| From: jj® | 17/05/2001
23:51:27 |
| Subject: More Nature Poetry | post id: 4829 |
| Birds Whatever the bird is, is perfect in the bird. Weapon kestrel hard as a blade’s curve, thrush round as a mother or a full drop of water, fruit-green parrot wise in his shrieking swerve – all are what bird is and do not reach beyond bird. Whatever the bird does is right for the bird to do – cruel kestrel dividing in his hunger the sky, thrush in the trembling dew beginning to sing, parrot clinging and quarrelling and veiling his queer eye – all these are as birds are and good for birds to do, But I am torn and beleaguered by my own people. The blood that feeds my heart is the blood they gave me, and my heart is the house where they gather and fight for dominion – all different, all with a wish and a will to save me, to turn me into the ways of other people. If I could leave their battleground for the forest of a bird I could melt the past, the present and the future in one and find the words that lie behind all these languages. Then I could fuse my passions into one clear stone and be simple to myself as the bird is to the bird. Judith Wright | |
| From: boxhead® | 18/05/2001
0:00:56 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
4832 |
| Judy should give Paul a hand in
his short, nasty and brutish thread on the SSSF :) sheepman | |
| From: ss | 18/05/2001
8:32:35 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
4838 |
| if you call me "judy" I AM likely
to be short, nasty and brutish, sheepman ... jude is fine
though ;-))) | |
| From: sarahs mum® | 13/06/2001
15:36:12 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
5959 |
| "there once was a mouse who lived in a bed of delphiniums blue and geraniums red." a.a.milne | |
| From: jj® | 13/06/2001
16:01:04 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
5961 |
| BIG smiles here AGAIN! last week my daughter and I were in a nursery in Adelaide trying to remember what it was that was red ... we were walking around the plants saying "delphiniums blue and ......... red" and just could NOT think what they were. The nursery had posters up about "garden thugs" which was good to see ... but right behind a big bowl of water lettuce ... priced per plant ... my daughter is working on a biological attacker for blackberries , so we are very aware of weeds. thanks sarah's mum! midori's mum | |
| From: Paul H. | 22/06/2001
15:54:42 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
6675 |
Speaking of birds... if I had a totem, it would be the cormorant. I dunno who wrote this but it's not too bad: CORMORANT The cormorant dives, the only sign is the spread of rings. Ripples fade - all is equal across green waters. Cormorant emerges: a glint of sunlight in its beak. (Anyone got any real good, real short Cormorant poems?) | |
| From: joey | 22/06/2001
16:56:32 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
6677 |
| not nature but I couldn't resist
after finding this gem! Things I wish my dogs would remember... * I will not play tug-of-war with Dad's underwear when he's on the toilet. * The garbage collector is NOT stealing our stuff. * I do not need to suddenly stand straight up when I'm lying under the coffee table. * I will not roll my toys behind the fridge. * I must shake the rainwater out of my fur BEFORE entering the house. * I will not eat the cats' food, before or after they eat it. * I will stop trying to find the few remaining pieces of clean carpet in the house when I am about to throw up. * I will not throw up in the car. * I will not roll on dead seagulls, fish, crabs, etc. * I will not lick my human's face after eating animal poop. * Kitty box crunchies are not food. * I will not eat any more socks and then redeposit them in the backyard after processing. * The diaper pail is not a cookie jar. * I will not chew my human's toothbrush and not tell them. * I will not chew crayons or pens, especially not the red ones, or my people will think I am hemorrhaging. * When in the car, I will not insist on having the window rolled down when it's raining outside. * We do not have a doorbell. I will not bark each time I hear one on TV. * I will not steal my Mom's underwear and dance all over the back yard with it. * The sofa is not a face towel. Neither are Mom & Dad's laps. * My head does not belong in the refrigerator. * I will not bite the officer's hand when he reaches in for Mom's driver's license and car registration. | |
| From: boxhead® | 23/06/2001
14:12:19 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
6836 |
| Have a look here Paul.
You're being pretty specific though, short good and about cormrants ;) | |
| From: Paul H. | 24/06/2001
10:39:40 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
6886 |
| >>You're being pretty
specific though, short good and about cormrants ;) Hehe.. yep. I've already got that one your pointed at too, BTW. ;-) Maybe we should all have a go at writing our own? Thanks anyway. (They're handsome devils, aren't they?). (You know why cormorants are my totem? I can relate to them - which ever way I turn, there's an enormous bill in front of me. (Giggle)). | |
| From: boxhead® | 24/06/2001
17:31:35 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
6897 |
| Redneck by the
Seaside. Like Jesus the cormorants stood strected out on the poles, if I had me gun, they'd be full of holes. boxhead Well it's about cormorants and it's short, two out of three ain't bad :) On second thoughts, yes it is. | |
| From: joey | 24/06/2001
22:40:49 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
6912 |
| IF I CAN STOP ONE
HEART FROM BREAKING If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain; If I can ease one life the aching, or cool one pain, Or help one fainting robin, unto his nest again, I shall not live in vain. - Emily Dickinson | |
| From: joey | 24/06/2001
22:47:05 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
6913 |
| Caged Bird by Maya Angelou A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom. The free bird thinks of another breeze and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own. But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom. | |
| From: Infamous Angel | 28/06/2001
19:23:07 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7089 |
| I liked your Emily Dickenson,
Joey. Here's one I wrote when I was 20. It's a bit lame, but still... Ebb Tide. Roaming restless in the night, shadows slide, drift and fall. In waiting sky and pale moonlight, drifts a celestial squall. Here walks the one who cannot sleep, a loner once and always, past the doors in shadows deep, of other people's doorways. The ocean sings it's ancient sound, a song of eons past, and beckons he who hears it, "come break your soul's long fast." The city lights shine in varied hues, but their shadows all are black. The walker knows that this is true, their light falls on his back. So to the silver strand comes he, to hear the sound of Time. The silken sound of surf and sand, a ceaseless healing rhyme. The sky above, a silver cloud, but all the Earth is Dark. The sea alone is clean and pure, as yet escaped Man's mark. He sees beneath the rolling waves, where twisting dolphins sing, songs of gypsy solitude, and other nameless things. Sonar-songs of thermoclines, and hydromorphic mists. Over all, through all time, the living water drifts. Where every life is a universe, a dream in endless motion. The Earth has been misnamed, the dolphins call it 'Ocean'. From that first cell, that lived and died,a billion years gone by, to tomorrows silent sunrise, the Sea has watched time fly. On wings of screaming tempests, or lagoons of golden green, to glowing city byways, or beneath the arctic sheen. The walker walks, and stares a while, his soul a shipwrecked waif. Only here with sea and stars, he steers a course that's safe. Through midnight rocks of loneliness, and shoals of empty days, to sweet sad docks of happiness, and a remembered lovers ways. Sirius, Centraurus, and the Hunter; the vaulted, flaming sky... The rising moon, the Great White Cross, a sea of stars on high. What songs are sung, what dolphins breach out there? What cosmic current flows though us, that keeps us from despair? Now the moon is riding high, a friendly face of flame, the Dark has fled in fear, though it will come again. Till it does, the night ocean burns,a shield of beaten bronze, a shield with which the walker turns, and returns where he belongs. | |
| From: Tatoo-ed Sailor | 29/06/2001
15:03:22 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7130 |
Infamous Angel! I liked your Emily Dickenson, Joey. ditto Here's one I wrote when I was 20. It's a bit lame, but still... You are not referring to your:Ebb Tide. 'cause if you are, you are wrong wrong wrong. That poem is not lame - nor still - it roams!! Good one!!!and what's more:*written*, not copied! (Mind you I copied it for myself) | |
| From: Greg L.® | 30/06/2001
0:32:18 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7186 |
| Lovely poem IA. It hardly seems
lame at all. Quite the opposite,
actually. | |
| From: boxhead® | 30/06/2001
2:08:22 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7189 |
| G'day I. Angel, Always good to see new names on Scribbly ;) I too enjoyed the look into your younger years, I especially liked the clarity of the first two stanzas : their light falls on his back. Beudiful :) Hi Tatoo-ed Sailor, Greetings as above ;) Love the name, although I can't say it suits you, you sensitive type :) I would generaly support your post, although I have a problem with : and what's more:*written*, not copied! People should feel free to express themselves through others writting, within reason. Not all can have the gift of an artistic spirit/teachings. This doesn't mean they can't appreciate good poetry and enjoy sharing it with others. Maybe I got your meaning all wrong, but it could be read that way :)) | |
| From: Tatoo-ed Sailor | 30/06/2001
10:26:34 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7192 |
"The ocean sings it's ancient sound, a song of eons past,and beckons him who hears it, "come break your soul's long fast." (From: Ebb Tide by Infamous Angel) Beudiful :) (from Boxhead) Agreed! Hi Boxhead! (like your name)...although I can't say it suits you, you sensitive type :) Under many a tatoo-ed sailor's chest, there beats a softie's heart ;-)...err.. I would generaly support your post, although I have a problem with : and what's more:*written*, not copied!People should feel free to express themselves through others writting ... Spot on mate!! And I've seen *you* post some pretty cool stuff - :)... Maybe I got your meaning all wrong,... Yup, body, the remark was solely self-directed and the subtitles read: "I wish *I* could write poetry like this...!" But, as the other poet said "water water everywhere and not a drop to..." (perfect metaphor for my poetic case;-)) but it could be read that way :)) You've got a valid point - appreciate your effort pointing it out!:) Now, when do we get the next poem from you?!;-) Ahoi;-) Tatoo-ed Sailor | |
| From: Infamous Angel | 30/06/2001
15:45:37 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7203 |
| Thanks for the comments Sailor,
Greg and Boxhead, I feel a little less silly now. Not sure about the Cormorant persecution, Boxhead, you beast. ;-) | |
| From: mick® | 01/07/2001
1:00:01 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7223 |
| Early in the morning Before i was awake The cow drifted over To my first story window Opening my eyes into the east The sun made a halo Around her inquisitive head Screaming i yelled for my mother Then grandma's voice and broom Appeared in the window She swept away the cow with the broom and yells of "shoo!" The cows eyes had told me " Beware , someday i will get you " | |
| From: boxhead® | 01/07/2001
19:46:44 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7246 |
| Hi IA, Not sure about the Cormorant persecution, Boxhead, you beast. ;-) Heehe, I never said I was 'the' redneck, just an observation on human nature ;) Well what can I say mick? Surreal :)) | |
| From: boxhead® | 01/07/2001
20:10:49 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7250 |
| Ahoi there Tatoo-ed One, I wish *I* could write poetry like this...! Hmmm, somehow I doubt you are lacking as much talent as you say/believe. I enjoyed "S' Screams", real feeling and concise to boot. Although unfortunately unattributed ;) :) appreciate your effort pointing it out!:) I don't like being too pointy ;), just love reading what others enjoy. when do we get the next poem from you?!;-) When the mood strikes ;) Luckily for me and especially you I haven't got any from my younger days stored away. | |
| From: Tatoo-ed Sailor | 01/07/2001
23:12:34 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7293 |
Ahoi me hearty sheepman;) I enjoyed "S' Screams", real feeling and concise to boot. Although unfortunately unattributed ;) :) :) TA :) A little snippet from Coleridge's "Rime of the Ancient mariner" ...Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink... (and so the the Albatross begins to be avenged) Thanks for making my day, yet again and splice the mainbrace;-) | |
| From: Tatoo-ed Sailor | 01/07/2001
23:14:15 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7294 |
| Stone the Albatross - I shoulnd't
have left the ship - here's the quieter version: Ahoi me hearty sheepman;) I enjoyed "S' Screams", real feeling and concise to boot. Although unfortunately unattributed ;) :) :) TA :) A little snippet from Coleridge's "Rime of the Ancient mariner" ...Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. Water, water, every where, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, every where, Nor any drop to drink... (and so the the Albatross begins to be avenged) Thanks for making my day, yet again and splice the mainbrace;-) | |
| From: acacia | 01/07/2001
23:25:29 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7296 |
| Samuel T Coleridge - what a great
poem. It was engrained into me in my days at primary school. Ah well, good
old days. But then again that was only 10 years ago! Struth I'm getting
old. "Down drop't the sea droped,the sails drop't down as sad as sad could be ... and we could ... Go | |
| From: boxhead® | 01/07/2001
23:32:56 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7297 |
| (and so the
the Albatross begins to be avenged) As long as Cormorants aren't as vindictive :) | |
| From: boxhead® | 02/07/2001
14:20:42 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7308 |
BLACK-SHOULDERED KITE Curved out of strength, the furious kite shoulders off the wind's hate. The black mark that bars his white is the pride and hunger of Cain. Perfect, precise, the angry calm of his closed body, that snow-storm--- of his still eye that threatens harm. Hunger and force his beauty made and turned a bird to a knife-blade. Judith Wright | |
| From: tabbysmum® | 02/07/2001
15:23:47 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7309 |
| I like that Sheepster, very
apt. And now because I was thinking of how the kites nesting tree is no more, the one that sums up how I feel when I see clearing. Binsey Poplars. My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled , Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun Áll félled, félled, are áll félled; Of a fresh & following folded rank Not spared, not one That dandled a sandalled Shadow that swam or sank On meadow & river & wind-wandering weed-winding bank. O if we but knew what we do When we delve or hew -- Hack & rack the growing green! Since country is so tender To tóuch, her béing só slénder, That, like this sleek & seeing ball But a prick will make no eye at all, Where we, even where we mean To mend her we end her, When we hew or delve: After-comers cannot guess the beauty been. Ten or twelve, only ten or twelve Strokes of havoc unselve The sweet especial scene, Rural scene, a rural scene, Sweet especial rural scene. Gerard Manly Hopkins. | |
| From: The Phantom Menace® | 02/07/2001
22:19:31 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7326 |
| Well it's prose poetry but this
one has stuck in my mind for a long time. The Elm Log We were sawing firewood when we picked up an elm log and gave a cry of amazement. It was a full year since we had chopped down the trunk, dragged it along behind a tractor and sawn it up into logs, which we had thrown on barges and wagons, rolled into stacks and piled up on the ground - and yet this elm log had still not given up! A fresh green shoot had sprouted from it with a promise of a thick, leafy branch, or even a whole new elm tree. We placed the log in the sawing-horse, as though on an executioner's block, but we could not bring ourselves to bite into it with our saw. How could we? That log cherished life as dearly as we did; indeed, its urge to live was even stronger than ours. Alexander Solzhenitsyn | |
| From: sue® | 03/07/2001
11:02:18 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7339 |
| I like that story, survival no
matter what! :) | |
| From: Woman:) | 03/07/2001
13:03:02 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7342 |
Hi Phantom:) Well it's prose poetry but this one has stuck in my mind for a long time...The Elm Log.. Solzhenitsyn does have that knack to "mess up" your mind (but only in the best of ways:). Thanks for that, longtime no see, he doesn't seem very popular in Oz. Speaking of "Nature" in a way;-), his first work "One Day in the life of Ivan Denisovich" gives a great insight into human "Nature" and the "Nature" of Soviet Communism. (Written in 1962, but I think it still packs a punch). Hi Boxhead:) BLACK-SHOULDERED KITE, a macho man quoting Judith Wright - that takes courage;-) (tick)Germany is proud of you;-)(/tick) Didn't she live round your region? Regards (just popping) Woman:) | |
| From: Woman:) | 04/07/2001
20:37:35 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7466 |
| Since there is a lot of talk
about Crows and Ravens (see also "Stone the crows" thread), this might be
the moment to post that one. This poem should be read, preferably during a cold and stormy night, by candle light with a ghostly voice....uuuuuuhhhhhhhhh ;-) The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849) ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. ‘’Tis some visiter,’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my chamber door— Only this and nothing more.’ Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore— For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Nameless here for evermore. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating 1 ‘’Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door— Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;— This it is and nothing more.’ Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, ‘Sir,’ said I, ‘or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you’—here I opened wide the door; Darkness there and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, ‘Lenore!’ This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word ‘Lenore!’ Merely this and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. ‘Surely,’ said I, ‘surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore— Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;— ’Tis the wind and nothing more!’ Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door— Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door— Perched, and sat, and nothing more. It doesn't seem to fit into one post...so continued in the next post. | |
| From: Woman:) | 04/07/2001
20:38:32 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7467 |
Continuation of Poe's Poem "The Raven" Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, ‘Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, ‘art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore— Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’ Quoth the Raven ‘Nevermore.’ Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door— Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as ‘Nevermore.’ But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered— Till I scarcely more than muttered ‘Other friends have flown before— On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’ Then the bird said ‘Nevermore.’ Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, ‘Doubtless,’ said I, ‘what it utters is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore— Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of “Never—nevermore.” ’ But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore— 70 What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking ‘Nevermore.’ This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er, She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. ‘Wretch,’ I cried, ‘thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore; Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!” Quoth the Raven ‘Nevermore.’ ‘Prophet!’ said I, ‘thing of evil! prophet still, if bird or devil!— Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted— On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore— Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!’ Quoth the Raven ‘Nevermore.’ ‘Prophet!’ said I, ‘thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.’ Quoth the Raven ‘Nevermore.’ ‘Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!’ I shrieked, upstarting— ‘Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’ Quoth the Raven ‘Nevermore.’ And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted—nevermore! | |
| From: boxhead® | 05/07/2001
2:23:20 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7505 |
| Hi Woman:) a macho man quoting Judith Wright - that takes courage;-) lol, the first time I've been called that ;) So I'll put it up again just in case anyone missed it ;) Didn't she live round your region? I believe she lived at Braidwood, not a million miles away, although she hailed from the New England area in the north of the state originally. That's if I've got my facts straight, I'm not expert in the area :) The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe Good one, I was just thinking when I popped earlier that this would be the Poem for the subject :) I'll save it for the weekend, there's supposed to be some stormy weather on the way, fingers crossed. | |
| From: Woman:) | 05/07/2001
13:36:13 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7540 |
Hi Macho Sheepman;-) BTW I reckon the second half of 'BLACK-SHOULDERED KITE' is quite 'macho'... for a pansy poem :-P :D :P - She was a very strong woman, you know, with strong views - pretty macho actually;-) | |
| From: The Phantom Menace® | 05/07/2001
18:53:25 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7546 |
| The
Raven Yeah, I like that one. You can tell it's good poetry becuase it rhymes;) But wouldn't you say it's theme is almost 'super-natural' rather 'natural'. Super Nature Poetry! Anyhoo, here's another one that rhymes. (C&P thanks to http://oldpoets.com/) Lines Written In Early Spring by William Wordsworth I HEARD a thousand blended notes, While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man. Through primrose tufts, in that green bower, The periwinkle trailed its wreaths; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopped and played, Their thoughts I cannot measure:--- But the least motion which they made, It seemed a thrill of pleasure. The budding twigs spread out their fan, To catch the breezy air; And I must think, do all I can, That there was pleasure there. If this belief from heaven be sent, If such be Nature's holy plan, Have I not reason to lament What man has made of man? | |
| From: Woman:) | 05/07/2001
23:03:08 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
7567 |
Greetings Phantomas:) (The Raven) Yeah, I like that one. You can tell it's good poetry becuase it rhymes;) Hehehe :) yes as in: "Pffft!! You will rhyme or I bite thee" !!;) But wouldn't you say it's theme is almost 'super-natural' rather 'natural'. Super Nature Poetry! Spot on! A 'Phantom' would see it, of course:) Here is another one from the friend of Coleridge and Keats: (taken from your lovely link www.oldpoets.com) and it rhymes too!;) The Daffodils by William Wordsworth I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: The thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In sich a jocund company: I gazed--and gazed--but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, The flash upon that inward wye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. | |
| From: Howling Tranquility | 14/08/2001
13:59:22 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
11457 |
| Dis purty: There is a pleasure in the pathless woods. There is a rapture on the lonely shore. There is society, where none intrudes. By the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, but Nature more. From these our interviews, in which I steal, from all I may be, or have been before. To mingle with the Universe, and feel, what I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. (By that "Byron" guy) Lord Byron | |
| From: Deutsches Maderl | 15/08/2001
9:14:09 |
| Subject: re: More Nature Poetry | post id:
11502 |
Thanks *Howling Tranquility* for reviving this thread:) And with Byron!! 'Twas purty:) Here is one that comes from a volume of Nineteenth-Century Australian Verse - it's simply signed "X.Y.Z." and I have no other information on the author. I recognise some of the animals in it, like Flying foxes and the non-flying bird which (I think) is the Emu or the Kiwi? - and of course I recognise the "missiles ..that come whizzing back", but what for example are the "cherries that have their stones outside? and the "voracious ewe sheep" that "crams her paunch with flesh of tender lambs"? The Land of Contradictions There is a land in distant seas, Ful of all contrarieties: There beasts have Mallard's bills and legs, Have spurs like cocks, like hens lay eggs. There parrots walk upon the ground, And grass upon the trees is found; On other trees, another wonder! - Leaves without upper side or under. There pears you'll scarce with hatchet cut; Stones are outside the cherries put; Swans are not white but black as soot There neither leaf, nor root, nor fruit, Will any Christian palate suit; Unless, in desperate need you'll fell ye, With root of fern, or stalk of lily. There missiles to far distance sent, Come whizzing back from whence they went. There a voracious ewe sheep crams Her pounch with flesh of tender lambs; While stead of bread, and beef, and broth, Men feed on many a roasted moth. There quadrupeds to on two feet, And yet few quadrupeds so fleet; There birds, although they cannot fly, In swiftness with the grey hound vie; With equal wonder you may see The foxes fly from tree to tree; And what they value most so wary These foxes in their ponches carry. The sun, when you to face him turn ye, From right to left perform his journey. The north winds scorch; but when the breeze is Full from the south, why, then it freezes. Now of what place can such strange tales Be told with truth, but - New South Wales. | |