The woodpecker and the dove delight me so much that I want to show this to my mother. Please understand what a compliment that is!
On a more technical note, I like what you did with meter here. I'm green. ;-)
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Fun and felicitous PFFA patron
The woodpecker and the dove delight me so much that I want to show this to my mother. Please understand what a compliment that is!
On a more technical note, I like what you did with meter here. I'm green. ;-)
still green
You are so right about the woodpecker. Doves just don't have that passion.
Can't wait to see the next!
Fun and felicitous PFFA patron
I love the lovesick woodpecker, Harry. I am looking forward to a month of goodies from you. HaPpY NaPo!
Sorry
A discontented piglet-like squeal, soon dying away
Hi there everyone, thank you all very much for reading and commenting
————
The tide is rising
and we cannot all be saved.
You will be there to see
the dark mud slide
across your streets,
just deep enough at first
to gently squeeze
and tug away
a loosely-fitting boot;
you will share
its steady upward creep.
Believe that we will mourn you
when we think of you,
held there together
by the tepid and immovable
embrace of it.
————
still green
Mmmm, good lines:
just deep enough at first
to gently squeeze
and tug away
a loosely-fitting boot;
But why do I have the impression that you lot will be standing upon my back to keep your noses above the mud?
Hmmm. I'll take my chances on my own!
The little guy behind the curtain
I love the woodpecker.
And the tide poem is just wicked; I can almost imagine Jeeves speaking it to Bertie Wooster who's gone just one step too far this time.
"Poetry is not a code to be broken but a way of seeing with the eyes shut." -- Linda Pastan
A discontented piglet-like squeal, soon dying away
Cheers, both of you. I can't claim to be a bundle of inspiration at the moment, but I'm ploughing on regardless.
And here are two poems, sort of:
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the smell of spring
is carried north
on chiffchaff wings
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A bottle rocket fired into a lake
will keep on burning for as long
as one that flings itself above the trees
but will have travelled just three or four feet
before the muffled phut of soggy cardboard.
why can't I be you?
Harry, three cheers for the woodpecker! I like today's haiku, and the rising tide poem- these lines:
Believe that we will mourn you
when we think of you,
held there together
by the tepid and immovable
embrace of it.
are so true, and the one who is gone may even be envied, in a way, because he no longer has to fear the embrace, right?
Fun and felicitous PFFA patron
Bravo! Just the mention of rabbits and I'm an instant fan!
Fun and felicitous PFFA patron
Hi Harry,
Huge amounts of inspiration aren't necessary, just follow the path of American sentences on hard days.
I love your Woodpecker poem. Keep up the good work and Happy NaPo!
cranky person
You dead, Harry? Where's your pomelette for the 6th? Or are you just fooling? Rolling your belly to look for a scratch instead of an internment? Have a drink on, well not me, but the closest pocket you can pick & get back to it boy. Now!
-a
back from the dead (NOT!)
Harry,
I found "Tide" a touching poem without being in the least cloyingly sentimental--well done!
Look forward to more from you.
Mari.
ex-lion tamer
Hope you're still in the race, Harry, as I've enjoyed all your poems so far. The woodpecker is great, first poem funny, and a moving Tide poem.
Ride like you stole it
OK, "chifchaff" is a great word! I also like the kind of observation of oddness and paradox that you have found in "bottle rocket".Originally Posted by Harry R
Moderator
A discontented piglet-like squeal, soon dying away
Hey everyone, not dead yet, although already a poem behind. Still, on the positive side, I saw black-wingd stilt today, and a pair of bearded tits, and the blackthorn was in bloom, and the lapwings were making those amazing noises they make. And my first swallows of the summer.
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We are only really human under open skies.
Every tree is a seducer,
a silent call to let ourselves slip back
into our monkey past,
to clamber back into the boughs again,
and gorge on ripe figs
among the flit and twitter of the birds.
We need the wide horizon
to keep our minds pinned,
to hold on to the clarity
of linear thought.
The long stretch out into the distance
lets us conceive of progress.
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