on courage...
I felt my life with both my hands
Emily Dickinson
I felt my life with both my hands
To see if it was there --
I held my spirit to the Glass,
To prove it possibler --
I turned my Being round and round
And paused at every pound
To ask the Owner's name --
For doubt, that I should know the Sound --
I judged my features -- jarred my hair --
I pushed my dimples by, and waited --
If they -- twinkled back --
Conviction might, of me --
I told myself, Take Courage, Friend --
That -- was a former time --
But we might learn to like the Heaven,
As well as our Old Home!
ps you were right HHH wore Emily was prolofic!
I want my Da-Da.
A fell is cousin of a holy shoe,
Cows make the upper for my supper,
Eat the eggs of the pom-pom tree,
So you can run fast like Alf Tupper.
Dark peak is a triangle hat you wear on your nose,
Scafell pike a very large fish that's swim to the sky,
When crossing a the haystacks put the needle in your toes,
Jump past the bog monster and run after cakes and pie.
Meet up with Joss Naylor and give him a hammer,
Run up to the start and then say ta-ta,
Give your computer a sandwich when you get a spammer,
Take me home i want to see my Da-Da.
The flaw in Paganism
Drink and dance and laugh and lie,
Love, the reeling midnight through,
For tomorrow we shall die!
(But, alas, we never do.)
Dorothy Parker
Good morning all
HHH i enjoyed the paganism poem...nice...
Apologia
My life is too dull and too careful -
even I can see that:
the orderly bedside table,
the spoilt cat.
Surely I should have been bolder.
What could biographers say?
She got up, ate toast and went shopping
day after day?
Whisky and gin are alarming,
Ecstasy makes you drop dead.
Toy boys make inroads on cash
and your half of the bed.
Emily Dickinson, help me.
Stevie, look up from your Aunt.
Some people can stand excitement,
some people can't.
Connie Bensley
inky cormorant
stealthy harbinger of death
glides by, silently
Poacher turned game-keeper
Aye up
Liked the Connie Bensley, Freckle
Something new
There are two silver birch
at the bottom of the Garden.
Untidily set down in soil
where the water gathers.
They have to be cut down
Before they wreck the neighbours footings;
an opinion of my Fathers'.
But I shall wait for Winter
and the last mustard leaf, fallen,
and the garden birds, bored.
Have retired too little boxes,
which are fixed to gable walls.