POEMS - With Tongue In Cheek

[ROBERT M.]

Can Lee Westwood win his first ever major tomorrow ? .............Tiger is just two shots off him though .......................weather update, the cool cloudy grey skies are back along the east coast with a vengeance, the same tomorrow .............I'm moving

[keithgood838]

THE NEARLY MAN

Lee's hopes were dashed in the sand and the rough;
he should take such rounds by the scruff
of the neck and not let go,
rising to the big occasion a la Matt Monro.

[keithgood838]

The scenic West Cork of my youth provided numerous
beauty spots to savour as indeed it continues to inspire
many of my verses. The following lines recall a family picnic
while enjoying a panoramic overview of our local river as
it nears the end of its enviable journey to the sea:

STATELY SHIPPOOL
(Circa 1950)

Like ardent royal wedding watchers,
we gazed in rapt wonder on the Bandon River
at her most exquisitely majestic;
gliding toward shared destiny fulfilment,
ultimately to lose herself in the arms
of her groom-in-waiting ...

Keith Good

[keithgood838]

Time to raise the cultural tone, I think:

AUGUST

The emperor Octavian, called August,
I being his favourite, bestowed the name
Upon me, and I hold it still in trust,
In memory of him and of his fame.
I am the Virgin, and my vestal flame
Burns less intensely than the Lion's rage;
Sheaves are my only garlands, and I claim
The golden Harvests as my heritage.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

August lives up to his Leo nature
acknowledging his waving harvest fields,
which the sun and earth combine to nurture;
his promissory notes for bounteous yields.

From Calendar Characters

[Eman]

How could you go wrong with Longfellow? Love it Keith!!

[keithgood838]

I couldn't let the sad passing of Irish poet Seamus Heaney
go uncommented on. He was the finest contemporary poet
writing in English. The following is one of my favourite Heaney
verses:

THATCHER

Bespoke for weeks, he turned up some morning
Unexpectedly, his bicycle slung
With a light ladder and a bag of knives.
He eyed the old rigging, poked the eaves,

Opened and handled sheaves of lashed straw.
Next, the bundled rods: hazel and willow
Were flicked for weight, twisted in case they'd snap.
It seemed he spent the morning warming up:

Then fixed the ladder, laid out well honed blades
And snipped at straw and sharpened ends of rods
That, bent in two, made a white-pronged staple
For pinning down his world, handful by handful.

Couchant for days on sods above rafters
He shaved and flushed the butts, stitched all together
Into a sloped honeycomb, a stubble patch,
And left them gaping at his Midas touch.

SEAMUS JUSTIN HEANEY
(1939-2013)

RIP, and feel at home whence your timeless
verses originated from.

[Eman]

Wow Keith, thanks for sharing. I never heard of him, but will make sure to check out a book of his poetry..

[keithgood838]

Eman, I recommend his signature piece entitled, The Digging.
It's a masterpiece accessible on the internet.
Keith

[keithgood838]

Eman, I recommend his signature piece entitled, Digging.
It's a masterpiece accessible on the internet.
Keith

[ROBERT M.]

http://theweek.com/article/index/248990 ... ng-digging

[Eman]

Thanks Keith and Robert. I'll check it out.

[Lena & Harry Smith]

A report stated that Seamus Heaney after experiencing a rather bad fall and being transported to the operating theatre texted his close friend and said... Stripped and ready for action.

[keithgood838]

In his poem, Digging, which opens: 'Between my finger and my thumb
the squat pen rests, snug as a gun,' Seamus Heaney makes the analogy
of his father digging potatoes and he himself digging for words with his pen.
In a later poem, The Conway Stewart, the pen is named and given a life of its own:
'The nib uncapped,
treating it to its first deep snorkel
In a newly opened ink bottle.'
Seamus Heaney was a master of penmanship and will be much missed.

[keithgood838]

During my and my wife's attendance at a recent Gathering
in Ballinasloe, County Galway, the Ryan brothers invited me
to make up a golf foursome at Portumna; they provided the
clubs I needed, paid my green fee, ferried me around in a buggy
and treated me to lunch afterwards. How's that for Irish hospitality?

THE GATHE'RYAN - AFTERGLOW

The withdrawal symptoms have naturally ebbed
revealing the banality of life in Barnet.
For days after our return I found myself yearning
to re-savour the sumptuous Carlton Shearwater banquet.
To stroll anew the sculpture-scenic St Michael's Square
and re-wallow in the Jameson-and-nostalgia fuelled,
emotion-steeped Brackernagh reunion
playing catch-up after many (too many) a time-thieved year.
To replay the tree-lined vistas, and lodges, of Portumna,
relax at the love-diffused, turf-warmed idyll
that is the Ryan residence in welcoming Kiltormer,
marvel once more at the sisterly Clare and Galway's
coastlines vying for supremacy in the beauty stakes,
and be awed again by the towering majesty of the Cliffs of Moher.
Surely the tide will stay in thrall to the moon
and pile precious new memories on our shore ...

Keith Good

[keithgood838]

I nearly forgot the verses re this month:

SEPTEMBER

I bear the scales, where hang in equipoise
The night and day; and when unto my lips
I put my trumpet, with its stress and noise
Fly the white clouds like tattered sails of ships;
The tree-tops lash the air with sounding whips;
Southward the clamorous sea-fowl wing their flight;
The hedges are all red with haws and hips,
The Hunter's Moon reigns empress of the night.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

September wins 'golden girl of the year',
bronze-beautified by summer's final fling;
gatherer of nature's gainful fare:
returns on our investment of the spring.

From Calendar Characters