Today's poet

[freckle]

Evenin' one and all. Hope we all had a good day.

You are old, father William...

"You are old, father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head
Do you think, at your age, it is right?

"In my youth," father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."

"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before,
And you have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door
Pray what is the reason for that?"

"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
"I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment one shilling a box
Allow me to sell you a couple?"

"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak
Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

"In my youth," said his fater, "I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life."

"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose
What made you so awfully clever?"

"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
Said his father. "Don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs.

Lewis Carroll

Awwwww HHH i really love this poem i have thought about posting it now for a while, this has cheered me! only the other week i sat in the very pub that lewis carroll penned alice in wonderland and apparently catherine cookson was concenceived there too! (blimey!).....

[Mossdog]

Evenin' one and all. Hope we all had a good day.

You are old, father William...

"You are old, father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head
Do you think, at your age, it is right?

"In my youth," father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."

"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before,
And you have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door
Pray what is the reason for that?"

"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
"I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment one shilling a box
Allow me to sell you a couple?"

"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak
Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

"In my youth," said his fater, "I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life."

"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose
What made you so awfully clever?"

"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
Said his father. "Don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs.

Lewis Carroll

Like it. Father William clearly has guts, just like....

...Dandelions

Dandelions do not seem aware
That people really do not want them there.
At blossom time, they simply do their best,
With what they have, to venture forth well-dressed.
In sunny yellow frocks, they make the scene,
Convinced that they look great against the green.
And then in snowy tutus they will send
Their children dancing gaily on the wind.
I know some people think that I am nuts,
But I like dandelions; they got guts.

And I like people like the dandelion
Who sometimes fail, but not for lack of tryin',
Who do not question why it is they live,
But give the world the best they have to give.
Not asking praise or even toleration,
They do their thing according to their station.

Tad Lawson

[Harry H Howgill]

Oh mossy...you are on form...i particularly like the following line...

And a weakness for elves in black pantyhose.

Sorry Freckle - you got there ages before I did. I must be a slow reader!

[Harry H Howgill]

Awwwww HHH i really love this poem i have thought about posting it now for a while, this has cheered me! only the other week i sat in the very pub that lewis carroll penned alice in wonderland and apparently catherine cookson was concenceived there too! (blimey!).....

That must have been an interesting night that night!

Or were they on two different occasions?

[Harry H Howgill]

THE TYGER (from Songs Of Experience)

By William Blake

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?


In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?


And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?


1794

The only problem I have with this (and it is my problem) is that I can't help hearing a Brummie accent when he rhymes "eye" with "simmer-treye"

[Old Whippet]

Evening all
Back from running club, waiting for daughter numer 4 to vacate the bath whilst number 3 practices the violin next to my ear. Life chez whippet.

Ivor Cutler

AN EXPERT

I looked at her

She grinned. Then, undoing a couple
of pearl buttons, with a neat shrug
she played her trump card.

[Old Whippet]

THE TYGER (from Songs Of Experience)


The only problem I have with this (and it is my problem) is that I can't help hearing a Brummie accent when he rhymes "eye" with "simmer-treye"

Cheers Harry - from now on, I will only ever hear this in the voice of Ozzy Osbourne!

[Harry H Howgill]

Cheers Harry - from now on, I will only ever hear this in the voice of Ozzy Osbourne!

Ha ha. Happy to help

yours

Harry Ha ha Happy to Help Howgill

[freckle]

Evening all...ready for an epic by Anne Sexton?

Courage
It is in the small things we see it.
The child's first step,
as awesome as an earthquake.
The first time you rode a bike,
wallowing up the sidewalk.
The first spanking when your heart
went on a journey all alone.
When they called you crybaby
or poor or fatty or crazy
and made you into an alien,
you drank their acid
and concealed it.

Later,
if you faced the death of bombs and bullets
you did not do it with a banner,
you did it with only a hat to
comver your heart.
You did not fondle the weakness inside you
though it was there.
Your courage was a small coal
that you kept swallowing.
If your buddy saved you
and died himself in so doing,
then his courage was not courage,
it was love; love as simple as shaving soap.

Later,
if you have endured a great despair,
then you did it alone,
getting a transfusion from the fire,
picking the scabs off your heart,
then wringing it out like a sock.
Next, my kinsman, you powdered your sorrow,
you gave it a back rub
and then you covered it with a blanket
and after it had slept a while
it woke to the wings of the roses
and was transformed.

Later,
when you face old age and its natural conclusion
your courage will still be shown in the little ways,
each spring will be a sword you'll sharpen,
those you love will live in a fever of love,
and you'll bargain with the calendar
and at the last moment
when death opens the back door
you'll put on your carpet slippers
and stride out.

[XRunner]

Here is an early poem about Winnats Pass:

Sullen and vast the Winyates fearful chasm
Yawns on the vale, as if an earthquake’s strength
Had spent itself in one convulsive spasm,
And then subsided – its tremendous length
Cleaving the hill’s deep heart from side to side
In jagged lines . . .
Array’d on either hand
Majestic images of beauty stand
In stately rows – a mimicry of tall
Cathedral, steeple, turret, castle - wall,
And frowning battlements, whose reeling height
Is such that mortals tremble at the sight

Thomas Barlow 1867