Journey Forth

6 February, 2010

Valentine by Carol Ann Duffy

Filed under: Life,Love,Poetry,Random,Thoughts — by Karen @ 7:42 am

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.

Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.

Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding-ring,
if you like.

Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.

Carol Ann Duffy

 

Carol Ann Duffy (born 23 December 1955 in Glasgow) is a Scottish poet and playwright. She is Professor of Contemporary Poetry at the Manchester Metropolitan University, and was appointed Britain’s poet laureate in May 2009.

What a thought provocing poem!

19 March, 2009

Little Red Riding Hood

Filed under: Family,Funny Thoughts,Humour,Life,Original,Poetry,Random,The Good Life — by Karen @ 8:05 pm

A young girl who always wore red,

Came home to her mother who said:

“Go visit your Grandma; she’s really quite ill,

Take her this basket of cakes if you will.”

 

So she walked away, taking the cakes,

Never realising what was at stake.

While she was walking, with the best intentions for her Nan,

Someone was following her, as quietly as anyone can.

 

Out shouted a wolf, from behind a tree:

“Oh, little girl, I call to thee!

I see that you are headed over there,

So, tell me, you are headed to… where?”

 

“My Grandmother’s house,” said the lass,

“She is ill and is strapped up in a cast.

I am going to give her some cakes,

Now leave me alone, you troublesome fake!”

 

Ran away, did the young girl,

Leaving the wolf’s mind in a swirl,

“I know where it is – the house of the old bat,

I’ll go there – and pull that trick out off my hat!”

 

When the young lady reached the house,

No sound was heard – not even a mouse.

She walked up to the Grandmother’s room,

And what she saw nearly made her swoon.

 

 

The eyes, the ears, the TEETH

Well, her grandma had changed beyond belief!

Before the lass could say any more,

A wood cutter loudly burst through the door!

 

“Stay away, Red Riding Hood!

This isn’t your Grandma – it’s the wolf up to no good!”

The woodcutter stabbed an axe into the wolf’s tummy,

And out cried a voice that was so funny:

 

“Get me out! He gobbled me up, and then pretended to be me!”

The woodcutter pulled at the wolf’s stomach – and who should it be

But dear old Red Riding Hood’s Nan, finally free

And here is the end of the tale, so it’s goodbye from me.

 

As written by my thirteen year old daughter.

Fantastic!!

 

8 March, 2009

How Do I Love Thee

Filed under: Life,Poetry,Random,Thoughts — by Karen @ 7:20 am

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Elizabeth Barret Browning. (1806 – 1861).

I haven’t read this poem for a long time and really enjoyed reading it today.
Hope you enjoy it too.

9 November, 2008

When I came last to Ludlow

Filed under: Life,Poetry,Random,Thoughts — by Karen @ 4:34 pm

When I came last to Ludlow
Amidst the moonlight pale,
Two friends kept step beside me,
Two honest lads and hale.

Now Dick lies long in the churchyard,
And Ned lies long in jail,
And I come home to Ludlow
Amidst the moonlight pale.

A.E. Houseman.

Interesting poetry about an amazing part of the Country.

29 October, 2008

The Witches’ Spell

Filed under: Family,Halloween,Life,Poetry,Random,Thoughts,Witches — by Karen @ 9:47 pm

Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.
Thrice and once, the hedge-pig whin’d.
Harpier cries:—’tis time! ’tis time!

Round about the caldron go;
In the poison’d entrails throw.—
Toad, that under cold stone,
Days and nights has thirty-one;
Swelter’d venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot!
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.

Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg, and owlet’s wing,—
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
Scale of dragon; tooth of wolf;
Witches’ mummy; maw and gulf
Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark;
Root of hemlock digg’d i the dark;
Liver of blaspheming Jew;

Gall of goat, and slips of yew
Sliver’d in the moon’s eclipse;
Nose of Turk, and Tartar’s lips;
Finger of birth-strangled babe
Ditch-deliver’d by a drab,—
Make the gruel thick and slab:
Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron,
For the ingrediants of our caldron.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
Cool it with a baboon’s blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.

Shakespeare – Macbeth

19 October, 2008

I Dream of Jeanie With The Light Brown Hair

Filed under: Life,Poetry,Random,Thoughts — by Karen @ 9:27 am

I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,
Borne, like a vapor, on the summer air;
I see her tripping where the bright streams play,
Happy as the daisies that dance on her way.
Many were the wild notes her merry voice would pour,
Many were the blithe birds that warbled them o’er:
Oh! I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,
Floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air.

I long for Jeanie with the daydawn smile,
Radiant in gladness, warm with winning guile;
I hear her melodies, like joys gone by,
Sighing round my heart o’er the fond hopes that die:
Sighing like the night wind and sobbing like the rain,
Wailing for the lost one that comes not again:
Oh! I long for Jeanie, and my heart bows low,
Never more to find her where the bright waters flow.

I sigh for Jeanie, but her light form strayed
Far from the fond hearts round her native glade;
Her smiles have vanished and her sweet songs flown,
Flitting like the dreams that have cheered us and gone.
Now the nodding wild flowers may wither on the shore
While her gentle fingers will cull them no more:
Oh! I sigh for Jeanie with the light brown hair,
Floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air.

Stephen Foster 

It was lovely to read this again.

21 September, 2008

Gus – The Theatre Cat

Filed under: Cats,Children,Family,Funny Cats,Humour,Life,Poetry,Random,Thoughts — by Karen @ 4:58 pm

Gus is the Cat at the Theatre Door.
His name, as I ought to have told you before,
Is really Asparagus. That’s such a fuss
To pronounce, that we usually call him just Gus.
His coat’s very shabby, he’s thin as a rake,
And he suffers from palsy that makes his paw shake.
Yet he was, in his youth, quite the smartest of Cats–
But no longer a terror to mice and to rats.
For he isn’t the Cat that he was in his prime;
Though his name was quite famous, he says, in its time.
And whenever he joins his friends at their club
(Which takes place at the back of the neighbouring pub)
He loves to regale them, if someone else pays,
With anecdotes drawn from his palmiest days.
For he once was a Star of the highest degree–
He has acted with Irving, he’s acted with Tree.
And he likes to relate his success on the Halls,
Where the Gallery once gave him seven cat-calls.
But his grandest creation, as he loves to tell,
Was Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.

“I have played,” so he says, “every possible part,
And I used to know seventy speeches by heart.
I’d extemporize back-chat, I knew how to gag,
And I knew how to let the cat out of the bag.
I knew how to act with my back and my tail;
With an hour of rehearsal, I never could fail.
I’d a voice that would soften the hardest of hearts,
Whether I took the lead, or in character parts.
I have sat by the bedside of poor Little Nell;
When the Curfew was rung, then I swung on the bell.
In the Pantomime season I never fell flat,
And I once understudied Dick Whittington’s Cat.
But my grandest creation, as history will tell,
Was Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.”

Then, if someone will give him a toothful of gin,
He will tell how he once played a part in East Lynne.
At a Shakespeare performance he once walked on pat,
When some actor suggested the need for a cat.
He once played a Tiger–could do it again–
Which an Indian Colonel purused down a drain.
And he thinks that he still can, much better than most,
Produce blood-curdling noises to bring on the Ghost.
And he once crossed the stage on a telegraph wire,
To rescue a child when a house was on fire.
And he says: “Now then kittens, they do not get trained
As we did in the days when Victoria reigned.
They never get drilled in a regular troupe,
And they think they are smart, just to jump through a hoop.”
And he’ll say, as he scratches himself with his claws,
“Well, the Theatre’s certainly not what it was.
These modern productions are all very well,
But there’s nothing to equal, from what I hear tell,
That moment of mystery
When I made history
As Firefrorefiddle, the Fiend of the Fell.”

Another great favourite by TS Eliot

Daddy Fell into the Pond

Filed under: Family,Humour,Life,Poetry,Random,Thoughts — by Karen @ 6:10 am

Everyone grumbled. The sky was grey.
We had nothing to do and nothing to say.
We were nearing the end of a dismal day,
And then there seemed to be nothing beyond,
Then
Daddy fell into the pond!

And everyone’s face grew merry and bright,
And Timothy danced for sheer delight.
“Give me the camera, quick, oh quick!
He’s crawling out of the duckweed!” Click!

Then the gardener suddenly slapped his knee,
And doubled up, shaking silently,
And the ducks all quacked as if they were daft,
And it sounded as if the old drake laughed.
Oh, there wasn’t a thing that didn’t respond
When
Daddy Fell into the pond!

Alfred Noyes (1880 – 1958)

Born in Wolverhampton. This is one of his more lighter hearted poems. Many are serious with a religous focus.

This is a poem I wasn’t at all familiar with. Stumbling across it today, I found it amusig and enjoyable. What do you think?

6 September, 2008

A Red, Red Rose

Filed under: Life,Love,Poetry,Thoughts — by Karen @ 6:45 am

O my Luve’s like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry:

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it ware ten thousand mile. 

Robert Burns (1759 – 1796). A scottish poet and lyricist.

6 July, 2008

A Birthday

Filed under: Life,Poetry,Random,Thoughts — by Karen @ 7:09 am

My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water’d shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these,
Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a daïs of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.

Christina Georgina Rossetti

Not a poem or poet that I am familiar with, but I enjoyed reading it today. Christina Georgina Rossetti was an English poet who wrote a variety of romantic, devotional, and children’s poems. She is best known for her long poem Goblin Market, which tells of two sisters tempted by goblin men to buy strange fruit.

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