Today's poet

[Alf]

I've just had a box full of Simon Armitage books delivered, so anyone coming to his do at Dufton can buy "Selected Poems" or "Shooting Stars".

I opened the box just to check I wasn't going to arrive with 17 copies of Delia Smith for him to sign.

That should cover his older stuff and his newer stuff then Harry (just had a look on Amazon )

This is a clip of him on The Book Show talking about "Shooting Stars"

http://thebookshow.skyarts.co.uk/hom..._armitage.html

[Mountain Goatess]

Merrylegs, Merrylegs
Where for art thou Merrylegs

You say you've laid that pony to rest
Is this a joke, a prank, a jest

Surely those legs have life in them yet
A few folk around here would on you bet

Did someone throw you out of the stable
Or did you lay down your vest on the table

Whatever the reason one thing is so true
There was never a pony as willing as you

Kind and fun, a friend from the start
Merrylegs will live on in our heart

[Harry H Howgill]

That should cover his older stuff and his newer stuff then Harry (just had a look on Amazon )

This is a clip of him on The Book Show talking about "Shooting Stars"

http://thebookshow.skyarts.co.uk/hom..._armitage.html

That was the plan!

Thanks for the link.

[Derby Tup]

Merrylegs, Merrylegs
Where for art thou Merrylegs

You say you've laid that pony to rest
Is this a joke, a prank, a jest

Surely those legs have life in them yet
A few folk around here would on you bet

Did someone throw you out of the stable
Or did you lay down your vest on the table

Whatever the reason one thing is so true
There was never a pony as willing as you

Kind and fun, a friend from the start
Merrylegs will live on in our heart

Dear old merry, a Grandmaster, a published poet and now the subject of a poem too!

[stevefoster]

Merrylegs, Merrylegs
Where for art thou Merrylegs

You say you've laid that pony to rest
Is this a joke, a prank, a jest

Surely those legs have life in them yet
A few folk around here would on you bet

Did someone throw you out of the stable
Or did you lay down your vest on the table

Whatever the reason one thing is so true
There was never a pony as willing as you

Kind and fun, a friend from the start
Merrylegs will live on in our heart

Dear old merry, a Grandmaster, a published poet and now the subject of a poem too!

Less of the old
Missed this, thanks for bringing to my attention DT.
Thanks for the poem MG, i'm touched, but i'm still here

[freckle]

That should cover his older stuff and his newer stuff then Harry (just had a look on Amazon )

This is a clip of him on The Book Show talking about "Shooting Stars"

http://thebookshow.skyarts.co.uk/hom..._armitage.html

Thanks for posting this Alf I enjoyed it...and Ali I will have one of those books! ) x

[freckle]

Merrylegs, Merrylegs
Where for art thou Merrylegs

You say you've laid that pony to rest
Is this a joke, a prank, a jest

Surely those legs have life in them yet
A few folk around here would on you bet

Did someone throw you out of the stable
Or did you lay down your vest on the table

Whatever the reason one thing is so true
There was never a pony as willing as you

Kind and fun, a friend from the start
Merrylegs will live on in our heart

Here here! nice one MG!

[Mossdog]

Fancy

EVER let the Fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home:
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth,
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth;
Then let winged Fancy wander
Through the thought still spread beyond her:
Open wide the mind’s cage-door,
She’ll dart forth, and cloudward soar.
O sweet Fancy! let her loose;
Summer’s joys are spoilt by use,
And the enjoying of the Spring
Fades as does its blossoming;
Autumn’s red-lipp’d fruitage too,
Blushing through the mist and dew,
Cloys with tasting: What do then?
Sit thee by the ingle, when
The sear faggot blazes bright,
Spirit of a winter’s night;
When the soundless earth is muffled,
And the caked snow is shuffled
From the ploughboy’s heavy shoon;
When the Night doth meet the Noon
In a dark conspiracy
To banish Even from her sky.
Sit thee there, and send abroad,
With a mind self-overaw’d,
Fancy, high-commission’d:—send her!
She has vassals to attend her:
She will bring, in spite of frost,
Beauties that the earth hath lost;
She will bring thee, all together,
All delights of summer weather;
All the buds and bells of May,
From dewy sward or thorny spray;
All the heaped Autumn’s wealth,
With a still, mysterious stealth:
She will mix these pleasures up
Like three fit wines in a cup,
And thou shalt quaff it:—thou shalt hear
Distant harvest-carols clear;
Rustle of the reaped corn;
Sweet birds antheming the morn:
And, in the same moment—hark!
’Tis the early April lark,
Or the rooks, with busy caw,
Foraging for sticks and straw.
Thou shalt, at one glance, behold
The daisy and the marigold;
White-plum’d lilies, and the first
Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst;
Shaded hyacinth, alway
Sapphire queen of the mid-May;
And every leaf, and every flower
Pearled with the self-same shower.
Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep
Meagre from its celled sleep;
And the snake all winter-thin
Cast on sunny bank its skin;
Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see
Hatching in the hawthorn-tree,
When the hen-bird’s wing doth rest
Quiet on her mossy nest;
Then the hurry and alarm
When the bee-hive casts its swarm;
Acorns ripe down-pattering,
While the autumn breezes sing.

Oh, sweet Fancy! let her loose;
Every thing is spoilt by use:
Where’s the cheek that doth not fade,
Too much gaz’d at? Where’s the maid
Whose lip mature is ever new?
Where’s the eye, however blue,
Doth not weary? Where’s the face
One would meet in every place?
Where’s the voice, however soft,
One would hear so very oft?
At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth.
Let, then, winged Fancy find
Thee a mistress to thy mind:
Dulcet-eyed as Ceres’ daughter,
Ere the God of Torment taught her
How to frown and how to chide;
With a waist and with a side
White as Hebe’s, when her zone
Slipt its golden clasp, and down
Fell her kirtle to her feet,
While she held the goblet sweet,
And Jove grew languid.—Break the mesh
Of the Fancy’s silken leash;
Quickly break her prison-string
And such joys as these she’ll bring.—
Let the winged Fancy roam,
Pleasure never is at home.

John Keats

Is this poem wild or what? What was he on - gimme some please!

[Harry H Howgill]

Thanks for posting this Alf I enjoyed it...and Ali I will have one of those books! ) x

There's already one with your name on.

[freckle]

There's already one with your name on.

Thanks Harry! :-)

Mossy that poem was an epic but I liked it...I like a sweet goblet every now and then!