Poetry Forum

Come visit me in twilight When the dawn is yet unbroken, Let us see again the eve Of our togetherness. Remind me of the joys we had - Enlighten me of joys to come When I, too, am released From earthly penance. Then will I fly in your love's light And earth's cares I'll no longer grow - Happiness I'l...

that should read a tender 38, not a tender 3... But I shan't throw my toys out of the pram over it.

They have headlice in the House of Commons? That's democracy for you... But the poem - ahhh, the poem speaks of a time not so very long ago when the "nit-nurse" terrorised school corridors everywhere - when She wasn't a proprietory cold remedy, but an instrument of humiliation. Those were ...

Nothing at all - per se. But I would rather not be driven to it - walking is much better, I find. I find, also, that if I drink too much of the vino collapso, I have to be driven back...

Good one - as far as it goes. I like the feelings of tenderness - especially the warm and sticky , the imagery of lingering and so on. But you could have probed the sadness of goodbye, perhaps, brought out the pathos. Or maybe I, the intense dreamer, am a little odd in feeling it so strongly? In whi...

Then we shall agree to differ on this one. Not that I don't like sad and dismal poems - I have written a few myself - but the perpetually dour can drive one to drink!

My problem with R.S. Thomas is that he is often dismal and depressing, like a bleak and misty Valleys mountain or an austere prayerbook.

I suppose Messrs Coverdale et al were trying to cash in on a sort of new age Celtic zeitgeist. When they weren't on about "Smowowowowowke on the Wauuuuuuuugh-terrrrrr". And remember, I'm not mentioning Spinal Tap, kids...

Thanks for that, too!

Cliched, yes - I agree slightly, in that the title is trite and samey; then again, I suppose in my defence, y'r 'onner, I could say it fleshes out the cliche in some new and interesting muscle. Doesn't make it any less of a cliche, though...

I don't know whether you consider this a poem or an essay (as classified on my website), so I thought I would try it here, and hope it doesn't attract any brickbats for that... Love is... What is love? Let me tell you. But first, let me tell you what it isn't. Love is not pity. Pity is akin to love,...

It's good. Very good, in fact. Some might call it a little obscure - but it's none the worse for that. In fact, poetry often lends itself to obscurity in much the same way as a river lends itself to being wet. This will take a good few reads to get the most out of it - but oh, the satisfaction of wh...

Thanks!

As for the Cymru bit - Cymru is the Welsh word for Wales.

Hush, the dragon sleeps - She dreams in legends of a day, Of days when she was young; When her Celtic fire burned in veins Of naked warriors: they were strong - She was strong through them. Today she waits; In slumber's prison coiled, Growing young again: Kept alive by her people, glowing in their h...

Greetings! Yes, Dylan Thomas was inebriated on his own verbosity - but that, I think, is part of his charm. Why, when you have Milk Wood "limping invisible down to the sloeblack, slow, black, crowblack, fishingboat-bobbing sea", can't you have it "running down to the shoreline". ...

A simple truth, beautifully expressed. Simple yet powerful - minimalist yet so profound. I like, also, the rhythm of repetition. They say that one of the things that made Churchill such a good orator was just that - "We shall fight them, we shall fight them, we shall fight them" or "N...

First post, and all that - hi, etc. Well, if this was as off the cuff as it is reported, I doff my tricorn in your direction. It was actually very good. I liked the way the rhymes appeared in the middle of the stanza, as in the Welsh Cynghanedd - it made it flow that much more naturally. And the cha...