Friday Poetry: H.D

Happy Friday!

I hope everyone has some exciting plans for the weekend. I have a busy weekend playing the organ for a wedding and a church service.

My chosen poem this week is by Hilda Doolittle who published under the name H.D. Doolittle was an American modernist poet.

Heat

O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.

Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air -
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and round the grapes.

Cut the heat -
plough through it,
turning it on either side
of your path.

H.D

Happy Reading

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Friday Poetry: Thomas Hardy

Hello!

Happy Friday! I hope everyone has some fantastic plans for the weekend. I have spent most of today dissertation writing and will be doing the same over the weekend as well as prepping a church service for Sunday and practising music for two church services so I doubt I will get much fun reading in but I will try.

My chosen poem today is by Thomas Hardy (1840-1928) who was an English novelist and poet. I must admit he is one of my favourite authors and I must get around to reading more of his work as I haven’t for a while.

Weathers

I
This is the weather the cuckoo likes,
And so do I;
When showers be tumble the chestnut spikes,
And nestlings fly:
And the little brown nightingale bills his best,
And they sit outside at 'The Travellers' Rest',
And maids come forth sprig-muslim drest,
And citizens dream of the south and west,
And so do I.

II
This is the weather the shepherd shuns,
And so do I;
When beeches drip in browns and duns,
And thresh, and ply;
And hill-hid tides throb, throe on throw,
And meadow rivulets overflow,
And drops on gate-bars hang in a row, 
And rooks in families homeward go,
And so do I.

Thomas Hardy

Happy Reading

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Friday Poetry: T. S. Eliot

Happy Friday!

I hope everyone has some good plans for the weekend.

My chosen poem for the week is from an old favourite. Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats is probably my all time favourite book of poetry, so I have chosen to share The Naming of Cats.

The Naming of Cats

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter, 
It isn't just one of your games;
You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES. 
First of all, there's the name that the family use daily, 
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey - 
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter, 
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter - 
But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular,
A name that's peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum - 
Names that never belong to more than one cat. 
But above and beyond there's still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover -
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation, 
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is enraged in rapt contemplation
Of the moment, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

T. S. Eliot

Happy Reading

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Friday Poetry: Laura Mucha

Happy Friday!

I hope everyone is looking forward to the weekend.

This weeks poem is by Laura Mucha. Mucha is an ex-lawyer and award-winning poet, writer and speaker.

The Land of Blue

Across the valley, it waits for you,
a place they call The Land of Blue.

It's far and near, it's strange yet known - 
and in this land, you'll feel alone,
you might feel tears roll down your cheek,
you might feel wobbly, weary, weak.

I know this won't sound fun to you - 
it's not - this is The Land of Blue.
It's blue - not gold or tangerine,
it's dark - not light, not bright or clean.

It's blue- and when you leave, you'll see
the crackly branches of the tree,
the golden skies, the purring cat,
the piercing eyes, the feathered het
and all the other things that come 
when you escape from feeling glum.

Across the valley, it waits for you,
a place they call The Land of Blue
and going there will help you know
how others feel when they feel low.

Laura Mucha

Happy Reading

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Friday Poetry: Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Hello!

Happy Friday! It is time for some poetry.

On this day in 1913, Emily Davison threw herself under the King’s horse at the Epsom Derby. Sadly, she died from her injuries four days later. Davison was a key part of the suffragette movement. The vote was given to women who met certain qualifications in 1918, women were given full voting rights in 1928.

Coming

Because the time is ripe, the age is ready,
Because the world her woman's help demands,
Out of the long subjection and seclusion
Come to our field of warfare and confusion
The mother's heart and hands.

Long has she stood aside, endured and waited,
While man swung forward, toiling on alone;
Now, for the weary man, so long ill-mated,
Now, for the world for which she was created,
Comes woman to her own.

Not for herself! though sweet the air of freedom;
Not for herself, though dear the new-born power;
But for the child, who needs a nobler mother,
For the whole people, needing one another,
Comes woman to her hour. 

Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Happy Reading

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Friday Poetry: Maya Angelou

Happy Friday!

I hope you all have some exciting plans for the long weekend ahead. I’m hoping to get some reading done but I also have a lot of studying to do as well.

My chosen poem today is by Maya Angelou (1928-2014) who was an American poet, memorise and civil rights activist.

Life Doesn't Frighten Me

Shadows on the wall
Noises down the hall
Life doesn't frighten me at all
Bad dogs barking loud
Big ghosts in a cloud
Life doesn't frighten me at all. 

Mean old Mother Goose
Lions on the loose
They don't frighten me at all
Dragons breathing flame
On my counterpane
That doesn't frighten me at all.

I go boo
Make them shoo
I make fun
Way they run
I won't cry 
So they fly
I just smile
They go wild
Life doesn't frighten me at all.

Tough guys fight
All alone at night
Life doesn't frighten me at all
Panthers in the park
Strangers in the dark
No, they don't frighten me at all.

That new classroom where
Boys all pull my hair
(Kissy little girls
With their hair in curls)
They don't frighten me at all.

Don't show me frogs and snakes
And listen for my scream,
If I'm afraid at all
It's only in my dreams.

I've got a magic charm 
That I keep up my sleeve,
I can walk the ocean floor
And never have to breathe.

Life doesn't frighten me at all
Not at all
Not at all.
Life doesn't frighten me at all.

Maya Angelou

I know the picture isn’t a Mother Goose on her nest but it is a swan I saw on the nest yesterday.

Happy Friday!

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Friday Poetry: Jack Prelutsky

Happy Friday!

I hope everyone has some good plans for the weekend.

My chosen poem today is all about how boredom is a state of mind and that if you choose to be bored you might miss things in life.

Today Is Very Boring

Today is very boring,
it's a very boring day,
there is nothing much to look at, 
there is nothing much to say,
there's a peacock on my sneakers,
there's a penguin on my head,
there's a dormouse on my doorstep,
I am going back to bed.

Today is very boring,
it is boring through and through,
there is absolutely nothing
that I think I want to do,
I see giants riding rhinos,
and an ogre with a sword,
there's a dragon blowing smoke rings,
I am positively bored.

Today is very boring,
I can hardly help but yawn,
there's a flying saucer landing
in the middle of my lawn,
a volcano just erupted
less than half a mile away,
and I think I felt an earthquake,
it's a very boring day.

Jack Prelutsky

Happy Reading

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Friday Poetry: Matilda: Who Told Lies, and was Burned to Death by Hillaire Belloc

Hello!

Happy Friday! My apologies for my absence recently, a combination of assignment deadlines and feeling rather rough after my first Covid vaccine meant the blog suffered but I am back now.

My chosen poem today is basically a retelling of Aesop’s fable The Boy Who Cried Wolf.

Matilda: Who Told Lies, and was Burned to Death 

Matilda told such Dreadful Lies,
It made one Gasp and Stretch one's Eyes;
Her Aunt, who, from her Earliest Youth,
Had kept a Strict Regard for Truth,
Attempted to Believe Matilda:
The effort very nearly killed her,
And would have done so, had not She
Discovered this Infirmity.
For once, towards the Close of Day,
Matilda, growing tired of play,
And finding she was left alone,
Went tiptoe to the Telephone
And summoned the Immediate Aid
Of London's Noble Fire-Brigade.
Within an hour the Gallant Band
Were pouring in on every hand,
From Putney, Hackney Downs, and Bow.
With Courage high and Hearts a-glow,
They galloped, roaring through the Town,
'Matilda's House is Burning Down!'
Inspired by British Cheers and Loud
Proceeding from the Frenzied Crowd,
They ran their ladders through a score
Of windows on the Ball Room Floor;
And took Peculiar Pains to Souse
The Pictures up and down the House,
Until Matilda's Aunt succeeded
In showing them they were not needed;
And even then she had to pay
To get the Men to go away,      
It happened that a few Weeks later
Her Aunt was off to the Theatre
To see that Interesting Play
The Second Mrs. Tanqueray.
She had refused to take her Niece
To hear this Entertaining Piece:
A Deprivation Just and Wise
To Punish her for Telling Lies.
That Night a Fire did break out--
You should have heard Matilda Shout!
You should have heard her Scream and Bawl,
And throw the window up and call
To People passing in the Street--
(The rapidly increasing Heat
Encouraging her to obtain
Their confidence) -- but all in vain!
For every time she shouted 'Fire!'
They only answered 'Little Liar!'
And therefore when her Aunt returned,
Matilda, and the House, were Burned.

Hillaire Belloc

Happy Reading

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Friday Poetry: A. A. Milne

Happy Friday!

I hope everyone has some exciting weekend plans. I chose this poem for today because it made me smile and hope it makes you smile.

Buckingham Palace

They're changing the guard at Buckingham Palace-
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
Alice is marrying one of the guard.
'A soldier's life is terrible hard,'
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace-
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
We saw a guard in a sentry-box.
'One of the sergeants looks after their socks,'
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace-
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
We looked for the King, but he never came.
'Well, God take care of him, all the same,'
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace-
Christopher Robin went down with Alice,
They've great big parties inside the grounds.
'I wouldn't be King for a hundred pounds,'
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace-
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
A face looked out, but it wasn't the King's.
'He's much too busy a -signing things,'
Says Alice.

They're changing guard at Buckingham Palace-
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
'Do you think the King knows all about me?'
'Sure to, dear, but it's time for tea,'
Says Alice.

A. A. Milne
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Friday Poetry: Robert Herrick

Hello!

Apologies for the lateness of the post, I forgot to schedule it and today I have spent all day studying. Anyway I have gone for a poem for May as it is May tomorrow and the May bank holiday weekend. I hope you all have some good plans for the bank holiday. The poem is by Robert Herrick.

Corinna's Going A Maying

Get up, get up for shame, the Blooming Morne 
Upon her wings presents the god unshorne. 
                     See how Aurora throwes her faire 
                     Fresh-quilted colours through the aire: 
                     Get up, sweet-Slug-a-bed, and see 
                     The Dew-bespangling Herbe and Tree. 
Each Flower has wept, and bow'd toward the East, 
Above an houre since; yet you not drest, 
                     Nay! not so much as out of bed? 
                     When all the Birds have Mattens seyd, 
                     And sung their thankful Hymnes: 'tis sin, 
                     Nay, profanation to keep in, 
When as a thousand Virgins on this day, 
Spring, sooner than the Lark, to fetch in May. 

Rise; and put on your Foliage, and be seene 
To come forth, like the Spring-time, fresh and greene; 
                     And sweet as Flora. Take no care 
                     For Jewels for your Gowne, or Haire: 
                     Feare not; the leaves will strew 
                     Gemms in abundance upon you: 
Besides, the childhood of the Day has kept, 
Against you come, some Orient Pearls unwept: 
                     Come, and receive them while the light 
                     Hangs on the Dew-locks of the night: 
                     And Titan on the Eastern hill 
                     Retires himselfe, or else stands still 
Till you come forth. Wash, dresse, be briefe in praying: 
Few Beads are best, when once we goe a Maying. 

Come, my Corinna, come; and comming, marke 
How each field turns a street; each street a Parke 
                     Made green, and trimm'd with trees: see how 
                     Devotion gives each House a Bough, 
                     Or Branch: Each Porch, each doore, ere this, 
                     An Arke a Tabernacle is 
Made up of white-thorn neatly enterwove; 
As if here were those cooler shades of love. 
                     Can such delights be in the street, 
                     And open fields, and we not see't? 
                     Come, we'll abroad; and let's obay 
                     The Proclamation made for May: 
And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; 
But my Corinna, come, let's goe a Maying. 

There's not a budding Boy, or Girle, this day, 
But is got up, and gone to bring in May. 
                     A deale of Youth, ere this, is come 
                     Back, and with White-thorn laden home. 
                     Some have dispatcht their Cakes and Creame, 
                     Before that we have left to dreame: 
And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted Troth, 
And chose their Priest, ere we can cast off sloth: 
                     Many a green-gown has been given; 
                     Many a kisse, both odde and even: 
                     Many a glance too has been sent 
                     From out the eye, Loves Firmament: 
Many a jest told of the Keyes betraying 
This night, and Locks pickt, yet w'are not a Maying. 

Come, let us goe, while we are in our prime; 
And take the harmlesse follie of the time. 
                     We shall grow old apace, and die 
                     Before we know our liberty. 
                     Our life is short; and our dayes run 
                     As fast away as do's the Sunne: 
And as a vapour, or a drop of raine 
Once lost, can ne'r be found againe: 
                     So when or you or I are made 
                     A fable, song, or fleeting shade; 
                     All love, all liking, all delight 
                     Lies drown'd with us in endlesse night. 
Then while time serves, and we are but decaying; 
Come, my Corinna, come, let's goe a Maying.

Robert Herrick

Happy Reading.

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