January by William Carlos Williams Again I reply to the triple winds running chromatic fifths of derision outside my window: Play louder. You will not succeed. I am bound more to my sentences the more you batter at me to follow you. And the wind, as before, fingers perfectly its derisive music.
... ok... I've been messing around with the design of this blog so... HELLO again... do let me know if things look a little out of kilt... Christmas (by John Betjeman) The bells of waiting Advent ring,The Tortoise stove is lit againAnd lamp-oil light across the nightHas caught the streaks of winter rainIn many a… Continue reading *151* poetry Wednesday
I felt a Funeral in my Brain (280) - by Emily Dickinson I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,And Mourners to and froKept treading - treading - till it seemedThat Sense was breaking through - And when they all were seated,A Service, like a Drum -Kept beating - beating - till I thoughtMy mind was… Continue reading *147* poetry Monday
Let's go with an old one today... Life by Charlotte Bronte LIFE, believe, is not a dreamSo dark as sages say;Oft a little morning rainForetells a pleasant day. Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,But these are transient all;If the shower will make the roses bloom,O why lament its fall ? Rapidly, merrily,Life's sunny hours flit by,Gratefully,… Continue reading *145* poetry Monday
I Have Been a Stranger in a Strange Land (Rita Dove) Life's spell is so exquisite, everything conspires to break it. Emily Dickinson It wasn't bliss. What was bliss but the ordinary life? She'd spend hours in patter, moving through whole days touching, sniffing, tasting . . . exquisite housekeeping in a charmed world. And yet there was always more of… Continue reading *142* Poetry Monday
What if the grass is greener (by Erin Hanson) What if grass is greener on the other side, Because it’s always raining there, Where the ones who never fail to give, Hardly have enough to spare, Where the people with the broadest smiles, Have pillows filled with tears, And the bravest ones you’ve ever known,… Continue reading *137* poetry Monday
“Four Quartets” Part II: East Coker (by T.S. Eliot) ... Home is where one starts from. As we grow olderThe world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated Of dead and living. Not the intense momentIsolated, with no before and after,But a lifetime burning in every momentAnd not the lifetime of one man onlyBut of old… Continue reading *135* poetry Monday
Holding My Beads (by Grace Nicholls) Unforgiving as the course of justice In erasable as my scars and fate. i am here a woman…with all my lives strung out like beads before me It isn’t privilege or pity that I seek It isn’t reverence or safety quick happiness or purity but the power to be… Continue reading *133* Poetry Monday