Today's poet

[Hes]

Hey OneOff, I really enjoyed your poem too. I've felt a bit down this month due to running niggles but this weekend has put me back in a positive frame of mind. Some of the descents made me feel that childlike happiness of letting go and trusting that I'll put my feet in the right place whilst hurtling downhill. You perfectly describe the rhythm of carefree running.

[Hes]

I meant to say how much I like this poem MM. I particularly like the last two lines. I hope we can find out the author because I'd like to read some more of theirs.

On my dog walk today I watched some Rooks repairing their nests.

Across a dome of marbled grey
These messengers on high
Philosophise upon the day
And February's sky....
Invariably their time allows
A pause along the route
They gather in the poplar boughs
And look like blackened fruit;
Some may yearn for time and space
With scenes of babbling brooks
But give me dawning solace
With the coming of the rooks!

[freckle]

This is gorgeous Freckle, totally sums up that 'getting back to reality/normality' feeling after a weekend escape but the last lines are really hopeful and positive. Spring is definitely coming... xx

thanks hes glad you liked it....i noticed loads of clumps of snowdrops on the drive into dufton this weekend so i reckon spring musr be coming such a lovely weekend hopefully they will continue on with the warm weather...and well done again on the commondale clart hope you are "refuelling" with something nice tonight hope to see you again soon xx

[Hes]

Thanks Freckle. I have been eating the remains of yesterday's curry that I made...mutter paneer, yum! The snowdrops were gorgeous weren't they? I think its a bit warmer down here in Masham because we've them for a couple of weeks now. Spotted crocuses and some miniature daffodils today too. All the birds seem to be singing too.xx

thanks hes glad you liked it....i noticed loads of clumps of snowdrops on the drive into dufton this weekend so i reckon spring musr be coming such a lovely weekend hopefully they will continue on with the warm weather...and well done again on the commondale clart hope you are "refuelling" with something nice tonight hope to see you again soon xx

[Derby Tup]

Curlew by the Humber

Hooped over turned earth
they stalk between tides,
unlooked for but found,
approaching, too close almost!


The stubble of worms
they take shaved clean
at the root, loose grass
on the breeze


and shifting
temporary islands somewhere
behind the high ditch
world enough for them –


held
in a gaze
they do not return
tracking their looped cries


upwards and peeling
away as one at last
that I might know what
I have seen

David Wheatley

[Alf]

It felt like spring running in the hills on saturday...hope I can hold onto that feeling throughout my largely surburban week

Snowdrops retort

The margins of an inchoate slate sky
Ambivalently caress the contours of
This car as we travel in mediocre grief
Out of the weekend.

Unlit lamps and nude silverbirch
Line the motorway as anthracite militia
Whispering in low inaudible tones
“Perhaps spring is not here
It may never come”.

And so with heavy heart
And even heavier limbs
The engine is stopped
The door locked
Perhaps resistance is futile?

Then a weary push of the gate
Reveals
A single snowdrop
Who with a finely tuned
Alabaster screech
Refutes the mob.

I loved this freckle You will have to do more running in the hills, it obviously has a good poetic effect on you

[Alf]

Curlew by the Humber

Hooped over turned earth
they stalk between tides,
unlooked for but found,
approaching, too close almost!


The stubble of worms
they take shaved clean
at the root, loose grass
on the breeze


and shifting
temporary islands somewhere
behind the high ditch
world enough for them –


held
in a gaze
they do not return
tracking their looped cries


upwards and peeling
away as one at last
that I might know what
I have seen

David Wheatley

Excellent choice that DT a very evocative poem!

[nippersmith]

The Song Of The Ungirt Runners

We swing ungirded hips,
And lightened are our eyes,
The rain is on our lips,
We do not run for prize.
We know not whom we trust
Nor whitherward we fare,
But we run because we must
Through the great wide air.

The waters of the seas
Are troubled as by storm.
The tempest strips the trees
And does not leave them warm.
Does the tearing tempest pause?
Do the tree-tops ask it why?
So we run without a cause
’Neath the big bare sky.

The rain is on our lips,
We do not run for prize.
But the storm the water whips
And the wave howls to the skies.
The winds arise and strike it
And scatter it like sand,
And we run because we like it
Through the broad bright land.

Charles Hamilton Sorley

[Alf]

The Song Of The Ungirt Runners

We swing ungirded hips,
And lightened are our eyes,
The rain is on our lips,
We do not run for prize.
We know not whom we trust
Nor whitherward we fare,
But we run because we must
Through the great wide air.

The waters of the seas
Are troubled as by storm.
The tempest strips the trees
And does not leave them warm.
Does the tearing tempest pause?
Do the tree-tops ask it why?
So we run without a cause
’Neath the big bare sky.

The rain is on our lips,
We do not run for prize.
But the storm the water whips
And the wave howls to the skies.
The winds arise and strike it
And scatter it like sand,
And we run because we like it
Through the broad bright land.

Charles Hamilton Sorley

An excellent selection Nipper

[Alf]

Like Sorley, Edward Thomas was another poet who was killed in WW1.

Some eyes condemn the earth they gaze upon

SOME eyes condemn the earth they gaze upon:
Some wait patiently till they know far more
Than earth can tell them: some laugh at the whole
As folly of another's making: one
I knew that laughed because he saw, from core
To rind, not one thing worth the laugh his soul
Had ready at waking: some eyes have begun
With laughing; some stand startled at the door.

Others, too, I have seen rest, question, roll,
Dance, shoot. And many I have loved watching. Some
I could not take my eyes from till they turned
And loving died. I had not found my goal.
But thinking of your eyes, dear, I become
Dumb: for they flamed, and it was me they burned.

Edward Thomas