Lamping Poem...

[Astanley 11,580]

that is a modern day classic.that will stand the test of time,definietly..how many month's did it take.?

Thank you ,I don't know about classic ,but it has been compared to some of Dylan Thomas,s work in style .it probably o ly took me a fortnight and that's including rough drafts .

[ginger beard 4,653]

 

that is a modern day classic.that will stand the test of time,definietly..how many month's did it take.?

Thank you ,I don't know about classic ,but it has been compared to some of Dylan Thomas,s work in style .it probably o ly took me a fortnight and that's including rough drafts .

 

not yours, gaz's.

[Astanley 11,580]

Really ?

Edited July 1, 2016 by Astanley

[ginger beard 4,653]

i'm actually shocked only 17 people liked it.

[Gaz_1989 9,539]

 

 

 

that is a modern day classic.that will stand the test of time,definietly..how many month's did it take.?

Thank you ,I don't know about classic ,but it has been compared to some of Dylan Thomas,s work in style .it probably o ly took me a fortnight and that's including rough drafts .

not yours, gaz's.

Piss taking Fuckers ?

[Silversnake 1,099]

THE STAG at eve had drunk his fill, Where danced the moon on Monans rill, And deep his midnight lair had made In lone Glenartneys hazel shade; But, when the sun his beacon red 5 Had kindled on Benvoirlichs head, The deep-mouthed bloodhounds heavy bay Resounded up the rocky way, And faint, from farther distance borne, Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. 10 As Chief who hears his warder call, To arms! the foemen storm the wall, The antlered monarch of the waste Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. But, ere his fleet career he took, 15 The dew-drops from his flanks he shook; Like crested leader proud and high Tossed his beamed frontlet to the sky; A moment gazed adown the dale, A moment snuffed the tainted gale, 20 A moment listened to the cry, That thickened as the chase drew nigh; Then, as the headmost foes appeared, With one brave bound the copse he cleared, And, stretching forward free and far, 25 Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Var. Yelled on the view the opening pack; Rock, glen, and cavern paid them back; To many a mingled sound at once The awakened mountain gave response. 30 A hundred dogs bayed deep and strong, Clattered a hundred steeds along, Their peal the merry horns rung out, A hundred voices joined the shout; With hark and whoop and wild halloo, 35 No rest Benvoirlichs echoes knew. Far from the tumult fled the roe; Close in her covert cowered the doe; The falcon, from her cairn on high, Cast on the rout a wondering eye, 40 Till far beyond her piercing ken The hurricane had swept the glen. Faint, and more faint, its failing din Returned from cavern, cliff, and linn, And silence settled, wide and still, 45 On the lone wood and mighty hill.

 

* * * * *

T were long to tell what steeds gave oer, As swept the hunt through Cambus-more; What reins were tightened in despair, When rose Benledis ridge in air; 50 Who flagged upon Bochastles heath, Who shunned to stem the flooded Teith, For twice that day, from shore to shore, The gallant stag swam stoutly oer. Few were the stragglers, following far, 55 That reached the lake of Vennachar; And when the Brigg of Turk was won, The headmost horseman rode alone. Alone, but with unbated zeal, That horseman plied the scourge and steel; 60 For, jaded now, and spent with toil, Embossed with foam, and dark with soil, While every gasp with sobs he drew, The laboring stag strained full in view. Two dogs of black Saint Huberts breed, 65 Unmatched for courage, breath, and speed, Fast on his flying traces came, And all but won that desperate game; For, scarce a spears length from his haunch, Vindictive toiled the bloodhounds staunch; 70 Nor nearer might the dogs attain, Nor farther might the quarry strain. Thus up the margin of the lake, Between the precipice and brake, Oer stock and rock their race they take. 75 The hunter marked that mountain high, The lone lakes western boundary, And deemed the stag must turn to bay, Where that huge rampart barred the way; Already glorying in the prize, Measured his antlers with his eyes; For the death-wound and death-halloo Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew; But thundering as he came prepared, With ready arm and weapon bared, 85 The wily quarry shunned the shock, And turned him from the opposing rock; Then, dashing down a darksome glen, Soon lost to hound and hunters ken, In the deep Trosachs wildest nook 90 His solitary refuge took. There while, close couched, the thicket shed Cold dews and wild-flowers on his head, He heard the baffled dogs in vain Rave through the hollow pass amain, 95 Chiding the rocks that yelled again. Close on the hounds the hunter came, To cheer them on the vanished game; But, stumbling in the rugged dell, The gallant horse exhausted fell. 100 The impatient rider strove in vain To rouse him with the spur and rein, For the good steed, his labors oer, Stretched his stiff limbs, to rise no more; Then, touched with pity and remorse, 105 He sorrowed oer the expiring horse: I little thought, when first thy rein I slacked upon the banks of Seine, That Highland eagle eer should feed On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed! 110 Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day, That costs thy life, my gallant gray! Then through the dell his horn resounds, From vain pursuit to call the hounds. Back limped, with slow and crippled pace, 115 The sulky leaders of the chase; Close to their masters side they pressed, With drooping tail and humbled crest; But still the dingles hollow throat Prolonged the swelling bugle-note. 120 The owlets started from their dream, The eagles answered with their scream, Round and around the sounds were cast, Till echo seemed an answering blast; And on the hunter hied his way, 125 To join some comrades of the day; Yet often paused, so strange the road, So wondrous were the scenes it showed.

Fine words, really struck a chord with me. Atvb.

[Silversnake 1,099]

Hey gaz i don't if it is the thread you are looking for but a while back you posted some fine poetry in a thread i started titled Lurcher poem.

[Gaz_1989 9,539]

Hey gaz i don't if it is the thread you are looking for but a while back you posted some fine poetry in a thread i started titled Lurcher poem.

I will have a search now mate. Cheers

[Maximus Ferret 2,063]

A RUNNABLE STAG

When the pods went pop on the broom, green broom,
And apples began to be golden-skinn'd,
We harbour'd a stag in the Priory coomb,
And we feather'd his trail up-wind, up-wind,
We feather'd his trail up-wind-
A stag of warrant, a stag, a stag,
A runnable stag, a kingly crop,
Brow, bay and tray and three on top,
A stag, a runnable stag.

Then the huntsman's horn rang yap, yap yap,
And 'Forwards' we heard the harbourer shout;
But 'twas only a brocket that broke a gap
In the beechen underwood, driven out,
From the underwood antler'd out
By warrant and might of the stag, the stag,
The runnable stag, whose lordly mind
Was bent on sleep though beam'd and tined
He stood, a runnable stag

So we tufted the covert till afternoon
With Tinkerman's Pup and Bell- of-the-North;
And hunters were sulky and hounds out of tune
Before we tufted the right stag forth,
Before we tufted him forth,

The stag of warrant, the wily stag,
The runnable stag with his kingly crop,
Brow, bay and tray and three on top,
The royal and runnable stag.

It was Bell-of-the-North and Tinkerman's Pup
That stuck to the scent till the copse was drawn.
'Tally ho! tally ho!' and the hunt was up,
The tufters whipp'd and the pack laid on,
The resolute pack laid on,
And the stag of warrant away at last,
The runnable stag, the same, the same,
His hoofs on fire, his horns like flame,
A stag, a runnable stag.

'Let your gelding be: if you check or chide
He stumbles at once and you're out of the hunt
For three hundred gentlemen, able to ride,
On hunters accustom'd to bear the brunt,
Accustom'd to bear the brunt,
Are after the runnable stag, the stag,
The runnable stag with his kingly crop,
Brow, bay and tray and three on top,
The right, the runnable stag.

By perilous paths in coomb and dell,
The heather, the rocks, and the river-bed,
The pace grew hot, for the scent lay well,

And a runnable stag goes right ahead,
The quarry went right ahead--
Ahead, ahead, and fast and far;
His antler'd crest, his cloven hoof,
Brow, bay and tray and three aloof,
The stag, the runnable stag.

For a matter of twenty miles and more,
By the densest hedge and the highest wall,
Through herds of bullocks lie baffled the lore
Of harbourer, huntsman, hounds and all,
Of harbourer, hounds and all
The stag of warrant, the wily stag,
For twenty miles, and five and five,
He ran, and he never was caught alive,
This stag, this runnable stag.

When he turn'd at bay in the leafy gloom,
In the emerald gloom where the brook ran deep
He heard in the distance the rollers boom,
And he saw In a vision of peaceful sleep
In a wonderful vision of sleep,
A stag of warrant, a stag, a stag,
A runnable stag in a jewell'd bed,
Under the sheltering ocean dead,
A stag, a runnable stag.

So a fateful hope lit up his eye,

And he open'd his nostrils wide again,
And he toss'd his branching antlers high
As he headed the hunt down the Charlock glen,
As he raced down the echoing glen
For five miles more, the stag, the stag,
For twenty miles, and five and five,
Not to be caught now, dead or alive,
The stag, the runnable stag.

Three hundred gentleman, able to ride,
Three hundred horses as gallant and free,
Beheld him escape on the evening tide,
Far out till he sank in the Severn Sea,
Till he sank in the depths of the sea
The stag, the buoyant stag, the stag
That slept at last in a jewell'd bed
Under the sheltering ocean spread,
The stag, the runnable stag.

John Davidson :

Edited July 3, 2016 by Maximus Ferret

[Maximus Ferret 2,063]

WITH THE DOGS AT DAWN
Misty words billow in the cold
Pluming from their mouths
Quiet swearing and first smoke coughing
They walk close to hedgerows
Kicking the dew from the grass
As birds squabble over breakfast
And mushrooms are still socialising
They whistle the dogs to heel
All panting and wagging tails
Stirring the dawn damp air
For happy is the early dog
In these sumptuous fields

Now the business of dawn begins
Low sharp commands are uttered
Bringing the younger bounding learners
To a proper sense of purpose
And that high-toned cross breed

The sleek and swift lurcher
Is eternally proud and primed
This long-sprint racer
Takes inevitable chase
Without sentiment or concious cruelty
An ancient craft is practised here
With the dogs at dawn

By Phil Roberts

[j1985 1,984]

Just so I'm clear on this, we're doing poems, Geezers that hunt with lurchers doing poems ?

 

What's next, THL Knitting Corner ?

[boyo 1,398]

Dont do knitting but was prosecuted for wearing a "Wooly" once ??. Atb

[Maximus Ferret 2,063]

Just so I'm clear on this, we're doing poems, Geezers that hunt with lurchers doing poems ?

 

What's next, THL Knitting Corner ?

Lurcher themed flower arrangements .

[Astanley 11,580]

Nothing wrong with poetry ,its not all macho stuff ,a love of the chase goes hand in hand with a love of nature and a love of all wildlife ,that's a lot of love ,

 

A well written poem can capture those ,sometimes conflicting emotions we all feel ,it can hold a mirror to your own soul ,it can resonate with you in personal ways that no conversations ever could ,it can move you emotionally and sometimes enable you to see and understand things more clearly.

 

Some poetry is shit though

[Gaz_1989 9,539]

Nothing wrong with poetry ,its not all macho stuff ,a love of the chase goes hand in hand with a love of nature and a love of all wildlife ,that's a lot of love ,

 

A well written poem can capture those ,sometimes conflicting emotions we all feel ,it can hold a mirror to your own soul ,it can resonate with you in personal ways that no conversations ever could ,it can move you emotionally and sometimes enable you to see and understand things more clearly.

 

Some poetry is shit though

Couldn't agree more. I don't claim to be any good at poetry but enjoy writing it and will keep trying.

 

J1985 is a closet homosexual and I think he feels that if he was to partake in poetry then his sexual orientation might be revealed.

 

This isn't rumour or gossip. I was lamping with him once and he kept walking behind me. Whenever I looked around he had a sleezy grin on his face.

 

It wasn't until an hour later I realised he had his willy in his hand ?