Today's poet

[Alf]

My daffs have not even put in a flowering appearance yet

To Daffodils

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain'd his noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the even-song;
And, having pray'd together, we
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything.
We die
As your hours do, and dry
Away,
Like to the summer's rain;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.

Robert Herrick

[Hes]

Nice cheery little number My daffs are finally beginning to flower but a week ago I discovered a beautiful little miniature daffodil flowering happily beneath a bush in my garden. Didn't even know I had any

My daffs have not even put in a flowering appearance yet

To Daffodils

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain'd his noon.
Stay, stay,
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the even-song;
And, having pray'd together, we
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything.
We die
As your hours do, and dry
Away,
Like to the summer's rain;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew,
Ne'er to be found again.

Robert Herrick

[Hes]

Been printing hares today...roe deer tomorrow and owls tomorrow evening. Hope to get a run in in the morning though.

The Midnight Hare

Gold-foot, loping, leaping to light,
twisting to the smile on the silent field,
flying to the drum of the full moon dance,
hops the hedge, legs spread loose,
lank, then taut, tight, sprightly
springs, flips to her form, then:
still.

Spellbound, sleek, almost
invisible, low on dark ground,
inscrutable hieroglyph of being, seeing
secrets deep behind honey eyes,
old as time, cold as stone,
alone with night, a million stars,
counting.

Up again, snatched from dreams,
darting to the mewse, the Old Ways,
pitched like a soft stone, silhouetted
on rising silver, high over water,
low across earth, drawn to the down,
the husk hushed, then wild, moonstruck,
shadow boxing things unseen.

by Oz Hardwick

[Alf]

Nice cheery little number My daffs are finally beginning to flower but a week ago I discovered a beautiful little miniature daffodil flowering happily beneath a bush in my garden. Didn't even know I had any

I am not known for my cheery little numbers

[Alf]

Been printing hares today...roe deer tomorrow and owls tomorrow evening. Hope to get a run in in the morning though.

The Midnight Hare

Gold-foot, loping, leaping to light,
twisting to the smile on the silent field,
flying to the drum of the full moon dance,
hops the hedge, legs spread loose,
lank, then taut, tight, sprightly
springs, flips to her form, then:
still.

Spellbound, sleek, almost
invisible, low on dark ground,
inscrutable hieroglyph of being, seeing
secrets deep behind honey eyes,
old as time, cold as stone,
alone with night, a million stars,
counting.

Up again, snatched from dreams,
darting to the mewse, the Old Ways,
pitched like a soft stone, silhouetted
on rising silver, high over water,
low across earth, drawn to the down,
the husk hushed, then wild, moonstruck,
shadow boxing things unseen.

by Oz Hardwick

Good choice that Hes - "loping and leaping" :thumbup: alliteration that fits a hare beautifully. Are these new prints or making copies of old ones?

[Alf]

Talking of cheery little numbers

Frank Stanford packed a lot into his 29 years before he shot himself.

Freedom, Revolt, and Love

They caught them.
They were sitting at a table in the kitchen.
It was early.
They had on bathrobes.
They were drinking coffee and smiling.
She had one of his cigarillos in her fingers.
She had her legs tucked up under her in the chair.
They saw them through the window.
She thought of them stepping out of a bath
And him wrapping cloth around her.
He thought of her walking up in a small white building,
He thought of stones settling into the ground.
Then they were gone.
Then they came in through the back.
Her cat ran out.
The house was near the road.
She didn't like the cat going out.
They stayed at the table.
The others were out of breath.
The man and the woman reached across the table.
They were afraid, they smiled.
The other poured themselves the last of the coffee.
Burning their tongues.
The man and the woman looked at them.
They didn't say anything.
The man and the woman moved closer to each other,
The round table between them.
The stove was still on and burned the empty pot.
She started to get up.
One of them shot her.
She leaned over the table like a schoolgirl doing her lessons.
She thought about being beside him, being asleep.
They took her long gray socks
Put them over the barrel of a rifle
And shot him.
He went back in his chair, holding himself.
She told him hers didn't hurt much,
Like in the fall when everything you touch
Makes a spark.
He thought about her getting up in the dark
Wrapping a quilt around herself.
And standing in the doorway.
She asked the men if they shot them again
Not to hurt their faces.
One of them lit him one of his cigarettes.
He thought what it would be like
Being children together.
He was dead before he finished it.
She asked them could she take it out of his mouth.
So it wouldn't burn his lips.
She reached over and touched his hair.
She thought about him walking through the dark singing.
She died on the table like that,
Smoke coming out of his mouth.

Frank Stanford

[Mossdog]

Stop all this moroseness at once!!- (pleazzzzze)


Have A Nice Day

'Help, help, ' said a man. 'I'm drowning.'
'Hang on, ' said a man from the shore.
'Help, help, ' said the man. 'I'm not clowning.'
'Yes, I know, I heard you before.
Be patient dear man who is drowning,
You, see I've got a disease.
I'm waiting for a Doctor J. Browning.
So do be patient please.'
'How long, ' said the man who was drowning. 'Will it take for the Doc to arrive? '
'Not very long, ' said the man with the disease. 'Till then try staying alive.'
'Very well, ' said the man who was drowning. 'I'll try and stay afloat.
By reciting the poems of Browning
And other things he wrote.'
'Help, help, ' said the man with the disease, 'I suddenly feel quite ill.'
'Keep calm.' said the man who was drowning, ' Breathe deeply and lie quite still.'
'Oh dear, ' said the man with the awful disease. 'I think I'm going to die.'
'Farewell, ' said the man who was drowning.
Said the man with the disease, 'goodbye.'
So the man who was drowning, drownded
And the man with the disease past away.
But apart from that,
And a fire in my flat,
It's been a very nice day.

Spike M

[Mossdog]

Freckle's poetry thread slipped to page 2 again! Where's Alf?

Read this in a buddhist mag. Apparently it's pinned to the wall of a solitary retreat hut. Kinda nice, whether youre buddhist inclined or not.

ADVICE FOR FELLOW HUT-DWELLERS

I would recommend to go with the flow,
Not to plan, not to structure, not to want, not to know.
To set yourself standards can only be tough:
"I'm not walking, not reading, not sitting enough!"
Have faith that the shape that it takes will be right,
And know this will change with each passing night.
Take heart when you're hurting and chewed up and sad,
That nothing we feel can ever be bad.
Thoughts will dissolve and others take their place,
If we give them attention and kindness and space.
We are as the clouds, ever-changing in form,
And clear skies will frequently follow the storm.

Helen Worthington

[freckle]

Freckle's poetry thread slipped to page 2 again! Where's Alf?

Read this in a buddhist mag. Apparently it's pinned to the wall of a solitary retreat hut. Kinda nice, whether youre buddhist inclined or not.

ADVICE FOR FELLOW HUT-DWELLERS

I would recommend to go with the flow,
Not to plan, not to structure, not to want, not to know.
To set yourself standards can only be tough:
"I'm not walking, not reading, not sitting enough!"
Have faith that the shape that it takes will be right,
And know this will change with each passing night.
Take heart when you're hurting and chewed up and sad,
That nothing we feel can ever be bad.
Thoughts will dissolve and others take their place,
If we give them attention and kindness and space.
We are as the clouds, ever-changing in form,
And clear skies will frequently follow the storm.

Helen Worthington

this is an uplifting little number thank you mossy...sorry i haven't been on for a bit i have freud and klein coming out of my ears! :-)

[freckle]

Touched by an Angel
Maya Angelou

We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.

Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love's light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.

her new book looks good....http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15798797-mom-me-mom