The name of the site is 'Pure Poetry.' I believe a poem is not a poem, unless it has a rhyme, a rhythm, and a tale to tell. I am hoping that the 'Proper Poets' among those who stumble upon this site will agree with my own humble opinion, that poetry must rhyme, and that they will send me a poem as an example of their work.
"A lot of people high up in poetry circles look down on rhyme and metre and think it is old-fashioned," said Bernard Lamb, president of the QES and an academic at Imperial College London. "But what is the definition of poetry? I would say, if it doesn't have rhyme or metre, then it is not poetry, it is just prose. You can have prose that is full of imagery, but it is still prose."
The poem, which I hope you contribute, should not have been previously published. I wouldn't relish being accused of plagiarism. Of course, Authors' copyrights will be respected.
I would hope to have your approval and the privilege of featuring your 'masterpiece' within my site.
I would welcome any constructive comments from visitors to 'Pure Poetry.'
Ben Lomond
Sir Hugh Thomas Munro 1856 - 1919
Tabulator of Scotland's Munros. Although born in London, Munro's family owned the Lindertis Estate, near Kirriemuir, where he lived. An experienced hill-walker in Scotland, Munro had also travelled widely abroad both from choice and as a King's Messenger. He was a founder member of the Scottish Mountaineering Club (1889) and served as its President (1894-97).
Munro was the first person to systematically list all the Scottish mountains above 3000 feet (914m) and his tables were first published in 1891. He began a revision of the list in 1919, but died in France before this could be completed. Munro was never to climb all the mountains on his list. Sadly, he had only two remaining when he died.
'Munro Bagging' has become an ambitious task for hill-walkers in Scotland. There are 284 of these hills on the list.
The Last Munro.
(In memory of Sir Hugh Munro)
I dream of the thrill as I climb a sloping hill
The heather and the bracken are abounding
Warm sun upon my back I trek the worn track
A shell explodes my eardrums are apounding
Still within a dream I see a mountain stream
Tumbling to the loch down in the glen
An eagle rules the sky my hopes are soaring high
A shell explodes the cry of wounded men
My pace is strong and sure I hear a curlew on the moor
I do so wish that I had wings to fly
To rise to what I seek and perch atop the lofty peak
A shell explodes I watch a comrade die
I rest upon my task sipping whisky from a flask
Regarding the summit in my sight
In peaceful great Glencoe to climb my last Munro
A shell explodes another hellish night
Aware of creeping toxic stench
A strange white mist invades the trench
Ice cold shivers a chill so deep
I sudden feel the need to sleep
A shell explodes.
Beinn Eighe
Ullapool panorama
Yearning
Summertime has been the blossom over
Autumn chill has seen off meadow clover
A circling flock of starlings I can see
Come roosting on the rowan berry tree
I do so yearn for days of early spring
I contemplate the cold October sky
A starlit night with frost descending
I shiver at the moon so bright on high
While deep within a sigh ascending
I do so yearn for days of early spring
Considering the snowy winter scene
The furry squirrel darting on the green
A flurrying of snowflakes in the wake
The icing on my frosted Christmas cake
I do so yearn for days of early spring
Aware of the advancing march of time
Awakening I stretch my limbs and yawn
A serenade of melodies sublime
Blackbirds sing in chorus at the dawn
I do so yearn for days of early spring
With disregard of frequent April showers
I fond regard a feathered friend I made
Flitting to and fro among the bowers
Now perching on the handle of my spade
A fine return for days of early spring
Robin Redbreast
Loch Katrine
The Loch supplies the city of Glasgow with fresh water
Glenfinnan
Atlantic Bridge
The Snowdrop
Once upon a daylong time ago a snowdrop pierced the cold winter snow
‘Jesus I pray that this fine day may last until the flowers of May’
The Lord had heard and duly granted the wishes of the seed He’d planted
Once upon a daylong time ago
Once upon a daylong time ago a daffodil bathed in warm yellow glow
‘Master of wonder awesome power I thank you for my golden flower’
God above had His sound reason the snowdrop growing out of season
Once upon a daylong time ago
Once upon a daylong time ago in the oaken wood where the daisies grow
‘Lord I see little children having fun threading garlands of daisies in the sun’
He who is the Shepherd and the light guides the snowdrop safely in the night
Once upon a daylong time ago
Once upon a daylong time ago a bluebell in the dell rang a bright hello
‘Father, are there angels up on high ringing out their joy across the sky’?
‘Follow my lamp it will show the way pray my little snowdrop pray’
Once upon a daylong time ago
Once upon a daylong time ago the snowdrop was kissing the mistletoe
‘My Saviour, is kissing allowed sailing in the heavens on a silver cloud’?
‘Sweet little flower, if kissing at Christmas is all that you would seek
Then not a lot can go a missing with a peck upon a cheek’
