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The New Coffee Room

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  3. The poetry thread

The poetry thread

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  • kluursK Offline
    kluursK Offline
    kluurs
    wrote on last edited by
    #6

    53e359c6-ec55-415f-be3e-349aeadb9a56-image.png

    1 Reply Last reply
    • bachophileB Offline
      bachophileB Offline
      bachophile
      wrote on last edited by bachophile
      #7

      I always liked yabu’s death poem

      What are clouds,
      But an excuse for the sky?
      What is life,
      But an escape from death?

      1 Reply Last reply
      • Aqua LetiferA Offline
        Aqua LetiferA Offline
        Aqua Letifer
        wrote on last edited by
        #8

        Whispered the Rowan to the Oak
        —Felix Dennis

        The woods of our youth are failing,
        even the mightiest rot,
        Beetle and high wind take them
        and soon they will be forgot,
        Yet sadder than even the fading
        of suns too eager to set
        Is that you should fail to remember
        what I can never forget.

        Saplings of strangers surround us
        to feather the winter sky,
        Yet though you survive beside me,
        you see with an empty eye,
        Far better we fall and nourish
        the land in a last duet
        Than that you should fail to remember
        what I can never forget.

        Please love yourself.

        1 Reply Last reply
        • MikM Offline
          MikM Offline
          Mik
          wrote on last edited by
          #9

          Loving this thread. Fresh.

          “I am fond of pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals.” ~Winston S. Churchill

          1 Reply Last reply
          • Catseye3C Offline
            Catseye3C Offline
            Catseye3
            wrote on last edited by
            #10

            " . . . wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief."

            Yes, indeed.

            Success is measured by your discipline and inner peace. – Mike Ditka

            1 Reply Last reply
            • Catseye3C Offline
              Catseye3C Offline
              Catseye3
              wrote on last edited by
              #11

              Note on the Felix Dennis poem:

              "The Rowan tree has a long, sacred history. Since ancient times people have been planting a Rowan beside their home as in Celtic mythology it’s known as the Tree of Life and symbolises courage, wisdom and protection.

              Look at the delicate leaves, perfectly symmetrical on either side of their stem. They freshly unfurl every Spring in bright green and resemble feathers: it’s not surprising that before the written word, the ancient world believed that these beautiful feather-leaves were created from a bird of prey."

              https://thepresenttree.com/blogs/tree-meanings/rowan-tree-meaning

              Success is measured by your discipline and inner peace. – Mike Ditka

              1 Reply Last reply
              • Aqua LetiferA Offline
                Aqua LetiferA Offline
                Aqua Letifer
                wrote on last edited by
                #12

                He spent a shitload of money trying to repopulate the forests of England. He's kind of into trees.

                Please love yourself.

                1 Reply Last reply
                • Catseye3C Offline
                  Catseye3C Offline
                  Catseye3
                  wrote on last edited by
                  #13

                  What Now?
                  Gary Soto - 1952-

                  Where did the shooting stars go?
                  They flit across my childhood sky
                  And by my teens I no longer looked upward—
                  My face instead peered through the windshield
                  Of my first car, or into the rearview mirror,
                  All the small tragedies behind me,
                  The road and the road’s curve up ahead.

                  The shooting stars?
                  At night, I now look upward—
                  Jets and single-prop planes.
                  No brief light, nothing to wish for,
                  The neighbor’s security light coming on.

                  Big white moon on the hill,
                  Lantern on gravestones,
                  You don’t count.

                  Success is measured by your discipline and inner peace. – Mike Ditka

                  1 Reply Last reply
                  • brendaB Offline
                    brendaB Offline
                    brenda
                    wrote on last edited by
                    #14

                    Now I want a Rowan tree in my yard. I wonder if they are hardy to our climate. Not likely, but I will check.

                    brendaB 1 Reply Last reply
                    • brendaB brenda

                      Now I want a Rowan tree in my yard. I wonder if they are hardy to our climate. Not likely, but I will check.

                      brendaB Offline
                      brendaB Offline
                      brenda
                      wrote on last edited by
                      #15

                      @brenda said in The poetry thread:

                      Now I want a Rowan tree in my yard. I wonder if they are hardy to our climate. Not likely, but I will check.

                      It's a mountain ash tree, and definitely hardy to our growing zones in Minnesoooooota. The next question is whether this is the same ash tree being decimated by the Emerald Ash Borer (EAB).

                      brendaB 1 Reply Last reply
                      • brendaB brenda

                        @brenda said in The poetry thread:

                        Now I want a Rowan tree in my yard. I wonder if they are hardy to our climate. Not likely, but I will check.

                        It's a mountain ash tree, and definitely hardy to our growing zones in Minnesoooooota. The next question is whether this is the same ash tree being decimated by the Emerald Ash Borer (EAB).

                        brendaB Offline
                        brendaB Offline
                        brenda
                        wrote on last edited by
                        #16

                        @brenda said in The poetry thread:

                        @brenda said in The poetry thread:

                        Now I want a Rowan tree in my yard. I wonder if they are hardy to our climate. Not likely, but I will check.

                        It's a mountain ash tree, and definitely hardy to our growing zones in Minnesoooooota. The next question is whether this is the same ash tree being decimated by the Emerald Ash Borer (EAB).

                        "The mountain ash, or rowan, isn't a true ash. It belongs to the genus Sorbus instead of the genus Fraxinus. So far, the rowan has been safe from emerald ash borer attacks."

                        1 Reply Last reply
                        • MikM Offline
                          MikM Offline
                          Mik
                          wrote on last edited by
                          #17

                          And another thread branches out, bearing unexpected fruit. .

                          “I am fond of pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us as equals.” ~Winston S. Churchill

                          brendaB 1 Reply Last reply
                          • MikM Mik

                            And another thread branches out, bearing unexpected fruit. .

                            brendaB Offline
                            brendaB Offline
                            brenda
                            wrote on last edited by
                            #18

                            @Mik said in The poetry thread:

                            And another thread branches out, bearing unexpected fruit. .

                            LOL

                            Moar poetry, please!

                            1 Reply Last reply
                            • Aqua LetiferA Offline
                              Aqua LetiferA Offline
                              Aqua Letifer
                              wrote on last edited by
                              #19

                              Becoming a Redwood
                              —Dana Gioia

                              Stand in a field long enough, and the sounds
                              start up again. The crickets, the invisible
                              toad who claims that change is possible,

                              And all the other life too small to name.
                              First one, then another, until innumerable
                              they merge into the single voice of a summer hill.

                              Yes, it’s hard to stand still, hour after hour,
                              fixed as a fencepost, hearing the steers
                              snort in the dark pasture, smelling the manure.

                              And paralyzed by the mystery of how a stone
                              can bear to be a stone, the pain
                              the grass endures breaking through the earth’s crust.

                              Unimaginable the redwoods on the far hill,
                              rooted for centuries, the living wood grown tall
                              and thickened with a hundred thousand days of light.

                              The old windmill creaks in perfect time
                              to the wind shaking the miles of pasture grass,
                              and the last farmhouse light goes off.

                              Something moves nearby. Coyotes hunt
                              these hills and packs of feral dogs.
                              But standing here at night accepts all that.

                              You are your own pale shadow in the quarter moon,
                              moving more slowly than the crippled stars,
                              part of the moonlight as the moonlight falls,

                              Part of the grass that answers the wind,
                              part of the midnight’s watchfulness that knows
                              there is no silence but when danger comes.

                              Please love yourself.

                              1 Reply Last reply
                              • Catseye3C Offline
                                Catseye3C Offline
                                Catseye3
                                wrote on last edited by
                                #20

                                I dunno about this one. There was a writer, now dead, Peg Bracken, who was pretty funny. She would have described this poem as being from the "Look Ma I can Write" school.

                                Success is measured by your discipline and inner peace. – Mike Ditka

                                Aqua LetiferA 1 Reply Last reply
                                • George KG Offline
                                  George KG Offline
                                  George K
                                  wrote on last edited by
                                  #21

                                  I'm not much of a poetry person, and I am in awe of people who can do it and understand it.

                                  However, one of my favorites has always been this, by ee cummings:

                                  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

                                  "Now look here, you Baltic gas passer... " - Mik, 6/14/08

                                  The saying, "Lite is just one damn thing after another," is a gross understatement. The damn things overlap.

                                  Aqua LetiferA 1 Reply Last reply
                                  • Catseye3C Offline
                                    Catseye3C Offline
                                    Catseye3
                                    wrote on last edited by
                                    #22

                                    Cheer up, George; here's one for you:

                                    The Octopus

                                    Tell me, O Octopus, I begs
                                    Is those things arms, or is they legs?
                                    I marvel at thee, Octopus;
                                    If I were thou, I'd call me Us.

                                    Ogden Nash

                                    Success is measured by your discipline and inner peace. – Mike Ditka

                                    1 Reply Last reply
                                    • Catseye3C Catseye3

                                      I dunno about this one. There was a writer, now dead, Peg Bracken, who was pretty funny. She would have described this poem as being from the "Look Ma I can Write" school.

                                      Aqua LetiferA Offline
                                      Aqua LetiferA Offline
                                      Aqua Letifer
                                      wrote on last edited by
                                      #23

                                      @Catseye3 said in The poetry thread:

                                      I dunno about this one. There was a writer, now dead, Peg Bracken, who was pretty funny. She would have described this poem as being from the "Look Ma I can Write" school.

                                      There are personal preferences regarding poetry, and there's judging work on merit. I don't like a lot of Dana Gioia's stuff, but I'm sorry, no, saying he can write would be a massive understatement.

                                      Please love yourself.

                                      1 Reply Last reply
                                      • George KG George K

                                        I'm not much of a poetry person, and I am in awe of people who can do it and understand it.

                                        However, one of my favorites has always been this, by ee cummings:

                                        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

                                        Aqua LetiferA Offline
                                        Aqua LetiferA Offline
                                        Aqua Letifer
                                        wrote on last edited by
                                        #24

                                        @George-K said in The poetry thread:

                                        I'm not much of a poetry person, and I am in awe of people who can do it and understand it.

                                        However, one of my favorites has always been this, by ee cummings:

                                        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

                                        cummings is great. If you like such stuff, Spike Milligan might be up your street.

                                        Please love yourself.

                                        1 Reply Last reply
                                        • ChatGPTC Offline
                                          ChatGPTC Offline
                                          ChatGPT
                                          wrote on last edited by
                                          #25

                                          Trees, tall and grand,
                                          Nature's pillars strong and grand,
                                          With branches reaching for the sky,
                                          A sight that makes my heart take flight.

                                          Leaves rustling in the breeze,
                                          A symphony of green and ease,
                                          Trunk rough and bark so deep,
                                          A beauty that's impossible to keep.

                                          Rooted deep in Mother Earth,
                                          A symbol of unyielding worth,
                                          A sanctuary for creatures small,
                                          A home for one and all.

                                          In spring they bud, in summer they thrive,
                                          In fall they change, in winter they survive,
                                          Trees, tall and grand,
                                          Nature's beauty that we all understand.

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