Poetry Friday; Snow Day – Billy Collins

I found this beautiful poem through a good friend – and it is perfect for today!
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Snow Day

Today we woke up to a revolution of snow,
its white flag waving over everything,
the landscape vanished,
not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness,
and beyond these windows
the government buildings smothered,
schools and libraries buried, the post office lost
under the noiseless drift,
the paths of trains softly blocked,
the world fallen under this falling.
In a while, I will put on some boots
and step out like someone walking in water,
and the dog will porpoise through the drifts,
and I will shake a laden branch
sending a cold shower down on us both.
But for now I am a willing prisoner in this house,
a sympathizer with the anarchic cause of snow.
I will make a pot of tea
and listen to the plastic radio on the counter,
as glad as anyone to hear the news
that the Kiddie Corner School is closed,
the Ding-Dong School, closed.
the All Aboard Children’s School, closed,
the Hi-Ho Nursery School, closed,
along with—some will be delighted to hear—
the Toadstool School, the Little School,
Little Sparrows Nursery School,
Little Stars Pre-School, Peas-and-Carrots Day School
the Tom Thumb Child Center, all closed,
and—clap your hands—the Peanuts Play School.
So this is where the children hide all day,
These are the nests where they letter and draw,
where they put on their bright miniature jackets,
all darting and climbing and sliding,
all but the few girls whispering by the fence.
And now I am listening hard
in the grandiose silence of the snow,
trying to hear what those three girls are plotting,
what riot is afoot,
which small queen is about to be brought down.

Poetry Friday; The Poetry Grand National – Roger Stevens

Love the central image of this poem – and how he uses what each of the features of language are to create this poem.

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The Poetry Grand National

The horses line up

They’re under starter’s orders

They’re off

 

Adverb leaps gracefully over the first fence

Followed by adjective

A sleek grey

 

Simile is overtaking on the outside

Like a pebble skimming the water

 

Halfway round the course

And Hyperbole is gaining on the leaders

Travelling at a million miles an hour

 

Adverb strides smoothly into first place.

 

Haiku had good odds

But is far behind – and falls

At the last sylla-

ble

 

And as they flash past the winning post

The crowd is cheering

The winner is

Metaphor

Who quietly takes a bow

 

Roger Stevens

Poetry Friday; Valentine – Carol Ann Duffy

Thought this was the perfect Valentine’s poem – suitable for those in love and for those who are not!

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Valentine

Not a red rose or a satin heart.

I give you an onion.

It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.

It promises light

like the careful undressing of love.

Here.

It will blind you with tears

like a lover.

It will make your reflection

a wobbling photo of grief.

I am trying to be truthful.

Not a cute card or a kissogram.

I give you an onion.

Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,

possessive and faithful

as we are,

for as long as we are.

Take it.

Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding ring,

if you like.

Lethal.

Its scent will cling to your fingers,

cling to your knife.
One of those poems that looks simple on first reading but reveals more the deeper you read.

Poetry Friday; Mirrors – Isobel Thrilling

I love the imagery of the poem – the sense of beauty and expectation that can happen just from the dresses in your wardrobe!

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Mirrors

An aviary of dresses

alive with silk

roosts on

the rail of your wardrobe.

 

Each day you disturb

the flock

shake out a flight

of fabrics.

 

It’s your own rainforest,

mimic plumage

from shops,

your several selves,

crimson, macaw, blue-foot

booby, albatross

 

looping the world

 

Isobel Thrilling

 

I am a major dress-aholic and I love the idea of wearing a colourful dress is like wearing a plumage of a bird and how it would change you and your personality

 

 

Poetry Friday; In The Skip – Brian McCabe

Poetry often makes you look at the world in a new way or perspective and this one takes a fresh looks at the rubbish found in skips.

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In The Skip

Half  a dozen bricks

are clinging to their brickness

and to the idea of being

a wall.

 

Drawers lean on drawers as if

their crazy staircase could recall

the time it was a kitchen cabinet.

 

A mattress, doubled-up, yearns

to yawn, stretch, turn over

and scratch itself where it’s ripped.

 

Dust, yes there is dust.

And sometimes I think

my history is there in the skip:

 

a gap that was once for sitting on;

a piece, missing its jigsaw;

a smatter of glass, convinced

it was always meant to be a window.

 

I peer into the rubble, to see

What’s salvageable

 

Brian McCabe

 

There is something very poignant about all these items discarded in the skip dreaming of being the thing they used to be.

Poetry Friday; Frost – Valerie Bloom

A very suitable poem considering the weather Scotland has been having!

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Frost

Overnight, a giant spilt icing sugar on the ground,
He spilt it in the hedgerows, and the trees without a sound,
He made a wedding-cake of the haystack in the field,
He dredged the countryside and the grass was all concealed,
He sprinkled sugar on the roofs, in patches not too neat,
And in the morning when we woke, the world around was sweet.

Valerie Bloom

This is just a gorgeous image and I love the idea of the giant spilling icing sugar everywhere — did he do it deliberately or by accident? (I like to think he did it deliberately, can picture him smiling as he surveyed his work)

 

Poetry Friday: I’d Like To Be A Tea Bag – Peter Dixon

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I cannot tell a lie…I am a total Tea-aholic and think if I am reincarinated I would like to come back as a tea bag like the character in this poem!

I’d like to be a Teabag

l’d like to be a teabag,
And stay at home all day –
And talk to other teabags
In a teabag sort of way . . .

l’d love to be a teabag;
And lie in a little box –
And never have to wash my face
Or change my dirty socks . . .

l’d like to be a teabag,
An Earl Grey one perhaps,
And doze all day and lie around
With Earl Grey kind of chaps.

l wouldn’t have to do a thing,
No homework, jobs or chores –
Comfy in my caddy
Of teabags and their snores.

l wouldn’t have to do exams
l needn’t tidy rooms,
Or sweep the floor or feed the cat
Or wash up all the spoons.

I wouldn’t have to do a thing,
A life of bliss – you see . . .
Except that once in all my life

I`d make a cup of tea!

Peter Dixon

I think it is the lack of stress in a tea bag’s life that I like – would love not to have to tidy any more rooms and just lie in a tea caddy listening to other tea bags snore! I wonder what kind of tea bag I would be – probably not an Earl Grey as that is too refined for me, in fact I would probably be one of those tea bags that burst and would spill out into the tea caddy!