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Thread: Today's poet

  1. #9991
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    Re: Today's poet

    Quote Originally Posted by freckle View Post
    Good to have the Howgill back...

    yesterday my daughter remarked...

    "you know mam
    two lonely people
    aren't lonely at all
    they are just two people
    who could be together"
    That's lovely. You should be proud of her.

  2. #9992
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    Re: Today's poet

    Quote Originally Posted by Hes View Post
    Thanks HHH, I appreciate it. Am throwing myself into work, running and also discovered kundalini yoga which is brilliant.
    Sounds like you are keeping yourself busy which is great. The yoga sounds good too.

  3. #9993
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    Re: Today's poet

    Quote Originally Posted by Derby Tup View Post
    pair of wheeling swifts
    sickle shaped, highly mobile
    greying Saigon skies
    I remember Swifts. Summer seems a long time ago already.

  4. #9994
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    Re: Today's poet

    Been a long day.....

    The Day Is Done

    The day is done, and the darkness
    Falls from the wings of night,
    As a feather is wafted downward
    From an eagle in his flight.
    I see the lights of the village
    Gleam through the rain and the mist,
    And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
    That my soul cannot resist:
    A feeling of sadness and longing,
    That is not akin to pain,
    And resembles sorrow only
    As the mist resembles the rain.
    Come, read to me some poem,
    Some simple and heartfelt lay,
    That shall soothe this restless feeling,
    And banish the thoughts of day.
    Not from the grand old masters,
    Not from the bards sublime,
    Whose distant footsteps echo
    Through the corridors of Time.
    For, like strains of martial music,
    Their mighty thoughts suggest
    Life's endless toil and endeavor;
    And to-night I long for rest.
    Read from some humbler poet,
    Whose songs gushed from his heart,
    As showers from the clouds of summer,
    Or tears from the eyelids start;
    Who, through long days of labor,
    And nights devoid of ease,
    Still heard in his soul the music
    Of wonderful melodies.
    Such songs have power to quiet.
    The restless pulse of care,
    And come like the benediction
    That follows after prayer.
    Then read from the treasured volume
    The poem of thy choice,
    And lend to the rhyme of the poet
    The beauty of thy voice.
    And the night shall be filled with music
    And the cares, that infest the day,
    Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
    And as silently steal away.


    Henry Longfellow

  5. #9995
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    Re: Today's poet

    Really like this Hes :thumbup:

    Quote Originally Posted by Hes View Post
    WHAT IS IT, THEN?

    What is it, then, to love the world
    sipping its colour-patched enchantment
    from nub and frond, sepal or wavelet,
    to pierce unutterable blurring
    and perceive things clear?


    To do so will not stop the bombs
    nor silence fatal scripture-freaks.
    Oh, no. Seeing this fretwork patterning
    of jacaranda on macadam
    is no more than good in itself.


    To lounge and think about beauty,
    "the unplumbed salt estranging sea",
    or a spider's wiry legs, twitching,
    only means owning art's eye,
    so there some of us are:


    neither a diplomat nor a killer be -
    a good thing, on the whole -
    but we claim our planetary vote
    in flashes or yearnings of
    ostensible peace. And so there.


    by Chris Wallace-Crabbe

  6. #9996
    Moderator Mossdog's Avatar
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    Re: Today's poet

    Quote Originally Posted by Hes View Post
    WHAT IS IT, THEN?

    What is it, then, to love the world
    sipping its colour-patched enchantment
    from nub and frond, sepal or wavelet,
    to pierce unutterable blurring
    and perceive things clear?


    To do so will not stop the bombs
    nor silence fatal scripture-freaks.
    Oh, no. Seeing this fretwork patterning
    of jacaranda on macadam
    is no more than good in itself.


    To lounge and think about beauty,
    "the unplumbed salt estranging sea",
    or a spider's wiry legs, twitching,
    only means owning art's eye,
    so there some of us are:


    neither a diplomat nor a killer be -
    a good thing, on the whole -
    but we claim our planetary vote
    in flashes or yearnings of
    ostensible peace. And so there.


    by Chris Wallace-Crabbe
    WOW. I Like that. Thanks.
    Am Yisrael Chai

  7. #9997
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    Re: Today's poet

    Panties

    She wanted embroidered on her panies and bra
    a message that told him that he'd gone too far.
    A motif that told him "If you can read this,
    you're much too close, so give it a miss."

    "Certainly Modom," the saleslady said.
    "In what kind of script would you like it read?
    Copperplate? San Serif? Bold wouldn't fail."
    She thought for a moment and then she said… "Braille."

    Copyright; Roger Wooller

  8. #9998

    Re: Today's poet

    First time I've cited someone else's poetry, but here goes. Got my own reasons for citing this but when I heard Sam Baker singing this it brought a tear or two.

    Waves

    So many years, so many hardships
    So many laughs, so many tears
    So many things to remember
    'cos they had fifty years

    And now our kids got their own kids
    And their own kids have grown
    She told him not to worry
    Said he'd be fine when she was gone

    He walks down to the ocean
    Bends to touch the water, kneels to pray
    Writes her name in the sand
    The waves wash it away

  9. #9999

    Re: Today's poet

    Quote Originally Posted by OneOffPoet View Post
    First time I've cited someone else's poetry, but here goes. Got my own reasons for citing this but when I heard Sam Baker singing this it brought a tear or two.

    Waves

    So many years, so many hardships
    So many laughs, so many tears
    So many things to remember
    'cos they had fifty years

    And now our kids got their own kids
    And their own kids have grown
    She told him not to worry
    Said he'd be fine when she was gone

    He walks down to the ocean
    Bends to touch the water, kneels to pray
    Writes her name in the sand
    The waves wash it away
    This is lovely and so very moving...some brilliant choices on here tonight

  10. #10000

    Re: Today's poet

    Oooo I just read this and it sent a few shivers down the ol spine....macbeth's reaction to the death of his wife....

    Macbeth:
    To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
    Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
    To the last syllable of recorded time;
    And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
    The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
    Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
    That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
    And then is heard no more. It is a tale
    Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
    Signifying nothing.

    Macbeth Act 5, scene 5, 19–28

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