Following on from yesterday, I found some time to give more creative consideration to the two poems I mentioned. In a sense, they are the same poem but written in two different ways. They are fresh off the wheel. Perhaps they need more mulling over and more polishing. Often it is helpful to return to poems after a period of time and potentially revise them.
I am off to London in the morning - mainly to see our lovely son and his girlfriend so there'll be no time for revising poems or even blogging. We should be back on Monday afternoon.
Wild Places
(I)
Let us seek
out wild places
Blasts of sleet abrading our faces
Far from the urban sirens’ bleating
Unshielded by gas central heating
Let us go where falcons fly
And grey clouds amble cross the sky
No news received from faraway wars
No bleeping phones nor slamming of doors
Just the quiet pulse of our earth
Beating.
Yes, let us
go there where
The curlew’s call is clear and true
As skulls are washed of what we knew
To moors that unfold like the timeless sea
Over their ancient geology
Sodden boots in a burbling clough
The way is long, the going’s tough
Ofttimes the world is not enough
For the songs of The Earth are
Fleeting
In wild
places we shall abide
In landscapes where small creatures hide
Pine marten and the pygmy shrew
Mountain hare and kestrel too
Dying sunlight gilds the peaks
And the quiet voice of history speaks
About what seems to come between
Acts rehearsed and what’s unseen
As the shadows of Earth start
Retreating.
Blasts of sleet abrading our faces
Far from the urban sirens’ bleating
Unshielded by gas central heating
Let us go where falcons fly
And grey clouds amble cross the sky
No news received from faraway wars
No bleeping phones nor slamming of doors
Just the quiet pulse of our earth
Beating.
The curlew’s call is clear and true
As skulls are washed of what we knew
To moors that unfold like the timeless sea
Over their ancient geology
Sodden boots in a burbling clough
The way is long, the going’s tough
Ofttimes the world is not enough
For the songs of The Earth are
Fleeting
In landscapes where small creatures hide
Pine marten and the pygmy shrew
Mountain hare and kestrel too
Dying sunlight gilds the peaks
And the quiet voice of history speaks
About what seems to come between
Acts rehearsed and what’s unseen
As the shadows of Earth start
Retreating.
_______________________________________________________________________
(II)
In wild
places
We shall be
Close to the sky
Striding to rough edges
Where the bones stick out
And pause to listen to
The curlew’s cry
Soaring plaintively
Like a lament
From long ago.
In wild
places
We shall wander
Into the V of the clough
Or under trees
Soaring mightily
To moortops
Where red grouse cackle
Midst ancient rocks
Tossed
Like dice.
In wild
places
We shall listen
To seasons
Lift Earth’s song
Tenderly
Soaring unchained
Under ambling nimbus
Blown cross the coast
We shall be
Close to the sky
Striding to rough edges
Where the bones stick out
And pause to listen to
The curlew’s cry
Soaring plaintively
Like a lament
From long ago.
We shall wander
Into the V of the clough
Or under trees
Soaring mightily
To moortops
Where red grouse cackle
Midst ancient rocks
Tossed
Like dice.
We shall listen
To seasons
Lift Earth’s song
Tenderly
Soaring unchained
Under ambling nimbus
Blown cross the coast
Then out to sea...
You have very definitely been walking as you have some excellent images.
ReplyDeleteYou are always so encouraging Red. I appreciate that.
DeleteI very rarely write 'poetry', but I have in the past, and do find myself re-writing them. Changing a word here and there. Thank goodness none of them was published; I would feel very frustrated not being able to alter them.
ReplyDeleteIt is possible to keep on tinkering but usually I know when I have got it right.
DeleteWonderfully evocative! Thank you for sharing it with us.
ReplyDeleteI love the picture; it is one I can well imagine as part of another calendar. Would you allow me to use it?
Of course I would allow you Meike. E-mail me if you would like the best version of it.
DeleteWhen I heard about National Poetry Day I wondered if you would write a poem! And you've given us two! You're very industrious, Mr. P.
ReplyDeleteI like the bleating-fleeting-retreating construction of the first poem. I'm not sure clouds can amble, though. Doesn't ambling require legs? (I'm channeling my college poetry professor here.)
Through "amble" comes a degree of personification. I spent a good while settling on "amble". Through that word comes a sense of slow, aimless drifting. However, I appreciate your point as I know it was given with the best of intentions. I rejected "drifting" as too habitual and "barrel" and "trundle" didn't seem to fit. Ambling suggests rambling.
DeleteBoth are very good in their different ways. I do hope you have a good time in London. meanwhile....
ReplyDeleteI'm not a poet
And dont I know it.
When I start to write
I'm such a sight
My hair's all frazzled and
My brain's not right.
The thoughts are jumbled
and the words won't come
Not a sentence is written
Not even a crumb.
My pen is shaking
From the worry of it.
It's no good at all.
It's time to quit.
I rather like those lines ADDY. Are they your own?
DeleteHappy Birthday my dear friend! I hope this year is a wonderful one for you!
ReplyDeleteThank you Jennifer. Each year seems a bonus now though I must admit that I do not live that way.
DeleteBoth poems are lovely, on the same theme but quite different from one another. I am leaning toward liking the first one better, although the second is equally thought-provoking. Summa cum laude, Mr. Theasby.
ReplyDeleteUnrelated, but you may be interested in this url I found this week. It is Putz's obituary from not quite one year ago.
David Harold Barlow (1942 - 2020)
Thank you for sharing the news of Putz's death Bob. Nobody in the world could write quite like him and he seemed to love "Rhymes With Plague". Thanks also for reading and responding positively to my two poems. I know that you are not the kind of guy who dishes out praise carelessly when it comes to poetry so when you do give a big tick it is worth something.
DeleteWhat beautiful poems. They make me want to get out and breathe in the open space. I love to read about your walks. Where I live in Northern California we don't have such varying scenery- mostly pastures with no public access. But as i read your blogs, i walk with you so thank you for sharing.
ReplyDeleteThanks for coming along with me Lini. Next time we will take a picnic and sit together on a bench by a stream talking about our lives and sharing our thoughts.
DeleteI'm partial to free verse, therefore I'm drawn more to your second offering (II). Very, very nice!
ReplyDeleteThank you for reading them and considering them too Kelly. Much appreciated.
DeleteNo, leave them as they are YP - no fine tuning. First thoughts are often the best! The photograph sums up the mood so well.
ReplyDeleteI took that photo in 2017 I think Carol. I had trouble unearthing it but that was the one I wanted.
DeleteA formidable poem about formidable nature. Relentless,foreboding to some and a forever changing landscape. I like your poem.
ReplyDeleteAnd I appreciate your response Dave. It shows that you really read and digested them my friend.
Delete"In wild places
ReplyDeleteWe shall listen
To seasons
Lift Earth’s song "
I especially like this idea.
Enjoy London!
Thanks for your thoughtful consideration Kylie.
Delete