Hither, Hither, Love by John Keats (1795-1821)

Hither, hither, love-
'Tis a shady mead-
Hither, hither, love!
Let us feed and feed!

Hither, hither, sweet-
'Tis a cowslip bed-
Hither, hither, sweet!
'Tis with dew bespread!

Hither, hither, dear
By the breath of life,
Hither, hither, dear!-
Be the summer's wife!

Though one moment's pleasure
In one moment flies-
Though the passion's treasure
In one moment dies;-

Yet it has not passed-
Think how near, how near!-
And while it doth last,
Think how dear, how dear!

Hither, hither, hither
Love its boon has sent-
If I die and wither
I shall die content!

I've been enjoying your poems as usual. I like Wonders of the Stone Age and Silver Silver in particular. Thanks.


Crafty chap. I think he got the 'hither' 'wither' rhyme first, but saved it until the end.

I think yours is better.

Do you know John, I was just thinking the same.

I'm glad you enjoyed them John


That's praise indeed, thank you

Credit where it's due.

Great minds...

Aroama.

Like a car which is rusting
becoming disgusting
beginning to smell
like I am - unwell.

On the banks of denial.
Look; see me smile
as if nothing is wrong.
I would sing you a song
with my very last breath.
For a bottle of meth.

They say Tennent's Super
Is like Henry Cooper.
Without any bout,
four knock you out.

Have I had a bath?
Don't make me laugh
I just spray with Febreze.
I have no disease.
No money. No debts.
No grief or regrets.
Just the world and my wits
and my smelly armpits.

Life In Mono

I remember you said, when we kissed that day,
That there never could be a middle way.
“All or nothing,” you said to me,
“My love will capture, or set me free.”

So holding together, I fell free to be lost,
Falling away, but never counting the cost.
Your head, your heart, right from the start,
It was one or the other, always torn apart.

And from the highest of highs to the hardest of lows,
From the sweetest of kisses to the harshest of blows,
“Your wild side, your child side, I love,” I cried,
But while you were free, I was caught inside.

You drained the colour from out of my life,
Everything was either black or white,
The yes, the no, the stay, the go,
My persistence of love I had to show.

You shouted for you, “This love is real,”
But you tell me now, how should I feel?
All was fine or it was out of line,
“If I’m not yours, then you’re not mine.”

Standing still, perpetual motion,
Bridges torn between emotion,
The trip, the hop, the start, the stop,
Emotions’ bases crashed from the top.

I tried, my love, to temper the hours,
But in truth, this love, was never ours.
It was all for you, the truth and the lies.
And tho’ nothing lived, still something dies.

Life In Mono Sad story beautifully told scottie. Makes me wonder if I've been too controlling in any relationship. Thanks... I think.

There's a bit of a line from one of my favourite bands in there too. I wonder who else spots it?

Interesting Archiver, a time of the inbetween, no further but then no change.

Why

Why hurt when you can you be free
Why silent when you can speak
Why cry when you can be heard
Why stand still when you can move forward
Always

One of your strangest subjects I reckon John! I love the Tennent's Super/Henry Cooper rhyme. Among the descriptions of poor hygiene there are still gems - 'on the banks of denial' in particular. Much enjoyed


A completely absorbing account of a tortured affair. Some relationships have no resolution and that's what I sensed here Scottie.


I didn't get it John, but after Britpop I lost a lot of interest in contemporary music. Anything post-2000 I'm not too familiar with.


Really beautiful Sandy and an uplifting message as well

There is a place for poetry (hopefully not here). On a very
popular aol board that eventually closed it was plagued with poetic contributors. Poetry ? Thanks but no thanks.

There are only a few contributors here. Luckily the mods seem to think we're doing no harm and the sheer length of the thread confirms that some forum members like it

Kit's Coty House

Modern times would harrow
What was once a barrow
And the mound has gone,
For they came to raid stone,
Yet not far from Maidstone
Kit's Coty lives on.

Nothing could demolish,
Sever or abolish
This house on the hill,
Proud despite our failings,
Fenced in by black railings,
Monumental still.

Climb up here and slowly
Let the hinges holy
Open heaven’s doors,
I'm a true devotee
Of stone age Kit's Coty,
High the dolmen soars.


http://www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=358

Well spotted, Archiver.

Do tell

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pw5uUZkcio8

Drat, I should have got that

You're welcome and thanks for letting us know how you feel about our poetry. I'm sure the vast majority feel the same way, but are too timid to say anything. Takes courage (or something) to get in the lions den and shout about how you think lions are pussies.

An AOL board was 'plagued' with the stuff was it? I've never heard of anything like that happening on AOL before. Must've been terrible for the general illiterati. The closest they usually get to rhyming is when someone puts "Me too" after the previous contributor has said the same...

Your work is greatly appreciated poets; it's lovely to pop in the next day to find a feast laid before me. Keep up the good work.

Sandy, did you have a wee dram?

Cessna, all I have to say is "walk on by".

Thanks Musty

Paintings can be a great source of inspiration and can elicit a really good poetic response. The Scream is a really good example.

I wrote the following poem after going to see an exhibition of Rothko's work:


Canvas

Dense slabs of crimson
laid down with deft precision

bleeding penetration
into the black.

Scuffed lines
of bristles forced into canvas.

Dark mirror
to swallow.

I had a cup of tea

Thanks for that both. Much appreciated. I don't seem to write much which I consider worth posting these days. Aroama only just made it.


I really like what I've seen on Tv about Rothko, but I'm sure his work needs to be seen in the flesh, as it were, to be fully appreciated. The last four words of 'Canvas' are superbly fitting I think. Well done.

Thanks Biz - I couldn't stop writing even if I wanted to. I don't suppose the naysayers would understand that at all


You're welcome Sandy, I'm having a nice cuppa too


Ta Scottie. While I'm not a fan of Mark Rothko I enjoyed your poem and it certainly captured his style


You'll be inspired again soon John - I always find your material thought-provoking and entertaining