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#poetry #poems POETRY I love it !! please share a link in the comments below if you have a favourite poem or poet :O) I'd love to read them too.

I have many favourite poets so it's hard to pick just one, all depends on the mood you see ... ;)

I really like the humour in some poets work such as Spike Milligan & Wendy Cope, here's one of Spikes... ( who wrote more than just humorous poems )

... If I could write words

If I could write words
Like leaves on an autumn forest floor,
What a bonfire my letters would make.

If I could speak words of water,
You would drown when I said
"I love you."

more Spike here http://allpoetry.com/poems/by/Spike%20Milligan

X All my best Heidi
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Don’t knock at the door, little child,
I cannot let you in,
You know not what a world this is
Of cruelty and sin
Wait in the still eternity
Until I come to you,
The world is cruel, cruel, child,
I cannot let you in!
Don’t knock at my heart, little one,
I cannot bear the pain
Of turning deaf-ear to your call
Time and time again!
You do not know the monster men
Inhabiting the earth,
Be still, be still, my precious child,
I must not give you birth!


a poem by Georgia Douglas Johnson called "Black Woman"

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When the flush of a new-born sun fell first on Eden's green and gold,
Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mould;
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart,
Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves, "It's pretty, but is it Art?"



'The Conundrum Of The Workshops' by Rudyard Kipling
http://www.poetrycat.com/rudyard-kipling/the-conundrum-of-the-workshops

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To A Red Clover Blossom

Sweet bottle-shaped flower of lushy red,
Born when the summer wakes her warmest breeze,
Among the meadow's waving grasses spread,
Or 'neath the shade of hedge or clumping trees,
Bowing on slender stem thy heavy head;
In sweet delight I view thy summer bed,
And list the drone of heavy humble-bees
Along thy honey'd garden gaily led,
Down corn-field, striped balks, and pasture-leas.
Fond warmings of the soul, that long have fled,
Revive my bosom with their kindlings still,
As I bend musing o'er thy ruddy pride;
Recalling days when, dropt upon a hill,
I cut my oaten trumpets by thy side.

John Clare



57 different gifts available in my Redbubble Store, all created from this image of a clover flower against a summer blue sky

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💕🐕🐕🐕🐕
But I want to extol not the sweetness nor the placidity of the dog, but the wilderness out of which he cannot step entirely, and from which we benefit. For wilderness is our first home too, and in our wild ride into modernity with all its concerns and problems we need also all the good attachments to that origin that we can keep or restore. Dog is one of the messengers of that rich and still magical first world. The dog would remind us of the pleasures of the body with its graceful physicality, and the acuity and rapture of the senses, and the beauty of forest and ocean and rain and our own breath. There is not a dog that romps and runs but we learn from him.

The other dog—the one that all its life walks leashed and obedient down the sidewalk—is what a chair is to a tree. It is a possession only, the ornament of a human life. Such dogs can remind us of nothing large or noble or mysterious or lost. They cannot make us sweeter or more kind.

Only unleashed dogs can do that. They are a kind of poetry themselves when they are devoted not only to us but to the wet night, to the moon and the rabbit-smell in the grass and their own bodies leaping forward.

Mary Oliver — Dog Songs #

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the woods were lovely dark and deep... 

and scary, but it was ok because it was snowing - but not really ... 

another #autoawesomesnow  shot ;)) 

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of the easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost
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Love this from +Irene Riz
Every day

         there are 

about three stars 

explode

around us 

in the visibe world.

On a good day

we detect them all

and on a cloudy one

 we see none.


Today is one of those.

I am not going to the lab.

There is no point.

Instead I'll take my dog 

on a long walk

to the park.

We wil be thinking about the stars. 

They slowly burn and burst away 

giving birth to new atoms that are 

soundlessly flying across

the universe

to become a part

of someone's heart.

And if it is not romantic enough

the atoms will migrate all over the space

and maybe will end up meeting us

on the walk home

some time in another life.

IRiz November 2017

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Anything I can do for you?
Sure. Get me out of here.
Where to?
Anywhere I can see
a whoIe Iot of sky.
I can get through the days -
I even eat the food.
It`s amazing how much
you miss the sky.


script - the-firm

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Three years have passed
since I saw your face.
I wonder if I come to
you at night, in dreams.
In the day, as memories.
Do I haunt your hours
the way you haunted mine?
And I wonder if you see me
when you look at her.
If we have souls, they are
made of the love we share.
Undimmed by time.
Unbound by death.

script - movie=oblivion

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I am glad daylong for the gift of song,
For time and change and sorrow;
For the sunset wings and the world-end things
Which hang on the edge of to-morrow
I am glad for my heart whose gates apart
Are the entrance-place of wonders,
Where dreams come in from the rush and din
Like sheep from the rains and thunders


"Rhapsody," a poem by William Stanley Braithwaite:
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