Today's poet

[stevefoster]

Hey Mossy, I think we both enjoyed it Your Yomp recce with added plover interest sounds like my idea of fun. Thought I might have heard a Golden Plover up by Withins but it could have been Emily B's ghost Hobble route has quite a bit of poetic interest as it also passes briefly through Heptonstall, where Sylvia Plath is buried. Blue skies, yes, but very little snow left now down here

Hey up Mossy, i enjoyed the Hobble as well, feel like i've been trampled by a herd of Heffalumps this morning, but it'll be reet, the sun is shining.
23m/4352ft is not a meagre distance, good effort

[Derby Tup]

dear old Merrylegs
trampled by Heffalump herd
smiling in sunshine

[freckle]

dear old Merrylegs
trampled by Heffalump herd
smiling in sunshine

Morning all...i loved this little haiku, sounds like you guys had a wonderful time...i have been really busy this weekend so haven't had much time to get on the thread but have enjoyed reading through all the posts from the past couple of days, some beautiful poems posted and written (herakles) and some daft ones too (i can't get that toon outta my head now thanks OW!)...anyhoo, when i woke this morning my mind was pondering over taking a road trip in the summer with the kids, visiting places of interest in the UK, I feel like there are a lot of places I (we) haven't seen and would like to, so any suggestions would be gratefully received...

anyhoo , i stumbled across this armitage poem which I found moving and identified with...


It Ain't What you do, it's what it does to you

I have not bummed across America
with only a dollar to spare, one pair
of busted Levi's and a bowie knife.
I have lived with thieves in Manchester.

I have not padded through the Taj Mahal,
barefoot, listening to the space between
each footfall picking up and putting down
its print against the marble effect floor. But I

skimmed flat stones across Black Moss on a day
so still I could hear each set of ripples
as they crossed. I felt each stones inertia
spend itself against the water; then sink.

I have not toyed with a parachute chord
while perched on the lip of a light-aircraft;
but I held the wobbly head of a boy
at the day centre, and stroked his fat hands.

And I get that the tightness in the throat
and the tiny cascading sensation
somewhere inside us are both part of that
sense of something else. That feeling, I mean.

[freckle]

Blowing bubbles

There has to be a space,
for those pangs of recognition to show,
to gently pinch the soul and illuminate,
the games we played.

There needs to be,
an opportunity to grieve,
there was laughter, there was joy,
it just didn’t last forever.

Now the illusory orb,
its beauty defined
by LACK of gravity,
by timelessness

This translucence
finally POPs,
disappearing
into the ether
of the future

The final game
of our childhood is over
but there remains a space
to be wounded,
to remember.


To be thankful
for the opportunity,
the innocence
and the joy
of blowing bubbles.

[Derby Tup]

My God, this is good!

Blowing bubbles

There has to be a space,
for those pangs of recognition to show,
to gently pinch the soul and illuminate,
the games we played.

There needs to be,
an opportunity to grieve,
there was laughter, there was joy,
it just didn’t last forever.

Now the illusory orb,
its beauty defined
by LACK of gravity,
by timelessness

This translucence
finally POPs,
disappearing
into the ether
of the future

The final game
of our childhood is over
but there remains a space
to be wounded,
to remember.


To be thankful
for the opportunity,
the innocence
and the joy
of blowing bubbles.

[Mossdog]

Blowing bubbles

There has to be a space,
for those pangs of recognition to show,
to gently pinch the soul and illuminate,
the games we played.

There needs to be,
an opportunity to grieve,
there was laughter, there was joy,
it just didn’t last forever.

Now the illusory orb,
its beauty defined
by LACK of gravity,
by timelessness

This translucence
finally POPs,
disappearing
into the ether
of the future

The final game
of our childhood is over
but there remains a space
to be wounded,
to remember.


To be thankful
for the opportunity,
the innocence
and the joy
of blowing bubbles.

Oh Freckle that very moving, sad and lovely, all in one - take care

[Mossdog]

Life Love

Life - an exercise in reluctance,
followed by regret?
Haunted by a longed for love
that I was forced to forget.

Now falling into dwindling time,
that solitary certainty left;
an urge to ignite a whirl of rage
but so, so short, on emotional breath.

Seizing tight to fragile dreams
of a life that still may be;
desperate to conjure quiet meaning
from the final tale of you and me.

[Derby Tup]

Is this a Mossdog original? Its fantastic. Some great stuff this morning

Life Love

Life - an exercise in reluctance,
followed by regret?
Haunted by a longed for love
that I was forced to forget.

Now falling into dwindling time,
that solitary certainty left;
an urge to ignite a whirl of rage
but so, so short, on emotional breath.

Seizing tight to fragile dreams
of a life that still may be;
desperate to conjure quiet meaning
from the final tale of you and me.

[Alf]

Just catching up with Freckles "Blowing Bubbles" and Mossy's "Life Love" both really excellent poems. Well done you two

[Nathaniel Lee]

Everybody wins.

Standing silent,
Listening to my breath,
A sudden noise,
Of i go legs like pistons,
Scrambling up the peak,
Lungs burning,
And then i'm there free,
Falling down the hill,
A human windmill,
Splashing through the bogs,
Only 100 metres to go,
I pass my rival,
Then fall over the line,
Finishing first,
I'm knackered,
I shake my rivals hand,
Waiting at he finish,
Cheering everyone home,
Knowing we are all winners,
So long as we have the fells to roam.

By Herakles