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jenny Oct 9, 2008

With all this credit crunch 'stuff' going on how about a bit of poetry on National Poetry Day ...it might help us to escape it ...here's one I like:

Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you:
But when the leaves hang trembling, The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I:
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.

- Christina Rossetti

ruth Oct 9, 2008

Gosh , was it one whole year ago since last time ??!! 

I like this very much , by Walter de la Mare :

                    

  Silver

                       

       
                           Slowly , silently , now the moon
                           Walks the night in her silver shoon ;
                           This way , and that , she peers , and sees
                           Silver fruit upon silver trees ;
                           One by one the casements catch
                           Her beams beneath the silvery thatch ;
                           Couched in his kennel , like a log ,
                           With paws of silver sleeps the dog ;
                           From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
                           Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep ;
                           A harvest mouse goes scampering by ,
                           With silver claws , and silver eye ;
                           And moveless fish in the water gleam ,
                           By silver reeds in a silver stream .

Also , highly appropriate for the time of year - from Thomas Hardy :

                   Weathers

                          This is the weather the cuckoo likes ,
                            And so do I ;
                          When showers betumble the chestnut spikes ,
                            And nestlings fly :
                          And the little brown nightingale bills his best ,
                          And they sit outside at "the Travellers' Rest" ,
                          And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest ,
                          And citizens dream of the south and west ,
                            And so do I .

                          This is the weather the shepherd shuns ,
                            And so do I :
                          When beeches drip in brown and duns ,
                             And thresh and ply :
                          And hill-hid tides throb , throe on throe ,
                          And meadow rivulets overflow ,
                          And drops on gate-bars hang in a row ,
                          And rooks in families homeward go ,
                            And so do I .

It is amazing how uplifting poetry is isn't it ?  Looking forward to seeing many more ,

Mini Hugs , Ruth 

All Bear Oct 9, 2008

Lovely poems!  I'd like to share one by one of my favourite poets, Roger McGough ... this one is for anyone who's been there and bought the t-shirt! 

You and I
by Roger McGough

I explain quietly.
You hear me shouting.
You try a new tack.
I feel old wounds reopen.
You see both sides.
I see your blinkers.
I am placatory.
You sense a new selfishness.
I am a dove.
You recognize the hawk.
You offer an olive branch.
I feel the thorns.
You bleed.
I see crocodile tears.
I withdraw.
You reel from the impact.

jenny Oct 9, 2008

I love poetry..and these are great..Roger McGough...I think his poems are fantastic..and so real...

Here is one I put up on my blog...a bit of Shakespeare along with a photo of a tiny toadstool I found on a rock in my garden yesterday...I am sure a fairy lives under it... 

Now the hungry lion roars,
     And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
     All with weary task fordone,
Now the wasted brands do glow,
     Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,
Puts the wretch that lies in woe
     In remembrance of a shroud.
Now the wasted brands do glow,
     That the graves, all gaping wide
Every one lets forth its sprite,
     In the church-way paths to glide :
And we fairies, that do run
     By the triple Hecate's team,
From the presence of the sun
     Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic; not a mouse
     Shall disturb this hallow'd house:
I am sent with broom before,
     To sweep the dust behind the door.
                   (A Midsummer Night's Dream, V, 1)

All Bear Oct 9, 2008

Beautiful picture and wonderful poem Jenny!

I probably posted this last year too, can't remember ... but I love it, so here it is again!

The Cloths of Heaven
by William Butler Yeats

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

ruth Oct 9, 2008

How about a beautiful touch of romance from The Bard (this one is just wonderful    ) :-

                Sonnet 18

         Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ?
         Thou art more lovely and more temperate :
         Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May ,
         And summer's lease hath all too short a date :
         Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines ,
         And often is his gold complexion dimm'd ;
         And every fair from fair sometime declines ,
         By chance , or nature's changing course , untrimm'd ;
         But thy eternal summer shall not fade
         Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st ,
         Nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade
         When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st :
            So long as men can breathe or eyes can see ,
            So long lives this , and gives life to thee .

Ruth

All Bear Oct 9, 2008

Beautiful Ruth!

Now to a complete change of pace!  This should be read aloud ... with Christmas on the horizon, it seemed appropriate!

Talking Turkeys
by
Benjamin Zephaniah

Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas
Cos turkeys jus wanna hav fun
Turkeys are cool, an turkeys are wicked
An every turkey has a Mum.
Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas,
Don't eat it, keep it alive,
It could be yu mate an not on yu plate
Say, Yo! Turkey I'm on your side.

I got lots of friends who are turkeys
An all of dem fear christmas time,
Dey say 'Benj man, eh, I wanna enjoy it,
But dose humans destroyed it
An humans are out of dere mind,
Yeah, I got lots of friends who are turkeys
Dey all hav a right to a life,
Not to be caged up an genetically made up
By any farmer an his wife.

Turkeys jus wanna play reggae
Turkeys jus wanna hip-hop
Havey you ever seen a nice young turkey saying,
'I cannot wait for de chop'?
Turkeys like getting presents, dey wanna watch christmas TV,
Turkeys hav brains an turkeys feel pain
In many ways like yu an me.

I once knew a turkey His name was Turkey
He said 'Benji explain to me please,
Who put de turkey in christmas
An what happens to christmas trees?'
I said, 'I am not too sure Turkey
But it's nothing to do wid Christ Mass
Humans get greedy and waste more dan need be
An business men mek loadsa cash.'

So, be nice to yu turkey dis christmas
Invite dem indoors fe sum greens
Let dem eat cake an let dem partake
In a plate of organic grown beans,
Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas
An spare dem de cut of de knife,
Join Turkeys United an dey'll be delighted
An yu will mek new friends 'FOR LIFE'.

jenny Oct 9, 2008

Oh Paula you posted the turkey one last year...it's wonderful!!!!

thumperantiques Oct 9, 2008

I wish we had a National Poetry Day here!  The kids need to learn more about poetry.  Paula, if you hadn't posted "The Cloths of Heaven" by Yeats, I would have as it's one of my most favourite poems.  I also love this one:

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by: Robert Frost
 
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of the easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

thumperantiques Oct 9, 2008

My son loved Dennis Lee's poetry book for kids called Alligator Pie and Garbage Delight.  I can't wait to buy them for our grandson, when he's a wee bit older.   This is one of my son's favourites:

   
The Secret Place

There's a place I go, inside myself,
          Where nobody else can be,
And none of my friends can tell it's there—
          Nobody knows but me.

It's hard to explain the way it feels,
          Or even where I go.
It isn't a place in time or space,
          But once I'm there, I know.

It's tiny, it's shiny, it can't be seen,
          But it's big as the sky at night . . .
I try to explain and it hurts my brain,
          But once I'm there, it's right.

There's a place I know inside myself,
          And it's neither big nor small,
And whenever I go, it feels as though
          I never left at all.               

jenny Oct 9, 2008

Brenda I love those poems....especially the Frost one...it makes me go tingly all over when I read it. Does that sound weird...,yes it probably is!!

I like this one by Pam Ayres....it's funny and sad at the same time:

The Dolly on the Dustcart   
   
Written by Pam Ayres     

I'm the dolly on the dustcart,
I can see you're not impressed,
I'm fixed above the driver's cab,
With wire across me chest,
The dustman see, he noticed me,
Going in the grinder,
And he fixed me on the lorry,
I dunno if that was kinder.

This used to be a lovely dress,
In pink and pretty shades,
But it's torn now, being on the cart,
And black as the ace of spades,
There's dirt all round me face,
And all across me rosy cheeks,
Well, I've had me head thrown back,
But we ain't had no rain for weeks.

I used to be a 'Mama' doll,
Tipped forward, I'd say, 'Mum'
But the rain got in me squeaker,
And now I been struck dumb,
I had two lovely blue eyes,
But out in the wind and weather,
One's sunk back in me head like,
And one's gone altogether.

I'm not a soft, flesh coloured dolly,
Modern children like so much,
I'm one of those hard old dollies,
What are very cold to touch,
Modern dolly's underwear,
Leaves me a bit nonplussed,
I haven't got a bra,
But then I haven't got a bust!

But I was happy in that doll's house,
I was happy as a Queen,
I never knew that Tiny Tears,
Was coming on the scene,
I heard of dolls with hair that grew,
And I was quite enthralled,
Until I realised my head
Was hard and pink... and bald.

So I travel with the rubbish,
Out of fashion, out of style,
Out of me environment,
For mile after mile,
No longer prized... dustbinised!
Unfeminine, Untidy,
I'm the dolly on the dustcart,
And there's no collection Friday.

All Bear Oct 9, 2008

Oh Paula you posted the turkey one last year...it's wonderful!!!!

Oops, I must be getting repetitive in my old age!  I just love having an excuse to go back through my favourites!  I'll have to put my thinking cap on and see what else I can find.

All Bear Oct 9, 2008

Oooh, Pam Ayres!  Haven't heard from her for quite a while ... she always makes me smile and when you read what she's written, you can't help but hear her voice.  Nice choice Jenny!

Brenda, I haven't heard 'The Secret Place' before ... I loved reading it!  Thank you!

Right, don't think I've done this one before.  It's certainly not literaturally (is there such a word?  Somehow I doubt it!) flash, but in this day of airbrushed vanities, it does at least get to the heart of the matter!

Teddy Bear
by AA Milne   

A bear, however hard he tries,
Grows tubby without exercise.
Our Teddy Bear is short and fat,
Which is not to be wondered at;
He gets what exercise he can
By falling off the ottoman,
But generally seems to lack
The energy to clamber back.

Now tubbiness is just the thing
Which gets a fellow wondering;
And Teddy worried lots about
The fact that he was rather stout.
He thought: "If only I were thin!
But how does anyone begin?"
He thought: "It really isn't fair
To grudge one exercise and air."

For many weeks he pressed in vain
His nose against the window-pane,
And envied those who walked about
Reducing their unwanted stout.
None of the people he could see
"Is quite" (he said) "as fat as me!"
Then, with a still more moving sigh,
"I mean" (he said) "as fat as I!

One night it happened that he took
A peep at an old picture-book,
Wherein he came across by chance
The picture of a King of France
(A stoutish man) and, down below,
These words: "King Louis So and So,
Nicknamed 'The Handsome!'" There he sat,
And (think of it!) the man was fat!

Our bear rejoiced like anything
To read about this famous King,
Nicknamed "The Handsome." There he sat,
And certainly the man was fat.
Nicknamed "The Handsome." Not a doubt
The man was definitely stout.
Why then, a bear (for all his tub)
Might yet be named "The Handsome Cub!"

"Might yet be named." Or did he mean
That years ago he "might have been"?
For now he felt a slight misgiving:
"Is Louis So and So still living?
Fashions in beauty have a way
Of altering from day to day.
Is 'Handsome Louis' with us yet?
Unfortunately I forget."

Next morning (nose to window-pane)
The doubt occurred to him again.
One question hammered in his head:
"Is he alive or is he dead?"
Thus, nose to pane, he pondered; but
The lattice window, loosely shut,
Swung open. With one startled "Oh!"
Our Teddy disappeared below.

There happened to be passing by
A plump man with a twinkling eye,
Who, seeing Teddy in the street,
Raised him politely to his feet,
And murmured kindly in his ear
Soft words of comfort and of cheer:
"Well, well!" "Allow me!" "Not at all."
"Tut-tut! A very nasty fall."

Our Teddy answered not a word;
It's doubtful if he even heard.
Our bear could only look and look:
The stout man in the picture-book!
That 'handsome' King - could this be he,
This man of adiposity?
"Impossible," he thought. "But still,
No harm in asking. Yes I will!"

"Are you," he said,"by any chance
His Majesty the King of France?"
The other answered, "I am that,"
Bowed stiffly, and removed his hat;
Then said, "Excuse me," with an air,
"But is it Mr Edward Bear?"
And Teddy, bending very low,
Replied politely, "Even so!"

They stood beneath the window there,
The King and Mr Edward Bear,
And, handsome, if a trifle fat,
Talked carelessly of this and that....
Then said His Majesty, "Well, well,
I must get on," and rang the bell.
"Your bear, I think," he smiled. "Good-day!"
And turned, and went upon his way.

A bear, however hard he tries,
Grows tubby without exercise.
Our Teddy Bear is short and fat,
Which is not to be wondered at.
But do you think it worries him
To know that he is far from slim?
No, just the other way about -
He's proud of being short and stout.

ruth Oct 9, 2008

Here are 2 more lovely light hearted ones !

                  Cleaning Ladies   by Kit Wright

              Belly stuffed with dust and fluff ,
                  The Hoover moos and drones ,
              Grazing down on the carpet pasture :
                  Cow with electric bones .
                 

              Up in the tree of a chair the cat
                  Switches off its purr ,
              stretches , blinks : a neat pink tongue
                  Vacuum-cleans its fur .

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

               
                       

          Squeezes  by Brian Patten

                We love to squeeze bananas ,
                We love to squeeze ripe plums ,
                And when they're feeling sad
                We love to squeeze our mums .

thumperantiques Oct 9, 2008

Jenny,
     I do understand about feeling all tingly when reading poetry - it's the way I feel whenever I read "Cloths of Heaven" by Yeats.  I first heard it on a television show and was amazed at the impact it had.  I didn't know the title or author.  I went crazy searching the internet until I found it and I now have it memorized.  It gives me goosebumps, every time I see it. 
     I love your Dolly on the Dustcart, and it is sad..  There ought to be a "retirement" place for old, forgotten toys.

                                                                                                       hugs,

                                                                                                       Brenda

All Bear Oct 9, 2008

While I'm delving back through my poetry books for children (no, I didn't buy them for my children, they are mine, mine, mine!) I'll share this one with you ... I first read it many moons ago and I still think it's great ...

Colour of my dreams
by Peter Dixon

I'm a really rotten reader
the worst in all the class,
the sort of rotten reader
that makes you want to laugh.

I'm last in all the readin' tests,
my score's not on the page
and when I read to teacher
she gets in such a rage.

She says I cannot form my words
she says I can't build up
and that I don't know phonics
- and don't know c-a-t from k-u-p.

They say that I'm dyxlectic
(that's a word they've just found out)
... but when I get some plasticine
I know what that's about.

I make these scary monsters
I draw these secret lands
and get my hair all sticky
and paint on all me hands.

I make these super models,
I build these smashing towers
that reach up to the ceiling
- and take me hours and hours.

I paint these lovely pictures
in thick green drippy paint
that gets all on the carpet -
and makes the cleaners faint.

I build great magic forests
weave bushes out of string
and paint pink panderellos
and birds that really sing.

I play my world of real believe
I play it every day
and teachers stand and watch me
but don't know what to say.

They give me diagnostic tests,
they try out reading schemes,
but none of them will ever know
the colour of my dreams.

This is one was written a few years ago, based in personal experience ...

SWEET LIFE

naked on her bed

eyes staring dead

syringe discarded

sliced her side

breath left me

thought she’d died

blind terror

grabbed my soul

adrenalin took control

involuntary shaking

relief overtaking

panic subsiding

blood sugar reviving

diabetic coma

over.

Anyone got any Spike Milligan handy?  He always makes me laugh out loud!

Gail P Oct 9, 2008

oh yes Paula, I have lots of Spike Milligan memorised

There are holes in the sky
where the rain gets in,
but there ever so small,
thats why rain is thin!

and....

Today I saw a little worm
wriggling on his belly
perhaps he'd like to come inside
and see what's on the telly?

and..

A very rash young lady pig,
they say she was a smasher,
suddenly ran
under a van,and now she's a gammon rasher!!

there are loads of longer nonsense ones as well, but I can never remember all of them in the right order. I remember buying "the book of Milliganimals" and "Silly verse for kids" with a book token that I probably got for my 7th or 8th birthday. I still have the books but the pages are very yellowed and well thumbed now.

ruth Oct 9, 2008

I know this is strictly speaking Poetry Day , but the lyrics to this song by Bread have always given me that
"tingle"

               If.

      If a picture paints a thousand words ,
      Then why can't I paint you ?
      The words would never show the you I've come to know .
      If a face could launch a thousand ships ,
      Then where am I to go ?
      There's no one home but you ,
      You're all that's left me too .
      And when my love for life is running dry ,
      You come and pour yourself on me .

      If a man could be two places at one time ,
      I'd be with you .
      Tomorrow and today , beside you all the way .
      If the world should stop revolving , spinning slowly down to die ,
      I'd spend the end with you ,
      And when the world was through ,
      Then one by one the stars would all go out ,
      Then you and I would simply fly away .

It makes me sigh , and go all gooey  :redface:

Ruth

jenny Oct 9, 2008

Here's another one I love....it's been a while since I had this excuse not to the housework...but I remember it well:

Song for a Fifth Child

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

doodlebears Celebration AmbassadorOct 9, 2008

Not a famous poem, but one I treasure...my daughter Sarah wrote this in my birthday card.

My Mum

My lovely Mum's a wobbly one,
Her pins, they aren't so steady,
But with love and care, she's always there,
With hugs she's always ready.

My lovely Mum's a cuddly one,
Whether morning. noon or night.
A hug a squeeze, if you please,
A cuddle that's just right.

My lovely Mum's a cheeky one,
Who loves to laugh and jest.
Yes, my lovely Mum's a perfect Mum,
To me she's is the best!

By Sarah Martin...my beautiful daughter.

I hope you enjoyed reading my special poem.

Hugs, Jane.     

SueAnn Help Advisor, Banner SponsorOct 9, 2008

If the world should stop revolving, spinning slowly down to die,
      I'd spend the end with you,
      And when the world was through,
      Then one by one the stars would all go out ,
      Then you and I would simply fly away.

I really love this song by Bread also, Ruth.  My husband is an internationally published poet, so of course he's my favorite.  Last year I posted this one by him and I'm putting it up again . . . just because it reminds me so much of this last verse in Bread's song.

HEAVENLY BODIES                                                             

If I revive from my death
to find myself reincarnated
as an asteroid,
I shall streak through the skies
leaving trails of my being
hanging the heavens,
spelling your name.

And if after I die I return
as the rings of Saturn,
I will undrape that planet
and search the galaxy
looking for the heavenly body
that represents
your resurrection.                                                                                                       
                                                                                                                         
And if at eternity's end
our universe collapses
into some colossal black hole,
I will drape your presence                                                             
as we are pulled                                                                           
lovingly into the vacuum,
together to oblivion.
                                                                                                                                                       
This one was written when Paul's mom went to live in a nursing home.     

FALLEN BLOOMS

The flower bouquet has remained on the table                           
for two weeks now.  Some blooms have fallen
from stems, littered the table with color.
I am reminded that dried flowers are in demand
for permanent arrangements.  A flower that                                         
maintains beauty through withering earns permanence.
Blooms that fall are doomed but I like them better -
the graceful giving up of self, defeat with dignity,
not the hanging on as if the better day will return.

The bouquet was my mother's gift to me,
a going away present though she was the one leaving.
She said the flowers would brighten my mood
while she adjusted to her room at the nursing home.
The flowers did help at first,
then the failing and withering began.
I observe, try to make the blooms comfortable
in their final days but find myself angry
with the withered ones that are managing
to make a dried-flower existence for themselves -
life after wrinkles.

I admired them the way they were,
now learn new appreciation.
It's so much easier with fallen blooms.

SETH

I remember
the lines that ran like rivers
through the continent
of his countenance,
the resonance in his voice
as he told his grandson
of driving dogies
from Clarendon to Aspermont,
the crease in his brow
as he feathered a leathered hand
across the shoulder
of his white-haired love.
My visions of this man
who mixed character with experience
to create a life texture
rutted by pain and soothed with love,
shine in my memory like a lone star
winking and twinkling
over a great, gruff prairie.

J. Paul Holcomb

ruth Oct 10, 2008

Whoo Sue Ann - these poems are wonderful , thank you for sharing them . How lucky are you to be married to a bona fide poet !! 
You must be so proud whenever you read Heavenly Bodies ; as you are its inspiration ......that's SO romantic ! *sighs*

Mini Hugs , Ruth      

p.s Jane ; you daughter's poem is like a thousand special cuddles on a page - a real treasure too  :hug:    

All Bear Oct 10, 2008

This has been fun Jenny - thanks for doing it again!  I've really enjoyed reading all the contributions and it has been lovely to focus on poetry for a day, for a change!

matilda Oct 10, 2008

Thankyou, I thoroughly enjoyed the read. :clap:

jenny Oct 10, 2008

I agree...and it's actually very inspirational and gets to work on the old creative juices...roll on next year!!..Maybe we should do it more often than once a year...HMMMM!?