Hello everybody, I am going to be very busy this coming fortnight as I am working Monday to Friday each week of this roster. I will try, to keep up my visiting and posting any time I can find a spare minute. Hope every one is OK out here in blogger land. I have posted some more of my favourite poetry hope you like it.
“Is there anybody there?” said the traveler,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grass
Of the forest’s ferny floor;
Above the traveler’s head;
And he smote on the door a second time,
“Is there anybody there?” he said.
No head from the leaf-fringed sill,
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
That dwelt in the lone house then,
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight,
To that voice from the world of men;
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely travelers call.
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
‘Neath the starred and leafy sky.
Even louder, and lifted his head……
“Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word he said,” he said.
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house,
From the one man left awake;
Walter de la Mare
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.
QUINQUIREME of Nineveh from distant Ophir,
Rowing home to haven in sunny
With a cargo of ivory,
And apes and peacocks,
Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.
Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,
Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,
With a cargo of diamonds,
Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.
Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack,
Butting through the Channel in the mad March days,
With a cargo of
Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.
Mrs Gold bloom is playing in the shallows of
With that there is another clap of thunder, another bolt of lightening and yet another wave crashes onto the beach depositing young Aaron unharmed and laughing, playing with his bucket and spade as if nothing had happened.
Mrs Goldbloom looks down at her grandson, looks up to the sky says to God, “He had a hat.”