Today's poet

[Nathaniel Lee]

Really good Fellgazelle. She is a very classy songwriter always.

[freckle]

Every time i visit Lakeland
My mood lifts, my spirit strengthens
And i don't want to leave
Return home pleasantly knackered
And contemplate the next time
But if i should expire, between visits
Take me back and scatter me on the fells
For that's where i find peace
And where i'd love to be, forever
Amidst the silent giants
Sorry it doesn't rhyme, it just came out that way.

Lovely Merry

[freckle]

Ok, Ok, I know this isn’t a poem as such, it’s a song and an old fashioned, out of vogue tune that many will be well familiar with, but never mind I still like it. I don’t mean to detract from the high quality of work posted on this thread and really the music and vocals are required to make it work but I think the words have certain poignancy:

Both sides now

Rows and flows of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I’ve looked at clouds that way

But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way

I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It’s cloud illusions I recall
I really don’t know clouds at all

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As every fairytale comes real
I’ve looked at love that way

But now it’s just another show
You leave ‘em laughing when you go
And if you care don’t let them know
Don’t give yourself away

I’ve looked at love from both sides now
From give and take and still somehow
It’s love’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know love at all

Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say I love you right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I’ve looked at life that way

But now old friends are acting strange
They shake their heads, they say I’ve changed
Well something’s lost but something’s gained
In living every day

I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It’s life’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know life at all

Joni Mitchell

I am really glad you posted this, I love the song and her delivery of it (which i will now look up on you tube!) and the lyrics are indeed poignant.....thank you

[Alf]

....me thinks young of heart (and legs...if today's acheivements are anything to go by!!!!)

don't think we have had anything by this poet yet...i like this one....

On Raglan Road

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.

On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay -
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.

I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that's known
To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone
And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say.
With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May

On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now
Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow
That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay -
When the angel woos the clay he'd lose his wings at the dawn of day.

Patrick Kavanagh

Thanks Freckle
I bought a book of Patrick Kavanagh poems many years ago in a bookshop in Dublin when I was over there. Now I am racking my brains trying to find where I put it

[Alf]

I am a big Joni Mitchell fan as well.....Poetry set to music...brilliant

Heres one off her CD "Blue"


The Last Time I Saw Richard


The last time I saw richard was detroit in ’68,
And he told me all romantics meet the same fate someday
Cynical and drunk and boring someone in some dark cafe
You laugh, he said you think you’re immune, go look at your eyes
They’re full of moon
You like roses and kisses and pretty men to tell you
All those pretty lies, pretty lies
When you gonna realise they’re only pretty lies
Only pretty lies, just pretty lies

He put a quarter in the wurlitzer, and he pushed
Three buttons and the thing began to whirr
And a bar maid came by in fishnet stockings and a bow tie
And she said drink up now it’s gettin’ on time to close.
Richard, you haven’t really changed, I said
It’s just that now you’re romanticizing some pain that’s in your head
You got tombs in your eyes, but the songs
You punched are dreaming
Listen, they sing of love so sweet, love so sweet
When you gonna get yourself back on your feet?
Oh and love can be so sweet, love so sweet

Richard got married to a figure skater
And he bought her a dishwasher and a coffee percolator
And he drinks at home now most nights with the tv on
And all the house lights left up bright
I’m gonna blow this damn candle out
I don’t want nobody comin’ over to my table
I got nothing to talk to anybody about
All good dreamers pass this way some day
Hidin’ behind bottles in dark cafes
Dark cafes
Only a dark cocoon before I get my gorgeous wings
And fly away
Only a phase, these dark cafe days

[Alf]

Every time i visit Lakeland
My mood lifts, my spirit strengthens
And i don't want to leave
Return home pleasantly knackered
And contemplate the next time
But if i should expire, between visits
Take me back and scatter me on the fells
For that's where i find peace
And where i'd love to be, forever
Amidst the silent giants
Sorry it doesn't rhyme, it just came out that way.

Nice one Merry The Lakekand poets are alive and well and living in Ripponden

[Nathaniel Lee]

Hes that photo of you running through the stream is both brilliant and the least flattering photo of you it could have been. One for the photo album.

[Alf]

Another Patrick Kavanagh:

Shancoduff

My black hills have never seen the sun rising,
Eternally they look north towards Armagh.
Lot's wife would not be salt if she had been
Incurious as my black hills that are happy
When dawn whitens Glassdrummond chapel.

My hills hoard the bright shillings of March
While the sun searches in every pocket.
They are my Alps and I have climbed the Matterhorn
With a sheaf of hay for three perishing calves
In the field under the Big Forth of Rocksavage.

The sleety winds fondle the rushy beards of Shancoduff
While the cattle-drovers sheltering in the Featherna Bush
Look up and say: ‘Who owns them hungry hills
That the water-hen and snipe must have forsaken?
A poet? Then by heavens he must be poor.'
I hear and is my heart not badly shaken?

[N-dubya]

hello all some nice stuff from Alf I know those parts of NI spoke of in the Kavanagh poem. I like the Bath tea shop poem Frecks got a copy of that in a Betjeman book, which brings me to my point ( I know I am a Day late) but sometimes the best poetry about a subject in this case love is to tek e brief individual moments instead of trying to answer the whole question in one go, which the Betjeman poem does so well.

So heres my take on that individualist theme of love.

I left you, caught the train
To Warminster your image,
Shrinking as it pulled away.
At every stop between however,
Long or short from a phone box
I would call. We spoke of our parting
and repeated conversations we had
at Crewe and then again at Birmingham
New Street. The phone booth became
my refuge, a capsule to withstand time.
I sat on the train facing against
the direction of travel, so I could see
from where I had come and not
where I was going to.

[freckle]

hello all some nice stuff from Alf I know those parts of NI spoke of in the Kavanagh poem. I like the Bath tea shop poem Frecks got a copy of that in a Betjeman book, which brings me to my point ( I know I am a Day late) but sometimes the best poetry about a subject in this case love is to tek e brief individual moments instead of trying to answer the whole question in one go, which the Betjeman poem does so well.

So heres my take on that individualist theme of love.

I left you, caught the train
To Warminster your image,
Shrinking as it pulled away.
At every stop between however,
Long or short from a phone box
I would call. We spoke of our parting
and repeated conversations we had
at Crewe and then again at Birmingham
New Street. The phone booth became
my refuge, a capsule to withstand time.
I sat on the train facing against
the direction of travel, so I could see
from where I had come and not
where I was going to.

This is just simply stunning N dubya...it moved me to almost tears...thank you so much for posting....Alf I really liked that Kavanagh poem too, all good stuff!