Friday Poetry

Today’s chosen poem was chosen because I have always been interested in the mystery of Mary Celeste. The Mary Celeste washed up on the shores of the Azores islands on the 5th December 1872, the crew were nowhere to be seen, the cargo was undisturbed and the ship was completely unscathed and still able to sail. The mystery still remains unsolved.

Mary Celeste

Only the wind sings
in the riggings,
the hull creaks a lullaby;
a sail lifts gently
like a message
pinned to a vacant sky.
The wheel turns
over bare decks,
shirts flap on a line;
only the song of the lapping waves
beats steady time…


First mate,
off-duty from
the long dawn watch, begins
a letter to his wife, daydreams
of home.

The Captain’s wife is late;
the child did not sleep
and breakfast has passed…
She, too, is missing home;
sits down at last to eat,
but can’t quite force
the porridge down.
She swallows hard,
slices the top from her egg.

The second mate
is happy
A four-hour sleep,
full stomach
and a quiet sea
are all he craves

The child now sleeps, at last,
head firmly pressed into her pillow
in a deep sea-dream.

Then why are the gulls wheeling
like vultures in the sky?
Why was the child snatched
from her sleep? What drew
the Captain’s cry?


Only the wind replies
in the rigging,
and the hull creaks and sighs,
a sail spells out its message
over silent skies.
The wheel still turns
over bare decks,
shirts blow on the line;
the siren-song of lapping waves
still echoes over time.

Judith Nicholls

Happy Friday! I hope everyone has a fab weekend planned.

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Friday Poetry

Happy Friday Everyone!

I hope everyone has bookish plans for the weekend.

My chosen poem for this week celebrates books, so it is a brilliant poem obviously.

There Is No Frigate Like A Book

There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away,
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry –
This Travel may the poorest take
Without offence of Toll –
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears the Human soul.

Emily Dickinson


Emily Dickinson 1830-1886 and was an American poet. While Dickinson was a prolific poet, fewer than a dozen of her nearly 1800 poems were published during her lifetime. The poems published then, were usually edited significantly to fit conventional poetic rules. Her poems were unique for her era.

Friday Poetry

Happy Friday Everyone!

I hope you all have a good weekend planned.

This weeks poem has been chosen because I am currently reading a book about the Brontë’s and I am thoroughly enjoying it. So I decided to choose a poem by Charlotte Brontë.

 

Life

Life, believe, is not a dream

So dark as sages say;

Oft a little morning rain

Foretells a pleasant day.

Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,

But these are transient all;

If the shower will make the roses bloom,

O why lament its fall?

Rapidly, merrily,

Life’s sunny hours flit by,

Gratefully, cheerily

Enjoy them as they fly!

What though Death at times steps in,

And calls our Best away?

What though sorrow seems to win,

O’er hope, a heavy sway?

Yet Hope again elastic springs,

Unconquered, though she fell;

Still buoyant are her golden wings,

Still strong to bear us well.

Manfully, fearlessly,

The day of trial bear,

For gloriously, victoriously,

Can courage quell despair!

 

Charlotte Brontë

 

Lady Book Dragon.

Friday Poetry

I read this poem a few days ago and it has really stuck with me. I think I am becoming a real fan of prose poems, I just really enjoy reading them. Maybe I don’t like rhyming? Who knows?

Anyway my chosen poem is by Max Ehrmann. The poem offers words of advice and encouragement and at its core is the message ‘Be yourself’.

 

Desiderata

 

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,

and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible without surrender

be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly;

and listen to others,

even the dull and the ignorant;

they too have their story.

 

 

Avoid loud and aggresive persons,

they are vexations to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,

you may become vain and bitter;

for always there will be greater and lesser persons than

yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

 

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;

it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs;

for the world is full of trickery.

But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;

many persons strive for high ideals;

and everywhere life is full of heroism.

 

Be yourself.

Especially, do not feign affection.

Neither be cynical about love;

for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment

it is as perennial as the grass.

 

Take kindly the counsel of the years,

gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden

misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,

be gentle with yourself.

 

You are a child of the universe,

no less than the trees and the stars;

you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you,

no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

 

Therefore be at peace with God,

whatever you conceive Him to be,

and whatever your labors and aspirations,

in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

 

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,

it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

 

Max Ehrmann

 

Words to live by I think. Photo is from my walk yesterday after the rain had finished.

Happy Friday!

Lady Book Dragon.

Friday Poetry

This weeks poem is in honour of St George as it was St George’s day this week.

I chose an old favourite poem from my childhood, which appeaeled to me no end because I loved the idea of having a pet dragon when I was a child and to be honest I still do.

 

St George and the Dragon

 

St George looked at the dragon

And much to his surprise,

He noticed that the dragon

Had large appealing eyes.

‘Pardon me,’ said brave St George,

‘I hear you’re cruel and sly.’

‘Oh no, not me,’ the dragon said,

‘I wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

‘I’ve come to slay you,’ said St George, 

‘And save the maiden fair

That you have captured, and no doubt

Imprisoned in your lair.’

‘I used to be both cruel and sly,

Of that there is no doubt,’

Replied the dragon, ‘but not now,

My fire has all burnt out.

The maiden you have come to save

Has made a pet of me.

She takes me walkies on a lead

And feeds me cups of tea.

So if you want to do brave deeds

The like of which I’ve read,

Please take the maiden home with you,

And so save me instead.’

 

Finola Akister

 

Lady Book Dragon

 

 

Friday Poetry

Well it is Good Friday, so I wanted a suitable poem to reflect this. I always think Christina Rossetti has excellent poems for the church festivals and yet again I have found a poem by her which is in my opinion perfect.

I hope you all have an excellent Easter weekend, but please remember it is not just about fluffy bunnies, cute chicks and chocolate eggs.

 

Good Friday

Am I a stone, and not a sheep,
That I can stand, O Christ, beneath Thy cross,
To number drop by drop Thy blood’s slow loss,
And yet not weep?

Not so those women loved
Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee;
Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly;
Not so the thief was moved;

Not so the Sun and Moon
Which hid their faces in a starless sky,
A horror of great darkness at broad noon –
I, only I.

Yet give not o’er,
But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock;
Greater than Moses, turn and look once more
And smite a rock.

Christina Rossetti

 

Lady Book Dragon.

Friday Poetry

The steam trains have been busy tooting this week and it is always a joy to hear them from our house, so I thought a suitable poem was in order.

 

The Railway Children

When we climbed the slopes of the cutting

We were eye-level with the white cups

Of the telegraph poles and the sizzling wires.

 

Like lovely freehand they curved for miles

East and miles west beyond us, sagging

Under their burden of swallows.

 

We were small and thought we knew nothing

Worth knowing. We thought words travelled the wires

In the shiny pouches of raindrops.

 

Each one seeded full with the light

Of the sky, the gleam of the lines, and ourselves

So infinesimally scaled

 

We could stream through the eye of a needle.

 

Seamus Heaney

 

Lady Book Dragon.