Inky hands working
my imagination runs
when my feet cannot.
Inky hands working
my imagination runs
when my feet cannot.
There are some brilliant Haiku developing on this thread. I'm going to have to get up to speed (mmm...story of my fell running life that).
In the meantime here's a light-hearted little ditty inspired by last week's recce of the A/Waltz during half-term when I took outrageous advantage of an opportunity to brazenly show off.
Cat Bells, toll a throng
Tourists gawp incredulous
me, geronimooooooooooooooooooo
Am Yisrael Chai
don't know if you realise but you really just cheered me up...what a lovely image!Originally Posted by Mossdog
There are some brilliant Haiku developing on this thread. I'm going to have to get up to speed (mmm...story of my fell running life that).
In the meantime here's a light-hearted little ditty inspired by last week's recce of the A/Waltz during half-term when I took outrageous advantage of an opportunity to brazenly show off.
Cat Bells, toll a throng
Tourists gawp incredulous
me, geronimooooooooooooooooooo
Today's day:
Morning drive through hills.
Work ethic versus urge to
run. Only just wins.
Business face on in
meeting: Busy brain engaged
on haiku duties.
Paint with little one.
Fifteen minutes fun, thirty
minutes tidying.
Dad finds Night Garden
delightfully relaxing.
Kiddo finds boring.
HHH this is just lovely....particularly liked...
Business face on in meeting:
Busy brain engaged on haiku duties.
and....
Paint with little one.
Fifteen minutes fun,
thirtyminutes tidying.
keep it coming...
I've a feeling some of you might relate to this; and it probably wont be any of us lads.
A poem of two halves as they say, or could even be two different poems. But I love how it actually works all together.
I've got the children to tend
The clothes to mend
The floor to mop
The food to shop.
Then the chicken to fry
The baby to dry
I got people to feed
The garden to weed
I've got shirts to press
The tots to dress
The can to be cut
I gotta clean up this hut
Then see about the sick
And the cotton to pick.
Shine on me, sunshine
Rain on me, rain
Fall softly, dewdrops
And cool my brow again.
Storm, blow me from here
With your fiercest wind
Let me float across the sky
'Til I can rest again.
Fall gently, snowflakes
Cover me with white
Cold icy kisses and
Let me rest tonight.
Sun, rain, curving sky
Mountain, oceans, leaf and stone
Star shine, moon glow
You're all that I can call my own.
Maya Angelou
You're right - how bizarre but also interesting. Like it. Also liked:I've a feeling some of you might relate to this; and it probably wont be any of us lads.
A poem of two halves as they say, or could even be two different poems. But I love how it actually works all together.
I've got the children to tend
The clothes to mend
The floor to mop
The food to shop.
Then the chicken to fry
The baby to dry
I got people to feed
The garden to weed
I've got shirts to press
The tots to dress
The can to be cut
I gotta clean up this hut
Then see about the sick
And the cotton to pick.
Shine on me, sunshine
Rain on me, rain
Fall softly, dewdrops
And cool my brow again.
Storm, blow me from here
With your fiercest wind
Let me float across the sky
'Til I can rest again.
Fall gently, snowflakes
Cover me with white
Cold icy kisses and
Let me rest tonight.
Sun, rain, curving sky
Mountain, oceans, leaf and stone
Star shine, moon glow
You're all that I can call my own.
Maya Angelou
Business face on in
meeting: Busy brain engaged
on haiku duties.
Boy have I been there. Another great one HHH.
...Pleased it cheered you Freckle.
Am Yisrael Chai
Oh dear. Was this an early case of battling/reframing Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD)?
Am Yisrael Chai
lest we forget....(and see remembrance thread)
Dreamers
Soldiers are citizens of death's gray land,
Drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows.
In the great hour of destiny they stand,
Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows.
Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win
Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives.
Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin
They think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives.
I see them in foul dug-outs, gnawed by rats,
And in the ruined trenches, lashed with rain,
Dreaming of things they did with balls and bats,
And mocked by hopeless longing to regain
Bank-holidays, and picture shows, and spats,
And going to the office in the train.
Siegfried Sassoon
Re: Today's poet
"The Quitter"
When you're lost on the trail with the speed of a snail
And defeat looks you straight in the eye
And you're needing to sit, your whole being says quit
You're certain it's your time to die.
But the code of the trail is "move forward don't fail"
Though your knees and ego are scarred.
All the swelling and pain is just part of the game
In the long run it's quitting that's hard!
"I'm sick of the pain!" Well, now, that's a shame
But you're strong, you're healthy, and bright.
So you've had a bad stretch and you're ready to retch,
Shoulders back, move forward, and fight.
It's the plugging away that will win you the day,
Now don't be a loser my friend!
So the goal isn't near, why advance to the rear.
All struggles eventually end.
It's simple to cry that your finished; and die.
It's easy to whimper and whine.
Move forward and fight, though there's no help in sight
You'll soon cross the lost finish line.
You'll come out of the black, with the wind at your back,
As the clouds start to part; there's the sun.
Then you'll know in your heart, as you did at the start.
You're not a quitter. You've Won!!
- by Gene Thibeault
Posting Permissions
Reply With Quote
