perhaps some art therapy for these troubled times...
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I went out to the hazelwood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a streamAnd caught a little trout.
When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire aflame, But something rustled on the floor, And some one called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
The River by Valerie Bloom
The River’s a wanderer,
A nomad, a tramp,
He doesn’t choose one place
To set up his camp.
The River’s a winder,
Through valley and hill
He twists and he turns,
He just cannot be still.
The River’s a hoarder,
And he buries down deep
Those little treasures
That he wants to keep.
The River’s a baby,
He gurgles and hums,
And sounds like he’s happily
Sucking his thumbs.
The River’s a singer,
As he dances along,
The countryside echoes
The notes of his song.
The River’s a monster
Hungry and vexed,
He’s gobbled up trees
And he’ll swallow you next.
About Me
- Paul of Medway
- - Left(ish) Political Melancholic Fancies, from the Riverbanks of the Mighty Medway -
Links!
Systems of Sound
Poetry Corner...
Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf by Roald Dahl
As soon as Wolf began to feel
That he would like a decent meal,
He went and knocked on Grandma's door.
When Grandma opened it, she saw
The sharp white teeth, the horrid grin,
And Wolfie said, ``May I come in?''
Poor Grandmamma was terrified,
``He's going to eat me up!'' she cried.
That he would like a decent meal,
He went and knocked on Grandma's door.
When Grandma opened it, she saw
The sharp white teeth, the horrid grin,
And Wolfie said, ``May I come in?''
Poor Grandmamma was terrified,
``He's going to eat me up!'' she cried.
And she was absolutely right.
He ate her up in one big bite.
But Grandmamma was small and tough,
And Wolfie wailed, ``That's not enough!
I haven't yet begun to feel
That I have had a decent meal!''
He ran around the kitchen yelping,
``I've got to have a second helping!''
Then added with a frightful leer,
``I'm therefore going to wait right here
Till Little Miss Red Riding Hood
Comes home from walking in the wood.''
He quickly put on Grandma's clothes,
(Of course he hadn't eaten those).
He dressed himself in coat and hat.
He put on shoes, and after that
He even brushed and curled his hair,
Then sat himself in Grandma's chair.
In came the little girl in red.
She stopped. She stared. And then she said,
``What great big ears you have, Grandma.''
``All the better to hear you with,'' the Wolf replied.
``What great big eyes you have, Grandma.''
said Little Red Riding Hood.
``All the better to see you with,'' the Wolf replied.
He sat there watching her and smiled.
He thought, I'm going to eat this child.
Compared with her old Grandmamma
She's going to taste like caviar.
Then Little Red Riding Hood said, ``But Grandma,
what a lovely great big furry coat you have on.''
``That's wrong!'' cried Wolf. ``Have you forgot
To tell me what BIG TEETH I've got?
Ah well, no matter what you say,
I'm going to eat you anyway.''
The small girl smiles. One eyelid flickers.
She whips a pistol from her knickers.
She aims it at the creature's head
And bang bang bang, she shoots him dead.
A few weeks later, in the wood,
I came across Miss Riding Hood.
But what a change! No cloak of red,
No silly hood upon her head.
She said, ``Hello, and do please note
My lovely furry wolfskin coat.''
THE SONG OF WONDERING AENGUS by Yeats
I went out to the hazelwood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a streamAnd caught a little trout.
When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire aflame, But something rustled on the floor, And some one called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
The River by Valerie Bloom
The River’s a wanderer,
A nomad, a tramp,
He doesn’t choose one place
To set up his camp.
The River’s a winder,
Through valley and hill
He twists and he turns,
He just cannot be still.
The River’s a hoarder,
And he buries down deep
Those little treasures
That he wants to keep.
The River’s a baby,
He gurgles and hums,
And sounds like he’s happily
Sucking his thumbs.
The River’s a singer,
As he dances along,
The countryside echoes
The notes of his song.
The River’s a monster
Hungry and vexed,
He’s gobbled up trees
And he’ll swallow you next.
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