{"id":3381,"date":"2021-06-24T10:39:19","date_gmt":"2021-06-24T14:39:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/?p=3381"},"modified":"2021-06-24T10:39:21","modified_gmt":"2021-06-24T14:39:21","slug":"a-poem-for-a-thursday-135","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/2021\/06\/24\/a-poem-for-a-thursday-135\/","title":{"rendered":"A Poem for a Thursday #135"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Louis MacNeice was an Irish poet and playwright who lived from 1907 to 1963. He attended Oxford and went on to lecture at the University of Birmingham and then taught Greek at the University of London. After that, he joined the BBC as a staff writer and producer. His poetry “is characterized by its familiar, sometimes humorous tone and its integration of contemporary ideas and images.” He died young at only fifty-five. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

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The Junes were free and full, driving\nthrough tiny\nRoads, the mudguards brushing the \ncowparsley,\nThrough fields of mustard and under \nboldly embattled \nMays and chestnuts\n\nOr between beeches verdurous and \nvoluptuous\nOr where broom and gorse beflagged \nthe chalkland--\nAll the flare and gusto of the \nunenduring \nJoys of the season\n\nNow returned but I note as more\nappropriate\nTo the maturer mood impending\nthunder\nWith an indigo sky and the garden \nhushed except for\nThe treetops moving.\n\nThen the curtains in my room blow\nsuddenly inward,\nThe shrubbery rustles, birds fly heavily\nhomeward,\nThe white flowers fade to nothing on \nthe trees and rain comes\nDown like a dropscene.\n\nNow there comes catharsis, the \ncleansing downpour\nBreaking the blossoms of our\noverdated fancies\nOur old sentimentality and\nwhimsicality\nLoves of the morning.\n\nBlackness at half-past eight, the night's \nprecursor,\nClouds like falling masonry and\nlightening's lavish\nAnnunciation, the sword of the mad\narchangel\nFlashed from the scabbard.\n\nIf only you would come and dare the \ncrystal \nRampart of the rain and the bottomless\nmoat of thunder,\nIf only you would come I should\nbe happy\nNow if now only.\n\nJune Thunder\nLouis MacNeice<\/pre>\n\n\n\n
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Brona<\/a> has shared a poem today. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Louis MacNeice was an Irish poet and playwright who lived from 1907 to 1963. He attended Oxford and went on to lecture at the University of Birmingham and then taught Greek at the University of London. After that, he joined the BBC as a staff writer and producer. His poetry “is characterized by its familiar, sometimes humorous tone and its integration of contemporary ideas and images.” He died young at only fifty-five. The Junes were free and full, driving through tiny Roads, the mudguards brushing the cowparsley, Through fields of mustard and under boldly embattled Mays and chestnuts Or between beeches verdurous and voluptuous Or where broom and gorse beflagged the chalkland– All the flare and gusto of the unenduring Joys of the season Now returned but I note as more appropriate To the maturer mood impending thunder With an indigo sky and the garden hushed except for The treetops moving. Then the curtains in my room blow suddenly inward, The shrubbery rustles, birds fly heavily homeward, The white flowers fade to nothing on the trees and rain comes Down like a dropscene. Now there comes catharsis, the cleansing downpour Breaking the blossoms of our overdated fancies Our old sentimentality and whimsicality Loves of the morning. Blackness at half-past eight, the night’s precursor, Clouds like falling masonry and lightening’s lavish Annunciation, the sword of the mad archangel Flashed from the scabbard. If only you would come and dare the crystal Rampart of the rain and the bottomless moat of thunder, If only you would come I should be happy Now if now only. June Thunder Louis MacNeice Brona has shared a poem today.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3382,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3381","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poem-for-a-thursday"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3381","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3381"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3381\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3384,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3381\/revisions\/3384"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3382"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3381"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3381"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.holdsuponhappiness.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3381"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}