Dan's Poetry Corner II

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Jim MartinProject Donor
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Message 1216710 - Posted: 11 Apr 2012, 4:11:25 UTC - in response to Message 1216686.  
Last modified: 11 Apr 2012, 4:12:12 UTC

I haven't seen any yet, Uli. ;o)

Now, if only I could get the State of Mass. to allow
voluntary deductions, life would be a bit easier (There are,
I believe, approx. 18 other states which don't, as well.).
So, it's the estimation route for Mass., as well.

Will assume that it's a little easier for Calif. citizens to pay
state taxes, than for us, here.
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Message 1216711 - Posted: 11 Apr 2012, 4:15:03 UTC

PM me. Advice is free.
Now if I could just come up with a diddle.
Pluto will always be a planet to me.

Seti Ambassador
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Message 1221257 - Posted: 21 Apr 2012, 16:05:51 UTC

Although I don't run, either competitively, or non-competitively,
a friend of mine used to, in his younger years. Some of his friends
ran in the last Boston Marathon, and he dedicated this poem, to them.


His words: "I adapted his poem shown below for the runners in my club
who did the marathon last Monday in that blistering heat.

The framework for the poem came (was stolen) from Shakespeare's Henry Vth.
It is about the English & French battle at Agincourt."

-- Paul Mancuso, author


Kindly consider this a dedication to all of you who, also, run.

*

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds sweat with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so determined
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in New England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
But hold their bodies from that heat from Hell
So they may run on another day

*

jm

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Message 1225993 - Posted: 2 May 2012, 2:46:04 UTC

The Bass


A line was cast;
withdrawn, was seen
a bass, attached.

When, yet, reviewed --
the quest, revealed,
was always there.

* * *

j. r. martin
1 May 2012

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Message 1225996 - Posted: 2 May 2012, 3:00:55 UTC
Last modified: 2 May 2012, 3:01:31 UTC

Both in my top ten....

When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer

When I heard the learn'd astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander'd off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars.

(Walt Whitman / 1865)



------------------------------------------------------------------

"Doxology"

God fills my being to the brim
with floods of His immensity.
I drown within a drop of Him
whose sea-bed is infinity.

The Father's will is everywhere
for chart and chance His precept keep.
There are no beaches to His care
nor cliffs to pluck from His deep.

The Son is never far away from me
for presence is what love compels.
Divinely and incarnately
He draws me where His mercy dwells.

And lo, myself am the abode
of Love, the third of the Triune,
the primal surge and sweep of God
and my eternal claimant soon!

Praise to the Father and the Son
and to the Spirit! May I be,
O Water, Wave and Tide in One,
Thine animate doxology.

(From Selected Poetry of Jessica Powers)
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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
Music
Pictures
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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.


A kitty keeps loneliness away.
More meowing, less hissing. I speak meow, do you?

Have made friends in this life.
Most were cats.
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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.

A kitty keeps loneliness away.
More meowing, less hissing. I speak meow, do you?

Have made friends in this life.
Most were cats.
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