Poem of the Day

02/04/2016

Thunderstorms

Angry, dark, clouds, they fill the sky,
The roar of their voices so low and loud,
The rain they drop, so heavy at times,
Tears are flowing, from the heavens so high,

Why do I love them, I do not know,
So dark, so dreary, yet mystifying at least,
I watch in amazement at the tears that fall,
Why do I love them, but I do you know,

I do not know why, I love them so dear,
A fascination of nature, I look forward too,
So angry and dark, why do I care,
I long for them, wish for them, when they are near

Why do I love them, Will I ever know,
Could it be the aftermath, after they leave?
The sun shines bright, the sky is blue,
Could it be sometimes, it leaves a rainbow

The essence of strength, the essence of power,
Beyond the knowledge, of man's creation,
The knowledge it shows, the strength created,
The seeds of a storm, to a beautiful flower.

Could it be that is why, I love them so much,
A question answered, I do believe,
Yes I do love them, I always will,
The power of God, and his tender touch.

By B.J. Ayers

Oh! To Be In April!

Poem of the day

01/04/2016

Today is April fools day so here is a poem about April.

Oh! To Be In April!

(in England, that is)

You can always tell it's April
By the sound of falling rain
That mystic, mournful music
As it trickles down the drain.

We're told we should be thankful
For the kiss of April showers
As it washes all the grass clean
And prepares the soil for flowers.

There's another side to April
Which doesn't bode us good,
When that mini, manic maelstrom
Turns the lawn to liquid mud.

When mice hide under hedges
And hedgehogs take to ground,
The birds are wet and hungry,
The worms have all been drowned.

Within a week, or maybe two,
A million latent seeds
Will germinate and procreate,
To fill the world with weeds.

Then while I'm fighting anarchy,
Armed with my trusty hoe.
Behind me, surreptitiously,
The grass begins to grow.

I ease my taut and breaking back
And nurse my aching bones.
I think I'll call the builders in
To lay some paving stones.

I'll build a concrete jungle
Where I can sit for hours,
Snug in a concrete garden shed
Secure from April Showers.

Thomas Vaughan Jones 

The Black Death.

Poem of the Day

30/03/2016

The Black Death.

WHAT is it? a speck in the distance,
A rumour that flies in the air,
Too faint to be met by resistance,
Too strong to be braved by despair.
Just whispered about the street-corners,
Just traced by the timorous pen;
Like some scandal breathed out by suborners,
Which poisons the spirit of men.
Where is it? but yesterday even
A man galloped in from the plain,
His eyes were a terrible leaven
Of horror, suspicion, and pain.
He galloped straight up to the Town House,
And none heard the news which he said;
Thank God for the miles he had ridden,
For the horse which he rode dropped dead!
The rumour grows darker and darker,
Each moment the agony swells;
Some say, ''Tis the trade of the doctors;'
And some, 'They have poisoned the wells.'
A threatening doom o'er the city,
It hangs like a terrible sword;
No man for his fellow has pity,
When both dread the curse of the Lord.
To-night there's a crowd in the market,
But scattered like leaves on the blast;
A moment may drive them asunder--
For whom will this night be the last?
No wonder they start in their slumbers,
Or count every tremulous breath;
Alas! who can reckon the numbers
To be reaped in the harvest of Death,
When the fear that now floats like a vapour,
So shadowy, formless, and vague,
Is wrought up to a terrible presence,
And named, not in whispers, The Plague?

Bessie Rayner Parkes

16 June 1829 - 23 March 1925

Fire and Ice

Poem of the day

29/03/2016

My thoughts have recently been taken up by global warming and this poem jumped out at me.

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Robert Lee Frost

March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963

I Am A Rock

Poem of the day

28/03/2016

Well this is not a poem but can be read as one. It is a song by Simon and Garfunkel.  I grew up listening to this duo.

“I Am A Rock"

A winter's day
In a deep and dark December;
I am alone,
Gazing from my window to the streets below
On a freshly fallen silent shroud of snow.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

I've built walls,
A fortress deep and mighty,
That none may penetrate.
I have no need of friendship; friendship causes pain.
It's laughter and it's loving I disdain.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

Don't talk of love,
But I've heard the words before;
It's sleeping in my memory.
I won't disturb the slumber of feelings that have died.
If I never loved I never would have cried.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

I have my books
And my poetry to protect me;
I am shielded in my armour,
Hiding in my room, safe within my womb.
I touch no one and no one touches me.
I am a rock,
I am an island.

And a rock feels no pain;
And an island never cries.

Poem of the day

26/03/2016

When My Sorrow Was Born

When my Sorrow was born I nursed it with care, and watched over it

with loving tenderness.

And my Sorrow grew like all living things, strong and beautiful
and full of wondrous delights.

And we loved one another, my Sorrow and I, and we loved the world
about us; for Sorrow had a kindly heart and mine was kindly with
Sorrow.

And when we conversed, my Sorrow and I, our days were winged and
our nights were girdled with dreams; for Sorrow had an eloquent
tongue, and mine was eloquent with Sorrow.

And when we sang together, my Sorrow and I, our neighbours sat at
their windows and listened; for our songs were deep as the sea and
our melodies were full of strange memories.

And when we walked together, my Sorrow and I, people gazed at us
with gentle eyes and whispered in words of exceeding sweetness.
And there were those who looked with envy upon us, for Sorrow was
a noble thing and I was proud with Sorrow.

But my Sorrow died, like all living things, and alone I am left to
muse and ponder.

And now when I speak my words fall heavily upon my ears.

And when I sing my songs my neighbours come not to listen.

And when I walk the streets no one looks at me.

Only in my sleep I hear voices saying in pity, “See, there lies
the man whose Sorrow is dead.”

By Kahlil Gibran

January 6, 1883 – April 10, 1931 

Alone

Poem of the Day

25/03/2016

Alone

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

Edgar Allan Poe

(January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849)