the white road runs, nor what the blue hills are,
But a man can have the sun for friend, and for his guide, a star;
And there's no end to voyaging when once the voice is heard,
For the rivers call, and the road calls, and oh! The call of a bird!
Yonder the long horizon lies, and there by night and day
The old ships draw to home again, the young ships sail away
And come I may, but go I must, and if men ask you why,
You may put the blame on the stars and the sun,
And the white road and the sky.
By Gerald Gould
Listen to Andrew Motion on Radio 3 BBC iPlayer "The Path and The Poem"
Quote:
Originally Posted by BBC
Our place in the universe.
Think you can control your time,
Impossible,fruitless,asinine,
The vice like grip of destiny,
Determines every step for thee.
Battered,broken by the universe,
A celestial toy it could have been worse,
Decisions you make all made before,
Trapped inside universal quantum law.
Let yourself the puppet be,
And at least pretend that you are free,
All mapped out from before you were born,
Let destiny take you be it's pawn.
By Matthew Harmston.
TAIL CHASING
Running, running, here I go
To catch my tail but I'm so slow
And lagging, dragging, my behind
To try to catch up with my mind.
Tripping, falling on my tongue
That is often too high-strung,
Dropping words I have to eat
And spitting them upon my feet.
Keeping up with things today
Is harder than my words can say
For every time I think I've won,
There I fall down on my bun.
My body's old, my mind is young;
Upon a cloud, my dreams are hung
And so if you should see me cry,
You will know the cloud's passed by.
Slower, slower, now I go
Like Wisconsin winters in the snow,
So if you want to walk with me,
You'll have to slow down or me carry.