Friday Poetry: John Clare

I have been reading some of my new poetry books and I rather enjoyed this poem so thought I would share it with you all.

This poem is by John Clare (1793-1864) who was an English poet who celebrated the English countryside in his poetry.

 

To the Fox Fern

Haunter of woods, lone wilds and solitudes

Where none but feet of birds and things as wild

Doth print a foot track near, where summer’s light

Buried in boughs forgets its glare and round thy crimped leaves

Feints in a quiet dimness fit for musings

And melancholy moods, with here and there

A golden thread of sunshine stealing through

The evening shadowy leaves that seem to creep

Like leisure in the shade.

 

John Clare

 

 

Friday Poetry: William Blake

It is time for the first poem of 2020!

I have really enjoyed my poetry experiment so far and so I have decided to keep going with it through 2020. I will admit I am starting to enjoy poetry! However, it is still a limited selection of poems that I am enjoying. Let’s hope that 2020 will introduce me to more poems that I love.

I have gone for a poem by William Blake. The poem is about a new born and as we are in a new born year I thought it fitted well.

 

Infant Joy

‘I have no name:

‘I am but two days old.’

What shall I call thee?

‘I am happy am,

‘Joy is my name.’

Sweet joy befall thee!

 

Pretty joy!

Sweet joy but two days old,

Sweet joy I call thee:

Thou dost smile,

I sing the while,

Sweet joy befall thee!

 

William Blake

 

 

Happy Friday!

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Friday Poetry: Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Happy Twixmas!

Yes, it is that time between Christmas and New Year where we have no clue what day of the week it is and living off leftovers and chocolate. I love it!

However, I have tried to be good and remembered it is Friday so I better do a poem. I have gone for a poem based on New Year.

 

The Year

What can be said in New Year rhymes,

That’s not been said a thousand times?

 

The new years come, the old years go,

We know we dream, we dream we know.

 

We rise up laughing with the light,

We lie down weeping with the night.

 

We hug the world until it stings,

We curse it then and sigh for wings.

 

We live, we love, we woo, we wed,

We wrestle our prides, we sheet our dead.

 

We laugh, we weep, we hope, we fear,

And that’s the burden of a year.

 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

 

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Friday Poetry: Clare Bevan

Hello!

This week’s chosen poem is by Clare Bevan and I chose it because I have had a lot of students excited about acting in their school nativity plays.

 

Just Doing My Job

I’m one of Herod’s Henchmen.

We don’t have much to say,

We just charge through the audience

In a Henchman sort of way.

 

We all wear woolly helmets

To hide our hair and ears,

And wellingtons sprayed silver

To match our tinfoil spears.

 

Our swords are made of cardboard

So blood will not be spilled 

If we trip and stab a parent

When the hall’s completely filled.

 

We don’t look VERY scary,

We’re almost small and shy,

And some of us wear glasses,

But we give the thing a try.

 

We whisper Henchman noises

While Herod hunts for strangers,

And then we all charge out again

Like nervous Power Rangers.

 

Yet when the play is over

And Miss is out of breath

We’ll charge like Henchmen through the hall

And scare our mums to death.

 

Clare Bevan

 

Happy Reading

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Friday Poetry: Anne Bronte

Hello!

I am still slowly getting all the house decorated in Christmas decorations but with concerts and teaching this is taking a quite a while. Yesterday, we finally bought our Christmas tree but because it is absolutely soaking wet because all it did was rain yesterday it is in the garage drying off before it comes into the house to be decorated.

Due to all the Christmas music I am encountering at the moment I wanted a suitable poem and thankfully I have found one!

 

Music on Christmas Morning

Music I love – but never strain

Could kindle raptures so divine,

So grief assuage, so conquer pain,

And rouse this pensive heart of mine –

As that we hear on Christmas morn,

Upon the wintry breezes borne.

 

Though Darkness still her empire keep,

And hours must pass, ere morning break;

From troubled dreams, or slumbers deep,

That music kindly bids us wake:

It calls us, with an angel’s voice,

To wake, and worship, and rejoice;

 

To greet with joy the glorious morn,

Which angels welcomed long ago,

When our redeeming Lord was born,

To bring the light of Heaven below;

The Powers of Darkness to dispel,

And rescue Earth from Death and Hell.

 

While listening to that sacred strain,

My raptured spirit soars on high;

I seem to hear those songs again

Resounding through the open sky,

That kindled such divine delight,

In those who watched their flocks by night.

 

With them I celebrate His birth –

Glory to God in highest Heaven,

Good-will to men, and peace on earth,

To us a Saviour-king is given;

Our God is come to claim His own,

And Satan’s power is overthrown!

 

A sinless God, for sinful men,

Descends to suffer and to bleed;

Hell must renounce its empire then;

The price is paid, the world is freed,

And Satan’s self must now confess,

That Christ has earned a Right to bless:

 

Now holy Peace may smile from Heaven,

And heavenly Truth from earth shall spring:

The captive’s galling bonds are riven,

For our Redeemer is our King;

And He that gave His blood for men

Will lead us home to God again.

 

Anne Brontë

 

Happy Friday!

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Here are a few of the decorations so far.

Friday Poetry: William Wordsworth

Happy Friday!

How is everyone’s December going so far? I am slowly putting our decorations up for Christmas and it is helping me get into the festive mood. As you can see I have also started reading festive poetry.

 

from The River Duddon

The minstrels played their Christmas tune

To-night beneath my cottage eaves;

While, smitten by a lofty moon,

The encircling laurels, thick with leaves,

Gave back a rich and dazzling sheen,

That overpowered their natural green.

 

Through hill and valley every breeze

Had sunk to rest with folded wings:

Keen was the air, but could not freeze

Nor check the music of the strings;

So stout and hardy were the band

That scraped the chords with strenuous hand.

 

And who but listened? – till was paid

Respect to every inmate’s claim;

The greeting given, the music played

In honour of each household name,

Duly pronounced with lusty call,

And ‘Merry Christmas’ wished to all!

 

William Wordsworth

 

Happy Reading

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Friday Poetry: William Shakespeare

Happy Friday!

I hope everyone has some fun weekend plans! Mine involves work and painting the dinning room sadly, although I am looking forward to going to a Christmas Fair where my sister is having a craft stall.

This week I have chosen a Shakespeare sonnet.

 

Sonnet 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments; love is not love

Which alters when in alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O no! it is an ever-fixèd mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wand’ring bark,

Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle’s compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me prov’d,

I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.

 

William Shakespeare

 

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