Dan's Poetry Corner II

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Message 1226205 - Posted: 2 May 2012, 15:09:15 UTC

A toast, to poetic perspective.

jm

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Message 1230637 - Posted: 11 May 2012, 19:51:32 UTC

Strings


As we tread through crowded street,
unaware of matching feet --
As we exercise free will,
draining glass, that others fill --

Strings will always intertwine,
subtle changes, for all time --
never do they snap and break,
once they form, the heavens make.

Everlasting history,
to the One, no mystery.
Some are gifted five-act play,
others long for death's decay.

Once it's over, once it's done,
strings recoil, to zero sum.


* * *

j. r. martin
11 May 2012

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Message 1232515 - Posted: 15 May 2012, 15:09:10 UTC

A poem by Ted Hughes

Song

O lady, when the tipped cup of the moon blessed you
You became soft fire with a cloud's grace;
The difficult stars swam for eyes in your face;
You stood, and your shadow was my place:
You turned, your shadow turned to ice
O my lady.


O lady, when the sea caressed you
You were a marble of foam, but dumb.
When will the stone open its tomb?
When will the waves give over their foam?
You will not die, nor come home,
O my lady.

O lady, when the wind kissed you
You made him music for you were a shaped shell.
I follow the waters and the wind still
Since my heart heard it and all to pieces fell
Which your lovers stole, meaning ill,
O my lady.

O lady, consider when I shall have lost you
The moon's full hands, scattering waste,
The sea's hands, dark from the world's breast,
The world's decay where the wind's hands have passed,
And my head, worn out with love, at rest
In my hands, and my hands full of dust,
O my lady.
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Message 1232657 - Posted: 15 May 2012, 23:40:27 UTC
Last modified: 15 May 2012, 23:42:23 UTC

Thank you, for Ted Hughes' poem, "Song", DesO'Connor. I've read a number of poems by his wife, Sylvia Plath, but never any of his. Thanks to your entry,
on his belated behalf, I shall rectify that.

jm
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Message 1232660 - Posted: 15 May 2012, 23:46:53 UTC

Ted ( who was a complete barsteward IMHO and yet a brilliant poet) and Sylvia are buried less than two miles from where I live in Heptonstall. He was born in Mytholmroyd ( the land of myth W.Yorkshire ) and despite his Neaderthal heritage, I joke not, went on to be Poet Laurette in th UK.


Ted expressed the beauty of his local environment and the beauty of women he loved in a captivating and unique way. So I forgive him his sins if Im allowed to celebrate his gifts.
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Message 1232696 - Posted: 16 May 2012, 0:24:22 UTC - in response to Message 1232660.  

Good for you, Des. If you, yourself, write a few lines, you might want to
share them with us, now and then.

*

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Message 1232716 - Posted: 16 May 2012, 0:37:27 UTC - in response to Message 1232696.  

Good for you, Des. If you, yourself, write a few lines, you might want to
share them with us, now and then.

*



I write music and can express myself seriously or comically but poetry translates to haveatry in my little world. I might write a limeric at some pint.
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Message 1232739 - Posted: 16 May 2012, 1:35:50 UTC - in response to Message 1232716.  

When your music hits the big-time (if it already hasn't), then perhaps
it'll be able to be accessed via link, where you would then be introduced
by a couple of chaps resembling actors on "Are You Being Served." ;o)

*

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Message 1235242 - Posted: 23 May 2012, 1:54:30 UTC

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

The Summer Day

by Mary Oliver

(1935 - )

*

jm

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Message 1251629 - Posted: 26 Jun 2012, 0:52:13 UTC

Savior Machine

Tracy K. Smith,
from her book, "Life on Mars".


I spent two years not looking
Into the mirror in his office.
Talking, instead, into my hands
Or a pillow in my lap. Glancing up
Occassionally to let out a laugh.
Gradually it felt like a date with a friend,
Which meant it was time to end.

Two years later I saw him walking
Up Jay Street into the sun. No jacket,
His face a little chapped from wind.
He looked like an ordinary man carrying
Shirts home from the laundry, smiling
About something his daughter had said
Earlier that morning. Back before

You existed to me, you were a theory.
Now I know everything: the words you hate.
Where you itch at night. In our hallway,
There are five photos of your dead wife.
This is what we mean by sharing a life. Still,
From time to time, I think of him watching me
From over the top of his glasses, or eating candy

From a jar. I remember thanking him each time
The session was done. But mostly what I see
Is a human hand reaching down to lift
A pebble from my tongue.

*

jm

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Message 1252157 - Posted: 27 Jun 2012, 17:26:10 UTC

Nice poems Jim:) It's good we see a poem here once in a while.
rOZZ
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Message 1252260 - Posted: 27 Jun 2012, 20:08:18 UTC

I'm glad you liked the poems, Julie. Sometimes, they can heal -- whether
read, or written.

jm

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Message 1252264 - Posted: 27 Jun 2012, 20:16:08 UTC

Been thinkin' 'bout kitties, my saviors, my pets.
Been told there are kind humans, I've not met many yet.
The kitties all tell me they are there to be found.....
But I know all the kitties are my friends on the ground.

Kitties, dear kitties, they do so abound.
From one end of the earth to the other,
All sorts of kitties can be found.

And they love just to squish you with love that abounds.
That's the story 'bout kitties I have found.

Kitties, dear kitties...my life have enhanced.
And saved it one time or another from a bad passing glance.
The kitties have found me and saved me from some
worse fate I may have encountered
when being rather glum.

Kitties, dear kitties, I have two right here.
One called a Squirrel, and Tigger's a dear.
They both love me dearly, and to tell you quite true,
I might love a kitty just a bit more than you.

LOL.....

Yes, I am the kittyman.


"Freedom is just Chaos, with better lighting." Alan Dean Foster

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Message 1252271 - Posted: 27 Jun 2012, 21:02:15 UTC - in response to Message 1252264.  

In our extended family, Mark, my sister agreed to permanently accept two
Calico cats, Baguette and Croissant. They don't seem to mind my butchering
their names. And, as your know, they add a certain ambience to a home.
Unfortunately, in their case, they aren't mousers.

Cheers,

jm

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Message 1252276 - Posted: 27 Jun 2012, 21:10:22 UTC - in response to Message 1252271.  

In our extended family, Mark, my sister agreed to permanently accept two
Calico cats, Baguette and Croissant. They don't seem to mind my butchering
their names. And, as your know, they add a certain ambience to a home.
Unfortunately, in their case, they aren't mousers.

Cheers,

jm

LOL.
They are mousers in heart, I am sure.

What a kitty brings to a house I cannot express.
When I walk into Lori's home, and her 3 loved ones approach me......
Priceless, as the saying goes. Their eyes......oh, their eyes.

Just priceless.

"Freedom is just Chaos, with better lighting." Alan Dean Foster

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Message 1252735 - Posted: 28 Jun 2012, 17:26:37 UTC - in response to Message 1252260.  

I'm glad you liked the poems, Julie. Sometimes, they can heal -- whether
read, or written.

jm


That's so right Jim.
rOZZ
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Message 1260318 - Posted: 14 Jul 2012, 15:18:29 UTC
Last modified: 14 Jul 2012, 15:22:00 UTC

Tracey K. Smith,
from her book
"Life on Mars",


"The Universe as Primal Scream"


5pm on the nose. They open their mouths
And it rolls out: high, shrill and metallic.
First the boy, then his sister. Occasionally,
They both let loose at once, and I think
Of putting on my shoes to go up and see
Whether it is merely an experiment
Their parents have been conducting
Upon the good crystal, which must surely
Lie shattered to dust on the floor.

Maybe the mother is still proud
Of the four pink lungs she nursed
To such might. Perhaps, if they hit
The majic decibel, the whole building
Will lift-off, and we'll ride to glory
Like Elijah. If this is it--if this is what
Their cries are cocked toward--let the sky
Pass from blue, to red, to molten gold,
To black. Let the heaven we inherit approach.

Whether it is our dead in Old Testament robes,
Or a door opening onto the roiling infinity of space.
Whether it will bend down to greet us like a father,
Or swallow us like a furnace. I'm ready
To meet what refuses to let us keep anything
For long. What teases us with blessings,
Bends us with grief. Wizard, thief, the great
Wind rushing to knock our mirrors to the floor,
To sweep our short lives clean. How mean

Our racket seems beside it. My stereo on shuffle.
The neighbor chopping onions through a wall.
All of it just a hiccough against what may never
Come for us. And the kids upstairs still at it,
Screaming like the Dawn of Man, as if something
They have no name for has begun to insist
Upon being born.

*

jm
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Message 1262227 - Posted: 19 Jul 2012, 15:58:41 UTC

"Not The Same"

you can look at me with your eyes
but i'm not the same
not the same as the one you think you see
you can tell me over and over
that i haven't changed
whatever you're seeing
it isn't me
i've put a million miles on this heart of mine
now there's a wreck
where perfection used to be
you tell me
smile
smile
everything is alright
it's alright
when i know most certainly it's not
i can't be the man i used to be
the man you somehow think you've got

(2012 db michel)


PROUD TO BE TFFE!
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Message 1262249 - Posted: 19 Jul 2012, 17:24:54 UTC

Good to see a poem of you here again Dan, nice one too:)
rOZZ
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Message 1262282 - Posted: 19 Jul 2012, 19:37:11 UTC

A sad one, Dan. Perhaps, someday, all of us can gather over a favorite
beverage, and have a "reading".

jm


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