Today's poet

[Mossdog]

'Hugging' Record in a public park!

Oh, at last
much belated,
we,
holding fast,
heart-upon-heart
embrace,
a loving
tessellation.
Connate natures,
cleaved, perhaps,
from that same star
are whole again -
proclaim
a truthful unity.

We drink deep,
never quenching,
a longed for presence.
Yet, more than words
our joint embodiment
celebrates that ending of absence.
Oblivious to stares,
carefree of petty conventions,
masks, perhaps, for the
hollow envy
or sad laments
of lovelorn passersby.
We ask for no licence,
uninhibited our kisses,
natural
jubilant greeting of
soft lips,
joyful tongues,
seek no authority -
their accord
self-evident,
eternally consummate.

Nature, well-disposed
parcelled birdsong,
a sympathetic Spring breeze,
'blue sunshine',
and a bumble bee applause -
encored.
We, 'worthy' victims no more,
have paid our dues,
suffered the stifle.
Releasing subdued Spirits,
so very, hopelessly, long Lost,
but now, yes, it's true
re-Found,
reassert to each other
Our Love.

[Stef F]

Aww really very aww <3

Celestial gifts,
Tonight I send Orion
on a raft of dust


Patience Stef, patience
Escape to Yorkshire campaign
just needs fairy dust

Damn I'm lonely

World

On the other sde of the world,
you pass the moon to me,
or a quaich.
I roll you the sun.

I go to bed,
as you're getting up
on the other side of the world.
You have scattered the stars
towards me here, like seeds

in the earth.
All through the night,
I have sent you
bunches, bouquets, of cloud
to the the side of the world;

so my love will be shade
where you are,
and yours,
as I turn in my sleep,
the bud of a star

Carol Ann Duffy

I've posted this before from the Carol Ann Duffy Rapture book that Stef bought me as a Valentine present but it seems even more appropriate at present when I'm in China and she's at home

[Stef F]

Mossdog, did you write this? I'm liking it.

'Hugging' Record in a public park!

Oh, at last
much belated,
we,
holding fast,
heart-upon-heart
embrace,
a loving
tessellation.
Connate natures,
cleaved, perhaps,
from that same star
are whole again -
proclaim
a truthful unity.

We drink deep,
never quenching,
a longed for presence.
Yet, more than words
our joint embodiment
celebrates that ending of absence.
Oblivious to stares,
carefree of petty conventions,
masks, perhaps, for the
hollow envy
or sad laments
of lovelorn passersby.
We ask for no licence,
uninhibited our kisses,
natural
jubilant greeting of
soft lips,
joyful tongues,
seek no authority -
their accord
self-evident,
eternally consummate.

Nature, well-disposed
parcelled birdsong,
a sympathetic Spring breeze,
'blue sunshine',
and a bumble bee applause -
encored.
We, 'worthy' victims no more,
have paid our dues,
suffered the stifle.
Releasing subdued Spirits,
so very, hopelessly, long Lost,
but now, yes, it's true
re-Found,
reassert to each other
Our Love.

[Mossdog]

Mossdog, did you write this? I'm liking it.

My pleasure. I'm liking you liking it - thanks

[Mossdog]

Sonnet LXXIX

By night, Love, tie your heart to mine, and the two
together in their sleep will defeat the darkness
like a double drum in the forest, pounding
against the thick wall of wet leaves.

Night travel: black flame of sleep
that snips the threads of the earth's grapes,
punctual as a headlong train that would haul
shadows and cold rocks, endlessly.

Because of this, Love, tie me to a purer motion,
to the constancy that beats in your chest
with the wings of a swan underwater,

so that our sleep might answer all the sky's
starry questions with a single key,
with a single door the shadows had closed.

Pablo Neruda

[Derby Tup]

I love this Mossy. A bit of light relief after a double dose of Plath

'Hugging' Record in a public park!

Oh, at last
much belated,
we,
holding fast,
heart-upon-heart
embrace,
a loving
tessellation.
Connate natures,
cleaved, perhaps,
from that same star
are whole again -
proclaim
a truthful unity.

We drink deep,
never quenching,
a longed for presence.
Yet, more than words
our joint embodiment
celebrates that ending of absence.
Oblivious to stares,
carefree of petty conventions,
masks, perhaps, for the
hollow envy
or sad laments
of lovelorn passersby.
We ask for no licence,
uninhibited our kisses,
natural
jubilant greeting of
soft lips,
joyful tongues,
seek no authority -
their accord
self-evident,
eternally consummate.

Nature, well-disposed
parcelled birdsong,
a sympathetic Spring breeze,
'blue sunshine',
and a bumble bee applause -
encored.
We, 'worthy' victims no more,
have paid our dues,
suffered the stifle.
Releasing subdued Spirits,
so very, hopelessly, long Lost,
but now, yes, it's true
re-Found,
reassert to each other
Our Love.

[freckle]

A little early perhaps, but hey ho....forewarned is....


April 18

the slime of all my yesterdays
rots in the hollow of my skull

and if my stomach would contract
because of some explicable phenomenon
such as pregnancy or constipation

I would not remember you

or that because of sleep
infrequent as a moon of greencheese
that because of food
nourishing as violet leaves
that because of these

and in a few fatal yards of grass
in a few spaces of sky and treetops

a future was lost yesterday
as easily and irretrievably
as a tennis ball at twilight


Sylvia Plath

gawd almighty...this is HEAVY MAN...but i like it

[freckle]

Mosedale Cottage. Pale.
Crumbling into the dark sod.
A lonely demise.

nice haiku harry .................

[freckle]

I love this poem about the wonderment of babies.......


The spirit is too blunt an instrument
Anne Stevenson


The spirit is too blunt an instrument
to have made this baby.
Nothing so unskilful as human passions
could have managed the intricate
exacting particulars: the tiny
blind bones with their manipulating tendons,
the knee and the knucklebones, the resilient
fine meshings of ganglia and vertebrae,
the chain of the difficult spine.


Observe the distinct eyelashes and sharp crescent
fingernails, the shell-like complexity
of the ear, with its firm involutions
concentric in miniature to minute
ossicles. Imagine the
infinitesimal capillaries, the flawless connections
of the lungs, the invisible neural filaments
through which the completed body
already answers to the brain.


Then name any passion or sentiment
possessed of the simplest accuracy.
No, no desire or affection could have done
with practice what habit
has done perfectly, indifferently,
through the body's ignorant precision.
It is left to the vagaries of the mind to invent
love and despair and anxiety
and their pain.

[freckle]

My mind is turning increasingly to the Anniversary Waltz which I am looking forward to with a combination of excited anticipation and apprehension! (especially with all this talk of gradients and such like).....

Anyhow, I think I have posted this poem before but I stumbled across it again today and thought it relevant in a tangential way.....


The old dance


Legs aching pleasantly,
after eleven
1:10 miles
you come to me,
and I holding your face,
notice the boundaries of (our)
selves dissolve.


Chin resting
on the smoothest pebble,
fading embers find a home
in the hearth of us
and my mind wanders
to the start.


A bowl of fruit,
sideways glance,
words and curiosity
brought us to this end.
Swathes of pain
couldn’t keep us apart.


So tired beguiling limbs,
your very own dream catchers,
rest in this envelope
of tireless love
and sleep, darling sleep
in a well earned repose
as the magic of the old dance
reverberates in two hearts.