Best Campion Poems
Go tell it on the mountain
That – twenty eleven is for Robin!
Once I was on the road to perdition
And my mind was wrought
But then saw I the light
Shinning so bright
And all was right.
Now that I have got myself a gun
I will shoot my way to Zion
Roaring like a lion!
Yeah - I am not afraid of Babylon
For mine eyes have seen her ruin.
I want uncommon heroes for twenty eleven
All dead and slain!
For his marvelous patience – Darwin
And for his unconquerable faith – Saint Campion
Edgar Allan Poe – for his crazy imagination
Just in case someday I will have to bleach my skin
I will add Michael Jackson
Ofcourse I wont forget Mrs. Simpson
Lest I fall in love and it will be my ruin.
Mine vision won’t be written on the wall
Unlike that of Habakkuk the Prophet
But I will inscribe it in my heart
Lest it will be seen and copied by all.
For I have been taught not to trust
By the lady whose smile is so bright!
And don’t let it be forgot
That when faced with reality.
I managed to wring out of life
A promise of eternity
To my utmost relief.
After I thought all I thought
And felt all l felt at the end of twenty ten
What philosophers call reflection
I resolved! No, I firmly purposed! Yes - I determined to write!
But write what?
Does it matter - will write myself a verse, a story, or even a sermon
Because of all the titles given to men
The tag writer appeals to me the most!
And if this be vanity
Then make the most of it!
Categories:
campion, fantasy, parody, write, write,
Form:
Limerick
TWO KIDS REMEMBERING
There we were
Next to the railtracks in the middle of the industrial heartland of 1950s Tyneside
Martin and me
Summer’s day and no money and no place to go except the drab streets and projects
Just exploring carelessly
Among the factories, spoil heaps, rusty tracks, piles of old axles, oily ditchwater
And enjoying youth
All day we strolled, climbed, jumped, ignored the “no entry” signs, threw stones, felt hot
Until we wearied
And decided to go home with a big bunch of wild blooms for mum bcause we’d be late
And picked flowers
Marguerites from the oil-soaked patches with rusted steel-ingot enriching the soil
Dandelion, daisy, cornflower
From the sand-spoil heaps lining the railtracks for miles, dumped as future ship-ballast
Campion and forget-me-not
Hidden tiny among the broken crates half-emptied of reject rubber tyres
And with armfuls
We trudged our way back through the sterile concrete and tangled barbed-wire fences
We got home
And mum was waiting with dinner, and we washed and ate, and she loved the flowers
And that night
We all talked about our explorations, and the flower collection, and we were so tired
We slept soundly. . . . . . .
Mum kept the blooms in a bucket - or was it a basket? Kids don’t remember everything.
Memory is selective.
.............................................................................
Categories:
campion, childhoodday, mum,
Form:
Verse
In his youth he became an Anglican deacon,
but the doubts about Protestantism beset him
and after further study,
he returned to Catholicism.
Young Jesuit priest,
arrested by priest hunters
in Anglican England
for teaching about the Christ.
He was convicted of high treason
and executed in England,
which had been Catholic for a 1000 of years,
later religious difficulties arose.
Priest Campion said before his martyrdom:
"In condemning us, the Catholic priests,
you condemn all your own ancestors,
all our ancient bishops and kings…”
Categories:
campion, spiritual, , cute,
Form:
Verse
Again the machair blooms. Again these wild
Atlantic shorelines, battered but unbowed
as the marram grass, survive the wayward
blasts of winter, the silver sands endowed
with dancing colour, greeting the splendour
of the budding year. A close bound repertoire
of nodding harebells, celandines and thrift,
clover, thyme and tiny eyebright, near and far,
a sweeping backdrop to the wave-washed shore.
Sea campion, marigold and silverweed,
majestic iris, buttercup and mayweed,
bashful wild orchids, and a myriad more,
each in their order pays homage to the sun.
Bedazzling the eye, High Summer has begun.
Categories:
campion, celebration, change, flower, seasons,
Form:
Blank verse
George's isn't too bad
At least not so far
I like it here better than Campion
And it's much better by far
The only thing missing
Are the extras and the girls
Only tough ones from Alpha
Dare venture into this world
The school is also boring
Because it has no Interact
But becuase there are no girls
Starting one won't change that
I've seen Sophia once
In the back of a grey car
She's become such a skettel
Not even desperate men want her
There's this mongrel indian
Who called her a skettel bam
She says she doesn't know him
I think it was a one-night slam
Categories:
campion, people, school, teen,
Form:
Teardrops, petals, ruffles and lace,
on my summer day walk, I slow my pace.
Beautiful, yellow gossamer balls of Dandelion,
white blooms drooping on a growth of Campion.
Underneath a tree grows vivid Periwinkle and Nettle,
and beside a flowing stream is yellow and white Daffodil.
In an open meadow, I bend low to pick some wild Strawberry,
as the gentle breeze bends the Daisy, Poppy and the pink Tansy.
My hand sweeps the delicate Clover and the intricate beautiful Yarrow,
at last, turning homeward with a bouquet of blue Cornflower and Mallow.
_______________________
June 8, 2013
Poetry/Rhyme/Summer Day Walk
Copyright Protected, ID 06-484-282-08
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
Categories:
campion, flower, summer,
Form:
Rhyme
the cinnabar moth
a summer diurnal one
check out the ragwort
peppermint stands
mint moths' abundant tiny
summer potatoes
a rambling rose
buds showing waiting to burst
a flowerfly drones
bees not many
some burrowers one or two
campion self-seeds
tis the morrow morn
west is the forecasted wind
southwest for the swifts
Categories:
campion, nature,
Form:
Haiku
A rainbow of flowers adorn her hair
cascading an effervescence
~
to her being I feign
fallen fast and drifting free
in heartfelt fantasy
night dawns as feeling fawns
within the glow of the moon
skies erupt visions clear
amongst the stars I swoon
to her every hypnotic thrum
~
I awake
gentle winds blow
red campion dance
seas remain a rare calm
awash in her beauty
reflections cast the way
Categories:
campion, love,
Form:
Free verse
The hedge sat quietly on the side street while people passed by on their daily chores
She bathed in spring and summer so sweet as red roses and campion grew by her side watching and listening while family's grew and died
Meandering colours of Persian jewels daisy's and buttercups she shelters sunflowers reach the sky protected from the northern bluster
Sometimes she would get a trim to her sides
As she grew even higher birds made nests or sometimes stop to rest or hide from the sparrow hawk
She would listen to children play and adults talk
Wondering what life would be like to live this way
And when you pass by take a thought for the hedge stands today like her brothers and sisters throughout the globe
And even in the cold of winter refuge can be found
In the hedge
Categories:
campion, garden,
Form:
Free verse
Sit with me a while, here on the soft green grass, that hides the Gentian Violet and the Daisy peeping through and watch how the soft cool wind lifts the fronds of Willow, hanging down to touch the fresh droplets of lasting dew. They stroke the glistening tips, to allow the verdant blades to sip, to grow another inch anew.
Sit with me a while, here on the bank of the silver stream that gurgles and splashes over old stones with swirls of cream and see how the water delights in its journey, talking and whispering, laughing as its rivulets teem. They run down, to catch the sun that glints in its life force, then kiss the edges where the Red Campion bob as if in a dream.
Sit with me a while and smile as the Wagtail swoops and settles on a rock, that gives him a place to stay and look at how he dips and tries, for just seconds, black and white tiny sprite greedy and gay. Take in the visitor Mallard, working their feet, in the deep water, pausing for all the ducklings together to make their way and gasp as you watch them turning round and round in the current tweeting their sounds as they play and feel your heart move at how the mother gathers them to her close and carries on in her loving display.
Sit with me a while, in this English country scene of lush meadows and new life all around, drinking in the stream and the life giving sound, and feel how wonderful it is to say, what joy to be in England in this the month of May.
Categories:
campion, appreciation, day, england, innocence,
Form:
Free verse
You leave the car at what was once,
in old reality, a farm and where the
National Trust democratise so now not cows
but parking motorists feel alarm.
Across a road are loos, ex milking parlours
still with “stools” and piss
as folk make moves to
an archway leading to a long curved lane
edged with a guard of reeds that,
while obstructing the view ahead
incite its anticipation.
Conducting the children, we lead them
to where the pathway fairs into the beach
framed by those stalks high reach
from their rooting in Arcadia.
Some fresh reality as we quicken pace
through that narrow place into entrancement,
a shout of elements where the claustrophobe
of routines in small spaces erodes into the
expansive sunbed of yielding pearl toned grains.
Here we claim our place below a trope of
salt drenched thrift and campion sea slopes
barricading us from the insomnious land breeze
that keeps conscious plain life.
Categories:
campion, beach, beautiful,
Form:
Verse
As dawn undressed the night,
putting the purples of sorrow to flight.
It started to paint an horizon new,
in burnished golds of every hue,
that streaked the heavens and edged each cloud
with fire that danced and billowed proud.
Heralding a bright new day
that blew the sullen nights cobwebs away
and lasered light into Earths dark corners,
to gladden the hearts of cynics and mourners.
And Oxeye daisies raised their heads,
whilst sweet campion and larkspur stirred in their beds
and drank the dew the night had bestowed,
as field and meadow softly glowed
in that tranquil, thankful morning light,
that broke each day and banished the night.
Categories:
campion, celebration, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
Tagboard Media
Hizzia Handfull wrestled Diffa Dank Hassinberg
to a twenty minute draw
Muchabout Nothing and Hussylover defeated
Brimms Doltrium and Moondog Melgriff Mange
in a two out of three fall match (taking two falls
for the win.
Jafney " Attaboy " Sayer figurefoured Gamey Almost
to capture the vacant North of South
Title, using a middleground fall-away to score
the pin.
Baknocca " slick Willy" Hosscaul was Disqualified
against Steep Depper, he throw the referee over
MiSong and Clepper Claff del Grecko defeated
Sifftin Saddle and " Bigside" Daryle Dopple
when Claff DDT'd Grecko for the winfall.
main Event
World Campion
" My Wifes Manfreind" Bulky Bannerdaff out wrested
" The Golden American" Beefy Hambone
to retain his world tilte.
( used a bassoon to knock his opponet sensless, to
score the pin)
Categories:
campion, music, sports,
Form:
Bio
Engish poet Thomas Campion
read verse to his son
Cherry-ripe hid famed lyric
a poem so euphonic
Categories:
campion, people, poetry,
Form:
Clerihew
NOVELTIES
by Thomas Campion
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Booksellers laud authors for novel editions
as pimps praise their whores for exotic positions.
This is my translation of a Latin epigram by the English poet Thomas Campion. In Campion’s era some English poets continued to write poems in Latin and/or Greek. For instance, John Milton and Andrew Marvell wrote poems in Latin, while Shakespeare was criticized by Ben Jonson, if I remember things correctly, for having “little” Greek and Latin.
Not being “versed” in the senior languages was seen as a deficiency in literary circles back then. Shakespeare was called an “upstart crow” for daring to write “litter-chure” without a proper university degree. How could he properly quote the ancients if he couldn’t read them in their original languages? The Bard of Avon was doomed to failure and obscurity … or perhaps not, since the English language was finally in vogue in England (where for centuries English kings had been unable to read, write or even speak the mother tongue, preferring French, Latin and Greek).
My title is a bit of a pun, because novels were new to the world when they first arrived, and were thus considered by the literary elites to be “novelties” not on par with more serious verse plays. Some of the more popular early novels were “subversive” (pardon the pun) explorations of sexual naughtiness, through characters like Tom Jones, Moll Flanders, et al.
Campion probably didn’t have such campy (enough with the puns, already!) novels in mind when he wrote his epigram, since the more titillating (cease! desist!) ones had yet to arrive. But perhaps he would prove to be a “profit” (I’m udderly hopeless!).
Keywords/Tags: Campion, Latin, translation, exotic, exoticism, epigram, novels, novelties, book, books, booksellers, publishers, write, writing, author, authors, poet, poets, poetry, poems, pimps, whores, prostitutes, prostitution, exotic, positions, extended metaphor
Categories:
campion, books, extended metaphor, poems,
Form:
Epigram