Today's poet

[Alf]

Drench

You sleep with a dream of summer weather,
wake to the thrum of rain—roped down by rain.
Nothing out there but drop-heavy feathers of grass
and rainy air. The plastic table on the terrace
has shed three legs on its way to the garden fence.
The mountains have had the sense to disappear.
It's the Celtic temperament—wind, then torrents, then remorse.
Glory rising like a curtain over distant water.
Old stonehouse, having steered us through the dark,
docks in a pool of shadow all its own.
That widening crack in the gloom is like good luck.
Luck, which neither you nor tomorrow can depend on.

Anne Stevenson

[Hes]

January

She saw how the trees' shadows lay down
with the shadows already collected
inside each footprint in the snow—which
wasn't white, exactly,
but a color that leaned like the trees'
shadows leaned (the trees unbalanced
by the sun's thinning glow)—the snow,
was it blue? no, the color of afterthought,
maybe, of imitated light—

and here she wavered, but not the shadows
(those sharp replies), not the bristling
wreckage of leaves that breached
the snow. Not the footprints that walked away.

Katharine Rauk

[Mossdog]

meant to post this last night but one child (who is now fine) projectile vomitted all over her bedroom...still better late than never...

Danse Russe
by William Carlos Williams
If when my wife is sleeping and the baby and Kathleen are sleeping and the sun is a flame-white disc in silken mists above shining trees, -if I in my north roomdance naked, grotesquelybefore my mirror waving my shirt round my head and singing softly to myself: "I am lonely, lonely, I was born to be lonely,I am best so!" If I admire my arms, my face, my shoulders, flanks, buttocks against the yellow drawn shades, -Who shall say I am not the happy genius of my household?

Now that did make me laugh - thank you for cheering me up even more Frecks.

[freckle]

Some lovely choices as ever from both Hes and Alf...the january one was very enigmatic!

Last night our dog Marls died, she had a long and happy life but its still hard to say goodbye and will be missed, my five year old was asking where would she go and if she would be a ghost...then i found this poem...

The Ghost Dog
Caitlin Healey

The ghost dog awakens from his dream
His golden locks now faded
Whiskers sprouting from his face
Quivering as he sniffs.
His old limbs reborn
Chasing after an invisible ball
To the garden he used to know.

The ghost dog wanders around
His eyes like tiny pots of chocolate sauce.
Barking his silent bark
If anyone approaches the house

It’s his home
Not the dogs next door
Not the dog down the lane
The lane he used to run
His home only

The ghost dog has only one memory
A little blonde girl feeding him cornflakes
He waits in the kitchen
Waiting for them to come
Waiting for the little blonde girl
Hoping

A patter of little footsteps
A toddle into the room
A single word “Doggy”
A chubby fingered stroke
A pull of his tail
The ghost dog trots back into the woods
The woods where he used to play
Lies down on a blanket of soft autumn leaves
And goes back to his eternal dream.

[Conor74]

William Butler Yeats - When You Are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars

A stuning stunning poem. So beautiful, so subtle. Yeats could do complex, profound poems about some of the great themes, but when wrote of his love for Maude Gonne, this or He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven, it is very hard not to be moved. He was, quite simply, a genius, for me the greatest mind this country has produced.

[Mossdog]

Some lovely choices as ever from both Hes and Alf...the january one was very enigmatic!

Last night our dog Marls died, she had a long and happy life but its still hard to say goodbye and will be missed, my five year old was asking where would she go and if she would be a ghost...then i found this poem...

The Ghost Dog
Caitlin Healey

The ghost dog awakens from his dream
His golden locks now faded
Whiskers sprouting from his face
Quivering as he sniffs.
His old limbs reborn
Chasing after an invisible ball
To the garden he used to know.

The ghost dog wanders around
His eyes like tiny pots of chocolate sauce.
Barking his silent bark
If anyone approaches the house

It’s his home
Not the dogs next door
Not the dog down the lane
The lane he used to run
His home only

The ghost dog has only one memory
A little blonde girl feeding him cornflakes
He waits in the kitchen
Waiting for them to come
Waiting for the little blonde girl
Hoping

A patter of little footsteps
A toddle into the room
A single word “Doggy”
A chubby fingered stroke
A pull of his tail
The ghost dog trots back into the woods
The woods where he used to play
Lies down on a blanket of soft autumn leaves
And goes back to his eternal dream.

Oh Freckle I'm so sorry to hear that news - I lost my cannine running companion a few years ago and he's still very much missed. Even now when I arrive at the garden gate, or reach for my fell shoes I often expect to see him and that look of delighted expectation. I bet you provided her with a wonderful life and have dozens of memories. Great poem - very appropriate.

[stevefoster]

Rest in Peace Marls, all dogs go to heaven, sorry for your loss freckle:-(

[freckle]

thankyou mossy and steve for your thoughtful and kind words, brought a lump to my throat when you talked about your old fellrunning partner mossy.

[Hes]

Hi Freckle, I loved your poem choice and I'm really sorry to hear about Marls. That's so sad, she'll be really missed. Losing a dog is really hard and I'm dreading when my estranged little hairy terrier finally goes. They give us so much and so many happy memories.xx

thankyou mossy and steve for your thoughtful and kind words, brought a lump to my throat when you talked about your old fellrunning partner mossy.

[Hes]

What the Seed Knows

winter plods on like a Russian novel, spring
hints, haiku

tight blouses unbutton, jackets unzip,
skin is not just skin

rich soil proliferates
in the heart, in the hand
that can never let go

rivers flow unseen, underground, unfettered
unfathomable

some dig down, some rise up
some survive

sleep is not dreamless:
how else the orange, the dogwood?
the phalanx of asparagus?

coddled in the pod,
all the seed needs:

darkness, more snug
than light

grit splits the rock, raises
a tiny fist, screams
the world into profusion
of petaled racket

to uncurl and unfurl
to unhusk from the crust

to inhale, exhale
turn toward what's bright


ANITA SKEEN