Today's poet

[Mossdog]

Where were you when i needed you.

Your words cut through me,
A rusty blade hacking away,
Carved open butterfly free,
Hurt me not with what you say.

Literary war never ends,
Like prometheus on the rock,
Protected by a shield of friends,
But still my parents laugh and mock.

Character strong but cracks show,
Mosaic like viral feelings burst,
Tossed about to and fro,
Let them do their worst.

Free now like the air,
Running like the stream,
Unbowed i no longer care,
Let there words escape as dreams.

By Matthew Harmston

Tri you are really smokin'. Especially relate to that last verse.

[Derby Tup]

Come, the wind may never again
Blow as it now blows for us;
And the stars may never again shine as now they shine;
Long before October returns,
Seas of blood will have parted us;
And you must crush the love in your heart, and I the love
in mine!

An upbeat number from sister Emily

[Mossdog]

Come, the wind may never again
Blow as it now blows for us;
And the stars may never again shine as now they shine;
Long before October returns,
Seas of blood will have parted us;
And you must crush the love in your heart, and I the love
in mine!

An upbeat number from sister Emily

er... DT? Were you being tongue-in-cheek about 'upbeat' or is that the closest Emily gets to it? Those last two lines in particualrly don't seem very upbeat to me

[XRunner]

Here is another wonderful poem by Charlotte Bronte

Speak of the North! A Lonely Moor

Speak of the North! A lonely moor
Silent and dark and tractless swells,
The waves of some wild streamlet pour
Hurriedly through its ferny dells.

Profoundly still the twilight air,
Lifeless the landscape; so we deem
Till like a phantom gliding near
A stag bends down to drink the stream.

And far away a mountain zone,
A cold, white waste of snow-drifts lies,
And one star, large and soft and lone,
Silently lights the unclouded skies.

[Derby Tup]

Very tongue in cheek Mossy Must have been a particularly stormy day up on Howarth Moor to inspire the Seas of blood line!

[Mossdog]

Here is another wonderful poem by Charlotte Bronte

Speak of the North! A Lonely Moor

Speak of the North! A lonely moor
Silent and dark and tractless swells,
The waves of some wild streamlet pour
Hurriedly through its ferny dells.

Profoundly still the twilight air,
Lifeless the landscape; so we deem
Till like a phantom gliding near
A stag bends down to drink the stream.

And far away a mountain zone,
A cold, white waste of snow-drifts lies,
And one star, large and soft and lone,
Silently lights the unclouded skies.

Bet those Brontes were fellrunners

[XRunner]

Somebody mentioned tonight penned the following words*:

How to Suppress Freckle’s Poems.


1) Deny that Freckle wrote it.
2) Show that her art is immodest, not actually art, or shouldn’t have been written about.
3) Male experiences are more valuable than female experiences.
4) Categorize her as a wife, mother, daughter, sister, or lover of a male poet.
5) Isolate her poems as singular, unique achievements.

Consider Currer Bell and Mossdog's shocker
*Freckle may not have been mentioned in her book.

[Harry H Howgill]

Howgill fells huddle
Like slumbering Elephants
On a long cold night

[stevefoster]

Howgill fells huddle
Like slumbering Elephants
On a long cold night

Slumbering Elephants

[Derby Tup]

Howgill fells huddle
Like slumbering Elephants
On a long cold night

Good stuff HHH Was it Wainwright who likened the Howgills to slumbering efferlumps?