Sweet Things
And to wrap up this session of posting, a little favorite piece of reading of mine. This poem by Dylan Thomas:
"If I were tickled by the rub of love"
If I were tickled by the rub of love,
A rooking girl who stole me for her side,
Broke through her straws, breaking my bandaged string,
If the red tickle as the cattle calve
Still set to scratch a laughter from my lung,
I would not fear the apple nor the flood
Nor the bad blood of spring.
...
That's just the opening stanza, but if you like what you read, click here for the rest of the poem. I can't read it enough times. Hope you feel the same.
1 comment:
Enjoyed reading this Thompson poem, so thought I'd fire one right back. In the spirit of the ol' MIC contest, can you guess who wrote it?
Among the hills a meteorite
Lies huge; and moss has overgrown,
And wind and rain with touches light
Made soft, the contours of the stone.
Thus easily can Earth digest
A cinder of sidereal fire,
And make her translunary guest
The native of an English shire.
Nor is it strange these wanderers
Find in her lap their fitting place,
For every particle that's hers
Came at first from outer space.
All that is Earth has once been sky;
Down from the sun of old she came,
Or from some star that travelled by
Too close to his entangling flame.
Hence, if belated drops yet fall
From heaven, on these her plastic power
Still works as once it worked on all
The glad rush of the golden shower.
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