Today's poet

[N-dubya]

Cheers freckle

I composed that to the tune of ice ice baby

AND the smell of rusting bus stops make me want to puke, honest

inspiration will never cease

[Harry H Howgill]

Hes, something that fits the 'alone not lonely' bill:

Happy the man, and happy he alone,
He who can call today his own:
He who, secure within, can say,
Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.
Be fair or foul or rain or shine
The joys I have posessed, in spite of fate, are mine.
Not Heaven itself upon the past has power,
But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour.

John Dryden Happy the Man

That's one of my favourites DT.

[N-dubya]

Just went back through the posts and saw this Freckle appears very honest and very truthful, the latter of those I consider the most important ingredient in poetry.

Dorothy

Your reaction an awakening,
I got you all wrong,
unconditional understanding,
a balm to my soul.
But then your story was inside me
all along,
just
with a different outcome.
Sweet 18, with a cockney lilt,
an eye for style
and short hand typing skills,
your tartan tights weren’t warm enough
for these northern climbs
and pretty soon that diamond
in your eyes,
and the sophistication of your mind
dimmed in the shade of lonely nights,
3 kids under 25 then another surprise.
But amidst the worn out carpet
was Shakespeare, the Brontes
and your ever present dictionary.
And now, I see you mum
for the very first time,
adult to adult, your last child,
her new self screeching
as she outgrows
the kernel of repetition
finally starting her own journey,
scared and sometimes lonely
but now
ME.

[Harry H Howgill]

Seventy two times
Yet different every time
Still my favourite route

[Derby Tup]

Seventy two times
Yet different every time
Still my favourite route

Training or commute Harry?

[Harry H Howgill]

Training or commute Harry?

Ha ha. Training, and a diary displaying autistic tendancies!

[Harry H Howgill]

Just went back through the posts and saw this Freckle appears very honest and very truthful, the latter of those I consider the most important ingredient in poetry.

Freckle's poem is wonderfully honest and truthful. But there's always a place for fictional poetry too. Otherwise you'd miss out on twaddle like this....

Neil went out for a run
And decided for a bit of fun
To compose some haiku
So he had a good try to
And came back with at least twenty one

[Mossdog]

Dorothy

Your reaction an awakening,
I got you all wrong,
unconditional understanding,
a balm to my soul.
But then your story was inside me
all along,
just
with a different outcome.
Sweet 18, with a cockney lilt,
an eye for style
and short hand typing skills,
your tartan tights weren’t warm enough
for these northern climbs
and pretty soon that diamond
in your eyes,
and the sophistication of your mind
dimmed in the shade of lonely nights,
3 kids under 25 then another surprise.
But amidst the worn out carpet
was Shakespeare, the Brontes
and your ever present dictionary.
And now, I see you mum
for the very first time,
adult to adult, your last child,
her new self screeching
as she outgrows
the kernel of repetition
finally starting her own journey,
scared and sometimes lonely
but now
ME.

Magnificent.

[Nathaniel Lee]

Honesty ?.

How can i write honestly,
When all i am is a concoction of chemicals,
Put together by the medical fraternity,
Whatever was me left fleeing crying,
Into the vacuum that was called my heart,
Is my poetry the last sole soldier,
Fighting for my soul with all it's might,
Or is this just an induced action,
Created in a laboratory to make me good for society,
I don't know anymore it's too long gone,
So i say prayer and dig the grave,
Of the young boy that was once me,
At least for a fleeting moment,
Cover the casket with soil lay down the hyacinth,
And hope like hell one day he might return,
In all his youth and beauty,
Until then i wait within the prison of my mind.

By Matt Harmston.

[Mossdog]

With this month bearing some unbearable date,
let's not too full enfold that state,
which makes a claim on many a heart,
that at first can seem to gleam so bright,
but leave us then in the coldest night.
So let's just be more circumspect,
and careful of the dreams we may erect,
and more measured in our affect.

Or as John put it more eloquently...

A Lecture upon the Shadow

STAND still, and I will read to thee
A lecture, love, in love's philosophy.
These three hours that we have spent,
Walking here, two shadows went
Along with us, which we ourselves produc'd.
But, now the sun is just above our head,
We do those shadows tread,
And to brave clearness all things are reduc'd.
So whilst our infant loves did grow,
Disguises did, and shadows, flow
From us, and our cares; but now 'tis not so.
That love has not attain'd the high'st degree,
Which is still diligent lest others see.
Except our loves at this noon stay,
We shall new shadows make the other way.
As the first were made to blind
Others, these which come behind
Will work upon ourselves, and blind our eyes.
If our loves faint, and westwardly decline,
To me thou, falsely, thine,
And I to thee mine actions shall disguise.
The morning shadows wear away,
But these grow longer all the day;
But oh, love's day is short, if love decay.
Love is a growing, or full constant light,
And his first minute, after noon, is night.

John Donne