Poetry Swap-meet

Subject: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 23 Sep 99 - 01:27 AM

Welcome to the Mudcat Poetry Swap-meet. Bring a poem and leave it here, or take one with you when you go. Comment on a poem, or write one of your own...

Mouths That Kissed in the Hot Ashes of Pompeii

Mouths that kissed
in the hot ashes of Pompeii
are returning
and eyes that could adore their beloved only
in the fires of Pompeii
are returning
and locked bodies that squirmed in ecstacy
in the lava of Pompeii
are returning
and lovers who found their perfect passion
in the death of Pompeii
are returning,
and they're letting themselves in
again with the names of your sons
and your daughters.

Brautigan

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: katlaughing
Date: 23 Sep 99 - 03:29 AM

Beautiful, LeeJ! And great idea for a thread!

Sherri Tender Womon

Shared intimacy was ours from the start,
Through the braiding of my hair;
Fresh powder on my too-hot neck
Gently spread above my breast and, o'er my throat.
Followed by shared laughter,
swapped stories of girlfriends, men and children and,
Life Experience.

Then, the Pipe of Brenda,
Lakota womon of Power
Filling her pipe, at your
Request, for herself,
So important, but always
last to think of...herself.
The power of reverence,
Sacredness and love
Built up, until I, third
To pray, felt the strength
Of my grandfather fill
My voice in mighty
Supplication for our Mother, the Earth.
And, in thanksgiving for you,
Tender Womon;
Who tenders her love and affection and support
Through gentle touch
And strong suggestion.
For you, Tender Sister,
I offered my prayers
And for our Sister, of the Pipe, Brenda.

More threads, they,
In my Womyns' Sowing Circle of Light,
Filled with love, sorrow, tears and rage
Over-coming cares, worn-out fears,
Letting tears flow, a cleansing,
Sighs of healing shared.

In thanksgiving I came, in thanksgiving I go,
For the gifts you have given me, Tender Womon,
With me always, in my heart, mind, and soul.
Connexions, made at your quiet insistence,
Will flourish like shy flowers, yet, as they open,
More like you, the righteous womon of power
Who inspires them.

©KL 1998

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: thosp
Date: 23 Sep 99 - 04:34 AM

an Evolution
Strange
two tongues Touch
exchange
a Feast unknown
to stone
or tree or beast


-"Evolution"May Swenson

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: annamill
Date: 23 Sep 99 - 12:56 PM

This is one of my favorites. It has a lot of applications. When I was single, I used it often. For Valentine's Day (with a butterfly from Marisol), when I had to leave a relationship, or to a friend I just met. I always use a fancy bold scrip. Please don't think I'm insincere. Each situation deserved this beautiful poem.

It was given to me by a retired Navy officer. He was sweet and retired to Omaha. Haven't seen him since. He claims he wrote it.

Two kindred souls adrift Like butterflies they glide To pause upon a flower, still To share a speck in time.

I have a favorite poetry place where people put poems they've written and some are very beautiful. They are catogorized by subject. It's called "Passions in Poetry". The address is "http://netpoets.com/index.htm". Please let me know what you think.

Love, annap

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Allan C.
Date: 23 Sep 99 - 01:41 PM

Such Faith

People speak of faith so strong,
They sing their praise at Sunday's dawn
Songs of holiness, love of God;
But on each church is a lightning rod.

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Bert
Date: 23 Sep 99 - 01:54 PM

Did you write that Allen? That's a classic.

Bert. LMAO

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: katlaughing
Date: 23 Sep 99 - 02:41 PM

I love that, Allen! Brilliant!

I've been researching for an article about women in Afghanistan still being repressed, murdered, tortured and restricted to an existence of total inhumaneness. While looking I found an org. called RAWA, Revolutionary Assoc. of the Women of Afghanistan, which operates out of Pakistan.

One of its founders was a woman named Meena. At 20 years old, in 1977, she founded it to fight for social justice, democracy, etc. for women of Afghanistan. By the time she was 30, 1987, she had been assasinated for her efforts, by the KGB and its fundamentalist cronies in her country. Here is a partial translation of a poem by her:

I'LL NEVER RETURN

I'm the woman who has awoken
I've arisen and become a tempest through the ashes of my burnt children
I've arisen form the rivulets of my brother's blood
My nation's wrath has empowered me
My ruined and burnt villages replete me with hatred against the enemy
O' compatriot, no longer regard me weak and incapable,
My voice has mingled with thousands of arisen women
My fists are clenched with fists of thousands compatriots
To break together all these sufferings all these fetters of slavery.
I'm the woman who has awoken,
I've found my path and will never return.

Meena 1957-1987 Afghanistan

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 23 Sep 99 - 03:30 PM

Kat- "Sherri" is quite tender and moving. Sounds like a Lakota Pipe Ceremony. And I like the power in Meena's voice in the other poem.

thosp- the magic of the moment of contact expressed beautifully...

Allan- what can I say. Profoundly funny.

annap- nice recounting of the fleeting wonder of it all.

Approaching the Autumnal Equinox, I thought this old one of mine would be appropriate.

The Moon in Four Seasons

A mirror in the April sky
for every strolling melancholy poet
I catch and hold the bride-groom's smile
A sail of light in a sea of stars and night
A saucer full of secrets

Like a spectre in the night
my face is cold and white
My hair is a net of raven curls
for catching fish like silver sparks
in the depths of the summer sky

Leaves dance and whisper on the streets
framed in the golden glow of my light
The earth is emptied of it's crops
A yellow eye with dimming sight
shines with frost and fire

The darkness is my kingdom
wherein I sit like a great pale spider
spinning dreams to earth
a bridge for restless spirits, cold as crystal
fragile as an ice-cloaked branch

LEJ

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: katlaughing
Date: 23 Sep 99 - 03:51 PM

Superb, as I've come to expect from you, LeeJ! Thank you for your kind words, too. It was a Lakota Pipe Ceremony.

annap, I love it when something is expressed so well, so briefly.

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: poet
Date: 23 Sep 99 - 07:32 PM

BLESSED MEMORIES

Nov 1979


I lay in my room all alone in the dark
the night pressing down on my memories stark
In desperation and pain I call to my aid
a vision of you standing just in the shade

I call once again and the sunlight plays
on your auburn hair afire in it's rays
softly shading the curves of your face
Your mother's precious gift to the whole human race

Your eyes are soft pools of compassionate reflection
regarding the world in quiet introspection
They are haughty and proud, yet in some way demure
your thought so secluded seems gentle and pure

Friends have I few in this crowded world
yet great is the distance my dreams have been hurled
Yes I'll count my blessings in dreams and not gold
for the girl in my dreams is warm and not cold.

The darkness has gone and light floods my mind
yet memory lingers like scent on the wind
The picture has gone, and I stand once more tall
for I know that you'll come, whenever I call.




one of my earlier ones, I always liked it but then I'm biased

Graham Hyett (Guernsey)

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 23 Sep 99 - 08:43 PM

Graham, very touching poem. It makes me wonder if she had been real and become a memory, or if you invented her. Either way, it works.

LEJ

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: thosp
Date: 24 Sep 99 - 12:59 AM

hi lej ! i'm a bit of a computer novice and i wasn't able to paste that poem into the thread-- do you have any idea why ? so i sent it to you in e-mail just in case you could do it-- otherwise i will have to use my pitiful typing skills and do it the old fashioned way---to the above posters --- i love the poems !!! -------one more thing --i've been trying to find a poem by Shelly -- i don't remember the title -- but i remember it started like this-------------------------------------------------a pale dream came
to a lady fair
and said
"a boon a boon
i pray
for i knowthe secrets
of the day
and i can make
the sleeping see
if they will put
their faith in me"
and half in hope
and half in fright
the lady closed
her eyes so bright
?????????????? etc

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Cara
Date: 24 Sep 99 - 10:04 AM

Thosp-- I looked around for youre Shelley poem but couldn't find it anywhere. I did, however, find this excellent site, with tons and tons of excellent works by excellent authors. my first ever blue clicky thing

And, though I was looking for something else, I found this lovely, melancholy old favorite of mine from Robert Frost. I love this poem.
AFTER APPLE PICKING

MY long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough. 5
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass 10
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell, 15
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear. 20
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound 25
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch, 30
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap 35
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his 40
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.

Don't Forget the Line Breaks <br>
-Joe Offer-

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Cara
Date: 24 Sep 99 - 10:06 AM

Oh man, I don't know what to do with that mess! No one wants to do all those line breaks--can someone delete it or something? Sorry!

BUT--Hooray for my first working hyper link!!

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: thosp
Date: 24 Sep 99 - 12:08 PM

thanks Cara ! --- for trying to find the poem --and the site is great ! i've bookmarked it--- i also tried to copy and paste "after apple picking" into this thread --but it didn't work --- does anyone know why ? ----anyway thanks again ! --- oh btw it's a beautiful poem !

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 24 Sep 99 - 05:06 PM

' when serpents bargain for the right to squirm '

whenr serpents bargain for the right to squirm
and the sun strikes to gain a living wage-
when thorns regard their roses with alarm
and rainbows are insured against old age

when every thrush may sing no new moon in
if all screech-owls have not okayed his voice
- and any wave signs on the dotted line
or else an ocean is compelled to close

when the oak begs permission of the birch
to make an acorn - valleys accuse their
mountains of having altitude - and march
denounces april as a saboteur

then we'll believe in that incredible
unanimal mankind (and not until)

ee cummings

Think Big Mick might get a kick out of that one?

thosp- sorry- I'm as helpless at cutnpaste as you. liked the poem though. I read it to my 10 year old and she liked it too.

I've never heard the Frost poem before, but I really like it. Especially "essence of winter sleep is on the night."

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: thosp
Date: 25 Sep 99 - 01:02 AM

by-Delmore Schwartz
for Miss Kathleen Hanlon

"Iam cherry alive" the little girl sang,
"Each morning i am something new:
I am apple,I am plum,Iam just as excited
As the boys who make the Hallowe'en bang:
I am tree,Iam cat,Iam blosson too:
When I like,if I like,I can be someone new,
Someone very old,a witch in a zoo:
I can be someone else whenever I think who,
And I want to be everything sometimes too,
And the peach has a pit and I know that too.
And I put it in along with everything
To make the grown-ups laugh whenever I sing:
And I sing: it is true: it is untrue:
I know,Iknow, the true is untrue,
The peach has a pit, the pit has a peach:
And both may be wrong when I sing my song,
But don't tell the grown-ups: because it is sad.
And I want them to laugh just like I do
Because they grew up and forgot what they knew
And they are sure I will forget it some day too.
They are wrong. They are wrong. When I sang my song, I knew,I
knew!
I am red, I am gold, I am green, I am blue,
I will always be me, I will always be new!"

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: bseed(charleskratz)
Date: 25 Sep 99 - 03:14 AM

pity this busy monster manunkind
not. progress is a comfortable disease,
your victim (death and life safely beyond)
plays with the bigness of his littleness.
electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange. lenses extend
unwish through curving wherewhen 'til unwish
returns on its unself. a world of made
is not a world of born--pity poor flesh
and trees, poor stars and stone,
but never this fine specimen of hypermagical
ultraomnipotence. we doctors know
a hopeless case if--listen!there's a hellofagood universe next door. let's go

another e. e. cummings poem on the same theme as that posted by LEJ: not as beautiful imagery, but much more bitter. I think I got all the words right; the line breaks I'm not sure of.

--seed

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: poet
Date: 25 Sep 99 - 06:20 PM

Hi Lonesome
The lady was real.
But time was an enemy I didn't recognise.


Graham (Guernsey)

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: poet
Date: 26 Sep 99 - 08:53 AM

Heres a non personal one except as the beholder.
Spring a Surprise
4/4/1979 G.J.Hyett.

The winter snow still falls
its carpet wet and cold.
the wind an icy blast
that freezes young and old.

The world is etched in crystal
Ice hangs Daggers Drawn
A lonely line of footprints
show Blackly in the dawn

They lead through fields of whiteness
neath grey and leaden skies
down into a valley
and stop as in surprise

for there beneath a tree
yellow as the sun
sheltered from the wind
A crocus groes just ONE.

Graham(Guernsey)

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Neil Lowe
Date: 07 Oct 99 - 08:43 AM

Now, shall we walk,
Or shall we ride?
"Ride," said Pleasure.
"Walk," Joy replied.

--wish I could remember the author

Regards, Neil

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 07 Oct 99 - 01:38 PM

At the Airport we saw a man in green
Across his chest an M-16
As palm trees swayed in the ocean breeze
over children playing in ancient cemeteries
Mexican soap opera on the TV
beside a gilt-framed portrait of Mary
Twice-girded round with lights that flash
Through the scent of cumin comes the smell of trash
In the rushing crowds by the day's last glow
We reached for truth in Mexico

The Pueblo towns along the road
hold altars sheathed in Spanish gold
A dark eyed girl in communion white
turned to keep our car in sight
In Acaponeta, Fountain of Mezcal,
with Juan and Roberto our drinking pals
who stuck us with the whole bar bill
(Americanos with pesos to kill)
The trucks rolled past in a green halo
through the scented dark of Mexico

The blanket-vendor has eyes for you
in a thousand shades of gray and blue
Para-sailsman smiles as you walk by
"Senor...do you want to fly?"
American tourist, margarita in hand,
walks by the dead man on the sand.
Children ride the rolling swell
toward the terrace of the El Cid Hotel
Where Death wears red and yellow clothes
on a burning beach in Mexico

-LEJ 1986, In Mexico

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Neil Lowe
Date: 07 Oct 99 - 02:32 PM

Great poem, Leej! Traveling abroad is a real eye opener, ain't it?

A singer/songwriter named Sarah Elizabeth Campbell wrote a beautiful song about Mexico entitled, strangely enough, "Mexico." I've never been to Mexico, but the way she sings about it (albeit from a "touristy" point of view) makes me want to visit someday. Your poem, however, suggests you came away with a somewhat different perspective - not the typical "swilling Margaritas by the ocean" postcard rubber stamp memory.

Contrast Sarah Elizabeth Campbell with David Rodriguez, another singer/songwriter who's stays pissed off because (so he says) all the NorteAmericanos regard his country as nothing more than a vacation spot for tourists with lots of discretionary income. In one way I can sympathize, yet I struggle to see it through his eyes sometimes when in effect people find his country so intriguing and beautiful they want to visit it. Isn't that a form of tribute and flattery?

Anyway, your poem fired some neural impulses...my thanks. Sorry for the thread-drift.

Regards, Neil

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Frank Howe
Date: 07 Oct 99 - 03:19 PM

Picture if you will, a clearing in the middle of a deep ancient wood. A fire burns brightly in the center of the clearing.
Around the fire a Celtic tribe, on the move, settles in for the evening.
Women prepare meals and make ready the rushes for a night's rest.
Around the flames, children play at bold games.
Two young lovers, not yet of joining age, steal glances at each other - "Will you think of me tonight? Shall I think of you?"
At the edge of the clearing stands a warrior with nothing…. but his shield…. and his spear…. and himsel

The Guard and the Prisoner
I stand with my back to the fire
And my eyes on the forest.
I hear the laughter of the children
Making shadows with their fingers.
I do not see the fleeting glow
Reflected in their confident eyes
But I remember my own shadows growing fierce
As the darkness cloaked the dying flames.
And I hide the fear, because the forest
Is so big and full of danger.

I stand with my back to the fire
And my eyes on the forest.
I hear the women as they share
Their laughter and their tears.
I do not see them, as they gently
Brush against each other's lives
But I remember the softness of my mother's hair
And her hand upon my own.
And I hold back the grief,
As the forest holds me to the circle's edge

I stand with my back to the fire
And my eyes on the forest.
I hear the rustle of leaves
And the snap of a twig.
I do not see the author of this threat
But I remember the rush of the wild boar
And the stealth of my enemy.
And I feel the heavy trust of family
As I open the door to my anger
And place its hand upon my spear.

I stand with my back to the fire
And my eyes on the forest.
I hear the life of the clan
As it moves the circles within.
I do not see the patterns of this movement
Or comprehend the power with which it moves.
But I remember the stern path, which taught me
To ever hold my face towards danger.
And I stand with pride
Because I keep the circle safe.

I stand with my back to the fire
And my eyes on the forest
And I watch
And I listen
In silence.

I stand with my back to the fire

fh 1995

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: katlaughing
Date: 07 Oct 99 - 03:28 PM

LeeJ & Frank: stunnng! Both of them! WOW! Thank you so muhc for sharing them.

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Frank Howe
Date: 08 Oct 99 - 02:17 PM

thanks Kat - it didn't line up properly when I pasted it in but I'm glad you were able to make some sense of it f

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Alice
Date: 08 Oct 99 - 11:35 PM

From a 1978 trip from Montana to El Salvador and back, driving a 1949 Buick Super dyna-flow.

There is a volcano in El Salvador that was active for quite some time, known as the Lighthouse of the Pacific, but in Nahuat the name is Izalco, which means place of black sand. Next to Izalco is a dormant volcanic mountain called Cerro Verde. A developer decided it would be great to build a hotel and restaurant on Cerro Verde to sell the 'view' of Izalco and its flame as an attraction. The road was cut into the mountain and the buildings and parking lot built on top, but not many people go there. Izalco stopped erupting, so there's not much point to the steep drive up Cerro Verde. I went to the top in the '49 Buick and took photos for paintings and wrote this poem:

Volcano's Revenge

Izalco,
The place of black sand,
Burned like a torch,
Like a beacon
Seen miles out to sea.

Izalco's flame
Was famous,
More than a natural wonder
Or a landmark,
It was a fiery breath
From a spirit
Of the Earth.

But those who see
In terms of tourist attractions
And the chance to make a dollar
Thought they were wise
To build a hotel
On the summit overlooking
Izalco.

The local people understood
This insult to the spirit,
And knowingly they shook their heads,
When at the hotel's birth,
The flame of Izalco
Died.

---

Driving through Guatemala to Tikal

Adios! Adios!
Both little hands fly up and down
As they run to the jungle road
Where gringo's driving by their Mayan huts.
The country boy on the balsam coast
Wanted to know,
Do they have Coca Cola in the United States?
Precious Coke and Pepsi must be
Trucked into the jungle
For those who are 'deprived'.

---

Belize City

"Hey, mon, pull ober"
Big Black
Street full
Wooden houses close up,
Narrow crowded idle poor.
The Queen is on the currency.

---

Sihuapilapa, El Salvdor
(the place on the coast where I lived)

She said as she touched
Her slender golden arm,
"We have married with
The Nahuat,
And so comes the pretty color."
And it was true,
As her home was called
Sihuapilapa -
The Place of Beautiful Women.

---

My heart is folded in
upon itself like a fan,
Like my red concertina,
(snapped shut, tight)
no song playing
no deep organ sound,
Folded in
like the closed bellows
of a camera
(click shut, dark)
no image of a loved one,
Folded in
like the quiet feathers
of a wing,
(folded in upon itself),
Resting for the next flight.

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From:
Date: 09 Oct 99 - 12:36 AM

The Depth

I don't know yet the span of love

but I have seen it's depth.

I've seen it in the empty glass when wine is shared

and in the words spoken in parting.

I've seen it where lovers meet,

not in passions play

But in daily life where time is shared.

I've felt it in the stolen moments

Captured and held against beating hearts.

I felt it in the joined bodies of separate lives

and I have tasted it on anothers tongue.

I have found it in the soft carress and in the riotous hug

and in the frenzied thrust and the common breath.

And in the sacrifice of one as a gift for another.

But I find it most in the aching need that steels the time

from the old enemy, and for just a moment,

The depth of love is shown.

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Alice
Date: 09 Oct 99 - 12:50 AM

Here is another I came across in the journal where I had written the poems in my previous post. The guy I was with on the trip turned violent and in a world that had not yet invented the term "domestic abuse", I was really lost for awhile.

The Road Taken

I wandered down a path of love,
Skipping light and gay,
And found myself running headlong,
To keep the wolves at bay.

I fell into a quicksand trap
And struggled to get free,
Calling vainly for some help;
The demons laughed at me.

I stumbled on along my way,
There was no turning back,
Until I lost the light of day,
And everything was black.

I found myself engulfed by thorns,
And fell down to my knees.
Oh, God, please help me out of here!
No voice answered my pleas.

I wept until my eyes were dry,
From all the cold and pain,
And then as if the heavens saw,
They showered me with rain.

A cloud-grey dawn filled up the sky,
The day hung like a curse,
Because - as I sat wondering why,
In the light it all looked worse.

Well, I guess that is depressing, isn't it, but at least it was 1978 when I wrote it, a long time ago. I can still remember the night when these words started running through my head and I had to get up and write them down. It was part of my realization that I had to get out of that situation in order to survive. At least people have more resources to turn to now and more understanding of domestic violence.

-alice (who didn't mean to put a damper on this thread... meet me over at Mudcat campfire #2)

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Neil Lowe
Date: 09 Oct 99 - 11:20 AM

wow....Anon and Alice.....I'm at a loss.....very moving. Alice, knowing the background behind your poem - from whence it sprang - makes it all the more poignant. These two poems will be with me for a while.

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 09 Oct 99 - 12:53 PM

Alice- the Izalco poem is very, very good. Poetic justice.

Frank, great image of the guardian by the fire. Strikes a deep note.

And Anonymous... brilliant piece.

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: DonMeixner
Date: 09 Oct 99 - 12:55 PM

Sorry All,

"The Depth" is my own poor effort. I was so concerned that I typed it correctly that I forgot to sign it.

Don

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Neil Lowe
Date: 09 Oct 99 - 05:02 PM

...not by any stretch of the imagination - "poor." Thanks, Don.

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: DonMeixner
Date: 10 Oct 99 - 12:10 AM

Thanks Neil,

I hadn't thot of writing poetry for years, 20 or so. Lately, it seems, I've found a muse.You and LEJ are so generous with your compliments. I appreciate it greatly.

Don

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: katlaughing
Date: 10 Oct 99 - 12:30 AM

Don,

Smart muse, that! Attached to a brilliant writer. Keep doing so and sharing, please. I really loved your poem.

kat

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From:
Date: 10 Oct 99 - 06:35 PM

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: DonMeixner
Date: 11 Oct 99 - 12:07 AM

Well, once openned I guess.... another one of very recent vintage for my particular muse. Which is in it self a bit of poetry. This is a part of a much longer poem, the part I'm willing to share.

If I watched.

If I watched you as a lover

it would be from a distance

as you passed through your day.

The measured pace would soften the edges

That time has hardened in it's way

The small things done on rising,

or as you bathe, or dress,

would be mine to cherish.

If I watched you as a lover

As you passed through your day.

Don

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Stewie
Date: 11 Oct 99 - 12:38 AM

SPRING AND FALL
To a young child

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are all the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

Gerard Manley Hopkins.

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Neil Lowe
Date: 11 Oct 99 - 06:59 AM

....mind if I borrow your muse for a while, Don? Mine seems to have gone on permanent vacation, and yours seems to be no stranger to work.....great stuff...a quote from the great Carmen Miranda seems apropos here, but I can't think of one. Did she say:"I like-ee, I like-ee"?

Regards, Neil

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: The Muse
Date: 11 Oct 99 - 07:54 PM

Neil, Sorry this particular Muse is spoken for, but I appreciate the interest. The rest of the poem is every bit as touching as what has been shared here.

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 11 Oct 99 - 08:23 PM

Stewie, I've been a fan of Gerard Manley Hopkins since freshman English at U of Louisville. He was a Catholic Priest, and considering his passion for words, his sermons must have been quite moving.

I caught this morning morning's minion, kingdom of day-
light's dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and
striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstacy! then off, off forth on a swing,
As a skate's heel sweeps smooth in a bow-bend: the hurl
and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,- the achieve of, the mastery of the thing!

-GM Hopkins, from The Windhover

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: DonMeixner
Date: 11 Oct 99 - 08:39 PM

Sorry Neil.

She is a selfish Muse, but oh so delightful.

Don

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Cara
Date: 11 Oct 99 - 10:33 PM

INTERIOR

Her mind lives in a quiet room
A narrow room, and tall
With pretty lamps to quench the gloom,
And mottoes on the wall

There all the things are waxen neat
And set in decorous lines
And there are posies, round and sweet
And little, straightened vines

Her mind lives tidily, apart
From cold and noise and pain
And bolts the door against her heart
Out wailing in the rain

-Dorothy Parker

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Cara
Date: 11 Oct 99 - 10:43 PM

A battle cry for Halloween...

HER KIND

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light: lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is nt a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skilets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearrangingthe disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
i have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
wavedmy nude arms at villagers going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor;
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

--Anne Sexton

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Cara
Date: 11 Oct 99 - 10:48 PM

Well, all together these seem a little melancholy, but they are among my favorites, and right t my fingertips...

And let her loves, when she is dead,
Write this above her bones:
No more she lives to give us bread
Who asked her oly stones.

--Dorothy Parker (again)

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Stewie
Date: 12 Oct 99 - 07:59 PM

Lonesome EJ - yes, Jesuit, manic depressive and master poet. I agree the 'Windhover', from which you quoted, was his masterpiece - truly magnificent - but I also love this little gem:

HEAVEN-HAVEN
A nun takes the veil

I have desired to go
Where springs not fail,
To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail
And a few lilies blow

And I have asked to be
Where no storms come,
Where the green swell is in the havens dumb,
And out of the swing of the sea.

GM Hopkins.

Regards, Stewie

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Cara
Date: 13 Oct 99 - 01:47 PM

I just can't stop posting to this thread, because it makes me so happy to read all the stuff I'd like to post. I love this poem. It, and the above Anne Sexton, are among those which encouraged me to stop writing immediately, and just enjoy the written word as shaped by those lucky ones who had the gift for it.

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands)
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

- e. e. cummings

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: Lonesome EJ
Date: 13 Oct 99 - 03:56 PM

You have good taste, Cara. My impulse to write poetry was always based on need- a need to embody in words, to make palpable an experience, thought or feeling, regardless of the worth of my writing. I would be interested in seeing some of your own attempts, if you would like to share them.

Subject: RE: Poetry Swap-meet
From: ericsymonds
Date: 20 Oct 99 - 05:34 AM

Does anyone know the origin of-

Do not walk in front of me,I may not follow Do not walk behind me,I may not lead Walk beside me and be my friend.

It sounds like good advice.Cheers,Gareth