Found scribbled on bit of paper in my kitchen:
moonlight headtorcher
ground soaked, feet wet within seconds
pub smells of fried food and local beer
forum gossip, weekend plans
drive home to misty dale
sandwich and strong tea supper
hot shower, then bed
dream of long days in the hills
Poacher turned game-keeper
this is absolutely divine DT...love it...Originally Posted by Derby Tup
i am still sleepy after a certain 3 year old joined me in the wee hours so....
Scops owl
At night I lie without you
under a pelt of darkness
heavy with cypress
ragged with goat-cries.
Under the white moon's Roman coin
dogs are barking from distant farms
with little rips of sound
that stone walls catch, throw back.
All this he draws like silk
through a gold ring
into a single woodwind note.
A true and level fluting
tongued and sweet
I picture travelling
through night's horizons
north, to where you sleep.
By Anna Crowe, from A Secret History of Rhubarb (Mariscat Press, 2004)
Gosh ain't it quiet round here today?...
anyhow, i am just about to finally make a xmas cake with the little uns (imagine the smell of all spice with sultanas, clouds of flour dust, general chaos in the kitchen and a slightly inebrieted mother...well you have to have a sip of sherry whilst doing this kind of activity...its tradition for gawds sake!)....before I go, here's a little offering ....nothing to do with christmas like but nice nevertheless.....
After parting
Oh I have sown my love so wide
That he will find it everywhere;
It will awake him in the night,
It will enfold him in the air.
I set my shadow in his sight
And I have winged it with desire,
That it may be a cloud by day
And in the night a shaft of fire.
Awww, I used to love making cakes with my mum. Sounds like a great evening and a lovely poem too.
Tribute to an artist.
I am racing the wind I'm almost home free,
The moon rising will show me the way,
I see moonshadows in the old apple tree,
Under which the stags of the stubble fight and play.
Through time and space, i the dreamer go free,
As swift as a hare i'm the dreamer without a care,
The journey now reaches the sea where calypso beckons me,
I the traveller now are home but once again i'm the visitor all alone.
By Matt Harmston
I hope i haven't butchered your titles too much.
Oh my goodness...I'm very touched by that. Wow. Thanks very much for letting me be a part of your inspiration, or at least my work.
Evening all! just to say thanks for the recent offerings - I'm being a lazy boy and consuming rather than contributing to this thread at the moment.
tri-mind - i've very much enjoyed your last couple of contributions.
I seem to emotionally stable this week to write! Must get myself chewed up about something. Cross country race tomorrow and day over in Borrowdale Sunday - surely some inspiration to be had.
Good to see you OW. I'm glad that you are calling in even when you are not posting, you can't be inspired all the time (that's what I tell my critics!). Hope that you do find the muse at the weekend though because I really enjoy your poems.
For a friend
The cold moon rising
lights the path that takes me home
and so far from you
liked that hes. Just been out with the dogs enjoying the moonlight over the valley while standing in a field of stubble.
Got P J Harvey on my mind this evening.
White chalk hills are all I've known
White chalk hills will rot my bones
White chalk sticking to my shoes
White chalk playing as a child with you
White chalk sat against time
White chalk cutting down the sea line
I know Mary's by the surf
On a path cut 1500 years ago
And I know these chalk hills will rot my bones
Dorset's cliffs meet at the sea
Where I walked
(Our unborn child in me)
White chalk
(Poor scattered land)
Scratch my palms
There's blood on my hands
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