Jog with dog
Clear night with nip
And bats in the air
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Jog with dog
Clear night with nip
And bats in the air
Excellent Steve and DT, both very evocative poems :cool:
The Railway Children
When we climbed the slopes of the cutting
We were eye-level with the white cups
Of the telegraph poles and the sizzling wires.
Like lovely freehand they curved for miles
East and miles west beyond us, sagging
Under their burden of swallows.
We were small and thought we knew nothing
Worth knowing. We thought words travelled the wires
In the shiny pouches of raindrops,
Each one seeded full with the light
Of the sky, the gleam of the lines, and ourselves
So infinitesimally scaled
We could stream through the eye of a needle.
Seamus Heaney
Cheers Alf and Hes, no nip from pooch, she'd already been fed;)
At the Rodin Museum
Rilke is following me everywhere
With his tailor-made suits
And vegetarian smile.
He says because I'm young,
I'm always beginning,
And cannot know love.
He sees how I am a giant piece
Of glass again, trying
To catch the sun.
In remote corners of rooms,
Mountain tops, uncertain
Places of light.
He speaks of the cruelty
Of hospitals, the stillness
Of cathedrals,
Takes me through bodies
And arms and legs
Of extravagant size,
The ncient sky burrows in
With all the dead words
We carry and cannot use.
He holds up mirrors
From which our reflections fall -
Half-battered existences,
Where we lose ourselves
For the sake of the other,
And the others still to come.
Tishani Doshi
Hes, I'm really very sorry to hear this, and now I realise my cake comment, meant in fun, was not helpful at all! I'd totally misread the situation.
So here, by way of apology, is another lovely poem by Kathleen Jamie, just for you
Pipistrelles
In the centre of the sheep-field
a stand of Douglas firs
hold between them, tenderly,
a tall enclosure, like a vase.
How could we have missed it
before today – just never seen
this clear, translucent vessel
tinted like citrine?
What we noticed were pipistrelles:
cinder-like, friable; flickering
the place hained by trees
till the air seemed to quicken,
and the bats were a single
edgy intelligence, testing an idea
for a new form,
which unfolded, cohered
before our eyes. The worlds
mind is such interstices; cells
charging with cool dawn light;
- is that what they were telling us?
- but they vanished, suddenly,
before we’d understood,
and the trees grew in a circle,
elegant and mute.