Today's poet

[XRunner]

I got heavily bitten by midges last week and I quoted a line from a poem which has always seemed right but I've been unable to find the full version..any one reconises it..

I long for the ridges,
away from the midges.
up where the eagles fly.....

Here is a Scottish poem to the pest.....(by W.R.Darling)


Oh ye, wha in your oors o ease,
Are fashed wi golochs, mauks, an flees,
Fell stingin wasps an bumble bees,
Tak tent o this:
There's ae sma pest that's waur nor these
To mar your bliss.

They hing ower hedges, burns, an wuds,
An dance at een in dusky cluds;
Wi aw your random skelps an scuds,
They're naeweys worrit:
Gin there's a hole in aw your duds,
They'll mak straucht for it.

I've traivled wast, I've traivled east;
I'm weel aquant wi mony a beast;
Wi lions, teegers, bears - at least
I've kent their claw:
I've been the fell mosquito's feast-
But this cowes aw.

Auld Scotland, on thy bonnie face,
Whan Mither Nature gied ye grace,
Lown, birken glens an floery braes,
Wild windy ridges,
To save ye frae deleerit praise,
She gied ye midges.

[Alf]

How Snow Falls


Like the unshaven prickle
of a sharpened razor,

this new coldness in the air,
the pang

of something intangible.
Filling our eyes,

the sinusitis of perfume
without the perfume.

And then love's vertigo,
love's exactitude,

this snow, this transfiguration
we never quite get over.


Craig Raine

[Mossdog]

I was talking to a single friend recently and we both agreed that what we miss most when not in a relationship is not sex (although...who wouldn't miss that?:wink its intimacy and affection. A hug from a friend ends up feeling like a precious gift when you've been on your own for a long time. I just listened to a radio 4 play about a mother who has a surrogate baby for her daughter and she talks about the lack of physical contact in her life and there is a really moving scene where her daughter kisses her cheek after ten years of not touching her.

Absence

Separate in my solitude
how loud is this quiet!
The absence of your voice
deafens me and leaves
my untouched body restless.
arms folded, pacing familiar floors
I hug myself as if cold
hoping to recall the warmth
and ghost of your embrace.

Just returned from me hols and back reading some of the great posts on this thread, and what do I find......this absolutely magnificent gem. Really beautiful Hes - thank you for sharing.

[Nathaniel Lee]

Poetry. Cleans the mind.

Oh poetry,oh poetry,
More useful than a lavatory,
One is used to free the mind,
The other leaves a clean behind.

Oh poetry,oh poetry,
Represents mans dignity,
Many don't realise what poems have,
They would rather riot and be a chav.

Nathaniel Lee.

[Mossdog]

Poetry. Cleans the mind.

Oh poetry,oh poetry,
More useful than a lavatory,
One is used to free the mind,
The other leaves a clean behind.

Oh poetry,oh poetry,
Represents mans dignity,
Many don't realise what poems have,
They would rather riot and be a chav.

Nathaniel Lee.

:wink::wink::wink::wink:

Talking of 'bogs', I was running up Crossfell today and spotted a wild flower I'd not seen before (great excuse for a breather). Turns out it's called Grass-of-Parnassus. Not a grass at all, and is in the Cumbria coat-of-arms (guess whose been googling about it). Anyway (stay with me I'm getting there!!!), the google also revealed thi short-film of the same name which I just know is going to appeal to some of you on this thread.....


enjoy...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7xcb...layer_embedded

Ok not exactly a poem but...

[freckle]

How Snow Falls


Like the unshaven prickle
of a sharpened razor,

this new coldness in the air,
the pang

of something intangible.
Filling our eyes,

the sinusitis of perfume
without the perfume.

And then love's vertigo,
love's exactitude,

this snow, this transfiguration
we never quite get over.


Craig Raine

very elegant alf...nice choice...some great offerings on here of late :-)

[Hes]

Welcome back Mossy, hope you had a good holiday? Thanks for your lovely comments about my poem.

I just watched the video, brilliant stuff (wasn't quite expecting what happened!). I'm not sure if I've ever come across a Grass-of-Parnassus but I'm going to look out for it now...don't you just love google?

:wink::wink:

Talking of 'bogs', I was running up Crossfell today and spotted a wild flower I'd not seen before (great excuse for a breather). Turns out it's called Grass-of-Parnassus. Not a grass at all, and is in the Cumbria coat-of-arms (guess whose been googling about it). Anyway (stay with me I'm getting there!!!), the google also revealed thi short-film of the same name which I just know is going to appeal to some of you on this thread.....


enjoy...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7xcb...layer_embedded

Ok not exactly a poem but...

[Hes]

I like this Alf!

How Snow Falls


Like the unshaven prickle
of a sharpened razor,

this new coldness in the air,
the pang

of something intangible.
Filling our eyes,

the sinusitis of perfume
without the perfume.

And then love's vertigo,
love's exactitude,

this snow, this transfiguration
we never quite get over.


Craig Raine

[robpark]

When the English tongue we speak.
Why is break not rhymed with freak?
Will you tell me why it's true
We say sew but likewise few?
And the maker of the verse,
Cannot rhyme his horse with worse?
Beard is not the same as heard
Cord is different from word.
Cow is cow but low is low
Shoe is never rhymed with foe.
Think of hose, dose,and lose

And think of goose and yet with choose
Think of comb, tomb and bomb,
Doll and roll or home and some.
Since pay is rhymed with say
Why not paid with said I pray?
Think of blood, food and good.
Mould is not pronounced like could.
Wherefore done, but gone and lone -
Is there any reason known?
To sum up all, it seems to me
Sound and letters don't agree.

Lord Cromer

[Alf]

The Licorice Fields of Pontefract

In the licorice fields at Pontefract
My love and I did meet
And many a burdened licorice bush
Was blooming round our feet;
Red hair she had and golden skin,
Her sulky lips were shaped for sin,
Her sturdy legs were flannel-slack'd
The strongest legs in Pontefract.

The light and dangling licorice flowers
Gave off the sweetest smells;
From various black Victorian towers
The Sunday evening bells
Came pealing over dales and hills
And tanneries and silent mills
And lowly streets where country stops
And little shuttered corner shops.

She cast her blazing eyes on me
And plucked a licorice leaf;
I was her captive slave and she
My red-haired robber chief.
Oh love! for love I could not speak,
It left me winded, wilting, weak,
And held in brown arms strong and bare
And wound with flaming ropes of hair.

John Betjeman