Today's poet

[Alf]

Storm Ending

Thunder blossoms gorgeously above our heads,
Great, hollow, bell-like flowers,
Rumbling in the wind,
Stretching clappers to strike our ears . . .
Full-lipped flowers
Bitten by the sun
Bleeding rain
Dripping rain like golden honey—
And the sweet earth flying from the thunder.

Jean Toomer

[Mossdog]

Nice choice Mossy. I am going to see Carol Ann Duffy reading her poems at the end of the month at our local 'Literary Festival'. I also have a ticket for Simon Armitage's reading the night before as well which I am looking forward to.

Ah yes. Wish I was going to see her too. She seems to be 'doing the rounds' and is reading in B'ham this Thursday evening, so I'm told. Anyway, enjoy Alf.

[Mark Smith]

Complete class act. Superb

[Derby Tup]

Complete class act. Superb

JCC was on at Ilkley Literary Ferstival last year and was ace! Bongo's Trousers might have been the highlight

[Mark Smith]

JCC was on at Ilkley Literary Ferstival last year and was ace! Bongo's Trousers might have been the highlight

I bet that was brilliant. I saw him in Nottingham when I was 18 and will never forget it. It's interesting to see the Arctic Monkeys adapting I Wanna Be Yours. Not bad actually. I wanted to hate it!

[Alf]

For all the cows out there. They have been getting a bad press recently

Fetching cows

The black one, last as usual, swings her head
And coils a black tongue round a grass-tuft. I
Watch her soft weight come down, her split feet spread.

In front, the others swing and slouch; they roll
Their great Greek eyes and breathe out milky gusts
From muzzles black and shiny as wet coal.

The collie trots, bored, at my heels, then plops
Into the ditch. The sea makes a tired sound
That's almost stopping though it never stops.

A haycart squats prickeared against the sky.
Hay breath and milk breath. Far out in the West
The wrecked sun founders though its colours fly.

The collie's bored. There's nothing to control...
The black cow is two native carriers
Bringing its belly home, slung from a pole.

Norman MacCaig

[Alf]

For all the symbolic cows out there as well

The Lost Heifer

When the black herds of the rain were grazing,
In the gap of the pure cold wind
And the watery hazes of the hazel
Brought her into my mind,
I thought of the last honey by the water
That no hive can find.

Brightness was drenching through the branches
When she wandered again,
Turning sliver out of dark grasses
Where the skylark had lain,
And her voice coming softly over the meadow
Was the mist becoming rain.

Austin Clarke

[Richard Shlong]

Hey diddle diddle the cat had a fiddle.


R. Shlong, 2013.

[Alf]

Going

There is an evening coming in
Across the fields, one never seen before,
That lights no lamps.

Silken it seems at a distance, yet
When it is drawn up over the knees and breast
It brings no comfort.

Where has the tree gone, that locked
Earth to the sky? What is under my hands,
That I cannot feel?

What loads my hands down?

Philip Larkin

[Mossdog]

Going

There is an evening coming in
Across the fields, one never seen before,
That lights no lamps.

Silken it seems at a distance, yet
When it is drawn up over the knees and breast
It brings no comfort.

Where has the tree gone, that locked
Earth to the sky? What is under my hands,
That I cannot feel?

What loads my hands down?

Philip Larkin

Nice one Alf. Just right for this evenings run over Hardberry Trig and the views west towards Crossfell.


Safe Sounds

You like safe sounds:
the dogs lapping at their bowls;
the pop of a cork on a bottle of plonk
as your mother cooks;
the Match of the Day theme tune
and Doctor Who-oo-oo.

Safe sounds:
your name called, two happy syllables
from the bottom to the top of the house;
your daft ring tone; the low gargle
of hot water in bubbles. Half asleep
in the drifting boat of your bed,
you like to hear the big trees
sound like the sea instead.

Carol Ann Duffy