Hey !!!!!!! don't go!!! I just got back from that really long cold shower and i ain't drunk like the rest of you all!...found a great atwood poem regarding poets which i will take the time to write up (not avialable on web)...soon....where is HHH?Originally Posted by Hes
Loved the line about warbler instinct in your offering earlier
love this HHH what a great sentiment !
Not a poem but one of my very favourite songs:
The first time ever I saw your face
I thought the sun rose in your eyes
And the moon and stars were the gifts you gave
To the dark and the empty skies, my love,
To the dark and the empty skies.
The first time ever I kissed your mouth
And felt your heart beat close to mine
Like the trembling heart of a captive bird
That was there at my command, my love
That was there at my command.
And the first time ever I lay with you
I felt your heart so close to mine
And I knew our joy would fill the earth
And last till the end of time my love
It would last till the end of time my love
The Poets Hang On
Margaret Atwood
The poet's hang on.
It's hard to get rid of them,
though lord knows its been tried.
We pass them on the road
standing there with their begging bowls,
an ancient custom.
Nothing in those now
but dried flies and bad pennies.
They stare straight ahead.
Are they dead, or what?
Yet, they have an irritating look
of those who know more than we do.
More of what?
What is it they claim to know?
Spit it out, we hiss at them.
Say it plain!
If you try for a simple answer,
that's when they pretend to be crazy,
or else drunk, or else poor.
They put those costumes on
some time ago,
those black sweaters, those tatters;
now they can't get them off.
And they're having trouble with their teeth
That's one of the their burdens.
They could use some dental work.
They're having trouble with their wings, as well.
We're not getting much from them
in the flight department these days.
No more soaring, no radiance,
no skylarking.
What the hell are they paid for?
(Suppose they are paid)
They can't get off the ground,
them and their muddy feathers.
If they fly, its downwards,
and into the damp grey earth.
Go away, we say-
and take your boring sadness.
Your not wanted here.
Your forgotten how to tell us
how sublime we are.
How love is the answer:
we always liked that one.
You have forgotten how to kiss up.
Your not wise any more.
You've lost your splendour.
But the poets hang on.
They're nothing if not tenacious.
Last edited by freckle; 21-11-2009 at 02:22 AM.
looks like i am on my todd then!...unless i can bank on you X runner?...oh well...here is another lovely bit of poetry by charlotte ansell a contemporary poet (ie not available on web)...
For Annie
I haven't yet found
the poem in me,
that is you.
I haven't yet learnt how to
say thank you
did you awaken me again?
I was coming up for air,
finding I can breathe
knowing you have saved me
loved me back to belief.
You call me beautiful,
you say you will love me,
regardless of whether I love you.
The strange thing is.
I know you will.
The strange thing is,
no one ever loved me like that before.
I don't know how
to let myself
be cared for.
More,
so much more frightening
than pain.
But you will
and you do
and I am speechless
with acknowledgement
and with gratitude
I haven't yet found
the poem in me,
that is you.
But I think,
I am beginning to.
Saturday sunlight
illuminates hotel room
shaving easier
lovely DT...i am so glad of the time difference...nice to have some company but eventhis little insomniac may have to retire soon.....Saturday sunlight
illuminates hotel room
shaving easier
Sorry about that Freckle! I enjoyed yours and DT's postings with my very strong coffee. Have just had a pleasant half hour persuing Carol Ann Duffy's poetry. I love her anthology called The World's Wife. My favourite is Mrs. Darwin but I've already posted that so here is Demeter
Demeter
Where I lived - Winter and hard earth.
I sat in my cold stone room
choosing tough words, granite, flint
to break ice. My broken heart -
I tried that, but it skimmed,
flat, over the frozen lake.
She came from a long way,
but I saw her at last, walking,
my daughter, my girl, across the fields,
in my bare feet, bringing all spring's flowers
to her mother's house. I swear
the air softened and warmed as she moved,
the blue sky smiling, none too soon,
with the small shy mouth of a new moon.
Gosh what a gorgeous poem, the imagery is just lovely....i could do with a strong coffee too, hope the head is OK...have a nice day Hes
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