Today's poet

[XRunner]

May Day, 1894


Clad is the year in all her best,
The land is sweet and sheen;
Now Spring with Summer at her breast,
Goes down the meadows green.

Here are we met to welcome in
The young abounding year,
To praise what she would have us win
Ere winter draweth near.

For surely all is not in vain,
This gallant show she brings;
But seal of hope and sign of gain,
Beareth this Spring of springs.

No longer now the seasons wear
Dull, without any tale
Of how the chain the toilers bear
Is growing thin and frail.

But hope of plenty and goodwill
Flies forth from land to land,
Nor any now the voice can still
That crieth on the hand.

A little while shall Spring come back
And find the Ancient Home
Yet marred by foolish waste and lack,
And most enthralled by some.

A little while, and then at last
Shall the greetings of the year
Be blent with wonder of the past
And all the griefs that were.

A little while, and they that meet
The living year to praise,
Shall be to them as music sweet
That grief of bye-gone days.

So be we merry to our best,
Now the land is sweet and sheen,
And Spring with Summer at her breast
Goes down the meadows green.

William Morris

[Mossdog]

Good morning all.....

Trees
Howard Nemerov

To be a giant and keep quiet about it,
To stay in one's own place;
To stand for the constant presence of process
And always to seem the same;
To be steady as a rock and always trembling,
Having the hard appearance of death
With the soft, fluent nature of growth,
One's Being deceptively armored,
One's Becoming deceptively vulnerable,
To be so tough, and take the light so well,
Freely providing forbidden knowledge
Of so many things about heaven and earth
For which we should otherwise have no word-
Poems or people are rarely so lovely,
And even when they have great qualities
They tend to tell you rather then exemplify
What they believe themselves to be about,
While from the moving silence of trees,
Whether in storm or calm, in leaf and naked,
Night or day, we draw conclusions of our own,
Sustaining and unnoticed as our breath,
And perilous also-though there has never been
A critical tree-about the nature of things.

Freckle that is just superb. What a magnificent poem, it's going to be one of my favourites. Many thanks.

[Mossdog]

May Day, 1894


Clad is the year in all her best,
The land is sweet and sheen;
Now Spring with Summer at her breast,
Goes down the meadows green.

Here are we met to welcome in
The young abounding year,
To praise what she would have us win
Ere winter draweth near.

For surely all is not in vain,
This gallant show she brings;
But seal of hope and sign of gain,
Beareth this Spring of springs.

No longer now the seasons wear
Dull, without any tale
Of how the chain the toilers bear
Is growing thin and frail.

But hope of plenty and goodwill
Flies forth from land to land,
Nor any now the voice can still
That crieth on the hand.

A little while shall Spring come back
And find the Ancient Home
Yet marred by foolish waste and lack,
And most enthralled by some.

A little while, and then at last
Shall the greetings of the year
Be blent with wonder of the past
And all the griefs that were.

A little while, and they that meet
The living year to praise,
Shall be to them as music sweet
That grief of bye-gone days.

So be we merry to our best,
Now the land is sweet and sheen,
And Spring with Summer at her breast
Goes down the meadows green.

William Morris

Hey, "I'm liking that one too". But running atop a very lonely Mickle Fell this afternoon, into a cold easterly wind, drenched through by an annoyingly persistent drizzle, and dodging the remnants of snow, there didn't seem to be much green on this May Day (Christ, I do whinge sometimes!)

[freckle]

May Day, 1894


Clad is the year in all her best,
The land is sweet and sheen;
Now Spring with Summer at her breast,
Goes down the meadows green.

Here are we met to welcome in
The young abounding year,
To praise what she would have us win
Ere winter draweth near.

For surely all is not in vain,
This gallant show she brings;
But seal of hope and sign of gain,
Beareth this Spring of springs.

No longer now the seasons wear
Dull, without any tale
Of how the chain the toilers bear
Is growing thin and frail.

But hope of plenty and goodwill
Flies forth from land to land,
Nor any now the voice can still
That crieth on the hand.

A little while shall Spring come back
And find the Ancient Home
Yet marred by foolish waste and lack,
And most enthralled by some.

A little while, and then at last
Shall the greetings of the year
Be blent with wonder of the past
And all the griefs that were.

A little while, and they that meet
The living year to praise,
Shall be to them as music sweet
That grief of bye-gone days.

So be we merry to our best,
Now the land is sweet and sheen,
And Spring with Summer at her breast
Goes down the meadows green.

William Morris

lovely stuff x runner nice to see you on the thread again :-)

[freckle]

I am a fan of Margaret Atwood's work...I was given a copy of her book "The Door" which I have really enjoyed...this is an older poem I think which I have posted before but I really like, it makes me think about how much or how little we actually know ourselves, it also made me think about how to be up a mountain can make you feel pleasantly small and inconsequential ...

The Moment

The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,

is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.

No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.

Margaret Atwood

[Nathaniel Lee]

Night thoughts.

The endless night draws the pain out,
I watch as the proscenium of my life,
Turns to dust and joins the billion plays,
That have reached their end before it,
Leaving nothing but the stars and the endless void,
Travelling in all directions,
My insignificance overwhelms me,
I take action and join my ancestors,
Pain subsides stardust deifies.

By Herakles.

[Mossdog]

Life and love thoughts....a balm, perhaps?

XLVIII

Two happy lovers make one bread,
a single moon drop in the grass.
Walking, they cast two shadows that flow together;
waking, they leave one sun empty in their bed.

Of all the possible truths, they chose the day;
they held it, not with ropes, but with an aroma.
They did not shred the peace; they did not shatter words;
their happiness is a transparent tower.

The air and wine accompany the lovers.
The night delights them with its joyous petals.
They have a right to all carnations.

Two happy lovers, without an ending, with no death,
they are born, they die, many times while they live:
they have the eternal life of Natural.

Pablo Neruda
from 100 Love Sonnets

[freckle]

Morning all!

Herakles that was an angsty poem but good as ever....Mossy thank you for reminding me of good ol Pablo his words are indeed a balm...."a single moon drop in the grass".......lovely!

Well I have woken to incredibly stiff legs, had a canny race yesterday at the Keswick Half Marathon, another lovely clear day at the Lakes accompanied by mamma freckle who was on hand at the end with some of Bryson's best meat pies! what a treat!....

Anyhoo, here is another one of Pablo's lovely poems...its early I know but what the hell it a bank holiday! and we are an earthy lot are we not?

In You The Earth

Little
rose,
roselet,
at times,
tiny and naked,
it seems
as though you would fit
in one of my hands,
as though I’ll clasp you like this
and carry you to my mouth,
but
suddenly
my feet touch your feet and my mouth your lips:
you have grown,
your shoulders rise like two hills,
your breasts wander over my breast,
my arm scarcely manages to encircle the thin
new-moon line of your waist:
in love you loosened yourself like sea water:
I can scarcely measure the sky’s most spacious eyes
and I lean down to your mouth to kiss the earth.

Pablo Neruda

[Mossdog]

Morning all!

Herakles that was an angsty poem but good as ever....Mossy thank you for reminding me of good ol Pablo his words are indeed a balm...."a single moon drop in the grass".......lovely!

Well I have woken to incredibly stiff legs, had a canny race yesterday at the Keswick Half Marathon, another lovely clear day at the Lakes accompanied by mamma freckle who was on hand at the end with some of Bryson's best meat pies! what a treat!....

Anyhoo, here is another one of Pablo's lovely poems...its early I know but what the hell it a bank holiday! and we are an earthy lot are we not?

In You The Earth

Little
rose,
roselet,
at times,
tiny and naked,
it seems
as though you would fit
in one of my hands,
as though I’ll clasp you like this
and carry you to my mouth,
but
suddenly
my feet touch your feet and my mouth your lips:
you have grown,
your shoulders rise like two hills,
your breasts wander over my breast,
my arm scarcely manages to encircle the thin
new-moon line of your waist:
in love you loosened yourself like sea water:
I can scarcely measure the sky’s most spacious eyes
and I lean down to your mouth to kiss the earth.

Pablo Neruda

Mmmmmmm delicious........

[Mountain Goatess]

That's a nice one Freckle.
Glad you had a good run at Keswick yesterday and no detours!
Wish I could have joined you if I'd had a babysitter! Typical bank hol weather means me n the babba been stuck indoors most of w'end.


Such Boredom


such boredom –
a gold-fish swimming
measuring the aquarium

Saut Situmorang

Morning all!

Herakles that was an angsty poem but good as ever....Mossy thank you for reminding me of good ol Pablo his words are indeed a balm...."a single moon drop in the grass".......lovely!

Well I have woken to incredibly stiff legs, had a canny race yesterday at the Keswick Half Marathon, another lovely clear day at the Lakes accompanied by mamma freckle who was on hand at the end with some of Bryson's best meat pies! what a treat!....

Anyhoo, here is another one of Pablo's lovely poems...its early I know but what the hell it a bank holiday! and we are an earthy lot are we not?

In You The Earth

Little
rose,
roselet,
at times,
tiny and naked,
it seems
as though you would fit
in one of my hands,
as though I’ll clasp you like this
and carry you to my mouth,
but
suddenly
my feet touch your feet and my mouth your lips:
you have grown,
your shoulders rise like two hills,
your breasts wander over my breast,
my arm scarcely manages to encircle the thin
new-moon line of your waist:
in love you loosened yourself like sea water:
I can scarcely measure the sky’s most spacious eyes
and I lean down to your mouth to kiss the earth.

Pablo Neruda