Category: poetry

Vodcasts and W.H.Davies

Joey Jones3 Comments

What podcasts are you listening to?

There are two Vodcasts I enjoy: Full disclosure with James O’ Brien and Happy Place with Fearne Cotton.

As today’s DP has been short and sweet, I will add this if I may..

The Rain

I hear leaves drinking rain;

I hear rich leaves on top

Giving the poor beaneath

Drop after drop;

‘ Ti’s a sweet noise to hear

These green leaves drinking near.

And when the Sun comes out,

After this Rain shall stop

A wondrous Light will fill

Each dark, round drop;

I hope the Sun shines bright;

‘Twill be a lovely sight.

W.H.Davies 1871~1940

AI overview

W.H. Davies’s poem “The Rain” is a two-stanza poem that uses the imagery of rain on leaves to comment on socioeconomic inequality, personifying the “rich” leaves on top that get the most water and the “poor” leaves below that only receive a drop at a time. The poem expresses hope for future equality, envisioning a time after the rain when the sun will shine brightly on all the drops equally.

A few words from Langston Hughes

Joey Jones6 Comments

What was your favourite subject in school?

Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

For when they go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow.

Dreams by Langston Hughes 1901~1967

DP @ WP….English was my favourite subject in school…by a country mile.


A few words from Robert Frost

Joey Jones2 Comments

(A hijacking of today’s DP)

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

By Robert Frost 1874~1963

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.