Today's poet

[XRunner]

An interesting poem by Patricia Smith

Medusa

Poseidon was easier than most.
He calls himself a god,
but he fell beneath my fingers
with more shaking than any mortal.
He wept when my robe fell from my shoulders.

I made him bend his back for me,
listened to his screams break like waves.
We defiled that temple the way it should be defiled,
screaming and bucking our way from corner to corner.
The bitch goddess probably got a real kick out of that.
I'm sure I'll be hearing from her.

She'll give me nightmares for a week or so;
that I can handle.
Or she'll turn the water in my well into blood;
I'll scream when I see it,
and that will be that.
Maybe my first child
will be born with the head of a fish.
I'm not even sure it was worth it,
Poseidon pounding away at me, a madman,
losing his immortal mind
because of the way my copper skin swells in moonlight.

Now my arms smoke and itch.
Hard scales cover my wrists like armour.
C'mon Athena, he was only another lay,
and not a particularly good one at that,
even though he can spit steam from his fingers.
Won't touch him again. Promise.
And we didn't mean to drop to our knees
in your temple,
but our bodies were so hot and misaligned.
It's not every day a gal gets to sample a god,
you know that. Why are you being so rough on me?

I feel my eyes twisting,
the lids crusting over and boiling,
the pupils glowing red with heat.
Athena, woman to woman,
could you have resisted him?
Would you have been able to wait
for the proper place, the right moment,
to jump those immortal bones?

Now my feet are tangled with hair,
my ears are gone. My back is curving
and my lips have grown numb.
My garden boy just shattered at my feet.

Dammit, Athena,
take away my father's gold.
Send me away to live with lepers.
Give me a pimple or two.
But my face. To have men never again
be able to gaze at my face,
growing stupid in anticipation
of that first touch,
how can any woman live like that?
How will I be able
to watch their warm bodies turn to rock
when their only sin was desiring me?

All they want is to see me sweat.
They only want to touch my face
and run their fingers through my . . .

my hair is it moving?

[freckle]

[QUOTE=XRunner;277380]An interesting poem by Patricia Smith

Wow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Brilliant X runner...unfortunately i think the following may have triggered (yet another) midlife crisis for me....

"But my face. To have men never again be able to gaze at my face"
but i really like this line...

"the pupils glowing red with heat."

Oooooo the passion!...and its only Monday....usually characterised by a bit of misery!

think I need a cup of tea and a lie down after all that!!!!

[Harry H Howgill]

Nice one XRunner. Just what DT was saying about passion and intamacy. I can't see that working as a song, can you?

Well it is wet and wild out there tonight. I was drier in the shower afterwards. A good chance to reboot and clear my head though.

T(h)er(e) is art
In all (s)he does

A (f)an of ee
Ma(r)ks h(e)r respe(c)t
Li(k)e the sty(l)(e)

Up(d)ates from a
wandering s(t)ar

[Harry H Howgill]

I love that

That reminds me of a rock climb in the Peak District called "Brewing up with Morley Wood". It sounded so good that I just had to do it. But sadly the climb wasn't as good as the name.

In a similar vein:

Making Cocoa for Kingsley Amis

It was a dream I had last week
And some kind of record seemed vital.
I knew it wouldn't be much of a poem
but I loved the title.

Wendy Cope

[freckle]

Nice one XRunner. Just what DT was saying about passion and intamacy. I can't see that working as a song, can you?

Well it is wet and wild out there tonight. I was drier in the shower afterwards. A good chance to reboot and clear my head though.

T(h)er(e) is art
In all (s)he does

A (f)an of ee
Ma(r)ks h(e)r respe(c)t
Li(k)e the sty(l)(e)

Up(d)ates from a
wandering s(t)ar

how utterly lovely............................thank you, hope first day back was ok

[Harry H Howgill]

how utterly lovely............................thank you, hope first day back was ok

It was a bit of a shock after 2 weeks off, but I got over it with tonight's run.

[Hes]

An interesting poem by Patricia Smith

Medusa

Poseidon was easier than most.
He calls himself a god,
but he fell beneath my fingers
with more shaking than any mortal.
He wept when my robe fell from my shoulders.

I made him bend his back for me,
listened to his screams break like waves.
We defiled that temple the way it should be defiled,
screaming and bucking our way from corner to corner.
The bitch goddess probably got a real kick out of that.
I'm sure I'll be hearing from her.

She'll give me nightmares for a week or so;
that I can handle.
Or she'll turn the water in my well into blood;
I'll scream when I see it,
and that will be that.
Maybe my first child
will be born with the head of a fish.
I'm not even sure it was worth it,
Poseidon pounding away at me, a madman,
losing his immortal mind
because of the way my copper skin swells in moonlight.

Now my arms smoke and itch.
Hard scales cover my wrists like armour.
C'mon Athena, he was only another lay,
and not a particularly good one at that,
even though he can spit steam from his fingers.
Won't touch him again. Promise.
And we didn't mean to drop to our knees
in your temple,
but our bodies were so hot and misaligned.
It's not every day a gal gets to sample a god,
you know that. Why are you being so rough on me?

I feel my eyes twisting,
the lids crusting over and boiling,
the pupils glowing red with heat.
Athena, woman to woman,
could you have resisted him?
Would you have been able to wait
for the proper place, the right moment,
to jump those immortal bones?

Now my feet are tangled with hair,
my ears are gone. My back is curving
and my lips have grown numb.
My garden boy just shattered at my feet.

Dammit, Athena,
take away my father's gold.
Send me away to live with lepers.
Give me a pimple or two.
But my face. To have men never again
be able to gaze at my face,
growing stupid in anticipation
of that first touch,
how can any woman live like that?
How will I be able
to watch their warm bodies turn to rock
when their only sin was desiring me?

All they want is to see me sweat.
They only want to touch my face
and run their fingers through my . . .

my hair is it moving?

That is amazing. I love it! Totally sums up temptation, passion and desire. Brilliant.

[freckle]

It was a bit of a shock after 2 weeks off, but I got over it with tonight's run.

aye...you can always rely on the "art" to sort you out!.....


Wintry headtorcher
Cut short
Because of other sport

Never mind
the mud was kind
and the legs still kinder

what joy in life
friends, poetry and running
coalesce

like lovers gazing
as if there is no tomorrow
we hope against hope

there is more to follow!....





(newcastle 1, preston 0....according to other half)

[Harry H Howgill]

And Now The Forecast Issued By The Met. Office At 1305 On Monday 23 November 2009

The General Synopsis At 0700
Low 10 Miles West Of Helvellyn 1016 Is Slow Moving And Filling. High Over Coniston 1023 Expected Black Combe 1022 By 0700 Tomorrow.

The Forecasts For The Next 24 Hours

Fairfield Hart Crag Dollywagon
Southwesterly 6 Or 7 Decreasing 4 Or 5. Frequent Showers. Good

Scafell Great Gable
West Or Southwest 4 Increasing 6 Or 7. Rain Later. Good Becoming Moderate

Grasmoor Robinson Dale Head
Westerly 4 Backing Southerly 6 Or 7. Showers. Moderate Or Good

Swirl How Wetherlam Coniston
Westerly Backing Easterly 6. Veering Southerly 6 Or 7 Later. Showers Then Gales. Moderate Becoming Poor

Skiddaw Blencathra
Northeasterly Or Variable 3 Becoming Southerly 4. Increasing 5 Over Blencathra Later. Fair. Good.

[freckle]

[QUOTE=Harry H Howgill;277465]And Now The Forecast Issued By The Met. Office At 1305 On Monday 23 November 2009

The General Synopsis At 0700
Low 10 Miles West Of Helvellyn 1016 Is Slow Moving And Filling. High Over Coniston 1023 Expected Black Combe 1022 By 0700 Tomorrow.

The Forecasts For The Next 24 Hours

Fairfield Hart Crag Dollywagon
Southwesterly 6 Or 7 Decreasing 4 Or 5. Frequent Showers. Good

Scafell Great Gable
West Or Southwest 4 Increasing 6 Or 7. Rain Later. Good Becoming Moderate

Grasmoor Robinson Dale Head
Westerly 4 Backing Southerly 6 Or 7. Showers. Moderate Or Good

Swirl How Wetherlam Coniston
Westerly Backing Easterly 6. Veering Southerly 6 Or 7 Later. Showers Then Gales. Moderate Becoming Poor

[Mmmmmm hhh are you suggesting that when the weather forecast is read out it has a poetic lilt? or am i missing something completely obvious like?)