Today's poet

[freckle]

Somebody (and forgive me for not trawling back through the posts, just off for dinner) posted a poem about running that was really about running away and I would like to post one that was given to me by my mum who understood that one and half years travelling was not running away but running to....

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice --
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do --
determined to save
the only life you could save.


~ Mary Oliver ~

Oh I feel so moved Hes....thank you for sharing that with us...lovely x

[freckle]

Night Garden

Your mouth, a hand
against my mouth.
Pressed to earth, we dream
of ocean: heat-soaked, washed
with exhaustion, our mariner's sleep
haunted by smells of garden--fresh rosemary
thirty miles off Spain. Long grasses
sway the bottom of our boat.
We follow a sequence
of scents complex as music,
navigate earth places, sea places, follow
acoustics of mountains,
warbler instinct in the dark--
Siberia, Africa, and back--
phosphor runways guiding us to shore,
moonlight half eaten by the waves.

Across the lawn, a lit window floats.
Welts of lupine. You remember
an open window, Arabian music
through wet beeches. We know we're moving
at tremendous speed, that if it could be seen
the stars would be a smear
of velocity. But all is still,
pinioned. In the night garden,
light is a swallowed cry.
Naked in the middle of the city
the stars grow firm in our mouths.

Anne Michaels (my favourite)

Wow!!!!! how utterly gorgeous is that...i will have to look her up....thanks again Hes, brilliant choices tonight x

[Nathaniel Lee]

The Boy at war with himself.

Euphoria,climb reach high up into the velvet sky,
Dread and fear even i am not welcome here,
Endless joy i melt into the universe on a perfect high,
Death and decay my course of action is now clear.

Every nerve tingles with unfathomable bliss,
Suicide thoughts eat away my inside,
If only you could feel this angels kiss,
My end is near there is nowhere to hide.

High, low sometimes even i don't know.

By Matt Harmston.

[freckle]

The Boy at war with himself.

Euphoria,climb reach high up into the velvet sky,
Dread and fear even i am not welcome here,
Endless joy i melt into the universe on a perfect high,
Death and decay my course of action is now clear.

Every nerve tingles with unfathomable bliss,
Suicide thoughts eat away my inside,
If only you could feel this angels kiss,
My end is near there is nowhere to hide.

High, low sometimes even i don't know.

By Matt Harmston.

exquisite tri mind, i love your description of emotional turmoil and the seductiveness of suicide, i think this poem articulates how powerful such impulses can be....well done

[Mossdog]

More and More

More and more frequently the edges
of me dissolve and I become
a wish to assimilate the world, including
you, if possible through the skin
like a cool plant's tricks with oxygen
and live by a harmless green burning.

I would not consume
you or ever
finish, you would still be there
surrounding me, complete
as the air.

Unfortunately I don't have leaves.
Instead I have eyes
and teeth and other non-green
things which rule out osmosis.

So be careful, I mean it,
I give you fair warning:

This kind of hunger draws
everything into its own
space; nor can we
talk it all over, have a calm
rational discussion.

There is no reason for this, only
a starved dog's logic about bones.

Margaret Atwood

Such a marvelous, loving poem Freckle, thank you. I didn't realise she wrote poems too. Anyway I found this one under her name - very thought provoking!

A Sad Child

You're sad because you're sad.
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need to sleep.

Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.
Take up dancing to forget.

Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and the ice-cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favorite child.

My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you're trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,

and the red flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside you head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are.


Wow. Powerful stuff.

[freckle]

Mossdog that is indeed powerful thank you for posting...it was OW i think who introduced Atwood altho i could have that wrong! i have just bought one of her books "The Door" and its lovely...there are so many moving poems on here tonight after the frivolty of the afternoon (ahem....)...that's one of the things i love about this thread, that we can emote via poetry on so many different aspects of human nature and the human condition! great stuff! anyway just before i finish my rant i wanted to mention to you all that there is a "forward book of poetry for 2010" out (all new poets)...i wondered if it would be good for us to get and discuss in the new year or is that too book clubby? If so i'll just buy and post anyway...also did you know that you can join the poetry society for £14 a year...right, i'm going to be quiet now....

H
U
SsssssssssssH
freckle

[Mossdog]

Hot water flows
As piles of leaves grow
Hotel, restaurant or bar
But never in a car
A thimble in time
Never fails to revive
Green, tawny or black
From box, tin or sack
Visitiors all sup
From wee china cups
Appointments re-arranged
Business cards exchanged
There's little time to think
In the cycle of brew, strain and drink
At all times of day
But, just what did they say?

Nice one DT - thanks.

[Mossdog]

Regret

To 'have and to hold'
a promise we never shared.
Our love disavowed,
tortured by time,
butchered by circumstance, by duty,
haunts our solitary dreams.
Two lives, two parallel flights through this Hall of Light.
You: a life embracing domesticity, satisfied yet not fulfilled, perhaps.
Me: a life of quiet desperation,
dowsed in sorrow,
waiting for that spark
to light the way to the soothing Lethe,
and the anesthetising blanket of oblivion.

Anon.

[Harry H Howgill]

Blimey, I've only been away half a day and I come back to some glorious choices. I might be doing more reading than posting tonight.

In Oxfam today I found a first edition Francis Thompson from 1897. It smells like its not been opened since then. Here's one that struck me. The last line is one of the finest I've ever read

The lily kept its gleaming,
In her tears (divine conservers!)
Washed with sad art;
And the flowers of dreaming
Paled not their fervours,
For her blood flowed through their nervures;
And the roses were most red, for she dipt them in her heart.

[Mossdog]

Blimey, I've only been away half a day and I come back to some glorious choices. I might be doing more reading than posting tonight.

In Oxfam today I found a first edition Francis Thompson from 1897. It smells like its not been opened since then. Here's one that struck me. The last line is one of the finest I've ever read

The lily kept its gleaming,
In her tears (divine conservers!)
Washed with sad art;
And the flowers of dreaming
Paled not their fervours,
For her blood flowed through their nervures;
And the roses were most red, for she dipt them in her heart.

Goodness. Looks like we're in for an Emo night.