Thought some on here might be interested in this I love reading this thread
THIS week marks the first anniversary of the death of magazine magnate and poet Felix Dennis.
Mr Dennis, who died at his home in Dorsington aged 67, compiled his final book of poems after being diagnosed with cancer in early 2012. Entitled I Just Stepped Out, the collection of poems was handed to his publisher just two weeks before he died.
Mr Dennis said of the book: “This is a peculiar collection of verse, perhaps unique in one sense — as a Verse Diary begun on the day before I learned I had contracted cancer in both my lungs and had only a short time to live.
Thanks for posting this. I'll seek out some of his poems.
What a great title for a poetry book.
Got to say i love him have been to his house we were so sad when he died. His house is up for sale hope someone takes it it on who will look after it. He lived in next village to us.
As I gaze ahead,
I witness the rain lashing down,
humidity has thankfully dropped,
a coolness having settled;
like a collective sigh of relief heaved,
I concede,
yet a stormier time could well be forthcoming.
However much we may wish,
wish to deny it,
the sun has up and left,
the cool may wake us up;
move on, carry on, dust off and regain composure,
where was I again?.
Thunder and lightning may await,
creeping around the corner,
dying to be brought to life,
crashing and striking,
as people flock to safety.
What does this serve as?
yet another reminder;
that we’re all at the mercy,
the mercy of mother nature,
who puts on such wondrous light shows,
a timely reminder of the power the sky holds.
Shield your eyes,
great care must be taken,
stare too closely at the sun and your eyes will pay,
pay a hefty price for facing nature first hand,
we are all at the will and mercy of the almighty,
the tempestuous whirlwind of mother natures moods.
Whether sun or rain,
lightning or drought,
famine or flood,
we all adapt,
cope as best we can,
with what we’re faced with,
oh what a life it is,
to be witness to all the world has to show us.
Stay one step ahead of mother nature;
and sit back in awe,
awe of the amazing show of colours,
we can witness, if we open our eyes
and be thankful, for our shelter and safety,
lets hope humanity can always weather the storms,
we’re faced with.
Thanks Housegirl And thanks for the link about Felix Dennis - I hadn't heard of him but I'm going to look at his material now. Welcome to the thread if you haven't posted before by the way :kitty:
Blake never went to school and as a result much of his grammar is incorrect, as in The Tyger. But the sheer power of his poetry overcomes the flaw. He was a brilliant man and I reckon he would have dismissed the intellectuals who analyze art.
Apparently The Tyger is written in 'trochaic tetrameter catalectic'
I remember finding that film really disturbing, but what a brilliant poem that is :cool:
Thanks BB The Wicker Man is an amazingly creepy film, a complete one-off. However, we only have the Romans' word on sacrificial wicker rites. They gave us a bad press and it may have been anti-British propaganda. That wasn't much of a comfort for Edward Woodward though
A little child sits on the mound and picks the flowers staining
Their tiny hands with flecks of gold through work at daisy chaining
Really beautiful BB :kitty: I used to love making daisy chains as a child and those are some of my happiest memories of being with my Mum too. Such a moving ode
the mercy of mother nature,
who puts on such wondrous light shows,
What a bummer that I missed it all >:( A neighbour told me it was an amazing light show too! Never mind, Izzy's poem painted a great picture of what I didn't see
What a bummer that I missed it all >:( A neighbour told me it was an amazing light show too! Never mind, Izzy's poem painted a great picture of what I didn't see
DawdlingPoet is my username on twitter - I'm definitely a procrastinator, so I think it suits me well lol. If you mean lightning, I admit I haven't seen any of that myself either, other than one or two momentary flashes of white but I certainly didn't see any lightning outside, where I am. It was raining here late last night but thats about all I've seen, as far as storms are concerned.
I was just remembering that when I visited the local library last week, I was disappointed at the apparent lack of a classic literature section. I'm reading quite a lot at the moment and having finally re-registered at the library, I'd wondered about taking out one or two classic novels, to challenge myself a bit, like To Kill A Mockingbird, as I know that Harper Lee's previously undiscovered 'other title' is due for release soon but anyway, I was browsing the bookshelves but couldn't see any section for classic literature. There were loads of shelfs on crime and mystery and others on sci-fi and fantasy, adventure, travel, biography, history, art etc. and others labelled as 'modern fiction' which I suppose is anything thats under a few years old but that they don't think fits any of the other categories(?!). Still there was no classic fiction or classic literature section, which was slightly disappointing.
Well, thats my grumble for the day. I still took a book out and managed to finish it within 2 days though. I also bought a book recently entitled 'Poems That Make Grown Men Cry', which I'll read in the next few weeks. It sounds pretty good.
I tried to catch a thought today
Then put it in a casket
So used a net above my head
To hold it in a blanket
But when I lifted up the sheet,
Ideas had simply vanished
For notions are such fragile things
When trapped are easily damaged.
My next attempt saw no success
When using an old brolly
I felt for sure they won’t escape
But yes it was a folly
Umbrellas might be good for rain
But not to seize conceptions
They seem to stop all that comes down
Though not the up directions
At last my will to snare a think
Grew weary with such failure
I needed now to change my tack
Use thought itself as saviour
It told me best that I could do
Was buy some pen and paper
Then write all down that came to mind
As poems are more than vapour .
Sit by me now below the tree
And rest upon my shoulder
I’ll read to you about a dream
Where we reside much older
It’s about a time some thirty years
Or more that’s in the future
Again we sit beneath the tree
Yet still you are my suitor
So what has changed about this scene
How different from the present
Do you look up and see my face
And find my ageing pleasant
Where once my cheeks with blossom hue
A flushing youth now withered
Does love reside beneath that tree
Despite all past considered
I‘ll tell you now that I can see
Your smiling face looks peaceful
As I look down and notice how
Your age has changed in sequel
Yet vision not our silvered hair
As though a wintered sprinkle
For when our eyes see each inside
Not lost is loves youth twinkle.
Gentle sleeper what can be heard
Are the sound of dreams in spoken word
Or is the world of image silent
And feelings what make slumber vibrant
Can you talk with angels resting
Slide on rainbows , waves at cresting
Perhaps awaking you will tell
If the sound of dreams are remembered well
You make me laugh you do
with all those funny jokes anew
as we stand and chat when phew
off again we step forthright to
another dance another time another you
Comments
And again as I type this
I don't sleep well when I know there are storms about as I don't want to miss them .
Thanks for posting this. I'll seek out some of his poems.
What a great title for a poetry book.
Got to say i love him have been to his house we were so sad when he died. His house is up for sale hope someone takes it it on who will look after it. He lived in next village to us.
https://www.onthemarket.com/details/1472006/
He was a wonderful wonderful man to meat.
Jolly - there's a word we don't hear enough of these days
I witness the rain lashing down,
humidity has thankfully dropped,
a coolness having settled;
like a collective sigh of relief heaved,
I concede,
yet a stormier time could well be forthcoming.
However much we may wish,
wish to deny it,
the sun has up and left,
the cool may wake us up;
move on, carry on, dust off and regain composure,
where was I again?.
Thunder and lightning may await,
creeping around the corner,
dying to be brought to life,
crashing and striking,
as people flock to safety.
What does this serve as?
yet another reminder;
that we’re all at the mercy,
the mercy of mother nature,
who puts on such wondrous light shows,
a timely reminder of the power the sky holds.
Shield your eyes,
great care must be taken,
stare too closely at the sun and your eyes will pay,
pay a hefty price for facing nature first hand,
we are all at the will and mercy of the almighty,
the tempestuous whirlwind of mother natures moods.
Whether sun or rain,
lightning or drought,
famine or flood,
we all adapt,
cope as best we can,
with what we’re faced with,
oh what a life it is,
to be witness to all the world has to show us.
Stay one step ahead of mother nature;
and sit back in awe,
awe of the amazing show of colours,
we can witness, if we open our eyes
and be thankful, for our shelter and safety,
lets hope humanity can always weather the storms,
we’re faced with.
Tyger, Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!
When the stars threw down their spears
And watr'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
Apparently The Tyger is written in 'trochaic tetrameter catalectic'
Yep
A poem a day
Keeps stagnation away
Sorry you missed it Musty
https://twitter.com/DawdlingPoet/status/617077823854002177
DawdlingPoet is my username on twitter - I'm definitely a procrastinator, so I think it suits me well lol. If you mean lightning, I admit I haven't seen any of that myself either, other than one or two momentary flashes of white but I certainly didn't see any lightning outside, where I am. It was raining here late last night but thats about all I've seen, as far as storms are concerned.
I was just remembering that when I visited the local library last week, I was disappointed at the apparent lack of a classic literature section. I'm reading quite a lot at the moment and having finally re-registered at the library, I'd wondered about taking out one or two classic novels, to challenge myself a bit, like To Kill A Mockingbird, as I know that Harper Lee's previously undiscovered 'other title' is due for release soon but anyway, I was browsing the bookshelves but couldn't see any section for classic literature. There were loads of shelfs on crime and mystery and others on sci-fi and fantasy, adventure, travel, biography, history, art etc. and others labelled as 'modern fiction' which I suppose is anything thats under a few years old but that they don't think fits any of the other categories(?!). Still there was no classic fiction or classic literature section, which was slightly disappointing.
Well, thats my grumble for the day. I still took a book out and managed to finish it within 2 days though. I also bought a book recently entitled 'Poems That Make Grown Men Cry', which I'll read in the next few weeks. It sounds pretty good.
I tried to catch a thought today
Then put it in a casket
So used a net above my head
To hold it in a blanket
But when I lifted up the sheet,
Ideas had simply vanished
For notions are such fragile things
When trapped are easily damaged.
My next attempt saw no success
When using an old brolly
I felt for sure they won’t escape
But yes it was a folly
Umbrellas might be good for rain
But not to seize conceptions
They seem to stop all that comes down
Though not the up directions
At last my will to snare a think
Grew weary with such failure
I needed now to change my tack
Use thought itself as saviour
It told me best that I could do
Was buy some pen and paper
Then write all down that came to mind
As poems are more than vapour .
https://curiousterrain.files.wordpress.com/2011/11/person_2_thought_bubbles.gif?w=200&h=170
Sit by me now below the tree
And rest upon my shoulder
I’ll read to you about a dream
Where we reside much older
It’s about a time some thirty years
Or more that’s in the future
Again we sit beneath the tree
Yet still you are my suitor
So what has changed about this scene
How different from the present
Do you look up and see my face
And find my ageing pleasant
Where once my cheeks with blossom hue
A flushing youth now withered
Does love reside beneath that tree
Despite all past considered
I‘ll tell you now that I can see
Your smiling face looks peaceful
As I look down and notice how
Your age has changed in sequel
Yet vision not our silvered hair
As though a wintered sprinkle
For when our eyes see each inside
Not lost is loves youth twinkle.
Gentle sleeper what can be heard
Are the sound of dreams in spoken word
Or is the world of image silent
And feelings what make slumber vibrant
Can you talk with angels resting
Slide on rainbows , waves at cresting
Perhaps awaking you will tell
If the sound of dreams are remembered well
Jolly jollying jollyous:D
You make me laugh you do
with all those funny jokes anew
as we stand and chat when phew
off again we step forthright to
another dance another time another you