Mr elect Chairman
I might not turn up on time but my spell checker works
Meeting you on the way down.... steady Old Lad
debate - only over a glass of Petrus - can't wait
Originally Posted by GrahamB
Re: Today's poet
Mr elect Chairman
I might not turn up on time but my spell checker works
Meeting you on the way down.... steady Old Lad
debate - only over a glass of Petrus - can't wait
Mmmmmmm....twas a little strange on ere last night.....
here's a nice little poem to try and restore the old ambience....
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
Yeats
Last edited by freckle; 30-10-2009 at 09:14 AM.
Wake: the silver dusk returning
Up the beach of darkness brims,
And the ship of sunrise burning
Strands upon the eastern rims.
Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters,
Trampled to the floor it spanned,
And the tent of night in tatters
Straws the sky-pavilioned land.
Up, lad, up, 'tis late for lying:
Hear the drums of morning play;
Hark, the empty highways crying
`Who'll beyond the hills away?'
Towns and countries woo together,
Forelands beacon, belfries call;
Never lad that trod on leather
Lived to feast his heart with all.
Up, lad: thews that lie and cumber
Sunlit pallets never thrive;
Morns abed and daylight slumber
Were not meant for man alive.
Clay lies still, but blood's a rover;
Breath's a ware that will not keep.
Up, lad: when the journey's over
There'll be time enough to sleep.
Reveille by A.E.Houseman
PS: Good morning all!
Stevie...this is amazing!......thank you...what a wonderful way to start the day...especially liked this bit....
Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters,
and ...
Morns abed and daylight slumber
Were not meant for man alive.
have a good un
You're welcome Freckle! There are a lot of really strong poems in A Shropshire lad, but they can also be a bit dark. I like Housman's variety of metre and rhyme schemes, but he has a light touch as well.
Interesting night you had on this thread! So here's one to refresh.
Some of the references are a bit dated, but the sentiment is, sadly, still relevant.
Timothy Winters
Timothy Winters comes to school
With eyes as wide as a football pool,
Ears like bombs and teeth like splinters:
A blitz of a boy is Timothy Winters.
His belly is white, his neck is dark,
And his hair is an exclamation mark.
His clothes are enough to scare a crow
And through his britches the blue winds blow.
When teacher talks he won't hear a word
And he shoots down dead the arithmetic-bird,
He licks the patterns off his plate
And he's not even heard of the Welfare State.
Timothy Winters has bloody feet
And he lives in a house on Suez Street,
He sleeps in a sack on the kitchen floor
And they say there aren't boys like him any more.
Old man Winters likes his beer
And his missus ran off with a bombardier.
Grandma sits in the grate with a gin
And Timothy's dosed with an aspirin.
The Welfare Worker lies awake
But the law's as tricky as a ten-foot snake,
So Timothy Winters drinks his cup
And slowly goes on growing up.
At Morning Prayers the Master helves
For children less fortunate than ourselves,
And the loudest response in the room is when
Timothy Winters roars "Amen!"
So come one angel, come on ten:
Timothy Winters says "Amen
Amen amen amen amen."
Timothy Winters, Lord.
Amen!
By Charles Causley
Cheers Freckle - I will enjoy listening to the author.
This is a bit off thread but have you checked out this site and this guy - really inspirational. It was suggested to me by a friend so if you enjoy it, please pass it on.
http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/eng/be...d_passion.html
Keep moving forward.
The clag comes down,
Rain likes shards of glass hit and the wind pushes me over,
Oh God it's so cold i can't feel my feet must keep moving forward,
Me hands shake i can barely read the map must keep moving forward,
The body is playing tricks on me i feel so tired must sleep,
No must keep moving forward,
Then i see it a small gash in the clag,
I see the way down,
Must keep moving forward,
My legs renewed i leap down the hill for home,
I thank God i kept moving forward so i can do this again next weekend,
As never are you more alive then when you have to keep moving forward.
One is always nearer by not standing still.
Far spread the moory ground, a level scene
Bespread with rush and one eternal green,Unbounded freedom ruled the wandering scene;
That never felt the rage of blundering plough,
Though centuries wreathed spring blossoms on its brow.
Autumn met plains that stretched them far away
In unchecked shadows of green, brown, and grey.
No fence of ownership crept in between
To hide the prospect from the gazing eye;
Its only bondage was the circling sky.
A mighty flat, undwarfed by bush and tree,
Spread its faint shadow of immensity,
And lost itself, which seemed to eke its bounds,
In the blue mist the horizon's edge surrounds.
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