Today's poet

[Mountain Goatess]

Like it Xrunner, and just noticed your avatar....it's gorgeous!

A Poison Tree - a poem by William Blake

I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I waterd it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.

And into my garden stole.
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see,
My foe outstretchd beneath the tree.

[Mountain Goatess]

The Two-Faced Red Fox

Beneath the two layers of makeup
The scent of strawberry kiwi
The dazzling White river smile
And the romantic nimbus she wears
Is a hidden agenda

Michael Fischer

[Mountain Goatess]

red swirl rushes by
sly, cunning, evades deaths dog
sharp fox outwits all

[XRunner]

Like it Xrunner, and just noticed your avatar....it's gorgeous!

You need to thank Hes for creating the print.

Attachment 4008

THE THOUGHT-FOX, by Ted Hughes

I imagine this midnight moment’s forest:
Something else is alive
Beside the clock’s loneliness
And this blank page where my fingers move.

Through the window I see no star:
Something more near
Though deeper within darkness
Is entering the loneliness:

Cold, delicately as the dark snow,
A fox’s nose touches twig, leaf;
Two eyes serve a movement, that now
And again now, and now, and now

Sets neat prints into the snow
Between trees, and warily a lame
Shadow lags by stump and in hollow
Of a body that is bold to come

Across clearings, an eye,
A widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly, concentratedly,
Coming about its own business

Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox
It enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
The page is printed.

[Mountain Goatess]

It looks even better here

Attachment 4008

Foxy! ha!
Do you have this on a wall in your house then?
I do love foxes!

[Mountain Goatess]

Brilliant!

You need to thank Hes for creating the print.

Attachment 4008

THE THOUGHT-FOX, by Ted Hughes

I imagine this midnight moment’s forest:
Something else is alive
Beside the clock’s loneliness
And this blank page where my fingers move.

Through the window I see no star:
Something more near
Though deeper within darkness
Is entering the loneliness:

Cold, delicately as the dark snow,
A fox’s nose touches twig, leaf;
Two eyes serve a movement, that now
And again now, and now, and now

Sets neat prints into the snow
Between trees, and warily a lame
Shadow lags by stump and in hollow
Of a body that is bold to come

Across clearings, an eye,
A widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly, concentratedly,
Coming about its own business

Till, with a sudden sharp hot stink of fox
It enters the dark hole of the head.
The window is starless still; the clock ticks,
The page is printed.

pale lifeless background
transformed with her colour and love
natures beauty shows

[Harry H Howgill]

Only since hearing him read have I fully come to appreciate his poetry. Hearing the way he reads makes more sense of the way he writes. Gently.

I got my copy of Gawain and the Green Knight out again this evening. It is a really good read but choosing a line or two to share out of the 2530 is proving hard. I'm not typing that one all out!

Evening all...

whats all this death talk?

something from the boy himself and loosely connected to the caged bird patter..........

GIVE


Of all the public places, dear
to make a scene, I've chosen here.
Of all the doorways in the world
to choose to sleep, I’ve chosen yours.
I'm on the street, under the stars.
For coppers I can dance or sing.
For silver-swallow swords, eat fire.
For gold-escape from locks and chains.
It's not as if I'm holding out
for frankincense or myrrh, just change.
You give me tea. That's big of you.
I'm on my knees. I beg of you.


Simon Armitage

[freckle]

Only since hearing him read have I fully come to appreciate his poetry. Hearing the way he reads makes more sense of the way he writes. Gently.

I got my copy of Gawain and the Green Knight out again this evening. It is a really good read but choosing a line or two to share out of the 2530 is proving hard. I'm not typing that one all out!

Aw you are funny Harry! :-) ...i do agree about SA's unique lilt and gentle way of reading his poetry, something very soothing about it.....

Here is a nice poem by Meghan O'Rourke

Palimpsest

So the days go by, and the singing at night continues.
The summer passes like horses.
Wisdom arrives on a piece of paper, blown
through wide glass windows:
"This page intentionally left blank."
I talk to my friends more than I used to.
I sleep less. This is the point of life:
you really care. The tendons slacken,
the fat honeycombs beneath the skin,
a fox paces in the town courtyard,
until, passing a mirror, on the phone,
laughing, you see yourself again
as you are, as you are not.
The snow creaks underfoot.
Touch me, I am still here,
like the humming bee, like the mayrope
wrapped around the tree.
The song was never mine to sing.
It lives beneath the skin.
It speaks in every bone.

time for me to get some kip, night all

[Hes]

Wow...I love all the foxy offerings this evening and especially your original verses MG. The owl poem was brilliant too. Thanks to you & XRunner for cheering me up. I also enjoyed Mossy's Plath choice. Until I came to this thread, I'd never really spent much time reading her poetry but thanks to you, Freckle and all the other Plath fans, I appreciate her much more and I do like some of her strange dark ideas, I have to be in the right frame of mind though.

Good to see SA on here Freckle and HHH. Hope you are both well.x

[Hes]

That's lovely. One for me to bookmark I think. Sleep well Freckle.xx

Aw you are funny Harry! :-) ...i do agree about SA's unique lilt and gentle way of reading his poetry, something very soothing about it.....

Here is a nice poem by Meghan O'Rourke

Palimpsest

So the days go by, and the singing at night continues.
The summer passes like horses.
Wisdom arrives on a piece of paper, blown
through wide glass windows:
"This page intentionally left blank."
I talk to my friends more than I used to.
I sleep less. This is the point of life:
you really care. The tendons slacken,
the fat honeycombs beneath the skin,
a fox paces in the town courtyard,
until, passing a mirror, on the phone,
laughing, you see yourself again
as you are, as you are not.
The snow creaks underfoot.
Touch me, I am still here,
like the humming bee, like the mayrope
wrapped around the tree.
The song was never mine to sing.
It lives beneath the skin.
It speaks in every bone.

time for me to get some kip, night all