Re: Poetry please.

Tiffany, I love your poems too.

Re: Poetry please.

Beautiful poem Robert & yes, it could apply to any thing happening now. Civilian adults & children should not have to witness or be subjected to what they are in some parts of our World.

Re: Poetry please.

Thank you Robert.

Re: Poetry please.

Miracle on St. Davids Day
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude
- The Daffodils, William Wordsworth

An afternoon yellow and open-mouthed
with daffodils. The sun treads the path
among cedars and enormous oaks.
It might be a country house, guests strolling,
the rumps of gardeners between nursery shrubs.

I am reading poetry to the insane.
An old woman, interrupting, offers
as many buckets of coals as I need.
A beautiful chestnut-haired boy listens
entirely absorbed. A schizophrenic

on a good day, they tell me later.
In a cage of first March sun a woman
sits not listening, not seeing, not feeling.
In her neat clothes the woman is absent.
A big mild man is tenderly led

to his chair. He has never spoken.
His labourer's hands on his knees, he rocks
gently to the rhythms of the poems.
I read to their presences, absences,
to the big, dumb labouring man as he rocks.

He is suddenly standing, silently,
huge and mild, but I feel afraid. Like slow
movement of spring water or the first bird
of the year in the breaking darkness,
the labourer's voice recites 'The Daffodils'.

The nurses are frozen, alert; the patients
seem to listen. He is hoarse but word-perfect.
Outside the daffodils are still as wax,
a thousand, ten thousand, their syllables
unspoken, their creams and yellows still.

Forty years ago, in a Valleys school,
the class recited poetry by rote.
Since the dumbness of misery fell
he has remembered there was a music
of speech and that once he had something to say.

When he's done, before the applause, we observe
the flowers' silence. A thrush sings
and the daffodils are aflame.

Gillian Clarke in: Letter from a Far Country

Re: Poetry please.

That is lovely, Thank you.

Re: Poetry please.

Here's one for a cold winter's night. One of a few I wrote to accompany a book fairy art.


Jack

Ding Dong bells and green holly bowers,
Twinkling stars in midnight hours,
Mistletoe wings with berries of white,
Scarcely noticed, this cold, fairy night.

Changing of season, changes of dress,
Summer has gone, pastel shades less,
Wavy edged wings like skeleton leaves,
Long gowns of gauze hide them in trees.

Goblins and Elves and Pixies and Gnomes,
Poke their heads out of their quaint little homes.
The man in the moon smiles down with a grin,
Peeping through trees, calls "Anyone In?"

Babbling brooks now silenced and still,
Jack cast his frost from the top of the hill,
An old fishing gnome is frozen like stone,
Rod in his hand, he sits all alone.

Heads that get cold at the drop of a hat,
Are covered with feathers from Grandma's old mat.
Spidery webs getting tangled in hair,
Icicle winds freeze the damp in the air.

Then dancing along on the pathway tonight,
Come four Forest Fairies and a wee Sprite.
Carrying lanterns with comforting glow,
To hide from the cold, they know where to go.

A hush once again has returned to the woods,
Winter is here, snowmen in hoods,
No whispering words from folk underground,
And there they will stay, ‘til spring comes around.

Royce ©Oct.2007

Re: Poetry please.

Lovely, Puddle Duck, some really beautiful images there.

Re: Poetry please.

Thank you, Silver Tabby.

Re: Poetry please.

I have come across some old poems wot I wrote
Here is one, though my day isn’t until August 7th
I will be 70


Granddad Bob is sixty-six today
It’s just another yearly way
To celebrate the fact that he
Has survived the year to be
Older than he was last year
And, good grief he is still here
One year older and still no wiser
Still not drinking Stella Cider.
This time last year he was in a flap
Cos he was getting, frankly........ Fat
But keeping an eye on what he ate
H e has changed his expected fate
Two stone gone, plus two before
He does go on, oh what a bore.
Losing Weight is to be recommended
But only if it was truly intended.
Bob can see what was hid before
HE can see the ground or floor
More than that he can see where he is peeing
AS they often say “Seeing is believing”

Re: Poetry please.

Originally put this in 'General' for Ffosse because he mentioned the equinox - but thought I would share it in here as well:-

EQUINOX

Noun: the time when the sun passes over the
equator, and day and night are of equal length.


But time does not exist
so how does anyone know?
What venerable ancient long
ago decreed that twice a year
an equinox would happen ?
Did he also invent the year?

And why should it only
apply to non-existent time?
Why not an “equinox” of life,
of love, of shopping, of … trees?
The number of trees now is equal
to the number that will ever be ?

No - that would not work.
It has to be quantifiable - but
how do you quantify something
that does not exist and
name it “equinox” ?
Maybe only time will tell …

© 2018