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Post by Nana on Dec 16, 2004 5:41:09 GMT -5
Thanks ViS. I'm still writing a poem to post here, though. For me it's kind of a slow process...
I'm posting below my favorite poem of all times by Erica Jong, which was turned into music in a superb CD by Vanessa Daou called Zipless.
Autumn Perspective Now, moving in, cartons on the floor, the radio playing to bare walls, picture hooks left stranded in the unsoiled squares where paintings were, and something reminding us this is like all other moving days; finding the dirty ends of someone else's life, hair fallen in the sink, a peach pit, and burned out matches in a corner; things not preserved, but never swept away like fragments of disturbing dreams we stumble on all day... in ordering our lives, we will discard them, scrub clean the floorboards of this our home lest refuse from the lives we did not lead become in some strange, frightening way, our own.
And we have plans that will not tolerate our fears -- a year laid out like rooms in a new house -- the dusty wine glasses rinsed off, the vases filled, and bookshelves sagging with the heavy winter books.
Seeing the room always as it will be, we are content to dust and wait.
We will return from the dark and silent streets, arms full of books and food, anxious as we always are in winter; and looking for the Good Life we have made.
I see myself then: tense, solemn, in high heeled shoes that pinch, not basking in the light of goals fulfilled, but looking back to now and seeing a lazy, sunburned, sandaled girl in a bare room, full of promise and feeling envious.
Now we plan, postponing, pushing our lives forward into the future -- as if, when the room contains us and all our treasured junk we will have filled whatever gap it is that makes us wander, discontented from ourselves.
The room will not change: a rug, or armchair, or new coat of paint wont make much difference; our eyes are fickle but we remain the same beneath our suntans, pale, frightened, dreaming ourselves backward and forward in time, dreaming our dreaming selves.
I look forward and see myself looking back.
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Post by venusinscorpio on Dec 16, 2004 18:52:27 GMT -5
Hi, NB Have you read How To Save Your Own Life by Erica Jong, she has lots of poems in it about a relationship? Just off topic for a second, her first book Fear of Flying is better I think, wonderful depiction of women's lives in the late sixties/early seventies.
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Post by Nana on Dec 20, 2004 13:04:21 GMT -5
She's lovely, ain't she?
ViS, I don't read a lot of poetry. Every now and then I stumble onto something I really like and then I read a few things of that poet.
I know a few EJ poems from the CD and I picked up a book at the NY library once, but I can't remember which one. I remember I liked it, though.
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Post by hurltomato on Dec 20, 2004 18:41:28 GMT -5
As a child, I remember my poetic mother routinely waking us to the rhythm and rhyme of Longfellow's Psalm of Life[/b]: Tell me not in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream!- For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not it's goal; Dust though art to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul....
Let us then be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving and pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait...These are the three verses that I remember very well -there are several more. Her memorizations and recall always astounded me and gave me appreciation of this literary form. Alas- NO talent! But appreciation affords me a few style points. I also treasure Walt Whitman...
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Post by venusinscorpio on Dec 22, 2004 7:49:35 GMT -5
My fave poets in no particular order are:
Maya Angelou Elizabeth Bishop T.S. Eliot C.P. Cavafy
Keats, Charlotte Mew, Emily Dickinson.
(probably lots more!)
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Post by fergie on Dec 22, 2004 9:01:36 GMT -5
My introduction to poetry was at school reading the war poets...Wilfred Owen, Dulce Et Decorum Est... Can I offer up an ex co-workers, very(IMHO) notable efforts to you well versed ladies..? Alan Dunnett. I Slept With the Devil Published in In the Savage Gap Devil don't lie if He ain't got a mind to. Fine flesh He knoweth and the store within. When He stands on the edge of the high and the broken hill and the sun's smoke sparks His hooves and the big flies hunger at the root of His tail,
I am lying abed with the window open, wishing I were dreaming to bring Him in, for fine He is, with curved muscle like bone, I polish His sinew by tongue and by lips and, in return, He drives out the aching of my breasts, bruised fullness, sweet at the nipple, with ivory claws a-tapping together, and lizard palm, dry as any desert.
There is a belt of blood stung through the sheets, my loins are slashed, I'm smiling, smiling. Come again in winter, I'll wrap your feet in my hair,
let no one mourn for me, I have no pain, let no one prevent me with prayer. He has'nt updated his site in a while here's the link.. alandunnett.co.uk/poem_isleptwd.htm
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Post by WilsonFreak on Dec 23, 2004 22:10:38 GMT -5
Anyone lived in a little how town With up so ringing many bells down...................
*****Decided to post the whole thing, it's a cute poem and it just rattles along very pleasingly.........****************
anyone lived in a pretty how town (with up so floating many bells down) spring summer autumn winter he sang his didn't he danced his did.
Women and men(both little and small) cared for anyone not at all they sowed their isn't they reaped their same sun moon stars rain
children guessed(but only a few and down they forgot as up they grew autumn winter spring summer) that noone loved him more by more
when by now and tree by leaf she laughed his joy she cried his grief bird by snow and stir by still anyone's any was all to her
someones married their everyones laughed their cryings and did their dance (sleep wake hope and then)they said their nevers they slept their dream
stars rain sun moon (and only the snow can begin to explain how children are apt to forget to remember with up so floating many bells down)
one day anyone died i guess (and noone stooped to kiss his face) busy folk buried them side by side little by little and was by was
all by all and deep by deep and more by more they dream their sleep noone and anyone earth by april wish by spirit and if by yes.
Women and men(both dong and ding) summer autumn winter spring reaped their sowing and went their came sun moon stars rain
e.e. cummings
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Post by WilsonFreak on Jan 13, 2005 14:24:38 GMT -5
I wrote a quick little poem about Owen on poetry.com so I would be entered into a contest to win money, but I couldnever find it afterward. But poetry.com sent it to me in a letter today, so thought I would post it. I wrote it in about 2 mins, but it is from the heart. I love you, Andrew, Owen and Luke and Wes! I think Bunny will really love this............ OWEN
Blond haired angel Kind, gentle, smiling Oh how you make my heart expand And wish to be touched by your loving spirit
Blond haired angel You don't know how very special you are You touch so many hearts Lives are fulfilled, desires rage You are so beautiful in flesh and in spirit
Blond haired angel Thank you for adding your talent to my life My heart cries sometimes, because I can't be near you But I can always escape into my thoughts and feel treasured by your sweetness.
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Post by bunnypanda on Jan 13, 2005 16:28:01 GMT -5
Oh well done WF!!! Now send it to him ;D
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Post by Nana on Jan 14, 2005 6:17:14 GMT -5
WF, it's so sweet, I hope you win!
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Post by WilsonFreak on Jan 15, 2005 6:12:53 GMT -5
;D
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Post by Remi on Jan 18, 2005 15:24:08 GMT -5
Ok, I'm not as creative has you all are in your poetry. but, today I have let my "inner Phoebe" (from Friends) out to play, and this is what I've come up with. I hope you all like it and it makes you smile! Snowbirds Outside the East Coast wind Continues to blow. As I sit inside at my usual spot Near a window. Sipping my warm caramel With a shot of Joe, I gaze outside for a moment To watch the snow. On a day that only the Hardiest venture out, To my bewilderment There are seagulls floating about! I wonder for a moment Watching the swarm, Why they aren't in their nests Or another place warm? Most fly South for winter Or at least that's what I heard. This East Coast version gives new meaning To the term "Snowbird"*. These must be the bravest of souls Navigating the air. On a day like today Even the Weatherman says "Beware!" What would make a bird like these take flight, Braving the cold With wings spread out And high above like a kite? As I watch them fly It occurs to me These feathered creatures have things to do, And places to be. For their survival depends On them getting about, Even on days like today When I cringe to journey out. With wind chills in the teens, Believe me I checked Soaring high in the cold breeze They now have my renewed respect. For when I do venture out In layers of clothes These animals swirl above No matter if or how much the wind blows. As I look up as high as my eyes reach, I think to myself and laugh, I bet even these birds never expected Snow at the beach! ------------------------------------------------------------- You can tell I read alot of Children's books, huh? *Snowbird is slang for a person "who moves from a cold to a warm place in the winter". In the Winter, we had MANY Snowbirds in my home state of Arizona.
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Post by bunnypanda on Jan 18, 2005 15:52:00 GMT -5
Oh that's beautiful Remi!!! It was like a trip into your visions and thoughts. Thank you!!! Keep writing
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Post by Remi on Jan 18, 2005 15:56:39 GMT -5
Aww. thank you Bunny!
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Post by WilsonFreak on Jan 18, 2005 18:09:49 GMT -5
:)That was a great poem! I do love poetry!
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