POETRY

[reohn2]

Joe's blindness

Descended into darkness,yet his darkness still brought forth bright light.
I wondered if he saw it that way?
A sense taken away,yet still able to inspire and enthrall,
despite the loss.

Can descension actually be ascension?
Can the top be the bottom?
Can the bottom be the top?


Rumi
-The presence is there in front of me,a fire on the left,
a lovely stream on the right.
One group walks toward the fire,into the fire,
another toward the sweet flowing water.
No one knows which are blessed and which are not.
Whoever walks into the fire appears suddenly in the stream.
A head goes under the water surface,
that head pokes out of the fire.
Most people guard against going into the fire,
and so end up in it.
Those who love the water of pleasure and make it their devotion
are cheated with this reversal.
The trickery goes further.
The voice of the fire tells the truth saying,"I am not fire."
"I am fountainhead,come into me and don't mind the sparks"

If you are a friend,fire is your water-

Does appearance mean disappearance?
Can fire ever be water?
Is an end a beginning?

What is on the inside sooner or later reveals itself......

[hondated]

Poetry is only OK if it doesnt come presented as poetry.

As soon as somebody creates the situation of having to "sit and listen" to poetry it is destroyed.
School English Literature studies ensured that I would hate anything under the heading poetry for the next forty-five years at least.

I can quite enjoy that Barnsley poet Ian McMillan in the background on the radio because he is interesting and skillful and doesnt make you feel like you are listening to poetry.
Benjamin Zephaniah is quite listenable to because he blends a message with speech that is musical.

Which then gets us to the poetry which is very enjoyable, emotive and thoroughly listenable to, the lyrics of millions of songs out there.
Though they could be totally destroyed by somebody making you sit down and dissect them for analysis, which will be checked for alignment with the official interpretation, with thirty other bored people.
Thank God my school music lessons never got past sitting in a room and hitting a triangle whenever the teacher glared at me.

Just found this thread and I understand poetry as much as I do downloading maps onto a navigational​ device in other words way over my head. That said I love to listen to those poets you've quoted but unless the words rhyme I am lost.

[reohn2]

The blossom now blown away by spring winds of change.
The cherries begin to form as the birds gaze longingly on in quiet anticipation,
for their ripeness is viewed for later feasts to enable flight.

Outside my window such drama unfolds as people go about their daily passings,
whilst sun and rain enable those fruits a game of their own to unfold,
the cycle remains unbroken for millennia

[Debs]

The Romance of Cecilia

Their wedding-day, they whispered, should be soon;
They'd bicycle one life-long honeymoon.
She praised his prowess (ah, that praise was sweet!),
She thought his whole equipment "very neat";
Then whispered, "Darling, -- nay, it must, must be,
"We'll cycle into Andover to tea."

They started: but Cecilia never knew,
While Robert learned, she'd been progressing too.
Down the first hill she led by twenty yards,
(Speed, Robert, Speed! What Fate thy wheel retards?)
Along the level flashed her silver bright,
Another moment -- she was out of sight;
A hill before her! Warming to the fray,
She pedalled (double action) all the way.
O ecstasy! O grand exhilaration!
She dreamt of nothing but the wheeel's rotation.
The sun was bright, the open sky was blue;
"Whirr" went the wheel; it hummed; it sang; it flew.
Swift as a bird toward Andover she fled,
And, for a moment, Robert left her head.
Then memory; contrition; and a stop!
She paused upon a difficult hill-top;
Down the valley white the roadway wound,
Two miles -- but not a sight, but not a sound.
She paused; she fidgeted; she stamped her heel;
She choked the rage she could not all conceal;
Then swung her wheel round with an evil grace,
And took that hill at a terrific pace.


"Ah, God of Love, what pains thy victims cull!
"As thou art strong, though shouldst be pitiful,"


Four miles away, back in the paling West,
She found her Robert, pedalling his best.
His face was set -- dead weary, past denying --
She thought he looked as tho' he had been crying,
Yet with determination brave to see
He panted, "Dear, we'll still be there to tea."
She bade him turn; she lead him up the lane;
slowly she rode till they were home again.
She passed the trysting-tree, nor stayed to tell
The parting secrets that they loved so well.
Into the market square, without one kiss,
She rode, and there took leave of Robert Bliss!

I think he knew his fate. I think that, when
a note was brought to him next day at ten,
With no surprise the words assailed his sight:
"I fear I cannot ride with you to-night."
I only know that from that fateful day
He locked his hard-bought bicycle away.

I also know that Miss Cecilia Brown
Was seen last week careering up and down
With Mr. Watkins, muscular and lank,
Who's bought a Swift, and manages the bank.

***

from Legends of the Wheel by Arthur Waugh
published 1897

[gaz]

Thanks for sharing.

[reohn2]

Covfefe I wish it we're me,
I couldn't have wrote anything funnier.

But Donald's the man and late last night he ran,
with a verse that's an absolute stunner

I've great admiration for such administration,
that allows such as he to roam free

If only he'd second glanced and not took a chance,
he wouldn't look such a pillock would He?

[Cyril Haearn]

Best trust the happy moments. What they gave
Makes one less certain of the fearful grave
And gives ones work compassion and new eyes
The days that make us happy make us wise

John Masefield

[Audax67]

Hymn to Autumn

They reap the fields and slurry spray
So that the seed will grow up
The scent pervades the dining-room;
We praise the Lord and throw up.

[Cyril Haearn]

Like a mighty tortoise
Moves the church of God
Sisters we are treading
Where we've always trod
..

[Mick F]

I like Bob Dylan's poetry.

I know that the evening's empire has returned into sand
And is vanished from my hand
And has left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping
My weariness amazes me
I'm branded on my feet
I have no one here to meet
And the ancient empty streets are too dead for dreaming.


Take me on a trip upon your magic swirling ship
My senses have been stripped
My hands can't feel to grip
My toes are too numb to step
They’re waiting only for my boot-heels to be wandering
I'm ready to go anywhere
I'm ready for to fade into my own parade
Cast your dancing spell my way
And I promise to go under it.


Although you might hear laughing, spinning swinging
Madly across the sun
It's not aimed at anyone
It's just escaping on the run
And but for the sky there are no fences facing
And if you hear vague traces of skipping reels of rhyme
To your tambourine in time
It's just a ragged clown behind
And I wouldn't pay it any mind
It's just a shadow that you're seeing that he's chasing.


Take me disappearing down the smoke rings of my mind
Down the foggy ruins of time
Far past the frozen leaves
And the haunted, frightened trees
Way down to a windy beach
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow
I want to dance beneath a diamond sky with one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea
And circled by the circus sands
With all memory and fate
Driven deep beneath the waves
I want to forget about today until tomorrow.


Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and nobody knows where I’m going
Hey ! Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle of the morning I'll come following.

[Audax67]

For thou shalt have a mount of coal
All shod with shining Ksyrium
Thy head with helm of foam encrowned
Then shalt thou ride in majesty
To Finis Terrae shalt thou come
To end of world and back again


In other words, he's doing PBP on a middling-fit carbon bike

[Cyril Haearn]

For now we have naming of parts
By Henry Reed

[Mick F]

The sun and the rain fell from up above
And landed on the earth below
In my garden of love

Now there’s a rose for the way my spirits rose when we met
A forget-me-not to remind me to remember not to forget
A pine tree for the way I pined over you
And an ash for the day I ashed you to be true

Now there’s a palm tree that we planted when we had our first date
A turnip for the way you always used to turnip late
Your mother and your cousin, Chris, they often used to come
So, in their honour, I have raised a nice chris-an’-the-mum

Now there’s a beetroot for the day you said that you’d beetroot to me
A sweet pea for the sweet way you always smiled at me
But you had friends who needed you
There was Ferdy, there was Liza
So, just for them, I put down a load of ferdy-liza

But Gus the gardener’s left now and you went with him, too
The fungus there reminds me of the fun Gus is having with you
Now the rockery’s a mockery, with weeds it’s overgrown
The fuchsia’s gone, I couldn’t face the fuchsia all alone

And my tears fell like raindrops from the sky above
And poisoned all the flowers in my garden of love

[Cyril Haearn]

John Betjeman
From the Great Western

These small West Country towns where year by year
Newly elected mayors oppose reforms
Their last year's Worships promised..

[Cyril Haearn]

Skimbleshanks the Station Cat by T S Eliot is quite good
Not sure what a cat is doing on the railway, mind