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Poemfor the Day

Posted: 13 September 2013

My heart has made its mind up
And I’m afraid it’s you.
Whatever you’ve got lined up,
My heart has made its mind up
And if you can’t be signed up
This year, next year will do.
My heart has made its mind up
And I’m afraid it’s you.

Valentine
Wendy Cope 1945 -

Poem for the Day

Posted: 12 September 2013

I wish I lived in a caravan,
With a horse to drive, like a pedlar-man!
Where he comes from nobody knows,
Nor where he goes to, but on he goes.

His caravan has windows two,
With a chimney of tin that the smoke comes through,
He has a wife, and a baby brown,
And they go riding from town to town.

Chairs to mend and delf to sell -
He clashes the basins like a bell.
Tea-trays, baskets, ranged in order,
Plates, with the alphabet round the border.

The roads are brown, and the sea is green,
But his house is just like a bathing-machine.
The world is round, but he can ride,
Rumble, and splash to the other side.

With the pedlar-man I should like to roam,
And write a book when I come home.
All the people would read my book,
Just like the Travels of Captain Cook.

The Pedlar's Caravan
William Brighty Rands 1823 - 1882

Haiku #52

Posted: 11 September 2013

Just twelve years ago
A world in shock held its breath
And its heart stood still.

Bill Adair

Poem for the Day

Posted: 11 September 2013

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains,—but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the
love,—
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not
approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the
world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

Dirge Without Music
Edna St. Vincent Millay 1892 - 1950

Poem for the Day

Posted: 10 September 2013

Today, sadly, I am in Northern Ireland for the funeral of my father-in-law. Today's poem is for everyone who has ever lost anyone.

Death is nothing at all
I have only slipped into the next room.
I am I, and you are you:
Whatever we were to each other, we are still.
Call me by my old familiar name;
Speak to me in the easy way you always used
Put no difference into your tone;
Wear no air of solemnity or sorrow;
Laugh as we always laughed
At the little jokes we enjoyed together;
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever
The household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect;
Without the ghost of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolutely unbroken continuity.
What is this death but negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you,
For an interval, somewhere, very near
Just around the corner.
All is well.

Life Unbroken
Henry Scott-Holland 1847 - 1918

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