April is National Poetry Month

[handmade34]

http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/94

in honor, sweetly: (always one of my favorites when I was farming)

The Pasture -Robert Frost

I’m going out to clean the pasture spring;
I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I sha’n’t be gone long. —You come too.

I’m going out to fetch the little calf
That’s standing by the mother. It’s so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I sha’n’t be gone long.—You come too.

[Keith Bee]

1. K&R

I once was a poet quite lonely
Who used to write limericks only

I could've been great
Except for one trait

I never could rhyme the last word

(Thank you, Orson Bean.)

[handmade34]

5. apt

[Buzz Clik]

2. "A Tragedy"

A Tragedy

by Theophilus Marzials


Death!
Plop.

The barges down in the river flop.
Flop, plop.

Above, beneath.

From the slimy branches the grey drips drop,
As they scraggle black on the thin grey sky,
Where the black cloud rack-hackles drizzle and fly
To the oozy waters, that lounge and flop
On the black scrag piles, where the loose cords plop,
As the raw wind whines in the thin tree-top.

Plop, plop.

And scudding by

The boatmen call out hoy! and hey!
All is running water and sky,

And my head shrieks -- "Stop,"
And my heart shrieks -- "Die."
* * * * *
My thought is running out of my head;
My love is running out of my heart,
My soul runs after, and leaves me as dead,
For my life runs after to catch them -- and fled
They all are every one! -- and I stand, and start,
At the water that oozes up, plop and plop,
On the barges that flop
And dizzy me dead.
I might reel and drop.
Plop.
Dead.
And the shrill wind whines in the thin tree-top
Flop, plop.
* * * * *
A curse on him.
Ugh! yet I knew -- I knew --
If a woman is false can a friend be true?
It was only a lie from beginning to end --

My Devil -- My "Friend"

I had trusted the whole of my living to!

Ugh; and I knew!

Ugh!

So what do I care,

And my head is empty as air --

I can do,
I can dare,

(Plop, plop
The barges flop
Drip drop.)

I can dare! I can dare!

And let myself all run away with my head
And stop.

Drop.
Dead.

Plop, flop.

Plop.

[handmade34]

6. thanks... I think?

[Buzz Clik]

9. Hey -- there's good poetry, and bad poetry. This month is poetry month, not just the good stuff.

The contrast makes the quality material all the better.

[Mojeoux]

3. My little Haiku (created March 8th, 2011)

The rain falls on down

the cars splash it back up, and

drive with tails of mist.

[handmade34]

10. sounds like

my past two days :)

[Mojeoux]

11. A lotta rain everywhere this year so far.

We're going to have more tomorrow.

[katanalori]

4. Spring

Spring has sprung,
The grass has ris -
I wonder where
The flowers is.

Ogden Nash

[AsahinaKimi]

7. Japanese Haiku

ume ga ka ni (scent of plum blossoms)
notto hinoderu. (on the misty mountain path)
yamaji kana (a big rising sun)

~Basho

[handmade34]

8. Slam Poetry... Please WATCH!

"What do Teachers Make"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RxsOVK4syxU

[Paradoxical]

12. A few of my own.

In case you couldn't figure it out, I suffer from depression.

-We Thank You For the Character Assassination-

Tormented muscle
Divinity presses downward on his spine
Crushing his cerebral safe haven

Suffocating dependency
Bourgeois stagnation
Seeping into the pores of his unconsciousness

Eating away at the crystalline maze of dreams
Compromising his integrity

Finite perturbation is realized
Such excruciating evolution of the soul cannot be maintained
He suffers a global collapse

Brought to his knees before his personal god
Self-interpretation is completed

He's ready for distribution

-Inertia-

Energy organized

I rotate
Flying round and round 

66,662 miles per hour

I see blurred visions of my consolatory prize
There is no winner
There never was a winner

Acceleration is inevitable
Linear progress compresses 
Yet the clock winds down

Round and round

and round

De-rooted 
It pulls me 

On my knees
I plunge hands into earth
Violent
Hysterical

I embrace her
A wide-eyed infant holding on to all that's safe
Sophomoric shortcomings siphoned 
Up into the heavens they flow

Inertia breaches my being
Screaming consciousness takes over

My body heaves with desperation
Muscles fail
Truth abandons 

Looking back reveals abyssal indifference
I beg for relief
Crying out into the darkness

There is no dial tone
Language trickles from the severed line 
Absorbed into existence

At once
I am overcome
Falling off

A wayward speck pushed through the sea of infinity
I laugh
This is all part of the plan that never existed

-Self-love for architects-


He isn't here. He's ten thousand miles away:
Separated from the weight of consciousness,
Free of the pressure.

He's sprawled out at the top of a grassy hill
Absorbing the warm rays of sunshine
As rain marches down from cumulonimbus

All the contradiction and struggle is washed from his face
All the chilling totality is warmed away

And he exists as nothing more than a record of time;
A blue print for expectation.

[handmade34]

13. with

hints of bipolar?



"And he exists as nothing more than a record of time;
A blue print for expectation."

:toast:

[YankeyMCC]

14. Wolf Hunt

Wolf Hunt

Russian title: Okhota na volkov

In my flight, sinews bursting, I hurtle,
But as yesterday - so now today,
They've cornered me! Driven me, encircled,
Towards the huntsmen that wait for their prey!
From the fir-trees the rifle-shots quicken -
In the shadows the huntsmen lie low.
As they fire, the wives somersault, stricken,
Living targets brought down on the snow.

They're hunting wolves! The hunt is on, pursuing
The wily predators, the she-wolf and her brood.
The beaters shout, the dogs bay, almost spewing.
The flags on the snow are red, as red as the blood.

In the fight heavy odds have opposed us,
But the merciless huntsmen keep ranks.
With the flags on their ropes they've enclosed us.
They take aim and they fire at point blank.
For a wolf cannot break with tradition.
With milk sucked from the she-wolfs dugs
The blind cubs learn the stern prohibition
Never, never to cross the red flags!

They're hunting wolves! The hunt is on, pursuing
The wily predators, the she-wolf and her brood.
The beaters shout, the dogs bay, almost spewing.
The flags on the snow are red, as red as the blood.

We are swift and our jaws are rapacious.
Why then, chief, like a tribe that's oppressed,
Must we rush towards the weapons that face us
And that precept be never transgressed?
For a wolf cannot change the old story
The end looms and my time's, almost done.
Now the huntsman who's made me his quarry
Gives a smile as he raises his gun.

They're hunting wolves! The hunt is on, pursuing
The wily predators, the she-wolf and her brood.
The beaters shout, the dogs bay, almost spewing.
The flags on the snow are red, as red as the blood.

But revolt and the life-force are stronger
Than the fear that the red flags instil
From behind come dismayed cries of anger
As I cheat them, with joy, of their kill.
In my flight, sinews bursting I hurtle,
But the outcome is different today!
I was cornered! They trapped me encircled!
But the huntsmen were foiled of their prey!

They're hunting wolves! The hunt is on, pursuing
The wily predators, the she-wolf and her brood.
The beaters shout, the dogs bay, almost spewing.
The flags on the snow are red, as red as the blood.

Vladimir's visotsky song

[handmade34]

24. love the visuals!

[Fly by night]

15. And now for something really long -- Let Her Be

This is my one and only attempt at cowboy poetry, written while I was in the "house" in honor of my muse, Jonell Mosser. (Google her for some fine white soul music.)

Jonell's girlfriend called it a "cowboy opera". Enjoy.
-----


Let Her Be

Somewhere in the hills between Kerrville and Austin,
the pastures were as brown as caramel frosting.
But spring was soon coming,
you could smell warm earth on the breeze,
the end of the freeze.

Down in the valley, Momma’s supper was cooking.
It was an hour away and little Brother was looking
for big Sister to come take a walk
so they could have a moment,
could just sit and talk.

It was seldom quiet on the farm before supper,
Brother still would be panting.
He had Daddy's fields and Sis’s man's
to get ready for planting.
Working every day “can to can't”,
Brother did all he could.

So when he called Sister and asked her,
"Would you have a minute,
my mind is a puzzle and
I can't relax it.
Can we walk to the ridge?”,
Sister said that she could.

Momma was cooking and watching Sis’s kids,
She knew Brother needed Sister
as he sometimes did.
Momma had always trusted those two.
Before Sister had her own brood,
she had mothered Brother too.

And so Sis took the slow walk up to the bluff
a climb that today wasn't as tough
as the times she had buried two Daddies up there,
her own and her babies'.

A stranger looking at them from the road
would have seen a man mountain and a small pretty woman
sitting together on the top of that bluff.
And though he was much larger, the man would always be
Little Brother to his small Big Sister,
only three years older, but his other mother.
With her, he was always gentle.
With him, she was never too tough.

So they settled in among the mesquite and cedar,
the old cherry tree with the kids' homemade bird feeder,
two gravestones and two old tree swings,
their place when he needed her.

To help puzzle out something so much bigger
than his own broad shoulders and deep heart could figure --
a crossroads again, and again she was his compass.

For others, small talk would have filled up the spaces.
But not Brother and Sister, you could tell from their faces.
They were ready and open, their time here was precious.

For these two siblings and friends, this ground had always been holy.
Sunrises, sunsets they had shared, sister and brother, never wholly
alone, they could count on each other.

After a few quiet moments to remember their history,
Brother said to Sister, "I need you to help me
because, for me, it's a mystery.
You need to tell me, Sister, help me figure the score,
because I'm falling in love with a woman
who's been loved before.

"And that other love, it still hasn't cooled yet.
Though there was nothing warm left, just overheated regret.
So she packed up and left him, left their farm, that he won.
With a truck bed full of boxes and a front seat full of sons.
Now she's starting all over, she just needs to be free.
That's the hardest part, Sis, wanting what's best for her
and yet wanting her for me.

"Her parents named her well, that woman is a Joy.
She’s sweet and she’s pretty and she really loves those boys.
I can't help but see her, this town is so small.
She goes to our church. I coach her sons to play ball.
And when I'm around her, she smiles like the sun.
Her boys even like me, Sis, they're all so much fun.

"I know that there's plenty more that she has to give.
I know that she's young, has a long time to live.
I can't help myself, I keep thinking about us.
But I know she's been hurt, that her heart wears a callous
from working so hard to save a marriage she thought was forever,
'til death finally did do its part to sever
the Lord's bonds, those bonds that she lived by.
When I think of her pain, I can understand why
she needs time to think, she needs time to settle.
Despite how I feel, this is no time to meddle
in that woman's life as she's beginning to live it.
But if I let her go now, Sis, will I live to regret it?

“Her friends all ask questions, wonder what I want for us two.
Hell, I don't blame them at all – most times, I wonder too.
Over the months, we’ve slowly warmed to each other,
she has hugged me and kissed me and said that she missed me.
And though we've done this only a few times,
for me, now, there is no other.

“But I know her history, I know of her pain,
and while I'm growing to love her, I see nothing to gain
from hurting her more or hurting me too.
So tell me, Sis, just what should I do?"

"Brother, I've heard you out, I've heard you so far.
Your heart's in the right place, that's the man that you are.
Take it easy a minute, let's think this thing through.
If Joy's really someone special, here's what you should do:

“Let her be. Let her be.
I know you don't want to but she needs to be free.
Her burdens have lifted, her heart's ground has shifted.
It's her and her boys now with whom this town's been gifted.
But she's come out here among us now to find space to breathe.
So just let her be.

“Your feelings for Joy are hardly a secret.
We've all seen your smiles for each other, they just won't quit.
Momma especially is happy for you.
She told me last night that you're long overdue
to find you a woman that you could adore
like Daddy loved her right up to heaven's door.
Though he left us too soon, Momma loves Daddy more.
Momma loves Daddy still. And she always will.

“And speaking for me, I want you to find
a woman who'll love you,
who'll live with and for you,
who'll trust and adore you,
who'll let your heart fill up with her to the brim.
If she's your her, I hope you're her him.

“But what Joy needs is a friend, a man she can trust.
True friends are less common than lovers, or lust.
At this moment, a real friend might just help her see.
If you want to be that friend, just let her be.

“No one can know what the future will bring.
Her future used to include that old boy who gave her a ring.
He's just taken that back, so it makes sense to me
that her life isn’t on track.
Right now, her new future is slowly unfolding.
She's given him up, but she still is holding
twelve years of her history, the sweetness and the noise.
And she can't help but think of it when she looks at her boys.
She may be single now, but her life's not her own.
She's got two of God's gifts, so she's never alone.
From this point on, there'll always be three.
So for now, let them be.

“Let her be, let her be.
To learn what she wants and to find what she needs.
You can help her the best now, I hope you can see,
if you can be kind enough to just let her be.

“Her marriage looks over. To me, it seems so.
But I'm sorry for her ex too, for letting her go.
Her ex old boy can't be all bad 'cause she loved him so long,
and gave him two sons, bright, gentle and strong.
And if that old boy should wake up, finally come to his senses
and do all that he could to mend all of her fences,
if they got back together, would you be happy for her, for them?
Really?
If you don't know the answer, Brother,
let her be.

“A woman like Joy faces all kinds of choices.
While your life's been quiet, she still hears the voices
of her past and her present and maybe her future.
With all the noise in her life, her footing's still insecure.
Could you offer her a steadying hand and yet still let her go?
For both of your sakes, I really hope so.

“To return to her husband or to leave him behind.
To keep moving along or to make our town her stake.
To find, at last, her true love or to make her next big mistake.
Don't think that it's easy for her to decide
just what she should do.

“She's got so much to figure out, to understand, to calm her fears.
It could take her months, it could even take her years.
Whatever it takes, it'll take more than a minute.
You've got to decide just how long your heart's in it.
Give her time, help her out, don't hold her back.
Just let her be.

“You've waited so long to find more than a friend,
but the tornado she survived still feels like a whirlwind.
If you care about her and understand all she's been through,
you've got to decide what's best for her and her kids before you.
Those paths still aren't clear, so your thinking's not through.

“They say that whatever will be, will be.
It's hard to argue with that, to say it's not true.
But whatever might be, well it might not be too.
As hard as it might seem, her future might not include you.

“Let her be, let her be.
Let her be free, free to see
where she's been and where she really wants to be.
With or without you,
give her time, let her be.

“Besides, this whole world could be Joy's oyster, the world could be at her feet.
There are plenty of pearls, you just might not compete.
To be truthful, if you had to be
something you're not, I don't think you'd be.

“But don't forget that this isn't an island we live on. The whole town has seen her.
Lots of good old boys (and a few good old girls) are dying to meet her.
There's plenty of bulls and banty roosters in this small town barnyard.
If she's needy for a good old whatever, she won't have to look hard.

“But if that should happen, if she needs some release
for a few sweaty minutes so her urges will cease,
so she can remember she's a woman, if just for a minute,
when you said that you want her, is that what you meant?

“Brother, you don't have to answer. I know you too well.
You'd rather do without than answer any woman's bell
for an eight second or even an eight minute ride.
If that's all she wants, you'd rather step to the side.
But if that's what she needs now, could you just let her be?

“Let her be, let her be,
to be with someone else now if she feels that she needs it.
Her body's her own now, she finally controls it.
Could you let her relax now, would you still be there for her?
If she was one of your men friends, would you even applaud her?
The questions are simple but the answers are sticky.
So if you care for her now, let her be.

“And then there's you, your friends Zach and Daniel and their older brother Ben.
Around here all the hens call you four "the men".
And the women do too. That's quite the compliment,
Brother, I'm proud of you.

“Of course, once there were five.
Back when my man was alive ...."

And they sat there a moment, surrounded by silence.
Sister breathing steady, tears welling up from her core,
because they sat beside the grave of her only man,
a man lost to them all in that senseless little war.
Her babies' Daddy was gone, her only lover gone too.
What would she do without him? She still hadn't a clue.

But this evening wasn't about her, it was for Brother.
Someone else falling in love, wanting to give to another
everything of himself that was already good,
to make himself better in all ways that he could.
Just like those precious moments in her memory still,
before her man moved, forever, to this high Texas hill.

Sister finally spoke up again, never losing her place,
saying " What if your Joy found another new face
to draw her in, someone else who cared for her too,
who could love her like you?
She might meet someone who means more than you mean.
Who you are, what she needs, could be two different things.
What if Daniel comes to care for her, or she falls in love with Ben?
Would you think less of her then or less of your friends?
Or would you be happy for them, and let them both see?
If you don't know the answer, let her be.

“But then again, on the other hand, Brother,
Joy’s pain may be so strong
that she’ll never again allow another
old boy or a man or even a woman
deep inside her.
It might take her your lifetime
to put these things behind her.
But she might make room for a friend, someone to stand beside her,
a few good men and women to stay close and guide her
may be all that is left for this woman to share.
Think about it, Brother, I know that you care.
If you could be satisfied now to be Joy’s friend if that’s all you could be,
then just let her be.”

Then Brother spoke up. "Sis, why have you stayed alone?
I know you've had many more than just a few chances.
I see how the old boys look at you at the dances.
Why haven't you found an old boy yet to fill up your home?"

"Why would I need an old boy when I've loved a man?
All I need is his memory and the touch of my hand.
It may not sound like much but it sure as hell will do,
since my man can't be here too.

“Besides, why would I want the barnyard dragged through my bedroom?
The roosters leave droppings, a bull or a hog
would leave quite a smell from which I might not recover.
If I want me a pet, I'll get me a dog.

“I know there’s lots of differences between old boys and men.
One’s life is real, the other’s pretend.
One kind grows up, the other just ages.
One’s life’s a book, the other’s blank pages.
One does the work, the other is lazy.
One is clear-headed, the other's is hazy.
One is so thankful for every little thing he has tasted.
The other only wants more, he just wants to get wasted.
A man takes his time, an old boy’s just hasted
and frazzled and futile and fickle and harried.
While one plays around, the other gets married.

“This list could go on, it’d take a while to get through.
But women know the difference, and hens they do too.
But hens could care less, they make do with their roosters.
While women love men, they’re men’s biggest boosters.
Don’t worry, Brother, Joy can tell the difference.
Her life has educated her own point of view.
She’s had her old boy, now she might just want you.

“As a woman, I’ve been lucky to be surrounded by men --
my Daddy, my lover, my Brother, his friends.
I wouldn't trade any of that for a circus,
no matter how thrilling, no matter the purpose.

“Besides, my three kids adore their Uncle Brother.
You've helped me so much, though maybe you'd druther
have had a brood of your own, but you've never shown it.
You're the king of my kids' world. In their hearts, you own it.

“Around here, you're respected by all the cows and the hens,
the girls and the women, the boys and the men.
You've been one of the three best men in my life,
but now you're all I have left. I want to hold you so tight.
So what if another woman should ever enter our picture?
What would that do to my home and to Momma's?
Would you have time for us or would we just be fixtures?”

“Big Sister, if I learned anything watching you
and your loving man before we all lost him,
I've seen how much love grows for them
who love deeply and for those who love well.
So Sister, don't worry, you’ll always be able to tell
where my heart is for you, for Momma and for your kids.
It will only get bigger, it won't ever get hid
away and hoarded. That's not how love is,
it's not locked up and boarded.

“Well, Sis, I've heard you out and your good sense doesn’t change.
Joy's now in my heart and, in some way, there she'll remain.
Whatever comes next, I don't have to see. I can just let her be.”

“Brother, I know it's not easy, this thing that I'm asking.
To care for a woman, yet go around masking
your feelings for her, at least for a while,
to be satisfied just with an occasional smile.
But because deep down I know the man that is you,
I expect that you agree with me on the things you must do.
First think of her needs, then her sons’ and then you.
If you really care for her now, I think you'll agree.
Right here, right now, I know
you’re man enough to just let her be.”

There was more they could say, but they'd said quite enough.
So they sat for a minute, remembering the sweet and the rough
of all that this life brings.
And that of all this world's magic,
love was the most wondrous of things.

Just then, Momma called them and brought them back round
to the farm's peaceful evening, the sunset on the hills,
the barn-swallows and nighthawks filling the fields.
"You two come on down if you're finished, supper's just about ready.
And Brother, fix the dining room table, please make it steady
for our guests of the evening -- Joy and her two boys.
I've been wanting to visit with her and to find out why my boy’s
heart has been (lately) so pleasantly drumming.
So hurry down now, I see her pickup truck coming.”

So Brother left Sister and headed back to the house,
while Sister bent down and kissed
her man's tombstone with her mouth.
Framed by the mesquite and cedar and the old cherry tree,
she called after Brother softly,
"Now repeat after me – ‘just let her be’."

As Brother reached the house, Joy’s little boys jumped
from their pickup truck, they were laughing and pumped
to play with Sis’s kids, to cram more fun in this latest adventure.
They were at Brother’s home. They were happy to be here.
Brother opened the door on Joy’s side of the truck,
smiled at her and said, “Well, you folks are in luck.
Momma’s killed a banty rooster, we’re having fried chicken.
And around here, we don’t ever frown on finger lickin’. “

And Brother embraced her, sweet and strong, but just for an instant.
This day was filled with Joy. There was no room for regret.
“Now come on inside, Momma’s been waiting to greet you.
She’s said many times that she’s been living to meet you.”
“Don’t you mean ‘dying’?”, Joy said, a puzzled look in her eyes.
“No, around here, we know life is filled with sweet surprises
if we can just be still enough to see them. If we can just let life be.”

Up on the ridge, Sister would have been proud
to hear Brother’s words if she had heard them out loud.
But her heart was elsewhere, her love was laying
a moment beside her man, whose body was staying
on her ridge-top forever, here with her Daddy.
She had to stop and be thankful for who’s left among the living
and the one who went on before his time, though he never stopped giving
to her all his love. It would last through the ages.
His love had written a good book that had never-ending pages.

After Sister walked back slowly to Momma's house alone,
the hillside got quiet but since it was now forever home
to Brother and Sister’s Daddy and to Sis's loving man,
those two spirits smiled and thought with each other, as only spirits can.

Daddy thought first: "Boy, my kids sure do me proud.
I don't think I could have steered Brother better if I could still speak aloud.
Sister speaks from her heart, as only your woman can.
And, boy howdy, how that little Brother has become quite the man."

Then Sis's man thought: "You're right, of course,
you and your woman, you raised them quite well.
If this family could bottle its love,
we'd have plenty to sell.
And as for your daughter, I will always thank the Lord
for letting me be her one and only man.
I'm so pleased she can still feel my love
in her heart, with her hands."

Daddy thought: "I'm tempted to whisper to Momma
so she'll know just how all this ends.
The Lord surely knows what's right, and he'll do it again
for little Brother and also for this woman Joy.
And I'm really pleased with what He has in store for her boys.

“But since all their bodies are still above ground, let's not spoil the surprise.
They don’t know the future, they can’t see with our eyes.
But just as Sister said, and from where we are, we agree.
It's best to trust in the Lord and to just let 'er be.

“Life has a way of sifting the real from the pretend,
the chaff from the wheat, the boys from the men.
It's not the destination that matters, it is always the journey.
If we all do the next right thing and the world just keeps turning,
it will always turn out like it's 'sposed to in the end, that they're learning.
And while you and I wait for them here by heaven's door,
we can thank the Lord again, as we've thanked Him before,
for letting them -- for letting all of us -- be.”

Somewhere in the hills between Kerrville and Austin,
the pastures are still brown as caramel frosting.
But spring is once again coming,
Mother Earth on the breeze,
Her love ending the freeze.

Let Her Be.

[handmade34]

21. hmm, yes

and I checked... thanks

Jonell Mosser with Delbert McClinton
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KgIqk8yOBSE&feature=related

[xchrom]

16. Recommend

[barbtries]

17. I know this avenue, sweet street.

It sings to me, it carries me up...
Always up
and a hug
from a warm soft child
we skip together
And I and my words
Stronger now
Looking forward - somehow -
this is home.
this little
inconsequential
really just almost
Poem.

in my poetry meetup we're doing a poem a day. http://blog.writersdigest.com/poeticasides/

[handmade34]

22. oh, I LOVE Poetry!

[barbtries]

25. me too

:)

[hobbit709]

18. Fleas

Adam
had 'em

[FLPanhandle]

19. Billy Collins has some great poems

Dharma

The way the dog trots out the front door
every morning
without a hat or an umbrella,
without any money
or the keys to her doghouse
never fails to fill the saucer of my heart
with milky admiration.

Who provides a finer example
of a life without encumbrance—
Thoreau in his curtainless hut
with a single plate, a single spoon?
Gandhi with his staff and his holy diapers?

Off she goes into the material world
with nothing but her brown coat
and her modest blue collar,
following only her wet nose,
the twin portals of her steady breathing,
followed only by the plume of her tail.

If only she did not shove the cat aside
every morning
and eat all his food
what a model of self-containment she
would be,
what a paragon of earthly detachment.
If only she were not so eager
for a rub behind the ears,
so acrobatic in her welcomes,
if only I were not her god.

[Fly by night]

20. And now for something so much shorter ...

"Get yourself a hut house not too far from town,
live cheap,
go ball in the bars once in a while,
write and rumble in the hills and
learn how to saw boards and
talk to grandmas, you damn fool,
carry loads of wood for them,
clap your hands at shrines,
get supernatural favors,
take flower-arrangement classes and
grow chrysanthemums by the door, and
get married for krissakes,
get a friendly human-being gal
who don’t give a shit for martinis every night and
all that dumb white machinery in the kitchen.”

(“Oh”, says Alvah sitting up glad, “And what else?”)

“Think of barn swallows and nighthawks filling the fields….”

Dharma Bums, Jack Kerouac (1922-1969)

Everything Kerouac wrote was poetic, whether it was poetry or not.

[handmade34]

23. 17th Century... always made me smile

To his Coy Mistress: Andrew Marvell


Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv'd virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

[BOG PERSON]

26. How come we don't have a national prose month?

or a national technical writing month? huh? huh??

[handmade34]

28. well...

I'm ok with it... I love technical writing :-)

[handmade34]

27. Def Poetry

"Hands"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VuAbGJBvIVY&feature=related

"Penny for your thoughts"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kozv2POJS0I&feature=related

"The Hebrew Mamita"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dv8tBjp3upk&feature=related

"Asian Invasion"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nfIqIRh_L18&feature=related

[CaliforniaPeggy]

29. I love this thread! Here's one of mine:

Voice, Redux

When will I hear

the words
to soothe
to heal my
wounds
to bind

will I ever hear

you


Do not

forsake
me

[handmade34]

30. I hear this two different ways

and like them both :-)

[CaliforniaPeggy]

31. Thank you!

I'm curious; what ways do you hear this?

:hi:

[handmade34]

32. Voice

implies a number of things...
at first I hear a need to find yourself, your inner voice (either the ability to write or speak), the one that informs and consoles and guides you. As a writer, this poems can be a plea for the end of 'writer's block' and/or emotion. If one uses writing to help get through emotional times or hurtful situations, there is a sincere need for that 'voice' to always be there.

I also can imagine a literally request for another to be there, to talk to you, be intimate again.

a thing I like about art is the freedom to create something and the freedom for the viewer/reader to interpret it. I am aware that often it is not interpreted as possibly intended but in the end it is all good!

[CaliforniaPeggy]

33. Ah, I thank you!

I had not considered it the first way. But of course, I see it now.

I wrote it with the second point of view in mind.

It's always good to hear (or see, lol) how another person interprets a poem, esp. one that you yourself have written.

Indeed, it is all good!

[Fly by night]

34. Another kick for what an incredible thread this has been. Thanks for starting it.

I've enjoyed all of it. Hope there's more to come. After all, ...

a month is more than a minute.

FBN

(Here's a poem I wrote shortly after attending my 40th high school reunion in Columbus, Mississippi. I graduated in 1967 in the last completely white graduating class from that north Mississippi school, in a small town on the Tombigbee river where Tennessee Williams and me were born. Neither one of us can say anything in less than 3,000 words.)

Enjoy.

-------

Looking Back -- What Really Mattered

Four decades ago and a few seconds more
we left behind our child-like past
we passed together through a common door
to find our futures, at long last.

Though it seemed, so long ago,
that we were different, one from another
we really were much closer,
in our high schoolish laughter
so much whiter, so much straighter,
so much cleaner (though hardly more sober)
than the many others, the ones who
would follow here, forever after.

When, at last, we left the heat
of that loud and musty gym,
clothed in gown and mortarboard,
maroon and white,
into that steamy night
we could not know, could not portend
(did not even comprehend)
that there would be
as many roads, as many trails,
many foot-paths, many futures
leading us away from here
as there were those of us
back then to take them.

We smiled within ourselves and with each other
at our families in the bleachers
at our coaches, at our teachers
Thinking we had arrived, not that we had just started
on the journeys that have now wrapped around
and brought us back here once again,
though older, wiser, fewer now for those departed
from our midst (into the mist)
that we still cannot comprehend.

We look at each other now and try to guess
what bright young thing once filled the dress
of that now laughing gray-haired matron
we try to see beyond the wrinkles
of that bald, still solid patron
who years ago lined up beside us
on the line in that magnolia-scented bowl
were we ever really teammates –
tell me, how did we become this old?

The answer to that question’s easy, though not simple.
We took those first few furtive footsteps
out that common door together, the one we shared
and then some charged and some just sauntered,
others marched or they meandered
down our separate paths, alone or paired.

And all the wonders of the unseen world,
or -- instead -- its sameness, its routine
that our separate lives would bring
marked us deep or marked us gentle
as travelers in time, if not in place
wrote its road-maps on each face
that sit together in this space.

If we would have wondered, if we could have known
where our separate roads would lead us
where our separate paths would leave us
would we have still walked so willing
through our shared, our common doorways,
fleeing from that time’s soft haze
into our own bright, breathless days
that came to mark our means and ways

Well, hindsight’s always perfect vision,
so for me I am still thankful
for those cheap, rose-colored glasses
handed out by fairy lasses
floating just outside our common door
the one through which we left together
that one last time, and nevermore.

Together now, those of us remaining
try to remember, wrapped in soft refraining
of our older, wiser, quieter laughter
what was so important then, what we valued
why we chose that one, or another
to wear the crowns that separated
those favored few from us
and from each other

Now, of course, the answer’s clear
But back then, our choices were so near
to our very young, our unformed views
of what was important, what had worth
what mattered as we strode the earth
that lay ahead, unknown,
outside that common door

Back then, we had few words and fewer crowns,
few worthy attributes than we now know
of what would soon come to really matter.
But today, we could bestow
many more glories, because we now know
what counts as worthy, what we’ve learned,
what’s clearer now than in the youthful haze
that we shared back in those days
when our worlds had not much yet turned.

I look around this crowd-less room,
at the faint, familiar faces – some so fine
of those few friends who have been steadfast
or the ones who slowly faded
or the friendships never made,
their small loss but (so much larger) mine
.
And I see more here to honor,
things we didn’t see before,
that this night, we might give homage
that has not yet been bestowed,
belated crowns to all among us
whose lives have since spun pure gold
from the flax that had been sowed,
that had always been growing just beyond
that long-closed common door.

So step up now or stand in place.
Just know that in your gray-framed face
I see more clearly now and I embrace
the worth that is in each one of us,
what we were given, what grew within us
from the flaxen seeds here sown
in our magnolia-scented world
the only world that we’ve all known.

Besides the ones we thought – back then –
to be most fair, most beautiful and handsome,
today I see ones we could have chosen
to be our most likely to stay well-preserved,
the ones whose soul-lights still burn bright within,
the cutest, the ones most likely still fun to cuddle
the ones most comfortable in their own skin.

Today, besides the ones we deemed most friendly
we could point to, we could choose
the ones most thankful, who are the calmest,
the kindest and the most serene
the sweetest and the most inclusive,
the ones least likely to have been mean.

Today, we could honor others besides the smartest,
we could choose the wisest, most well-rounded,
the best-read and the most open-minded,
the ones most blessed with eloquence
and the ones with the most receptive ear
the ones whose lives were most adventurous
and the ones who have remained
most satisfied with everything that had
always waited for them here.

In the same breath as the one most witty, we could choose
the least caustic, the most refined
the most sophisticated, the most demure
the worldliest, the ones most wealthy in friends and family
the ones whose lives were most filled with laughter,
the most cerebral, most secure.

Together with the ones most athletic, way back when and now,
we could add the ones most healthy, most happy
the ones most different, the least likely to ever change
the always fairest, the most forceful
the most electric, the most well-grounded
the bravest or, at least, the ones least likely to act fearful
the most cautious, the most careful ones,
the ones still most likely to leap before they look
yet also who still smile as they receive
an rueful earful from the rest of us
(the earth-bounded, the hard-working ones).

This list would continue, as it should
if we stayed here forever, if we only could
embrace the more complete knowledge
that we now share for what is real,
what has made -- what still makes --
each of us, nearer now the end,
so superlative, so good.

But, instead, we must remember
that, like everything, this time is fleeting,
that, in this long-awaited meeting,
time is surely slipping, silently, away.
It is not yet midnight, but it is
the evening of our life’s one day.

So we should embrace this moment
– this seamless and solitary night –
we who are now few, we who are still proud,
we who are more wrinkled and more gray,
we who were once and will be forever
the oh so mighty maroon and white
the ones who (long ago) walked together,
magnolia-marked, forevermore,
deeply formed by what we shared,
memories of our time together,
cherished and once so very cared for,
tucked silently and softly, safe inside
our lives’ last common door.