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Rory Hudson

Chasing The Moon

Chasing the moon
on a summer night
in silver dreams.

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Cold of morning fog
as the fishing boats set out -
sea like a mirror.

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A Man Fishing By Night

They blend as one,
the ocean
and the man who stands
fishing by night.

And, like his life,
his line reaches out
towards a horizon
that cannot be seen.

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Verses On Night And Day

In the forest at night
my good old horse
has lost his way.

His head nods sleepily –
perhaps he dreams
of fields green by day.

The owls are hooting,
the night is cold,
the ground is hard,

but all night long
my good old horse
will stand his guard.

Daylight will come
to light the woods
at break of day,

[...] Read more

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Forest In Winter

Winter’s chill winds again, and the birds
wing silently through the white pine trees
searching the snow for food, scratching the ground
when they find signs of sustenance.

A blanket of whiteness deadens my footsteps
but seems to sharpen the whistling of the wind,
and is raised and gathered into gusts that rage
shrill and stinging against the trunks of the trees.

Like a cold steel knife
winter bites icily into the cracked bark,

and the forest sways,
but with proud fortitude,

for winter is a hard taskmaster,
but fiercely beautiful.

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In A Cold Wind

In a cold wind
in a night wind,
under a yellow street-light,
its paleness and the dark night.

Leaves blown past,
down the wind, cast
onto the silent roadway,
or in heaps, on the footway.

The houses that rise
into grey skies,
windows with drawn curtains,
facing onto pale gardens.

Slow in the sky,
the clouds moving by;
on the ground, the shadows blurred,
the whistling wind heard.

[...] Read more

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Critique Of Poetry

A poem is a sorry thing,
Not fit for reading to a king:
It’s often full of silly rhymes
That waste a lot of people’s times.

But modern poets can’t rhyme at all,
Which really is abominable;
Their rhythm quickly gets all out of whack,
Because I guess it just seems like for rhythm and rhyme they don’t have the necessary knack.

Phrases created on demand
Which nobody can understand,
Like wool that's thrown across a fence
And stirred until it is quite dense.

Syntax gets twisted out of shape
Not unlike a grinning ape -
Examples which of, I think cannot,
So, yet to learn have I a lot.

[...] Read more

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I Bought You A Rose

the problem is
the grandfather clock
in the adjacent room
it chimes
on the hour
every hour
through the night
it keeps me awake
through the night
the night in which
i think of you
because
i hold the rose
in my hand
through the night
the rose that i bought you
in the afternoon
the rose that you did not want
in the evening
the evening when i took you out

[...] Read more

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To An African Child Starving To Death

(References to the nightingale and the Grecian urn are to the two wonderful odes by Keats, and the athlete dying young recalls the lovely poem by Housman) .

.....................................

You unprepossessing brat!
You are no nightingale, no Grecian urn,
not even any athlete dying young -
ah, dying young perhaps, but you never were
an athlete, never strove,
never achieved,
never broke
any records, nor, I suppose,
any hearts that might mourn for you,
except perhaps for your mother,
who sits there dumbly with sagging breasts
waiting for you to die, staring vacantly
from no past that could ever be celebrated
towards no future in the burning sands.

God curse the fate that brought me here

[...] Read more

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