Today's poet

[Alf]

my last offering for a few days...off to see some mountains...

Heartbeat by Rainer Maria Rilke

Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart
which safely exists in the center of all things?
His giant heartbeat is diverted in us
into little pulses. And his giant grief
is, like his giant jubilation, far too
great for us. And so we tear ourselves away
from him time after time, remaining only
mouths. But unexepectedly and secretly
the giant heartbeat enters our being,
so that we scream ----,
and are transformed in being and in countenance.

Which mountains are you off to visit freckle?

Alone looking at the Mountain

All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I.

Li Po

[Harry H Howgill]

Happy hols Freckle and Hes.

Harry

[Derby Tup]

Poet's Obligation

To whoever is not listening to the sea
this Friday morning, to whoever is cooped up
in house or office, factory or woman
or street or mine or harsh prison cell;
to him I come, and, without speaking or looking,
I arrive and open the door of his prison,
and a vibration starts up, vague and insistent,
a great fragment of thunder sets in motion
the rumble of the planet and the foam,
the raucous rivers of the ocean flood,
the star vibrates swiftly in its corona,
and the sea is beating, dying and continuing.

So, drawn on by my destiny,
I ceaselessly must listen to and keep
the sea's lamenting in my awareness,
I must feel the crash of the hard water
and gather it up in a perpetual cup
so that, wherever those in prison may be,
wherever they suffer the autumn's castigation,
I may be there with an errant wave,
I may move, passing through windows,
and hearing me, eyes will glance upward
saying "How can I reach the sea?"
And I shall broadcast, saying nothing,
the starry echoes of the wave,
a breaking up of foam and quicksand,
a rustling of salt withdrawing,
the grey cry of the sea-birds on the coast.


So, through me, freedom and the sea
will make their answer to the shuttered heart

Pablo Neruda

[Sunbeam Alpine]

Really fine poem from Senor Neruda . At our local library we seem to have one of his poetry collections in dual English/Spanish - always tricky making translations....

Here's a simpler one - but as an early riser not so sure on the sentiment !
Throwing Away the Alarm Clock

my father always said, "early to bed and
early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy
and wise."

it was lights out at 8 p.m. in our house
and we were up at dawn to the smell of
coffee, frying bacon and scrambled
eggs.

my father followed this general routine
for a lifetime and died young, broke,
and, I think, not too
wise.

taking note, I rejected his advice and it
became, for me, late to bed and late
to rise.

now, I'm not saying that I've conquered
the world but I've avoided
numberless early traffic jams, bypassed some
common pitfalls
and have met some strange, wonderful
people

one of whom
was
myself--someone my father
never
knew.

Charles Bukowski

[OneOffPoet]

Lots of lovely stuff on here of late, some really profound and clever work. I can't claim to be anything more than a one dimensional one off poet who writes about fellrunning....

Suitably inspired by Borrowdale, my favourite race in the calendar, here's my latest offering.

Landed on my feet

Lucky me
I cleared the wall
And somehow landed on my feet
And then the beck
A single stride
Enough to find the other side
A downhill stretch
Watering eyes
Increasing speed, lengthening stride
Into the rocks
Blurred feet adance
Holding speed, taking a chance
It opens up
The cars below
The legs relieved, the heart less so
Glance at the watch
A strong pb
My race is over, lucky me

[Derby Tup]

Good stuff OOP

I've just re-read 'Dunmail'

Lots of lovely stuff on here of late, some really profound and clever work. I can't claim to be anything more than a one dimensional one off poet who writes about fellrunning....

Suitably inspired by Borrowdale, my favourite race in the calendar, here's my latest offering.

Landed on my feet

Lucky me
I cleared the wall
And somehow landed on my feet
And then the beck
A single stride
Enough to find the other side
A downhill stretch
Watering eyes
Increasing speed, lengthening stride
Into the rocks
Blurred feet adance
Holding speed, taking a chance
It opens up
The cars below
The legs relieved, the heart less so
Glance at the watch
A strong pb
My race is over, lucky me

[Old Whippet]

Lots of lovely stuff on here of late, some really profound and clever work. I can't claim to be anything more than a one dimensional one off poet who writes about fellrunning....

Suitably inspired by Borrowdale, my favourite race in the calendar, here's my latest offering.

Landed on my feet

Lucky me
I cleared the wall
And somehow landed on my feet
And then the beck
A single stride
Enough to find the other side
A downhill stretch
Watering eyes
Increasing speed, lengthening stride
Into the rocks
Blurred feet adance
Holding speed, taking a chance
It opens up
The cars below
The legs relieved, the heart less so
Glance at the watch
A strong pb
My race is over, lucky me

Well Done OOP

A slightly different experience for me!

Bonking

A free-wheeling descent
round Grey Knotts
slyly consumed
the last drops of fuel in the tank.
A few strides up Dale Head
soon became a shuffle
and all was painfully clear.
A world in slow motion.
Everest pace.
Dizzy, I watched the field disappear summit bound.

And in the bum bag...
four gels and a power bar
that came along for the ride.

[Alf]

Well Done OOP

A slightly different experience for me!

Bonking

A free-wheeling descent
round Grey Knotts
slyly consumed
the last drops of fule in the tank.
A few strides up Dale Head
soon became a shuffle
and all was painfully clear.
A world in slow motion.
Everest pace.
Dizzy, I watched the field disappear summit bound.

And in the bum bag...
four gels and a power bar
that came along for the ride.

I enjoyed those OOP and OW

and different for me:

In other race years I didn't eat much
and I didn't pass people
they passed me
up Bessyboot
up Scafell Pike
up Great Gable
up Dale Head
and at the race end I was left alone.

This year I ate Jelly Babies
and maltloaf and gels
and passed lots of people
up Bessyboot
up Scafell Pike
up Great Gable
up Dale Head
and at the race end I was attacked by wasps.

[freckle]

Which mountains are you off to visit freckle?

Alone looking at the Mountain

All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I.

Li Po

this is sweet, i really liked all of the borrowdale offerings, I have nothing but respect for you all, bonkers or not! (see what i did there?)

anyhoo, just back from the lakes...stayed around the keswick area and managed to get up castle crag with the mini freckles who were dead proud of themselves! (as was I)...fab time inspite of the inclement weather, a deflating mattress and leaking tent...all part of the fun...

Ode to Rain
Coleridge

I
I know it is dark; and though I have lain,
Awake, as I guess, an hour or twain,
I have not once open'd the lids of my eyes,
But I lie in the dark, as a blind man lies.
O Rain! that I lie listening to,
You're but a doleful sound at best:
I owe you little thanks,'tis true,
For breaking thus my needful rest!
Yet if, as soon as it is light,
O Rain! you will but take your flight,
I'll neither rail, nor malice keep,
Though sick and sore for want of sleep.
But only now, for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

II
O Rain! with your dull two-fold sound,
The clash hard by, and the murmur all round!
You know, if you know aught, that we,
Both night and day, but ill agree:
For days and months, and almost years,
Have limp'd on through this vale of tears,
Since body of mine, and rainy weather,
Have lived on easy terms together.
Yet if, as soon as it is light,
O Rain! you will but take your flight,
Though you should come again to-morrow,
And bring with you both pain and sorrow;
Though stomach should sicken and knees should swell--
I'll nothing speak of you but well.
But only now for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

III
Dear Rain! I ne'er refused to say
You're a good creature in your way;
Nay, I could write a book myself,
Would fit a parson's lower shelf,
Showing how very good you are. --
What then? sometimes it must be fair!
And if sometimes, why not to-day?
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

IV
Dear Rain! if I've been cold and shy,
Take no offence! I'll tell you why.
A dear old Friend e'en now is here,
And with him came my sister dear;
After long absence now first met,
Long months by pain and grief beset--
We three dear friends! in truth, we groan
Impatiently to be alone.
We three, you mark! and not one more!
The strong wish makes my spirit sore.
We have so much to talk about,
So many sad things to let out;
So many tears in our eye-corners,
Sitting like little Jacky Homers--
In short, as soon as it is day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

V
And this I'll swear to you, dear Rain!
Whenever you shall come again,
Be you as dull as e'er you could
(And by the bye 'tis understood,
You're not so pleasant as you're good),
Yet, knowing well your worth and place,
I'll welcome you with cheerful face;
And though you stay'd a week or more,
Were ten times duller than before;
Yet with kind heart, and right good will,
I'll sit and listen to you still;
Nor should you go away, dear Rain!
Uninvited to remain.
But only now, for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

1802.

[freckle]

Really fine poem from Senor Neruda . At our local library we seem to have one of his poetry collections in dual English/Spanish - always tricky making translations....

Here's a simpler one - but as an early riser not so sure on the sentiment !
Throwing Away the Alarm Clock

my father always said, "early to bed and
early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy
and wise."

it was lights out at 8 p.m. in our house
and we were up at dawn to the smell of
coffee, frying bacon and scrambled
eggs.

my father followed this general routine
for a lifetime and died young, broke,
and, I think, not too
wise.

taking note, I rejected his advice and it
became, for me, late to bed and late
to rise.

now, I'm not saying that I've conquered
the world but I've avoided
numberless early traffic jams, bypassed some
common pitfalls
and have met some strange, wonderful
people

one of whom
was
myself--someone my father
never
knew.

Charles Bukowski

this is rather nice...i really like bukwoski he is quite raw, nice one SA