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PMoondancer
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Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#20355 3 years, 5 months ago
Shall I compare thee to a summers day?
by William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day ?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st;
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
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sjfgreenman
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Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#20378 3 years, 5 months ago
Equinox, Morton upped the ante during the celebration by inviting the Native Americans to drink and dance. The Puritans did not like that.

Moondancer, Thanks muchl for the May Pole follow up poetry, very nice indeed. Love the Shakespeare!

odea, great stuff. I relly like your poetry.Thanks for sharing!

LB, that poem is short but so mighty. Just stunning. Thanks for sharing and peace and light to you and Mom. I agree that hospice nurses are absolute saints with uncanny superhuman strength and focus.

Highway Terror, I read the Bobby Peterson again..thanks..I met him at a JGB show at the Stone in the early 80's just hanging out in the crowd. Very interesting guy to talk to, deep and funny.
"if you don't like the news go out and make some of your own"
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Equinox
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Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#20392 3 years, 5 months ago
I think Ken Kesey was the reincarnation of Swift. Has anyone read A Modest Proposal, the essay where he suggests that the solution to the famine in Ireland is to have the Irish eat their young? It's timelessly biting. The man was a Prankster long before the concept (as we know it) was ever envisioned.

On a more serious note, between my dad, my wife's nephew and a good friend in his mid 80s, I've spent quite a bit of time recently in hospices and nursing homes. The nurses are absolute titans, where that daily courage comes from I can't imagine. One thing that has occurred to me, however, is that these places have a certain spiritual beauty. If God is most present anywhere in our lives, it stands to reason that it would be where people wait to begin that greatest journey. I pray that you can feel that infinite love because I believe a hospice is filled with it.
"Got any nails?"
"No!"
"Got any flies?"
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Equinox
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Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#20393 3 years, 5 months ago
Because I could not stop for Death (712)
by Emily Dickinson


Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity –
"Got any nails?"
"No!"
"Got any flies?"
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sjfgreenman
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Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#20502 3 years, 5 months ago
Equinox, didn't say you wrote some poetry back in school that was considered renegade? I'd like to see some some day if you are ever up for sharing. I like the Kesey story about the Irish.


Passing Time

Your skin like dawn
Mine like musk

One paints the beginning
of a certain end.

The other, the end of a
sure beginning.


Maya Angelou
"if you don't like the news go out and make some of your own"
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PMoondancer
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Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#20601 3 years, 5 months ago
Eternity
by William Blake

He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy
He who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity's sunrise
PMoondancer
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Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#20627 3 years, 5 months ago
"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud"
by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed---and gazed---but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
PMoondancer
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Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#20837 3 years, 5 months ago
One Flower
by Jack Kerouac

One flower
on the cliffside
Nodding at the canyon
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Equinox
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Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#20858 3 years, 5 months ago
Thanks for asking about my poetry. I wouldn't necessarily call it renegade, just not in fashion. It's probably one of the reasons I like Emily Dickinson so much. In her lifetime she was completely ignored by the literary establishment but now we basically ignore that establishment. Not that I'm anywhere near her level, of course.

I have no compunction about sharing my poetry. I just have to find it. Somewhere in this house are several boxes filled with poems I've written from my teens into my thirties. After that I turned my attention to journalism and then copy writing because that's where I could actually make some money and still get that writer's buzz. I'd actually like to take a look through those papers. This thread has got me thinking about them again.

Great Angelou poem.

Also nice to see a Kerouac poem. Of course the argument could be made that everything he wrote was poetry.
"Got any nails?"
"No!"
"Got any flies?"
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Equinox
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Re: Poet's Corner..Post Your Favorites

#20859 3 years, 5 months ago
My favorite Wordsworth poem.


LINES
COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY, ON REVISITING THE BANKS OF THE WYE DURING A TOUR. JULY 13, 1798

FIVE years have past; five summers, with the length
Of five long winters! and again I hear
These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
With a soft inland murmur.--Once again
Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
That on a wild secluded scene impress
Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
The day is come when I again repose
Here, under this dark sycamore, and view
These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
'Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,
Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
With some uncertain notice, as might seem
Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,
Or of some Hermit's cave, where by his fire
The Hermit sits alone.
These beauteous forms,
Through a long absence, have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind,
With tranquil restoration:--feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
To them I may have owed another gift,
Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
In which the burthen of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight
Of all this unintelligible world,
Is lightened:--that serene and blessed mood,
In which the affections gently lead us on,--
Until, the breath of this corporeal frame
And even the motion of our human blood
Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
In body, and become a living soul:
While with an eye made quiet by the power
Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
We see into the life of things.
If this
Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft--
In darkness and amid the many shapes
Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir
Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
Have hung upon the beatings of my heart--
How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,
O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro' the woods,
How often has my spirit turned to thee!
And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,
With many recognitions dim and faint,
And somewhat of a sad perplexity,
The picture of the mind revives again:
While here I stand, not only with the sense
Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
That in this moment there is life and food
For future years. And so I dare to hope,
Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first
I came among these hills; when like a roe
I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides
Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
Wherever nature led: more like a man
Flying from something that he dreads, than one
Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
(The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,
And their glad animal movements all gone by)
To me was all in all.--I cannot paint
What then I was. The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite; a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm,
By thought supplied, nor any interest
Unborrowed from the eye.--That time is past,
And all its aching joys are now no more,
And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur, other gifts
Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,
Abundant recompence. For I have learned
To look on nature, not as in the hour
Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,
Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
A lover of the meadows and the woods,
And mountains; and of all that we behold
From this green earth; of all the mighty world
Of eye, and ear,--both what they half create,
And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
In nature and the language of the sense,
The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul
Of all my moral being.
Nor perchance,
If I were not thus taught, should I the more
Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
For thou art with me here upon the banks
Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
The language of my former heart, and read
My former pleasures in the shooting lights
Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
May I behold in thee what I was once,
My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
Knowing that Nature never did betray
The heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege,
Through all the years of this our life, to lead
From joy to joy: for she can so inform
The mind that is within us, so impress
With quietness and beauty, and so feed
With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all
The dreary intercourse of daily life,
Shall e'er prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
And let the misty mountain-winds be free
To blow against thee: and, in after years,
When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance--
If I should be where I no more can hear
Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
Of past existence--wilt thou then forget
That on the banks of this delightful stream
We stood together; and that I, so long
A worshipper of Nature, hither came
Unwearied in that service: rather say
With warmer love--oh! with far deeper zeal
Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
That after many wanderings, many years
Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!
"Got any nails?"
"No!"
"Got any flies?"
Last Edit: 3 years, 5 months ago by Equinox.
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