Good luck Hes, i find a good poem changes my mood.................so hurry up, no pressure mind:wink:Originally Posted by Hes
Good luck Hes, i find a good poem changes my mood.................so hurry up, no pressure mind:wink:
ummmm....I'm thinking....:wink: Don't want to let you down....
as you yourself did say
only forward is the way
its no good to look back
or go down the wrong track
for tomorrow might be a fine day!
(that aint good and its not poetry but I tried...hope you feel better soon Steve.)
Hey I think it's pretty neat - I liked it
as you yourself did say
only forward is the way
its no good to look back
or go down the wrong track
for tomorrow might be a fine day!
(that aint good and its not poetry but I tried...hope you feel better soon Steve.
Feeling right as rain Hes, that's as good as owt, tha'll never be a let downas you yourself did say
only forward is the way
its no good to look back
or go down the wrong track
for tomorrow might be a fine day!
(that aint good and its not poetry but I tried...hope you feel better soon Steve.
Good positive stuff SteveFoster and Hes. Loved the balloon poem Freckle. Flicking through Tobias Hill's Midnight in the City of Clocks I came upon this one, with moon reference. He doesn't always write in verses of 2 lines!
Don't get me wrong. Your face is smooth and soft
as clingfilm. But, my love, your voice has claws
and though (quite naturally) I'm pleased to say
that your fine hands do not resemble paws
there is sweet, dark perfume on your breath
and I find I believe that it has teeth
- In many ways you look like like death
warmed up. What is it that you keep
wound up, behind the puzzle-depth
of eyes that are so smiling bright?
I think there's wolf in your sheep's clothing,
but you wear the clothing well.
Come out with me. The city smells
of terrace cakes in terrace houses,
rented rooms and private halls,
the mathematics of small lives; a point
is that which can't be split,
a lifeline is length without breadth-
Will you come out with me? Tonight
the Underground shakes the pavement
and the moon is a a heart's-width
Sheep's Clothing by Tobias Hill
Can't resist this one, also from Tobias Hill's Midnight in the City of Clocks book: Love Song
Promise me something. promise me
a kiss. Your lips are methedrine,
faster than alcohol. Swear on
the ram-raiders, the joyriders
garbaging up the night. Swear on
the Underground-surfers. Kiss me.
Come to me in high places.
Kite Hill and the housing estates
where pensioners behind their lace
wait for your movements and your face.
Let them watch you come to me.
I love the roll of your sex
when you walk, and the black
of your belly after the talk.
Clearness of acts in the quick of the dark.
Show me your skin. Show me again.
Your clothes undone, your nakedness
and eyes open. Watching my face
for lust. Staring, their whiteness
makes my heart beat
by the whites of your eyes.
I touch your tears and have no words.
We crouch like borstal cases in stairwells
and cul-de-sacs. Your head back,
your throat open and no more
to give. Hands knotted in my hair. The stars
not burning down on us
like the song of kings,
only burning. We make our own songs.
The claw marks on my leg
It was probably a bear attack?
A tiger, a werewolf or a knife fight?
Or a great white bit my leg and spat it back?
Someone even suggested a chihuahua given the height!
But no, it was none of that
It was just heather, a sticky out bit
On Ogden Moor, me running out flat
I slipped and fell... like a complete tit!
Ha ha....I like it Stolly!
The scars that are worn
By our favourite stoic
Are they wounds from a fight?
Or something heroic?
But no it was heather
Or so admits Stolly
It could have been worse
It could have been holly!
The claw marks on my leg
It was probably a bear attack?
A tiger, a werewolf or a knife fight?
Or a great white bit my leg and spat it back?
Someone even suggested a chihuahua given the height!
But no, it was none of that
It was just heather, a sticky out bit
On Ogden Moor, me running out flat
I slipped and fell... like a complete tit!
Ted Hughes lived in Heptonstall - he certainaly did "moody"
But can anyone help me unpick some of the metaphor and meaning behind this dark homage to Heptonstall?
HEPTONSTALL
BLACK VILLIAGE OF GRAVE STONES
SKULL OF AN IDIOT
WHOSE DREAMS DIE BACK
WHERE THEY WERE BORN
SKULL OF A SHEEP
WHOSE MEAT MELTS
UNDER IT'S OWN RAFTERS
ONLY THE FLIES LEAVE IT
SKULL OF A BIRD
THE GREAT GEOGRAPHIE
DRAINED TO SUTURES
OF CRACKED WINDOWSILLS
LIFE TRIES.
DEATH TRIES.
THE STONE TRIES.
ONLY THE RAIN NEVER TRIES
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