Today's poet

[Hes]

hello peeps not been on much recently, started a new job

the last poem if you can call it that didn't appear how i intended it too. I wanted to give the impression of layers with sentence construction, anyway Frecks near enough interpretation memories blurr and wesometimes only remember the crucial or skeletal facts some of it is lost and some remains as a mulch. some good stuff from yourself and HES RECENTLY.

Doodles

In the corners of the page
and spaces
saved for premonitions
are treble clefs because
I like the continuity
of the shape.
In the upper margins
are ammonites
some flat and
some three dimensional
like a pallette of ideas

Hi N Dubya, good to see you again and as usual, back with a really lovely poem. I am a fan of both doodling and ammonites and really like the imagery here. I had a period where I was slightly obsessed with treble clefs and spirals too.

[Hes]

I know its early on a Wednesday but I seem to have lost all concept of time and so I will ignore the poetry thread watershed.

Continuum

It is the cold truth
Time waits for no man
Instead it taunts us
With its incessant ticking.
And what of us?
We neither eat nor sleep,
Instead we rescue every second
From the mundanities of life
And turn each one to rapture.
Ignoring the ringing phone
Your hands slide up my back
As my fingers rake your hair.
That kiss was the time
We should have taken
To prepare our days
Instead we reclaimed enough
Of those precious minutes
To become lost again
In each other.

[Stevie]

That's very good Hes, I'm impressed. I think you have a very strong grip on the concept of time.

[Hes]

That's very good Hes, I'm impressed. I think you have a very strong grip on the concept of time.

Thanks Stevie. I've been thinking about time a lot lately. A friend of mine played me a recording of this the other evening and it has stayed with me ever since.

As I Walked Out One Evening

As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
'Love has no ending.

'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,

'I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

'The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.'

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
'O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

'In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

'In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

'Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.

'O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.

'The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

'Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.

'O look, look in the mirror?
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

'O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.'

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.

WH Auden

[Stevie]

Interesting. Don't think I've read that before but parts of it seem familiar to me for some reason.
I can offer these lyrics from the Pink Floyd song "Time". Not exactly a poem but I think it will strike a chord in most people.


Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way

Tired of lying in the sunshine
Staying home to watch the rain
And you are young and life is long
And there is time to kill today
And then one day you find
Ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run
You missed the starting gun

And you run, and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death

Every year is getting shorter
Never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught
Or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone
The song is over
Thought I'd something more to say

Home, home again
I like to be here when I can
When I come home cold and tired
It's good to warm my bones beside the fire
Far away across the field
The tolling of the iron bell
Calls the faithful to their knees
To hear the softly spoken magic spells

Lyrics by Roger Waters

[Hanneke]

Did you see the golden eagle Stef F? I like your Highlander poem anyway.

I spent some time in the Gairloch area a few years ago walking and running. Saw a Brocken spectre on one of the hills.

Mist on Beinn an Eoin
Weak sun haloes my shadow
With Brocken Spectre


Then crossing between Beinn an Eoin and Baosbheinn:

Miles away with spectre thoughts,
As I descend towards the loch,
Scraping skin on granite rock,
I fail to spot the deer.

He also fails to notice me:
Out of the sunrise I appear.
We see each other, very near,
Who is more surprised!?

Good stuff Stevie!

I had a similar encounter with a large red kangaroo once, in Australia

Hmmm, I am getting al inspired again now, pitty I am at work...

[XRunner]

Nice change of Avatar! Thanks.

Hes, have you got a spare print of my avatar? I may need a fox to control that rampant, mad, march hare that is bounding all over my wall

[XRunner]

The fox was strong, he was full of running,
He could run for an hour and then be cunning,
But the cry behind him made him chill,
They were nearer now and they meant to kill.
They meant to run him until his blood
Clogged on his heart as his brush with mud,
Till his back bent up and his tongue hung flagging,
And his belly and brush were filthed from dragging.


from Reynard the Fox by John Masefield

[Harry H Howgill]

HHH, I was TT training that morning... hence the low cadence/high power... I'd normally go for high cadence/low pwer early in the morning, but I admit, on that particualr ride I was feeling very strong and light... When you move the bike like that, it is poetry in motion It resulted in a 50 second pb a couple of days later, in my race

Maybe I should write a poem about the TT too, just for the fun of it... It was along a dual carriageway, now there is a challenge!

I know the feeling when it just feels so easy and the hills just don't seem as big. Glorious. It just doesn't happen often enough. I think I actually like riding hills most of all. I'll think about some cycling poetry.

[Harry H Howgill]

Congrats on the new job N-Dubya. I hope it is going well. Are you still planning on coming to the AW. I see you've entered.

hello peeps not been on much recently, started a new job

the last poem if you can call it that didn't appear how i intended it too. I wanted to give the impression of layers with sentence construction, anyway Frecks near enough interpretation memories blurr and wesometimes only remember the crucial or skeletal facts some of it is lost and some remains as a mulch. some good stuff from yourself and HES RECENTLY.

Doodles

In the corners of the page
and spaces
saved for premonitions
are treble clefs because
I like the continuity
of the shape.
In the upper margins
are ammonites
some flat and
some three dimensional
like a pallette of ideas