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Mudcat Poetry Corner
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 15 Feb 04 - 09:30 AM N ice piece o'work, Simon!! A |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Jack Lewin Date: 24 Feb 04 - 01:13 PM To See What Those Eyes Have Seen I took a walk down the the park in our town To watch the parade go by With their medals and barets, this was our day To honor them and those who have died. The flags were waving, the pipes were playing And as they made their way past me I Stood there and stared and wondered what it was like To have seen what those eyes have seen. Did those eyes see a friend die in his arms His body twisting and writhing in pain. Did those eyes see things that he'd pray to god He will never have to see again. Every day there was a constant struggle To follow orders and try to survive And after all that they still think they're lucky Because they came home alive. Did those eyes have the eyes of another man In his sights as a battle began Knowing full well it's him or it's me as he squeezed off the trigger again. After all of these years he can still see his face He can still hear the shot and his cries. Innocence lost in a fight to the death That will haunt him til the day he dies. So as the crowd gathered around and they laid the wreaths down The band played songs in the rain And then for a moment the brohters in arms Were reporting for duty again. The the band grew quiet and we all bowed our heads And the last post was all you could hear Then I thought why don't we honor our heroes More than one day a year!! Cheers Jack Lewin |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Blackcatter Date: 24 May 04 - 12:29 PM Refresh |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Lonesome EJ Date: 24 May 04 - 01:28 PM The Banks of the Far Missouri While you grappled with budgets balancing numbers, battling bureaucratic banality Thumbing through ledgers in a stifling room Did you look out to the river placid, seemingly endless But not to you... You had traced the path of the water to its rocky root stood astride and drank of it Those days of pain, fear, awe, mystery, transcendence Marked the crest of your life's wave Boon companions, grace of savage tribes Rustle of abalone shells, shrill of eagle whistle Meat roasted like a sacrifice in the sacred circle All this lay across the shining mountains and years away The long path twisted back on itself at last leaving your body wounded in the dust of Tennessee freeing your soul at last to haunt the banks of the far Missouri |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Georgiansilver Date: 24 May 04 - 01:38 PM The Witness. How delicately each flake of snow falls, Silently landing on it's own carpet. Swelling the ground relentlessly, With drifts that ever cover walls. How carefully the man next door treads, As he de-ices and prepares his car. He could use his legs to get to work, It's not far. Steadily he reverses from his drive, Out onto the big main road. On the ice a lorry skids to avoid him, And spills its load. The man next door is just oblivious, To the carnage he's caused today. He puts his car in forward gear. And drives away. Georgiansilver (2002) Be Blessed. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 24 May 04 - 01:39 PM Aw, sweet fucking Jesus. LEJ, you put us all to shyme!! Effin' byootiful, man. A |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: GUEST,Old Doc Date: 25 May 04 - 04:16 AM I recently heard a very charming song on the radio and can not seem to find out the title or artist. It is done by a male quartet with a female lead with an intrumental break. Some of the lyrics are: "You don't have to play my request, but I hope that you'll do your best. I've been listening to your show on the radio and you seem like a friend to me." Hope someone out there recognises this gem. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: beardedbruce Date: 26 May 04 - 03:34 PM refresh |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: s&r Date: 27 May 04 - 06:17 AM Some folk would say I live by rote Most of my day a golden nugget here and there along the way Along the way A stranger's smile as if to say A friendly 'Hi' A little care can make my day Can make my day Become a song a tune to play a major seventh soft and clear No price to pay No price to pay the smile was free It made my day it wasn't much they didn't care Some folk might say |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: maisienan Date: 27 May 04 - 08:15 AM Here's one about my tangled love-life - I'm a taurus woman married to an aquarian - never an easy option - and this poem is for a lovely leo guy I met on Mayday |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: maisienan Date: 27 May 04 - 08:36 AM Woodsmoke I am the earth He is the sky Ever distant and aloof No matter how high my mountain It will never be part of him No matter how bright his stars They will ever look down Coldly glinting Too long I longed for his love No longer But you You are the fire and I am the forest Be careful For the smell of woodsmoke so enchants me If I feed you my debris, my deadwood We may enhance each other Gypsies dancing in the clearing But cling to me and you consume me Possess me and you destroy me The morning shows blackened stumps Grey ashes Somewhere, somewhere There is a man of water A lake at the mountain's foot A river through the forest flowing A sea around my shore And when the rain falls He will surely come |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Micca Date: 27 May 04 - 10:54 AM Senses The senses feed us information ephemeral and brief enters for a short time Then exits like a thief a rose with dewdrops A hovering kestrel A kitten playing Your lover asleep fresh baked bread Spring flowers Crushed Basil A loved body velvet Skin A climbing rope A cold beer garlic Chilled Chablis sea on the wind Fresh pesto cats footsteps baby sleeping owl hoot lovers groan of pleasure the senses, like poems feed us in bursts each glimpse bite or sniff complete in itself but part of a whole picture |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 27 May 04 - 11:11 AM That is a rich piece, Micca! A |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Macha Date: 27 May 04 - 05:42 PM My life is a thin thread I spin the thread around my fingers Winding, winding Snap - me |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 15 Jul 04 - 06:19 PM I am constantly being surprised at the insights and skills and art that appears on this thread. Many thanks. A |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Deda Date: 24 Jul 04 - 05:28 PM I was in a car accident on June 13, forced off the road by an SUV that didn't see me, didn't slow down. Here's a poem. Missing my forehead Car having struck cement embankment, Head having struck steering wheel, Pushing myself back to sitting up: Rear-view mirror reflects, just above my eyebrows, A streak of white skull, and bright red borders. Faces of strangers show ÒOh God! Oh my God!Ó But they say, ÒHold still. How old are you? What is your name? This your nurse.Ó ÒWhat is your name?Ó I ask them all, each face. Each face too strong, too polite, too willed, too busy To say, ÒOh my God.Ó ********************* Now my forehead shows a well-stitched line, Defined, of a certain shape, unexpected, Hard to gaze upon Ð Hard to see reflected In the gazes I see. I remember my brow as nothing, a blank space. Not now. I close my eyes to see it. From here it seems A buzzing, red line of itch and burn. It is new. It will fade, soften. It will not vanish. This is my face now. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Joe_F Date: 24 Jul 04 - 06:13 PM Summer When home the truck comes high with hay, And divers splash and sunlight dapples, And loud black clouds relieve the day, And chickens peck at sour apples, And fans drown out the drowsy word, Then nightly sings the mockingbird In every mode at disk and dawn, While sweaty Gabriel mows the lawn. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 24 Jul 04 - 06:17 PM Beautiful job, Deda!! Wow!! Stunning -- in every sense of the word. A |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 24 Jul 04 - 06:39 PM Great imagery, Joe_F! Reminds me of Kendall singing Dave Mallett's tune on haying, "Make Hay While the Sun Shines". |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 24 Jul 04 - 09:28 PM Liquid OrigamiWe believe we know, each seeing Who folded these deep seams and lines In the very fabric we are. The rivers of our times flow through The spaces so folded; minds And heart's panic scorch the seams To feel the hands on the axis Bringing the deep existnece in To the lines adored and forming Believing, we know Where the folds are made. To become the river-driver Answers the fury Of the plain sheet of beginnings. Riding the river steals your days; Reading the folding leads Beyond the eternal belief--so we know. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 24 Jul 04 - 09:36 PM Heart's Places(For Red Warren) I. The man said it all well. As young sunlight and old granite, he was there, Telling stories of the world. You could feel The worlds unfolding, taste the weather and strain, the laughing, the passions, see the long hard marches in his words. He would lean to the children's call, and answer their wishes with worlds in the giving. As the early sun and the ripe granite do, he gave and gave. Tell me. II. Great spirits make great faces, colored and living. They are the far reachers. They make world spaces, Founded in fires and in clay, sung in high tempests Where the hot light flashes, iced where the need for ice is, So great spirits form the world. More than the season's passing Marks their time. Imagine... III. Red drums over long rivers, black drumming cities White singing praises, red blood on old sabers Deep hearts full, iced lakes and hot harvesting The long highways and the gentle furrows made. Here is the red man's answer, there are hawks calling. Here is the black man's sigh, there the hard cut of steel. Here is hot horse muscle and hoofs on the dirt hills, There the town of the dull, the wicked, the cross tongued. The tire's scream, and the deep cave's silent wait, all in one land. IV. Dry pages, running tears and deep frozen glens -- these things Are one in the heart. Sad dogs and laughing glory, wines and the open seas, one. Worlds in the giving, Children can hear him answering: wishes answered with color, living men, strong faces, bright laughing reason. A far reaching hand shows them: the heart is more than its seasons. Here is a great spirit making great spaces, and there he is still, Only ask again, and he will start. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: The Fooles Troupe Date: 24 Jul 04 - 11:17 PM WhoooHooo! I been Published for the first time!!!! QUOTE Hallo Robin, This is to let you know that your poem "Gather Ye Pigeons While Ye May" has been published on the Albion Magazine Online website in the Diversions section of the Summer 2004 edition. Many thanks for your contribution; I really appreciate it. Cheers, Isabel UNQUOTE Robin |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 25 Jul 04 - 01:03 AM Congratulations, Robin Goodfellow! Let me add that the PLURAL of do (3rd person) is "do". "Doth" is singular only. I would fix that were I you. Best regards, A |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Rasener Date: 25 Jul 04 - 05:21 AM Got up this morning and decided to put my thoughts into verse about the events related to changing venue at Market Rasen Folk Club. Never done this before so please excuse me if it not very good. The Market Rasen Folk Club Blues One day I had a dream To start a folk club I did beam I went along to the social club Who said luvely jubbly, just the job So we got started back in March With much hard work and the occasional fart The singers got quickly to their task Much more from them I couldn't ask It became apparent very soon These artists sang a lovely tune People came from near and far As the club pulled in the money over the bar Everybody seemed very happy Until this little chappy Who rose up from the committee And said hang on here we want a bigger fee Now the organiser said get stuffed The committee they were not chuffed They gave our Les a red card Which he thought was rather hard These little scheming money makers With brains no bigger than a shred of paper Would not back down on the price And thought our Les was in a vice But with sleeves rolled up and a big determination Our Les set about finding a new location This proved very difficult and hard to find It was becoming such a bind Then all of a sudden when out of the blue He found a village hall that would do The people there are very nice They have a bar with drinks at an affordable price This place is called Walesby Village Hall Where a big welcome will be there for all So come on down you have a choice To come and sing with good cheer and voice So here's a warning to all those money makers Who want to screw the folk club scene shakers If you can't see the business sense and get smart Stick your business up your arse Cheers Les |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 25 Jul 04 - 12:28 PM Dances in Silence(for Nancy) You are the dance that has no words and rises In the spring's own flood to the wind and rain That sweeps the silence into the noise-worn bone And raises the laughing of hearts again. Only there do none dance alone. The hard breath and wild limbs' sway tells All the story, and the soul's devises Rising with the time of far and endless bells. San Diego February 21, 2003 |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Deda Date: 28 Jul 04 - 09:42 PM Amos, I thought I had posted an answer to this a few days ago, but it didn't arrive. Thanks for your kind words about the forehead poem. I have always loved your poem about Red, which seems quite different here than I remember it -- has it been revised? And I love the very idea of "liquid origami", which evokes the movement of water, like the currents in a river, folding into, over and below one another. "Nancy" is also lovely! Congrats to Foolestroupe on getting into print! Bravo. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 28 Jul 04 - 09:59 PM There's a different one called "Jack's People" which you may have in mind, Deda. Thanks for the kind words -- people like you keep the spark alive, for better or for worse!!! Next time you come to town you can meet Nancy. Love, Bro |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 06 Oct 04 - 01:29 PM I am sure there is more and better stuff out there, fellow folkies! I dunno about better but here's one of the more germane to the singers: ScrapsA song well writ, each tone in place, An' harmony's approval marked upon The temple's face. Rancor was gone, And envy. Desperation too Had been dispelled by grace, Found in the heart's deeper numbers right, Dug out dark ciphered clay, unleashing light, Replacing what was lost with what was true. A song well writ, the singer and the sung-to, You. # # # |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: GUEST,Bonnie Buck Bonbuck@cheqnet.net Date: 25 Oct 04 - 09:17 AM Dear Mudcat I am sure i know you from another program. We are friends did you ever publish your cookbook? I would truly be honored to have some of my poetry viewed on your site. Please notify me via email if that is okay with you Thanks Bonnie Buck |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 25 Oct 04 - 12:34 PM I emailed Miss Buck and suggested she join and post freely. A |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Chris Green Date: 25 Oct 04 - 12:37 PM A haiku my father wrote: Happiness Is waking up on Monday To find that it's Saturday. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Wilfried Schaum Date: 26 Oct 04 - 09:00 AM MESSAGE to Kurt Vonnegut, Jr Infantryman, Scout, POW in Germany Listen So it goes An on and on Imagine that! Peace |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: UncleToad Date: 26 Oct 04 - 09:38 AM Snow Men I wonder where they live these men of darkness with nothing to give save a smile and a wave. Flying their rags like ceremonial flags. Where do they go when the snows fly thin rolling and blowing with the harshness of the harsh winter wind. I wonder if they die and are replaced by other men when springtime rushes in... Or do they simply bend and fold themselves into the blackening night and wait in stoned silence for the coming of the light... ...please help homeless veterans. Thanks to all...UncleToad |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 26 Oct 04 - 10:37 AM Wow!! Again awed by your words. A |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: GUEST,H.B. Carlisle Date: 26 Oct 04 - 09:14 PM Hey there, you, walkin' all alone, It's me talking to ya, me, the stone! Why don't you haul off an' give me a boot? I've spent 10 years beside this root. I come into town on a gravel truck, They unloaded me here and here I'm stuck. The guy on my right is old Gravel Gus, He got stuck in the tread of a Greyhound Bus, Spent 15 years out on the road! Woulda' been there yet, but the bus got towed, An' he flew out and he landed here, Now all his travel tales I gotta hear. Guy on my left is Old Man Slate, Kid skimmed him across the lake, He made 15 skips far and wide, And fell in the grass on the other side--- Say, you look sorta drunk the way you walk, And you know durn well us stones can't talk! H.B. Carlisle |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: GUEST,Eddie O'Hara Date: 28 Oct 04 - 05:19 PM A poem I wrote for fun! Stan McCann's Dinner Stan McCann A thinking young man Thought, "Hot sardines are better!" So, off he ran And bought a can Of sardines for his dinner Stan, heated the can In a frying pan Full of water and let it simmer Then, taking the can From the frying pan He opened it up for dinner On a chair sat Stan With fork and can Sprinkling his salt and pepper But, as he began To eat from the can He said, "Cold sardines are better!" Moral: What may seem best, is not always best, and sometimes it's hard to know what's better. Eddie O'Hara(c)2004 |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: UncleToad Date: 28 Oct 04 - 07:39 PM Three pieces to ponder... I have long tried to go home but the doors are closed the windows will not open but still I keep on hoping that someday someone will let me in *************************** I was half way to the moon and I thought this is too damned cold my ship and my bones are too damned old I was half way to the sun and I thought this is too damned hot and like it as not the heat shield won't hold (goes back to "too damned old") *********************************** It seems as though we slipped along the way night after night day after day we colored within the lines kept our blinds half up and half down afraid we would drown if we wandered to close to the edge of the world such a lonely death separated from the rest of us we came for you but you had gone hope your new home is what you want it to be... Thankee kindly, UncleToad |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: katlaughing Date: 29 Oct 04 - 01:19 AM The recent additions are great! Keep them coming, folks, and thanks for sharing! |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: chris nightbird childs Date: 29 Oct 04 - 01:24 AM Welly, well... as long as we're doing this: No Revolution - All my loves lost & gained in the past couldn't make a bit of difference With their sayings and saviors, & etchings on the backs of a thousand notebooks Now it's all down to me Me, me, me, me No revolution No evolution It won't be reinstated like an American Dream What that might be to millions of unsuspecting people might not be that to you… You can have your white-picket fence, But how you get there is up to you & no one else. Although people are willing to live through you, will they be willing to die for you too? --------------------------------------- Wistful Time The Mayfair gathering outside Blossoming rose rises in the air Growing out of the cool ground Of the garden The cat's squirrel won't be caught today Too busy chasing its tail 'round the sitting room floor – I venture out for a quick smoke, And notice the glow of lights Witness the question of 'what?' A sickness? An end? It's strange how my life's just begun So young, so old I hope, I wonder, I wish them well… I flick the end into the air, And it rests on the cool ground It bounces away its last life – Walking back inside I whistle away a wistful time For senior citizens and squirrels thanks Cats... |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Lonesome EJ Date: 04 Nov 04 - 05:45 PM Last at Bat Handful of spit and dirt Cleats sunk in the crumbling earth He huffed a frosty breath of October air. The sinews still rippled in forearms As they did nineteen years past Knuckles white on the handle as the bat swung slowly in anticipation Uniform stretched tight across a spreading belly, and black hair frosted with gray pinch-hitter for a blasted hurler in the last inning of the last game of the year. Crowd applauds A few, remembering, stand in salute and the young pitcher wipes an upper lip wide-eyed shakes off the call nods to the sinker kicks and delivers The ball a specter in the batter's eyes, he swings and misses fastball knife in the shoulder muscle wincing hard as the catcher's mitt pops Stepping back Spits in the dust yanks shirt-front square He steps into the box again flexes aching shoulder as the bat repeats its slow threat Pitcher's arm drops the curve hangs then dodges his bat. On third base Schneider takes a lead The pitcher stares him down and the batter sees in split second the knuckleball grip before the glove conceals it He waits and it is thrown center-shot and numbers-high no spin the stitching motionless as it drops like a round stone in a dark quiet pool His shoulder screams at the contact the hickory electric in his hands which carry the handle through as the shattered wooden barrel skips down the third base line shortstop vaults in vain as the ball falls behind him like a dove shot from the sky He flings away the broken shaft halfway to first sees the baseman strain toward the expected throw shortstop scrambling lump of the bag beneath left toe snap of the baseman's mitt and the umpire calls safe As he turns back to first base he hears the sound of the crowd and feels the sweat cooling in his collar he draws deep breath and holds it in as if the very air were sweet with magic and he longed to keep it inside him for ever |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 16 Jan 05 - 06:32 PM Queen of Dreams |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 23 Jan 05 - 09:33 PM From 1993, but still untarnished: The Monster That Cures the World The monster that cures the world Has no middle name and does not know His family tree past Grandmother, nor Does he care to. He cannot spell With high certainty and flounders In voicing his heart grammatically. Some say he is a traitor to the race Because he has only his lifetime to spend And turned away from history to face his dirty fellows Hearing and replying, hot and rough. Condemned by poets to repeat his past He does not mind, for any grade will serve As long as there are people in it And an occasional recess. The world that cured the monster Taught him that all faces Stand for hearts, and names Have something to them beyond the wind He had thought was breaking on rot Inside the many hard menhirs of the world — Useless except for mumblings and Sexless derivation. Between them they may discover The monster's middle name And the menhir's conscience. Then will A moonlit dance ensue WIldly accelerating where the stones Meet the heart and the heart makes Love to form. Such a dance will Trumpet endlessly across the moors and oceans Of our time. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Leadfingers Date: 23 Jan 05 - 10:59 PM On BBC Radio 4 - The Shortest poem in The English language ! 'FLEAS' Adam Had 'em Short and sweet like a roasted maggot !! |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: GUEST,blushing catter Date: 24 Jan 05 - 11:03 AM Held, safe and warm in your arms Protected from the world outside Took a long time for me to trust But you in your wisedom, were patient and waited And together we healed And together we cried And together we laughed And together we loved |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 28 Mar 05 - 09:54 AM Superstition |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 31 Mar 05 - 10:09 AM The wide plastered wall supports one spidered form A long-legs, venturing out on long-leg business. He startles the powers of the place, and does not much care. That is not his concern, but to step ahead boldly. One inch is life, centered on white yards of cold stone, And in that irreverent scuttle lies the gypsy secret. San Diego March 31, 2005 |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Frankham Date: 31 Mar 05 - 11:52 AM Yeah, Sandy Creek. The Old Man! Fine stuff. Frank |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: frogprince Date: 31 Mar 05 - 01:14 PM Goody; I was just trying to figure out how to get at this thread to bring it back. |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Leadfingers Date: 31 Mar 05 - 07:26 PM I think that I will never see a Billboard lovely as a tree And seldom can I ever Boast that I have the two hundredth Post |
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: frogprince Date: 31 Mar 05 - 07:42 PM Saturday Night in Everett, Washington (from a slightly more innocent time, in July 1967, when they were called go go dancers, and they wore complete bikinis) Sharon's shaking that shapely frame again, Making goosebumps pop up on the skin, Making male minds meditate on sin, Quivering, shivering, stretching your mind thin, To the unintellectual, sensual, sexual din, Trembling, twitching, twisting you within, A graceful animal, molded in skin, Sharon's go - go - go dancing again. |
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