Today's poet

[Alf]

From Monna Innominata [I wish I could remember]

I wish I could remember that first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or Winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom for many a May.
If only I could recollect it, such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand—Did one but know!

Christina Rossetti

[freckle]

Alf that was a lovely poem..........
here is my (almost) "first day" poem........

Leaning into the afternoons I cast my sad nets
towards your oceanic eyes.

There in the highest blaze my solitude lengthens and flames,
its arms turning like a drowning man's.

I send out red signals across your absent eyes
that move like the sea near a lighthouse.

You keep only darkness, my distant female,
from your regard sometimes the coast of dread emerges.

Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets
to that sea that beats on your marine eyes.

The birds of night peck at the first stars
that flash like my soul when I love you.

The night gallops on its shadowy mare
shedding blue tassels over the land.

P.Neruda

[Derby Tup]

Nice choice freckle. Here's one of my Today's poet favourites:

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh

WB Yeats

[Mossdog]

nice choice freckle. Here's one of my today's poet favourites:

Wine comes in at the mouth
and love comes in at the eye;
that's all we shall know for truth
before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
i look at you, and i sigh

wb yeats

Magnificent choice DT

[emmilou]

My Firework Poem by Imogen-Rose aged 7 (just this minute composed!!)

Fireworks are
crackling, fizzing and popping stars
fast moving
exploding
shiny worlds
we all love fireworks

!!!

[Derby Tup]

Good stuff Imogen-Rose

My Firework Poem by Imogen-Rose aged 7 (just this minute composed!!)

Fireworks are
crackling, fizzing and popping stars
fast moving
exploding
shiny worlds
we all love fireworks

!!!

[freckle]

My Firework Poem by Imogen-Rose aged 7 (just this minute composed!!)

Fireworks are
crackling, fizzing and popping stars
fast moving
exploding
shiny worlds
we all love fireworks

!!!

This is brilliant Imogen Rose, a little stroke of genius.... I love the description of "crackling, fizzing and popping stars" and "shiny worlds!" I couldn't think of a better way to describe the other worldiness of fireworks! well done!!!!! :-)

[freckle]

Nice choice freckle. Here's one of my Today's poet favourites:

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh

WB Yeats

This is gorgeous DT thank you....

its so autumnal at the moment, my fave season...full of colour and melancholy in equal measure....

Turn Me to My Yellow Leaves
William Stanley Braithwaite

TURN me to my yellow leaves,
I am better satisfied;
There is something in me grieves
—That was never born, and died.
Let me be a scarlet flame
On a windy autumn morn,
I who never had a name,
Nor from breathing image born.
From the margin let me fall
Where the farthest stars sink down,
And the void consumes me,—all
In nothingness to drown.
Let me dream my dream entire,
Withered as an autumn leaf—
Let me have my vain desire,
Vain—as it is brief.

[Alf]

On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sixth Year (Jan 22, 1824):


'Tis time this heart should be unmoved,
Since others it has ceased to move:
Yet though I cannot be beloved,
Still let me love!

My days are in the yellow leaf;
The flowers and fruits of love are gone;
The worm, the canker, and the grief
Are mine alone!

The fire that on my bosom preys
Is lone as some volcanic isle;
No torch is kindled at its blaze—
A funeral pile!

The hope, the fear, the jealous care,
The exalted portion of the pain
And power of love I cannot share,
But wear the chain.

But 'tis not thus — and 'tis not here —
Such thoughts would shake my soul, nor now,
Where Glory decks the hero's bier
Or binds his brow.

The sword, the banner and the field,
Glory and Greece, around me see!
The Spartan, borne upon his shield,
Was not more free.

Awake! (not Greece— she is awake!)
Awake, my Spirit! Think through whom
Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake,
And then strike home.

Tread those reviving passions down,
Unworthy Manhood!— unto thee
Indifferent should the smile or frown
Of Beauty be.

If thou regret'st thy youth, why live?
The land of honourable death
Is here:— up to the field, and give
Away thy breath!

Seek out— less often sought than found—
A Soldier's Grave, for thee the best;
Then look around, and choose thy Ground,
And take thy Rest.

Lord Byron

Stunning Poem



Byron died 3 months later

[freckle]

A good choice there Alf..."my days are in the yellow leaf" a corker of a line....

I can't quite believe that this thread is almost a year old and a nudge and wink away from 10,000 posts....it has been a tumultous year in many ways but I have found this thread very sustaining at some tricky times....there has been so many excellent pieces of writing that if anyone had the time I bet we could produce a nice little publication...there's definately a project there!

anyhow...I wonder if anyone recalls this particular verse...i read it again tonight and it took my right back...


Original version of La Belle Dame Sans Merci, 1819
John Keats

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever-dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful - a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery's song.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna-dew,
And sure in language strange she said -
'I love thee true'.
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept and sighed full sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
And there she lulled me asleep
And there I dreamed - Ah! woe betide! -
The latest dream I ever dreamt
On the cold hill side.
I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried - 'La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!'
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.
And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.