Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 07 Sep 08 - 09:21 PM
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 07 Sep 08 - 09:07 PM Aged DustShattered, without hope in the wind, Whirling where the world's face ends Itself coldly ended without power of naming Any future, or caring how to name -- knowing That one and another are not preferred But are same. Not even glumness shadows The lost decision from which complete indifference seems Eminently respectable. And fire not even a memory to the face, and the world's Face so over-remembered, it is a loss to try To tell one from another past, or pry futures apart. Paint it, and it stays painted; deny, and it will Oblige by disappearing. Call it and it will be. Be one with it and it will color you so gray That your name will be arbitrary and your Face vanish in the world. Fight it and it will oblige endlessly. These Are the molecules that will not disperse nor harden but Will endlessly prove the barren ice of time. How it stretches into the horizon, telling nothing because Nothing is. This is the heart of dying, hell Beyond the hope of measure, f For space is denied. But, What mastery within! To make so little from so much, To so completely nullify, must be the handiwork Of a truly great machine. So dust has its master, and if you only Congratulate him, he will withdraw, Sated with your precious admiration. You who command admiration command all things And dust's dry dominion dwindles to your light. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Jay777 Date: 18 Jul 08 - 04:43 AM As a teenager in the late 60s, I lived near USAF Greenham Common. My family befriended many of the servicemen based there. This poem was written by one of them, whilst he was serving in Vietnam. He went back there, and we never saw or heard of him again. I thought it deserved a wider airing. AMMO by AFC 18756330 Ronald Brown, 1969 I work with bombs both day and night, And stand and shake with awful fright. My past is short, my future's bleak, I'll never last another week. My friends are dead or dying fast, I don't know how long my luck will last. Death may come in several ways, From gas or bombs with short delays, There's Sarin gas or TNT, Or fragment bombs to murder me. They say that nerve gas works just great, Five short minutes and it's too late, Of course blood gas isn't so fast, Fifteen minutes you can last, There's white phospherous and thermate too, They just sear and burn holes in you. You know that you are bound to lose, So you get a bottle and start to booze. You drink all day and drink all night, You go on duty still half tight. If the bombs don't do it, just wait and see, THIS DAMNED BOTTLE WILL FINISH ME!!!!!!!!!! |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: katlaughing Date: 17 Jul 08 - 03:18 PM Me, too, LeeJ. Inspired and so poignant! |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 17 Jul 08 - 12:10 AM Oh, Lonsesome, ya done caught me off guard with that last line. Big grin, but a torn heart, too. A |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Lonesome EJ Date: 16 Jul 08 - 08:27 PM Me and Don By the convenience store he sat his feet propped on rusted breast plate inverted helmet inviting help. "The windmills of my mind" he sighed "are by my own intellect o'erthrown!" Inspired by irony I smiled and said "And you find yourself here alas o Knight of the Tarnished Mirrors in the shadow of a slain dragon transformed by wizards into the guise of a dumpster" He only stared in silence and so I walked away until his choked whisper split the silence "Sancho?" |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Georgiansilver Date: 16 Jul 08 - 06:42 PM Even though the clouds may fly, On high on such a beauteous day. Tis not that I will be out there, I'll be on Mudcat, far away. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Megan L Date: 16 Jul 08 - 05:28 PM In 1983 my new husband and I stood in a small churchyard in Wales looking sadly at a row of shiny gravestones each had the age of the young man each one had been on the Galahad. I remembered thinking that somewhere in Argentina someone could be standing beside a row of graves or a memorial for equally young lads from the Belgrano. War dead See my name all you who pass by As you are now so once was I. I was a son whose mother wept I was the husband whose wife kept A light in the window lest I should come To find my way once more back home. I was the brother whose sisters tears shall wash my stone I was the lover who will not come the one who left you here alone. I am your love the memory that will not die My name it matters not anymore Rhys or Ramone we are the same In death, a memory and nothing more MHTBL |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 16 Jul 08 - 05:10 PM Both time and timelessness are easy errors To an eye bewildered, And a mind too crowded, Or ears betrayed by sounds. Sapphire beginnings; hard Ends of gold, feverish Days of penitence, shivered By hours made too loud For any heart to arise. In this maddened vise Between each minute and its loss Nothing is truly seen Neither the cold stone nor the soft moss. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 12 Apr 08 - 03:58 PM Memory AheadStepping off the curb, scaring the random pigeon Approaching a conversation in an early city evening, Do you draw the face, the tremble of the fingers, in his colors? Choose the palette for pain to seep down, after leaving? Is it a fade, from grays to black, Or brilliant in real incandescen restaurant hues? How will it seem, when it comes back, Some day, when you are shopping for new shoes, Or cleaning up after a dinner, Happy with remarks about dessert, And how you look (younger; thinner). Then will the colors intrude, answering some subtle sign? Whites supplanted with that faded low- Light tinge of pigeon-gray And fear in chiaroscuro? And was this some spiritual design, Mapping a way across the street, With older shoes, on earlier feet? A step across the line dividing you From infinite changes and reminding Is a fine grained memory Ð too fine To built a public mind upon, though true. But, when memoryÕs moment clocks in, blinding Ð The face, and trembling fingers, in their native colors. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: katlaughing Date: 12 Oct 07 - 06:00 PM Widening Circle Two friends met Shared lives and loves Spread their net Cast wide and low. Two friends saw An open life Torn and raw They held it close. Two friends held The hurt one 'til love's dealt Healing was done. Three friends met... |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Joe_F Date: 11 Oct 07 - 09:17 PM Spontaneous symmetry-breaking, exits from loops, limiting processes making infs go to sups, a little irritable tissue, pairwise unlinked rings -- a friend will wish you all those good things. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 11 Oct 07 - 07:00 PM
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Lonesome EJ Date: 19 Jun 07 - 11:20 PM Kat, simple and sweet. cmt, that says much about the nature of the cat, a mystery sleeping on the door mat. |
Subject: Lyr Add: A SONG: I once met the poet (Bob Clayton) From: GUEST,Songster Bob Date: 19 Jun 07 - 03:21 PM I don't know where this came from, though I did meet a poet in a Metro station once, and took it from there. A Song I once met the poet in the subway station (I'd seen him before, so I knew him, you see). He was standing in line for his daily blues ration, The same as the other commuters like me. Packed into the cars, we roared 'neath the earth Ignoring the people around where we sat, When the poet fixed me with an eye full of mirth And sang me the song of the hole in his hat. I once met a busker while mailing a letter; I tipped him a quarter and gave him a nod, And allowed as how he could play so much better Than most of the other street buskers, by God! He played on his fife for all he was worth, Depending on coins in the cup where he sat, So, fixing me with an eye full of mirth, Played me the song of the hole in his hat. So, if you happen to see me someplace (Now that you've met me, you'll know me, you see), Don't be surprised by the look on my face, For poets are known to be somewhat like me. I may talk about football, or music, or news; I well may debate the place of the cat, When, suddenly struck by my musical muse, I might sing you the song of the hole in my hat! © 1991, Bob Clayton, Silver Spring, MD |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: katlaughing Date: 19 Jun 07 - 01:41 PM {{{{Amergin}}}}} Ythanside, well done! My daughter called me the other night to ask me to write a poem for her friend whose almost one year old baby drowned while having a bath. She was a beautiful little baby, two months premature with some problems but growing and bring smiles to everyone. She was in her bath seat when the mom turned away to get a towel and turned back to find her drowned. I did not know her or my daughter's friend, but I said I'd give it a try. I sent the following to the friend and her seven year old son who loved his baby sister. Apparently it hit the spot and I am grateful. Jasmyn, little Jasmyn, Your Spirit shines so bright. You brought us Love and Beauty Then left too early in the night. Jasmyn, little Jasmyn Your brother loves you so. Please help him understand Just why you had to go. Jasmyn, beautiful Jasmyn, Be safe, be well, be free Our lives you touched forever May we know Peace, let it be. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Jim Lad Date: 19 Jun 07 - 12:38 PM Amergin: What a gift you have in your writing. I have to let your letter run its course before moving on to Ythanside's contribution. That only happens once in a while. Regards. Jim |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 19 Jun 07 - 12:14 PM LEJ: Thanks. I am touchéd. :D Keep up the excellent work, you-all! A |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Ythanside Date: 19 Jun 07 - 08:08 AM OUCH Poets all should have long hair, Dark haunted eyes and broken hearts, Should languish long in dark despair, Recording pain and sorrow's darts. 'Suffering', their watchword be; Consumptive, with dry wracking cough, Self-crucified for you and me 'Til, premature, they're carried off. Thus their gifted lines are wrought, That touch our souls and make us weep, Their lofty station dearly bought- Now vile usurpers on them creep. These upstarts in their pinstripe suits With simple style create distress; Their lines, as soft as hobnailed boots, That all begin 'Dear Sir, unless......!' (Must have been bill-paying time when I cobbled this together some 30 years ago) :-D |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amergin Date: 19 Jun 07 - 02:00 AM Letter to Jacinta I use to believe I hated Christmas most of all the dreaded lonesome holidays, as I imagined you waking up that summer morning with the early sun oozing hot warnings of the coming heat through the Queensland sky, small blue eyes glistening as you squealed and laughed, blonde hair bouncing with each giggling jump, with childish anticipation at the wrapped presents mounted below the plastic tree. But now, I realise it is Father's Day, whether it be in June or September, that drives the dagger home through my already shattered heart as I imagine scenes of what might have been. Your small gentle arms wrapped tightly around my throat, as you leap into my eager arms and yell out, "Daddy!" when I slowly open the door after a long tired day at work. You lying in your bed, smiling at playful dreams of doggies, lavender flowers, and koala bears, as I kneel down, softly brush the yellow strands of hair from your face, and lay my lips on your warm sweet forehead after a late night at the pub writing. You sitting in my lap still as a little girl could be, listening to me read you poetry, either my own, or by those whose footsteps I follow, including that sweet sad poem you were named for, or I would regale you with tales of knights and dragons, dwarves and elves, the heroic deeds of Fionn mac Cumhaill and Cu Chullainn, or my own travels and adventures in Tir na nOg and my years spent with the sidhe. Hearing your Australian voice whisper, "I love you, Daddy" as you caress the red fur on my face with your loving lips with a loud and decisive smack. I gaze at your pictures and my heart aches as I wonder, am I just an abstract figure in a hazy photograph, which you are told is your daddy? A strange American voice over the telephone telling you "I Love you, Jacinta"? A mere ghost at the edge of your tiny existence as formless as the morning mist? What am I to you? Know this, Jacinta, I will always love you and hold you tightly in my heart, and that although I may not be standing beside you or holding you tightly to my breast, softly singing, soothing your hurts and fears, that I will still be there. Slan go foill, a chuisle mo chroi. See you in my dreams. nt |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Lonesome EJ Date: 19 Jun 07 - 12:23 AM Haiku for Amos The people come here unclothed and take what they leave. This is the best thread |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: GUEST,cmt49 Date: 17 Mar 07 - 08:46 PM Sorry about komputeral ineptitood. Here's one for the cat lovers: Familiar. ( To be whispered into the ear of a black cat.) Birds with no wings. Smiling mice caress your claws my silent one, my midnight. Moons of polished amber hold the ages of dark knowledge in your eyes. Essence of sensual pride, I shall dream for you a bath of curling ermine. Milk of Isis to your possessing tongue, my love, my black remembrance of Egypt. Birds with no wings.... |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 16 Mar 07 - 10:10 PM In memoriam for Cathy-Cat, who sang folk-songs from many countries:
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Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Jim Lad Date: 08 Mar 07 - 05:59 PM I'm not "Out There" you know. I'm just shy. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: slowerairs Date: 08 Mar 07 - 05:33 PM Many thanks Jim Lad. Nice to know, someone is out there. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Jim Lad Date: 07 Mar 07 - 07:57 PM Slowerairs: Says a lot and yet leaves so much to the imagination. I can relate to this one. Magic! |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: GUEST,slowerairs Date: 07 Mar 07 - 06:44 PM UNDER DAWN'S CLOAK Take care, my dearest love, for time may rob Thy loving eyes of beauty, the heart of peace Remember dearest, this our only night Oh sad are they, denied their right to love. Hasten you now my love, here comes the day The clock it chimes, for dawn is drawing near Farewell my love, forever let this be My precious night, that I once shared with thee. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: GUEST,LD Date: 07 Mar 07 - 04:30 AM Thank you, I'm glad you liked my poem. It means a lot to me. There are many nice poems in here. I like reading them. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Joe_F Date: 05 Mar 07 - 08:41 PM Always some flakes rise but it is correct to say The snow is falling. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: katlaughing Date: 05 Mar 07 - 06:37 PM What beautiful, talented writers you all are. LeeJdarlin'...a resonance struck the Me who remembers that day, too. Haunting still those of us who were. Thanks for the beauty of your words. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: GUEST,slowerairs Date: 05 Mar 07 - 06:32 PM Towards Eternity Against all odds the creature stands Recording deeds of men Those hidden from all human eyes Revealed with strokes of pen The list is never ending for The wrongs of men are great Take heed and change those evil ways Before it is too late. For when at last we leave this life As darkness takes our sight Let each one search his soul and ask What did the creature write? |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Jim Lad Date: 05 Mar 07 - 02:14 PM LD just did a mind job on me! Heartfelt. Thank you. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: black walnut Date: 05 Mar 07 - 02:03 PM That's gorgeous, and soulful, LD. Wow. ~b.w. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: GUEST,LD Date: 05 Mar 07 - 02:54 AM 'Come walk with me, come talk with me' is what you said to me When, way back, once upon a time you stilled my urge to flee I'd been alone through many years watched seasons rolling by Encased my heart in sheets of ice Once bitten and twice shy I'd reinforced this heart of mine to see in love but pain You thawed my heart and made me want to trust in love again I took a leap of faith with you I left my native land I reached towards an outstretched hand A strange, yet well-known man You caught me, held me, loved me sweet that sunny autumn morn Then held me gently through my sleep I felt as if reborn But things were catching up with you The call of home held sway You told me then you'd thought again you would no longer stray You chose to walk that well-trod path and leave me standing there 'I'll miss you' were your parting words My dreams were but of air Now all I have is memories is longing, tears and pain Believe me, love, I wish you luck - wish I dared love again |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Lonesome EJ Date: 04 Mar 07 - 08:21 PM The Drums on Television I overheard another boy in gym class say "he" was shot in Texas not knowing who they spoke of and later the intercom Principle Williams said "Listen, you'll hear a bit of history" and Walter Cronkite told my English class The President was dead Crouching on the street corner Lenny and I folded the papers tight the headlines leaving our fingertips smudged in black A man walked by and asked us what we thought about the assassination I remember Lenny and I looked at each other burst into raucous laughter too jaded at 12 to feel pain at a great man's death And my parents speaking in undertones Grandparents coming to town as if Death had visited our own family Down that road the plumed horses The caissons The White Horse riderless Down that road they took him as they have taken my grandparents Principle Williams, my parents until in my mind those days, too, lie entombed painted in wet gray tones framed in barren branches but most of all at the dark end of my twelfth year there was pumped into my soul the cadence of drums that for hours on end beat from televisions |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amergin Date: 03 Mar 07 - 11:57 PM Not exactly a poem but here is one. The Silent Watcher The plastic tree stood next to the seemingly empty chair, reaching out to provide her ghostly form shade. The tiny green and yellow leaves swayed with each cool breath of the air conditioner, whispering inaudible songs into her ears. She sat and listened as she had for the last twenty years. She looked around the room, empty and barren but for the chairs, couch and coffee table organised almost haphazardly around the muted television set. She was waiting for them to come home, yearning to watch over them again, guarding them with her love. The tree told her all that has been happening to them since she left. Since she died, she reminds herself. It told her of the birth of her great grandchildren, now four and five and the deaths of her two sons. She wished she could hold the young ones in her arms, on her lap, but of course she could not. At least she could murmer songs to them as they slept, silent and helpless in the dark. She sat and listened to the tree, as it sang in harmony with the cool music of the A/C, tapping her foot onto the shining hardwood floor as she succumbed to the memories of her life, long over,some sad, some happy, but none of it would she ever change. Suddenly she heard the footsteps creaking and stomping across the floor, closer and closer. The air conditioner stopped and the tree grew quiet. However, it did not matter, not really. They were home. She was happy. nt |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: frogprince Date: 03 Mar 07 - 11:54 PM Always like to see a little more spun on this thread. Yes, Jim Lad, that one so begs to be sung. And Bee, I've explored that same old house several times, in several states many miles apart; you gave me chills. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Bee Date: 03 Mar 07 - 09:15 PM Kat, thanks for steering me to that Ritchie piece - it is lovely. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Amos Date: 03 Mar 07 - 08:18 PM To late or not to late, that is the question.... Very nice images, all of you! A |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: katlaughing Date: 03 Mar 07 - 07:59 PM Beautiful, Bee! It reminded me of a spoken piece by Jean Mackie, which Jean Redpath has on a CD. There's a personal note from her (Redpath) and the words to it on THIS THREAD. They both evoke along ago time and memories. Lucky us that you shared it! Jim Lad, they didn't used to call me "Mamakat" for nothing.:-) I meant to tell you I love your poem, too...should be a song, I agree! To late I've come to tell you To late for love to flourish The bairns all gone from the land now The old too frail for gathering. Once up and down the valley The sounds of work rang out Clearly spelling the prosperity Of all who lived and loved. To late, now, for any renewal To late to lift your brow To start from old which is not there To late to even care. (not sure where that came from! Must be channelling some sad old soul.) |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Jim Lad Date: 03 Mar 07 - 06:46 PM I followed you from the flat stone stairs. You got me in the eyes with some shrubbery as I followed you round to the back door. Got to watch that when you're breaking trail, you know! |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Bee Date: 03 Mar 07 - 06:18 PM Thank you, Jimlad. Took a bit of courage to put it up. Wrote it about five years ago, never showed it to anyone. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Jim Lad Date: 03 Mar 07 - 05:53 PM You took me there. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Bee Date: 03 Mar 07 - 05:48 PM Abandoned Farmhouse Nobody lives here anymore 25 years ago she left To live with her widowed sister - Two old women with no old men To look after anymore. Nobody wanted the farm Couldn't make a living And the girls went to the City Neighbour didn't need the hay that year The barn long gone. She took a last look around Walked out the front door and turned the key Slipped it in her purse, she couldn't tell why Stepped away down the two flat stone stairs Between the lilacs and the daylily beds. In a hot dry summer I found her house Hidden in the spruce and fir that took the hayfields Saw the barn foundation, a hollow full of brambles Ringed with wild cherry and leaning apple trees. The lilacs were blooming Their scent was heavy around me A stranger peering into the dark front hall The peeling blue-painted door's still locked A yellow rag of lace rotting in its window. I'm a country woman, though I know to walk around Past the stone well To the never-locked backdoor Straight into her cool dim kitchen. Flowered worn linoleum growing moss Cluster flies on the dusty window sills Chipped and rusting cast-iron sink in the corner And I'm thinking of the dishes she did up And the babies she washed there. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Jim Lad Date: 03 Mar 07 - 05:27 PM Always looking after folks, Kat. Put it on my tab. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: katlaughing Date: 03 Mar 07 - 05:15 PM Jim Lad, one usually would start a "LYR ADD" thread for each individual song, with lyrics, etc. listed. Or, in the case of a CD, maybe a single thread for the CD, with each song listed in a separate posting, with the appropriate info in the heading of that posting, i.e. "LYD ADD - Name of Song and Artist." That would probably be the best thing to do, one thread for the whole CD with each song listed. |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Jim Lad Date: 03 Mar 07 - 05:01 PM So where on Mudcat does one place song lyrics which are already deposited on a CD somewhere? |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: AJR Date: 03 Mar 07 - 01:57 PM two flowers 1 Her excellency the High Commissioner picked dandelions for her silver vase not knowing they were only weeds knowing only they were strong, slender. sun-golden. We sneered 2 in the black muzzle of my Mauser she planted her red rose saying "peace, peace" Nor knowing my gun is my manhood knowing only her soft superficial certainties. I shot her (inspired by two newsitems. the first after the first Indian high commissioner had arrived, the second on a university campus in USA in 1968} |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Jim Lad Date: 03 Mar 07 - 01:46 PM Heh, heh! You're too quick! |
Subject: RE: Mudcat Poetry Corner From: Hawker Date: 03 Mar 07 - 01:44 PM On a CD? ;0) Lucy |
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