2 poems, one modern and one ancient.

Untitled poem by Denise Liverton.

In the dark I rest

Unready for the light which dawns

Day after day

Eager to be shared.

Black silk, shelter me.

I need

More of the night before I open

Eyes and heart

To illumination, I must still

Grow in the dark like a root

Not ready, not ready at all.

Pomfret,     by John Lund, 1726-1788.

If situation hath a power to please

If air salubrious can give ease,

If spacious streets and handsome houses join’d,

Can satisfaction raise within his mind, -

If noble ruins mouldering with rust,

Where ancient monarchs mingle with the dust.

If gardens all around can please the eyes,

Embellished o’re with Flora’s painted dyes, -

If peace and plenty, which doth here abide.

(laying all pique and prejudice aside,)

If charms are these worthy of my song,

Come here, ye grave, ye gay, ye old and young,

Come here and view the subject of my theme,

Confess that Pomfret’s worthy of my esteem.

(Pomfret is the ancient name for Pontefract, West Yorkshire)

200 words Flash Fiction.

Girls’ Weekend Away.

Middle-aged, Kate and Jess, friends since Primary School were having an away weekend. These always included wine and pampering, wine and food, wine and fun. Whenever they met there was an eruption of excitement. They called themselves, ‘the sisters by another mother’. This time, staying in a vineyard would be extra fun.

First thing, they headed to the bar for a couple of glasses of Prosecco. Sitting on the sun filled balcony, the swimming pool beckoned. changing into bikinis and Ugg boots, unsuitably dressed for walking through vines to the pool.

Splishing and splashing lingering, laughing and gossiping, exchanging news.

Unexpectedly, black clouds! Drops plopped in the pool. Wrapped in towels which flapped around their legs as they ran, the Ugg boots sticking in the muddy paths between the vines, made it hard work.

The two drowned rats arrived panting and laughing in Reception. The girl behind the desk told the porter to ‘Help then off with the boots’, ‘They are not going through the Hotel in them!’ She added ‘You are in luck! Two people have cancelled Spa bookings, you two can take them if you like!’  ‘Ooo! Yes please’

      

Verses of different lengths.

Some short poems by other people. Taken from ‘Winning Words, edited by

William Sieghart.

1. A Two Line poem by Robert Herrick.

The End.

Conquer we shall, but first, contend

‘Tis, not the fight that crowns, but the end.

     2. Three line poem by Leonard de Vinci.

He turns not back who is bound to a star

Obstacles do not bend me

Every obstacle yields to stern resolve.

       3.  Four line poem by Andrew Mitchell.

Celia, Celia.

When I am sand and weary

When I think all hope has gone

When I walk along High Holborn

I think of you with nothing on.

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A five line poem - a Cinquain.

Snow

Is white

and very cold

Pretty as soft lace

Making angels in the drifts.

Thought for Today.

Thought for today - for a Poet.

LIVE like a poet

SPEAK like a poet

LOVE like a poet

THINK like a poet

DREAM like a poet

ACT like a poet.

Will it make you into a poet? You can only try it and see!

You do need to actually DO SOMETHING as well…….

WRITE A POEM!!

A favourite poet...

Charles Causley.

His Introduction to the Puffin Book of Magic Verse, an Anthology chosen by Charles.

“All poetry is magic. It is a spell against, failure of imagination, ignorance and barbarism. The way that a good poem works on a reader is mysterious, as hard to explain, as the possible working of a charm or spell. A poem is much more than a mere arrangement of words on paper, or on the tongue. Its hints, suggestions, the echoes it sets off in the mind, and its omissions (what a poet decides to leave out is often just as important as to what he puts in)). All join in   with the reader's thoughts and feelings  to make a kind of magical union.”

I am the Song.

I am the song that sings the bird.

I am the leaf that grows the land.

I am the tide that moves the moon.

I am the stream that halts the sand.

I am the cloud that drives the storm.

I am the earth that lights the sun.

I am the fire that strikes the stone.

I am the clay that shapes the hand.

I am the word that speaks to man.

The Recruiting Drive.

Under the willow the willow

I heard the butcher bird sing.

Come out you fine young fellow

From under your mother’s wing…

You must take your clothes off for the doctor

And stand straight as a pin,

Hisss hand of stone on your white breastbone

Where the bullets all go in.

Love Reading?

The Journey to a Reader.

We all learn simple sentences,

‘The cat sat on the mat.’

‘The wheels on the bus…..’

We all progress to stories,

about fairies and giants,

lost worlds or planets.

Comics, magazines, menu’s

reading now, without thinking.

Library books? Fact or fiction?

Which is your favourite

Book?  Which is mine?

It does not matter.

As long as we READ!!

A story in a poem!!

Starlings Ballet.

Sitting in bed, drinking coffee

a couple of starlings flew past

the window, they circled the field

then, dropped down into the trees.

After a short time, they flew again,

Joined by three or four more, other

birds flying as quickly as they could,

to catch the others up. Around,

they flew, past our windows, over

the fields and trees, over our house.

The circle becoming wider and bigger,

round and round they went, sunshine

turning their undersides silver. Without

warning, they dropped down into

the trees, more and more, joining in.

when they flew up again, there must

have been a couple of hundred birds.

Turning and swooping, diving and

turning, evermore moves at

high speed, they turned and flew at

our window, at the last moment,

lifted to fly over the roof. We had

held our breath! They were safe,

back again to drop down into the trees.

This performance went on for

two or three hours, birds exercising

and strengthening their wings, all

the time improving their flying

skills. We felt we had witnessed

one of Nature’s miracles.

The starlings yearly aerial

Autumn Ballet.