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Carpal Tunnel
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(it's been awhile since the last Poetry Thread, so, 'tis time)
FOUL WAYS IN SPRING
by Boris Pasternak
The sunset blaze was burning down.
Along a muddy forest ride,
A horseman jogged towards a farm
On a Ural mountainside.
The horse was in a lather
And the horseshoes' splashing clatter
Was echoed back along the track
By streams' torrential chatter.
But when the rider dropped the reins
And went at walking pace,
The spring thaw-water galloped by
And bellowed in his face.
There was laughter, there was crying,
Flint splintered stones and loam,
And tree-stumps torn up by the roots
Collapsed in dizzy foam.
Against the blaze of sunset,
That charred far branches as it fell,
A nightingale was raging
Insistent as a tocsin bell.
And where the willow by the gulley
Bent down and trailed her widow's veil,
He played his flute of seven oaks
Like the Robber Nightingale.
What did his ardent song foretell?
Catastrophe or mad desire?
At whom, from coverts under cover,
Did he direct his rapid fire?
It seemed the Demon of the Woods,
Emerging from some hiding hole
Of convicts on the run, would meet
A partisan patrol.
The earth and sky, the field and forest
Were listening for this rare strain
Combining measured portions
Of madness, happiness, and pain.
-- © 1948 by Boris Pasternak
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Carpal Tunnel
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formerly known as etaoin...
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old hand
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old hand
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Politely done etaoin.  The thread to which you link even nods to the hemispheric differences some pillock normally makes a big fuss about.
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Carpal Tunnel
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Politely done, what? There ain't no YARTs with poetry threads, we've always had recurring seasonal themes just to start new ones. So...poem please.  And if this ain't summer, winter, or fall, then it must be Spring! 
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Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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argh! I meant none offense! 'twould have shouted Yart! just thought I would give it a bit of a jump st yart... <white> an angry face, WO'N? I'm crushed...
formerly known as etaoin...
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Carpal Tunnel
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I think the point being made here, Juan, is that it's spring only our side of the Equator.
~Anna-O.
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Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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crikey! right over my head... even after sjm's subtle hint...
formerly known as etaoin...
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an angry face, WO'N? I'm crushed...Dat's a tongue-in-cheeky winky mad face, eta...   And, yeah, Asp...forgot Upunder they're gettin' ready to roll the winter clothes out. But, hey, they can post any kind of poetry they want. i.e: Topsy-turvy, Seasons curvy, Explorers reached there Full of scurvy. Any kind of poetry. 
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Carpal Tunnel
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Carpal Tunnel
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Here's an earlier form of one Keats later revised:
Souls of Poets dead and gone
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field, or mossy cavern
Fairer than the Mermaid Tavern?
Have ye tippled drink more fine
Than mine host's canary wine;
Or are fruits of Paradise
Richer than those dainty pies
Of venison. Oh! generous food!
Dress'd as though bold Robin Hood
Would, with his Maid Marian,
Sup and bouze from Horn and Can.
I have heard that on a day
Mine Host's sign board flew away,
Nobody knew whither till
An Astrologer's old Quill
To a Sheepskin gave the story:
Says he saw ye in your glory
Underneath a new old sign
Sipping beverage divine,
And pledging with contented smack
The Mermaid in the Zodiac!
Souls of Poets dead and gone
Are the Winds a sweeter home,
Richer is uncellar'd Cavern
Than the merr[y] mermaid Tavern?
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Carpal Tunnel
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T. Nash
I. Spring
SPRING, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo.
The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet,
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring! the sweet Spring!
{runs off to make sure nobody posted this in my Spring Poetry thread... [/smile]}
formerly known as etaoin...
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