Today's poet

[Mossdog]

All this bloomin' change has put me into Sylvia mood...and how apposite is this one?


An Appearance

The smile of iceboxes annihilates me.
Such blue currents in the veins of my loved one!
I hear her great heart purr.

From her lips ampersands and percent signs
Exit like kisses.
It is Monday in her mind: morals

Launder and present themselves.
What am I to make of these contradictions?
I wear white cuffs, I bow.

Is this love then, this red material
Issuing from the steele needle that flies so blindingly?
It will make little dresses and coats,

It will cover a dynasty.
How her body opens and shuts-
A Swiss watch, jeweled in the hinges!

O heart, such disorganization!
The stars are flashing like terrible numerals.
ABC, her eyelids say.

[Mossdog]

Pursuit

There is a panther stalks me down:
One day I'll have my death of him;
His greed has set the woods aflame,
He prowls more lordly than the sun.
Most soft, most suavely glides that step,
Advancing always at my back;
From gaunt hemlock, rooks croak havoc:
The hunt is on, and sprung the trap.
Flayed by thorns I trek the rocks,
Haggard through the hot white noon.
Along red network of his veins
What fires run, what craving wakes?

Insatiate, he ransacks the land
Condemned by our ancestral fault,
Crying: blood, let blood be spilt;
Meat must glut his mouth's raw wound.
Keen the rending teeth and sweet
The singeing fury of his fur;
His kisses parch, each paw's a briar,
Doom consummates that appetite.
In the wake of this fierce cat,
Kindled like torches for his joy,
Charred and ravened women lie,
Become his starving body's bait.

Now hills hatch menace, spawning shade;
Midnight cloaks the sultry grove;
The black marauder, hauled by love
On fluent haunches, keeps my speed.
Behind snarled thickets of my eyes
Lurks the lithe one; in dreams' ambush
Bright those claws that mar the flesh
And hungry, hungry, those taut thights.
His ardor snares me, lights the trees,
And I run flaring in my skin;
What lull, what cool can lap me in
When burns and brands that yellow gaze?

I hurl my heart to halt his pace,
To quench his thirst I squander blook;
He eats, and still his need seeks food,
Compels a total sacrifice.
His voice waylays me, spells a trance,
The gutted forest falls to ash;
Appalled by secret want, I rush
From such assault of radiance.
Entering the tower of my fears,
I shut my doors on that dark guilt,
I bolt the door, each door I bolt.
Blood quickens, gonging in my ears:

The panther's tread is on the stairs,
Coming up and up the stairs.


Yes Sylia could have been refering to me when she wrote...
"On fluent haunches, keeps my speed" (as if!!!).

[Hes]

Pursuit

There is a panther stalks me down:
One day I'll have my death of him;
His greed has set the woods aflame,
He prowls more lordly than the sun.
Most soft, most suavely glides that step,
Advancing always at my back;
From gaunt hemlock, rooks croak havoc:
The hunt is on, and sprung the trap.
Flayed by thorns I trek the rocks,
Haggard through the hot white noon.
Along red network of his veins
What fires run, what craving wakes?

Insatiate, he ransacks the land
Condemned by our ancestral fault,
Crying: blood, let blood be spilt;
Meat must glut his mouth's raw wound.
Keen the rending teeth and sweet
The singeing fury of his fur;
His kisses parch, each paw's a briar,
Doom consummates that appetite.
In the wake of this fierce cat,
Kindled like torches for his joy,
Charred and ravened women lie,
Become his starving body's bait.

Now hills hatch menace, spawning shade;
Midnight cloaks the sultry grove;
The black marauder, hauled by love
On fluent haunches, keeps my speed.
Behind snarled thickets of my eyes
Lurks the lithe one; in dreams' ambush
Bright those claws that mar the flesh
And hungry, hungry, those taut thights.
His ardor snares me, lights the trees,
And I run flaring in my skin;
What lull, what cool can lap me in
When burns and brands that yellow gaze?

I hurl my heart to halt his pace,
To quench his thirst I squander blook;
He eats, and still his need seeks food,
Compels a total sacrifice.
His voice waylays me, spells a trance,
The gutted forest falls to ash;
Appalled by secret want, I rush
From such assault of radiance.
Entering the tower of my fears,
I shut my doors on that dark guilt,
I bolt the door, each door I bolt.
Blood quickens, gonging in my ears:

The panther's tread is on the stairs,
Coming up and up the stairs.


Yes Sylia could have been refering to me when she wrote...
"On fluent haunches, keeps my speed" (as if!!!).

Wow! This is brilliant. Cheers Mossdog. I enjoyed your other posts too and I am so glad to see someone besides me having a whinge! You go for it!!

[Hes]

Here's one for you Mossy!

Changes

We sometimes say we need a change,
As a change is good as a rest
But often fail to ponder
If change is for the best.

When we feel change will do the trick
And it’s time for a change,
Do we really stop to think
And have a frank exchange?

For “change, for change’s sake” can mean
That, as our rooms have faded,
When we change the wallpaper,
The furniture looks jaded.

And if we change too many things
In way, or shape, or form
Then constant need to change occurs
And change becomes the norm.

And change becomes our mentor
As change succeeds each change
And every changeless constant
That stays unchanged seems strange.

And so, if you’re sore tempted
To spawn unneeded change,
Just change your mind and see that you
Don’t change it, for a change.

C Richard Miles

[stevefoster]

Whingeing and moaning is could for you, i have a friend who moans for England, once he's had a good whinge and moan he's the happiest person i know, keeps nothing inside, lets it all out...........................bloody hard work listening to him though!!!

[Derby Tup]

Whingeing and moaning is could for you, i have a friend who moans for England, once he's had a good whinge and moan he's the happiest person i know, keeps nothing inside, lets it all out...........................bloody hard work listening to him though!!!

Agreed

[Hes]

Whingeing and moaning is could for you, i have a friend who moans for England, once he's had a good whinge and moan he's the happiest person i know, keeps nothing inside, lets it all out...........................bloody hard work listening to him though!!!

Ha ha...it is true that a moan can really be a good moan sometimes. My friend and I go biking once a week (if we can) and we spend the first half moaning and griping about anything that is bugging us and the second half saying how lucky we are as we fly down hills and admire the countryside. We call it our bike therapy and we always come back really happy.

[Harry H Howgill]

Ha ha...it is true that a moan can really be a good moan sometimes. My friend and I go biking once a week (if we can) and we spend the first half moaning and griping about anything that is bugging us and the second half saying how lucky we are as we fly down hills and admire the countryside. We call it our bike therapy and we always come back really happy.

That's great. I always try and make sure that my being positive always outweighs the moaning. But that is something I've had to make a conscious effort to do. It just seems wrong sometimes, excersising and moaning. It never lasts long does it.

[Harry H Howgill]

That's fantastic Mossy

Pursuit

There is a panther stalks me down:
One day I'll have my death of him;
His greed has set the woods aflame,
He prowls more lordly than the sun.
Most soft, most suavely glides that step,
Advancing always at my back;
From gaunt hemlock, rooks croak havoc:
The hunt is on, and sprung the trap.
Flayed by thorns I trek the rocks,
Haggard through the hot white noon.
Along red network of his veins
What fires run, what craving wakes?

Insatiate, he ransacks the land
Condemned by our ancestral fault,
Crying: blood, let blood be spilt;
Meat must glut his mouth's raw wound.
Keen the rending teeth and sweet
The singeing fury of his fur;
His kisses parch, each paw's a briar,
Doom consummates that appetite.
In the wake of this fierce cat,
Kindled like torches for his joy,
Charred and ravened women lie,
Become his starving body's bait.

Now hills hatch menace, spawning shade;
Midnight cloaks the sultry grove;
The black marauder, hauled by love
On fluent haunches, keeps my speed.
Behind snarled thickets of my eyes
Lurks the lithe one; in dreams' ambush
Bright those claws that mar the flesh
And hungry, hungry, those taut thights.
His ardor snares me, lights the trees,
And I run flaring in my skin;
What lull, what cool can lap me in
When burns and brands that yellow gaze?

I hurl my heart to halt his pace,
To quench his thirst I squander blook;
He eats, and still his need seeks food,
Compels a total sacrifice.
His voice waylays me, spells a trance,
The gutted forest falls to ash;
Appalled by secret want, I rush
From such assault of radiance.
Entering the tower of my fears,
I shut my doors on that dark guilt,
I bolt the door, each door I bolt.
Blood quickens, gonging in my ears:

The panther's tread is on the stairs,
Coming up and up the stairs.


Yes Sylia could have been refering to me when she wrote...
"On fluent haunches, keeps my speed" (as if!!!).

[Harry H Howgill]

I had a fantastic run yesterday. Benson Knott is an unassuming hill above Kendal, but because it is on its own has great views of the Lakes, Howgills, Dales and Morecambe Bay. As I turned at the top I realised that Kendal was covered in a sea of cloud whilst all the tops were still in sun. It was a fabulous temperature inversion. A beautiful sight.