TARRAGON & THYME

 I have always loved poetry and this one is one of my favourites.  However I knew relatively little about the poet - for further information please look here.   http://www.bbc.co.uk/wales/southeast/halloffame/arts/w_h_davies.shtml However, what resonated  with me on reading this article is that W H Davies was known as the "Tramp Poet".  As a little girl I lived in one of the lodge cottages to Gunthorpe Hall Estate nr Oakham.  The road the cottage was situated on was the main road to Uppingham, and I was frequently found playing in the garden and if anyone went by I used to stop and talk to them.  If it was a gentleman of the road and I liked and felt sorry for them I used to invite them in for a cuppa tea.  That is until my Dad was home one day and put stop to my "invitiations".  I was only about two years old at the time.  The innocence of childhood.   I hope you like the poem too. LEISURE What is this life...

I am very fond of the poems and works of Walter De La Mere and I particularly like this one as it speaks of spring and summer evenings and of the promise to come The Sunken Garden Walter de la Mare (1873 - 1958 / Kent / England) Speak not — whisper not; Here bloweth thyme and bergamot; Softly on the evening hour, Secret herbs their spices shower, Dark-spiked rosemary and myrrh, Lean-stalked, purple lavender; Hides within her bosom, too, All her sorrows, bitter rue. Breathe not — trespass not; Of this green and darkling spot, Latticed from the moon's beams, Perchance a distant dreamer dreams; Perchance upon its darkening air, The unseen ghosts of children fare, Faintly swinging, sway and sweep, Like lovely sea-flowers in its deep; While, unmoved, to watch and ward, 'Mid its gloomed and daisied sward, Stands with bowed and dewy head That one little leaden Lad.

Someone came a knocking at my wee small door Someone came a knocking, I'm sure, sure sure; I listened, I opened, I looked from left to right, But nought there was a stirring in the still dark night Only the busy beetle tap, tapping on the wall, Only from the forest the screech owl's call, Only the cricket whistling whilst the dew drops fall So I know not who came knocking at all at all at all By Walter De La Mere As a child I belonged to a local Church Community group known as the Pathfinders, a youth club of sorts and we were actively encouraged to learn new things via this association. One I remember was to learn the names and bring as many examples of wildflowers that we could - I won first prize for this a little ladybird book of wildflowers which I have to this day. Another time we were entered for a big area poetry competition for public speaking and I had to learn the above poem. I remember the day, I was only about 8 or 9 and we were shipped from Peterborough by bus,...

Slithers of sunshine through grey black clouds Spitting rain that lasts for hours Gentle breezes, gusty gales, Occasionally it even hails Golden sunlight gently creeping Through dell and dale forever seeking Every nook and cranny thats dark Opening up the cobwebby parts Painting a colourful picture in all Better than steel grey skies so dull Gentle heat and red hot days Shimmering gleaming suspended globe in space Providing heat to nurture growth Gently spitting, major weeping, globules of rain pit-pattering, beating Like a drum, tarum tarum toray Softly falling, slightly gleaming Sleet then Snowflakes shimmering light, Falling quicker, in a dither Like a feather pillow packed real tight Slowing fall out, nearly stopping Leaving virgin snow pristine Covered pavements, not a foot track Dustbins wearing fancy hats Children sledding,calling squealing Rushing down the slippery ramp C. Pattypan 2009

Come walk with me my friend a little way To keep each other company as we travel on our paths each day Through thick and thin through strife and many problems all untold Its the depth that varies, not the thickness nor the fold To smell the roses, love the light and dance the dance Be it a waltz a quick step or a quick romance There are days that are happy, full of smiles and grace Where sun shines lovingly and fleetingly upon your face A grin that glows and spreads panoramically from ear to ear Then there are days of gentle summer dripping rain Trickling, till puddles form again Or sunny soothing warm enchanted days With brilliant sunsets in the sky beautifully displayed Or gusty winds that gather speed apace Whether it be on a country path or polluted city road Or through a wood, or bending river or the lode Or lightning and thunder completely in your face Its the journey that defines who we are and what we we face Not the objects or scoring points or causing strife Its the lessons...

Head full of dreams Hearts full of love Listen to the strum Like a beating drum The closer they get The deeper the emotion The more expressive they get Like poetry in motion Bodies full of passion Held in deep caress Both in love no regrets Very picturesque

The Sunshine shines Through my leafy bower Where I sit and think Hour after Hour Self-contemplation is good in a sense But it can make you inactive You merely think, then sense Instead of getting to grips With the problem to solve And wading in to try and resolve Those problems that over time have evolved Break them down one by one piecemeal per se But easier to cope with day by day.

Dark as Velvet Creeps the Night Oer the City Then comes lamplight Flourescent beams Casting shadowy shapes Creating a very different landscape Looming shadows at every turn Desolate alleys And bare brick walls Echoing footsteps The click of a gate I'm nervous now But its only half past eight! Pattypan

The brownish leaves So fine, so small, Slither to the ground forlorn Like all other leaves from bush and tree Colours of different hues we see; Like bright jewels they catch your sight Rusty Reds and bright lime greens, Golden and brown in the suns bright beams Sunlight dancing on tattered flesh The wind blows up and then they dance Like an arabesque Twirling and fluttering In their plane of flight Eventually they are lost to sight pattypan