I liked this Mossy, it made me want to read more of her stuffOriginally Posted by Mossdog
Apparently she has worked as a waitress, librarian, telephone psychic, astrologer, tarot reader, New Age book buyer, and natural language programmer. "telephone psychic"
Home is so Sad
Home is so sad. It stays as it was left,
Shaped to the comfort of the last to go
As if to win them back. Instead, bereft
Of anyone to please, it withers so,
Having no heart to put aside the theft
And turn again to what it started as,
A joyous shot at how things ought to be,
Long fallen wide. You can see how it was:
Look at the pictures and the cutlery.
The music in the piano stool. That vase.
Philip Larkin
O Give Me the Woods
O give me the woods, the budding woods,
In the gentle time of spring,
When her dantiest robe o'er tree and shrub
With a noiseless hand she flings;
When the warbling notes of the birds do float,
As from their southern home
To their place of rest in the olden nest,
On gladsome wing they come.
O give me the wood, the shady wood,
In the balmy summer-time,
When voices sweet in the charmed retreat
Blend in a dreamy chime.
And the murmur low of the streamlet's flow
Has ever a charm to the eye,
Seeming to say as it floats away,
I go, goodbye--goodbye.
O give me the wood, the gorgeous wood,
In the fading autumn-time,
When the fitful breeze as it sighs through the trees
Breathes ever a solemn rhyme.
O! strange is the song that echoes along
Through the forest aisles so dim,
Like the anthem grand of some spirit band
Or the organ's wildest hymn.
O! give me the wood, the dreary wood,
When winter, old and hoar,
In his snowy shroud with many a cloud
Comes from some ice-girt shore.
O! there is a charm in the wind and storm,
Like the echoes wild and deep
That rise and roll through some convent old
Where the dead undreaming sleep.
O! give me the woods, the grand old woods,
Where a fairy-land it seems;
And I dwell while there in a charmed air
And lose myself in dreams.
Art thou weary of life and its ceaseless strife?
Then go to the tuneful wood;
In that retreat let the heart grow meek
As ye list to the voice of God.
Mary T. Lathrap
at times i find larkin so melancholy yet so utterly authentic....nice choice
to get it on...or not to get it on...that is the question....
A Style Of Loving
Light now restricts itself
To the top half of trees;
The angled sun
Slants honey-coloured rays
That lessen to the ground
As we bike through
The corridor of Palm Drive
We two
Have reached a safety the years
Can claim to have created:
Unconsumated, therefore
Unjaded, unsated.
Picnic, movie, ice-cream;
Talk; to clear my head
Hot buttered rum - coffee for you;
And so not to bed
And so we have set the question
Aside, gently.
Were we to become lovers
Where would our best friends be?
You do not wish, nor I
To risk again
This savoured light for noon's
High joy or pain.
Vikram Seth
Great choice freckle.
"You do not wish, nor I
To risk again
This savoured light for noon's
High joy or pain. "
Sublime
Echo
Come to me in the silence of the night;
Come in the speaking silence of a dream;
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright
As sunlight on a stream;
Come back in tears,
O memory, hope, love of finished years.
O dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet,
Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,
Where souls brimfull of love abide and meet;
Where thirsting longing eyes
Watch the slow door
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.
Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live
My very life again though cold in death:
Come back to me in dreams, that I may give
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:
Speak low, lean low
As long ago, my love, how long ago.
Christina Georgina Rossetti
thats rather lovely alf ....just what the doctor ordered as i wait for my supernoodles to cook :-)
i never lose interest in this well posted poem....the drunkeness of things being various...the world being crazier than we think...genius
SNOW (Louis MacNeice)
The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.
World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.
And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes -
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands -
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.
I was listening to Radio 3 "Words and Music" programme today and heard this poem: A Poison Tree
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
William Blake
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