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Poetry
And Still I Wait Beside These Placid Waters
By Brett
13 May 2008
And still I wait beside these placid waters,
Beneath infernal heat and azure skies,
For her that in another guise and life
Would find her solace life-like in my arms.
Perhaps we, too, could sit beneath that bough,
That jug of wine and whisper sacred verse,
And through her hair I'd speak of legends, Welsh,
And cool her baking shoulders with a kiss.
Her every blemish looked on with desire,
Her every fever cured by nature's way,
Upon the peak of haunted Cader Idris
Our love making would damn the ancients' tales.
Descending, mad as poets, through the mist,
To stop a while and slake our raging thirst.
And in the freshness of a holy stream
I'd soak my hair to merely wash her feet.

And still I wait beside these placid waters,
Their violent undercurrent now exposed
By their reflecting vibrant meteor showers,
For midnight; I shall trade with any god:
"Reincarnate my soul for evermore
A single bead of sweat within her breast."

Reviews
Stupendous!
Written by Katanga (1552 comments posted) 13th May 2008
 
Where do you get your inspiration from, Brett? 
 
Joking apart, Alice?!  
 
I have to say that this, for me, deserves many re-readings . . . 
 
Having read it twice, the lines that stagger me are: 
 
'Our love making would damn the ancients' tales' 
 
and even more: 
 
'I'd soak my hair to even wash her feet." 
 
Phwoaaaaarh! Brilliant! 
 
As ever, 
 
Tolstoy. 
 
Ps Did you get my silly joke? No one else has! A mystery for you to investigate, if you're bored - Ho! 
John X 
 

Written by Veronica_Milvus (769 comments posted) 13th May 2008
"mad as poets". Well, maybe! Some thundering Welsh passions in this one, Brett, you have packed in so many images here that there is a great feeling of intensity. Must have been a steamy few days in Abergele. And more mythical allusions this time than biblical ones, I note. 
 
This is very lovely and personal and intimate. I hope she appreciates it!

Written by WeeAnn (35 comments posted) 13th May 2008
I usually only like poetry that rhymes, but this one flowed so beautifully, it didn't need to rhyme. 
(Am I being educated again?) 
 
No! Really! I thought it was beautiful.
Misquote Apology!
Written by Katanga (1552 comments posted) 14th May 2008
Drat! Sorry, Brett! 
 
In my enthusiasm I clumsily misquoted you above. Of course it's: 
 
'I'd soak my hair to merely wash her feet.' 
 
Still shaking over this one . . . 
 
Cheers! 
 
T

Written by NathanRoberts (277 comments posted) 14th May 2008
There's some fantastic lines in here: 
 
'And in the freshness of a holy stream 
I'd soak my hair to merely wash her feet.' 
 
'Her every fever cured by nature's way, 
Upon the peak of haunted Cader Idris' 
 
'Reincarnate my soul for evermore - 
A single bead of sweat within her breast.' 
 
...to pick a few of the best.  
 
I like it's looser structure and meter and there's some good slant rhyme in there, 
'mist' / 'thirst'; 'stream', 'feet';'verse', 'Welsh'. 
 
 

Written by Fledermaus (3506 comments posted) 14th May 2008
Would they damn the ancient tales? OK Welsh tales are less obvious in terms of sex than Irish or Norse myths, but I think they are still rather loaded... 
Very nice atmosphere.

Written by Phil (7013 comments posted) 14th May 2008
mad as poets = mad as a box of frogs? 
 
Liked this very much. There's an (almost ranting) intensity to it that pulls the reader - at least this one - from start to finish. Perhaps ranting intensity - but it finishes with a gentle - if deliciously physical - image. 
 
Like very much. 
 
Phil

Written by fellpony (1752 comments posted) 14th May 2008
Brett, did you by any chance spend your night on that mountain top somewhere around Cader Idris whence you return, at dawn, either mad or a poet?
Thanks to:
Written by Brett (1008 comments posted) 14th May 2008
Tolstoy - as ever over appreciative (the cheque's in the post). 
 
V - There was one Biblical allusion - the washing of feet by hair - and thanks, I hope she appreciates it. 
 
WeeAnn - Thank you. 
 
Nathan - have to admit I like those myself - also have to admit that the slant rhymes are down to no skill of my writing, purely accidental, but thankyou for noticing - I hadn't. 
 
Maus - In Welsh legend if you spend a night on Cader Idris you are either to descend a poet or a madman (some may ask what's the difference?) so the making love upon the peak of this sacred hill is really saying "fuck the ancient beliefs". Thanks 
 
Phil - you're too perceptive; my original line was 
 
'Descending as mad as a box of frogs'  
 
but was choked when it didn't fit the meter. I don't think it would have sacrificed too much of the romance, do you? 
 
Cheers

Written by Brett (1008 comments posted) 14th May 2008
Sue, you must have asked this question just as I was explaining to Maus. 
In answer - I have, but I won't press you for a verdict as to which you think I descended as. 
 
Cheers
All hail the Holy Hand Grenade of Aberge
Written by Veronica_Milvus (769 comments posted) 14th May 2008
Actually, looking at your poems, boyo, there is a whole load of Chapel in the really passionate stuff. It ratchets up the intensity in a very dramatic way. I shall christen this literary device "the Holy Hand Grenade of Abergele" as it really packs a punch. 
 
Thanks for explaining the Cader Idris legend, was not aware of that. 
 
Box of Frogs!
Written by Katanga (1552 comments posted) 14th May 2008
I just can't help it - am about to post a poor rhyme relating to this. 
 
My ex-mother-in-law once found a frog outside in the garden in distress one night, so decided to help by bringing it in and putting the poor creature in a shoe box and then placing said shoe box atop a hot radiator! 
 
"I just wanted to keep him warm!" quoth she, in all innocence.  
 
A heart of gold, but a mind of mutton, IMHO! 
 
Ha! Ha! True story! Streuth - some people, eh?! 
 
Cheers! 
 
T

Written by mia_ms_kim (1057 comments posted) 14th May 2008
I found this poem beautiful, but strangely intimidating as a woman. I waited to see other women's comments, if they felt the same. But no, I'm the only one!  
 
The devotion, the worship, the cherishing expressed so richly in this poem (especially the washing of her feet with his hair! Wow!) - I wondered if any woman would feel she deserved such adoration from a man, or whether she could live up to the ideal beheld in her lover's eyes? Is he in love with the real woman or an illusion? That question entered my mind, and made me nervous. Obviously a powerful piece. 
Mia :)

Written by shirley_keeldar (67 comments posted) 15th May 2008
I love this, it combines images of calm contentedness with passion and yearning; beautiful, especially the lines "And through her hair I'd speak of legends, Welsh/ And cool her baking shoulders with a kiss" Does that mean he is cool and she the fiery one? And the last lines - wish someone wanted me that much! 
 
L x

Written by punchy (535 comments posted) 15th May 2008
oooooooh, I like this one. it drew me in! Well written and very intimate, I like x

Written by Brett (1008 comments posted) 16th May 2008
Sorry, Mia, to read that you found this intimidating - you make me feel like a cross between John Keats and Hannibal Lector. 
 
Shirley - thanks for your kind words. 
 
Paula - glad you like it - praise indeed. Open a merlot  
and post up one of your funny ones! 
 
cheers
Hannibal Keats!
Written by Katanga (1552 comments posted) 16th May 2008
Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! 
 
Ooooooh! Ouch! Ouch! 
 
I've got the uncontrollabe helpless giggles! 
 
T

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