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Post by Thorgrimm Halfdane on Aug 11, 2004 15:08:40 GMT -5
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Post by Thorgrimm Halfdane on Aug 11, 2004 16:46:10 GMT -5
 When I was younger I lived in Canada and spent time in the Rockies, my experiences helped to inspire this poem ...... SNOW CHASE. The forest stands quiescent, Engulfing, snowdrifts blanket the ground. Sounds muffled, wind stilling, Breath bated. A hawk on the cold airs, floats watchfully. An explosion of movement, Scrambling, deer leap through the trees. Boughs shaking, leaves stirring, Hooves drumming. A squirrel in a birch tree, chatters alarm. On in relentless pursuit, Untiring, come the grey wolves of winter. Bodies gaunt, tails streaming, Eyes searching. A marmot caught in the open, seeks refuge. The deer were surprised, Panicking, they race for survival. Hearts pounding, eyes staring, Breath sobbing. A blue jay in a thicket, echoes the squirrel. The hoar - frosted shapes follow, Loping, with lithe fluid ease. Limbs flowing, ground eating, Tongues lolling. A snowgoose in a hollow, sits motionless. The chase begins telling, Expending, sapping energy and will. Chest heaving, lungs bursting, One falters. A fox by a fallen log, fades away. The hunters are close, Surging, scent coming chest high. Nostrils flaring, blood racing, Quarry sighted. An owl from its nest - hole, stares angrily. The wolfpack fans out, Exhausted, the straggler turns. Head hanging, eyes glazing, Flanks hollow. A bobcat near a fir tree, crouches unblinking. The encircling trap shuts, Closing, force brought to bear. Stag struggles, fights vainly, Goes under. The wolves round the kill, give voice. :)T.
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Post by Thorgrimm Halfdane on Aug 12, 2004 6:09:52 GMT -5
 Something more for the kids ..... NEPTUNE'S LETTERS.
An Under the Sea Alphabet.
A is for anemones and angel faced fish.
B is for bream and barracouta that swish.
C is for coral in colorful piles.
D is for divers and dolphin with smiles.
E is for eels weaving their way.
F is for flying fish that jump from the bay.
G is for glide, the way the fish swim.
H is for hammerhead, don’t quarrel with him.
I is for ink from squids young and old.
J is for jellyfish too squelchy to hold.
K is for kelp, flat rubbery green string.
L is for lines and limpets that cling.
M is for mussels and monsters asleep.
N is for Neptune, King of the Deep.
O is for octopus, eight legs has he.
P is for periwinkles closed tight as can be.
Q is for quiet, hush not a sound.
R is for rocks where the waves roll and pound.
S is for seaweed, starfish and squid.
T is for turtles, they have their own lid.
U is for underwater where all these things go.
V is for valuable oyster shells white as snow.
W is for whales and waves you can ride.
X is for marking where treasures hide.
Y is for yachts sailing when the wind blows.
Z is for the shape of a swordfish’s nose.
Another written by my Sister :)T.
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Post by Dream Loxley on Aug 12, 2004 7:41:57 GMT -5
Cannot help but wonder if you ever thought of writing a book...or several in fact   The writing's of American Indians has always facinated me and often touched me deeply. I share this with you because whenever I read it..........well...... it leaves me quite breathless.
The Invitation
By Oriah Mountain Dreamer
(A Native American Elder)
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting in your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit in pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own,if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tip of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you're telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul.
I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it is not pretty every day, and if you can source your life from God's presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, "Yes!"
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the children.
It doesn't interest me who you are, how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself, and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.
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Post by Thorgrimm Halfdane on Aug 12, 2004 9:51:08 GMT -5
It certainly is most insightful Dream. Thank you for sharing it I have made a copy so that I can read it properly and do it justice. :)T.
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Post by Dream Loxley on Aug 12, 2004 10:03:25 GMT -5
*chuckles* yes...it is rather a lot to digest in one go. I do find it rather sad though....not to be interested in the background of another.....where they are from etc....because to me....all these things help to make us who we are today. Just my thoughts |
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Post by Letha on Aug 12, 2004 10:03:59 GMT -5
(Just peeking in for a stolen moment, with longing)
Oh Dream . . that brought me to tears. It's just so achingly beautiful and perfect for me right now, thank you for sharing it. And I've adored the ones you've shared as well, Thorgrimm . . though my time to come and read and wish that I could post has been so short lately, this is one place I go to first.
There's one very short Native American poem that I learned very young that opened my eyes to the grace of simple poetry:
This circuit of earth that you see,
The scattering of stars in the sky
All that is a place for my hair . .
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Post by Dream Loxley on Aug 12, 2004 10:11:31 GMT -5
Ahhhhha..... Took me a moment to realise that one Letha....well done.... Take care in all you do...thinking of you |
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Post by Thorgrimm Halfdane on Aug 12, 2004 16:42:19 GMT -5
It never ceases to amaze me. The depth of talent here is astounding I am so glad that I was introduced to this place Thank you Sir J , and to all for the warmth of the welcome. :)T.
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Post by lordAbiyownah on Aug 12, 2004 17:13:21 GMT -5
My dear lady Dream...I must agree with the others..it is beautiful..and truly touches me more than you will ever know..I have read it over twice..and will be back to read it again and again....I thank you so much for shareing this *warm hug*
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Post by Thorgrimm Halfdane on Aug 13, 2004 2:51:34 GMT -5
Ahh, the weekend cometh. I was in the city today and stopped for lunch on the banks of the Yarra River, which runs through Melbourne. There were rowers out practicing and I was reminded of this poem by James L. Cuthbertson. A RACING EIGHT
Who knows it not, who loves it not,
The long and steady swing,
The instant dip, the iron grip,
The rowlocks' linked ring,
The arrowy sway of hands away,
The slider oiling aft,
The forward sweep, the backward leap,
That speed the flying craft?
A racing eight of perfect mould,
True to the builder's law,
That takes the water's gleaming gold
Without a single flaw.
A ship deep, resonant within,
Harmonious to the core,
That vibrates to her polished skin
The tune of wave and oar.
A racing eight and no man late,
And all hearts in the boat;
The men who work and never shirk,
Who long to be afloat.
The crew who burn from stem to stern
To win the foremost place,
The crew to row, the boat to go
The eight to win the race. and with the Olympics upon us there remains but one thing to be said - GO AUSSIES!! :)T. TEXT
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Post by Thorgrimm Halfdane on Aug 13, 2004 16:34:01 GMT -5
This is another of my gandmother's poems AWAY. If I could compose a song for you How great would be my pleasure, To make the numbers ring so true You would merrily tread a measure. Then would I sing of many things Of youthful beauty and joyous mirth, Vistas, bird-song, love and Spring’s Pristine beauty over the ancient earth. Rustle of leaves, and bees in gums so regal, Wrens and finches through wattle cheeping, Carolling magpies and whistling eagle, And distant lamb’s chorus of bleating. Golden leaves flirting on soft green lawn, Spiderwebs jewelled and shining, But what is beauty, what is joy when, forlorn, My spirit for you is yearning? :)T.
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Post by Thorgrimm Halfdane on Aug 14, 2004 23:33:10 GMT -5
AS LONG AS YOUR EYES ARE BLUE.
Wilt thou love me, sweet, when my hair is grey,
And when my cheeks have lost their hue?
When the charms of youth shall have passed away,
Will your love of old prove true?
For the looks may change, and the heart may range,
And the love be no longer fond;
Wilt thou love with truth in the years of youth
And away to the years beyond?
Oh, I love you, sweet, for your locks of brown
And the blush on your cheek that lies -
But I love you most for the kindly heart
That I see in your sweet blue eyes -
For the eyes are the signs of the soul within,
Of the heart that is leal and true,
And mine own sweetheart, I shall love you still,
Just as long as your eyes are blue.
For the locks may bleach, and the cheeks of peach
May be reft of their golden hue;
But mine own sweetheart, I shall love you still,
Just as long as your eyes are blue.
A.B (Banjo) Paterson
:)T.
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Post by Dream Loxley on Aug 15, 2004 2:10:38 GMT -5
*Whistful smile* Lovely T A favourite of mine......no romance....but perhaps so true Warning - When I Am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple
By Jenny Joseph
When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple
with a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
and satin candles, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired
and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
and run my stick along the public railings
and make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
and pick the flowers in other people's gardens
and learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
and eat three pounds of sausages at a go
or only bread and pickles for a week
and hoard pens and pencils and beer nuts and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
and pay our rent and not swear in the street
and set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
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Post by lordAbiyownah on Aug 15, 2004 20:21:01 GMT -5
ahahahaha...what memories that brings to mind..when we were up in door county..people have statues of ladies in thier yards..and they wear purple dress and red hats..my sweet love said they are of the red hat society...and look..now you find a poem about them..it is so wonderful how the world turns and winds right back where it was to start out with..
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