Today's poet

[Stevie]

Wind and earth
Unstoppabe force, immovable object
Fire my soul

[freckle]

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

One of my favourite poems stevie, so moving.....thanks for posting and really good to have you back on this thread

[freckle]

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you

Sheep...you dark horse you....this is one e e cummings poem i had not seen, and he is my fave! so a big thank you!

[Stevie]

Why don't you try another version now the shackles are off?

I just realised the Haiku format is a quite comforting to write, a bit of a safety net. If the structure of the poem is taken care of it is a much less risky undertaking. So when I post a non-haiku poem - that will be quite something else!

[Harry H Howgill]

I just realised the Haiku format is a quite comforting to write, a bit of a safety net. If the structure of the poem is taken care of it is a much less risky undertaking. So when I post a non-haiku poem - that will be quite something else!

We are fell runers after all. When a race says 12 miles we're happy to know that is to the nearest mile or so. We don't need 26 miles, 385 yards so quite right it should be the same with syllables.

I quite like the structure as I find myself having to roll through so many alternative words to get it to fit it brings up new slants on what I was originally going to say. Sort of a random word generation effect.

[Harry H Howgill]

Thought i was getting good at this poetry lark, William Topaz McGonagall, poet and tragedian of Dundee, has been widely hailed as the writer of the worst poetry in the English language..
Cheers Harry

I always thought a good subject for a McGonagall inspired poem would be last year's OMM...

'Twas the October of the year of 2008
When plenty of runners didn't come back, or were late
They had to take shelter in their many tents
It's surprising the farmers didn't want them to pay rents
For a night's sleep.

etc, etc.

[Harry H Howgill]

Oh my god!!! I love Neruda and I can speak Spanish, albeit not always fluently and with correct grammer, but enough to roughly translate. Believe me, this is a very romantic poem.

I'm so glad.

[Harry H Howgill]

I'll see if my daughter can read it she doing Spanish at school.

Are you sure that's a good idea? It all depends how "romantic" it is. Might be a bit of an eye-opener!

[Harry H Howgill]

These are about a run I did in the Black Mountains a couple of weeks ago. I just tried to capture some of the moments that made an impression on me.

Cold and wet start I
Need the heat of the first climb
Crug Mawr beckons me

The path down is lost
But wait, a small pile of stones
Marks the faintest track

Panicked at my sight
Manes shake loose a crystal spray
Mountain horses flee

Brown water river
Fallen leaves hide the valley
Above: stones and wind

Everlasting clag
Pen Cerrig Calch towering
Tears the sky for me

Pinned to the trig point
Upright in the howling wind
Mountain sanctuary

Stevie, they are great.

Keep them coming guys, Britta is keen to get some in the next Fellrunner. I think all of these might be in! These Welsh names are poetic in themselves.

[freckle]

sigh.......in a dreamy kind of mood...so

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?

Langston Hughes