Today's poet

[Mossdog]

WHEN WE TWO PARTED
Lord Byron

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow ---
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me ---
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well: ---
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met ---
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee? --- With silence and tears.

That's so very sad, I can't really bear to read it again.

[Stevie]

Thoughts @ 4:48 pm
<snip>
those tidal forces of our lives
did we choose or, too late,
find ourselves stranded ?
Marooned among our own rocky clefted worlds
which vie with a multiple of others,
possibilities; missed-taken-overlooked
-or-chosen, at some point we're all
irrevocably beached

how strange life is
did we imagine it would be like this?
Little fish, darting flecks of silver,
in our own diminishing rock pools
until, inevitably
the grand press of Tide
overruns and spills us all out.

Very nice Mossdog. I like your second to last verse especially. You have to reach a certain age and stage to realise there's no going back, and it creeps up on you quicker than expected. It does me anyway!

[Hes]

I found your poem really beautiful, sad and poignant Mossy. Life is never how I imagined it would be, sometimes infinitely better and sometimes harder.

how strange life is
did we imagine it would be like this?
Little fish, darting flecks of silver,
in our own diminishing rock pools
until, inevitably
the grand press of Tide
overruns and spills us all out.

[Harry H Howgill]

Poor old William wasn't very good at spelling was he? ha ha ha

That made me laugh. He wouldn't pass his English Lit GCSE with spelling like that!

[XRunner]

Don't leave us on such a cliff hanger! What happens in Part 2?:w00t::w00t:

The original poem is over 6,000 lines long!:sneaky::closed:

[XRunner]

Poor old William wasn't very good at spelling was he? ha ha ha

Or spelling has degenerated consideably since the 14th century:w00t:

[Hes]

Good point! It would be interesting to know how spelling will degenerate in the future with regards to the 'text speak' shenanigans!

Or spelling has degenerated consideably since the 14th century:w00t:

[Hes]

Flipping heck! I can't find the head space to write two lines of poetry. That quite amazing.

The original poem is over 6,000 lines long!:sneaky::closed:

[freckle]

Thoughts @ 4:48 pm

I'm gazing
through the window
a steady summer rain
gentle to the skin
falls quietly earthwards
the clouds are singing
a life song for our meadows
now hastily cleared of hay
such a timeless bounty,
the stave against that which
we really don't like to speak of,
not just yet: winter

far to the south
I see your toes,
treading through warm sand
prickly seaweed and sticks
you notice,
the slosh-wash of wavelets
charging high along the sandline
lose their momentum, and spent,
retreat languidly;
voices call to you
and for a moment, maybe,
you focus on the gentle salty
breeze which smoothes your cheek,
squint at the horizon,
then smile and call back;
a dozen thoughts clatter
for your attention

those tidal forces of our lives
did we choose or, too late,
find ourselves stranded ?
Marooned among our own rocky clefted worlds
which vie with a multiple of others,
possibilities; missed-taken-overlooked
-or-chosen, at some point we're all
irrevocably beached

how strange life is
did we imagine it would be like this?
Little fish, darting flecks of silver,
in our own diminishing rock pools
until, inevitably
the grand press of Tide
overruns and spills us all out.

the word
on the street is
mossy has written
an awesome poem
and i happen to think
the word
is right!

I love the way you weave themes of mortality, choices, the inevitability of the "grand press of time" and the sense of surreality that one feels when it dawns ....."this is it".....truly awesome mossy, well impressed !

[Harry H Howgill]

There is a nice piece in the Guardian about Edward Thomas, Robert Frost and the poem The Road Not Taken. I know it is a favourite of some people. It is America's most popular apparently.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011...-thomas-poetry