I hope everyone has some lovely plans for Easter. My chosen poem this week is one for Easter. I rather like it because it is the donkey narrating rather than a human voice.
The Donkey
When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born.
With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil's walking parody
Of all four-footed things.
The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.
Fools! For I also had my hour,
One far fierce hour and sweet.
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.
G. K. Chesterton
Happy Reading
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My chosen poem this week is by Lewis Carroll and I chose it because it made me laugh.
You Are Old, Father William
'You are old, Father William,' the young man said,
'And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head -
Do you think, at your age, it is right?'
'In my youth,' Father William replied to his son,
'I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.'
'You are old,' said the youth, 'as I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door -
Pray, what is the reason of that?'
'In my youth,' said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
'I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment-one shilling the box -
Allow me to sell you a couple?'
'You are old,' said the youth, 'and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak -
Pray, how did you manage to do it?'
'In my youth,' said his father, 'I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.'
'You are old,' said the youth, 'one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose -
What made you so awfully clever?'
'I have answered three questions, and that is enough,'
Said his father. 'Don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you downstairs!'
Lewis Carroll
Happy Reading
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Happy Friday! Apologies for being absent for so long but I decided to have a little break from the blog for a little while.
My chosen poem this week is by the poet Philip Larkin.
The Trees
The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.
Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too.
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.
Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh. afresh, afresh.
Philip Larkin
Happy Reading
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My chosen poem this week is by the Scottish poet and teacher Norman MacCaig (1910-1996).
Toad
Stop looking like a purse. How could a purse
Squeeze under the rickety door and sit,
Full of satisfaction in a man's house?
You clamber towards me on your four corners -
Right hand, left foot, left hand, right foot.
I love you for being a toad,
For crawling like a Japanese wrestler,
And for not being frightened
I put you in my purse hand not shutting it,
And set you down outside directly under
Every star.
A jewel in your head? Toad,
You've put one in mine,
A tiny radiance in a dark place.
Norman MacCaig
Happy Reading
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I hope everyone has some good plans for the weekend.
The poem I have chosen this week really struck me when I read it so I thought I would share it.
'Hope' is the Thing with Feathers
'Hope' is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
I've heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of Me.
Emily Dickinson
Happy Reading
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Happy Friday! I hope everyone has some good books planned for the weekend.
My chosen poem this week is by the Afro-Guyanese playwright, poet and children’s writer John Agard.
A Date with Spring
Got a date with spring
Got to look my best.
Of all the trees
I'll be the smartest dressed.
Perfumed breeze
behind me ear.
Pollen accessories
all in place.
Raindrop moisturizer
for me face.
Sunlight tints
to spruce up the hair.
What's the good of being a tree
if you can't flaunt your beauty?
Winter, I was naked
Exposed as can be.
Me wardrobe took off
with the wind.
Life was a frosty slumber.
Now, spring, here I come.
Can't wait to slip in
to me little green number.
John Agard
Happy Reading
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The Night Will Never Stay
The night will never stay,
The night will still go by,
Though with a million stars
You pin it to the sky,
Though you bind it with the blowing wind
And buckle it with the moon,
The night will slip away
Like sorrow or a tune.
Eleanor Farjeon
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Happy Friday! I hope everyone has some exciting plans for the weekend.
My chosen poem this week is actually a nursery rhyme written by Sarah Josepha Hale. Hale (1788-1879) was an American writer, activist, and editor.
Mary Had a Little Lamb
Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece was white as snow,
And everywhere that Mary went
The lamb was sure to go;
He followed her to school one day -
That was against the rule,
It made the children laugh and play
To see a lamb at school.
And so the Teacher turned him out,
But still he lingered near,
And waited patiently about,
Till Mary did appear.
And then he ran to her and laid
His head upon her arm,
As if he said - 'I'm not afraid -
You'll shield me from all harm.'
'What makes the lamb love Mary so,'
The little children cry;
'O, Mary loves the lamb you know,'
The Teacher did reply,
'And you each gentle animal
In confidence may bind,
And make them follow at your call,
If you are always kind.'
Sarah Josepha Hale
Happy Reading
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My chosen poem this week is by the Victorian poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861). I thought this poem was a good choice for Valentine’s Day.
This sonnet is from Browning’s collection Sonnets from the Portuguese.
How Do I Love Thee?
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Happy Birthday
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Happy Friday! I thought it was time for a poem by Spike Milligan as I haven’t shared one for ages.
On the Ning Nang Nong
On the Ning Nang Nong
Where the cows go Bong!
And the monkeys all say BOO!
There's a Nong Nang Ning
Where the trees go Ping!
And the tea pots jibber jabber joo.
On the Nong Ning Nang
All the mice go Clang
And you just can't catch 'em when they do!
So it's Ning Nang Nong
Cows go Bong!
Nong Ning Nang
Trees go Ping!
Nong Ning Nang
The mice go Clang!
What a noisy place to belong
is the Ning Nang
Ning Nang Nong!!
Spike Milligan
Happy Reading
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Lady Book Dragon 