Today's poet

[Harry H Howgill]

Just checked out this thread, so this may have been on before,
Do not stand at my grave and weep, by Mary Elizabeth Frye.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep,
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain,
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds
in circled flight,
I am the soft stars that shine at night,
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there I did not die.

Nice one AK. I think that's a new one. Welcome to the thread.

[Harry H Howgill]

And here's to all those self employed out there... (even though it isn't always quite like this!)

No Master

Indeed this is the sweet life! my hand
Is under no proud man's command;
There is no voice to break my rest
Before a bird has left its nest;
There is no man to change my mood,
When I go nutting in the wood;
No man to pluck my sleeve and say --
I want thy labour for this day;
No man to keep me out of sight,
When that dear Sun is shining bright.
None but my friends shall have command
Upon my time, my heart and hand;
I'll rise from sleep to help a friend,
But let no stranger orders send,
Or hear my curses fast and thick,
Which in his purse-proud throat would stick
Like burrs. If I cannot be free
To do such work as pleases me,
Near woodland pools and under trees,
You'll get no work at all, for I
Would rather live this life and die
A beggar or a thief, than be
A working slave with no days free.

William Henry Davies

[Ambrosia Kid]

Nice one AK. I think that's a new one. Welcome to the thread.

Cheers HHH, going to have to air some more of my favourites in time.

[Harry H Howgill]

Cheers HHH, going to have to air some more of my favourites in time.

Looking forward to it. Don't stress if you don't know if it has been posted before or not. I for one aren't going to be trawling back through the last 1900 posts to check. Anyhow, if it is a guddun then it does no harm to hear it again.

Harry

[Hes]

And there was me thinking you had a pen and pad or a dictaphone in your bum bag. Maybe you should have a scribe; someone who could run along side and record all your musings.

Could they pass me my water bottle and feed me kendal mint cake too?

[Hes]

And here's to all those self employed out there... (even though it isn't always quite like this!)

No Master

Indeed this is the sweet life! my hand
Is under no proud man's command;
There is no voice to break my rest
Before a bird has left its nest;
There is no man to change my mood,
When I go nutting in the wood;
No man to pluck my sleeve and say --
I want thy labour for this day;
No man to keep me out of sight,
When that dear Sun is shining bright.
None but my friends shall have command
Upon my time, my heart and hand;
I'll rise from sleep to help a friend,
But let no stranger orders send,
Or hear my curses fast and thick,
Which in his purse-proud throat would stick
Like burrs. If I cannot be free
To do such work as pleases me,
Near woodland pools and under trees,
You'll get no work at all, for I
Would rather live this life and die
A beggar or a thief, than be
A working slave with no days free.

William Henry Davies

That is perfect HHH. I haven't read it before but I'm going to print it out and stick it in my studio.

Also...welcome to the Ambrosia Kid! Really love your choice and look forward to the next one.

[Deejay]

Hi

If Ambrosia Kid is reading this thread I'm not going to be left out. Here is something by a writer not at all well known for his poetry. It is the final verse of a rather lengthy work called "From the Pentlands Looking North and South"

O Thou to whom man's heart is known,
Grant me my morning orison.
Grant me the rover's path—to see
The dawn arise, the daylight flee,
In the far wastes of sand and sun!
Grant me with venturous heart to run
On the old highway, where in pain
And ecstasy man strives amain,
Conquers his fellows, or, too weak,
Finds the great rest that wanderers seek!
Grant me the joy of wind and brine,
The zest of food, the taste of wine,
The fighter's strength, the echoing strife
The high tumultuous lists of life—
May I ne'er lag, nor hapless fall,
Nor weary at the battle-call!…
But when the even brings surcease,
Grant me the happy moorland peace;
That in my heart's depth ever lie
That ancient land of heath and sky,
Where the old rhymes and stories fall
In kindly, soothing pastoral.
There in the hills grave silence lies,
And Death himself wears friendly guise
There be my lot, my twilight stage,
Dear city of my pilgrimage.

John Buchan

[Harry H Howgill]

Could they pass me my water bottle and feed me kendal mint cake too?

One at a tiime, maybe. You'd hate for your finest moment of inspiration to be lost in a sugary soggy mess.

[Hes]

It's great to see new faces on here...another unknown one to me and some good stuff contained within, thanks Deejay

[Mossdog]

Good evening fellow poetry lovers. I've had the best morning run and I'm on a bit of a high. Three of our club's fellrunnering lads invited me on an 18 mile muddy run and I agreed but haven't done anything that long since the beginning of the year. I only dropped behind in the last mile and it was brilliant. Here are the haiku that I wrote along the way:

The Full Monty

intrepidation
setting off into half light
my heart is pounding

up, along and down
mud spattered and slithering
the earth sucks at us

one quarter collie
our four legged friend spies the
grey shapes in the mist

Rievaulx below us
treading the footsteps of monks
our faith is the fells

shooting party stares
dogs barking and guns ready
we run faster

one more hill to go
weary legs and joyful soul
carry me home

That's really lovely Hes. Thank you.