Littlestone
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Nature's Questioning
May 20, 2006, 22:26
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Thanks for that lovely poem phoenix.
The title of this thread is Megalithic Poems and, as far as possible, we try to keep poems that appear here related to megalithic themes (so as not to get our wrists slapped by the TMA eds ;-)
Also, as Nigel pointed out in an earlier post, it would help if sub-headings fell under the poem's title or the poet's name. For example I've sub-headed this post Nature's Questioning - it just makes it that much easier for folks to find and comment on a particular poem without having to scroll through some 260 posts entitled Megalithic Poems to find the one poem they want to talk about.
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Littlestone
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Edited Oct 09, 2006, 11:28
Eugene Guillevic: Carnac
May 21, 2006, 16:20
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Carnac
From the midst of the menhirs
it seems that the world
Was born right here
And here returns.
Eugene Guillevic
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morfe
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Littlestone!
May 27, 2006, 16:57
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Sorry Littlestone, been out of my head with other things for a good while, so was using the search facility see what I'd missed.
To answer your question re the pic...of course you may.
Thanks so much for asking. Credit it 'morfe & scott' please.
Hope it works out nice.
~o~
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Littlestone
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Calling morfe. A fallen giant
May 27, 2006, 19:39
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Thanks morfe - that' great! Will let you know when it's up on Meg' Poems :-)
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Littlestone
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Re: Littlestone!
May 28, 2006, 17:34
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Hi morfe.
Your image <b>A fallen giant</b> is now up on http://megalithicpoems.blogspot.com/ (3rd image down).
Hope you like it and thanks again for your OK to use it.
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Littlestone
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Edited Oct 09, 2006, 11:28
Silverfox: A warm hand reaching out
Jun 21, 2006, 21:15
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A good night under the stars at Avebury there last night.
Old friends met and a big ground sheet shared between seven.
A whisper here and there.
A wisdom well-spoken.
A warm hand reaching out to cold fingers
lost until then in a barren dream now gone away.
A clear and brimming glass of flame-thrown champagne.
A lost scotch in the dew-drenched grass of an expectant morning.
Shooting stars with signs instead of the reticent tinkling of silent ice.
And then early partings
chilled, fulfilled, quiet and sleep-surrounded.
Dew-drenched happiness wished to loved ones for another year.
Dreams meanwhile to tickle one's mind-edges and stretch one's fingertips.
Until a colder, quieter sun sifts itself amongst our ancient stones.
Silverfox
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Littlestone
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Edited Oct 09, 2006, 11:27
Wordsworth: Long Meg and Her Daughters
Jun 25, 2006, 15:44
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The Monument Commonly Called Long Meg and Her Daughters, Near the River Eden
A weight of awe, not easy to be borne,
Fell suddenly upon my Spirit -- cast
From the dread bosom of the unknown past,
When first I saw that family forlorn.
Speak Thou, whose massy strength and stature scorn
The power of years -- pre-eminent, and placed
Apart, to overlook the circle vast --
Speak, Giant-mother! tell it to the Morn
While she dispels the cumbrous shades of Night;
Let the Moon hear, emerging from a cloud;
At whose behest uprose on British ground
That Sisterhood, in hieroglyphic round
Forth-shadowing, some have deemed, the infinite
The inviolable God, that tames the proud!
William Wordsworth
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Littlestone
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Edited Oct 09, 2006, 11:27
Wordsworth:..Long Meg and Her Daughters
Jul 05, 2006, 12:50
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The Monument Commonly Called Long Meg and Her Daughters, Near the River Eden
A weight of awe, not easy to be borne,
Fell suddenly upon my Spirit -- cast
From the dread bosom of the unknown past,
When first I saw that family forlorn.
Speak Thou, whose massy strength and stature scorn
The power of years -- pre-eminent, and placed
Apart, to overlook the circle vast --
Speak, Giant-mother! tell it to the Morn
While she dispels the cumbrous shades of Night;
Let the Moon hear, emerging from a cloud;
At whose behest uprose on British ground
That Sisterhood, in hieroglyphic round
Forth-shadowing, some have deemed, the infinite
The inviolable God, that tames the proud!
William Wordsworth
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Littlestone
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Hyperion: Book II
Jul 05, 2006, 13:02
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Oops, done Long Meg - should have been Hyperion :-) Keats is writing about Castlerigg by the way.
Hyperion: Book II
Scarce images of life, one here, one there,
Lay vast and edgeways; like a dismal cirque
Of Druid stones, upon a forlorn moor,
When the chill rain begins at shut of eve,
In dull November, and their chancel vault,
The Heaven itself, is blinded throughout night.
Each one kept shroud, nor to his neighbour gave
Or word, or look, or action of despair.
John Keats
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moss
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Re: Hyperion: Book II
Jul 05, 2006, 13:39
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The second poem is very good as well..
what about Thomas Hardy's melancholy tone; -Tess - the final chapter at Stonehenge at the slaughter stone,as the police close in on Tess and Angel....
"Temple of the Winds" The wind played upon the edifice, producing a booming note, like the note of some gigantic one-stringed harp...
In the far north-east sky he could see between the pillars a level streak of light. The uniform concavity of black cloud was lifting bodily like the lid of a pot, letting in at the earth's edges the coming day, against which the towering monoliths and trilithions began to be blackly defined....
and
The band of silver paleness along the east horizon made even the distant parts of the Great Plain appear dark and near; and the whole enormous landscape bore that impress of reserve, taciturnity and hesitation which is usual before day. The eastward pillars and their architraves stood up blackly against the light, and the great flame-shaped Sun-stone beyond them; and the Stone of Sacrifice midway. Presently the night wind died out, and the quivering little pools in the cup-like hollows of the stones lay still...
He must have experienced Stonehenge at dawn as well, before the solstice makers of today.
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