Category: poetry

Someone just mentioned they like this poem…

Joey Jones5 Comments

No sun–no moon!
No morn–no noon!
No dawn–no dusk–no proper time of day–
No sky–no earthly view–
No distance looking blue–
No road–no street–no “t’other side this way”–
No end to any Row–
No indications where the Crescents go–
No top to any steeple–
No recognitions of familiar people–
No courtesies for showing ’em–
No knowing ’em!
No traveling at all–no locomotion–
No inkling of the way–no notion–
“No go” by land or ocean–
No mail–no post–
No news from any foreign coast–
No Park, no Ring, no afternoon gentility–
No company–no nobility–
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member–
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds–
November!

By Thomas Hood ( 1799~1845)

Art for art’s sake

Joey Jones7 Comments

Who are your favorite artists?

You may remember me mentioning Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers once or twice before now. To that, I’ll add Post Malone, this time.

And my parchant for The Pre-Raphelites..today I will add Frédéric Leighton, who was around at the same time as the Brotherhood but had a complicated relationship with them. Maybe his style bothered them?

Flaming June, by Frédéric Leighton

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So, with the DP now answered, I have the time and space to post another favourite poem..yes I’ve posted this before, too. But why not?

                          Lesuire

WHAT is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?—

No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:

No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

By W.H.Davies ( 1871~1940)

Sanctuary

Joey Jones7 Comments

A hijacked Daily Prompt page…with thanks to WP

When some one has slipped you the dirk in the dark,
When eyes that are loving are lies,
When some one you trusted has made you a mark,
And somehow the heart in you dies,
There’s dirt for you, hurt for you, trouble enough
To shatter the faith of a man;
But don’t ever think there is trouble so tough
That you can’t overcome it—you can.

When living is losing its flavor to you,
When worry is making you old;
When there is no joy in the thing that you do
Nor truth in the thing you are told,
There’s balm for you, calm for you, out in the wild,
There’s hope for you up on the hill.
Get up in the timber and play like a child;
You can overcome it—you will.

Get up in the timber; the trail and the trees
Will make you a man in a day.
The smell of the soil and the breath of the breeze
Will blow all your troubles away.


There’s pine for you, wine for you, hope for you there—

The sun and the moon and the star—


If the ways of the city are not on the square,
Get up in the woods—where they are.

By Douglas  Malloch ( 1877-1938)

Words from a time gone by

Joey Jones2 Comments

How do you relax?

It’s possible once upon a time if I had heard the word poetry, I’d be ambivalent or worse if the idea of a dusty ol’ Shakespeare sprang to mind. But if Edward Lear, Spike Milligan or Roald Dahl were mentioned I’d sit up..So maybe I’d always felt something as a younger soul?

The most beautiful Lesuire by W.H. Davies has been on my radar for a very long time, and Emily Dickinson and Sara Teasdale, amongst others certainly stir me.

In the bleak mid winter ( once titled A Christmas Carol) by Christina Rossetti began life as a poem…and then became a Christmas carol. I love this, the words, the music. My favourite to hear at that time of the year. ( In fact, I’ll let you into a secret, I  find myself humming this tune all year found) So haunting.

Christine’s brother Dante Gabriel and the Pre Raphelites have fascinated me for decades along with William Morris, my hero. But I digress.

DP asked what we do to relax…I thumb through endless poetry  books and search sites to feed my appetite for words from a time gone by for poems that resonate. Bliss.

I searched for this…because

Joey Jones7 Comments

What was the last thing you searched for online? Why were you looking for it?

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.

By Emily Dickinson. Published in 1891.

           

                          

In the words of William Blake…

Joey Jones3 Comments

What positive emotion do you feel most often?

Joy & Woe

Joy and woe are woven fine,     

A clothing of the soul divine;                         

Under every grief and pine,                           

Runs a joy of silken twine.      

It is right it should be so;                        

Man was made for joy and woe;              

And when this we rightly know,                  

Safely through the world we go.  

William Blake 1757~1827

There will come soft rains

Joey Jones7 Comments

If you were going to open up a shop, what would you sell?

That’s an easy one to answer WP. A thriving  charity shop on a busy high street with lots of footfall and plenty of regular customers…

……… The sky had suddenly darkened as I looked out the street, which had become empty but for a few souls hurrying home before the downpour.

I’d just finished changing the window display, The clothes rails were tidy, and if I say it myself, the place looked good.

With a few minutes to spare before I shut up shop for the day, I ran my finger along the bookshelf to see what had been donated recently, something i may have missed.

And there it was The Collected Poems of Sara Teasdale. I was excited to see it. Quickly taking ownership ( yes, I did pay for it!) I popped it in my bag, locked up and left for the day. There was one poem especially I wanted to read again….

(War time)

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,                                                      And swallows circling with their shimmering sound.

And frogs in the pool singing at night,      And wild plum trees in tremulous white.

Robins will wear their feathery fire,       Whistling their whims on a low-fence wire.

And not one will know of the war, not one, Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree  if mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,                                                                 Would scarcely know that we were gone.

Sara Teasdale ( 1884~1933)

     

Today’s arrival

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What are your daily habits?

‘ It’s no bad thing to celebrate a simple life’ JJ Tolkien 1892- 1973

The Guest House~Rumi

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning, a new arrival.

A joy, a depression,  a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

of some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,

and invite them in.

as a guide from beyond.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

Jalal-al-Din Muhammad Rumi 1207~1273