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Poem for the Day

Posted: 19 April 2014

Farewell you northern hills, you mountains all goodbye,
Moorland and stony ridges, crags and peaks goodbye.
Glyder Fach farewell, Cul Beag, Scafell, cloud-bearing Suilven,
Sun warmed rock and the cold of Bleaklow's frozen sea.
The snow and the wind and the rain of hills and mountains,
Days in the sun and the tempered wind and the air like wine,
And you drink and you drink ...till you're drunk
On the joy of living.

Farewell to you my love, my time is almost done,
Lie in my arms once more until the darkness comes.
You filled all my days, held the night at bay, dearest companion,
Years pass by and they're gone with the speed of birds in flight.
Our life like the verse of a song heard in the mountains,
Give me your hand then love and join your voice with mine,
We'll sing of the hurt and pain
And the joy of living.

Farewell to you my chicks, soon you must fly alone,
Flesh of my flesh, my future life, bone of my bone.
May your wings be strong, may your days be long, safe be your journey,
Each of you bears inside of you the gift of love.
May it bring you light and warmth and the pleasure of giving,
Eagerly savour each new day and the taste of its mouth,
Never lose sight of the thrill
And the joy of living.

Take me to some high place of heather, rock and ling,
Scatter my dust and ashes, feed me to the wind.
So that I will be part of all you see, the air you are breathing,
I'll be part of the curlew's cry and the soaring hawk.
The blue milkwort and the sundew hung with diamonds,
I'll be riding the gentle wind that blows through your hair,
Reminding you how we shared
In the joy of living.

The Joy of Living
Ewan MacColl

Easter Haiku #7 Saturday, Holy Week

Posted: 19 April 2014

The in-between day.
This fearful day of shadows.
Time to hope and pray.

Bill Adair

Poem for the Day

Posted: 18 April 2014

The wounded surgeon plies the steel
That quesions the distempered part;
Beneath the bleeding hands we feel
The sharp compassion of the healer's art
Resolving the enigma of the fever chart.

Our only health is the disease
If we obey the dying nurse...
Whose constant care is not to please
But to remind us of our, and Adam's curse,
And that, to be restored, our sickness must grow worse.

The whole earth is our hospital
Endowed by the ruined millionaire,
Wherein, if we do well, we shall
Die of the absolute paternal care
That will not leave us, but prevents us everywhere.

The chill ascends from feet to knees,
The fever sings in mental wires.
If to be warmed, then I must freeze
And quake in frigid purgatorial fires
Of which the flame is roses, and the smoke is briars.

The dripping blood our only drink,
The bloody flesh our only food:
In spite of which we like to think
That we are sound, substantial flesh and blood-
Again, in spite of that, we call this Friday good.

from East Coker
T. S. Eliot

Easter Haiku #6 Good Friday

Posted: 18 April 2014

Was this the moment
The world darkened forever?
The day of rent veils.

Watch how women weep,
Soldiers gamble for a robe,
Dying thieves argue.
...
Peter, face hidden,
In denial and afraid,
Listens for cock-crow.

Then, the chosen one,
Guilty Judas hangs in doubt,
Dangling like Christmas.

Bill Adair

 

Poem for the Day

Posted: 17 April 2014

This bread I break was once the oat,
This wine upon a foreign tree
Plunged in its fruit;
Man in the day or wind at night
Laid the crops low, broke the grape’s joy.

Once in this wine the summer blood
Knocked in the flesh that decked the vine,...
Once in this bread
The oat was merry in the wind;
Man broke the sun, pulled the wind down.

This flesh you break, this blood you let
Make desolation in the vein,
Were oat and grape
Born of the sensual root and sap;
My wine you drink, my bread you snap.

The Bread I Break
Dylan Thomas

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