Today's poet

[Hes]

I like this Mossy! I'll go and check out that website. It should be a lot better than the one I was just looking at. I was actually trying to find Phoebe Hesketh's 'the Kingfisher' so that I wouldn't have to type it all out and missed your post. I like the way other people's posts can send me off on tangents.

This is a bit different Dominion - hope it breaks the tedium. (Oh the website POlice have **** the f-word!


After a Fight

**** you too, my less compassionate self
says quietly. You've never really

respected me anyway, especially not now
that I refuse to be the keeper

of your anger, the messy pall
of it, from where we kill

what we can't suck. Still
I have faith in the healthy ink

of ideograms, the little cone of flame
nudged about by the wind.

My pillow book would list
such beautiful things, your heart

would die to read them.



from Shiner (2002) by Maggie Nelson, by permission of Hanging Loose Press.

[Mossdog]

Spring

The tread of Spring approaches
small birds sing,
a melody of hope;
of expectation, perhaps
And in the kernal of my heart
I feel the cold earth ease,
remembering
a slipstream, brightly scrolled
in the deep blue overhead

what was written for us?
My eyes are skywards and
in my arms you rest
tucked into our Summer's hollow
I draw in deeply
the soft, warm, fragrance of your hair
inscribing,
indelibly, the golden moment.

[Hes]

Lots of good stuff on that website but I have a feeling it will just be asterisks if I paste any on here! Been looking at some more Octavio Paz:

Counterparts

In my body you search the mountain
for the sun buried in its forest.
In your body I search for the boat
adrift in the middle of the night.

Octavio Paz

[Hes]

Oh wow, that's so gorgeous! Makes me feel a bit wistful...

Spring

The tread of Spring approaches
small birds sing,
a melody of hope;
of expectation, perhaps
And in the kernal of my heart
I feel the cold earth ease,
remembering
a slipstream, brightly scrolled
in the deep blue overhead

what was written for us?
My eyes are skywards and
in my arms you rest
tucked into our Summer's hollow
I draw in deeply
the soft, warm, fragrance of your hair
inscribing,
indelibly, the golden moment.

[dominion]

I'll do my best Dom. (my laptop just crashing didn't help)

Argghhhh!!! More bloody broken IT stuff!

[Hes]

All mended now...I just switched it off and switched it back on again! I'm not sure that dropping carborundum down the keypad helped much...trying to work and surf the forum is not a great idea.

Argghhhh!!! More bloody broken IT stuff!

[Hes]

I've started being woken up early by the dawn chorus again but it has been brilliant to hear the air filled with birdsong.

Bird

It was passed from one bird to another,
the whole gift of the day.
The day went from flute to flute,
went dressed in vegetation,
in flights which opened a tunnel
through the wind would pass
to where birds were breaking open
the dense blue air -
and there, night came in.

When I returned from so many journeys,
I stayed suspended and green
between sun and geography -
I saw how wings worked,
how perfumes are transmitted
by feathery telegraph,
and from above I saw the path,
the springs and the roof tiles,
the fishermen at their trades,
the trousers of the foam;
I saw it all from my green sky.
I had no more alphabet
than the swallows in their courses,
the tiny, shining water
of the small bird on fire
which dances out of the pollen.

Pablo Neruda

[Mossdog]

I've started being woken up early by the dawn chorus again but it has been brilliant to hear the air filled with birdsong.

Bird

It was passed from one bird to another,
the whole gift of the day.
The day went from flute to flute,
went dressed in vegetation,
in flights which opened a tunnel
through the wind would pass
to where birds were breaking open
the dense blue air -
and there, night came in.

When I returned from so many journeys,
I stayed suspended and green
between sun and geography -
I saw how wings worked,
how perfumes are transmitted
by feathery telegraph,
and from above I saw the path,
the springs and the roof tiles,
the fishermen at their trades,
the trousers of the foam;
I saw it all from my green sky.
I had no more alphabet
than the swallows in their courses,
the tiny, shining water
of the small bird on fire
which dances out of the pollen.

Pablo Neruda

That's lovely Hes, and a new PN for me - thank you.

[Mountain Goatess]

A Walk

My eyes already touch the sunny hill.
going far ahead of the road I have begun.
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
it has inner light, even from a distance-

and charges us, even if we do not reach it,
into something else, which, hardly sensing it,
we already are; a gesture waves us on
answering our own wave...
but what we feel is the wind in our faces.


Translated by Robert Bly

Rainer Maria Rilke

[Derby Tup]

Good selection MG. Lovely

A Walk

My eyes already touch the sunny hill.
going far ahead of the road I have begun.
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
it has inner light, even from a distance-

and charges us, even if we do not reach it,
into something else, which, hardly sensing it,
we already are; a gesture waves us on
answering our own wave...
but what we feel is the wind in our faces.


Translated by Robert Bly

Rainer Maria Rilke