When
a rock
dies
it has
no need
to bury itself away.
Every object
that falls
blesses itself.
The hand
became
a nest
to catch
the bird.
The flight
of birds
seized by fright
has the air
of swimming.
Winter is cold
only at the approach
of spring.
Sorrow is my head
where the flames flame
often before but not
with the cold fire
that closes round me this hour
My mother died today
@Neil Furby
A family of badgers have tunnelled into the graveyard to extend their sett from a neighbouring field, destroying graves in the process.
Widow Shirley Webb, 72, was horrified to find several graves collapsed, and the wooden casket containing her late husband Jesse exposed by the tunnelling creatures.
Unfortunately, there is nothing the family can do about it.
"It broke my heart," Mrs Webb told the newspaper. "If it were kids vandalising these graves they'd be sent to prison.
"We're told if we touch it, we may be arrested.
"I'd always wished to be buried with Jesse. Now I'm going to have my ashes scattered by a brook where he proposed to me. It's the only sacred place we have left."
As a result of the badgers' activity at St Lawrence Church, Gloucs, three graves have been damaged, and four more in danger of collapse have been cordoned off.
Under the 1992 Protection of Badgers Act it is an offence to disturb the badgers, with a maximum penalty of six months in jail or a £5,000 fine.
Rev David Eady, 64, said: "We sympathise with the families, but our hands are tied."
Badger
by John Clare (1793-1864)
When midnight comes a host of dogs and men
Go out and track the badger to his den,
And put a sack within the hole, and lie
Till the old grunting badger passes bye.
He comes and hears-they let the strongest loose.
The old fox hears the noise and drops the goose.
The poacher shoots and hurries from the cry,
And the old hare half wounded buzzes by.
They get a forked stick to bear him down
And clap the dogs and take him to the town,
And bait him all the day with many dogs,
And laugh and shout and fright the scampering hogs.
He runs along and bites at all he meets:
They shout and hollo down the noisy streets.
He turns about to face the loud uproar
And drives the rebels to their very door.
The frequent stone is hurled where eer they go;
When badgers fight, then every one's a foe.
The dogs are clapt and urged to join the fray;
The badger turns and drives them all away.
Though scarcely half as big, demure and small,
He fights with dogs for bones and beats them all.
The heavy mastiff, savage in the fray,
Lies down and licks his feet and turns away.
The bulldog knows his match and waxes cold,
The badger grins and never leaves his hold.
He drives the crowd and follows at their heels
And bites them through-the drunkard swears and reels.
The frightened women take the boys away,
The blackguard laughs and hurries on the fray.
He tries to reach the woods, and awkward race,
But sticks and cudgels quickly stop the chace.
He turns agen and drives the noisy crowd
And beats the many dogs in noises loud.
He drives away and beats them every one,
And then they loose them all and set them on.
He falls as dead and kicked by boys and men,
Then starts and grins and drives the crowd agen;
Till kicked and torn and beaten out he lies
And leaves his hold and crackles, groans, and dies.
he shape of every box by helen mort
in this eagerly anticipated debut volume helen presents us with twenty engaging poems of people and place. Her poems are tender and intriguing, filled with subtle yet memorable images. She writes with an easy maturity and is a welcome new presence. Helen was a winner of the Foyle Young Poets Award on five occasions from 1997 to 2004
£3.00 - ISBN 978-1-904551-29-4
ORDER NOW
all-lighthouse, Stark Gallery, 384 Lee High Road, London SE12 8RW United Kingdom
you hated the bicycles,
all sharp spokes and silence
sluicing past with no lights on, leaving
puddle water up your trousers.
Not a hint of warning, you'd rant,
cursing a blur of silver.
On King's Parade, I almost
slipped right past you, blonde in the crowd.
We order pints, talk with an accent
I'd forgotten, you don't want to hear
about lectures and cloisters, about girls
you'll never meet with names like Coriander.
When you go to hug me
we skirt each other, move in close -
two cyclists with their heads down,
each waiting for the other to swerve.
|
Era il giorno ch'al sol si scoloraro per la pietà del suo factore i rai, quando ì fui preso, et non me ne guardai, chè i bè vostr'occhi, donna, mi legaro.
Tempo non mi parea da far riparo
Trovommi Amor del tutto disarmato
Però al mio parer non li fu honore |
It was the day the sun's ray had turned pale with pity for the suffering of his Maker when I was caught, and I put up no fight, my lady, for your lovely eyes had bound me.
It seemed no time to be on guard against
Love found me all disarmed and found the way
It seems to me it did him little honour |
In vain I was born. Ayahue.
In vain I left the house of god and came to earth. I am so wretched! Ohuaya, Ohuaya!
I wish I'd never been born, truly that I'd never come to earth. That's what I say. But what is there to do? Do I have to live among the people? What then? Princes, tell me! Aya. Ohuaya, Ohuaya!
Do I have to stand on earth? What is my destiny? My heart suffers. I am unfortunate. You were hardly my friend here on earth, Life Giver. Ohuaya, Ohuaya!
How to live among the people? Does He who sustains and lifts men have no discretion? Go, friends, live in peace, pass your life in calm! While I have to live stooped, with my head bent down when I am among the people. Ohuaya, Ohuaya!
For this I cry - Yeehuya!- feeling desolate, abandoned among men on the earth. How do you decide your heart - Yeehuya! - Life Giver? Already your anger is vanishing, your compassion welling! Aya! I am at your side, God. Do you plan my death? Ohuaya, Ohuaya!
Is it true we take pleasure, we who live on earth? Is it certain that we live to enjoy ourselves on earth? But we are all so filled with grief. Are bitterness and anguish the destiny of the people of earth? Ohuaya, Ohuaya!
But do not anguish, my heart! Recall nothing now. In truth it hardly gains compassion on this earth. Truly you have come to increase bitterness at your side, next to you, Oh Life Giver. Yyao yyahue auhuayye oo huiya.
I only look for, I remember my friends. Perhaps they will come one more time, perhaps they will return to life? Or only once do we perish, only one time here on earth? If only our hearts did not suffer! next to, at your side, Life Giver. Yyao yyahue auhuayye oo huiya.
Romances de los Señores #36 (21r-22v)
(Composed when he was fleeing the king of Azcapotzalco, either during his first flight in 1418, when he was 16, or during his second flight, around 1426, when he was 24. This is the earliest poem that we can date.
Socks are so loose.Always getting lost or tangling with other socks.In the days of yore people wore suspenders to keep their socks up, but we let this practice slip and now the socks have gone wild.
| PAISAJE ÁRIDO
Si hubiera en este paisaje una mujer estaría sola si hubiera un hombre sería un hombre solo. Frente a un árbol un pájaro entrena la soledad: canto seco. El hombre y la mujer solos indiferentes al cielo y a los astros oyen el canto de ese pájaro. |
BARREN LANDSCAPE
If there were a woman in this landscape she'd be alone if there were a man he'd be a man alone. Facing a tree a bird trains solitude: a dry singing. The man and the woman alone indifferent to the sky and the stars listen to the bird singing. |
|
© 2003, Luz Mary Giraldo From: Postal de viaje Publisher: El Malpensante/Universidad Externado de Colombia, Bogota, 2003 |
© Translation: 2008, Nicolás Suescún |
Sitting on the Grass It was my fault.
It was entirely my fault.
Yes it was
it must have been
Been my fault It was.
I was in the wrong
.So wrong I was
Yes made a blunder
Made an error
An error thats all
. Is an error so bad
A fault is part of the human condition
We all do it
Do we not
Apologise
I think not
Neil Furby
The house creaks now it has an audience
The wind tries all the windows one by one
Something russles in the ceiling
To sleep to watcth
another crazy movie
Neil Furby
Example of Assonance Literary Term
The Bells
Edgar Allan Poe
Hear the
mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And an in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
Remember those love letters
sent by post
The early morning check
at the postmans call
Its there the recognised handwriting
stroked on the letter fold
To carefully open
careesing the hands that sealed it
So to read again and again
To worry folds on meaning or smiles of glee
Love on a knife edge
Sweet the agony
But twenty years on
Stored away now
Love letters fade
as memories sun
Twinkle
Neil furby
Yo ho no ho