Today's poet

[Alf]

Poem written in the street on a rainy evening
Brain Pattern

Everything I lost was found again.
I tasted wine in my mouth.
My heart was like a firefly; it moved
Through the darkest objects laughing.

There were enough reasons why this was happening
But I never stopped to think about them.
I could have said it was your face,
Could have said I'd drunk something idiotic,

But no one reason was sufficient,
No one reason was relevant;
My joy was gobbled up by dull surroundings
But there was enough of it.

A feast was spread; a world
Was suddenly made edible.
And there was forever to taste it.

and a very tasty poem freckle, well done

AT MIDNIGHT

Now at last I have come to see what life is,
Nothing is ever ended, everything only begun,
And the bare victories that seem so splendid
Are never really won.

Even love that I built my spirit's house for,
Comes like a brooding and baffled guest,
And music and men's praise and even laughter
Are not so good as rest.

Sarah Teasdale

[freckle]

and a very tasty poem freckle, well done

AT MIDNIGHT

Now at last I have come to see what life is,
Nothing is ever ended, everything only begun,
And the bare victories that seem so splendid
Are never really won.

Even love that I built my spirit's house for,
Comes like a brooding and baffled guest,
And music and men's praise and even laughter
Are not so good as rest.

Sarah Teasdale

Why dear Alf you keep late hours these days? I love Sara Teasdale and this a very good choice...i think there is a lot to be said for the idea that with every ending, however painful, is a new beginning......................:-)

[Derby Tup]

I enjoyed the Sarah Teasdale too. I love your new signature freckle

[freckle]

I enjoyed the Sarah Teasdale too. I love your new signature freckle

thnx DT!

hey i just stumbled across this...very friday night! ...i think i should have been born a pre raphaelite :wink:

i am in the mood for a wedding.....any fell poets out there tying the knot?


SUDDEN LIGHT
~ By Dante Gabriel Rossetti ~

I have been here before,
But when or how I cannot tell;
I know the grass beyond the door,
The sweet keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.

You have been mine before,
How long ago I may not know:
But just when at that swallow's soar
Your neck turned so,
Some veil did fall, - - I knew it all of yore.

Has this been thus before?
And shall not thus time's eddying flight
Still with our lives our love restore
In death's despite,
And day and night yield one delight once more?

[Alf]

Why dear Alf you keep late hours these days? I love Sara Teasdale and this a very good choice...i think there is a lot to be said for the idea that with every ending, however painful, is a new beginning......................:-)

Yes you are right freckle, it is a bit late for me But its an afternoon start at Weasdale tomorrow so I can have a bit of a lie in tomorrow

Nite all

[freckle]

Yes you are right freckle, it is a bit late for me But its an afternoon start at Weasdale tomorrow so I can have a bit of a lie in tomorrow

Nite all

Ah the voice of a true athlete! have a good race Alf na night x

[freckle]

If I Could Tell You

Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.

The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

Suppose all the lions get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.

W.H. Auden

my interpretation of this is that only time can truely reveal our mistakes, we can't predict them and it isn't easy for others to "let us know"

[XRunner]

Here is an early hare and hounds (cross-county) verse I uncovered today:

The Wights o' London.

With faces long and leary,
That allowed how much they "knowed"
With bags of paper, two men,
Ran down a country road.

They sought the worst of tillage,
But cleanly picked their way,
For toiling far behind them,
The pack was miles away.

Oh dirty crew from London,
Of hues from grey to brown,
What mud you'll carry on you,
when you return to town.

The run was long and dreary,
And wearily they strode,
O'er fields both ploughed and grassy,
Along the muddy road.

The tall man looked quite worn,
He was neither blithe nor gay.
The rest were in the distance,
He didn't know the way.

"Oh cruel hares, I'm undone,
I should say I'm done brown
The hedges, I can't leap them
would I were back in town".

"La Cigale",
from The Midland Athlete
2 November 1881.

[freckle]

Here is an early hare and hounds (cross-county) verse I uncovered today:

The Wights o' London.

With faces long and leary,
That allowed how much they "knowed"
With bags of paper, two men,
Ran down a country road.

They sought the worst of tillage,
But cleanly picked their way,
For toiling far behind them,
The pack was miles away.

Oh dirty crew from London,
Of hues from grey to brown,
What mud you'll carry on you,
when you return to town.

The run was long and dreary,
And wearily they strode,
O'er fields both ploughed and grassy,
Along the muddy road.

The tall man looked quite worn,
He was neither blithe nor gay.
The rest were in the distance,
He didn't know the way.

"Oh cruel hares, I'm undone,
I should say I'm done brown
The hedges, I can't leap them
would I were back in town".

"La Cigale",
from The Midland Athlete
2 November 1881.

Great stuff X Runner!

[Sunbeam Alpine]

Seems the National Trust are launching another one of those 'Britain's favourite....'.This time it's landscape poetry - rather than colour.I'll investigate a bit more - but I suspect it will be Wordsworth .

Here's to more hares in the meantime ! By Vivien Jones.

HARE

It was a sloping field
tipped towards the sea,
the breeze blew
along the ground,
cooling my bare legs.

My foot was nearly down,
poised at the point where
weight shifts forward.
I may have heard
its indrawn breath
before
its silk gloved paws
glanced off my leg.
Erupting through
the tussocks, it shrank
to rabbit, then mouse.

Through the fence,
into the sea mist,
making a story
for telling to children.