Tag Archives: poetry

March 2017

So I was going to try for at least one post a month …….

A windy day today, 14th March, but mild and bright.  Frogs are very busy in the ponds today so I thought I’d post a little poem, one of the very first I attempted (I’m a late starter where poetry’s concerned).  It had been a very hard winter and the pond had been frozen for many days.  We counted over 20 dead frogs – but some survived and lived to breed again.

Renewal

The dormant pond lies white and thick with frost
so frogs below must dwell in mud and wait.
The ice-trapped air has spread its poison breath
and ghostly glass-blurred corpses float beneath

I place the bodies in their earthy grave.
The pond, as black as mountain lochans, lies
unchanged until the robin builds his nest
when jewelled spawn and hope returns once more.

 

Frozen pond 6 January 2011

 

 

January Project

This week I have to consider two poems and comment on the way the two poets represent their monsters.

Jabberwocky

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

‘Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!’

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought –
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
and burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

‘And hast though slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
A frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!’
He chortled in his joy.

‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome rathes outgrabe.

Lewis Carroll

The Kraken

Below the thunders of the upper deep,
Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides; above him swell
Huge sponges of millennial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumber’d and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages, and will lie
Battening upon huge sea-worms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by man and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.

Alfred Lord Tennyson

The Faber Book of Beasts, edited by Paul Muldoon

Sanctuary

Trondheim
© Brenda Thomson

Sanctuary

The mares
run fast, crystals
fly, ghosted into mist
spiralling across snow-covered
tundra

we flee
intemperate,
escaping yet pursued
by whip crack echoes, baying of
wolfhounds

bleak skies
promise snowfall,
the troika runners skim
across polished ice, onwards,
onwards

the steppe
resonates, as
with harmony, bells and
pulsating hoof-beats lead towards
freedom

at length,
hoar-frosted on
the horizon, the goal
we must reach – sanctuary to live,
to love