Poem for the Day

Posted: 16 February 2014

On the beach at morning let me meet you there,
With necklaces of seashells and perfume in the air.
And this shall be the music that is played for you and me,
The murmur of the branches and the whisper of the sea.

And as you stand beside me in a linen dress of white,
Sweet shall be the kisses we share for our delight.
Warm will be the summer breeze as on your face it blows,
With bougainvillea in your hair and sand between your toes.

And in the evening we shall build a fire upon the beach,
Where no one can disturb us and the world can never reach.
Then as the night time music softly plays for you and me,
And while we lie beneath the stars beside the glittering sea,
We shall drink of love’s sweet wine as fireflies fill the air,
On the beach at evening, when you meet me there.

Beach Song
Bill Adair

Poem for the Day

Posted: 13 February 2014

‘I've been upstairs', she said.
‘Oh yes?’ I said.
‘I found a hair,’ she said.
‘A hair?’ I said.
‘In the bed,’ she said.
‘From a head?’ I said.
‘It’s not mine,’ she said.
‘Was it black?’ I said.
‘It was,’ she said.
‘I’ll explain,’ I said.
‘You swine,’ she said.
‘Not quite,’ I said.
‘I’m going,’ she said.
‘Please don’t,’ I said.
‘I hate you!’ she said.
‘You do?’ I said.
‘Of course!’ she said.
‘But why?’ I said.
‘That black hair,’ she said.
‘A pity,’ I said.

‘Time for truth,’ she said.
‘For confessions?’ I said.
‘Me too,’ she said.
‘You what?’ I said.
‘Someone else,’ she said.
‘Oh dear,’ I said.
‘So there!’ she said.
‘Ah well,’ I said.
‘Guess who?’ she said.
‘Don’t say,’ I said.
‘I will,’ she said.
‘You would,’ I said.
‘Your friend,’ she said.
‘Oh damn,’ I said.
‘And his friend,’ she said.
‘Him too?’ I said.
‘And the rest,’ she said.
‘Good God!’ I said.

‘What’s that?’ she said.
‘What’s what?’ I said.
‘That noise?’ she said.
‘Upstairs?’ I said.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘The new cat,’ I said.
‘A cat?’ she said.
‘It’s black,’ I said.
‘Black?’ she said.
‘Long-haired,’ I said.
‘Oh no,’ she said.
‘Oh yes,’ I said.
‘Oh shit!’ she said.
‘Goodbye,’ I said.

‘I lied,’ she said.
‘You lied?’ I said.
‘Of course,’ she said.
‘About my friend?’ I said.
‘Y-ess,’ she said.
‘And the others?’ I said.
‘Ugh,’ she said.
‘How odd,’ I said.
‘I’m forgiven?’ she said.
‘Of course,’ I said.
‘I’ll stay?’ she said.
‘Please don’t,’ I said.
‘But why?’ she said.
‘I lied,’ I said.
‘About what?’ she said.
‘The new cat,’ I said.
‘It’s white,’ I said.

Hair Today, No Her Tomorrow
Brian Patten

Poem for the Day

Posted: 12 February 2014

Please you, excuse me, good five-o'clock people,
I've lost my last hatful of words,
And my heart's in the wood up above the church steeple,
I'd rather have tea with -- the birds.

Gay Kate's stolen kisses, poor Barnaby's scars,
John's losses and Mary's gains,
Oh! what do they matter, my dears, to the stars
Or the glow-worms in the lanes!

I'd rather lie under the tall elm-trees,
With old rooks talking loud overhead,
To watch a red squirrel run over my knees,
Very still on my brackeny bed.

And wonder what feathers the wrens will be taking
For lining their nests next Spring;
Or why the tossed shadow of boughs in a great wind shaking
Is such a lovely thing.

Afternoon Tea
Charlotte Mew

Poem for the Day

Posted: 11 February 2014

They are waiting for me somewhere beyond Eden Rock:
My father, twenty-five, in the same suit
Of Genuine Irish Tweed, his terrier Jack
Still two years old and trembling at his feet.

My mother, twenty-three, in a sprigged dress
Drawn at the waist, ribbon in her straw hat,
Has spread the stiff white cloth over the grass.
Her hair, the colour of wheat, takes on the light.

She pours tea from a Thermos, the milk straight
From an old H.P. sauce-bottle, a screw
Of paper for a cork; slowly sets out
The same three plates, the tin cups painted blue.

The sky whitens as if lit by three suns.
My mother shades her eyes and looks my way
Over the drifted stream. My father spins
A stone along the water. Leisurely,

They beckon to me from the other bank.
I hear them call, ‘See where the stream-path is!
Crossing is not as hard as you might think.’

I had not thought that it would be like this.

Eden Rock
Charles Causley

Poem for the Day

Posted: 11 February 2014

It was dark inside the Cavern Club,
The Beatles played the night away.
We twisted and we shouted then
We waltzed when they played “Yesterday”.

It was loud inside the Cavern Club,
The throbbing music filled the air.
I’ll never dance with another now,
It pleased me I could take you there.

It was magical in the Cavern Club,
A mystery I don’t understand.
We’d said goodbye and now hello,
And we were there, I held your hand.

There was love inside the Cavern Club,
On that, I think, we are agreed.
From me to you, eight days a week,
And love is really all you need.

At the Cavern Club
Bill Adair

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