Love that Old Whippet, enjoy the Lakes, be inspired by Colderidge and Wordsworth
Love that Old Whippet, enjoy the Lakes, be inspired by Colderidge and Wordsworth
Originally Posted by Mossdog
Beautiful....thanks
Hi there come back from my trip away to some really lovely poetry from all and a poet (HHH) in our midst!....class...thanks to all, like you OW I hope this thread continues.....loved your poem along with all the others
as usual i am posting a seemingly random bit of poetry, this time by emily dickinson, i read it today and it made me think about the fact that sometimes things happen unexpectedly in life to put a "spanner in the works" for good or ill...or somewhere inbetween....
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The Brain, within its Groove
Runs evenly-and true-
But let a Splinter swerve-
'Twere easier for You-
To put a Current back-
When Floods have slit the Hills
And scooped a Turnpike for themselves; -
And trodden out for the Mills-
ps everyone is so much better at getting the Fell Running relevant poems....!
Last edited by freckle; 25-10-2009 at 07:14 PM.
derby t this is all your fault...i am now addicted to this poet!
Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.
Something from far off it seemed
deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
a shout muffled by huge autumns,
by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.
Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance
climbed up through my conscious mind
as if suddenly the roots I had left behind
cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood---
and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.
Pablo Neruda
morning all.....
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Frost
Soon we will plunge ourselves into cold shadows.
And all of summer's stunning afternoons wil be gone.
I already hear the dead thuds of logs below.
Falling on the cobblestones and the lawn.
All of winter will return to me,
derision, Hate, shuddering, horror, drudgery and vice
And exiled, like the sun, to a polar prison.
My soul will harden into a block of red ice.
I shiver as I listen to each log crash and slam.
The echoes are as dull as executioners drums.
My mind is like a tower that slowly succumbs
To the blows of a relentless battering ram.
It seems to me, swaying to these shocks that someone
Is nailing down a coffin in a hurry somewhere.
For whom? -----It was summer yesterday;
now it's autumn.
Echoes of departure keep resounding in the air
Charles Baudelaire
Poacher turned game-keeper
Thanks Derby T, i really like the darkness of this poem. Whilst reading it I felt that the poet could almost be talking about the loss of a relationship/person just as much as the change in the season....I felt there was a sense of finality (coffins!) which contributed to a foreboding tone....great stuff!
p.s. the quote below reminded me of long distance running and in particular my last edinburgh marathon which I found particularly gruesome!!!
My mind is like a tower that slowly succumbs To the blows of a relentless battering ram.
Oh, I loved that one DT, thank you!
Not had a chance to do any translating yet AND I have difficulty locating the two bundles I have with this particular Dutch poet's work in...
In the meantime, enjoy Lynette Roberts' autumn from the four seasons:
Autumn comes strutting in like a cockerel,
Red, blue, yellow and brown. It disintegrates
our purpose of singular thought; destroys
relationships: and cuts the sap of pride
ruthlessly.Those who survive retain one heart
and voice. Yet autumn with contrawise motion
shields the creative mind with covering of leaves,
settles and matures dormant growth hich will
reappear, under the hard skies of Spring.
Training
Last edited by XRunner; 27-10-2009 at 12:25 AM.
I fear my contribution to this thread would be nothing more than a crude limerick. So after this post I shall stay away.
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