aqui
me vine aquí a contar las campanas
que viven en el mar,
que suenan en el mar, dentro del mar;
por eso vivo aquí

here
I came here to count the bells
that live upon the surface of the sea,
that sound over the sea, within the sea;
so, here I live

PABLO NERUDA

I takes a small trip up to Town

(it was about time I got out of the house)

the first wonderful thing that happened to me was this poemWhalesong*

I boom-mumble ____ I bass-blow
I hull-heavy _______I big/slow
I boat-bump ______-I limpet-skin
I soft-sink ________I sky-swim
I sea-search ______ I salt-swallow
I bone-backed _____I fluke-follow
I gulf-cross _______I listen-talk
I moon-map _______I wave-walk
I tail-turn ________I time-keep
I ship-wreck ______I song-seek
I blue-blood ______ I grumble-sing
I fish-heart _______I dream king

Sophie Stephenson-Wright (*read it aloud to appreciate its true wonderfulness) turns out she's a 19-year old Londoner who won a Poem on the Underground competition I was a tube train where I enountered above poem. . . transport art is excellent, isn't it?with a day starting out like that, I'm amazed it got any better - but it did! (of which, more later)
(but I came home on the bus, so no more poems)

change

change, said the sun to the moon,
you cannot stay
change, says the moon to the waters,
all is flowing
change, say the fields to the grass
seed-time and harvest, chaff and grain
you must change, said the worm to the bud,
though not to a rose
petals fade that wings may rise
borne on the wind
you are changing, said death to the maiden
your wan face, to memory, to beauty
are you ready to change?
says the thought to the heart, to let her pass
all your life long
for the unknown, the unborn
in the alchemy of the world's dream?
you will change,
say the stars to the sun, says the night to the stars

KATHLEEN RAINE

parenting

so what do you do when it all goes horribly wrong

when one of your children hates you, despises you, turns all the vengeance in the world on youand you can't for the life of you work out what you did wrong (apart from the obvious) (is it the obvious - or is that too simplistic an answer?)

This Be The VerseThey fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

PHILIP LARKIN

(of course, rather than dwelling on miserable - if momentarily insightful - poetry, one can always use the resource at hand. . . the www)

pinch punch

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
To-morrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
To-morrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow,
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know;
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away;
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost
For the grapes' sake along the wall

ROBERT FROST
.
and for those watching the night sky. . .
what to watch!

epitaph for a housewife

I saw the strangest thing today I was walking along the high street, in my usual meandering fashion. . . not really paying attention to anything much apart from possibly the traffic on the road and all the people who were annoying me on the pavements - the mothers with prams the size of HGVs who insist on shopping in packs and thus take up the whole width and more than two or three depths of walking space, the old people zigzagging back and forth in front of me making it impossible for me to overtake them and when I did almost suceed they try and trip me up with their shopping trolley thingies, the large groups of non-indigenous people chattering away in their own languages and not hearing or listening to my polite native English "excuse me"s, the young people - surely young enough to have been at school, so why weren't they there I ask you? - who are just generally rather insolent and uncaring about other inhabitants on the planet. . .

.

. . .get the picture or shall I continue ranting for a while longer. . .
.

. . .and suddenly I noticed amongst the traffic, a funeral cortege
.

on the high street!

.
say what?

.
yup - a white glass sided carriage, as would have befitted Snow White herself drawn by two white horses with plumes on their heads, within which was the coffin, every surface adorned with beautiful floral wreaths (one reading ANGEL and one reading MUM and the others being circular); followed by three enourmous black limosines, also decked out with more wreaths, the first of which had girls sobbing at the windows. . . it felt a little strange to me so much public awareness of their grief, but then since I don't know who the departed lady was I don't know what sort of send off would befit her
.

I was kinda jealous. . . those girls were surely grieving in a very efficient manner (if you know what I mean) - whereas when my mother died I don't think I was really given the opportunity to grieve and I certainly didn't realise that the choice was mine
.

anyhoo a little later I was looking thru one of my poetry books (found one I want to share, but can't track it down on the net so you'll have to bear with me while I type it up rather than copying 'n' pasting) and found this
.

here lies a poor woman who was always tired
she lived in a house where help wasn't hired
her last words on earth were "dear friends I am going
to where there's no cooking or washing or sewing
for everything there is exact to my wishes
for where they don't eat there's no washing of dishes
I'll be where loud anthems will always be ringing
but having no voice, I'll be quit of the singing
don't mourn for me now, don't mourn for me never
I'm going to do nothing for ever and ever"

ANON

"I lean on an ash and watch the lights fall, the red ember glow, and three muskrats swim west in a fan of ripples on a sheet of river gold. . . . Better the blue silence and the gray west, the autumn mist on the river, and not any hate and not any love, and not anything at all of the keen and the deep: Only the peace of a dog head on a barn floor, and the new corn shoveled in bushels And the pumpkins brought from the corn rows, Umber lights of the dark, Umber lanterns of the loam dark."

from Three Pieces on the Smoke of Autumn
Carl Sandburg

if I could tell you I would let you know

time will say nothing but I told you so,
time only knows the price we have to pay
if I could tell you I would let you know
.

if we should weep when clowns put on their show
if we should stumble when musicians play
time will say nothing but I told you so

there are no fortunes to be told, although,
because I love you more than I can say,
if I could tell you I would let you know

the winds must come from somewhere when they blow
there must be reasons why the leaves decay;
time will say nothing but I told you so

.
perhaps the roses really want to grow,
the vision seriously intends to stay;
if I could tell you I would let you know

suppose all the lions get up and go,
and all the brooks and soldiers run away;
will time say nothing but I told you so?

if I could tell you, I would let you know