Today's poet

Following on the autumnal theme, I have visited one or two stunning beaches this summer but the memory now is fading fast. The beaches between Arisaig and Moror in the Highlands are just unbelievable and completely beautiful - all white sand, dunes and rocky spurs with a backdrop, just to round things off, of the islands of Rhum, Eigg and Skye as a skyline out to sea.

And then totally randomly discovering Talisker Bay in Skye – a rugged rocky beach, at the end of a long walk through the fields from where the road runs out, with high cliffs either end, off the side of one a mini (but not that mini) replica of Angel Falls cascades!! And then as the tide goes out a gorgeous light and dark dappled, fine sandy beach is exposed. You’d have to see it to believe it – its almost like something out of a dinosaur movie. Have a look at this!!!:).

I also did a humungous swim with one of my daughters off of Anaxos beach in Lesbos to a little crag of an island way out to sea – when we finally washed up on the island we felt like we’d discovered our own special secret haven.... albeit it one burnt to a crisp by the relentless sun and covered in cormorant droppings and surrounded by an urchin invested shallows :D. And Eftalou Beach much be one of the most unspoilt beaches in Greece, gorgeous but rocky with swimming costumes that soon disappear completely when you stray a couple of hundred yards from the taverna.

Anyway here’s a beach poem that kind of fits the bill...

I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining,
A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on;
I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining,
The bark was still there, but the waters were gone.

And such is the fate of our life's early promise,
So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known;
Each wave that we danced on at morning ebbs from us,
And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone.

Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning
When passion first waked a new life through his frame,
And his soul, like the wood that grows precious in burning,
Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame.

Thomas Moore

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Einar

All wonderful stuff on the last page. On the subject of time, I hope this makes you smile - by Piet Hein, a Great Dane who thought about time a lot.

Timing Toast

There's an art of knowing when.
Never try to guess.
Toast until it smokes and then
Twenty seconds less.

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When its brown,
its done
When its black
its burnt
(wise advice from Granny B to me):D

Great stuff Derby Tup and Wormstone! I love these midget gems.

Hi folks, I've not read this thread right from the beginning, but I've 'popped in' every now and again and there's some really nice stuff on here! Do some of the posters on here write their own stuff, and if not, where do you find such a store of outdoorsy poetry?

September Midnight

Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
Ceaseless, insistent.

The grasshopper’s horn, and far-off, high in the maples,
The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence
Under a moon waning and worn, broken,
Tired with summer.

Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us,
Snow-hushed and heavy.

Over my soul murmur your mute benediction,
While I gaze, O fields that rest after harvest,
As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,
Lest they forget them.

Sara Teasdale

Quote:

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Originally Posted by plodding bear

Hi folks, I've not read this thread right from the beginning, but I've 'popped in' every now and again and there's some really nice stuff on here! Do some of the posters on here write their own stuff, and if not, where do you find such a store of outdoorsy poetry?

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Hi plodding bear glad you like the thread, some of us occassionally write our own stuff as well as post others. I haven't found a specfic outdoorsy site but rather have browsed poemhunter and poetry archive for poems...robert frost is a firm favourite and seems to have an understated and elgant connection with nature in his poetry.

http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/home.do

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Stolly

Following on the autumnal theme, I have visited one or two stunning beaches this summer but the memory now is fading fast. The beaches between Arisaig and Moror in the Highlands are just unbelievable and completely beautiful - all white sand, dunes and rocky spurs with a backdrop, just to round things off, of the islands of Rhum, Eigg and Skye as a skyline out to sea.

And then totally randomly discovering Talisker Bay in Skye – a rugged rocky beach, at the end of a long walk through the fields from where the road runs out, with high cliffs either end, off the side of one a mini (but not that mini) replica of Angel Falls cascades!! And then as the tide goes out a gorgeous light and dark dappled, fine sandy beach is exposed. You’d have to see it to believe it – its almost like something out of a dinosaur movie. Have a look at this!!!:).

I also did a humungous swim with one of my daughters off of Anaxos beach in Lesbos to a little crag of an island way out to sea – when we finally washed up on the island we felt like we’d discovered our own special secret haven.... albeit it one burnt to a crisp by the relentless sun and covered in cormorant droppings and surrounded by an urchin invested shallows :D. And Eftalou Beach much be one of the most unspoilt beaches in Greece, gorgeous but rocky with swimming costumes that soon disappear completely when you stray a couple of hundred yards from the taverna.

Anyway here’s a beach poem that kind of fits the bill...

I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining,
A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on;
I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining,
The bark was still there, but the waters were gone.

And such is the fate of our life's early promise,
So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known;
Each wave that we danced on at morning ebbs from us,
And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone.

Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning
When passion first waked a new life through his frame,
And his soul, like the wood that grows precious in burning,
Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame.

Thomas Moore

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I really enjoyed both your narrative (in particular the discovery of the secret bay) and the poem...Talisker Bay looks awesome :-)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Alf

September Midnight

Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
Ceaseless, insistent.

The grasshopper’s horn, and far-off, high in the maples,
The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence
Under a moon waning and worn, broken,
Tired with summer.

Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us,
Snow-hushed and heavy.

Over my soul murmur your mute benediction,
While I gaze, O fields that rest after harvest,
As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,
Lest they forget them.

Sara Teasdale

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A beautiful choice as ever from the Alfster.....:wink:

I was driving home tonight listening to radio three and some pretty etheral choral type music when at the end of the coast road i spotted the most beautiful orange crescent moon...who would have thought that billy mill roundabout could herald such a moment?

Autumn

A touch of cold in the Autumn night --

I walked abroad,
And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge
Like a red-faced farmer.
I did not stop to speak, but nodded,
And round about were the wistful stars
With white faces like town children.

Thomas Ernest Hulme

Good afternoon - I've been away in Scotland where on some of those ever increasing information boards - they now dish out a smattering of poetry (usually from Gaelic poets - and usually about nature). It helps to complement the stuff on wildlife and pine cones . I should have made a note of a few of them .

Anyway this is High Tide from NZ writer Julie Leibrich. Not sure whether the Sanna refers to Sanna sands at Ardnamurchan but it is nice to think it does. I'll need to catch up with some of the offerings on the thread - but I rather liked 'Autumn' above ( but aren't we getting ahead of ourselves ???)

There is a croft. A man.
A time between the sky
and the horizon.
A place of no names.

On the croft there is a house
circled by turnips and cast-eyed sheep
sharpening their teeth on rowan trees.
There is a beach here too, though
to see it now, you have to bend your eyes
around the church where Knox once stood
and look beyond that history.

You will observe
the white sands of Sanna.
A shore-line, where they placed
their treasure above the high tide mark
when they could carry it no more.

Here is the house I did not live in.
Here is the church in which I did not sing.
Here is the man I did not marry.

What a lovely offering Sunbeam...........

It is indeed Autumn, there are some early signs.....


Blackberrying

Donning old clothes we grab a placky bag each
And begin the short saunter to the cemetery
In search of bejewelled black fruits.


Walking amongst the headstones
you with your eagle eye identify
the first offerings, illusions of metallic rubus
in the early evening light.
We stop to pick a few, you the low ones and I
Reach slightly higher.

In no time, we perfect our technique,
twist and pull, twist and pull,
ouch!
Pressing on further
Among the uncut grass and memories
Of the loved and the lost
We find the mother of all blackberry bushes
Filled to the brim with antioxidants!


Working as a team, every now and then
I glance over with the realisation
that even at six
you have began to surpass me
and this window of innocence
will not always be open.


Walking home with a bumper crop
Discussing the various culinary options
You excited and proud, I filled to the brim
With the lightness and hope
of a September nuance in
Autumns temporary infancy.