Dai Crowther wrote:
Earth Star
Son, you arrive home safe
from dazzling activity,
inspired by the dilettante dangers
of a summers day
but look at you,
scarred by dirt, fragranced
by meadow grass
and wood mulch,
suffering to be preened
of thorn and leaf
as you chatter and gabble
like a stirred goose.
Your face is a theatre,
with arms stretched like wings,
flying through the acts
and scenes of your day.
Woodsman, hunter,
Robin Hood and Marco Polo,
revealing the truths of dens
and hideaway hollows,
convinced that each
has been enlightened
by your footfall,
to be mapped and plotted
for posterity
as your discovery.
You did not see me
observing you at play.
Across the river
in dog-walk reverie
I only stepped
into the shadows
of secretive shrubbery
that you might be free,
unencumbered
by the inelegance
of acknowledgment.
I was mindful and fretful
as you clambered branch and bough,
knowing that tree shadows,
though soft, would fail
to break your fall.
And fall you did
but you were saved
by sprung moss,
young bones
and the medicinal
laughter of friends.
I stole away
and waited here,
ready to be grateful
for your prattle,
willing to be wowed
and awed, an audience
for your recitals,
the author of your being,
creator of an earthly star.
MummyChunk wrote:
Dai Crowther wrote:
Earth Star
Son, you arrive home safe
from dazzling activity,
inspired by the dilettante dangers
of a summers day
but look at you,
scarred by dirt, fragranced
by meadow grass
and wood mulch,
suffering to be preened
of thorn and leaf
as you chatter and gabble
like a stirred goose.
Your face is a theatre,
with arms stretched like wings,
flying through the acts
and scenes of your day.
Woodsman, hunter,
Robin Hood and Marco Polo,
revealing the truths of dens
and hideaway hollows,
convinced that each
has been enlightened
by your footfall,
to be mapped and plotted
for posterity
as your discovery.
You did not see me
observing you at play.
Across the river
in dog-walk reverie
I only stepped
into the shadows
of secretive shrubbery
that you might be free,
unencumbered
by the inelegance
of acknowledgment.
I was mindful and fretful
as you clambered branch and bough,
knowing that tree shadows,
though soft, would fail
to break your fall.
And fall you did
but you were saved
by sprung moss,
young bones
and the medicinal
laughter of friends.
I stole away
and waited here,
ready to be grateful
for your prattle,
willing to be wowed
and awed, an audience
for your recitals,
the author of your being,
creator of an earthly star.
Did Dai ever finish this? Anyone want to tackle it?
HarryLime wrote:
MummyChunk wrote:
Dai Crowther wrote:
Earth Star
Son, you arrive home safe
from dazzling activity,
inspired by the dilettante dangers
of a summers day
but look at you,
scarred by dirt, fragranced
by meadow grass
and wood mulch,
suffering to be preened
of thorn and leaf
as you chatter and gabble
like a stirred goose.
Your face is a theatre,
with arms stretched like wings,
flying through the acts
and scenes of your day.
Woodsman, hunter,
Robin Hood and Marco Polo,
revealing the truths of dens
and hideaway hollows,
convinced that each
has been enlightened
by your footfall,
to be mapped and plotted
for posterity
as your discovery.
You did not see me
observing you at play.
Across the river
in dog-walk reverie
I only stepped
into the shadows
of secretive shrubbery
that you might be free,
unencumbered
by the inelegance
of acknowledgment.
I was mindful and fretful
as you clambered branch and bough,
knowing that tree shadows,
though soft, would fail
to break your fall.
And fall you did
but you were saved
by sprung moss,
young bones
and the medicinal
laughter of friends.
I stole away
and waited here,
ready to be grateful
for your prattle,
willing to be wowed
and awed, an audience
for your recitals,
the author of your being,
creator of an earthly star.
Did Dai ever finish this? Anyone want to tackle it?
It is finished. Notice how the final two words repeat (with a slight alteration) the title.
Poetically, it better than
Will-Dockery wrote:
HarryLime wrote:
MummyChunk wrote:
Dai Crowther wrote:
Earth Star
Son, you arrive home safe
from dazzling activity,
inspired by the dilettante dangers
of a summers day
but look at you,
scarred by dirt, fragranced
by meadow grass
and wood mulch,
suffering to be preened
of thorn and leaf
as you chatter and gabble
like a stirred goose.
Your face is a theatre,
with arms stretched like wings,
flying through the acts
and scenes of your day.
Woodsman, hunter,
Robin Hood and Marco Polo,
revealing the truths of dens
and hideaway hollows,
convinced that each
has been enlightened
by your footfall,
to be mapped and plotted
for posterity
as your discovery.
You did not see me
observing you at play.
Across the river
in dog-walk reverie
I only stepped
into the shadows
of secretive shrubbery
that you might be free,
unencumbered
by the inelegance
of acknowledgment.
I was mindful and fretful
as you clambered branch and bough,
knowing that tree shadows,
though soft, would fail
to break your fall.
And fall you did
but you were saved
by sprung moss,
young bones
and the medicinal
laughter of friends.
I stole away
and waited here,
ready to be grateful
for your prattle,
willing to be wowed
and awed, an audience
for your recitals,
the author of your being,
creator of an earthly star.
Did Dai ever finish this? Anyone want to tackle it?
It is finished. Notice how the final two words repeat (with a slight alteration) the title.
Poetically, it better than
Childish name-calling from Harry Lime noted and removed
HTH and HAND.
Dai Crowther wrote:
Earth Star
Son, you arrive home safe
from dazzling activity,
inspired by the dilettante dangers
of a summers day
but look at you,
scarred by dirt, fragranced
by meadow grass
and wood mulch,
suffering to be preened
of thorn and leaf
as you chatter and gabble
like a stirred goose.
Your face is a theatre,
with arms stretched like wings,
flying through the acts
and scenes of your day.
Woodsman, hunter,
Robin Hood and Marco Polo,
revealing the truths of dens
and hideaway hollows,
convinced that each
has been enlightened
by your footfall,
to be mapped and plotted
for posterity
as your discovery.
You did not see me
observing you at play.
Across the river
in dog-walk reverie
I only stepped
into the shadows
of secretive shrubbery
that you might be free,
unencumbered
by the inelegance
of acknowledgment.
I was mindful and fretful
as you clambered branch and bough,
knowing that tree shadows,
though soft, would fail
to break your fall.
And fall you did
but you were saved
by sprung moss,
young bones
and the medicinal
laughter of friends.
I stole away
and waited here,
ready to be grateful
for your prattle,
willing to be wowed
and awed, an audience
for your recitals,
the author of your being,
creator of an earthly star.
Did Dai ever finish this? Anyone want to tackle it?
This is a response to the post seen at: http://www.jlaforums.com/viewtopic.php?p=658537765#658537765
Will Dockery wrote:
HarryLime wrote:
MummyChunk wrote:
Dai Crowther wrote:
Earth Star
Son, you arrive home safe
from dazzling activity,
inspired by the dilettante dangers
of a summers day
but look at you,
scarred by dirt, fragranced
by meadow grass
and wood mulch,
suffering to be preened
of thorn and leaf
as you chatter and gabble
like a stirred goose.
Your face is a theatre,
with arms stretched like wings,
flying through the acts
and scenes of your day.
Woodsman, hunter,
Robin Hood and Marco Polo,
revealing the truths of dens
and hideaway hollows,
convinced that each
has been enlightened
by your footfall,
to be mapped and plotted
for posterity
as your discovery.
You did not see me
observing you at play.
Across the river
in dog-walk reverie
I only stepped
into the shadows
of secretive shrubbery
that you might be free,
unencumbered
by the inelegance
of acknowledgment.
I was mindful and fretful
as you clambered branch and bough,
knowing that tree shadows,
though soft, would fail
to break your fall.
And fall you did
but you were saved
by sprung moss,
young bones
and the medicinal
laughter of friends.
I stole away
and waited here,
ready to be grateful
for your prattle,
willing to be wowed
and awed, an audience
for your recitals,
the author of your being,
creator of an earthly star.
Did Dai ever finish this? Anyone want to tackle it?
It is finished. Notice how the final two words repeat (with a slight alteration) the title.
Poetically, it better than
Childish name-calling from Harry Lime noted and removed
HTH and HAND.
Touchy today
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