Today's poet

[Old Whippet]

Christ Mossy - that's damned good!

"an Eton mess of peat, soil, sheep piss." is my favourite among many favourite lines.

[Old Whippet]

funnily I had been recently lamenting the recent lack of HHH originals compared to when the thread started. I love the Oyster Catcher poem, and I reckon if it was compared to some of the early HHH, a new richness would be apparent. And the MD Howgill poem hits the right spot in so many ways. Good to see originals among the well chosen published poems today.

[Hes]

Alas, I am something of a stranger to the thread these days as I snowed under with work.

Mossdog, your poem was absolutely brilliant. Every line was obviously really carefully thought out and the imagery was wonderful. I think it is one of the best that we've had on the thread in ages. It makes me want to go on a long run if only to try and gain inspiration again...roll on Thursday!

HHH, I loved your oystercatcher poem. It was so sweet and I too really enjoy this time of year. After last night's excitement of the eagle owl, I have just been appreciating the smaller birds such as a gorgeous little blue tit rescued from the road this morning and the curlews calling in the fields.

[Hes]

Owl

Is my favourite. Who flies
like a nothing through the night,
who-whoing. Is a feather
duster in leafy corners ring-a-rosy-ing
boles of mice. Twice

you hear him call. Who
is he looking for? You hear
him hoovering over the floor
of the wood. O would you be gold
rings in the driving skull

if you could? Hooded and
vulnerable by the winter suns
owl looks. Is the grain of bark
in the dark. Round beaks are at
work in the pellety nest,

working. Owl is an eye
in the barn. For a hole
in the trunk owl's blood
is to blame. Black talons in the
petrified fur! Cold walnut hands

on the case of the brain! In the reign
of the chicken owl comes like
a god. Is a goad in
the rain to the pink eyes,
dripping. For a meal in the day

flew, killed, on the moor. Six
mouths are the seed of his
arc in the season. Torn meat
from the sky. Owl lives
by the claws of his brain. On the branch

in the sever of the hand's
twigs owl is a backward look.
Flown wind in the skin. Fine
Rain in the bones. Owl breaks
Like the day. Am an owl, am an owl.

George MacBeth

[freckle]

Alas, I am something of a stranger to the thread these days as I snowed under with work.

Mossdog, your poem was absolutely brilliant. Every line was obviously really carefully thought out and the imagery was wonderful. I think it is one of the best that we've had on the thread in ages. It makes me want to go on a long run if only to try and gain inspiration again...roll on Thursday!

HHH, I loved your oystercatcher poem. It was so sweet and I too really enjoy this time of year. After last night's excitement of the eagle owl, I have just been appreciating the smaller birds such as a gorgeous little blue tit rescued from the road this morning and the curlews calling in the fields.

Don't forget to have a break now and then Hes!..... speaking of which think i will hit the hay soon but just wanted to say hi!

[Hes]

Don't forget to have a break now and then Hes!..... speaking of which think i will hit the hay soon but just wanted to say hi!

Hi Freckle, nice to see you even if it is brief, I need to get a bath and go to bed too so I'll say goodnight but hope to catch you here again soon.xx

[freckle]

Hi Freckle, nice to see you even if it is brief, I need to get a bath and go to bed too so I'll say goodnight but hope to catch you here again soon.xx

Night wandering star
sleep sweetly
and rise renewed

x

[Stef F]

One for the early risers

A gentle but persistant tune
steals the peace of deepest sleep
surely it can't be morning yet?
what kind of time is this to keep?

I stumble clumsily, eyes half closed
wincing as I stub my toes
the tears well, oh damn it hurts,
where did I put my running clothes?

As I hear the dawn chorus
half blind, ouch, another bump,
I fight the urge to sneak back to bed
I must not be such a lazy grump!

Another bruise, I find my clothes
and get dressed with only a little haste
what's that spattered down my top?
No way? and yuck, I've dribbled toothpaste!

Cursing my insanity
I emerge into morning sun,
sharp frost and brightness shock my senses
I start my watch and begin to run

Arms and legs at first reluctant
soon respond as I find my pace
chuffed to be up and out this early
steady on Stef, this isn't a race!

Five miles later, and still in one piece,
I arrive home hot, sweaty and panting
refreshed and ready to face the day
no longer do I feel like ranting!

I take a moment to reflect
on how good it is to feel the power
of muscles strong and lungs filled full,
and afterwards a nice hot shower!



Oh boy, that wasn't easy to write. I hope it doesn't read like hard work.

Stef

[stevefoster]

One for the early risers

A gentle but persistant tune
steals the peace of deepest sleep
surely it can't be morning yet?
what kind of time is this to keep?

I stumble clumsily, eyes half closed
wincing as I stub my toes
the tears well, oh damn it hurts,
where did I put my running clothes?

As I hear the dawn chorus
half blind, ouch, another bump,
I fight the urge to sneak back to bed
I must not be such a lazy grump!

Another bruise, I find my clothes
and get dressed with only a little haste
what's that spattered down my top?
No way? and yuck, I've dribbled toothpaste!

Cursing my insanity
I emerge into morning sun,
sharp frost and brightness shock my senses
I start my watch and begin to run

Arms and legs at first reluctant
soon respond as I find my pace
chuffed to be up and out this early
steady on Stef, this isn't a race!

Five miles later, and still in one piece,
I arrive home hot, sweaty and panting
refreshed and ready to face the day
no longer do I feel like ranting!

I take a moment to reflect
on how good it is to feel the power
of muscles strong and lungs filled full,
and afterwards a nice hot shower!



Oh boy, that wasn't easy to write. I hope it doesn't read like hard work.

Stef

Good one Stef, morning sun at 2.25 though

[Alf]

Owl

Is my favourite. Who flies
like a nothing through the night,
who-whoing. Is a feather
duster in leafy corners ring-a-rosy-ing
boles of mice. Twice

you hear him call. Who
is he looking for? You hear
him hoovering over the floor
of the wood. O would you be gold
rings in the driving skull

if you could? Hooded and
vulnerable by the winter suns
owl looks. Is the grain of bark
in the dark. Round beaks are at
work in the pellety nest,

working. Owl is an eye
in the barn. For a hole
in the trunk owl's blood
is to blame. Black talons in the
petrified fur! Cold walnut hands

on the case of the brain! In the reign
of the chicken owl comes like
a god. Is a goad in
the rain to the pink eyes,
dripping. For a meal in the day

flew, killed, on the moor. Six
mouths are the seed of his
arc in the season. Torn meat
from the sky. Owl lives
by the claws of his brain. On the branch

in the sever of the hand's
twigs owl is a backward look.
Flown wind in the skin. Fine
Rain in the bones. Owl breaks
Like the day. Am an owl, am an owl.

George MacBeth

Good selection Hes I love the way the poem is a mixture of soft longer and hard shorter lines which fits perfectly with the soft appearance and hard actions of an owl itself.

I enjoyed Mossdog's poem and Stefs poem about running very much as well.
I must admit I didn't get the "Eton mess" line and felt a bit ignorant asking but have just googled it so now I know