Poetry

Hi Lorraine.

A great poem. what a lot of talented poets we have on here. I need some lessons I think!

Ray 

I wasn't sure of the origin of the word, 'Codswollop', Denzil - Wikipedia have an explanation - but I do recall my old father using the word.  He was often heard saying, 'Cor' Blimey Me', though, which I believe id a corruption of "God Blind Me"!

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Thanks for the link to REM, Ruth.  As Shakespeare wrote, "If music be the food of life, Play on"

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Seems everyone exudes poetry in one form or another, Ray.

I will be posting three stanzas of an epic poem/prose I wrote, based on Celtic mythology - it may not appeal to everyone, but here is Canto 1:

The Destruction of Da Derga’s Hostel
Celtic Legend
Canto One



A noble king of Erin was Eochaid Fedloch
Whilst journeying, he came to the Bri Leith
Here, he espied, at the edge of a drinking well
A maiden, her hair colored as of a style of an iris,
Adorned with combs of finest silver and gold
She bathed from a bowl of the purest silver
And whose rim was embellished with pure garnet
A mantle she wore, rippled and purple
Beneath which, a kirtle of silken green
At each breast, a brooch of golden filigree
All this splendor the sun shone upon
A manifestation of beauty for all men

The King, enraptured, as he watched.
She loosened the braids of her flaxen hair
With hands white as fresh driven snow
Poppy red cheeks a’ glowing
‘Neath eyebrows, black as the deepest night
Arched proudly above eyes Campanula blue
Her teeth of perfection, white as South Sea pearls
Bedazzling, ‘tween Eden rose-petal lips
Exquisite beauty o’er alabaster shoulders,
Arms fragile as the most delicate egg-shell
Her fingers of perfection, slender and gentle
As she brushed her freed tresses

“Permit me an hour of dalliance with thee”
Erin begged, of the vision before his eyes
“From whence do you come?” asked Eochaid
“I am daughter of Etar, king of Echrad,
My name is Etain,” answered she
“In a fairy mound was I born -
For twenty years have I been wooed
Neither kings nor nobles of the fairy mound
Have they, gained naught from me.
‘Tis for you, my king, that I have waited.
Tales of thy splendor have oft reached me
Even though mine eyes have never seen."

“Thou shalt be welcome at my side
As every other woman will be left by me
And with thee alone will I abide.
“You must pay my bride-price,” says she.
Upon paying the price of seven bondmaids
Etain became King Eochaid Fedloch’s wife
Alas, soon after they were wedded
The king passed into the next world
Leaving behind a daughter, Etain
So named, after her grieving mother.
She was, in time, herself to marry
To Cormac, elected King of all Ulster

( A friend of mine asked who this maiden was...HE wanted her.

I, of course replied, "she is a figment of my imagination!)

Harry

PS. will post Cantos 2&3 shortly.

Looking forward to it Harry! Canto 1 was thoroughly enjoyed. We also enjoyed part 2 of your novel, thanks for sharing it and your other fantastic poems.

Hi Lorraine. Sorry to hear your op was cancelled, but really enjoyed your excellent poem!  Good luck for Tuesday. We hope it all goes well

I'm pleased you enjoyed a little Celtic poetry, Sarah an Chris.

As to my novel, my daughter drew my attention to the fact that there is a similar book on bookshop shelves which contains many similarities.  I will simply say this...I began writing my novel in 2002.  I presented several chapters to an on-line editorship for their critique in 2004, and I possess their e-mailed, dated responses.

I explain this, that, in the event a reader should make the comparison, it is evident that my storyline preceded any other of a similar nature.

Without animosity,

Harry

Second Stanza...Poe

Harry

Wow! I've only been gone 4 days and I've missed so much on this thread, and I've just had time to read back through it.

Harry, I'ts just as well I'm "retired " as otherwise I wouldn't have time to keep up with your prolific writings!  --  Wonderful!

Ruth, Sue and Ray,

Although I have mixed feelings about organised Religion,  I find the following verse thought provoking - you might  too.

What is Dying 

 

I am standing on the sea shore.

A ship at my side spreads her white sails in the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean.

She is an object of beauty and I stand and watch her until at last she fades on the horizon.

Then someone at my side says "There she is gone" -

Gone where?

Gone from my sight - that is all.

She is just as large in the mast, hull and spars as she was when she left my side....

The diminished size and total loss of sight is in me and not in her,

And just as someone says "She is gone",  others take up the glad shout  -

"There she comes." 

 

Bishop Brent of the Phillipines

1862 - 1929 

 

.........and I don't know who wrote this one,  but I think it's very suitable for this site and I like it. 

TREES 

I THINK THAT I SHALL NEVER SEE

A POEM LOVELY AS A TREE

 

A TREE WHOSE HUNGRY MOUTH IS PREST

AGAINST THE EARTH'S  SWEET FLOWING BREAST

 

A TREE THAT LOOKS AT GOD ALL DAY

AND LIFTS HER LEAFY ARMS TO PRAY

 

 

A TREE THAT MAY IN SUMMER
WEAR

A NEST OF ROBINS IN HER HAIR

 

UPON WHOSE BOSOM SNOW HAS LAIN

WHO INTIMATELY LIVES WITH RAIN

 

POEMS ARE MADE BY FOOLS LIKE ME

BUT ONLY GOD CAN MAKE A
TREE.