Today's poet

Quote:

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Originally Posted by merrylegs

46 is too young, me and you are 46 this year, but we ain't going anywhere, too much to attempt yet;)

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I'll drink to that! See you soon my friend :)

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Originally Posted by Hes

I like this too Merry...some great sentiments.

It will be six years in February since my dad died and I read this at his funeral because he was not religious and had an unorthodox approach to most things. Your poem and this one seem to make a good pair.

If I should go before the rest of you,
Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone
Nor when I'm gone speak in a Sunday voice.
But be the usual selves that I have known.
Weep if you must
Parting is hell
But life goes on
So sing as well.

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Like that Hes, sounds like something my Dad would say, he was not religious but believed in walking a straight line through life, treating everyone with respect and sticking to things no matter how hard they got, if he wasn't my dad, i'd have still loved him. Reading at funerals is hard but i've been to many where the vicar reads a speech about a person he never knew, glad i read at my dad's;)

Press on son, press on,
I never taught you to give up,
Or feel sorry for yourself

Quote:

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Originally Posted by merrylegs

Like that Hes, sounds like something my Dad would say, he was not religious but believed in walking a straight line through life, treating everyone with respect and sticking to things no matter how hard they got, if he wasn't my dad, i'd have still loved him. Reading at funerals is hard but i've been to many where the vicar reads a speech about a person he never knew, glad i read at my dad's;)

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Your Dad sounds brilliant Merry. I loved mine to bits but he was a prickly character and it took me years to get him to be affectionate and open up. Was just getting somewhere and he died! I have two sisters and we took over the funeral and did it ourselves. Hard but much better than a stuffy vicar and nicer for my mum.

when I have felt lost
I run in search of myself
and find an old friend

I'm off to bed. Night all!

Evening all

I have read with interest all of the comments made about fathers tonight...my father died around 14 years ago when I was in my early twenties...he was a benign sort of fellow who I was not that particularly close to but would have liked the opportunity to get to know more as an adult...i think that would have been possible...

The first poem I ever wrote was about my father, I was in too minds about whether to put it up, but here goes...I found writing it a very emotional experience and it revealed to me the complex feelings that I had toward him...so for some it might be a difficult read...here goes...

My father, my father who are you?

Were you the tired, “old”,
broken man
who collapsed in “dad’s chair”
after a long day at work,
too tired for hugs,
too sad for conversation,
your true friend a bottle of Broon?

Were you the farting, drunken slob
who would always be late for Sunday lunch?
Making mam irritable,
breathing your alcohol breath over my little face
and saying “giz a kiss”?
Waking in the night to have the world’s longest piss.

Were you the loveable joker, “stealing” my nose for fun
or finding a coin behind my ear and calling me your blue eyes?
Us walking to the shop together,
you to get your beer and a treat of choccie for your little girl.

Were you your mammy’s blue eyed boy who could do no wrong?
Were you the frustrated artist whose eye for detail
constructed beautiful stain glass windows for a living
in some sort of concession, a resignation to the mundane,
to responsibility and deadness.

Were you the lonely twelve year old,
sitting upstairs in the public house with your dog Shep
(the name in fact of every dog you ever had),
lost in your isolation
while your parents ran the bar below
and paid off the POLICE.

Were you the eight year old who was evacuated
to an unfamiliar place, who was neglected
and whose baby sister died at the age of five,
who blamed himself somehow,
who was scared beyond words.

Were you the father, my father
who showed his tenderness in “good night, god bless”
and tucked me in with a sad ache in his huge eyes?

Were you the father who could not connect
with your own daughter for to do so
was to remember a loss too difficult to bear?

Were you the five stone skeletal shell,
ravaged by cancer, with a look of fear and dread upon you?
Then it was my turn to be scared and to not connect...

You, my father were all these things...I think...and I miss you.

I was just switching off but had to log back in after reading your poem to your father Freckle. It is brilliant. I found it deeply moving and am really glad that you posted it. Thank you. Now I really am going to bed. x

Letter to my Boys.


Don't cry, Don't cry my dear sweet boys,
Remember Daddy when we played with your toys,
When your back at home pretend i'm chasing you round the floor,
Laugh at the times i fell asleep and started to snore.

The days on the beach and games and fun,
Bounding about jumping on mum,
A million memories of magic and love left behind,
I know that one day you'll men brave and kind.

Remember although you can't see me now everyday,
I will stand by your sides and with my hand guide your way,
You both mean so much to me that is so true,
Believe me i will always watch over and love you.


By Matt Harmston.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

Evening all

I have read with interest all of the comments made about fathers tonight...my father died around 14 years ago when I was in my early twenties...he was a benign sort of fellow who I was not that particularly close to but would have liked the opportunity to get to know more as an adult...i think that would have been possible...

The first poem I ever wrote was about my father, I was in too minds about whether to put it up, but here goes...I found writing it a very emotional experience and it revealed to me the complex feelings that I had toward him...so for some it might be a difficult read...here goes...

My father, my father who are you?

Were you the tired, “old”,
broken man
who collapsed in “dad’s chair”
after a long day at work,
too tired for hugs,
too sad for conversation,
your true friend a bottle of Broon?

Were you the farting, drunken slob
who would always be late for Sunday lunch?
Making mam irritable,
breathing your alcohol breath over my little face
and saying “giz a kiss”?
Waking in the night to have the world’s longest piss.

Were you the loveable joker, “stealing” my nose for fun
or finding a coin behind my ear and calling me your blue eyes?
Us walking to the shop together,
you to get your beer and a treat of choccie for your little girl.

Were you your mammy’s blue eyed boy who could do no wrong?
Were you the frustrated artist whose eye for detail
constructed beautiful stain glass windows for a living
in some sort of concession, a resignation to the mundane,
to responsibility and deadness.

Were you the lonely twelve year old,
sitting upstairs in the public house with your dog Shep
(the name in fact of every dog you ever had),
lost in your isolation
while your parents ran the bar below
and paid off the POLICE.

Were you the eight year old who was evacuated
to an unfamiliar place, who was neglected
and whose baby sister died at the age of five,
who blamed himself somehow,
who was scared beyond words.

Were you the father, my father
who showed his tenderness in “good night, god bless”
and tucked me in with a sad ache in his huge eyes?

Were you the father who could not connect
with your own daughter for to do so
was to remember a loss too difficult to bear?

Were you the five stone skeletal shell,
ravaged by cancer, with a look of fear and dread upon you?
Then it was my turn to be scared and to not connect...

You, my father were all these things...I think...and I miss you.

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Brave to share that Freckle, very emotional and honest, i salute you.

That was unbelievable Freckle made me cry.

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Originally Posted by tri-mind

That was unbelievable Freckle made me cry.

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Lump in my throat, no tears, trying to be brave:o

Quote:

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Originally Posted by merrylegs

Lump in my throat, no tears, trying to be brave:o

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Thank you guys glad you appreciated it, I liked your offering Tri, very moving too, goodnight all.

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Originally Posted by freckle

Thank you guys glad you appreciated it, I liked your offering Tri, very moving too, goodnight all.

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Goodnight freckle, all the best;)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

Evening all

I have read with interest all of the comments made about fathers tonight...my father died around 14 years ago when I was in my early twenties...he was a benign sort of fellow who I was not that particularly close to but would have liked the opportunity to get to know more as an adult...i think that would have been possible...

The first poem I ever wrote was about my father, I was in too minds about whether to put it up, but here goes...I found writing it a very emotional experience and it revealed to me the complex feelings that I had toward him...so for some it might be a difficult read...here goes...

My father, my father who are you?

Were you the tired, “old”,
broken man
who collapsed in “dad’s chair”
after a long day at work,
too tired for hugs,
too sad for conversation,
your true friend a bottle of Broon?

Were you the farting, drunken slob
who would always be late for Sunday lunch?
Making mam irritable,
breathing your alcohol breath over my little face
and saying “giz a kiss”?
Waking in the night to have the world’s longest piss.

Were you the loveable joker, “stealing” my nose for fun
or finding a coin behind my ear and calling me your blue eyes?
Us walking to the shop together,
you to get your beer and a treat of choccie for your little girl.

Were you your mammy’s blue eyed boy who could do no wrong?
Were you the frustrated artist whose eye for detail
constructed beautiful stain glass windows for a living
in some sort of concession, a resignation to the mundane,
to responsibility and deadness.

Were you the lonely twelve year old,
sitting upstairs in the public house with your dog Shep
(the name in fact of every dog you ever had),
lost in your isolation
while your parents ran the bar below
and paid off the POLICE.

Were you the eight year old who was evacuated
to an unfamiliar place, who was neglected
and whose baby sister died at the age of five,
who blamed himself somehow,
who was scared beyond words.

Were you the father, my father
who showed his tenderness in “good night, god bless”
and tucked me in with a sad ache in his huge eyes?

Were you the father who could not connect
with your own daughter for to do so
was to remember a loss too difficult to bear?

Were you the five stone skeletal shell,
ravaged by cancer, with a look of fear and dread upon you?
Then it was my turn to be scared and to not connect...

You, my father were all these things...I think...and I miss you.

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Stunning freckle.

As a father of 20 and 15 year old daughters, a beautiful but sad reminder of how what you do and say and what don't do and say in normal life might be interpreted by your kids.

Evening all!

thanks for all the lovely comments about my poem...:rolleyes:

and now for something completely different...

what have we been missing on here.....?

why pablo of course!...

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry,sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

Pablo Neruda

Aye...can't beat a bit of the ol pablo on a tuesday night!

hmmm...trying kind of day!

Determination

Wait not for dawn to break!
Keep scraping the bark
Even with your bare fingernails
Emerge it will -
The sun.

Darisanapriyan

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

Evening all!

thanks for all the lovely comments about my poem...:rolleyes:

and now for something completely different...

what have we been missing on here.....?

why pablo of course!...

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry,sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

Pablo Neruda

Aye...can't beat a bit of the ol pablo on a tuesday night!

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Thanks Freckle...I love Pablo...I have two shells from the shore in front of his house at La Isla Negra sat beside my bed.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

Evening all!

thanks for all the lovely comments about my poem...:rolleyes:

and now for something completely different...

what have we been missing on here.....?

why pablo of course!...

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry,sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

Pablo Neruda

Aye...can't beat a bit of the ol pablo on a tuesday night!

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Eee Pablo. I bet he was popular with the ladies! Unless he was all talk :)

Your poem was beautiful by the way, and really lovely to share it with us.

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Originally Posted by Hes

Thanks Freckle...I love Pablo...I have two shells from the shore in front of his house at La Isla Negra sat beside my bed.

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Waaaaaaaaaaat?......Oooooo I am so envious!...i liked your poem about determination...i too have had a trying day, bumped car this morning (nothing serious but irritating!)....however as Ms angelou would say ..."still i rise!"

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/still-i-rise/

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JqOqo50LSZ0

take care hes :)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

hmmm...trying kind of day!

Determination

Wait not for dawn to break!
Keep scraping the bark
Even with your bare fingernails
Emerge it will -
The sun.

Darisanapriyan

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Stick with it Hes, it'll take you a while to find your equilibrium being back home from such a great adventure. That sun will rise! :)

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Eee Pablo. I bet he was popular with the ladies! Unless he was all talk :)

Your poem was beautiful by the way, and really lovely to share it with us.

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Evening HHH...he was very popular with the ladies. He built his house in Santiago for his mistress who became his third wife and whom he called La Chascona which means woman with messy hair.

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Stick with it Hes, it'll take you a while to find your equilibrium being back home from such a great adventure. That sun will rise! :)

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Thanks HHH. It will indeed and we will all enjoy its warmth. Bet there is a poem in there somewhere.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

Evening HHH...he was very popular with the ladies. He built his house in Santiago for his mistress who became his third wife and whom he called La Chascona which means woman with messy hair.

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Erm. Might have been popular with his mistress, but what about his wife! :eek::D

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Originally Posted by freckle

Waaaaaaaaaaat?......Oooooo I am so envious!...i liked your poem about determination...i too have had a trying day, bumped car this morning (nothing serious but irritating!)....however as Ms angelou would say ..."still i rise!"

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/still-i-rise/

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JqOqo50LSZ0

take care hes :)

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Thanks to you too Freckle...sorry to hear about your bump. Hope you haven't hurt yourself?

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

Thanks HHH. It will indeed and we will all enjoy its warmth. Bet there is a poem in there somewhere.

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I'm sure there is. We've shied away from having a haiku competition, which is surprising given all our racing competetiveness. Then again we're all to nice to want to beat anyone! :)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

Evening HHH...he was very popular with the ladies. He built his house in Santiago for his mistress who became his third wife and whom he called La Chascona which means woman with messy hair.

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Awwwwww...thats such a nice story! my hair is pretty messy today, does that count?

lass from Tyneside
with tousled locks
dreams of shells
and "La Chascona"

instead she gets
seaside rocks
and a big dose of
being a loner :(

this really is a terrible rhyme but i couldn' resist trying to get something to rhyme with the romantic description of "La Chascona"...oh dear .....call it poetic licence!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

Thanks to you too Freckle...sorry to hear about your bump. Hope you haven't hurt yourself?

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I'm fine thanks Hes :)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

Awwwwww...thats such a nice story! my hair is pretty messy today, does that count?

lass from Tyneside
with tousled locks
dreams of shells
and "La Chascona"

instead she gets
seaside rocks
and a big dose of
being a loner :(

this really is a terrible rhyme but i couldn' resist trying to get something to rhyme with the romantic description of "La Chascona"...oh dear .....call it poetic licence!

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Great stuff. You're flying tonight!

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

Awwwwww...thats such a nice story! my hair is pretty messy today, does that count?

lass from Tyneside
with tousled locks
dreams of shells
and "La Chascona"

instead she gets
seaside rocks
and a big dose of
being a loner :(

this really is a terrible rhyme but i couldn' resist trying to get something to rhyme with the romantic description of "La Chascona"...oh dear .....call it poetic licence!

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you are so quick off the mark Freckle! Nice work. Nothing wring with seaside rocks and loners...my house contains many of the former and one of the latter!

pity being in India didn't improve my spelling!

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Originally Posted by Hes

you are so quick off the mark Freckle! Nice work. Nothing wring with seaside rocks and loners...my house contains many of the former and one of the latter!

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You are sweet...off to be a mam for a bit, hopefully back laters...any more of that Indian poetry I like Hes...the woman's name eludes me again (must be my age!) ...laters :)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

you are so quick off the mark Freckle! Nice work. Nothing wring with seaside rocks and loners...my house contains many of the former and one of the latter!

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Aah Hes. You're not alone. You've got all of us loonies picking and writing some great poetry. :) I've got rocks from 4 continents in my garden.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

You are sweet...off to be a mam for a bit, hopefully back laters...any more of that Indian poetry I like Hes...the woman's name eludes me again (must be my age!) ...laters :)

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I'll post some Kamala Das for you Freckle, may take a wee while due to having to type it out but you can see it when you are having a break from being mam. See you later.

Kamala Das

Love
Until I found you,
I wrote verse, drew pictures,
And, went out with friends
For walks…
Now that I love you,
Curled like an old mongrel
My life lies, content,
In you….
(From Summer in Calcutta)


sigh..................................

right...off to read alice in wonderland

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

Kamala Das

Love
Until I found you,
I wrote verse, drew pictures,
And, went out with friends
For walks…
Now that I love you,
Curled like an old mongrel
My life lies, content,
In you….
(From Summer in Calcutta)


sigh..................................

right...off to read alice in wonderland

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That is my favourite Freckle. Sorry for not posting before you but the phone hasn't stopped ringing! Right...off to choose one.

Autumn Leaves

This is a secret:
Once through his shirt
I saw his chest
and all that hair
and, on that very night in my dream
the autumn-winds blew down
from the trees
all their leaves
and I lay on them,
I lay on those smoke-scented leaves.

Kamal Das

I love the Kamal Das poems. The language is simple and not showy but there's so much passion there :cool:

This is the poem that made me go back and buy the book...it has such an intensity and sadness. It haunted me so much that I got lost trying to find the bookshop in order to buy it.

Glass

I went to him for half an hour as pure woman,
pure misery, fragile glass, breaking, crumbling. The house
was silent in the heat, only its rafters creaking.
He drew me to him rudely with a lover's haste,
an armful of splinters, designed to hurt and pregnant
with pain. Why did I not cry then, broken glass, beware,
why did I not tell him that I no longer care whom
I hurt with love and without? With a cheap toy's
indifference I enter other's lives and make of
every trap of lust a temporary home. On me
their strumming fingers may revive the fond melodies
of a past. I give a wrapping to their dreams, I give
a woman-voice, a woman-smell and I do not
ever bother to tell, I have misplaced a father
somewhere and I look for him now everywhere.

Kamala Das

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Originally Posted by Derby Tup

I love the Kamal Das poems. The language is simple and not showy but there's so much passion there :cool:

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Good evening DT! I'm really glad that you like her. I think her poems are wonderful and I agree totally with the above comments about them.

Wow, that poem's fantastic. Thanks Hes :)