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First Published: September 24: 2015
The Humanion

 

 

The Humanion Poetry

 

 

Poetry Arkive

 

Poetry Poetrimore October The Poetry Month
 
Poetre London Poetry Festival Poetry Pearl Poets' Letter Archive World Poetry

 

VII London Poetry Festival 2019: October 14-15

 

 

 

The VI London Poetry Festival 2017: October 14-15: Saturday-Sunday at The London Notting Hill St John's Church

VI London Poetry Festival 2017: October 14-15

Let there be surging seas of weaving coral lights
Let there be flights of light-lifting choral songs
And sun-sure-rise of larks of sublime joys to seize
Let us meet and greet sit and read as all hearts
Blend in and mend on and mind our dreams

October 14-15: Sat-Sun: 19:00-23:00

Coming Together: Claire Askew

In the early days, when your feet still struggled,
each morning, to find themselves, you inhabited a city
that only made sense on paper. I, the flitting
white cane that guided you, steered us
through espresso daydreams on yawning streets,
beneath bus-shelters Ė we were both blind Ė
doe-eyed and awe-full among stricken gallery frames.

Fairies and Fireflies: Rachel Finn

Chariot-bearing heroes race the landscape
For this is make believe land
And you are my centre-piece

The world is essentially
A tableau of glitter
Of love and adventure, forever and ever
Where a feeling spans the universe
And you make my dream
I like to believe
I fall and I see

Water Cycle: Helen Long

vapours of the voice
formation and reflection
understanding parcels crystallise

kaleidoscopic patterns
of milieu emerge
memories and faith its self repeats

Out of Interwoven Mess: Kerry-Fleur Schleifer

Shadows mingle
and create an interwoven mess.

'I am your lover.' he said,
caught by the half shadow, half light.

'Will you wax and wane upon
my motionless
silhouette?'

Floating beside shoulders: Philip Ruthen

To make you
of memory
is all I have
after being close enough
to kiss your tousled smile

Sun and Moon: Holly New

What am I supposed to say?
Cover it up by moving you in the way,
Then replace you when Iím afraid
Didnít you know, Iím not the same

Serve me and do to impress,
But I praise only to repress,
You remind me of a love that was lost
Iíve been turned to ice, whatever I touch is frost.

Castle Rabbits, Edinburgh: Aiko Harman

Down the slope of castle crag, a family of cottontails
duck into the close of fallen rock, a warren
of underground homes. At dawn, as the tourist buses
line the castle-side of Johnston Terrace, the rabbits rest.

Jackdaws caw and peck at the after-trail of hare.
Men in dark suits sit at benches, face the fortress
on lunch breaks, stare blankly at mobile phones,
the last pages of a book Ė have forgotten the castle,
the rabbits, in all their daily toxic repetition.

East to Nowhere: Briony Dennis

Take me into the earth.
Smelling the dark soil.
Breathing the dew-damp dark.

Will I have left samsara then?
Every sign representing another
and another and neither representing
a real thing.

Take me back.
There is no going back
or forwards
or standing still,
there is no direction.
Merely correction,
rumbling in these catacombs.
The truth is now. This second. This instant,
the heart of mind, is brought home
in an instant, by the drowning of the telephone,
the destruction of the doorbell,
the demolition of 2.4 and the dinner party.
It's brought home for an instantÖ

Somewhere along the way to finding something,
to keep us from thinking about that which we should not lose,
whilst we distracted ourselves from that which we were losing.

We forgot to breathe.
To bring it home.

Sit, as the world wheels about you,
Ride the bus, as the universe flounders
and what will we leave?
Empty promises and shiny cars,
we didn't so much as look at the world,
or touch it with a curious finger.
Yet.

|| September 19: 2017 || ά. The VI London Poetry Festival 2017: October 14-15: Saturday-Sunday: 19:00-23:00. Poetry and Music Festival. The Festival started in 2005 and went on for five years; the fifth being held in 2009. This year the Festival resumes its celebrations of the word and the poetry and music in it so much so that that it contains the perform for the human soul to give it room enough as to be able to flow like the Universe. This event is FREE to the poetry and music lovers but a donation will be expected to help support the necessary costs. The Festival's time is between 19:00 and 23:00 but actual readings and musical performances will take place 19:30 and 22:30. But Tickets MUST be Booked.

There is a Cafe within the Church where food and drinks are served. Those wanting to have a meal can do so at the Cafe. For all the poets, musicians, performers, musical groups and all those, who love poetry are invited to join us. Poets and musicians wanting to take part, please, get in touch: editor at thehumanion.com. Volunteers: The Festival needs volunteers. Join us and let us celebrate the word. For further on the Festival, please, visit the Festival Website. Normally, the Festival was held for four-evenings. Because we are resuming the Festival after a break, this year, the Festival is beginning with two-evenings. Readmore

 

Prometheus Unbound : P. B. Shelley

Monarch of Gods and Daemons, and spirits
But One, who throng those bright and rolling worlds
Which Thou and I alone of living things
Behold with sleepless eyes! regard this Earth
Made multitudinous with thy slaves, whom thou
Requitest for knee-worship, prayer, and praise,
And toil, and hecatombs of broken hearts,
With fear and self-contempt and barren hope.
Whilst me, who am thy foe, eyeless in hate,
Hast thou made reign and triumph, to thy scorn,
O'er mine own misery and thy vain revenge.
Three thousand years of sleep-unsheltered hours,
And moments of aye divided by keen pangs
Till they seemed years, torture and solitude,
Scorn and despair, - these are mine empire:-
More glorious far than that which thou surveyest
From thine unenvied throne, O Mighty God!
Almighty, had I deigned to share that same
Of thine ill tyranny, and hung not here
Nailed to this wall of eagle-baffling mountain,
Black, wintry, dead, unmeasured; without herb,
Insect, or beast, or shape or sound of life.
As me! alas! pain, pain ever, for ever!

No change, no pause, no hope! Yet I endure.
I ask the Earth, have not the mountains felt?
I ask Heaven, the all-beholding Sun,
Has it not seen? The Sea, in storm or calm,
Heaven's ever-changing Shadow, spread below,
Has its deaf waves not heard my agony?
Ah me! alas, pain, pain ever, for ever!

Measure for Measure : William Shakespeare

Could great men thunder
As Jove himself does? Jove would never be quiet,
For every pelting petty officer
Would use his heaven for thunder
Nothing but thunder. Merciful Heaven,
Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt,
Splits the unwedgeable and gnarled oak
Than the soft myrtle. But man, proud men,
Dress'd in little brief authority,
Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd
His glassy essence. like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven
As makes the angels weep; who, with our spleens,
Would all themselves laugh mortal.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning : Aurora Leigh

My Heart's In The Highlands : Robert Burns

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth;
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. 

Paradise Lost : John Milton

Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing, heavenly Muse, that, on the secret
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire
That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed
In the beginning how the heavens and earth
Rose out of chaos: or, if Zion hill
Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God, I thence
Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
And chiefly, thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer
Before all temples the upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for thou know'st; thou from the first
Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread
Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast abyss,
And mad'st it pegnant: what in me is dark
Illumine, what is low raise and support:
That, to the height of this great argument,
I may assert eternal providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.

 

Bright Star : John Keats

 

 

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.

W. B. Yeats : The Lake Isle of Innisfree

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night: Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
 

Happy Birthday William Shakespeare

Sonnet 18: Shall I Compare Thee

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

 

400 Hundreds Years Since Your Passing But You are as Alive in Your Work as You Ever Were and So Shall You Continue to Be. Therefore, On Your Birthday We Read Your Sonnet 18 William Shakespeare

Happy Birthday William Shakespeare  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On Your Birthday William Shakespeare Shall I Compare Thee?

Poets' Letter Magazine Archives Poetry Pearl

Katherine Michaud

Sharon Harriott

Claire Askew

Isobel Dixon

Sara L. Russell

Victoria Valentine

Leanne O'Sullivan

Victoria Heath

Briony Dennis

Girija Shettar

Mary Ann Lily Philip Ruthen

 Molara Wood 

Isabel White

Aiko Harman

Laura Bartholomew

Bryan Oliver

Deema K Shihabi Nathalie Handal

Laura Solomon

The Candle Won't Blow Out Celebration of William Shakespeare 2016

There is no better way to celebrate William Shakespeare than reading his life's works

 

 

Hamlet

What a piece of work
is a ''man''! How noble in reason! how infinite in
faculties! in form and moving, how express and
admirable! in action, how like an angel! in
apprehension, how like a god! the beauty of the
world! The paragon of animals!

Sonnet

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O, no, it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand'ring bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

400 years since the passing of William Shakespeare this year, yet he seems as young by as many years...................

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Candle Won't Blow Out Celebration of William Shakespeare 2016

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

|| All copyrights @ The Humanion: London: England: United Kingdom || Contact: The Humanion: editor at thehumanion.com || Regine Humanics Foundation Ltd: reginehumanics at reginehumanicsfoundation.com || Editor: Munayem Mayenin || First Published: September 24: 2015 ||
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