~The Dragon Flies' Lair Thread XI~

April 17, 2004 | bentfeather, and poets of the Dragon Flies' Lair

[Darksheare]

Some, but not all yet.
*sigh*
Been gone too long!

[Soaring Feather]

Click the Dragonfly

[Colonel_Flagg]

Just getting in the car and driving. Will be gone the weekend and hope to be back home late Monday night. Thanks for the nice words :)

[Old Sarge]

I walked this path thru the park,
every day with her,
silently, without a word.
Stillness.

Then she was gone,
a stormcloud passing overhead,
heavy air in her wake.
Listless.

Most days, I stayed home,
but then I would walk in the park,
and not be with her.
Aloneness.

Days go by, and without
her near, the walks meant nothing
and less than that.
Loneliness.

On what was to be my last day,
I walked alone, and saw you standing
beneath the sky at twilight.
Loveliness.

We talked, we walked, and now
we share the park at twilight,
a star to light our new path.
Togetherness.

[Soaring Feather]

Stillness is the beat of my heart
Listless I am without you near
Alone in my twilight
cold in my stars
but I'll never forget
our ride over the Milky Way
or our showers of shooting stars
or the warmth of your body near mine
on that day...
when first ever I saw your face.

bentfeather

[Old Sarge]

I am old.
I accept Time, that friend who has
walked at my side
for this century past.

My step might be slow,
my stride a shuffle now,
youthful purpose now changed for
keeping my balance.

But I am a library - that's right,
a storehouse for memories of things
you'll not see in your time.

I have seen clipper ships, and aeroplanes,
and ice cream socials with
pretty Gibson Girls,
giggling at the table next to me.

I know glory, and gloom,
despair, and desire,
and all you have to do, is ask me.

But the first thing that goes, is your hearing,
because no one will speak to you.

[Soaring Feather]

What is old?
A number?
What does it mean
at 50 years we don't love?
I will never be old
to believe I cannot love
is the end...
I will never be old.

[Soaring Feather]

~Billy Vera ~ At This Moment~

[Soaring Feather]

Good nite poets

May the sweet aroma of Lily of the Valley
fill your dreams
caress your face
tenderly lull you to sleep
in the safety of knowing love...

~ Dream a Little ~ Love a Lot ~

Today

Should thou lovest me this day
I would be content in today
not ask for tomorrow...
But... live this day only
in splendor of knowing
thou lovest me today...
bentfeather © 04/03/03

bentfeather
Touch the Chariot of Fire

[snippy_about_it]

LOL Colonel. Thank you feather. My muse is slow in returning. Sam and I are on a marathon movie watching binge. All the films everyone at the Foxhole spoke about and that I wanted to see. I never was a movie watcher, other things were in the way and now I am just soaking them all in. It's great but I hope too that I will have some time to write soon.

[snippy_about_it]

You two are writing beautifully tonight. Thanks.

[radu]

Good morning to all at the Dragon Flies' Lair!
I hope everyone is doin' hunky-dory!
A little taste of the farm .....dahlias and candytuft in bloom along the hot tub enclosure. I can't remember if I'd planted these yet when you were here last year, ms. feather.

[SAMWolf]

Good Morning Everybody.

You Know The Drill
Click the Pics

Coffee & Donuts

Michael miserable failureMoore

[SAMWolf]

Night Mail



This is the Night Mail crossing the border,
Bringing the cheque and the postal order,
Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,
The shop at the corner and the girl next door.
Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb:
The gradient's against her, but she's on time.
Past cotton-grass and moorland boulder
Shovelling white steam over her shoulder,
Snorting noisily as she passes
Silent miles of wind-bent grasses.

Birds turn their heads as she approaches,
Stare from the bushes at her blank-faced coaches.
Sheep-dogs cannot turn her course;
They slumber on with paws across.
In the farm she passes no one wakes,
But a jug in the bedroom gently shakes.

Dawn freshens, the climb is done.
Down towards Glasgow she descends
Towards the steam tugs yelping down the glade of cranes,

Towards the fields of apparatus, the furnaces
Set on the dark plain like gigantic chessmen.
All Scotland waits for her:
In the dark glens, beside the pale-green sea lochs
Men long for news.

Letters of thanks, letters from banks,
Letters of joy from the girl and the boy,
Receipted bills and invitations
To inspect new stock or visit relations,
And applications for situations
And timid lovers' declarations
And gossip, gossip from all the nations,
News circumstantial, news financial,
Letters with holiday snaps to enlarge in,
Letters with faces scrawled in the margin,
Letters from uncles, cousins, and aunts,
Letters to Scotland from the South of France,
Letters of condolence to Highlands and Lowlands
Notes from overseas to Hebrides
Written on paper of every hue,
The pink, the violet, the white and the blue,
The chatty, the catty, the boring, adoring,
The cold and official and the heart's outpouring,
Clever, stupid, short and long,
The typed and the printed and the spelt all wrong.

Thousands are still asleep
Dreaming of terrifying monsters,
Or of friendly tea beside the band at Cranston's or Crawford's:
Asleep in working Glasgow, asleep in well-set Edinburgh,
Asleep in granite Aberdeen,
They continue their dreams,
And shall wake soon and long for letters,
And none will hear the postman's knock
Without a quickening of the heart,
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?

-- W. H. Auden

Michael miserable failureMoore

[Soaring Feather]

Good morning everyone.

[Colonel_Flagg]

Good morning! Looks like a lovely day today!

Marriage Morning
Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Light, so low upon earth,
You send a flash to the sun.
Here is the golden close of love,
All my wooing is done.
Oh, the woods and the meadows,
Woods where we hid from the wet,
Stiles where we stay'd to be kind,
Meadows in which we met!

Light, so low in the vale
You flash and lighten afar,
For this is the golden morning of love,
And you are his morning start.
Flash, I am coming, I come,
By meadow and stile and wood,
Oh, lighten into my eyes and heart,
Into my heart and my blood!

Heart, are you great enough
For a love that never tires?
O heart, are you great enough for love?
I have heard of thorns and briers,
Over the meadow and stiles,
Over the world to the end of it
Flash for a million miles.

[Soaring Feather]

Good morning snippy! Our muse can be a fickle lady and she needs all of our attention. Unfortunately life gets in our way and we have to take care of business.
I know it happens to me, too, and I get upset about not being able to write. Writing is tricky at best.

[Soaring Feather]

Oh how very pretty it is on the farm!! I love the color!

Thank you radu for sharing your life in rural Tennessee with us all.

[Soaring Feather]

Marriage Morning
Alfred, Lord Tennyson


Good morning Colonel!! A lovely poem today. I looked for a favorite line and discovered for me there isn't one. The entire poem is beautiful.

[Soaring Feather]

Night Mail

Great poem Sam, and as always the perfect graphic to enrich the words. For those of us who grew up with trains, there is nothing like a lonesome train whistle in the night to chill or warm ones heart.

Love those old puffer bellies rolling down the tracks with black smoke pouring out her stack.