Minstrel's Tales

Stories From a Guitar Case

Poem for the Day - Dreams by Langston Hughes

Posted: 16 March 2019

 

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow. 

Poem for the Day - A Dirge by Christina Rossetti

Posted: 15 March 2019

 

Why were you born when the snow was falling? 
You should have come to the cuckoo's calling 
Or when grapes are green in the cluster, 
Or, at least, when lithe swallows muster 
For their far off flying 
From summer dying. 

Why did you die when the lambs were cropping? 
You should have died at the apples' dropping, 
When the grasshopper comes to trouble, 
And the wheat-fields are sodden stubble, 
And all winds go sighing 
For sweet things dying. 

A Dirge
Ch

Poem for the Day - The Wild Geese by Violet Jacob

Posted: 14 March 2019

'Oh tell me what was on yer road, ye roarin’ norlan’ Wind,
As ye cam’ blawin’ frae the land that’s niver frae my mind?
My feet they traivel England, but I’m deein’ for the north.'...
'My man, I heard the siller tides rin up the Firth o Forth.'

'Aye, Wind, I ken them weel eneuch, and fine they fa’ and rise,
And fain I’d feel the creepin’ mist on yonder shore that lies,
But tell me, ere ye passed them by, what saw ye on the way?'
'My man, I rocked the rovin’ gulls that sail abune the Tay.'

'But saw ye naething, leein’ Wind, afore ye cam’ to Fife?
There’s muckle lyin’ ‘yont the Tay that’s mair to me nor life.'
'My man, I swept the Angus braes ye hae'na trod for years.'
'O Wind, forgi’e a hameless loon that canna see for tears!'

'And far abune the Angus straths I saw the wild geese flee,
A lang, lang skein o’ beatin’ wings, wi’ their heids towards the sea,
And aye their cryin’ voices trailed ahint them on the air –'
'O Wind, hae maircy, haud yer whisht, for I daurna listen mair!'

 

Poem for the Day - Small Boy by Norman McCaig

Posted: 9 October 2018

He picked up a pebble
and threw it into the sea....

And another, and another.
He couldn’t stop.

He wasn’t trying to fill the sea.
He wasn’t trying to empty the beach.

He was just throwing away,
nothing else but.

Like a kitten playing
he was practicing for the future

when there’ll be so many things
he’ll want to throw away

if only his fingers will unclench
and let them go

Small Boy
Norman McCaig

Random Haiku #36 - For Ruth Davidson

Posted: 26 April 2018

Well done, Ruth and Jen,
A baby box on its way,...
Love from Nicola!

Bill Adair

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