Today's poet

[XRunner]

Snowflakes

Out of the bosom of the air.
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent and soft and slow
Descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels

This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

[Hes]

Snowflakes

Out of the bosom of the air.
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent and soft and slow
Descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels

This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

That is so beautiful. Did you plan to pick Longfellow or was it a coincidence XRunner? You do make some great choices.

[Hes]

Another by Longfellow. Oh for a driftwood fire and all the time in the world!

THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD
Devereaux Farm, near Marblehead

We sat within the farm-house old,
Whose windows, looking o'er the bay,
Gave to the sea-breeze, damp and cold,
An easy entrance, night and day.

Not far away we saw the port,
The strange, old-fashioned, silent town,
The lighthouse, the dismantled fort,
The wooden houses, quaint and brown.

We sat and talked until the night,
Descending, filled the little room;
Our faces faded from the sight,
Our voices only broke the gloom.

We spake of many a vanished scene,
Of what we once had thought and said,
Of what had been, and might have been,
And who was changed, and who was dead;

And all that fills the hearts of friends,
When first they feel, with secret pain,
Their lives thenceforth have separate ends,
And never can be one again;

The first slight swerving of the heart,
That words are powerless to express,
And leave it still unsaid in part,
Or say it in too great excess.

The very tones in which we spake
Had something strange, I could but mark;
The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rustling in the dark.

Oft died the words upon our lips,
As suddenly, from out the fire
Built of the wreck of stranded ships,
The flames would leap and then expire.

And, as their splendor flashed and failed,
We thought of wrecks upon the main,
Of ships dismasted, that were hailed
And sent no answer back again.

The windows, rattling in their frames,
The ocean, roaring up the beach,
The gusty blast, the bickering flames,
All mingled vaguely in our speech.

Until they made themselves a part
Of fancies floating through the brain,
The long-lost ventures of the heart,
That send no answers back again.

O flames that glowed! O hearts that yearned!
They were indeed too much akin,
The drift-wood fire without that burned,
The thoughts that burned and glowed within.

[Nathaniel Lee]

Expression.

I want to see inside of you deep within your soul,
Express you unreservedly let your passion flow like a river,
Be naked in front of everyone your creativity makes you whole,
Give yourself to everyone less your does start to wither.

Each one of us has beauty living deep within our heart,
Do no not question your ability let freedom be your muse,
One brush stroke , one word and one dream don't be afraid to start,
If you share your soul with all there is no way you can lose.

By Matt Harmston.

[freckle]

Sonnet LXXXI

And now you're mine.
Rest with your dream in my dream
Love and pain and work should all sleep now.
The night turns on its invisible wheels,
and you are pure beside me as a sleeping amber

No one else, Love, will sleep in my dreams.
You will go we will go together,
over the waters of time
No one else will travel through the shadows with me only you,
evergreen, ever sun, ever moon.

Your hands have already opened their delicate fists and let their soft drifting signs drop away your eyes closed like two gray wings,
and I move after, following the folding water you carry, that carries me away. The night, the world, the wind that carries me away.
The night, the world, the wind spin out of their destiny.
Without you, I am your dream, only that,
And that is all

Pablo Neruda

How utterly adorable...what is it about sleep and lovers that is so very poetic?

[Old Whippet]

Freckle, the Ben Okri poem is something that I took in my notebook when I travelled alone for a year and half. It is more relevant today than ever and so thank you very much for reminding me of it!

I can well understand that Hes. I think I'll carry it for a while too. Thanks Freckle for posting it.

Just dragged myself and hounds out for a few miles with the head torch.

10 Days

Can this mouldering disc
Cradled in sulphurous uplit cloud
Be the same creature
As the ivory crescent we spied through the trees?
Can these leaden feet
Wearily carried by heavy legs
Be the same that
Barely touched the forest floor?
Waxing
Waning
Renewal brings fresh hope.

[Derby Tup]

How utterly adorable...what is it about sleep and lovers that is so very poetic?

I just love his poems. It's almost like something is added in the slightly clumsy translation but the best ones are very passionate and expressive

[freckle]

[quote=Hes;281420]Another by Longfellow. Oh for a driftwood fire and all the time in the world!

Some absolutely beautiful work and choices tonight...i wasn't familiar with Longfellow and have appreciated the poems posted by hes and x runner, thank you...i found the driftwood one particularly moving, i really liked the following lines....

We spake of many a vanished scene,
Of what we once had thought and said,
Of what had been, and might have been,
And who was changed, and who was dead;

And all that fills the hearts of friends,
When first they feel, with secret pain,
Their lives thenceforth have separate ends,
And never can be one again;

and...
The long-lost ventures of the heart,
That send no answers back again.

O flames that glowed! O hearts that yearned!
They were indeed too much akin,
The drift-wood fire without that burned,
The thoughts that burned and glowed within.

beautifully evocative stuff!....also tri mind the expression poem was another corker!

just pured myself a drink and going to browse for something to post....

[freckle]

I can well understand that Hes. I think I'll carry it for a while too. Thanks Freckle for posting it.

Just dragged myself and hounds out for a few miles with the head torch.

10 Days

Can this mouldering disc
Cradled in sulphurous uplit cloud
Be the same creature
As the ivory crescent we spied through the trees?
Can these leaden feet
Heavily carried by weary legs
Be the same that
Barely touched the forest floor?
Waxing
Waning
Renewal brings fresh hope.

Simply exquisite.......

[freckle]

Right...we haven't had anything rude or saucy for ages round here so in the spirit of variety...here goes

My mouth hovers across your breasts
in the short grey winter afternoon
in this bed we are delicate
and touch so hot with joy we amaze ourselves
tough and delicate we play rings
around each other our daytime candle burns
with its peculiar light and if the snow
begins to fall outside filling the branches
and if the night falls without announcement
there are the pleasures of winter
sudden, wild and delicate your fingers
exact my tongue exact at the same moment
stopping to laugh at a joke
my love hot on your scent on the cusp of winter

Adrienne Rich



I await the tumbleweed....