fileg (fileg) wrote,
fileg
fileg

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april is national poetry month

thought about sharing some of my old stuff, but I decided to share these to catch up -

I started a tradition some years back of hiding plastic easter eggs at Eoster circle. In each egg, we put a poem. It is great fun to have 6 grown ups hunting for eggs and poems. last time we did this (we don't have anyone to hold circle with these days) I hid my egg in the egg tray of the refrigerator, which took forever to find.

These are children's poems that I have loved for years...

cruisedirector, this one is for you --


George Sterling

At the end of our street is sunrise
At the end of our street are spars
At the end of our street is sunset
At the end of our street - the stars



Baby Seed Song
Edith Nesbit

Little brown brother, Oh! Little brown brother -
are you awake in the dark?
Here we lie cozily, next to each other:
Hark to the song of the lark
"Waken!" the lark says, "Waken and dress you;
put on your green coats and gay
Blue sky will shine on you, sunshine caress you.
Waken! 'Tis Morning! ' Tis May!"

Little brown brother, Oh! Little brown brother -
what kind of flower will you be?
I'll be a poppy, all white like my mother.
Do be a poppy like me!
What! You're a sunflower! How I shall miss you
when you've grown golden and high
But I shall send all the bees up to kiss you.
Little brown brother goodbye.

and this is for akanthis -
I have know it as long as I can remember, but I have no idea who it is by


Moon Folly

I will go up the mountain after the moon.
She is stuck in a dead fir tree
Like a great pale apple of silver and pearl,
Like a great pale apple is she.
I will leap and will catch her with quick, cold hands
and carry her home in my sack
I will set her down safe on the oaken bench
that stands at the chimney back.
And then I will sit by the fire all night
and sit by the fire all day
And gnaw at the moon to my heart's delight
till I gnaw her slowly away
And while I go mad with the moons cold taste
the world will beat at my door
Crying '"Come Out" and crying "Make Haste,
and give us the moon once more!"
But I shall answer them never at all,
I shall laugh as I count and hide
The great black, beautiful seeds of the moon
in a flowerpot deep and wide.
Then I shall lie down and go fast asleep,
drunken with flame and aswoon
But the seeds will sprout and the seeds will leap,
the subtle, swift seeds of the moon
And some day, all of the world that cries
and beats at my door shall see
A thousand moon-leaves spring from my thatch
on a wonderful white moon-tree
Then each shall have moons to his heart's desire,
apples of silver and pearl
Apples of orange and copper fire
setting their senses aswirl
And then they will thank me, who mock me now
"Wanting the moon is he!"
Oh, I'm off to the mountain after the moon
'ere she falls from the dead fir tree.
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