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qaasid · 2 years

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#poetry #english poems #english literature #Mary elizabeth frye #Poet #Female poet #short poem

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iamsalve · 24 days

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Warzone in the sky

Do you know what fireworks evoke? The beauty of breaking. In lighting up only to burst against the dark sky — to scatter, to fade, to bring a smile.It reminds me that just because some things are not meant to stay, it doesn’t mean it can’t beautiful. The seasons. Day and night. Friends. Childhood. Life.My hand reaches out to catch a tiny pebble, wishing that heartaches are like fireworks too.…

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#7th time loop #doodlescribbles #English Poems #life lessons #musings #NaPoWriMo #poems #Prose #reflection

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nikolasongsa · 7 months

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When Julius Fabricius, Sub-Prefect of the Weald, In the days of Diocletian owned our Lower River-field, He called to him Hobdenius—a Briton of the Clay, Saying: "What about that River-piece for layin' in to hay?"

And the aged Hobden answered: "I remember as a lad My father told your father that she wanted dreenin' bad. An' the more that you neeglect her the less you'll get her clean. Have it jest as you've a mind to, but, if I was you, I'd dreen."

So they drained it long and crossways in the lavish Roman style — Still we find among the river-drift their flakes of ancient tile, And in drouthy middle August, when the bones of meadows show, We can trace the lines they followed sixteen hundred years ago.

Then Julius Fabricius died as even Prefects do, And after certain centuries, Imperial Rome died too. Then did robbers enter Britain from across the Northern main And our Lower River-field was won by Ogier the Dane.

Well could Ogier work his war-boat—well could Ogier wield his brand— Much he knew of foaming waters—not so much of farming land. So he called to him a Hobden of the old unaltered blood, Saying: "What about that River-piece; she doesn't look no good ?"

And that aged Hobden answered "'Tain't for me to interfere. But I've known that bit o' meadow now for five and fifty year. Have it jest as you've a mind to, but I've proved it time on ' time, If you want to change her nature you have got to give her lime!"

Ogier sent his wains to Lewes, twenty hours' solemn walk, And drew back great abundance of the cool, grey, healing chalk. And old Hobden spread it broadcast, never heeding what was in't— Which is why in cleaning ditches, now and then we find a flint.

Ogier died. His sons grew English—Anglo-Saxon was their name— Till out of blossomed Normandy another pirate came; For Duke William conquered England and divided with his men, And our Lower River-field he gave to William of Warenne.

But the Brook (you know her habit) rose one rainy autumn night And tore down sodden flitches of the bank to left and right. So, said William to his Bailiff as they rode their dripping rounds: "Hob, what about that River-bit—the Brook's got up no bounds ?"

And that aged Hobden answered: "'Tain't my business to advise, But ye might ha' known 'twould happen from the way the valley lies. Where ye can't hold back the water you must try and save the sile. Hev it jest as you've a mind to, but, if I was you, I'd spile!"

They spiled along the water-course with trunks of willow-trees, And planks of elms behind 'em and immortal oaken knees. And when the spates of Autumn whirl the gravel-beds away You can see their faithful fragments, iron-hard in iron clay.

Georgii Quinti Anno Sexto, I, who own the River-field, Am fortified with title-deeds, attested, signed and sealed, Guaranteeing me, my assigns, my executors and heirs All sorts of powers and profits which—are neither mine nor theirs,

I have rights of chase and warren, as my dignity requires. I can fish—but Hobden tickles—I can shoot—but Hobden wires. I repair, but he reopens, certain gaps which, men allege, Have been used by every Hobden since a Hobden swapped a hedge.

Shall I dog his morning progress o'er the track-betraying dew ? Demand his dinner-basket into which my pheasant flew ? Confiscate his evening faggot under which my conies ran, And summons him to judgment ? I would sooner summons Pan.

His dead are in the churchyard—thirty generations laid. Their names were old in history when Domesday Book was made; And the passion and the piety and prowess of his line Have seeded, rooted, fruited in some land the Law calls mine.

Not for any beast that burrows, not for any bird that flies, Would I lose his large sound counsel, miss his keen amending eyes. He is bailiff, woodman, wheelwright, field-surveyor, engineer, And if flagrantly a poacher—'tain't for me to interfere.

"Hob, what about that River-bit ?" I turn to him again, With Fabricius and Ogier and William of Warenne. "Hev it jest as you've a mind to, but"—and here he takes command. For whoever pays the taxes old Mus' Hobden owns the land.

-The Land, "Diversity of Creatures"

#Rudyard Kipling #Poachers #Poaching #Wild nature #Poem #English Poems

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frogofcamelot · 2 years

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"The absence of the Witch does not invalidate the spell"

Emily Dickinson (Long years apart- can make no)

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my-forest-library · 2 years

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Teachers,

they introduce young minds to the world outside

and shape the souls present inside,

their lives committed for future development,

they make possible our every achievement.

Their love,

their care

and the knowledge they share,

create gems, each rare,

each different, each unique

in their own way.

They make the person we are today.

With all my heart,

I thank you

for everything you say

and everything you do.

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I am a bit late for Teacher's day. ( exams...)

But, I recently completed school, Teacher's day was a few days back and this poem also happens to fit in the timeline!

So, this is to all the teachers out there.

A very Happy ( belated) Teacher's day!

#teachers #english poems #writers #poems and poetry #english #teacher #school #teaching #teacher day 2022 #happy teachers day

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sheraayasher · 1 year

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I have forever hated uncertainty, I have forever hated devious people. And in midst of constant meeting with strangers, You’re becoming predictable to me.

Although you’ve never rambled on the reason, I know why your favourite season is spring. Even though you have never pointed it out, I know why you always suggest watching sad movies whenever I’m feeling down.

It is comforting to me. This, whatever this is, is it allowed? This unusual feeling, is it permitted for wanting to lay affectionately in its warmth?

- z.t.

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s-strangebird · 2 years

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As spring takes its place in the world I am just one more among the flowers that bloom;

Watered by the rain that is your tenderness Safe from harm in your embrace Joyous in the light that is your wonder My peace of heaven in everyplace

Last night I saw you in my dreams Gingerly you smiled and told me:

Do not fear, my little bird In the silence you'll find peace in me Our love will last through all the seasons From this moment to eternity.

- Nandini Marson

#poem #poems #poems on tumblr #poets on tumblr #english poems #love #love poems #spring #heaven #poetry on tumblr #english poetry

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pritamandginsbergsgarden · 1 year

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From collected poems by John Berger

#english #poetry #British poets #English poems #friendship poems #letter writing #literature #must read #John Berger #John Berger poems #regret #poetry recs

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fromdarzaitoleeza · 8 months

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{Quotes:Nitya prakash/Richard siken ,crush}

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flimythings · 1 month

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"you cant heal if you pretend you're not hurt"

-filmythings

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oodsworld · 9 days

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Silence

A world of silence one I’ll appreciate No chirping birds, no rustling leaves No person talking about how good the day is Not a sound from the wind, not a sound from the streets The sounds of engines and people speak mute even if for just a minute Not a sound from my steps, not a sound from my cell The sound notifications and messages I do not care the purpose of Not a sound from heart, not…

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#creative writing #English poems #me #poem #poems about life #poemsbyme #poemsociety #poet #poetry community #writer #writing #writing community

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qaasid · 2 years

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#Thom gunn #poetry #english poems #english poetry #english literature #poetry of the day #Fine poetry

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poetryforall · 9 days

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-Rumi

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mysterieuxclairdelune · 10 months

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I am jealous of those who think more deeply, who write better, who draw better, who look better, who live better, who love better than I.

-Sylvia Plath

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my-forest-library · 2 years

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Not all monsters live under the bed.

She always thought that the house was haunted, especially the bedroom. Someone was under the bed. She could see the shadows under it.

So, she got rid of the bed. Instead, she got a box bed, leaving no space underneath for anyone to hide. Anyways, she needed a place to keep her blankets in summers. The bed served both purposes.

Little did she know, it liked the new bed. The box was big enough for it and the blankets provided extra comfort.

Also, there were no more shadows left behind.

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#english #writers #story writing #english poems #poems and poetry #horror #bedroom #monster #monster under the bed #creepypasta #creepy #dark shadows

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rainreads · 6 months

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"Tired" by Langston Hughes.

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