Today's poet

[Hes]

Gosh...he looks a bit different from Cadfael!

Great clip.

My disappointment at not heading out tonight is being nicely tempered by some great choices. Another thought provoking piece Tri! Continuing my theme from yesterday:

The Freedom of the Moon

By Robert Frost (1874 - 1963)

I’ve tried the new moon tilted in the air
Above a hazy tree-and-farmhouse cluster
As you might try a jewel in your hair.
I’ve tried it fine with little breadth of luster,
Alone, or in one ornament combining
With one first water-star almost as shining.

I put it shining anywhere I please.
By walking slowly on some evening later
I’ve pulled it from a crate of crooked trees,
And brought it over glossy water, greater,
And dropped it in, and seen the image wallow,
The color run, all sorts of wonder follow.

[freckle]

Gosh...he looks a bit different from Cadfael!

Great clip.

My disappointment at not heading out tonight is being nicely tempered by some great choices. Another thought provoking piece Tri! Continuing my theme from yesterday:

The Freedom of the Moon

By Robert Frost (1874 - 1963)

I’ve tried the new moon tilted in the air
Above a hazy tree-and-farmhouse cluster
As you might try a jewel in your hair.
I’ve tried it fine with little breadth of luster,
Alone, or in one ornament combining
With one first water-star almost as shining.

I put it shining anywhere I please.
By walking slowly on some evening later
I’ve pulled it from a crate of crooked trees,
And brought it over glossy water, greater,
And dropped it in, and seen the image wallow,
The color run, all sorts of wonder follow.

Adore this one Hes...Frost is one of my fave's...Tri that poem is very thought provoking...

I have been a bit stressed lately and was beginning to think that i was looking like a haggered old crow, imagine my suprise when the following happened...

Freckle goes to purchase
her "welcome to the weekend" booze
and is asked "do you happen to have any id?"

well I never! made my day that did!
don't make any jokes about visually impaired shop assistants please!!!!

[Harry H Howgill]

Year of the Hen – Margaret Atwood

This is the year of sorting,
of throwing out, of giving back,
of sifting through the heaps, the piles,
the drifts, the dunes, the sediments,

or less poetically, the shelves, the trunks,
the closets, boxes, corners
in the cellar, nooks and cupboards –

the junk, in other words,
that’s blown in here, or else been saved,
or else has eddied, or been thrown
my way by unseen waves.

For instance: two thick layers
of blank glass jars that once held jam
we made in those evaporated
summers; a frugal slew
of plastic bags; a cracked maroon umbrella
so prized when new;

a chocolate box with crayon ends
stored up for phantom children;
shoes with the grimy marks
of toes that were once mine.
Photos of boys whose names are lost
(posing so jauntily in front of chrome –
trimmed cars), many of them
dead now, the others old –

everything speckled and faded, jumbled
together like – let’s say – this bowl
of miscellaneous pebbles gathered
time after time on beaches now
eroded or misplaced, but scooped up then
and fingered for their beauty,
and pocketed as pure mementoes
of some once indelible day.

[Harry H Howgill]

Adore this one Hes...Frost is one of my fave's...Tri that poem is very thought provoking...

I have been a bit stressed lately and was beginning to think that i was looking like a haggered old crow, imagine my suprise when the following happened...

Freckle goes to purchase
her "welcome to the weekend" booze
and is asked "do you happen to have any id?"

well I never! made my day that did!
don't make any jokes about visually impaired shop assistants please!!!!

Ha ha. I wouldn't dare.

Evening Freckle. Pay day today was it?

[Harry H Howgill]

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 what a shame. I bet you were looking forward to that too.

[freckle]

Year of the Hen – Margaret Atwood

This is the year of sorting,
of throwing out, of giving back,
of sifting through the heaps, the piles,
the drifts, the dunes, the sediments,

or less poetically, the shelves, the trunks,
the closets, boxes, corners
in the cellar, nooks and cupboards –

the junk, in other words,
that’s blown in here, or else been saved,
or else has eddied, or been thrown
my way by unseen waves.

For instance: two thick layers
of blank glass jars that once held jam
we made in those evaporated
summers; a frugal slew
of plastic bags; a cracked maroon umbrella
so prized when new;

a chocolate box with crayon ends
stored up for phantom children;
shoes with the grimy marks
of toes that were once mine.
Photos of boys whose names are lost
(posing so jauntily in front of chrome –
trimmed cars), many of them
dead now, the others old –

everything speckled and faded, jumbled
together like – let’s say – this bowl
of miscellaneous pebbles gathered
time after time on beaches now
eroded or misplaced, but scooped up then
and fingered for their beauty,
and pocketed as pure mementoes
of some once indelible day.

love this harry read this the other day and nearly posted myself....

[Harry H Howgill]

Ha ha...that is grim but funny. I like your attitude DT.

To misquote Forrest: "life is like a box a chocolates...which has been mislabelled, it is never holds exactly what you expect it to but sometimes the flavours are better than you could have dreamed and sometimes they take your fillings out".

That's brilliant! Very poetic too.

[Harry H Howgill]

love this harry read this the other day and nearly posted myself....

Just me being subtle on the spring (cleaning) front.

[Hes]

Year of the Hen – Margaret Atwood

This is the year of sorting,
of throwing out, of giving back,
of sifting through the heaps, the piles,
the drifts, the dunes, the sediments,

or less poetically, the shelves, the trunks,
the closets, boxes, corners
in the cellar, nooks and cupboards –

the junk, in other words,
that’s blown in here, or else been saved,
or else has eddied, or been thrown
my way by unseen waves.

For instance: two thick layers
of blank glass jars that once held jam
we made in those evaporated
summers; a frugal slew
of plastic bags; a cracked maroon umbrella
so prized when new;

a chocolate box with crayon ends
stored up for phantom children;
shoes with the grimy marks
of toes that were once mine.
Photos of boys whose names are lost
(posing so jauntily in front of chrome –
trimmed cars), many of them
dead now, the others old –

everything speckled and faded, jumbled
together like – let’s say – this bowl
of miscellaneous pebbles gathered
time after time on beaches now
eroded or misplaced, but scooped up then
and fingered for their beauty,
and pocketed as pure mementoes
of some once indelible day.

Are you psychic HHH? This sums my mood up totally. I just went off to make a cuppa and took a look at my kitchen and thought...this really needs a sort out and so I set to throwing out rubbish, putting out uneaten stale oats and cereal for the birds and reorganising. Just glued and hammered on some trim for my worktops that has been sat there for three years, why didn't I do it before?! Looks great. I now want to start on the rest of the house.

[Hes]

I'll never throw away my bowls of pebbles, shells, fossils, feathers etc though. I even have a tiny little birds nest that I found in the middle of the road once. It is a thing of beauty.