Today's poet

[Hes]

Here's another of his that I liked after taking your lead and searching for more!

What Passed Unsaid

Midnight at a dinner party,
fourth bottle of wine
opened and leaning on ice,
you are discussing Genesis and
the pagan origins of myth,
misinterpretations of which have
painted a stain that feminism
tries and tries to erase.
I see your wine glass is empty,
quietly pluck it from your grasp
to refill it with champagne.
But it’s all gone, only blush left.
So I fill up your glass but
give you mine, still full of Asti,
then return to the other side
of the room, another conversation.
You do not say thank you.
I’m glad you don’t. Sometimes,
the most beautiful things
pass unsaid, even unnoticed
between those whose hearts
need not fuse, but move together
like lanterns over dark water.

[Harry H Howgill]

I love poetry. Like life, most of it is pretty mundane; then every now and again something lovely comes along. This is lovely.

Here's another of his that I liked after taking your lead and searching for more!

What Passed Unsaid

Midnight at a dinner party,
fourth bottle of wine
opened and leaning on ice,
you are discussing Genesis and
the pagan origins of myth,
misinterpretations of which have
painted a stain that feminism
tries and tries to erase.
I see your wine glass is empty,
quietly pluck it from your grasp
to refill it with champagne.
But it’s all gone, only blush left.
So I fill up your glass but
give you mine, still full of Asti,
then return to the other side
of the room, another conversation.
You do not say thank you.
I’m glad you don’t. Sometimes,
the most beautiful things
pass unsaid, even unnoticed
between those whose hearts
need not fuse, but move together
like lanterns over dark water.

[Alf]

Here's another of his that I liked after taking your lead and searching for more!

What Passed Unsaid

Midnight at a dinner party,
fourth bottle of wine
opened and leaning on ice,
you are discussing Genesis and
the pagan origins of myth,
misinterpretations of which have
painted a stain that feminism
tries and tries to erase.
I see your wine glass is empty,
quietly pluck it from your grasp
to refill it with champagne.
But it’s all gone, only blush left.
So I fill up your glass but
give you mine, still full of Asti,
then return to the other side
of the room, another conversation.
You do not say thank you.
I’m glad you don’t. Sometimes,
the most beautiful things
pass unsaid, even unnoticed
between those whose hearts
need not fuse, but move together
like lanterns over dark water.

Wow that is a good poem!

[Alf]

Open University 40th Anniversary Poem

OU, we owe you
everybody wants to know you
even those who used to doubt you
can’t speak well enough about you
they say: your founders were fearless
your students are tireless
your tutors are peerless
your media wireless

you’re the College of the Air
your reception’s everywhere

a twinkle in J C Stobart’s eye
that Michael Young could not let lie
that Jennie Lee tenaciously
made manifest reality
they’d an inkling lower income
doesn’t lead to slower thinking
so now some of us are inching
by degrees towards degrees

OU, we owe you:
the never-quite-made-it or told-they-were stupid
the started-but-faded or sidetracked-by-cupid
the just-need-encouragement, gluttons-for-nourishment
the people whose talent was far too well-hidden
the told-that-we-couldn’t-or-shouldn’t-so-didn’t
the course-interrupted, the quite-frankly-corrupted
deep knowledge questers, bereft empty-nesters,
bright-eyed early-risers, complete self-surprisers

…who now all have fuller foreheads
a more complex frontal cortex

for nourishing our neurons
OU, we owe you

in time that’s borrowed, bought and stolen
schedules staggered, bent and swollen
time that’s snatched & time that’s smuggled
every minute of it juggled
we give up bingo, daytime telly
computer games and social drinking
to read Bronte Proust and Shelley
stay at home and do binge-thinking
every sacrifice worth making
now we’re swapping sleep for waking
waking up to our potential
to explore worlds once forbidden us
– it’s why on the residential
things can get a bit libidinous –

for being so inspiring
that you get our neurons firing
and spontaneously re-wiring
OU, we owe you

the wide-eyed wonder-graduate
the famished hunger-graduate…
jotting reading and absorbing
finding empty hours and tables
sending subtle signs to strangers
‘don’t disturb me I am dangerous
I have got a little learning…’

…and it’s not just about earning
though yes, we’re more employable
but when we go out on the pull
we talk a better class of bull
and if we’re not successful
we are much more philosophical

for nourishing our neurons
buffing up our self-assurance
and for being so inspiring
that you get our neurons firing
and spontaneously re-wiring
OU, we owe you

and OU here’s hoping
you always stay Open
for your enterprise is noble
and expanded frontal lobal
may your outreach programme snowball
from Chernobyl down to Yeovil
from Shanghai to Sampford Peverell
may your future now be global
and may some of your post-graduates
win prizes that are Nobel
if a university could get an honorary degree
you wouldn’t get one
– you’d get several

OU, BSc, BA Hons, Phd
we raise a half-full glass to you
from every social class to you
say ‘may the gods look after you’
and
OU, we owe you

Happy Anniversary*

(*now can I have a bursary?)

Matt Harvey

I enjoyed that Harry, it reminded me of my OU days

[Alf]

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.

Thats an excellent poem Mossy, well done

[freckle]

Here's another of his that I liked after taking your lead and searching for more!

What Passed Unsaid

Midnight at a dinner party,
fourth bottle of wine
opened and leaning on ice,
you are discussing Genesis and
the pagan origins of myth,
misinterpretations of which have
painted a stain that feminism
tries and tries to erase.
I see your wine glass is empty,
quietly pluck it from your grasp
to refill it with champagne.
But it’s all gone, only blush left.
So I fill up your glass but
give you mine, still full of Asti,
then return to the other side
of the room, another conversation.
You do not say thank you.
I’m glad you don’t. Sometimes,
the most beautiful things
pass unsaid, even unnoticed
between those whose hearts
need not fuse, but move together
like lanterns over dark water.

a beautiful choice hes...here is one of my ol faves


After parting

Oh I have sown my love so wide
That he will find it everywhere;
It will awake him in the night,
It will enfold him in the air.

I set my shadow in his sight
And I have winged it with desire,
That it may be a cloud by day
And in the night a shaft of fire.


Sara Teasdale

[freckle]

off "Glamping" with the girls and some friends so here is my last offering for a while...

on a similar theme to mossys brilliant poem, this time by langston hughes


Harlem

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

[Hes]

Like this Freckle. I also loved your Sara Teasdale post. I've been looking for a poem that says more or less that for a while! (wish I could write one!). have a brilliant time 'glamping' looking forward to seeing the photos.xxx

off "Glamping" with the girls and some friends so here is my last offering for a while...

on a similar theme to mossys brilliant poem, this time by langston hughes


Harlem

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

[Mossdog]

Here's another of his that I liked after taking your lead and searching for more!

What Passed Unsaid

Midnight at a dinner party,
fourth bottle of wine
opened and leaning on ice,
you are discussing Genesis and
the pagan origins of myth,
misinterpretations of which have
painted a stain that feminism
tries and tries to erase.
I see your wine glass is empty,
quietly pluck it from your grasp
to refill it with champagne.
But it’s all gone, only blush left.
So I fill up your glass but
give you mine, still full of Asti,
then return to the other side
of the room, another conversation.
You do not say thank you.
I’m glad you don’t. Sometimes,
the most beautiful things
pass unsaid, even unnoticed
between those whose hearts
need not fuse, but move together
like lanterns over dark water.

Yowzah! Agree with all the others Hes - what a find, and yes Alf those last few lines are just sublime.

[Mossdog]

a beautiful choice hes...here is one of my ol faves


After parting

Oh I have sown my love so wide
That he will find it everywhere;
It will awake him in the night,
It will enfold him in the air.

I set my shadow in his sight
And I have winged it with desire,
That it may be a cloud by day
And in the night a shaft of fire.


Sara Teasdale

I can see why that's a fav Freckle - it's lovely.