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poe Posts: 1132 Joined: 26th Oct 2003 Location: England | quotePosted at 22:55 on 7th November 2009 Thanks guys, for your kind comments.. Picture by Tony Tooth ‘Ere i stand, far from grand, me shirt stuffed full o’ straw, A rickety stick is what ‘olds me up, tied by lace from some old boot, I’m in no doubt, that i got nought, was only made to scare the crows, Sodden beneath the endless rain, the wind it breaks me stitch, So I ‘ope someday, in some small way, I’ll be thanked for what I do, And so one sad day, when i ’s a pile of hay, restin in the big ol’ loft above, Cause it’s no mean feat, to stay on ya feet, come wind or rain or snow,
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Ruth Gregory Posts: 8072 Joined: 25th Jul 2007 Location: USA | quotePosted at 02:24 on 8th November 2009 Brilliant, Chris! Methinks you must be one of the Bard's descendants.
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Rita Iton Posts: 325 Joined: 28th Jun 2009 Location: USA | quotePosted at 19:26 on 4th January 2010 The poet Jan Kenyon, who died of leukemia at the age of forty-nine, wrote this poem. "Otherwise" I suspect it was written with her illness in mind. I read it as appropriate to one's seventies and beyond. I got out of bed on two strong legs It might have been otherwise, I ate ceral, sweet milk, ripe, flawless peach, It might have been otherwise. All morning i did the work i love. At noon I lay down with my mate. It might have been otherwise. We ate dinner together at a table with silver candlesticks. It might have been otherwise. I slept in a bed in a room with paintings on the walls, and planned another day just like this day But one day, i know It will be otherwise |
Rob Faleer Posts: 703 Joined: 10th Jun 2005 Location: USA | quotePosted at 20:07 on 4th January 2010 Side by side, their faces blurred, The earl and countess lie in stone, Their proper habits vaguely shown As jointed armour, stiffened pleat, And that faint hint of the absurd— The little dogs under their feet. Such plainness of the pre-baroque Hardly involves the eye, until It meets his left-hand gauntlet, still Clasped empty in the other; and One sees, with a sharp tender shock, His hand withdrawn, holding her hand. They would not think to lie so long. Such faithfulness in effigy Was just a detail friends would see: A sculptor’s sweet commissioned grace Thrown off in helping to prolong The Latin names around the base. They would not guess how early in Their supine stationary voyage The air would change to soundless damage, Turn the old tenantry away; How soon succeeding eyes begin To look, not read. Rigidly they Persisted, linked, through lengths and breadths Of time. Snow fell, undated. Light Each summer thronged the glass. A bright Litter of birdcalls strewed the same Bone-riddled ground. And up the paths The endless altered people came, Washing at their identity. Now, helpless in the hollow of An unarmorial age, a trough Of smoke in slow suspended skeins Above their scrap of history, Only an attitude remains: Time has transfigured them into Untruth. The stone fidelity They hardly meant has come to be Their final blazon, and to prove Our almost-instinct almost true: What will survive of us is love. Edited by: Rob Faleer at:4th January 2010 20:26 |
Rita Iton Posts: 325 Joined: 28th Jun 2009 Location: USA | quotePosted at 21:15 on 4th January 2010 Rob a beautiful poem. What will survive of us is love! Here is on of my favorites. TRUTH/ BEAUTY ODE ON A GRECIAN URN. O Attic shape! Fair attitude! With bredeOf marble men and maidens overwroughtWith forest branches and the trodden weed;Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thoughtAs doth eternity: cold pastoral!When old age shall this generation waste,Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woeThan ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st “Beauty is truth, truth beauty,” that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.John Keats (1795-1821. There is something in the universe that outlasts our individual mortal life. Whatever that something is perplexes all of us, and young John Keats wrote about it poetically in his famous ODE on a Grecian Urn., when he himself was grappling with his mortality.
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Stephanie Jackson Posts: 3911 Joined: 13th Apr 2008 Location: UK | quotePosted at 06:43 on 5th January 2010 Great to see the poetry thread back up and running - since we lost Harry we haven't had many entries here. Chris I completely missed that post about the scarecrow! Lovely poem and I am glad you liked the tour. My sister has just published her first poetry book - very exciting! |
Stephanie Jackson Posts: 3911 Joined: 13th Apr 2008 Location: UK | quotePosted at 16:56 on 13th January 2010 Still up to my eyes in work but I wanted to share my sister's good news with you. She has had a poem published on a website. Here is the link - she is Jayne Hall. http://writers-clinic.webs.com/membersseasonalpoetry.htm
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Ron Brind Posts: 19041 Joined: 26th Oct 2003 Location: England | quotePosted at 17:11 on 13th January 2010 Well done to Jayne, Stephanie! |
Rita Iton Posts: 325 Joined: 28th Jun 2009 Location: USA | quotePosted at 18:45 on 13th January 2010 Beautiful Poem by Jayne. Stephanie! interesting site. |
Rita Iton Posts: 325 Joined: 28th Jun 2009 Location: USA | quotePosted at 18:58 on 13th January 2010 Mindfulness (my meditation) Sitting--- Just sitting; mind at ease and fully present; receptive, open, observant to whatever happens: shifting pattern of leaves in a dance with their shadows; slant of sunlight on a wall; a flutter of wings to the birdbath; mingled scent of flowers and mown grass. Beyond boundaries of purpose or expectation, serenely centered in the here and now. |