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The aim is to enjoy and share each others
favourite poets and poems. The mix is
eclectic from Pam Ayres to Tennison, from Spike Milligan to
Ezra Pound, from Wordsworth to Blake ..........
We
now
meet on the
First Wednesday
of each month in Hullavington village hall from 2 to 4 pm,
If you like you can just pop in for a session to see if you like it
and then take it from there.
One thing is for sure, you would be very welcome |
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My mother bore me in the southern
wild,
And I am black, but oh! my soul is white.
White as an angel is the English child,
But I am black as if bereaved of light.
My mother taught me underneath a tree,
And, sitting down before the heat of day,
She took me on her lap and kissed me,
And pointing to the east began to say:
.................. More
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Matilda told such Dreadful Lies,
It made one Gasp and Stretch one's Eyes;
Her Aunt, who, from her Earliest Youth,
Had kept a Strict Regard for Truth,
Attempted to Believe Matilda:
The effort very nearly killed her,
And would have done so, had not She
Discovered this Infirmity.
........................(more)
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There is a Reaper whose name is
Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
``Shall I have nought that is fair?'' saith he;
``Have nought but the bearded grain?
Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me,
I will give them all back again.''
............(more) |
