Today's poet

[freckle]

I did one about the night leg of a BGR but that's a) probably too narrow in it's meaning and b) not as good as the stuff the more experienced/talented poets come up with on here. Feel free to use it, or any part of it (or change it, i'm not precious about it).

The Night Leg

Voluntarily benighted,
Temporarily unsighted
Polaris and the TV mast compete to show you north
Gladly ticking off the Dodds,
Or marching on through Caldew's bogs,
Your pacers working overtime to keep you bang on course

At some point, it's surreal
Why are we here? What is the deal?
I'm on the bloody fells and it's the middle of the night
Your friends and family ask you "why"?,
You cite the views, the space, the sky,
But as the night leg takes a hold, your world's a manmade disc of light

Looking up is your reward
The Milky Way, Orion's sword
And the outline of the fells make them look grander in the dark
But for all the night's allure
The march from cobalt to azure
Brings a certain quiet relief to the contender and the lark

This is wonderful one off! i agree with mossy don't change a thing!

[freckle]

Hour

Carol Ann Duffy

Love’s time’s beggar, but even a single hour,
bright as a dropped coin, makes love rich.
We find an hour together, spend it not on flowers
or wine, but the whole of the summer sky and a grass ditch.

For thousands of seconds we kiss; your hair
like treasure on the ground; the Midas light
turning your limbs to gold. Time slows, for here
we are millonaires, backhanding the night

so nothing dark will end our shining hour,
no jewel hold a candle to the cuckoo spit
hung from the blade of grass at your ear,
no chandelier or spotlight see you better lit

than here. Now. Time hates love, wants love poor,
but love spins gold, gold, gold from straw.

[Einar]

Great choice Freckle. What the hell am I doing, at ten to three on a Sunday morning, reading poems on the web? I should be out robbing a bank....or howling at the moon, or something.

[freckle]

Great choice Freckle. What the hell am I doing, at ten to three on a Sunday morning, reading poems on the web? I should be out robbing a bank....or howling at the moon, or something.

Aw poor you! if its any consolation I was probably still awake myself in bed...a restless night after drinking coffee too late and now I am up early to get out for a run (not wanting to let my running buddy down!)...such is life!

[Mossdog]

Hour

Carol Ann Duffy

Love’s time’s beggar, but even a single hour,
bright as a dropped coin, makes love rich.
We find an hour together, spend it not on flowers
or wine, but the whole of the summer sky and a grass ditch.

For thousands of seconds we kiss; your hair
like treasure on the ground; the Midas light
turning your limbs to gold. Time slows, for here
we are millonaires, backhanding the night

so nothing dark will end our shining hour,
no jewel hold a candle to the cuckoo spit
hung from the blade of grass at your ear,
no chandelier or spotlight see you better lit

than here. Now. Time hates love, wants love poor,
but love spins gold, gold, gold from straw.

That's gorgeous Freckle. Which anthology is it from?

[freckle]

That's gorgeous Freckle. Which anthology is it from?

Hi Mossy, its from Rapture a really lovely little book...there is also a carol ann duffy love poems volume which looks good and would make a great xmas pressie!

[freckle]

this looks nice, jo shapcott is extremely good live...unfortunately i live no where near stratford upon avon!

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?ei...547751&index=1

sorry better link here....

http://www.poetrysociety.org.uk/events/event/1385

[freckle]

UNCERTAINTY IS NOT A GOOD DOG

Jo Shapcott

Uncertainty is not a good dog.
She eats bracken and sheep shit,
drops her litters in foxholes
and rolls in all the variables,

wriggling on her back, until
she reeks of them,
until their scents are her scents.
She takes sudden, windy routes

through hummocks, cairns and ditches
so you can't spot where she is
and acknowledge her velocity
at the same time. She’s fidgety,

but still careful to snuffle
through all the mud on the trail.
She can't see in the dark
but bumps her snout

on the overhang lapping
the path. Daylight’s no better:
she has to screw her eyes
tight against the glare

and, panting, just risk it, following
her nose across the landscape
her tongue brighter than probability,
brighter than heather, winberry and scree.

[Einar]

Another great choice Freckle. It's been a while since I posted a poem here - can't keep up the pace! But here's one for today....

Women Bathing

All our lives, in every city,
out of every landscape
the waters of the Alhambra
have been murmuring to us.
From fountains, from watercourses,
from the secret pools in courtyards,
voices calling across centuries.
The other women are bathing
in the moonlight.

‘Come,’ they say, ‘Come out of the day’s heat,
out of shaded rooms, let’s escape and slip away,
let the veils fall, one by one.
Slide into the pools that lie like mirrors of the sky,
and let the moon wash over our bodies.’
Bodies lush, generously-hipped.
Bodies like pomegranates,
bursting with promises.

Imtiaz Dharker

[freckle]

Another great choice Freckle. It's been a while since I posted a poem here - can't keep up the pace! But here's one for today....

Women Bathing

All our lives, in every city,
out of every landscape
the waters of the Alhambra
have been murmuring to us.
From fountains, from watercourses,
from the secret pools in courtyards,
voices calling across centuries.
The other women are bathing
in the moonlight.

‘Come,’ they say, ‘Come out of the day’s heat,
out of shaded rooms, let’s escape and slip away,
let the veils fall, one by one.
Slide into the pools that lie like mirrors of the sky,
and let the moon wash over our bodies.’
Bodies lush, generously-hipped.
Bodies like pomegranates,
bursting with promises.

Imtiaz Dharker

what a beautiful poem and the perfect choice for a bit of escapism on a wintry sunday night! thank you