Today's poet

[freckle]

Ah... this is my quality time, glass of beer and reading loads of lush poetry...happened across this very apt poem today in the anthology I mentioned earlier....

Eating Poetry
Mark Strand


Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.

The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad
and she walks with her hands in her dress.

The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.

Their eyeballs roll,
their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.

She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,
she screams.

I am a new man,
I snarl at her and bark,
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.

[freckle]

vast golden Buddha
glowing in the Eastern sun
grins contentedly

love hearing all your reports from China.....double

[freckle]

Evening all
this mornings running report......


Had a little stomp around the house
My climbing trip scuppered by spouse
Set off on a run to collect the car
That was parked outside a city bar.
Setting off at a canny pace
Saw a stiffed legged badger with a grimacing face.
Heading out of this valley of mine
Arrived at the place where Derwent meets Tyne.
Over Scotswood bridge with a steady gait
Watched some rowers – a cox plus eight.
Onto to Scotswood Road, ‘gannin along’
The opposite way to the famous song.
Passing by Armstrong-Vickers
And trees festooned with witches knickers.
Turned my ipod up to drown the sound
Of cars and lorries all around.
Underworld and Finlay Quaye
Keeping me company along the way.
A seven mile run instead of a climb
And in my head composing this rhyme.
A pace of 7:40 seemed quite frisky
Taking into account last night’s whisky
Tomorrow morning, all being well
I’ll forget the road and stick to fell.

I really enjoyed this OW...excellent! especially the local references...whats the witchers knickers thing again?

[Nathaniel Lee]

My crimson bride stays each night by my side,
Her black heart reaches out caresses my mind,
The gentle touch of her steel talons down my neck glide,
I know that she will save my life i know that she is kind.

She is faithful to me and will never leave,
I can rely on her caring for me every night,
I tell others of her beauty they disbelieve,
When i give myself to her i know i will be alright.

I feel sorry for those who do not know her,
To know the wonders of my wondrous bride,
You would know such beauty if she was your lover,
Such wonderful perfection my darling lady suicide.


By Matt Harmston.

[freckle]

another eloquent piece tri mind....thought provokling.....

My crimson bride stays each night by my side,
Her black heart reaches out caresses my mind,
The gentle touch of her steel talons down my neck glide,
I know that she will save my life i know that she is kind.

She is faithful to me and will never leave,
I can rely on her caring for me every night,
I tell others of her beauty they disbelieve,
When i give myself to her i know i will be alright.

I feel sorry for those who do not know her,
To know the wonders of my wondrous bride,
You would know such beauty if she was your lover,
Such wonderful perfection my darling lady suicide.





By Matt Harmston.

[Harry H Howgill]

ps HHH I loved your short poem today, a twenty sixer?

hope this helps.....

Conkers, the small brown objects, are the seeds of the horse chestnut. Conkers, the pastime, is a game of skill and sublimated violence for two players. Each player is equipped with a conker, through which a hole has been drilled to allow a piece of string to be threaded. The string is knotted to prevent the conker coming off, and the game may commence.
Whoever goes first may be decided by coin toss or priority. For example, the owner of a 'sixer' (ie, the victor in six previous games) will have priority over the owner of a mere 'two-er'.
The receiver holds up the hand, dangling the conker on the end of its string. The other player then attempts to hit the dangling conker as hard as he can with his own conker by swinging it overarm. If he hits, he gets another go. If he misses, play switches and the receiver gets a crack at his opponent. This continues until one or other of the conkers is so damaged that it falls off the string. The winner can then add the loser's conker value to the victory count of their conker, turning the above mentioned sixer into an eighter.

[freckle]

hope this helps.....

thanks HHH, I will be puzzling over the metaphor contained in the poem all night now!!!

[Harry H Howgill]

thanks HHH, I will be puzzling over the metaphor contained in the poem all night now!!!

It has a very deep psychological meaning









or it is just about conkers!

[freckle]

It has a very deep psychological meaning

or it is just about conkers!

aye...I know ...laugh at my misery why don't cha?

anyway, i am really really going to nick off soon but before I go please click on below, lovely poem which i couldn't manage to cut and paste for some bizzare reason!....enjoy

http://cerene.wordpress.com/2006/08/...derek-walcott/


Ok Ok...i take it back...here is another walcott that i really adore...

Love after love

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.


Derek Walcott

[XRunner]

It has a very deep psychological meaning









or it is just about conkers!

I thought it was bonkers