Good choice from Being Human Freckle. I treated myself to the book a few months ago and its fab...Alf, buy a copy, its worth the money! (I don't work for Bloodaxe honest)
Good choice from Being Human Freckle. I treated myself to the book a few months ago and its fab...Alf, buy a copy, its worth the money! (I don't work for Bloodaxe honest
Have been looking through my poetry books (which I tidied up for Open Studios) and found Wendy Cope....well, not the poet obviously, just a book of her poems.
AFTER THE LUNCH
On Waterloo Bridge where we said our goodbyes,
the weather conditions bring tears to my eyes.
I wipe them away with a black woolly glove
And try not to notice I've fallen in love
On Waterloo Bridge I am trying to think:
This is nothing. you're high on the charm and the drink.
But the juke-box inside me is playing a song
That says something different. And when was it wrong?
On Waterloo Bridge with the wind in my hair
I am tempted to skip. You're a fool. I don't care.
the head does its best but the heart is the boss-
I admit it before I am halfway across
Wendy Cope
That's one of my favourites. Captures such a rare moment perfectly.
Originally Posted by Hes
Have been looking through my poetry books (which I tidied up for Open Studios) and found Wendy Cope....well, not the poet obviously
AFTER THE LUNCH
On Waterloo Bridge where we said our goodbyes,
the weather conditions bring tears to my eyes.
I wipe them away with a black woolly glove
And try not to notice I've fallen in love
On Waterloo Bridge I am trying to think:
This is nothing. you're high on the charm and the drink.
But the juke-box inside me is playing a song
That says something different. And when was it wrong?
On Waterloo Bridge with the wind in my hair
I am tempted to skip. You're a fool. I don't care.
the head does its best but the heart is the boss-
I admit it before I am halfway across
Wendy Cope
Rubbish Poem
Don't make people bitter
Take home your litter
Make the countryside fitter
Not glitter with litter
Steve Merry Foster
environmental poet
says no to litter!
Poacher turned game-keeper
Hi everyone !
Some lovely poems posted ....... x Not been on thread for a while , so working my way through slowly ...
This is one of many lovely poems , by the late Glyn Hughes .
The centipede
They don’t mean much — your possessions —
anymore, nor will it be for long,
yet they mock you with their permanence:
more and more certainly they will supersede you.
So they become old-fashioned, your clothes,
your verses too, and age’s heartless
dawn that arrives without observance
has — one day you realise —
been with you for some years.
Physical pain is bad but spiritual is worse.
Though the soul is somewhere:
a hidden warbler sings. Now you understand.
the spiritual baffles you less now, and the world more.
But in one brilliant moment there is your own soul’s breath
flaming in baby flesh,
dipping into curious things,
puddles and leaves.
A small hand gripping your finger,
pulling you into the garden,
where the flower colours, though they burn small,
and the blossom he taps to see the snowy flutter
is that entranced moment that lasts beyond life
and might have come before it: an infinite
moment that waited for its entrance here.
Dig dig here. He shows you a centipede —
the vital lightening
that seems a single flame
of gold he’s never seen before.
And neither, you realise, have you.
What the something is that fills your nothingness
is not his showing you how to dig
but how to love.
As I look out the window
At the drab colourless sky
I wonder from where did this rain come
On a day that started so gloriously fine
And where does it go to
when its fallen from the sky
some ends up in puddles
some soaks the earth
Filling up rivers and streams
to fill up our resevoirs
to quench our unrelenting thirst
Some ends up inside us via various means
be it from taps to glasses or bottles
its a precious comodity we all need
and when flushed through our system
flushed away to the sea
does its journey end there?
what else could be....
maybe it soaks through the sea bed
through the centre of the earth
and filters through to come out upside down
as fresh water flowing from a mountain spring
on the otherside of the world.........
Last edited by TheReverand; 12-06-2011 at 04:20 PM.
sometimes i am alive because
sometimes i am alive because with
me her alert treelike body sleeps
which i will feel slowly sharpening
becoming distinct with love slowly,
who in my shoulder sinks sweetly teeth
until we shall attain the Springsmelling
intense large togethercoloured instant
the moment pleasantly frightful
when, her mouth suddenly rising, wholly
begins with mine fiercely to fool
(and from my thighs which shrug and pant
a murdering rain leapingly reaches the upward singular deepest flower which she
carries in a gesture of her hips)
ee cummings
Am Yisrael Chai
i really like this rev has a whimsical feel which made me smile...something a bit magical about the rain at times which i think you captured here
one of my fave e e cummings poems mossy...good job its past 9 eh? x
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