Today's poet

[Alf]

Travelling

This is the spot:—how mildly does the sun
Shine in between the fading leaves! the air
In the habitual silence of this wood
Is more than silent: and this bed of heath,
Where shall we find so sweet a resting-place?
Come!—let me see thee sink into a dream
Of quiet thoughts,—protracted till thine eye
Be calm as water when the winds are gone
And no one can tell whither.—my sweet friend!
We two have had such happy hours together
That my heart melts in me to think of it.

William Wordsworth

[freckle]

thats such a touching choice alf and so apt for valentines day!

here is one from the poet laurete

If I Was Dead
Carol Ann Duffy

If I was dead,
and my bones adrift like dropped oars in the deep,
turning earth; or drowned,
and my skull a listening shell on the dark ocean bed;
if I was dead,
and my heart soft mulch for a red,red rose;
or burned, and my body a fistful of grit,
thrown in the face of the wind;
if I was dead, and my eyes,
blind at the roots of flowers,
wept into nothing,
I swear your love would raise me out of my grave,
in my flesh and blood, like Lazarus;
hungry for this, and this, and this,
your living kiss.

[Alf]

thats such a touching choice alf and so apt for valentines day!

here is one from the poet laurete

If I Was Dead
Carol Ann Duffy

If I was dead,
and my bones adrift like dropped oars in the deep,
turning earth; or drowned,
and my skull a listening shell on the dark ocean bed;
if I was dead,
and my heart soft mulch for a red,red rose;
or burned, and my body a fistful of grit,
thrown in the face of the wind;
if I was dead, and my eyes,
blind at the roots of flowers,
wept into nothing,
I swear your love would raise me out of my grave,
in my flesh and blood, like Lazarus;
hungry for this, and this, and this,
your living kiss.

A good 'Friday night poem' that one freckle :thumbup:

[Alf]

Another Friday night poem

Meeting at Night

The gray sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low:
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i’ the slushy sand.

Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match,
And a voice less loud, through joys and fears,
Than the two hearts beating each to each!

Robert Browning

[Alf]

The Friendship of Young Poets

There must have been more than just one of us,
But we never met. Each kept in his world of loss
the promise of literary days, the friendship
of poets, mysterious, that sharing of the books
And talking in whispers in crowded bars
Suspicious enough to be taken for love.

We never met. My youth was as private
as the bank at midnight, and in its safety
No talking behind backs, no one alike enough
To be pretentious with and quote lines at.

There is a boat on the river now, and
Two young men, one rowing, one reading aloud.
The shirt sleeves fill with wind, and from the oars
Drop scales of perfect river like melting glass.

Douglas Dunn

[freckle]

The Friendship of Young Poets

There must have been more than just one of us,
But we never met. Each kept in his world of loss
the promise of literary days, the friendship
of poets, mysterious, that sharing of the books
And talking in whispers in crowded bars
Suspicious enough to be taken for love.

We never met. My youth was as private
as the bank at midnight, and in its safety
No talking behind backs, no one alike enough
To be pretentious with and quote lines at.

There is a boat on the river now, and
Two young men, one rowing, one reading aloud.
The shirt sleeves fill with wind, and from the oars
Drop scales of perfect river like melting glass.

Douglas Dunn

how absolutely delightful!

[freckle]

The BBC have created a cento which includes the phrases from lots of different poems and are using it as a trailer for BBC 2 and what it has to offer. I really like it. http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p00vztlb/profiles/cento

One of the poems they use is this...

Nature



As a fond mother, when the day is o’er,
Leads by the hand her little child to bed,
Half willing, half reluctant to be led,
And leave his broken playthings on the floor,
Still gazing at them through the open door,
Nor wholly reassured and comforted
By promises of others in their stead,
Which, though more splendid, may not please him more;
So nature deals with us, and takes away
Our playthings one by one, and by the hand
Leads us to rest so gently, that we go
Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,
Being too full of sleep to understand
How far the unknown transcends the what we know.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

[Mossdog]

Tell Me

Tell me, dear beauty of the dusk,
When purple ribbons bind the hill,
Do dreams your secret wish fulfill,
Do prayers, like kernels from the husk
Come from your lips?

Tell me if when
The mountains loom at night,
giant shades
Of softer shadow,
swift like blades
Of grass seeds come to flower.
Tell me if the night winds bend
Them towards me, if the Shenandoah
As it ripples past your shore,
Catches the soul of what you send.

Jean Toomer

[Alf]

The BBC have created a cento which includes the phrases from lots of different poems and are using it as a trailer for BBC 2 and what it has to offer. I really like it. http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p00vztlb/profiles/cento

One of the poems they use is this...

Nature



As a fond mother, when the day is o’er,
Leads by the hand her little child to bed,
Half willing, half reluctant to be led,
And leave his broken playthings on the floor,
Still gazing at them through the open door,
Nor wholly reassured and comforted
By promises of others in their stead,
Which, though more splendid, may not please him more;
So nature deals with us, and takes away
Our playthings one by one, and by the hand
Leads us to rest so gently, that we go
Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,
Being too full of sleep to understand
How far the unknown transcends the what we know.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

A great example of a Petrarchan Sonnet but more to the point a lush poem as well

[Alf]

Tell Me

Tell me, dear beauty of the dusk,
When purple ribbons bind the hill,
Do dreams your secret wish fulfill,
Do prayers, like kernels from the husk
Come from your lips?
Tell me if when
The mountains loom at night,
giant shades
Of softer shadow,
swift like blades
Of grass seeds come to flower.
Tell me if the night winds bend
Them towards me, if the Shenandoah
As it ripples past your shore,
Catches the soul of what you send.

Jean Toomer

I am not familiar with his work Mossy but that is a lush poem as well