Today's poet

[Mossdog]

Poem

I walk at the land's edge,
turning in my mind
a private predicament.
Today the sea is indigo.
Thirty years an adult –
same mind, same
ridiculous quandaries –
but every time the sea
appears differently: today
a tumultuous dream,
flinging its waves ashore –


Nothing resolved,
I tread back over the moor
– but every time the moor
appears differently: this evening,
tufts of bog-cotton
unbutton themselves in the wind
– and then comes the road
so wearily familiar
the old shining road
that leads everywhere
Kathleen Jamie

Great choice Einar. And I also like her......

Skeins o Geese

Skeins o geese write a word
across the sky. A word
struck lik a gong
afore I wis born.
The sky moves like cattle, lowin.
I'm as empty as stane, as fields
ploo'd but not sown, naked
as blin as a stane. Blin
tae the word, blin
tae a' soon but geese ca'ing.
Wire twists lik archaic script
roon a gate. The barbs
sign tae the wind as though
it was deef. The word whustles
ower high for ma senses. Awa.
No lik the past which lies
strewn aroun. Nor sudden death.
No lik a lover we'll ken
an connect wi forever.
The hem of its goin drags across the sky.
Whit dae birds write on the dusk?
A word niver spoken or read.
The skeins turn hame,
on the wind's dumb moan, a soun,
maybe human, bereft.

[Mossdog]

keep it coming einar!

well, a funny ol day...went to the gym for my induction, its all mod cons now I found with a little computer which calculates how many mins/cals you have expended etc...it was OK but it ain't running outside along the sea or the hills but ah well if i take my headphones next time at least I shall catch up on the news that day and have a little swim after...could be worse? ....anyhoo....on a different matter entirely....its been a while since we had the ol master on here is it not?......

Your hands

When your hands go out,
love, toward mine,
what do they bring me flying?
Why did they stop
at my mouth, suddenly,
why do I recognize them
as if then, before,
I had touched them,
as if before they existed
they had passed over
my forehead, my waist?

Their softness came
flying over time,
over the sea, over the smoke,
over the spring,
and when you placed
your hands on my chest,
I recognized those golden
dove wings,
I recognized that clay
and that color of wheat.

All the years of my life
I walked around looking for them.
I went up the stairs,
I crossed the roads,
trains carried me,
waters brought me,
and in the skin of the grapes
I thought I touched you.
The wood suddenly
brought me your touch,
the almond announced to me
your secret softness,
until your hands
closed on my chest
and there like two wings
they ended their journey.

Would it be too cheesy to say 'he's got that ol' latin touch' .....there! I've said it...pure Cheddar! Nice one Frecks....good luck with the recover.

[freckle]

Would it be too cheesy to say 'he's got that ol' latin touch' .....there! I've said it...pure Cheddar! Nice one Frecks....good luck with the recover.

How uncanny Mossy...i was just contemplating cheese of a particular variety! ....thanks for the good wishes...


Raclette

A mere couple of hours earlier,
this table was all of a hubbub.
The cells of Le raclette* transmuting under a grill
to form the perfect feminine dish.
Whilst you and your pals
Chewed the fat
over various characters in years gone by,
I listen all coy and may have even blushed
at some juncture.

Several glasses of wine later..."Night all”
A taxi soon, but first a snooze , under a dog’s blanket
before revisiting a surprisingly comfy
dining table.
Eyes fixed upon the cherried napkins
which encircle another nourishing coagulation.
Of wave after wave after wave
after Con-ver-gence...and then

Then I think I might actually die,
if I don’t spend the rest of the night
Digesting the calcium of us, in a bed,
as the complacent and the more evolved
diners might do.
But alas my friend
that is not for me and you...
(yet).



* le raclette is the cheese la raclette is the dish....i kinda like that notion.

[freckle]

http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetrya...o?poemId=12415

[freckle]

Great choice Einar. And I also like her......

Skeins o Geese

Skeins o geese write a word
across the sky. A word
struck lik a gong
afore I wis born.
The sky moves like cattle, lowin.
I'm as empty as stane, as fields
ploo'd but not sown, naked
as blin as a stane. Blin
tae the word, blin
tae a' soon but geese ca'ing.
Wire twists lik archaic script
roon a gate. The barbs
sign tae the wind as though
it was deef. The word whustles
ower high for ma senses. Awa.
No lik the past which lies
strewn aroun. Nor sudden death.
No lik a lover we'll ken
an connect wi forever.
The hem of its goin drags across the sky.
Whit dae birds write on the dusk?
A word niver spoken or read.
The skeins turn hame,
on the wind's dumb moan, a soun,
maybe human, bereft.

Lovely use of dialect in this poem and such gently and evocative imagery...thank you

loved your seaside poem MG and once I am back on form i'd love to trot out with ya, lol x

[Alf]

Lots of good postings today I have been enjoying reading
Back to my romantic roots tonight

Work Without Hope

All nature seems at work. Slugs leave their lair—
The bees are stirring—birds are on the wing—
And winter, slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.
Yet well I ken the banks where amaranths blow,
Have traced the fount whence streams of nectar flow.
Bloom, O ye amaranths! bloom for whom ye may,
For me ye bloom not! Glide, rich streams, away!
With lips unbrighten'd, wreathless brow, I stroll:
And would you learn the spells that drowse my soul?
Work without hope draws nectar in a sieve,
And hope without an object cannot live.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

[Hes]

I see. Thanks Stolly!

Well...I definitely wasn't having my cake and eating it...just trying to find some humour in an otherwise bleak situation. I don't want any cake ever again right now. Its horrible to get so excited about cake and think it is the best cake ever only to find out that it is deeply disappointing and makes me ill.

Its all explained here ---> wolde you bothe eate your cake, and have your cake?

[Hes]

Ohhh...hark at me, sorry, just a bit fed up. However, did see this this evening:

clouds spilling like milk
over the Hambleton hills
under salmon sky

[Hes]

Wonderful stuff Freckle, soon for you I hope...xx

How uncanny Mossy...i was just contemplating cheese of a particular variety! ....thanks for the good wishes...


Raclette

A mere couple of hours earlier,
this table was all of a hubbub.
The cells of Le raclette* transmuting under a grill
to form the perfect feminine dish.
Whilst you and your pals
Chewed the fat
over various characters in years gone by,
I listen all coy and may have even blushed
at some juncture.

Several glasses of wine later..."Night all”
A taxi soon, but first a snooze , under a dog’s blanket
before revisiting a surprisingly comfy
dining table.
Eyes fixed upon the cherried napkins
which encircle another nourishing coagulation.
Of wave after wave after wave
after Con-ver-gence...and then

Then I think I might actually die,
if I don’t spend the rest of the night
Digesting the calcium of us, in a bed,
as the complacent and the more evolved
diners might do.
But alas my friend
that is not for me and you...
(yet).



* le raclette is the cheese la raclette is the dish....i kinda like that notion.

[freckle]

Ohhh...hark at me, sorry, just a bit fed up. However, did see this this evening:

clouds spilling like milk
over the Hambleton hills
under salmon sky

loving it..nice one Hes...take care you :-)