top of page
POETRY
PAINTING THE WORLD WITH WORDS
WEATHERS
This is the weather the cuckoo likes,​
And so do I;
When showers betumble the chestnut spikes,
And nestlings fly;
And the little brown nightingale bills his best,
And they sit outside at 'The Traveller's Rest,'
And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest,
And citizens dream of the south and west,
And so do I.
This is the weather the shepherd shuns,
And so do I;
When beeches drip in browns and duns,
And thresh and ply;
And hill-hid tides throb, throe on throe,
And meadow rivulets overflow,
And drops on gate bars hang in a row,
And rooks in families homeward go,
And so do I.
- Thomas Hardy
THE ROAD NOT TAKEN
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, 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.
- Robert Frost
AUTUMN DAYS
Autumn days when the grass is jewelled
And the silk inside a chestnut shell
Jet planes meeting in the air to be refuelled
All these thing I love so well
So I mustn't forget
No, I mustn't forget
To say a great big Thank You
I mustn't forget
Clouds that look like familiar faces
And the winter's moon with frosted rings.
Smell of bacon as I fasten up my laces
And the song the milkman sings
So I mustn't forget
No, I mustn't forget
To say a great big Thank You
I mustn't forget
Whipped-up spray that is rainbow-scattered
And a swallow curving in the sky
Shoes so comfy though they're worn out and they're battered
And the taste of apple pie.
So I mustn't forget
No, I mustn't forget
To say a great big Thank You
I mustn't forget
Scent of gardens when the rain's been falling
And a minnow darting down a stream
Picked-up engine that's been stuttering and stalling
And a win for my home team.
So I mustn't forget
No, I mustn't forget
To say a great big Thank You
I mustn't forget.
- Estelle White
DARK DAYS
Well it's hard to be happy
In a world that's so cruel
Where the weak just get weaker
Where the powerful feud
Where the children go hungry
Where the soldiers stand by
Lay down your weapons
Take hold of your lives
And when will we learn
That it's hate that breeds hate?
Only love is the cure
Don't leave it too late
Get up, and feel it
The truth that won't wait
If we choose to do nothing
Then we take all the blame.
- Fat Freddy's Drop
ODE TO A TUSSOCK
O tussock,
Scratchy patch of grass
That rises tall and tickles my arse
Clumpy tuft of wilderness
That helps us travellers come to pass
You guide me through the mires unscathed
A stepping stone for sturdy boots
A daisy chain of passage made
Thanks to your thick and hardy roots
You keep my feet from getting wet
And let me reach the very heart
Of Devonshire, and better yet
Of England, and this land's fine art.
A fact of growing up that does amaze:
The time I spend on the bog these days.
- James Lawrence
LEISURE
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.
- William Henry Davies
JUNE
A cloudless sky; a world of heather,
Purple of foxglove, yellow of broom;
We two among it, wading together,
Shaking out honey, treading perfume.
Crowds of bees are giddy with clover,
Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet,
Crowds of larks at their matins hang over,
Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet.
- Jean Ingham
THE MAGIC OF SOUND
I’ve heard the soft whisper of wind in the pine trees,
The silvery ripple of brooklets at play;
I’ve heard the low voice of a sweet singing mother
As she sang to her child at the end of the day.
I’ve heard the faint rustle of sails in the sunset
And blue waves caressing the wild, rockbound shore;
The whistle of trains as they cross the green prairie
And mountains re-echo the cataract’s roar.
The notes of the organs in ancient cathedrals,
Where hearts of the faithful are lifted in song;
I’ve heard the gay laughter as children were playing,
The chatter and buzz of a large, happy throng.
The earth has its music for those who will listen;
It's bright variations forever abound.
With all of the wonders that God has bequeathed us,
There’s nothing that thrills like the magic of sound.
- Reginald Holmes
bottom of page