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A platform to express and share your enthusiasm and passion for poetry. What are your treasured poems and poets? Don't hesitate to showcase the poems you've penned yourself!
It appears now that there is only one
age and it knows
nothing of age as the flying birds know
nothing of the air they are flying through
or of the day that bears them up
through themselves
and I am a child before there are words
arms are holding me up in a shadow
voices murmur in a shadow
as I watch one patch of sunlight moving
across the green carpet
in a building
gone long ago and all the voices
silent and each word they said in that time
silent now
while I go on seeing that patch of sunlight
(What do you think? Because this is the poem I most wish I had written!)
Love Pen
Only those become weary of angling who bring nothing to it but the idea of catching fish.
He was born with the gift of laughter and a sense that the world is mad....
Penelope,
I'm sure Saffron would respond to your posting, and if I can be so presumptuous, I believe she would like the poem a lot (as I do). Saffron has been employed in a house move for the last couple of weeks and I believe doesn't have her internet back up yet.
Penelope wrote:Saffron:
(What do you think? Because this is the poem I most wish I had written!)
Love Pen
I like it very much, so glad you started a new poetry thread! Sorry I haven't responded more quickly, as Will said I have been boxing and unboxing for nearly a month now. And part of the move involved being without internet for about 10 days. I will post you a W.S. Merwin poem -- one of my most favorite poems too, I might add.
Separation
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
A friend just reminded me of a poem for which I have a particular affinity, Aedh Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven by W.B. Yeats. From a very early age I was drawn to textiles. I was proficient at sewing and knitting by about 8 or 9. I do not remember the original reason or attraction, but by high school it was the colors and textures I found so pleasing. At some point in my late teens early twenties I thought textiles, in some form, would be my profession. Life took me to some other place, but I still find comfort and pleasure in cloth.
Aedh Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven
W.B. 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.
Beautiful, and following a hectic and rather unpleasant morning, reading this and conjuring up the picture soothed me. The images are spectacular. Thank you.
Gods and spirits are parasitic--Pascal Boyer
Religion is the only force in the world that lets a person have his prejudice or hatred and feel good about it --S C Hitchcock
Believe those who are seeking the truth. Doubt those who find it.--André Gide
Reading is a majority skill but a minority art. --Julian Barnes
I am mine own priest, and I shrive myself
Of all my wasted yesterdays. Though sin
And sloth and foolishness, and all ill weeds
Of error, evil, and neglect grow rank
And ugly there, I dare forgive myself
That error, sin, and sloth and foolishness.
God knows that yesterday I played the fool;
God knows that yesterday I played the knave;
But shall I therefore cloud this new dawn o’er
With fog of futile sighs and vain regrets?
This is another day! And flushed Hope walks
Adown the sunward slopes with golden shoon.
This is another day; and its young strength
Is laid upon the quivering hills until,
Like Egypt’s Memnon, they grow quick with song.
This is another day, and the bold world
Leaps up and grasps its light, and laughs, as leapt
Prometheus up and wrenched the fire from Zeus.
This is another day—are its eyes blurred
With maudlin grief for any wasted past?
A thousand thousand failures shall not daunt!
Let dust clasp dust; death, death—I am alive!
And out of all the dust and death of mine
Old selves I dare to lift a singing heart
And living faith; my spirit dares drink deep
Of the red mirth mantling in the cup of morn.
Gods and spirits are parasitic--Pascal Boyer
Religion is the only force in the world that lets a person have his prejudice or hatred and feel good about it --S C Hitchcock
Believe those who are seeking the truth. Doubt those who find it.--André Gide
Reading is a majority skill but a minority art. --Julian Barnes
Saffron wrote:
Aedh Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven
W.B. 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.
I never noted before the pattern of repetition in this poem , esp. at line ends. There is probably even a term for this, but I don't know it. It makes for a hypnotic effect.