Today's poet

[stevefoster]

I have made my peace with god. It is man i have the conflict with.

Understand mate, i don't believe in him and won't till i see him in person, got a few questions for him then
I still like the quote from the book though and have no problem with people who do believe, each to their own.

[Derby Tup]

Ne'er mind the hare, what about poor old Molehill!

[Hes]

Here is one for Hess.

Hares at Play
By John Clare

The birds are gone to bed the cows are still
And sheep lie panting on each old molehill
And underneath the willow’s grey-green bough
Like toil a-resting lies the fallow plough
The timid hares throw daylight fears away
On the lane road to dust and dance and play
Then dabble in the grain by nought deterred
To lick the dew-fall from the barley's beard
Then out they start again and round the hill
Like happy thoughts – dance – squat – and loiter still
Till milking maidens in the early morn
Jingle their yokes and start them in the corn
Through well-known beaten paths each nimbling hare
Starts quick as fear - and seeks its hidden lair

Did you manage to tame your hare last night or was it jugged?

Thanks XRunner that's lovely. I tamed one of my hares but two got away. At least the customer will get his print. Tonight my problem is my trusty steed...damn motorbike headlamp blew and there are no spares to be had in my neck of the woods. I am stranded at home whilst everyone at harriers does a timetrial. Am spitting feathers!

[freckle]

A few years back I took my daughter with me to watch 'The Tempest' at The Crucible in Sheffield. Derek Jacobi gave a great performance as Prospero and this is probably our favourite passage from that play.

You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
As if you were dismay'd. Be cheerful, sir.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air;
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

—Act IV, sc. i

I have really enjoyed this and the other bard stuff that you and stef have posted...i also really really like jacobi, can anyone else remember him in a sereies on tv (probs over 20 years ago now) called life of pie, i have dim and distant memories of it being great...

[freckle]

Thanks XRunner that's lovely. I tamed one of my hares but two got away. At least the customer will get his print. Tonight my problem is my trusty steed...damn motorbike headlamp blew and there are no spares to be had in my neck of the woods. I am stranded at home whilst everyone at harriers does a timetrial. Am spitting feathers!

Oh no Hes what a bummer!.....well you will have to make up for the disappointment with lots of quality poetry!

[Hes]

I suppose thats better than the normal type as any waste just leaves the train rather than hanging about in the toilet itself. And lets face it that is not a smell to be faced with in hot weather. Yuk.

Just for Mossy's sake I'll briefly continue this train of thought (excuse the pun). The style of the privy was fine it was the general poor aim of the passengers that made the place abhorrent. Unfortunately, open sewers and the accompanying smell (and vision) are something you just have to get used to when travelling in India (or Tibet and China for that matter). It is a small price to pay for being in incredible places and I have trained for it by going to Glastonbury Festival.

[Hes]

Oh no Hes what a bummer!.....well you will have to make up for the disappointment with lots of quality poetry!

Hi Freckle...I will indeed, that's enough of me talking s**t! I have been enjoying the Shakespeare too. I don't remember the life of pie but I do remember Cadfael and he was brilliant in that.

[freckle]

Vision
Thomas Hardy

That mirror
Which makes of men a transparency,
Who holds that mirror
And bids us such a breast-bare spectacle see
Of you and me?

That mirror
Whose magic penetrates like a dart,
Who lifts that mirror
And throws our mind back on us, and our heart,
until we start?

That mirror
Works well in these night hours of ache;
Why in that mirror
Are tincts we never see ourselves once take
When the world is awake?

That mirror
Can test each mortal when unaware;
Yea, that strange mirror
May catch his last thoughts, whole life foul or fair,
Glassing it -- where?

[Nathaniel Lee]

Toxic Ape

What right has man to destroy this place,
His cement and metal grotesques in our face,
Toxic ape shitting in his own nest,
Whilst all the while killing the rest.

There'll be nothing here but water filled with waste,
Oceans barren acid killed and overfished and overfaced,
It may be to late to avoid destruction and change this all,
I hope i'm not the only one that sees our decline and fall.

So we the naked ape you see may have to start again,
Brought about by our greed we have caused too much pain,
If this happens then so be it the stories will survive,
So it will never happen again and the planet will be alive.

By Matt Harmston

[freckle]

Hi Freckle...I will indeed, that's enough of me talking s**t! I have been enjoying the Shakespeare too. I don't remember the life of pie but I do remember Cadfael and he was brilliant in that.

Aw that's right!....i found this clip of a young jacobi reciting hamlet!.....................ding dong! (apologies!!!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-elDeJaPWGg

To be, or not to be: that is the question:Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to sufferThe slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;No more; and by a sleep to say we endThe heart-ache and the thousand natural shocksThat flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummationDevoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;For in that sleep of death what dreams may comeWhen we have shuffled off this mortal coil,Must give us pause: there's the respectThat makes calamity of so long life;For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,The insolence of office and the spurnsThat patient merit of the unworthy takes,When he himself might his quietus makeWith a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,To grunt and sweat under a weary life,But that the dread of something after death,The undiscover'd country from whose bournNo traveller returns, puzzles the willAnd makes us rather bear those ills we haveThan fly to others that we know not of?Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;And thus the native hue of resolutionIs sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,And enterprises of great pith and momentWith this regard their currents turn awry,And lose the name of action. - Soft you now!The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisonsBe all my sins remember'd.

Ps I would love to be referred to as a nymph, imagine?