Today's poet

[Hes]

Great stuff from the Rev and Steve. I'm refusing to read any more about the BG. So fed up with the negativity. Great to come on here and see such openness and heartfelt words. And Mossy....nice choice!

[TheReverand]

They come and go
we all get some kind
We run through most
without too much thought
We know they will usually
come to nought
but occasionally
and if your unlucky
frequently
We pick up an injury
that you know
you have to treat seriously

Frustrating and worrying they can be
as we never really can be sure
how long they will be
with us and stopping us
from taking part in
what has become our routine
our daily life of which
running plays an integral part

And as we get older
we begin to realise
maybe we aren't
so indestructible
as once we swore we were

[stevefoster]

They come and go
we all get some kind
We run through most
without too much thought
We know they will usually
come to nought
but occasionally
and if your unlucky
frequently
We pick up an injury
that you know
you have to treat seriously

Frustrating and worrying they can be
as we never really can be sure
how long they will be
with us and stopping us
from taking part in
what has become our routine
our daily life of which
running plays an integral part

And as we get older
we begin to realise
maybe we aren't
so indestructible
as once we swore we were

Too true rev, but we must take Joss Naylor's example, 'When it's in the heart, you just keep plodding on' Wonder if i'll be able to fit a zimmer frame in me bumbag, feel a new equipment thread coming on 'What lightweight zimmer frame............................???

[Stevie]

I like your output Reverand, makes me want to have another go at penning some verse. I have a few ideas but recently they have "come to nought".

[Stevie]

When it comes to posting poetry written by others, I have this problem, which is that a lot of what I find myself reading does not conform to the kind of poetry usually posted on here, mostly because of subject, sometimes because of form. I'm not saying I don't enjoy the poems posted on here, because I do.

Most of the poems I post I have trawled the web for, and this is a time consuming and often fruitless process. So what I've decided is that I'm going to post a few from what I'm reading at the time, and take the chance you will like them, just because it makes it easier for me to find poems to post!

Ok so here goes with one from Tobias Hill. Don't know if you're familiar with his work but he writes poems and also novels. His novels I find wrist slittingly tedious, but the poems are quite accessible and he has some interesting ideas and turns of phrase even if at the end you go "yes, and?"

This is from his book Zoo, writtten during his time as poet in residence at London Zoo. I like the sense of ambience the poem gives. The first line reminds me as much of being in the in the fells as it does being in London.

And the sky wet as a loose tarpaulin.
I'm walking but not home.

I'm taking the air. It tastes
sweet, like rust. The tide is out

and the mud is thick as meat
over the inner city's chalk.

Here are the broken fingerbones
of clay pipes. Traffic cones. The imprint

of my own feet, walking back.
Here is a seed stained black.

Live as a fist, but all I want
is somewhere to sit down a minute,

tomorrow's newspaper (the pages
hot with fish and vinegar)

and the watermark of London sky
green as old money all over the river.

Drunk Autumn Midnight below Victoria Embankment / Tobias Hill

[Stevie]

And here is (hopefully) more of a crowd pleaser, the well known poem "The Tiger" by William Blake.

TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

[freckle]

stevie i really enjoyed both choices in particular the tobias hill one which provided a nice bit of escapism on my late lunch...lovely stuff x p.s rev you are on form at the minute !

[Hes]

Hi Stevie, thanks for your poem choices, I particularly like the Tobias Hill one. I find your comments interesting because I don't feel that there is a particular type of poem or typical subject matter on this thread. I, for one, often type up poems that I have found in books or elsewhere rather than trawl the internet and I think many of the other contributors do the same. You should definitely just post what you want to and not worry about whether it 'fits'. That's want makes this thread interesting and also introduces new poets to everyone.

When it comes to posting poetry written by others, I have this problem, which is that a lot of what I find myself reading does not conform to the kind of poetry usually posted on here, mostly because of subject, sometimes because of form. I'm not saying I don't enjoy the poems posted on here, because I do.

Most of the poems I post I have trawled the web for, and this is a time consuming and often fruitless process. So what I've decided is that I'm going to post a few from what I'm reading at the time, and take the chance you will like them, just because it makes it easier for me to find poems to post!

Ok so here goes with one from Tobias Hill. Don't know if you're familiar with his work but he writes poems and also novels. His novels I find wrist slittingly tedious, but the poems are quite accessible and he has some interesting ideas and turns of phrase even if at the end you go "yes, and?"

This is from his book Zoo, writtten during his time as poet in residence at London Zoo. I like the sense of ambience the poem gives. The first line reminds me as much of being in the in the fells as it does being in London.

And the sky wet as a loose tarpaulin.
I'm walking but not home.

I'm taking the air. It tastes
sweet, like rust. The tide is out

and the mud is thick as meat
over the inner city's chalk.

Here are the broken fingerbones
of clay pipes. Traffic cones. The imprint

of my own feet, walking back.
Here is a seed stained black.

Live as a fist, but all I want
is somewhere to sit down a minute,

tomorrow's newspaper (the pages
hot with fish and vinegar)

and the watermark of London sky
green as old money all over the river.

Drunk Autumn Midnight below Victoria Embankment / Tobias Hill

[Mossdog]

Kissing
Fleur Adcock


The young are walking on the riverbank
arms around each other’s waist and shoulders,
pretending to be looking at the waterlilies
and what might be a nest of some kind, over
there, which two who are clamped together
mouth to mouth have forgotten about.
The others, making courteous detours
around them, talk, stop talking, kiss.
They can see no one older than themselves.
It’s their river. They’ve got all day.
Seeing’s not everything. At this very
moment the middle-aged are kissing
in the backs of taxis, on the way
to airports and stations. Their mouths and tongues
are soft and powerful and as moist as ever.
Their hands are not inside each other’s clothes
(because of the driver) but locked so tightly
together that it hurts: it may leave marks
on their not of course youthful skin, which they won’t
notice. They too may have futures.

Mmmmm....interesting. Not sure what I think about that one Freckle. I like it's sentiment, but not sure about the style. Would it fall into the prose poem category?

[Mossdog]

....awwwwww!

i really like the first line of this poem....

Somewhere on the other side of this wide night
and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.
This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.
La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine
the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you and this
is what it is like or what it is like in words.

Carol Ann Duffy

Now that, is 'CLASS'.