Today's poet

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Originally Posted by Stolly

Hoorah! I’ve finally found some poems about my bit of the Yorkshire Dales :)
Boo! I don’t really like most of them :mad:

See here --> Dentdale - poems

I guess of them all this is probably the poem that best hits the spot with me

Moor Song

Here is my element.
The lift and swell
and lip and lie.
The stretch of sky
over the hills.
The way the moor folds;
the way it breaks
into a run of ghylls;
the way it falls;
the way the wide fells
hold the eye and all
is clear and still.

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nice.....anyhoo, you could always try writing some yourself Stolly! how is the calender going?

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Originally Posted by Derby Tup

Long-Tailed Titmice
flutter across misty road
feathered tadpoles

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"Bumbarrels" making a welcome return to the thread. Nice one DT :)

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Originally Posted by freckle

nice.....anyhoo, you could always try writing some yourself Stolly! how is the calender going?

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As for writing poems myself.................. hahahaha!

You and Hes and others have more talent in their little fingers than me and it would take me weeks of grappling with the words just to come out with one of DT's 3 line Haiku's. When I'm out and about in the hills I do though experience really 'poetic' and transcendental moments, especially when I'm fantastically isolated with huge tracts of wilderness all to myself. But, unfortunately, thats as near to poetry as I can get :)

As for the calendar, I'm still at the um... planning stage

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Originally Posted by Stolly

As for writing poems myself.................. hahahaha!

You and Hes and others have more talent in their little fingers than me and it would take me weeks of grappling with the words just to come out with one of DT's 3 line Haiku's. When I'm out and about in the hills I do though experience really 'poetic' and transcendental moments, especially when I'm fantastically isolated with huge tracts of wilderness all to myself. But, unfortunately, thats as near to poetry as I can get :)

As for the calendar, I'm still at the um... planning stage

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Well I for one would love to experience the poetic moments you describe and am terribly envious of your little jaunts out! especially with my gammy leg! look forward to seeing the finished article (calendar wise!) :-)

I really like this very much, thanks Alf.

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Originally Posted by Alf

oops! looks like the old Alfer missed National Poetry Day on the thread :)

This is a War Poem but maybe not immediately apparent.

Landlock

Rain came rarely to the white wood valley.
In between times, he did what he could,
cut rhubarb and gooseberries, brought flowers
from the hill: camel-thorn in winter, rest-harrow
in summer, rock-rose, barberry, mimosa.
He ground wormwood to settle her fever.
When the trouble was done he would take back the farm,
plant olive and cedar, build her a home.
But she thought mostly of the sea -
the uncommissioned sea -
wild at her, salt strong -
not the starving river, brackish and torn -
a river is never enough.
One of her wishes was to find her own path,
but the lowlands were locked down, the plains undone;
so they climbed, and climbed as one.
And when she could not walk he carried her
and when he could not carry her she walked.
Such as this the days went by, till his strength too was sapped.
He laid his back against the longer rock
and set her head that gently in his lap.
Sleep overtook them on the slope.
He woke to take the sunlight in his eyes
and could not see at first the greater distance,
the strange blue, stain blue light in the distance,
that seemed every bit to move, impossible, surely,
a thin drawn band of sea, somewhere meeting sky.
He raised her head that she might see it done.
But where she was she had already gone.

Matthew Hollis

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Hiya Stolly...am intrigued by yours and Freckle's posts, what's the calendar that you are working on?

ps Dt liked your long tailed tit haiku!

from The Rag Rug

Somebody had made one. You admired it.
So you began to make your rag rug.
You needed to do it. Played on by lightnings
You needed an earth. Maybe. Or needed
To pull something out of yourself-
Some tapeworm of the psyche. I was simply
Happy to watch your scissors being fearless
...
Whenever you worked at your carpet I felt happy.
Then I could read Conrad's novels to you.
I could cradle your freed mind in my voice,
Chapter by chapter, sentence by sentence,
Word by word: "Heart of Darkness,"
...
I dreamed of our house
Before we ever found it. A great snake
Lifted its head from a well in the middle of the house
Exactly where the well is, beneath its slab,
In the middle of the house.
A golden serpent, thick as a child's body,
Eased from the opened well. And poured out
Through the back door, a length that seemed unending-
...

by Ted Hughes,
printed in the New Yorker
published in Birthday Letters

Mist shrouded rooftops
Chimneys grey smoke spiralling
Cloud masked moon shines on

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Originally Posted by Mountain Goatess

Mist shrouded rooftops
Chimneys grey smoke spiral
Cloud masked moon shines on

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very evocative...nice one MG

Dreaming of Socrates.

Poets know not what they write,
For the inspiration comes from above,
Pen connects with paper words take flight,
Jove guides you with his love.

Do not dismay just follow the divine,
Have no arrogance dear pen no hate,
Your goodly self could write no line,
Make libation and Joves words will illuminate.

By Matt Harmston.