'Tis the end of Feb;Originally Posted by Hes
Spring has sprung.
Pancake day
Has bin and gun.
I wonder where
the Swallows are?
They’re with DT in Africar!
'Tis the end of Feb;
Spring has sprung.
Pancake day
Has bin and gun.
I wonder where
the Swallows are?
They’re with DT in Africar!
What year was that Harry ?.
Dylan has just been investitured. Very Proud.
The Way Of Things.
New life blooms and grows,
Pushing away the winter snows,
Flowers open and birds merrily sing,
To find a mate and the joy that brings.
Colours and smells flowing freely fill your mind,
A saturated imaginarium reverts you to your primal kind,
Such joy can only be found once a calendar year,
A time to lose your inhibitions let go of fear.
But all to fleeting this time goes and the flowers whither so,
The browns and yellows of botanical decrepitude grow and grow,
And once again death arrives and casts it's shadow long here,
But let's just sit the winter out and new life will come in the new year.
By Herakles.
Nooooooooooooo! is that really you?................Awwwwwwww!You can tell her I look good in a uniform...
good verse Herakles!
Hes loved your spring offering
and DT....cooeeeeeeeee!
Stef...i loved your comment.....
Stolly....likin the rhymin
Last edited by freckle; 24-02-2010 at 10:38 PM.
March morning unlike others
Ted Hughes (England, 1930-1999)
Blue haze. Bees hanging in air at the hive-mouth.
Crawling in prone stupor of sun
On the hive-lip. Snowdrops. Two buzzards,
Still-wings, each
Magnetized to the other,
Float orbits.
Cattle standing warm. Lit, happy stillness.
A raven, under the hill,
Coughing among bare oaks.
Aircraft, elated, splitting blue.
Leisure to stand. The knee-deep mud at the trough
Stiffening. Lambs freed to be foolish.
The earth invalid, dropsied, bruised, wheeled
Out in the sun,
After frightful operation.
She lies back, wounds undressed to the sun,
To be healed,
Sheltered from the sneapy chill creeping North wind,
Leans back, eyes closed, exhausted, smiling
Into the sun. Perhaps dozing a little.
While we sit, and smile, and wait, and know
She is not going to die.
I love the metaphors in this poem, bloody brilliant, you can see why he was poet laurete...and popular with the ladies!...ahem
no seriously, after all the hard work getting through the winter i really like the idea of dozing a little in the sun getting ready to spring forth.....lush!
PS are any fell poets doing high cup nick this sat? obviously i'll be on top form, my body is a temple etc ( currently hydrating with theakstons old peculiar)
Last edited by freckle; 24-02-2010 at 10:43 PM. Reason: frecks analysis
thats so good!
here's another spring one
Poem lyrics of Lines Written In Early Spring by William Wordsworth.
I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.
Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.
The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure: --
But the least motion which they made,
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.
The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.
If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?
Siren.
I watch from afar,
Your eyes luminous,
Deep soul filled jewels,
Tempting me to come forward,
And end my distant vigil,
Your lips scarlet and shimmering,
Beckoning me forward with,
A slow seductive tracing,
Of your teeth with your tongue,
I am smitten the fever dreams,
Of your soft cappuccino skin,
Sweaty and next to mine,
Overcome me,
I am in your thrall.
By Herakles.
Ooooo la la! nice one matt
That sounds painful.
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