973-Eht-Namuh-973.com The Oracle Forum

I thought we could have a 'Poets Corner', for all you poets out there, or any poems you feel strongly about.

Poem: Dying Planet
By Tabitha Green Feb 13, 2010

Toxic waters.
Islands of garbage.
Rampant extinction.
Choking turtles.

What have we done?

Where there were forests.
Now there is nothing.
Trees turned to paper.
Animals without homes.

Where will they live?

Commercial farming.
Draining the earth.
Top soil missing.
No future vision,

What will they eat?

Beep, beep, beep.
Cars everywhere.
Lonely drivers.
Polluting the air.

How is that ok!

Herds of cattle.
Fattened with corn.
Spreading disease.
To their neighbors.

Is this (in) sane!

Lights, heat, A/C
In offices and homes MES.
Must be comfy.
All the time.

Is it worth it?

When are we going to do something to save our dying planet?
Changing bulbs and mixing plastic bags isn't going to cut it.

Something's gotta give.
We must change.

Take only our share.
And cherish enough.

And

Maybe

We can keep her alive.

Sonnet 73
By William Shakespeare

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish’d by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

Poem In October
by Dylan Thomas

It was my thirtieth year to heaven
Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood
And the mussel pooled and the heron
Priested shore
The morning beckon
With water praying and call of seagull and rook
And the knock of sailing boats on the net webbed wall
Myself to set foot
That second
In the still sleeping town and set forth.

My birthday began with the water-
Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name
Above the farms and the white horses
And I rose
In rainy autumn
And walked abroad in a shower of all my days.
High tide and the heron dived when I took the road
Over the border
And the gates
Of the town closed as the town awoke.



A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
Blackbirds and the sun of October
Summery
On the hill's shoulder,
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
To the rain wringing
Wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me.

Pale rain over the dwindling harbour
And over the sea wet church the size of a snail
With its horns through mist and the castle
Brown as owls
But all the gardens
Of spring and summer were blooming in the tall tales
Beyond the border and under the lark full cloud.
There could I marvel
My birthday
Away but the weather turned around.



It turned away from the blithe country
And down the other air and the blue altered sky
Streamed again a wonder of summer
With apples
Pears and red currants
And I saw in the turning so clearly a child's
Forgotten mornings when he walked with his mother
Through the parables
Of sun light
And the legends of the green chapels

And the twice told fields of infancy
That his tears burned my cheeks and his heart moved in mine.
These were the woods the river and sea
Where a boy
In the listening
Summertime of the dead whispered the truth of his joy
To the trees and the stones and the fish in the tide.
And the mystery
Sang alive
Still in the water and singing birds.

And there could I marvel my birthday
Away but the weather turned around. And the true
Joy of the long dead child sang burning
In the sun.
It was my thirtieth
Year to heaven stood there then in the summer noon
Though the town below lay leaved with October blood.
O may my heart's truth
Still be sung
On this high hill in a year's turning.



Rainy Autumn Day by Harm Jan Verweij

AFRICAN NIGHTMARE SPECTRE OF FAMINE

Dimension 27th August 1968

Hello little black lad standing on thi own,
Tell mi little black lad -
Why ista skin and bone?
Eee, tha looks so bloody thin bairn.
It nobbut seems its fairn
For thee to stand on bent twig legs
Wi nob'dy seem to cairn
Why is it little black lad why ist so bloody thin?
Standing gr'et eyes gawpin' thi face wi silly grin.
Can't tha see tha's dying?
That tha'll soon be dead and cold.
Wi thi body down rheer lying -
Mixed wi leaves 'n muck and mould,
Gi'en chance ad' like to 'elp lad.
but how I just don't see,
Dunt look at me like that lad -
it's really nowt to do wi me.





http://www.973-eht-namuh-973.com/Alchem ... FERING.htm

African Nightmare 1975
Spectre Of Famine

[attachment=0]BBE0215F-6B1C-4F57-B9F3-B8184D8DCBF2.jpeg[/attachment)

Photo by Don McCullin

hope wrote: 06 Dec 2017 14:26 AFRICAN NIGHTMARE SPECTRE OF FAMINE

Dimension 27th August 1968

Hello little black lad standing on thi own,
Tell mi little black lad -
Why ista skin and bone?
Eee, tha looks so bloody thin bairn.
It nobbut seems its fairn
For thee to stand on bent twig legs
Wi nob'dy seem to cairn
Why is it little black lad why ist so bloody thin?
Standing gr'et eyes gawpin' thi face wi silly grin.
Can't tha see tha's dying?
That tha'll soon be dead and cold.
Wi thi body down rheer lying -
Mixed wi leaves 'n muck and mild.
Gi'en chance ad' like to 'elp lad.
but how I just don't see,
Dunt look at me like that lad -
it's really nowt to do wi me.




image.jpeg

http://www.973-eht-namuh-973.com/Alchem ... FERING.htm

That is a powerful Yorkshire dialect poem with much to admire, which written in 1968 would llkely have been inspired by the horrific images which emerged from the Nigerian Civil War, lasting three horrendous years. The conflict resulted in a famine and humanitarian crisis so great that the UN physicallly ran out of resources, which left 3,000 to 5,000 people dying daily in Biafra from starvation as a result of the naval blockade. British photojournalist Don McCullin took many of the images which brought the appalling plight of ordinary non-combatants on the losing side to the world's attention.

Yet is not this morsel of great poetry a rallying call to join universal mind in the propulsion of great change, for fragmented humankind have learned nothing in terms of prevention in 50 years, the Yugoslav Wars of the 90s, civil war in Syria and now Yemen replacing the Biafran crisis with a naval blockade also in place.

Redbeck

--------------------

Wishes by Niyi Osundare

Wishes
Wish I could still laugh with the lotus
On the bank of the Nile

Take off my clothes
And dive into the Zambezi

Join spirit dancers
In the middle of the Ganges

Romp with the Rio
To the thunder of the samba

Fan the Yangtze's face
With the fan of the moon

Tease the Thames
With a shoeless foot

Embrace the Volga
With open arms

Ask the Mississippi
For a bowl of water...

Alas, between cup and lip
An acre of wishes


Niyi Osundare, critic, essayist, and media columnist, Niyi Osundare has authored over ten volumes of poetry, two
books of selected poems, four plays, a book of essays, and numerous articles on literature.
Niyi was born in 1947 in Ikere, Ekiti State, Nigeria.

Yet another brilliant image Sir packajoss..

Jenny Joseph

WARNING 1961

"When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy
and summer gloves.
And satin sandals, and say we've no
money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired.
And gobble up samples in shops and
press alarms bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth."




Sadly Jenny Joseph, died aged 85 yesterday 27th January 2018, she was a poet whose rich and varied oeuvre became overshadowed by the hugely popular poem 'Warning'.
'Warning' was voted Britain's best loved postwar poem in a BBC poll in 1996 and again in 2006.
It inspired people to wear purple, and a 'Red Hat' society arose in America in homage.

Firstly Hope thank you for establishing this mellifluous cubbyhole in the Oracle Forum it's a uplifting retreat must say. Jenny Joseph 'Warning 1961' what an outstanding joyfully rebellious piece of verse, love it and so glad it leapt out despite the RIP moment.

Anyway, for some reason while scrubbing up my humble garret in anticipation of a periodic inspection by the letting agent, I fervently wished that I was beside the sea not the kitchen sink! Therefore, I selected one poem that is actually the lyrics to a song, entitled Fisherman's Blues written by Mike Scott and Steve Wickham of hiberno/caledonian band The Waterboys and in that case the musical link, while the other work is one I grew up with and one which conjures up fond memories, by former British Poet Laureate from 1930 to his death in 1967 John Masefield entitled Sea Fever



Fisherman's Blues

I wish I was a fisherman
Tumblin' on the seas
Far away from dry land
And its bitter memories
Casting out my sweet line
With abandonment and love
No ceiling bearin' down on me
Save the starry sky above
With light in my head
You in my arms
Woo!

I wish I was the brakeman
On a hurtlin' fevered train
Crashing a-headlong into the heartland
Like a cannon in the rain
With the beating of the sleepers
And the burnin' of the coal
Counting the towns flashing by
In a night that's full of soul
With light in my head
You in my arms
Woo!

Tomorrow I will be loosened
From bonds that hold me fast
That the chains all hung around me
Will fall away at last
And on that fine and fateful day
I will take thee in my hands
I will ride on the train
I will be the fisherman
With light in my head
You in my arms

Light in my head
You in my arms

Mike Scott, Steve Wickham of The Waterboys

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4UQJwd3awQ

Sea Fever
BY JOHN MASEFIELD

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

THE GALACTIC CLUB

Intelligent life in outer space?

Ronald N. Bracewell 1974

Pg1 chapter 1

ARE WE ALONE

"Growing in size and complexity
Living things, masses of atoms, DNA, protein
Dancing a pattern ever more intricate,
Out of the cradle onto the dry land
Here it is standing
Atoms with consciousness
Matter with curiousity,
Stands at the sea
Wonders at wondering
I
A universe of atoms
An atom in the universe,"

By Richard P. Feynman


Richard Feynman, in full Richard Feynman, (born May 11, 1918, New York, New York, US.- died February 15, 1988, Los Angeles, California), American theoretical physicist who was widely regarded as the most brilliant, influential, and
iconoclastic figure in his field in the post-World War II era.