Page 1353 of 1355 FirstFirst ... 35385312531303134313511352135313541355 LastLast
Results 13,521 to 13,530 of 13548

Thread: Today's poet

  1. #13521
    Moderator Mossdog's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2007
    Location
    Teesdale
    Posts
    2,749
    apple picking—

    a feather blows

    from the empty nest


    (Anon)
    Am Yisrael Chai

  2. #13522
    undercover moderator
    Join Date
    Jan 2007
    Location
    behind you
    Posts
    897
    Judging distances, by Henry Reed:

    Not only how far away, but the way that you say it
    Is very important. Perhaps you may never get
    The knack of judging a distance, but at least you know
    How to report on a landscape: the central sector,
    The right of the arc and that, which we had last Tuesday,
    And at least you know

    That maps are of time, not place, so far as the army
    Happens to be concerned—the reason being,
    Is one which need not delay us. Again, you know
    There are three kinds of tree, three only, the fir and the poplar,
    And those which have bushy tops to; and lastly
    That things only seem to be things.

    A barn is not called a barn, to put it more plainly,
    Or a field in the distance, where sheep may be safely grazing.
    You must never be over-sure. You must say, when reporting:
    At five o'clock in the central sector is a dozen
    Of what appear to be animals; whatever you do,
    Don't call the bleeders sheep.

    I am sure that's quite clear; and suppose, for the sake of example,
    The one at the end, asleep, endeavors to tell us
    What he sees over there to the west, and how far away,
    After first having come to attention. There to the west,
    On the fields of summer the sun and the shadows bestow
    Vestments of purple and gold.

    The still white dwellings are like a mirage in the heat,
    And under the swaying elms a man and a woman
    Lie gently together. Which is, perhaps, only to say
    That there is a row of houses to the left of the arc,
    And that under some poplars a pair of what appear to be humans
    Appear to be loving.

    Well that, for an answer, is what we rightly call
    Moderately satisfactory only, the reason being,
    Is that two things have been omitted, and those are very important.
    The human beings, now: in what direction are they,
    And how far away, would you say? And do not forget
    There may be dead ground in between.

    There may be dead ground in between; and I may not have got
    The knack of judging a distance; I will only venture
    A guess that perhaps between me and the apparent lovers,
    (Who, incidentally, appear by now to have finished,)
    At seven o'clock from the houses, is roughly a distance
    Of about one year and a half.

  3. #13523
    Moderator Mossdog's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2007
    Location
    Teesdale
    Posts
    2,749
    Just in case you've already forgotten summer!


    Oh there is blessing in this gentle breeze,
    A visitant that while it fans my cheek
    Doth seem half-conscious of the joy it brings
    From the green fields, and from yon azure sky.
    Whate'er its mission, the soft breeze can come
    To none more grateful than to me; escaped
    From the vast city, where I long had pined
    A discontented sojourner: now free,
    Free as a bird to settle where I will.

    The Prelude, William Wordsworth
    Am Yisrael Chai

  4. #13524
    Moderator Mossdog's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2007
    Location
    Teesdale
    Posts
    2,749
    Another Night Before Christmas - Carol Ann Duffy

    On the night before Christmas, a child in a house,
    as the whole family slept, behaved just like a mouse...
    and crept on soft toes down red-carpeted stairs.
    Her hand held the paw of her favourite bear.

    The Christmas tree posed with its lights in its arms,
    newly tinselled and baubled with glittering charms;
    flirting in flickers of crimson and green
    against the dull glass of the mute TV screen.

    The hushed street was in darkness. Snow duveted the cars -
    a stray cat had embroidered each roof with its paws.
    An owl on an aerial had planets for eyes.
    The child at the window stared up at the sky,

    where two aeroplanes sped to the east and the west,
    like a pulled Christmas cracker. The child held her breath
    and looked for a sign up above, as the moon
    shone down like a gold chocolate coin on the town.

    Far beyond the quiet suburbs, the motorway droned
    as it cradled the drivers who murmured at phones
    and drove through the small hours, this late Christmas Eve,
    the ones who were faithless, the ones who believed.

    But the child who was up and long out of her bed
    saw no visions of sugar plums dance in her head;
    she planned to discover, for once and for all,
    if Santa Claus (or Father Christmas) was real.

    There were some who said no, he was really just Mum,
    with big cushions or pillows to plump out her tum,
    or Dad, with a red cloak and cotton-wool beard,
    a whisky or three down his neck for Good Cheer.

    So she took up position behind a big chair
    that was close to the fireplace. Four stockings hung there.
    Quite soon there'd be one tangerine in each toe
    and she'd be the child who would see and would know.

    And outside, a lone taxi crunched back into town,
    where the shops had their shutters, like giant eyelids, down,
    and people in blankets, with nowhere to go,
    were hunched in shop doorways to keep from the snow;

    Where a giant plastic Santa climbed up the Town Hall
    and security guards dozed or smoked in the Mall.
    The cashpoints glowed softly, like icons of light,
    from corner to corner, on Christmas Eve night.

    Then a shooting star whizzed down the sky from the North.
    It was fizzing and sparkling as it fell to earth,
    and growing in size. A young hare in a field
    gazed up at the sky where it brightened and swelled.

    It turned into a sleigh, made of silver and gold,
    pulled by reindeer, whose breath chiffoned out in the cold,
    with bells on their antlers and bells round each hoof.
    Then - clatter! - they landed on you-know-who's roof.

    Now, herself near the fireplace had fallen asleep,
    So she missed every word that a voice, warm and deep,
    was saying above her, as each reindeer's name
    was spoken, and flared in the night like a flame.

    Dasher, whoa! Dancer, whoa! Prancer! Vixen! Well done!
    Comet, whoa! Cupid, whoa! Donner! Blitzen! What fun!
    The shadows of reindeer were patterns on snow
    which gift-wrapped the garden, three storeys below.

    It's a fact that a faraway satellite dish,
    which observes us from space, cannot know what we wish.
    Its eye's empty socket films famine and greed,
    but cannot see Santa Claus on Christmas Eve.

    He was dressed all in red, from his head to his toes,
    also red was the Christmassy glow of his nose.
    His beard was as white as the flakes that fell down
    on rich and on poor in this ordinary town.

    His eyes twinkled like tinsel and starlight and frost,
    and they knew how to give without counting the cost.
    He'd slung on his back a huge sackful of toys
    to lug down the chimneys of good girls and boys.

    Dasher snorted, and Blixen pawed hard at the roof -
    they'd a long night before them, and that was the truth!
    But Santa had vanished! A puff of black soot
    burped out of the chimney, dislodged by his foot.

    All this noise woke the child, who had fallen asleep,
    so she popped up her head and made sure she could peep
    (without being seen) at whoever it was
    who stood in the fireplace. Big wow! Santa Claus!

    Though she lived in an age where celebrity ruled
    and when most of the people were easily fooled
    by TV and fashion, by money and cars,
    the little girl knew that here was a real STAR!

    Then she watched as the room filled with magic and light
    as the spirit of Christmas made everything bright
    and suddenly presents were heaped by the tree -
    but she didn't wonder, which ones are for me?

    For the best gift of all is to truly believe
    in the wonderful nght that we call Christmas Eve,
    when adults remember, of all childhood's laws,
    this time in December will bring Santa Claus.

    Santa turned and winked at her, then disappeared,
    with a laugh, up the chimney, with soot in his beard.
    She ran to the window and watched as his sleigh
    took off from her roof and he sped on his way.

    And as long as she lived she would never forget
    how he flew, as the moon showed him in silhouette,
    from rooftop to rooftop and called from his flight
    HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT.
    Am Yisrael Chai

  5. #13525
    Senior Member
    Join Date
    Nov 2015
    Posts
    917
    That was very nice Mossdog. I used to have a Border collie called Moss!

  6. #13526
    Moderator Mossdog's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2007
    Location
    Teesdale
    Posts
    2,749
    Aged

    Creaking ol' mudclaws
    Grind a snow-worn path, trig-wards
    So, is this winter?



    (Nah!)
    Am Yisrael Chai

  7. #13527
    Moderator Mossdog's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2007
    Location
    Teesdale
    Posts
    2,749
    Robbie Burns Night



    Afton Water

    Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
    Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
    My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
    Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

    Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
    Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
    Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,
    I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

    How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
    Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills;
    There daily I wander as noon rises high,
    My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

    How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
    Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;
    There oft, as mild Ev'ning sweeps over the lea,
    The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

    Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
    And winds by the cot where my Mary resides,
    How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
    As gathering sweet flowrets she stems thy clear wave.

    Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
    Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
    My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
    Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
    Am Yisrael Chai

  8. #13528
    Moderator Mossdog's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2007
    Location
    Teesdale
    Posts
    2,749
    Colouring In

    Jan Dean

    And staying inside the lines
    Is fine, but ...
    I like it when stuff leaks -
    When the blue bird and the blue sky
    Are just one blur of blue flying,
    And the feeling of the feathers in the air
    And the wind along the blade of wing
    Is a long gash of smudgy colour.
    I like it when the flowers and the sunshine
    Puddle red and yellow into orange,
    The way the hot sun on my back
    Lulls me - muddles me - sleepy
    In the scented garden,
    Makes me part of the picture...
    Part of the place.
    Am Yisrael Chai

  9. #13529
    Moderator Mossdog's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2007
    Location
    Teesdale
    Posts
    2,749
    Ok - these line aren't from a poem but they're lyrics and then only part of the song. Found on a plate on a bench over looking upper Teesdale yesterday, and I thought they were rather touching:

    Take me to some high place of heather, rock and ling
    Scatter my dust and ashes, feed me to the wind
    So that I will be part of all you see, the air you are breathing
    I'll be part of the curlew's cry and the soaring hawk
    The blue milkwort and the sundew hung with diamonds
    I'll be riding the gentle wind that blows through your hair
    Reminding you how we shared in the joy of living.

    Ewam MacColl - The Joy of Living.
    Last edited by Mossdog; 08-03-2021 at 11:51 AM.
    Am Yisrael Chai

  10. #13530
    Moderator Mossdog's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2007
    Location
    Teesdale
    Posts
    2,749
    Primroses

    by John Clare

    I love the rath primroses pale brimstone primroses
    That bloom in the thick wood and i' the green closes
    I love the primroses whenever they come
    Where the blue fly sits pensive & humble bees hum
    The pale brimstone primroses come at the spring
    Swept over and fann'd by the wild thrushes wing
    Bow'd down to the leaf cover'd ground by the bees
    Who sing their spring ballads thro bushes & trees

    Like patches o' flame i' the Ivy so green
    And dark green oak leaves where the Autumn has been
    Put on thy straw hat love & russet stuff gown
    And see the pale primroses grow up and down
    The pale brimstone primroses wild wood primroses
    Which maids i' the dark woods make into posies
    Put on thy stuff gown love and off let us be
    To seek brimstone primroses neath the Oak tree

    Spring time is come love primroses bloom fair
    The sun o' the morning shines in thy bright hair
    The ancient wood shadows are bonny dark green
    That throw out like giants the stovens between
    While brimstone primroses like patches o' flame
    Blaze through the dead leaves making Ivy look tame
    I love the rath primrose in hedgerows & closes
    Together lets wander to gather primroses —
    Am Yisrael Chai

Similar Threads

  1. Today's pie
    By Derby Tup in forum General chat!
    Replies: 37
    Last Post: 26-12-2020, 06:42 PM
  2. Today's DIY
    By Harry H Howgill in forum General chat!
    Replies: 23
    Last Post: 04-02-2015, 11:45 AM
  3. Today's Look Ma No Car!
    By Alexandra in forum Training
    Replies: 29
    Last Post: 31-12-2011, 10:20 AM
  4. Today's rain!
    By Stolly in forum General chat!
    Replies: 12
    Last Post: 23-07-2010, 12:25 AM
  5. Today's DVD
    By Deejay in forum General chat!
    Replies: 0
    Last Post: 27-07-2008, 08:23 PM

Tags for this Thread

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •