Poetry Corner and the Written Word

[Dartmoor navigator]

I'll start the ball rolling with a piece I wrote a while back...

​

A Chill in The Air

From car to twilight fresh ground as peat stained earth rolls beneath my feet. No conveyor, heaving breath and feet ploughing up ancient long forgotten forest. Furze bound as I turn to track and startle cattle that move on to chew and shelter.

Blackslade passed, the gentle rise to wittaburrow's scattered stones laying where three thousand years could not move them; laid by men; now interred.

The moorland sunset clear and crisp. Clear. Tors and hills presented for skyline muster, my inspection: my moor. God given, God thanked I run on through settlements where once my ancestors had farmed, a child in the long grass playing in the depths of imagination, my grandfathers forefather.

Beyond lies bog, it was bog then and is now. Bracken covers hillward slopes as I press against them, digging in. Bracken brown and beaten by summers sun now receding to autumn gold.

I rise atop Pill Tor with Rippon rising to my Eastern flank, noble, great yet unvisited in her loneliest moments.

Boyond the ponies happy to roam, wild. The pace quickens my heart beating faster and legs workingharderfasterstronger beyond my normal thresholds....... ALIVE!

I reach the car and think, there was a chill in the air tonight.

 

[hobbes]

... Nice! ...

 

[Dartmoor navigator]

... Nice! ...

Ooo, ta very much. Your turn now

 

[mountainm]

With steel and flint
We strike a spark
Our hope,
to burn away the dark

A simple spark
Not all it seems
To ward off fears
rekindle dreams

Shield it well
And give it air
Feed it's needs
And take good care

And from that spark
A flame will grow
To heat the soul
And rid your woe

 

[bushwacker bob]

I saw a little worm a wriggling on his belly
I wonder if he'd like to come inside and see whats on the telly.

Spike Milligan

 

[HillBill]

Something i wrote years back in the Legion.

Who are these men, who slowly walk
With heads held high who sing not talk
Songs of victory, death but never defeat
Who never surrender or ever retreat

Each soldier from a different land
Thrown together this rugged band
To fight and die and not complain
In desert heat or jungle rain.

So be honoured to see this awesome sight
With their blue waist bands and hats of white
For when combats joined in some distant region
The damned die hard in the foreign legion.

 

[Dartmoor navigator]

With steel and flint
We strike a spark
Our hope,
to burn away the dark

A simple spark
Not all it seems
To ward off fears
rekindle dreams

Shield it well
And give it air
Feed it's needs
And take good care

And from that spark
A flame will grow
To heat the soul
And rid your woe

Something i wrote years back in the Legion.

Who are these men, who slowly walk
With heads held high who sing not talk
Songs of victory, death but never defeat
Who never surrender or ever retreat

Each soldier from a different land
Thrown together this rugged band
To fight and die and not complain
In desert heat or jungle rain.

So be honoured to see this awesome sight
With their blue waist bands and hats of white
For when combats joined in some distant region
The damned die hard in the foreign legion.

Really nice fellas. Mountainm, did you write that recently?

 

[mountainm]

Really nice fellas. Mountainm, did you write that recently?

Cheers, just put it together as a quicky for the thread.

 

[Dartmoor navigator]

Cheers, just put it together as a quickly for the thread.

Bleddy hell! Do you fancy taking your time over something?

 

[mountainm]

Bleddy hell! Do you fancy taking your time over something?

Things go wrong when I think about them too hard. But yours was proper poetry, mine is the stuff of greeting cards.

 

[Dartmoor navigator]

I like greeting cards ... But I never seem to get any

There have been a few writters who put down initial thoughts and when they aren't forthcoming, they just bin it. I wish I had that talent.




Would anyone else like to join in?

 

[Robbi]

Thank you for the flowers she said

As she looked at me and bowed her head

I'm sorry for what I said...........forgive me

So I forgave her

As she lay in my arms through the midnight hours

I thought to myself..............

What ****ing flowers ?

 

[Dartmoor navigator]

Thank you for the flowers she said

As she looked at me and bowed her head

I'm sorry for what I said...........forgive me

So I forgave her

As she lay in my arms through the midnight hours

I thought to myself..............

What ****ing flowers ?

That sounds even funnier in a 'Norn Iron' accent Try it

 

[Robbi]

not a poem, just a two liner seen on a grave stone.....

To the world you were a soldier
To me, you were the world

 

[Harvestman]

"Frantic snowflakes, seeking shelter from the wind"

Just a line that came to me one day, which I've never really been able to add to.

 

[Dartmoor navigator]

"Frantic snowflakes, seeking shelter from the wind"

Just a line that came to me one day, which I've never really been able to add to.

I have those moments too. - 'Spinnakered in a regional display of colour' has stayed with me for years, makes no sense either!

 

[hobbes]

"Frantic snowflakes, seeking shelter from the wind"

Just a line that came to me one day, which I've never really been able to add to.

Nice image. That's a haiku, in a manner of speaking. Doesn't need adding to

'Spinnakered in a regional display of colour' has stayed with me for years, makes no sense either!

Tonight on Spotlight... Olympic gold medalist Ben Ainsley returns home spinnakered in a regional display of colour. Victoria has this report...

 

[woodpoet]

Just a quick one.
In tune with nature, I wander the woods.
Listening to Mother Earth's Children, talking to me.
The trees, flowers and animals cry out for my protection.
If I could only stop the wanton destruction around us.
Perhaps one day the people of this planet will see,
That to save this fragile lump of rock that we call home.
We must start giving back some of what we have taken away.
The resources are not endless, as we seem to assume.
Eventually there will only be a dead shell.
But we will not be here to see it.
It is no good searching the Universe for other worlds.
Until we save our own.

Woodpoet.

 

[Chiseller]

Well, another four seasons passed, seems to have gone so fast.

Been to places i'd not expected to have seen, places that you wouldn't want to in a dream.

But its not been all bad an have new friends for which i'm glad.

Some roads travelled that have made me laugh an smile an reminded me how good life can be.

I know which friends ar real an who understand the way i feel.

Thank you my folk an kin, wi your help i'll not give in, here's to the next year, to you my friends i raise this beer.

Cheers

 

[Chiseller]

I didn't write this one , but it was hand written by swmbo in my birtday card


The Oak Tree
by Johnny Ray Ryder Jr


A mighty wind blew night and day
It stole the oak tree's leaves away
Then snapped its boughs and pulled its bark
Until the oak was tired and stark

But still the oak tree held its ground
While other trees fell all around
The weary wind gave up and spoke.
How can you still be standing Oak?

The oak tree said, I know that you
Can break each branch of mine in two
Carry every leaf away
Shake my limbs, and make me sway

But I have roots stretched in the earth
Growing stronger since my birth
You'll never touch them, for you see
They are the deepest part of me

Until today, I wasn't sure
Of just how much I could endure
But now I've found, with thanks to you
I'm stronger than I ever knew