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Exmoor

Lost aboard the roll of Kodac-
olor that was to have super-
seded all need to remember
Somerset were: a large flock

of winter-bedcover-thick-
pelted sheep up on the moor;
a stile, a church spire,
and an excess, at Porlock,

of tenderly barbarous antique
thatch in tandem with flower-
beds, relentlessly pictur-
esque, along every sidewalk;

a millwheel; and a millbrook
running down brown as beer.
Exempt from the disaster.
however, as either too quick

or too subtle to put on rec-
ord, were these: the flutter
of, beside the brown water,
with a butterfly-like flick

of fan-wings, a bright black-
and-yellow wagtail; at Dulver-
ton on the moor, the flavor
of the hot toasted teacake

drowning in melted butter
we had along with a bus-tour-
load of old people; the driver

's way of smothering every r
in the wool of a West Countr-
y diphthong, and as a Somer-

set man, the warmth he had for
the high, wild, heather-
dank wold he drove us over.

poem by Amy Clampitt
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Related quotes

5. The Old Telly

I remember our first TV set
Large box and chunky brown
I remember the man who brought it
And Ariel that sat like a crown

I remember his simple instructions
Switch it off if it starts to get hot
I remember it sat in the corner
With a large tree like plant in a pot

I remember most programs were night-time
And the bulk of those were the news
I remember those nights at the Palladium
When theTiller Girls blew our dads fuse

I remember that most of our viewing
Came from someone they called Emily Moor
I remember the set caused much interest
When our mates all came round for a tour

I remember the black and white test card
Lines in squares with a lower black slot
I remember we watched till it finished
Stayed awake till we’d all seen the do

poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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A Song Of Exmoor

The Forest above and the Combe below,
On a bright September morn!
He's the soul of a clod who thanks not God
That ever his body was born!
So hurry along, the stag's afoot,
The Master's up and away!
Halloo! Halloo! we'll follow it through
From Bratton to Porlock Bay!

So hurry along, the stag's afoot,
The Master's up and away!
Halloo! Halloo! we'll follow it through
From Bratton to Porlock Bay!

Hark to the tufters' challenge true,
'Tis a note that the red-deer knows!
His courage awakes, his covert he breaks,
And up for the moor he goes!
He's all his rights and seven on top,
His eye's the eye of a king,
And he'll beggar the pride of some that ride
Before he leaves the ling!

Here comes Antony bringing the pack,
Steady! he's laying them on!
By the sound of their chime you may tell that it's time
To harden your heart and be gone.
Nightacott, Narracott, Hunnacott's passed,
Right for the North they race:
He's leading them straight for Blackmoor Gate,
And he's setting a pounding pace!

We're running him now on a breast-high scent,
But he leaves us standing still;
When we swing round by Westland Pound
He's far up Challacombe Hill.
The pack are a string of struggling ants,
The quarry's a dancing midge,
They're trying their reins on the edge of the Chains
While he's on Cheriton Ridge.

He's gone by Kittuck and Lucott Moor,
He's gone by Woodcock's Ley;
By the little white town he's turned him down,
And he's soiling in open sea.
So hurry along, we'll both be in,
The crowd are a parish away!
We're a field of two, and we've followed it through
From Bratton to Porlock Bay!

So hurry along, we'll both be in,
The crowd are a parish away!
We're a field of two, and we've followed it through
From Bratton to Porlock Bay!

poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Beast Of Codden Moor

fear rides the beast of codden moor
the men are hunting the beast of
codden moor

it run, s as fast as legs will carry
it, s breath steam, s on air so crisp
it, s heart beats a tempo of it, s own
faster faster faster faster faster
you beast of codden moor

but men ride horse, s fast as wind
to catch a beast on codden moor
that falls and tumbles through the snow
upon codden moor

it raises a head of strengh and beauty
a horn of bone lies within the head
of a beast of codden moor

death comes quick as spears stab down
as swords swish as they find virgin flesh
on this beast of codden moor

poem by Graham Russell
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The Wild Geese

Wild geese fly overhead
In the wild Autumn weather.
Souls of the newly-dead
Crying and flying together.

Home from the last great fight,
The souls of the Irish farin'
With a wild heart in the night,
A grey eye turned to Erin.

High and high in the sky,
From the red fields of slaughter
Ever they fly and cry
For the brown bog, the grey water.

Wild geese in the wild even,
Steady and strong their flight,
Their beds are made in Heaven,
All of the down white.

They have forgone that bliss
Till they have seen once more
The little land of peace,
Green and bright as of yore.

High o'er the sheep and cattle,
The bogs and the mountains lone,
The souls new-home from the battle
Cry their love and are flown.

poem by Katharine Tynan
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Wind

Oh the wold, the wold,
Oh the wold, the wold!
Oh the winter stark,
Oh the level dark,
On the wold, the wold, the wold!

Oh the wold, the wold,
Oh the wold, the wold!
Oh the mystery
Of the blasted tree
On the wold, the wold, the wold!

Oh the wold, the wold,
Oh the wold, the wold!
Oh the owlet's croon
To the haggard moon,
To the waning moon,
On the wold, the wold, the wold!

Oh the wold, the wold,
Oh the wold, the wold!
Oh the fleshless stare,
Oh the windy hair,
On the wold, the wold, the wold!

Oh the wold, the wold,
Oh the wold, the wold!
Oh the cold sigh,
Oh the hollow cry,
The lean and hollow cry,
On the wold, the wold, the wold!

Oh the wold, the wold,
Oh the wold, the wold!
Oh the white sight,
Oh the shuddering night,
The shivering shuddering night,
On the wold, the wold, the wold!

poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Ballad of Another Ophelia

Oh the green glimmer of apples in the orchard,
Lamps in a wash of rain!
Oh the wet walk of my brown hen through the stackyard,
Oh tears on the window pane!

Nothing now will ripen the bright green apples,
Full of disappointment and of rain,
Brackish they will taste, of tears, when the yellow dapples
Of autumn tell the withered tale again.

All round the yard it is cluck, my brown hen,
Cluck, and the rain-wet wings,
Cluck, my marigold bird, and again
Cluck for your yellow darlings.

For the grey rat found the gold thirteen
Huddled away in the dark,
Flutter for a moment, oh the beast is quick and keen,
Extinct one yellow-fluffy spark.

Once I had a lover bright like running water,
Once his face was laughing like the sky;
Open like the sky looking down in all its laughter
On the buttercups, and the buttercups was I.

What, then, is there hidden in the skirts of all the blossom?
What is peeping from your wings, oh mother hen?
’Tis the sun who asks the question, in a lovely haste for wisdom;
What a lovely haste for wisdom is in men!

Yea, but it is cruel when undressed is all the blossom,
And her shift is lying white upon the floor,
That a grey one, like a shadow, like a rat, a thief, a rain-storm,
Creeps upon her then and gathers in his store.

Oh the grey garner that is full of half-grown apples,
Oh the golden sparkles laid extinct!
And oh, behind the cloud-sheaves, like yellow autumn dapples,
Did you see the wicked sun that winked!

poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Ode to a Yellow Butterfly

The Yellow Butterfly

The butterfly rested on the ground
Near the spot of water it had found
A place where a refreshing bit
Of moisture would surely be
Necessary for this flight of fantasy
A flight over many miles
Of deserts, mountains, and steamy tracks
To be passed beneath it on its way
For a date with others in Nature's sway.

With a flutter of the wings
A pumping action begins
That moves the refreshing dip
To recharge the butterfly for the trip.
Then once again the process begins
With a drum roll of spreading wings
The coiled proboscis carefully put in place
And six legs touching earth in a final embrace,
Waiting for a gentle breeze
To lift him above the trees
And off to places yet unknown
The yellow butterfly goes alone.

poem by Sidi J. Mahtrow
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Red Butterfly

Watch, see, with glee
flitting fast past a tree
Children chase, hear their cry
'Flutter by,
butterfly'

Red as sunset on the beach,
somehow always out of reach
Velvet wings whisper, wry
'Flutter by,
butterfly'

Blood heart, ruby gem
Floats in a secluded glen
So still lands, no leaf awry
'Flutter by,
butterfly'

Flame-wings on bough so green
as in close, they do lean
So still a crimson does it lie
'Flutter by,
butterfly'

Vivid red, in spring the led
Antennae tip on scarlet head
Whirl up to a diamond sky
*butterfly,
flutter, bye'

poem by Kathleen Grigsby
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Oh why butterfly?

His wings of jade and amber,
Wink, like gilt pennants in the sun.
Oh why butterfly?
Just flutter on by.

As he twists and he tumbles,
He sheds tears of childish glee.
Oh why butterfly?
Escape to the sky.

Dark nights are ever nearer,
But he sings his carefree song.
Oh why butterfly?
For winter is nigh

The frost set hard on my butterfly,
His glowing eyes were lifeless.
His beautiful wings lost all their shine.
Oh why butterfly?
I hear your cry.

-9.10pm 2nd January 2001, age 14 -

poem by Amy J Richardson
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The Ballad Of Go-go Brown

If thats why they call him go-go brown
Hed say (? )
If thats why some people put him down
Hed say it costs his name as go-go brown
All the girls in town
Used to follow him around
Go-go brown
Go-go brown
All the boys would sing
Were gonna make this go-go king
Go-go brown
Go-go brown
Go-go brown is the smartest guy by far
A brand new girlfriend and a brand new car
The girls all thought that he was heaven-sent
one day this boy will be a president
All the church bells ring
When that go-go used to sing
Go-go brown
Go-go brown
Here the people say
hes gonna be someone someday
Go-go brown
Go-go brown
Then one day some bad men came to call
And go-go knew its time to take a fall
Hes been smoking since the age of ten
He took some crack, he sold some smack
And now hes in the pen
All the girls in town
Used to follow him around
Go-go brown
Go-go brown
All the boys would sing
Were gonna make this go-go king
Go-go brown
Go-go brown
He raised them all
Yes he do
He faced the wall
Yes he did
He stood tall
Yes he do
Who did he let down
Just one man thats go-go brown (? )
All the church bells ring
When that go-go used to sing
Go-go brown
Go-go brown
Here the people say
hes gonna be someone someday
Go-go brown
Go-go brown
All the girls in town
Used to follow him around
Go-go brown
Go-go brown
All the boys would sing
Were gonna make that go-go king
Go-go brown
Go-go brown
All the girls in town
Used to follow him around
Go-go brown
Go-go brown

song performed by by Heaven 17
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Clap your wings Butterfly

Clap your wings
Butterfly, Butterfly
Clap your wings
Flutter by and fly

Your rainbow flower skin.
Strikes out glaringly beautiful in the sun
Whenever you take off the land and run
Your delicate beauty alone is breathtaking
Beautiful feelings inside of me keep awaking
When you clap your wings and fly

Butterfly sing with me
Beneath any tree
Clap your wings
Flap your wings
Flutter by and fly
Let's look up to the skies
Together on a lovely summer day
Before you decide to say goodbye!

2006 - Sylvia Chidi

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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When Winter Suddenly Comes

When winter suddenly comes
year upon year I am caught by it,
when there is an end to growth,

when sudden change in age
strip branches, let's them hang lonely,
when winter suddenly comes

and it seems as if all of nature is dying,
when you long back to summer,
when there is an end to growth,

when with the ripe every spring flower wilts
and that an end is coming scares you,
when winter suddenly comes

you are astonished by the yellow-brown creeping death,
when even the bright bird songs wither,
when there is an end to growth,

and subtle even death claims its own property,
after years of decline of a life,
when winter suddenly comes,
when there is an end to growth.

poem by Gert Strydom
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At the Moor

Wanderer in the blackened wind. Dry reeds whisper
in the stillness of the moor. A column of savage birds
ensues in the dawning sky.
Over murky waters they cross.

Uproar. From the crumbling shack
the black wings of rot flutter up.
Crippled birches sigh in the wind.

Evening in the forsaken tavern. The way home is shrouded
by the tender sadness of the grazing herd.
Night becomes manifest: toads emerge from the silver water.

Translated by Eric Plattner & Joseph Suglia

……………………………………………………………………

Am Moor

Wanderer im schwarzen Wind; leise flüstert das dürre Rohr
In der Stille des Moors. Am grauen Himmel
Ein Zug von wilden Vögeln folgt;
Quere über finsteren Wassern.

Aufruhr. In verfallener Hütte
Aufflattert mit schwarzen Flügeln die Fäulnis;
Verkrüppelte Birken seufzen im Wind.

Abend in verlassener Schenke. Den Heimweg umwittert
Die sanfte Schwermut grasender Herden,
Erscheinung der Nacht: Kröten tauchen aus silbernen Wassern.

poem by Georg Trakl
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Yellow Butterfly.

Gently flapping it's thin wings,
A butterfly lands upon my fingers,
And upon a soft breeze it leaves,
Yet it's delicate presence lingers.

Sunny yellow rimmed it's wings.
With dark daffodil yellow rings,
Pure coal black traced it's veins,
It's image - in my mind - remains.

Such a soft and delicate brush,
Of a butterflies wings, so plush,
The softest touch of it's tiny legs,
Lifted my spirits - well, the dregs.

That butterfly, that passed me by,
The messenger between land and sky,
Has stayed lodged in my mind,
I'll never meet another of it's kind,

A single butterfly, while I was alone,
Came to me and my world was thrown,
But I'll never forget that yellow butterfly,
That left me when I let out a soft sigh,

A soft sigh that came from me,
Swept my butterfly, set it free,
This is my butterfly that I'll remember,
My butterfly from last September.

poem by Rayne Goddard
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Before' The Beans

Take one turkey butt,
And put it in boiling water.
Make sure you had put in olive oil first.
With a little butter, oregano and basil leaves.

Then add two tablespoons of soy sauce.
A pinch or two of brown sugar, salt and red pepper.
20 minutes!
That's all you want to give it 'before' the beans!

Speckled Butter Beans.
With kidney and black eye peas.
Add them with sliced carrots and celery.

Turn down the heat,
To medium for approximately 45minutes.
And serve this with brown rice.
If you are into chicken...
Fried wings would be delicious.

For the better of the best tastes,
The 'smoked' turkey butt is great for that!

NOTE: 'Yes' this is my own original recipe.
Enjoy!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Jackie Brown

Is this your life, jackie brown?
Poorly educated and forced to live on the poor side of town.
Is this your daughter, jackie brown?
This pretty little girl
In the worn out clothes
That have been hand-me down.
Is this your wife, jackie brown?
With sad blue eyes, walking on eggshells so you dont see her frown.
Is this your family, jackie brown?
Dream of vacationing on a mountain stream
And giving the world more than it gave you.
What ugly truths freedom brings
And it hasnt been very kind to you.
Is this your life, jackie brown?
Is this your meal, jackie brown?
Barely enough, Ive seen people throw away more than this out.
Is this your home, jackie brown?
This three room shack
With no running water
And the bathroom out back.
Is this your grave, jackie brown?
This little piece of limestone that says another desperate man took
Himself out.
Is this your dream, jackie brown?
Going nowhere and nowhere fast
We shame ourselves to watch people like this live.
But who gives a damn about jackie brown?
Just another lazy man who couldnt take what was his.
One helluva life jackie brown.
Forevermore, jackie brown
Amen and amen - jackie brown?

song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Over the Hill

What is over the hill,
I've always wondered and I wonder still.

Are there fields of meadows sweet,
Or forests for the eye to greet,
Are there cottages and farms,
All so quaint with country charms.

Or are there seas and sandy coves,
Lofty cliffs and sheep in droves,
Lakes with water gleaming bright,
Willows weeping at the sight.

Could there be a river wide,
With boats all moored along each side,
Or a canal which peacefully meanders,
Past boathouses with their verandas.

Perhaps there is a town of people,
A large stone church with bell and steeple,
Lots of traffic on the go,
People rushing to and fro.

Maybe there are valleys to discover,
With wonderful birds like the wagtail and plover,
Sparrowhawks and buzzards too,
All these would be splendid to view.

There might be a mansion great,
Built within a large estate,
With room to fish and hunt and shoot,
Such a lifestyle would be a hoot.

But it may not be greener over the hill,
We always think maybe it will,
We are left to guess at what things might have been,
And all we can do is imagine the scene.

But perhaps we are happier where we are,
And not to let all our wild thoughts mar,
What we already have, which is pretty okay,
I think you'd agree, what do you say?

poem by Ernestine Northover
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Butterfly

Oh, butterfly, butterfly,
why do you flutter by?
Why can not you fly straight,
and have any weapons to fight?
Where do you get so much colour?
Can I buy one, how much in dollar?

Why do you have two lives?
Can I get one, please!
I want to transform mine,
To overcome human crisis,
Through the mysterious morphosis.
I want to be you, O! Butterfly,
From flower to flower to flutter by.

poem by Abdul Wahab
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Alone on holiday away from you

White, red and yellow lilies
grow rampant and wild
next to the train tracts
between Somerset West
and the Strand
where I am on the train
from Bellville

and there’s a
white-hot sun that burns
high from above

and I can smell the sea
while I look
at the magical
dark blue water,

but you will not like
the cold water
and the light breeze
that blows today

and here and there
there are people
sending kites
into the air

and I see them
hanging flapping above
while a few
diving down with speed

and there’s sandpaper
in the beach wind
that hits me with sea sand
and the waves
rollick like wild horses

and in the distance
I see the road turning
past Gordonsbay
and I am alone on holiday
away from you.