Today's poet

[Alf]

I don't really believe he wanted to be spared

AGRICULTURAL CARESS

Keep me from Thelma's sister Pearl!
She puts my senses in a whirl,
Weakens my knees and keeps me waiting
Until my heart stops palpitating.

The debs may turn disdainful backs
On Pearl's uncouth mechanic slacks,
And outraged see the fire that lies
And smoulders in her long-lashed eyes.

Have the such weather-freckled features.
The smooth sophisticated creatures?
Ah, not to them such limbs belong,
Such animal movements sure and strong.

Such arms to take a man and press
In agricultural caress
His head to hers, and hold him there
Deep buried in her chestnut hair.

God shrive me from this morning lust
For supple farm girls, if you must,
Send the cold daughter of an earl -
But spare me Thelma's sister Pearl!

John Betjeman

[Mossdog]

I don't really believe he wanted to be spared

AGRICULTURAL CARESS

Keep me from Thelma's sister Pearl!
She puts my senses in a whirl,
Weakens my knees and keeps me waiting
Until my heart stops palpitating.

The debs may turn disdainful backs
On Pearl's uncouth mechanic slacks,
And outraged see the fire that lies
And smoulders in her long-lashed eyes.

Have the such weather-freckled features.
The smooth sophisticated creatures?
Ah, not to them such limbs belong,
Such animal movements sure and strong.

Such arms to take a man and press
In agricultural caress
His head to hers, and hold him there
Deep buried in her chestnut hair.

God shrive me from this morning lust
For supple farm girls, if you must,
Send the cold daughter of an earl -
But spare me Thelma's sister Pearl!

John Betjeman

Ummm...I sensing a theme emerging here Alf with your last couple of postings about big busty domineering lasses. Wondering if you're hankering after some amazonian love goddess? Feeling lonely perhaps? Look here and listen up lad to your uncle Mossy. This'll make much more sense, save you a small fortune and a heap of heart break complications...

She, A Lonely Soul.

She
Knew demons were taking control,
They were hidden away
So no-one would know,
Invading her mind
They refused to leave,
Lost in her misery
She started to grieve,
Not for a departed
But demons still there
Insisting her life
They were happy to share.

Trembling and shaking
She survived one more day,
Praying her demons would
Soon go away.

Then a neighbour hesitatingly came
Carrying a puppy
That had sad eyes, and lame,
She felt heartbroken
(That puppy had charm)
As it cuddled in
To the crook of her arm,
No home did it have
It was unwanted and weak,
Abandoned by someone
Who had a cruel streak.

Her demons just vanished,
A smile spread on her face
As she devoted her time
To a companion named 'Grace',
They now help each other
New owner and pet,
No demons or misery
Or signs of regret.

Heather P Wilson

[freckle]

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more”

this is great...nice choice alf ....and here is another on the love of nature...and our place as observers

Mayflies
Richard Wilbur

In somber forest, when the sun was low,
I saw from unseen pools a mist of flies,
In their quadrillions rise,
And animate a ragged patch of glow,
With sudden glittering - as when a crowd
Of stars appear,
Through a brief gap in black and driven cloud
One arc of their great round-dance showing clear.

It was no muddled swarm I witnessed, for
In entrechats each fluttering insect there
Rose two steep yards in air,
Then slowly floated down to climb once more,
So that they all composed a manifold
And figured scene,
And seemed the weavers of some cloth of gold,
Or the fine pistons of some bright machine.

Watching those lifelong dancers of a day
As night closed in, I felt myself alone
In a life too much my own,
More mortal in my separateness than they -
Unless, I thought, I had been called to be
Not fly or star
But one whose task is joyfully to see
How fair the fiats of the caller are.

[Alf]

Another John Betjeman but no amazonian love goddesses this time


Winter Seascape

The sea runs back against itself
With scarcely time for breaking wave
To cannonade a slatey shelf
And thunder under in a cave.

Before the next can fully burst
The headwind, blowing harder still,
Smooths it to what it was at first -
A slowly rolling water-hill.

Against the breeze the breakers haste,
Against the tide their ridges run
And all the sea's a dappled waste
Criss-crossing underneath the sun.

Far down the beach the ripples drag
Blown backward, rearing from the shore,
And wailing gull and shrieking shag
Alone can pierce the ocean roar.

Unheard, a mongrel hound gives tongue,
Unheard are shouts of little boys;
What chance has any inland lung
Against this multi-water noise?

Here where the cliffs alone prevail
I stand exultant, neutral, free,
And from the cushion of the gale
Behold a huge consoling sea.

John Betjeman

[Alf]

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more”

this is great...nice choice alf ....and here is another on the love of nature...and our place as observers

Mayflies
Richard Wilbur

In somber forest, when the sun was low,
I saw from unseen pools a mist of flies,
In their quadrillions rise,
And animate a ragged patch of glow,
With sudden glittering - as when a crowd
Of stars appear,
Through a brief gap in black and driven cloud
One arc of their great round-dance showing clear.

It was no muddled swarm I witnessed, for
In entrechats each fluttering insect there
Rose two steep yards in air,
Then slowly floated down to climb once more,
So that they all composed a manifold
And figured scene,
And seemed the weavers of some cloth of gold,
Or the fine pistons of some bright machine.

Watching those lifelong dancers of a day
As night closed in, I felt myself alone
In a life too much my own,
More mortal in my separateness than they -
Unless, I thought, I had been called to be
Not fly or star
But one whose task is joyfully to see
How fair the fiats of the caller are.

I see you have managed to break away from the training for a bit of poetry freckle :thumbup: May seems a long way off though.

[Alf]

I feel my fell shoes trying to leave the ground

Starlings in Winter

Chunky and noisy,
but with stars in their black feathers,
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly
they are acrobats
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,
dipping and rising;
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,
then closes again;
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can’t imagine
how they do it
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,
this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.
Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;
I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard. I want
to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.

Mary Oliver

[freckle]

I feel my fell shoes trying to leave the ground

Starlings in Winter

Chunky and noisy,
but with stars in their black feathers,
they spring from the telephone wire
and instantly
they are acrobats
in the freezing wind.
And now, in the theater of air,
they swing over buildings,
dipping and rising;
they float like one stippled star
that opens,
becomes for a moment fragmented,
then closes again;
and you watch
and you try
but you simply can’t imagine
how they do it
with no articulated instruction, no pause,
only the silent confirmation
that they are this notable thing,
this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin
over and over again,
full of gorgeous life.
Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us,
even in the leafless winter,
even in the ashy city.
I am thinking now
of grief, and of getting past it;
I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart
pumping hard. I want
to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.

Mary Oliver

i want to be frolicsome too...but am feeling a tad aged...how do you grow old gracefully? what is the secret? answers on a postcard please :-)

[freckle]

longing for the summer and a day of meandering with nothing much to do.....

The Summer Day
Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

[Old Whippet]

i want to be frolicsome too...but am feeling a tad aged...how do you grow old gracefully? what is the secret? answers on a postcard please :-)

Wouldn't you rather grow old Disgracefully?

Anyway.... reminded tonight - via the TV, abetted by a splash of whisky, that Jim Morrison was quite a poet:

The WASP (Texas Radio and the big beat)

I wanna tell you 'bout Texas Radio and the Big Beat
Comes out of the Virginia swamps
Cool and slow with plenty of precision
With a back beat narrow and hard to master

Some call it heavenly in its brilliance
Others, mean and ruthful of the Western dream
I love the friends I have gathered together on this thin raft
We have constructed pyramids in honor of our escaping
This is the land where the Pharaoh died

The Negroes in the forest brightly feathered
They are saying, "Forget the night
Live with us in forests of azure
Out here on the perimeter there are no stars
Out here we is stoned immaculate"
[ From: http://www.elyrics.net ]

Now, listen to this and I'll tell you 'bout the heartache
I'll tell you 'bout the heartache and the loss of God
I'll tell you 'bout the hopeless night
The meager food for souls forgot
I'll tell you 'bout the maiden with wrought iron soul

I'll tell you this
No eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn

I'll tell you 'bout Texas Radio and the Big Beat
Soft, driven slow and mad, like some new language

Now, listen to this and I'll tell you 'bout the Texas
I'll tell you 'bout the Texas Radio
I'll tell you 'bout the hopeless night
Wandering the Western dream
Tell you 'bout the maiden with wrought iron soul

[IanDarkpeak]

I've just been chatting to a friend about haiku and wanted to show him the ones on here but 1200 pages ...can any one remember when we had a phase of them?