Hes.
Talent,art,modesty,heart,
Hares,masham,cares,passion,
Teacher,student,honest,prudent,
Running,inhibition,kind,exhibition.
By Matt Harmston.
Hope you like gave it my best shot.
Hes.
Talent,art,modesty,heart,
Hares,masham,cares,passion,
Teacher,student,honest,prudent,
Running,inhibition,kind,exhibition.
By Matt Harmston.
Hope you like gave it my best shot.
You are such a lovely guy Tri-mind...thanks for that, I'm really touched.Originally Posted by tri-mind
Its been a laugh
Even if my poems are slightly naff
Im off to bed
To rest my head
I need a good rest
so im at my racing best
Alas it is the witching hour and I am about to turn into a pumpkin or something....I will say goodnight to you all and hope to see you soon, xx
Freckle.
Without you i would have not found this joy,
The friendship i have found within our land of verse,
Enjoying each others company no need to be coy,
Express yourself like i have tell freckle what she is worth.
I really mean this from the bottom of my heart,
Never knowing such wonder through my creativity,
If you hadn't this great idea my verse could have never start,
With your help i am immortal leaving behind a piece of me.
By Matt Harmston.
Hope you like it.
Hope I like it? are you kidding? I feel utterly moved!!!!!! thank you so much tri mind...it is so special when someone writes something about you...wow! ...i can't believe how productive you have been today....bet your tired tomorrow dear! but hey, look at what you have produced...well done!...right i had better get some kip, thanks again and more great poetry tomorrow...
enjoy your race and get back here pronto with a verse to describe
Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world: now could I drink hot blood,
And do such bitter business as the day
Would quake to look on.
Shakespeare in Hamlet Act III, scene 2
right i am really, really gonna go to bed now...honest...
night x runner
Night poem
There is nothing to be afraid of,
it is only the wind
changing to the east, it is only
your father the thunder
your mother the rain
In this country of water
with its beige moon damp as a mushroom,
its drowned stumps and long birds
that swim, where the moss grows
on all sides of the trees
and your shadow is not your shadow
but your reflection,
your true parents disappear
when the curtain covers your door.
We are the others,
the ones from under the lake
who stand silently beside your bed
with our heads of darkness.
We have come to cover you
with red wool,
with our tears and distant whipers.
You rock in the rain's arms
the chilly ark of your sleep,
while we wait, your night
father and mother
with our cold hands and dead flashlight,
knowing we are only
the wavering shadows thrown
by one candle, in this echo
you will hear twenty years later.
Margaret Atwood
The Passionate Shepherd to His Love.
Come live with me and be my Love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.
There will we sit upon the rocks
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
There will I make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.
A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,
Fair linèd slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.
A belt of straw and ivy buds
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my Love.
(Christopher Marlowe)
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