Today's poet

[freckle]

Don't rush off young lady...I think you're one to something...er... regarding the poems meaning that is

see my edit mossy

i am also reminded of the psychoanalytic concepts of splitting as a primitive defence mechanism...ie things, people are either all good all bad etc...i'll not teach a granny to suck eggs tho!.....i realise this is a tenous link but sometimes I just have the urge to free associate....

[Mossdog]

Now to me, this poem has yin yang written all over it (metaphorically of course) - one needing the other; different but unified; two but one; etc. How is it we don't have a yin yang smiley/emoticon. No that's not it either. hey I'm on to something here...:....etc.

[freckle]

Mmmm...interesting mossy...

i am supposed to be going to bed but not exactly sleepy...wish i could write something good but feeling a little lost...for words etc...so I'll use Nat King Cole I think...

And now the purple dusk of twilight time
Steals across the meadows of my heart
High up in the sky the little stars climb
Always reminding me that we're apart

You wander down the lane and far away
Leaving me a song that will not die
Love is now the stardust of yesterday
The music of the years gone by

Sometimes I wonder why I spend
The lonely night dreaming of a song
The melody haunts my reverie
And I am once again with you
When our love was new
And each kiss an inspiration
But that was long ago
Now my consolation
Is in the stardust of a song

Beside a garden wall
When stars are bright
You are in my arms
The nightingale tells his fairy tale
of paradise where roses grew
Though I dream in vain
In my heart it will remain
My stardust melody
The memory of love's refrain

[Hes]

I'm afraid I've totally lost it tonight. Can't concentrate and feel overwhelmed so I'll say goodnight and look forward to a clearer day tomorrow. xx

[freckle]

I'm afraid I've totally lost it tonight. Can't concentrate and feel overwhelmed so I'll say goodnight and look forward to a clearer day tomorrow. xx

Sleep well Hes hope you feel better soon, xx

[Mossdog]

Does this help?

yin-yang sky



shy

in blue disguise
she falls his snow

he angels her drift

in
co-gnito

(( ear-to-ear
they knowing
yeht still


snowing

s * u * r * p * r * i * s * e



miles high
white swoosh con-trail

)) smiles

( o-so sly-ly )

sunrose yellow

sky

KIM SMITH

[freckle]

Does this help?

yin-yang sky



shy

in blue disguise
she falls his snow

he angels her drift

in
co-gnito

(( ear-to-ear
they knowing
yeht still


snowing

s * u * r * p * r * i * s * e



miles high
white swoosh con-trail

)) smiles

( o-so sly-ly )

sunrose yellow

sky

KIM SMITH

lovely Mossdog but time for me to turn in now...na night x

[Stevie]

It ain't what you do it's what it does to you

I have not bummed across America
with only a dollar to spare, one pair
of busted Levi's and a bowie knife.
I have lived with thieves in Manchester.

I have not padded through the Taj Mahal,
barefoot, listening to the space between
each footfall picking up and putting down
its print against the marble floor. But I

skimmed flat stones across Black Moss on a day
so still I could hear each set of ripples
as they crossed. I felt each stones' inertia
spend itself against the water; then sink.

I have not toyed with a parachute cord
while perched on the lip of a light aircraft;
but I have held the wobbly head of a boy
at the day centre, and stroked his fat hands.

And I guess that the tightness in the throat
and the tiny cascading sensation
somewhere inside us are both part of that
sense of something else. That feeling, I mean.

Simon Armitage

Why did I post this? I thought there has not been much Simon Armitage on the thread (but what do I know, I have been away from it a long time) so I did a search, and this one struck a chord in me.

[Hes]

It ain't what you do it's what it does to you

I have not bummed across America
with only a dollar to spare, one pair
of busted Levi's and a bowie knife.
I have lived with thieves in Manchester.

I have not padded through the Taj Mahal,
barefoot, listening to the space between
each footfall picking up and putting down
its print against the marble floor. But I

skimmed flat stones across Black Moss on a day
so still I could hear each set of ripples
as they crossed. I felt each stones' inertia
spend itself against the water; then sink.

I have not toyed with a parachute cord
while perched on the lip of a light aircraft;
but I have held the wobbly head of a boy
at the day centre, and stroked his fat hands.

And I guess that the tightness in the throat
and the tiny cascading sensation
somewhere inside us are both part of that
sense of something else. That feeling, I mean.

Simon Armitage

Why did I post this? I thought there has not been much Simon Armitage on the thread (but what do I know, I have been away from it a long time) so I did a search, and this one struck a chord in me.

You are right, there hasn't been enough and this is really beautiful. Welcome back.

[Stevie]

It appears to be not possible to arrange the words correctly, but here is Birth Palette by Maggie O'Sullivan.

Lizard air lichens ivy driven urchin's pry to a pounce.
Scribbled terrestrial traor, the paw actions tainy blee
scoa, blue scog. In eat, gashed harmonica stresses to
skull icon, jigged but shower, Crushtative bundles,
Doe, Owl, the Hare mantled in a planetary pivot.
Vulture-Jar, dragonfly & waterbeetle are we, each veil of the glide species.

Sheer Shoe-Shoe darks, Weem Cyclicity, Threads & Wisps.
Yesterday's loaf soaks on the spindle,
sky blue large the sea's purple Octopi bickerings re-in-indigo dozens indignant.
Options Falter.
Rodent, Bat Swing Mare-O-Crow-0-Crane Midscales cache,
untitled kestrels carded,
ancestrous to a Song.

Earth scalded, wired lame.
Yew Hung Abbatoir Voltages.

Wouldja Pouches, sun crawl. Snail, Serpent,
Wren stroke of this tiny wobble entrailed massively.
Rune Retro whiskers congregate, blood squeak of the herd
do fruit
& jabbing trill,
flood plains.

Lagoon remnants bleeding salmon aquatic nocturnal warms, wanted, I curved.

Deers - early as early a knifing in livid Ever
fens've powder Spider fishes ground,
flew turbid,
stealthy sweet smoke heart size.

Dread.
Dulled.
Pebble,
putty tone,
Vessel
differing den pegs
Pheasant
the dark moon turns.

Ricochet, straw cauldrons, water sickle
rooting turbid Rails.
Pig gathers in the lemon.
Cow, later of wood.
Lioness, Itwas all moon down in the brainstem,
tally-sticks -
Jackal woke up fresh, a key made from Butterfly depths,
the Chrysalis, the Spider.
Treasury Futures.
Asterisms liced from the Skull.
Nerve Surge.
Expulsions to a Rope.

Don't ask me to explain it, but what I get from it is a feeling of all the latent properties that might be present in a newly born child. This child comes from some great darkness of human nature and instinct, but I have no fears for its ability to survive.