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Thread: Today's poet

  1. #12801
    Master
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    Posts
    6,158

    Re: Today's poet

    Coronach


    He is gone on the mountain,
    He is lost to the forest,
    Like a summer-dried fountain,
    When our need was the sorest.
    The font, reappearing,
    From the rain-drops shall borrow,
    But to us comes no cheering,
    To Duncan no morrow!

    The hand of the reaper
    Takes the ears that are hoary,
    But the voice of the weeper
    Wails manhood in glory.
    The autumn winds rushing
    Waft the leaves that are searest,
    But our flower was in flushing,
    When blighting was nearest.

    Fleet foot on the corrie,
    Sage counsel in cumber,
    Red hand in the foray,
    How sound is thy slumber!
    Like the dew on the mountain,
    Like the foam on the river,
    Like the bubble on the fountain,
    Thou art gone, and for ever!



    Sir Walter Scott

  2. #12802
    Master
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    May 2011
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    High Bentham
    Posts
    2,022

    Re: Today's poet

    Quote Originally Posted by freckle View Post
    Geography Lesson
    Brian Pattern

    Our teacher told us one day he would leave
    And sail across a warm blue sea
    To places he had only known from maps,
    And all his life had longed to be.

    The house he lived in was narrow and grey
    But in his mind’s eye he could see
    Sweet-scented jasmine clinging to the walls,
    And green leaves burning on an orange tree.

    He spoke of the lands he longed to visit,
    Where it was never drab or cold.
    I couldn’t understand why he never left,
    And shook off the school’s stranglehold.

    Then halfway through his final term
    He took ill and never returned.
    He never got to that place on the map
    Where the green leaves of the orange trees burned.

    The maps were redrawn on the classroom wall;
    His name forgotten, he faded away.
    But a lesson he never knew he taught
    Is with me to this day.

    I travel to where the green leaves burn,
    To where the ocean’s glass-clear and blue,
    To places our teacher taught me to love –
    And which he never knew.



    Love this! There's a lesson for us all in here. It reminds me of a guy I knew at work. he always talked of his retirement, couldnt wait, it was all planned out. He was a real nice fella, nice as you could meet. died of an anurism, aged 57, three years from retirement. Same as my sister as it happens. She was due to retire this summer, worked hard all her teaching career, loved by all of her pupils, past and present. Died last November, aged 56. Cheers. Love it!! I might even print it and stick it on my fridge... :thumbup:

  3. #12803
    Master
    Join Date
    Aug 2009
    Location
    North Yorkshire
    Posts
    3,970

    Re: Today's poet

    Terra Incognita

    I have scaled unknown ridges and cliffs,
    only to abseil downward, dropping inside
    the holes of caves where stalagmites pierced

    the floors of darkened rooms. I have found
    mines deep within the crevices of sleeping
    mountains, waded in underground springs

    of manatees, minerals, sand. I have upturned
    rocks, searched the roots of trees in acres
    of eclipsed valleys, hiked along shores,

    lakes, becks, running streams.
    Once I stopped for days at a single hillside,
    made a bed inside, woke to the sound

    of falcons and the distant morning dove,
    the sun glinting off pines that reached
    upwards with outstretched hands.

    But do not tell me that love makes us into fools.
    I know the shadows that pause within the folds
    of these hills, still miles from where I stand.

    I've heard the secrets farmers keep, irrigation
    and rotating crops, when to move in, when to start a fire.
    I've seen the red skies. I know the warning of dawn.

    I know too that frozen waters can flow,
    can once again flow, how fields will blaze
    anew, if touched by the sun.

    Blame me, but I will open the curtains.
    After all, I have lived here for a million years
    and am long past finding my way home.

    Andrea Wiztke Slot

  4. #12804
    Moderator Mossdog's Avatar
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    Re: Today's poet

    Quote Originally Posted by Alf View Post
    Coronach


    He is gone on the mountain,
    He is lost to the forest,
    Like a summer-dried fountain,
    When our need was the sorest.
    The font, reappearing,
    From the rain-drops shall borrow,
    But to us comes no cheering,
    To Duncan no morrow!

    The hand of the reaper
    Takes the ears that are hoary,
    But the voice of the weeper
    Wails manhood in glory.
    The autumn winds rushing
    Waft the leaves that are searest,
    But our flower was in flushing,
    When blighting was nearest.

    Fleet foot on the corrie,
    Sage counsel in cumber,
    Red hand in the foray,
    How sound is thy slumber!
    Like the dew on the mountain,
    Like the foam on the river,
    Like the bubble on the fountain,
    Thou art gone, and for ever!



    Sir Walter Scott
    Gulp! A bit sad that one Alf. Suitably lamenting, I suppose that's the point!
    Am Yisrael Chai

  5. #12805

    Re: Today's poet

    Quote Originally Posted by that_fjell_guy View Post
    Love this! There's a lesson for us all in here. It reminds me of a guy I knew at work. he always talked of his retirement, couldnt wait, it was all planned out. He was a real nice fella, nice as you could meet. died of an anurism, aged 57, three years from retirement. Same as my sister as it happens. She was due to retire this summer, worked hard all her teaching career, loved by all of her pupils, past and present. Died last November, aged 56. Cheers. Love it!! I might even print it and stick it on my fridge... :thumbup:
    I am glad you enjoyed that fell guy and what a moving story you tell about your sister, humbling .

  6. #12806

    Re: Today's poet

    [QUOTE=Alf;487246]Coronach


    He is gone on the mountain,
    He is lost to the forest,
    Like a summer-dried fountain,
    When our need was the sorest.
    The font, reappearing,
    From the rain-drops shall borrow,
    But to us comes no cheering,
    To Duncan no morrow!

    The hand of the reaper
    Takes the ears that are hoary,
    But the voice of the weeper
    Wails manhood in glory.
    The autumn winds rushing
    Waft the leaves that are searest,
    But our flower was in flushing,
    When blighting was nearest.

    Fleet foot on the corrie,
    Sage counsel in cumber,
    Red hand in the foray,
    How sound is thy slumber!
    Like the dew on the mountain,
    Like the foam on the river,
    Like the bubble on the fountain,
    Thou art gone, and for ever!






    very powerful that alf, often we associate nature and being out in the elements with the cycle of life yet in that last verse scott implies that even the dew on the mountains is finite...melancholy but beautiful

  7. #12807

    Re: Today's poet

    Hes

    brilliant choice ...loved ...

    But do not tell me that love makes us into fools.
    I know the shadows that pause within the folds
    of these hills, still miles from where I stand.

    and....

    Blame me, but I will open the curtains.
    After all, I have lived here for a million years
    and am long past finding my way home.

  8. #12808

    Re: Today's poet

    He remebers forgotten beauty

    by: William Butler Yeats

    WHEN my arms wrap you round I press
    My heart upon the loveliness
    That has long faded from the world;
    The jewelled crowns that kings have hurled
    In shadowy pools, when armies fled;
    The love-tales wrought with silken thread
    By dreaming ladies upon cloth
    That has made fat the murderous moth;
    The roses that of old time were Woven
    by ladies in their hair,
    The dew-cold lilies ladies bore
    Through many a sacred corridor
    Where such grey clouds of incense rose
    That only God's eyes did not close:
    For that pale breast and lingering hand
    Come from a more dream-heavy land,
    A more dream-heavy hour than this;
    And when you sigh from kiss to kiss
    I hear white Beauty sighing, too,
    For hours when all must fade like dew,
    But flame on flame, and deep on deep,
    Throne over throne where in half sleep,
    Their swords upon their iron knees,
    Brood her high lonely mysteries
    Last edited by freckle; 09-06-2012 at 11:23 PM.

  9. #12809

    Re: Today's poet


  10. #12810
    Moderator Mossdog's Avatar
    Join Date
    Nov 2007
    Location
    Teesdale
    Posts
    2,902

    Re: Today's poet

    SOUNDS OF THE DAY

    When a clatter came,
    It was horses crossing the ford.
    When the air creaked, it was
    A lapwing seeing us off the premises
    Of its private marsh. A snuffling puff
    Ten yards from the boat was the tide blocking,
    Unblocking a hole in a rock.
    When the black drums rolled, it was water
    Falling sixty feet into itself.

    When the door
    Scraped shut, it was the end
    Of all the sounds there are.

    You left me
    Beside the quietest fire in the world.

    I thought I was hurt in my pride only,
    Forgetting that,
    When you plunge your hand in freezing water,
    You feel
    A bangle of ice around your wrist
    Before the whole hand goes numb.

    Norman Maccaig
    Am Yisrael Chai

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