Thank you Alf, I am pleased you like this poem, I stumbled across the poem shortly after Mag 7 last Sunday and it felt reminiscent although we were lucky to have no rain. According to Wiki, Sorley's favourite pursuit was cross-country running in the rain but he was killed in battle at 20. What a short life, how shocking. Sarah
Missed this before - and it is just so very lovely and hopeful. Thank you Frecks.Originally Posted by freckle
Am Yisrael Chai
Winter Walk
The holly bush, a sober lump of green,
Shines through the leafless shrubs all brown and grey,
And smiles at winter be it eer so keen
With all the leafy luxury of May.
And O it is delicious, when the day
In winter's loaded garment keenly blows
And turns her back on sudden falling snows,
To go where gravel pathways creep between
Arches of evergreen that scarce let through
A single feather of the driving storm;
And in the bitterest day that ever blew
The walk will find some places still and warm
Where dead leaves rustle sweet and give alarm
To little birds that flirt and start away.
John Clare
Welcome, pale primrose! starting up between
Dead matted leaves of ash and oak that strew
The every lawn, the wood, the spinney, through
Mid creeping moss, and ivy's darker green.
How much thy presence beautifies the ground-
How sweet thy modest unaffected pride
Glows on the sunny banks and woods warm side.
John Clare
some gorgeous spring like offerings on here of late nice one MM and Alfster....I also enjoyed Nippersmiths choice...especially the last two lines (so much so i have made it my signature!!!!!) i think the poem reads with the rythmn of running and it really sums up the pleasure of running "in the broad bright land"...nice one
just read this and enjoyed the whimsical tone...
The Door
Go and open the door.
Perhaps outside
there's a tree, or a wood,
or a garden,
or a magic town.
Go and open the door.
Perhaps outside
there's a dog scratching.
Perhaps there's a face outside,
or an eye
or the picture
of a picture.
Go and open the door.
If there's fog outside
it will go.
Go and open the door.
There could be outside only
singing darkness,
and there could be outside only
wind's hollow breath
and there could be
absolutely nothing
outside,
go and open the door.
At least
there would be
a draught.
Last edited by freckle; 08-03-2012 at 08:58 PM.
HEATHER
You talk of pale primroses,
Of frail and fragrant posies,
The cowslip and the cuckoo-flower
that scent the spring-time lea.
But give to me the heather,
The honey-scented heather,
The glowing gipsy heather-
That is the flower for me!
You love the the garden alleys,
Smooth-shaven lawns and valleys,
The cornfield and the shady lane, and
fisher sails at sea.
But give to me the moorland,
The noble purple moorland,
The free, far stretching moorland-
That is the land for me!
Flora Thompson
Loved the 'Heather' poem MM
With the Midgeley Moor race on the horizon it will be a chance to get up close and personal with heather
The Yellowhammer
When shall I see the white-thorn leaves agen,
And yellowhammers gathering the dry bents
By the dyke side, on stilly moor or fen,
Feathered with love and nature's good intents?
Rude is the tent this architect invents,
Rural the place, with cart ruts by dyke side.
Dead grass, horse hair, and downy-headed bents
Tied to dead thistles--she doth well provide,
Close to a hill of ants where cowslips bloom
And shed oer meadows far their sweet perfume.
In early spring, when winds blow chilly cold,
The yellowhammer, trailing grass, will come
To fix a place and choose an early home,
With yellow breast and head of solid gold.
John Clare
Excellent find that freckle and very optimistic and positive. I always think the land does look "brighter and broader" when you are out running !
Doubt shall not make an end of you
Doubt shall not make an end of you
nor closing eyes lose your shape
when the retina's light fades;
what dawns inside me will light you.
In our public lives we may confine ourselves to darkness,
our nowhere mouths explain away our dreams,
but alone we are incorruptible creatures,
our light sunk too deep to be of any social use
we wander free and perfect without moving
or love on hard carpets
where couples revolving round the room
end found at its centre.
Our love like a whale from its deepest ocean rises -
I offer this and a multitude of images
from party rooms to oceans,
the single star and all its reflections;
being completed we include all
and nothing wishes to escape us.
Beneath my hand your hardening breast agrees
to sing of its own nature,
then from a place without names our origin comes shivering.
Feel nothing separate then,
we have translated each other into light
and into love go streaming.
Brian Patten
Am Yisrael Chai
The Anniversary
All Kings, and all their favourites,
All glory of honours, beauties, wits,
The sun itself, which makes times, as they pass,
Is elder by a year now than it was
When thou and I first one another saw:
All other things to their destruction draw,
Only our love hath no decay;
This no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday,
Running it never runs from us away,
But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.
Two graves must hide thine and my corse;
If one might, death were no divorce.
Alas, as well as other Princes, we
(Who Prince enough in one another be)
Must leave at last in death these eyes and ears,
Oft fed with true oaths, and with sweet salt tears;
But souls where nothing dwells but love
(All other thoughts being inmates) then shall prove
This, or a love increasèd there above,
When bodies to their graves, souls from their graves remove.
And then we shall be throughly blessed;
But we no more than all the rest.
Here upon earth we’re Kings, and none but we
Can be such Kings, nor of such subjects be;
Who is so safe as we? where none can do
Treason to us, except one of us two.
True and false fears let us refrain,
Let us love nobly, and live, and add again
Years and years unto years, till we attain
To write threescore: this is the second of our reign.
John Donne
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