LOVE ENDURING by B John Burr

LOVE ENDURING 

Love is Thoughtful and always kind, 

Love is Forgiving and always blind, 

Love is Dutiful and always caring, 

Love is the Joy and always daring, 

Love is the Promise to always uphold, 

Love is the Gift wrapped in gold. 

 

Love Listens and always hides the pain, 

Love is the Sinew that takes the strain, 

Love Weeps though never drops a tear, 

Love is all Faithful and always fair, 

Love is You and all I hold dear, 

Love is today and all enduring years. 

  

8697392508_7d8e763f90_z

Photo by Chu 3d

John Burr.  16 October 2015

 

Advertisements
Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Pike by Ted Hughes

Pike

Pike, three inches long, perfect
Pike in all parts, green tigering the gold.
Killers from the egg: the malevolent aged grin.
They dance on the surface among the flies.

Or move, stunned by their own grandeur,
Over a bed of emerald, silhouette
Of submarine delicacy and horror.
A hundred feet long in their world.

In ponds, under the heat-struck lily pads –
Gloom of their stillness:
Logged on last year’s black leaves, watching upwards.
Or hung in an amber cavern of weeds

The jaws’ hooked clamp and fangs
Not to be changed at this date;
A life subdued to its instrument;
The gills kneading quietly, and the pectorals.

 

15467643367_518c490686_z

To read the full poem click here

Ted Hughes was born on this day in 1930.

Image by Benjamin Horn

 

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Ted Hughes is Elvis Presley by Ian McMillan

Ted Hughes is Elvis Presley

I didn’t die
that hot August night.
I faked it,

stuffed a barrage balloon
into a jump suit.
Left it slumped
on the bathroom floor.

Hitched a ride on a rig
rolling to New York. Climbed
into the rig, the driver said
‘Hey, you’re…’
‘Yeah, The Big Bopper. I faked it,
never died in that ‘plane crash.
Keep it under your lid.’
I tapped his hat with my porky fingers.
He nodded. We shared a big secret.

 

To read the full poem click here

Elvis Presley died on this day in 1977.

 

Posted in Ian McMillan, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

The Badger by John Clare

4554942425_ceae2c4d32_z.jpg

Photo by Barrettyman  

The Badger by John Clare

When midnight comes a host of dogs and men

Go out and track the badger to his den,

And put a sack within the hole, and lie

Till the old grunting badger passes bye.

He comes and hears – they let the strongest loose.

The old fox hears the noise and drops the goose.

The poacher shoots and hurries from the cry,

And the old hare half wounded buzzes bye.

They get a forked stick to bear him down

And clap the dogs and take him to the town,

And bait him all the day with many dogs,

And laugh and shout and fright the scampering hogs.

He runs along and bites at all he meets:

They shout and hollo down the noisy streets.

 

He turns about to face the loud uproar

And drives the rebels to their very door.

The frequent stone is hurled where’er they go;

When badgers fight, then everyone’s a foe.

The dogs are clapt and urged to join the fray;

The badger turns and drives them all away.

Though scarcely half as big, demure and small,

He fights with dogs for bones and beats them all.

The heavy mastiff, savage in the fray,

Lies down and licks his feet and turns away.

The bulldog knows his match and waxes cold,

The badger grins and never leaves his hold.

He drives the crowd and follows at their heels

And bites them through – the drunkard swears and reels.

 

The frighted women take the boys away,

The blackguard laughs and hurries on the fray.

He tries to reach the woods, and awkward race,

But sticks and cudgels quickly stop the chace.

He turns agen and drives the noisy crowd

And beats the many dogs in noises loud.

He drives away and beats them every one,

And then they loose them all and set them on.

He falls as dead and kicked by boys and men,

Then starts and grins and drives the crowd agen;

Till kicked and torn and beaten out he lies

And leaves his hold and cackles, groans, and dies.

Posted in #rwpchat, Clare John, Midnight | Leave a comment

Gairmscoile by Hugh MacDiarmid

Aulder than mammoth or than mastodon
Deep i’ the herts o’ a’ men lurk scaut-heid
Skrymmorie monsters few daur look upon.
Brides sometimes catch their wild een, scansin’ reid,
Beekin’ abune the herts they thocht to lo’e
And horror-stricken ken that i’ themselves
A like beast stan’s, and lookin’ love thro’ and thro’
Meets the reid een wi’ een like seevun hells.
… Nearer the twa beasts draw, and, couplin’, brak
The bubbles o’ twa sauls and the haill warld gangs black.
You can read the complete poem here.
Hugh MacDiarmid was born on this day in 1892, you can read more of his work through Surrey Libraries.
Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

“Hope” is a thing with feathers (314) by Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is a thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson

 

“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.
Posted in Dickinson Emily, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

‘Summer with Monica’ by Roger McGough

‘Summer with Monica’ by Roger McGough.  50th anniversary edition illustrated by Chris Riddell.

Available from Surrey Libraries. (A small request charge may apply).

Have you read it? Please leave a review on our catalogue.

31llXLlQ5fL

 

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment