John Dryden – nothing changes

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Trying to find comfort in an old poetry book for today as the decision about the EU is overwhelming the population and the media, I came across this by John Dryden. It is so apt and pertinent for today that I had to share it.

Vox Populi – John Dryden

He preaches to the crowd that power is lent,
But not conveyed, to kingly government;
That claims successive bear no bindings force;
That Coronation oaths are things of course;
Maintains the multitude can never err,
And sets the people in the papal chair.
The reason’s obvious: interest never lies;
The most have still the interest in their eyes;
The power is always theirs, and power is ever wise.
Almighty Crowd, thou shortenest all dispute;
Power is thy essence, Wit thy attribute!
Nor faith nor reason make thee at a stay,
Thou leapest o’er all eternal truths in thy Pindaric way!
Athens, no doubt, did righteously decide,
When Phocion and Socrates were tried:
As righteously they did those dooms repent;
Still they were wise, whatever way they went.
Crowds err not, though to both extremes they run;
To kill the father, and recall the Son.
Some think the fools were most as times went then,
But now the world’s o’er-stocked with prudent men.
The common cry is even religion’s test;
The Turk’s is, at Constantinople, best;
Idols in India, Popery at Rome;
And our own worship only true at home.
And true but for the time; tis hard to know
How long we please it shall continue so.
This side today, and that tomorrow burns;
So all are God-a’mighties in their turns.
A tempting doctrine, plausible and new;
What fools our fathers were, if this be true!

This was written in the 17th century – so apt for today.

Very best wishes – Denny Bradbury

Walter de la Mare and the sea

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As the sea moves endlessly, restlessly on so do the poems that try so hard to capture the essence of this mighty element. Here is one by Walter de la Mare:

Echoes

The sea laments
The livelong day,
Fringing its waste of sand;
Cries back the wind from the whispering shore-
No words I understand:
Yet echoes in my heart a voice,
As far, as near, as these-
The wind that weeps,
The solemn surge
Of strange and lonely seas.

Very best wishes – Denny Bradbury

Re-finding Yeats

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I haven’t read my books of W B Yeats poems for a while and find myself drawn in once more by his insight and intrigued by his observations. I wrote a similar poem about the tethering of  birds of prey for man’s enjoyment. Here Yeats speaks from the hawk’s point of view:

From The Hawk – W B Yeats

 ‘I will not be clapped in a hood,
Nor a cage, nor alight upon wrist,
Now I have learnt to be proud
Hovering over the wood
In the broken mist
Or tumbling cloud.’

‘What tumbling cloud did you cleave,
Yellow-eyed hawk of the mind,
Last evening’? that I, who had sat
Dumbfounded before a knave,
Should give to my friend
A pretence of wit.’

This is my offering on a similar topic:

Fly Free (be not halt for me)

Halt by jesse, bell and piece of rope:
Three hunters tethered
Of freedom in this misty land
They have no hope.

People gawp around the pen –
They stare and gape – and when ’tis done,
Will walk forgetting in the sun
Proud hawk
and feisty falcon.

Eagle owl is now the star:
Wings outstretched, Nature’s majesty,
Flies four yards to gather in
Day-old meat
Held out on sorry hand.

Spectacle is all they are –
Dependent on man
Who loves, but wrongly
Misguided gaoler.

best wishes for a kinder world – Denny Bradbury

Singing In Hope

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Following my morning walk in the brisk spring light I felt an overwhelming sympathy with the tiny birds that flew in and out of the hedgerow:

Singing In Hope

Tiny finches carol away trying to attract

morning sun and unsuspecting insects

showing off to their mate;

punching above their weight in song

puffing out chests in sheer delight,

darkness recedes – here comes the light!

Best wishes for a day filled with light – Denny Bradbury

Keats and The Grasshopper …

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Recently asked what inspires my writing, I couldn’t think of a reasonable answer as it is everyone and everything, every occasion and none. I found this charming sonnet from Keats and realised he might quite have felt the same, but perhaps we shouldn’t analyse too much just enjoy the moment:

On the Grasshopper and the Cricket – John Keats

The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper’s – he takes the lead
In summer luxury,-he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening , when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket’s song in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The Grasshopper’s among some grassy hills.

 

Best wishes – Denny Bradbury